William Johnstone - Thunder of Eagles

“You sent them, didn’t you, Clinton?”

“Did they tell you I sent them?”

“No.”

Clinton smiled broadly. “Then you got no case, do you? All right, I’m here for them now. Turn them loose. I’m paying the bail.”

“That’s not possible,” Calhoun said. “Bail hasn’t been set yet.”

Now it was Clinton’s time to smile, and he turned to Sheriff Belmond.

“Tell ’em, Belmond,” he said.

“I spoke with the judge this morning,” Belmond said. “Bail has been set at twenty dollars each for the four men.”

“Twenty dollars?” Calhoun said. “Bail is set for twenty dollars?”

“For each of them.”

“That’s preposterous!” Calhoun said. “It should be at least five hundred dollars apiece.”

Belmond shook his head. “It’s not your place to set bail. Pay the man, Mr. Clinton.”

Clinton counted out four twenty-dollar gold pieces, then put them on the desk in front of the checkerboard. “Whoever is red has a jump here,” he said, pointing to the board.

“Sheriff Belmond, you know damn well that twenty dollars is not an equitable bail for these men,” Calhoun complained.

“Like I said, it’s not for you to decide. Now, let the men out.”

After a long, angry glare at Belmond, then a surrendering sigh, Calhoun walked to the back of the jail cells. A moment later, he returned with the four men. Two of the men had their left eyes blackened, and swollen shut.

“What happened to you two?” Clinton asked.

“Ask that big son of a bitch,” Clyde said, pointing to Falcon. “He laid his pistol upside my head for no reason, and without warnin’. I wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t about the same thing he done to Cletus, if you think about Cletus’s black eyes.”

“Clyde is correct,” Clinton said. “You seen my boy’s eyes, Belmond, you know what they look like. Looks to me like this fella enjoys bullyin’.”

“They were resisting arrest,” Calhoun said.

“Resisting arrest? What does resisting arrest have to do with MacCallister?”

“I made him my deputy,” Calhoun said.

“That’s sort of convenient, isn’t it?” Belmond asked.

“About as convenient as having bail set at twenty dollars, I’d say. Anyway, as I said, they were resisting arrest.”

“We wasn’t doin’ nothin’ of the sort,” one of the other prisoners said.

“You’re the one they call Jesse, aren’t you?” Calhoun asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Well, Jesse, I say you were resisting arrest, and I have got half the town as witnesses who will swear that you were. So, if you want to take this all the way to court, I’m willing to do so.”

“Shut up, Jesse,” Belmond said. “That goes for the rest of you, too. Don’t say another damn word, or I’ll throw you into jail myself.”

“I was just—” Jesse began.

“You was just nothin’,” Belmond said. Then to Calhoun: “They have now been bailed out of the city jail. That ends your responsibility toward them.”

“Then get them out of here,” Calhoun growled. He looked at the four men and at the smug expressions on their faces.

“I reckon you don’t have as much power as you thought you did, huh?” Bart said to the marshal.

Calhoun held up his index finger. “Here’s how much power I have, sonny,” he said. “If ever I see any of you in my town again, I will throw you in jail again.”

“For what?” Bart asked defiantly.

“For breathing without permission,” Calhoun said pointedly.

“What about our guns and such?” Virgil asked. “You plannin’ on givin’ ’em back to us?”

“They’re hangin’ over there,” Calhoun said, pointing to four pistol belts, handing from nails protruding from the wall.

The four cowboys recovered their guns, then looked over at Ike with huge smiles. “Hey, Mr. Clinton, can we stop by the Hog Waller for a bit before we get back home?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Just get on your horses and get back to the ranch, or leave your horses—they’re mine, remember—and go off on your own. But we ain’t stoppin’ by the Hog Waller.”

Falcon had been quiet during the entire episode, but after Clinton, Belmond, and the four men left, Falcon spoke up.

“You’re going to have trouble with those men,” he said.

Calhoun chuckled. “Hell, I’ve already got trouble with them.”

Falcon shook his head. “No, I mean real trouble.”

“You goin’ to talk or play checkers?” Calhoun asked.

The two men returned to their checker game. Calhoun won that one, Falcon won the second one, and they were on the third set to determine a winner for best two out of three.

“Damn, I’m getting so sleepy I’m havin’ a hard time keepin’ my eyes open here,” Calhoun said. He stretched, then stood up. “I’ve got some coffee over there. Would you like a cup?”

“That would be good, thanks,” Falcon said.

Calhoun walked over to take two cups down from their hooks; then he picked up the coffeepot.

“Don’t you be movin’ none of them pieces now, you hear me?” he teased.

“Hell, Titus, you’ve got me in such a pinch now, I wouldn’t even know what pieces to move to help me,” Falcon replied.

“Ha! What are you tryin’ to do, lull me into a trap? You’ve got more pieces on the board than I do. I’m not even sure—unhh!”

Concurrent with Calhoun’s grunt, came the sound of breaking glass. That was followed almost immediately by an entire barrage of shots, smashing through the front window and zinging around the room.

Falcon dived to the floor behind the desk, just as one bullet penetrated the chair where he had been but an instant before.

Even as the bullets were flying through the room, Falcon was on his stomach, working his way across the floor to Calhoun’s prostrate form. But, by the way Calhoun way lying, and by the open eyes and slack jaw, Falcon knew, even before he put his hand on the marshal’s neck to feel for a pulse, that the marshal was dead.

Suddenly, the shooting stopped, and Falcon heard the sound of receding hoofbeats as the assailants galloped away from the marshal’s office. Standing up, Falcon grabbed a Winchester from the gun rack on the wall, then ran out into the street. By now, the two shooters were already more than one hundred yards away, scattering pedestrians as they fled the scene of the assassination.

Both sides of the street were lined with citizens of the town who, when they heard the barrage of gunshots, had poured out of the houses and businesses onto the boardwalks to see what was going on. There were two people crossing the street between Falcon and the fleeing men.

“Get off the street!” Falcon shouted, waving his hand. “Get out of the way!”

Seeing the galloping horses, as well as seeing Falcon standing in front of the marshal’s office with a rifle, the pedestrians were galvanized into movement, and they ran to clear a path between Falcon and the fleeing gunmen.

Falcon didn’t bother to check to see who might be in the street beyond the fleeing men. He didn’t have to. He knew that the bullets would not be going any farther than his intended targets.

Jacking a round into the chamber, Falcon raised the rifle to his shoulder, brought the front sight down on the rider on the left, then squeezed the trigger.

The rifle roared, and kicked back against his shoulder. The rider on the left tumbled from his saddle, and even before the smoke of the discharge had drifted away, Falcon had levered another shell into the chamber and fired a second time, knocking the other rider down. The two horses, now with empty saddles, continued to gallop.

From the Higbee Journal