William Johnstone - Thunder of Eagles

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t of took it if I’d knew they was folks goin’ to get killed.”

“Quit your bellyachin’, Cooper. You should’a known it wasn’t goin’ to be a walk in the park,” Lou Reeder said. “You took your money like the rest of us, and you ought to have enough sense to know that you don’t get paid fifty dollars just for a walk in the park. Besides, you was with us the last time.”

“That big bastard they had with ’em today wasn’t with ’em the last time,” Cooper said.

“What big bastard?” Cletus asked.

“Ha. Someone you would be interested in,” Lou said. “It was that same man you tangled with in town the other night.”

“I didn’t tangle with him exactly,” Cletus said. “He hit me when I wasn’t lookin’.”

“But that was the same one. It was Falcon MacCallister is who it was,” Lou said.

“You’re sure?”

“Damn right I’m sure. He ain’t the kind you can just forget about. He’s also not the kind of fella you want against you,” Lou continued.

Cletus turned in his saddle and pointed his pistol at Lou. “If you say one more word about Falcon MacCallister, I’ll shoot you. Do you understand that?”

“What?” Lou gasped, throwing his hands up in alarm. “Cletus, come on, I don’t mean nothin’ by it. I’m on your side, remember?”

“Then shut up about Falcon MacCallister,” Cletus ordered.

“Sure, Cletus, you want me to shut up about ’im, I’ll shut up about ’im,” Lou said. “I ain’t goin’ to say another word about him, no, sir. I ain’t even goin’ to mention Falcon MacCallister’s name again.”

Cletus glared at Lou, then he put his pistol away. The eight men rode on, though they were no longer riding at a gallop.

“What do we do about Deke and Seth?” Cletus asked Ray.

“What do you mean, what do we do about them?” Ray asked.

“I mean, what are we goin’ to do about them? We just left them lyin’ back there.”

“They won’t mind,” Ray answered.

“But they’re dead,” Cletus said.

“Like I said. They won’t mind.”

When the three wagons rolled into Higbee an hour later, they were met by Wade Garrison, who came toward them with a big smile on his face.

“Well, you got through, I see,” he said. “I’m glad you didn’t have any trouble, but I thought…” He stopped in mid-sentence because he saw two canvas-covered lumps lying in the back of one of the wagons. “What’s that?” he asked.

Dismounting, Falcon walked to the rear of the wagon and jerked the covers off, disclosing two bodies.

“I’ll be damn!” Garrison said. “That’s Deke Mathers and Seth Parker. They ride for Ike Clinton,” Garrison said. “Or rather, they did,” he added, correcting himself.

“Yes, I recognized Mathers,” Falcon said. “Lou Reeder was with them, too.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I recognized them because I saw both of them with Cletus Clinton the other night.”

“Did you see any of the Clintons?” Garrison asked.

Falcon shook his head. “No, I didn’t see any of them.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Garrison said. “If these two, who were known to ride with Clinton, were part of it, and you say you saw Lou Reeder as well, there shouldn’t be any doubt in anyone’s mind who’s behind all this.”

By now, news that the three wagons had arrived had caused several of the townspeople to gather round. When they learned that there were two bodies in the back of one of the wagons, the news spread quickly so that several others gathered around as well.

“What happened?” Denham asked. The editor of the Higbee Journal had his pencil poised over his notebook.

“We were attacked on the road,” Morrell said.

“But they didn’t get far,” Barnes said quickly. “We fought ’em off.”

“And as you can see, we killed two of them,” Morrell concluded.

By now, Marshal Calhoun had arrived as well, and he looked at the two bodies, then at Garrison.

“These are a couple of Clinton’s riders,” Calhoun said.

“Marshal, I told you that I believed Clinton was behind the last attack on my wagons,” Garrison said. “I took my complaint to Sheriff Belmond, but he said he couldn’t find anything to back me up. Seems to me like this ought to be all the evidence we need.”

“I’ll ride up to Las Animas and see the sheriff,” Calhoun said. “Maybe this time we can get something done.”

When Marshal Calhoun arrived in Las Animas, he rode straight to the sheriff’s office, which was located on Powers Street. Sheriff Belmond was sitting in a chair with the two front legs raised and the chair leaning back against the front wall of the jail. He was paring an apple, trying to do it in one long peel. The peel was now hanging from the apple all the way to the floor of the porch.

Calhoun dismounted, then looped the reins around the hitching rail.

“Now, why do I believe you are bringing me a problem to deal with?” Belmond asked, without looking up from his task at hand.

“I’m bringing you the problem and the solution,” Calhoun said as he stepped up onto the porch.

“Wait, don’t get off the stoop,” Belmond said. “I don’t want you to jinx my operation here.”

Calhoun stood on the step for a moment until, finally, the peel collapsed to the floor.

“Ha!” look at that!” Belmond said. “I’ll bet if you measured that, it would be one of longest peels ever to come off in one piece.”

“It’s long, all right,” Calhoun agreed.

Belmond cut the apple in half, then offered one half of it to Calhoun.

“No, thanks,” Calhoun replied.

“All right, Calhoun, what is this problem and what is the solution?” Belmond asked. He took a bite of the apple.

“You remember when Mr. Thompson’s freight wagons were attacked? The drivers were killed, and the wagons burned.”

“Yeah, I remember it. I looked into it, but couldn’t find enough evidence to pin it on anyone.”

“It was Ike Clinton. He was behind it.”

“So you said, Calhoun, so you said. But the truth is there was not one shred of evidence that pointed to Clinton.”

“What about the fact that he is going around preaching to other ranchers, telling them to resist the railroad?” Calhoun asked.

“Calhoun, Calhoun, Calhoun, you are, what is it they say—grasping at straws? Ike Clinton has every right to say he doesn’t want a railroad to come through Higbee. The fact that he says that openly does not mean he was behind that attack on the wagons.”

Calhoun smiled. “Maybe not, but the wagons were attacked again, and this time we do have evidence.”

“What sort of evidence do you have?”

“I have the bodies of two of the men who attacked the wagons,” Calhoun said. “Deke Mathers and Seth Parker. They are back in Higbee now.”

“Deke Mathers and Seth Parker, you say?”

“Yes. You may recall, they ride for—that is, they did ride for Ike Clinton.”

“I’ll look into it,” Belmond promised.

“Belmond, I’m going to need you to do more than just look into it,” Calhoun said.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re guilty as hell, and we have the proof lying in the undertaker’s. I want you to bring in the Clintons for murder.”

“Murder? That’s a serious charge,” Belmond said.

“Yeah, I mean it to be serious,” Calhoun replied.

Belmond carved off the last piece of apple and put it in his mouth.

“Well, I’ll tell you what, Titus,” he said. “Since this all allegedly happened in my county, suppose you just let me decide whether or not there should be a charge of murder.”

“I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job,” Calhoun said. “I’m just giving you the benefit of the evidence I have.”