William Johnstone - Thunder of Eagles

MURDER SO FOUL!

Marshal Titus Calhoun Murdered.

ASSAILANTS KILLED WHILE FLEEING!

On the afternoon of the 15th, instant, Virgil Tate, Bart Gray, Jesse Jimmerson, and Clyde Newbury were arrested by Marshal Titus Calhoun. These four miscreants had busied themselves with the vandalizing and destruction of private property, to wit: this newspaper. Their stated motive for the vandalism was dissatisfaction with an article that had appeared in the Journal two days prior.

After spending but one night in jail, the four were freed from jail when their employer, Ike Clinton, paid bail. Shortly after being released, Jesse Jimmerson and Virgil Tate returned to the marshal’s office and, firing through the window, killed Marshal Calhoun.

Falcon MacCallister, who was visiting with the marshal at the time, armed himself with a Winchester .44-.40 and with exceedingly accurate rifle fire slew both assailants as they attempted to flee.

Funeral for Marshal Calhoun will be held Saturday next.

The body of Marshal Titus Redfern Calhoun lay in a highly polished black coffin, liberally decorated with shining silver accoutrements. The lining of the coffin was white satin and the marshal, wearing his finest suit, lay in the coffin with his hands folded across his body and his head resting upon a red felt pillow. The undertaker had used clay to cover the bullet hole in his temple, and though he had been quite skillful, a close examination could locate the fatal wound.

The marshal lay in state in the front of the sanctuary of the Higbee Church of the Redeemer. The top half of the casket was open as mourners filed by to pay their last respects. At the request of the marshal’s two brothers, Travis and Troy, Rachael played the piano.

The music Rachael chose was from Joseph Haydn’s Mass in G, and as she played, the music filled the church and caressed the collective soul of the congregation. If there was anyone in town who did not know of the talent of the beautiful young pianist who played at the Golden Nugget, they soon realized that they were listening to a concert pianist of great skill.

Not one person in the congregation had ever read the story in the London Times, written by a British music critic, about Rachael Kirby, but if they had read it, they would have agreed with everything he said:

Although some may question whether or not a woman can play music of concert quality, no one could question the renderings of Miss Kirby on this night. Her music was something magical, and one could almost believe that the very composers whose music she recreated were looking down upon her with deep appreciation of her skills.

It rained on the day of the funeral, and the Reverend E. D. Owen stretched out the eulogy and the service in an attempt to wait out the rain. He reviewed every aspect of the marshal’s life, from the time he was a boy back in Ohio, through his military service during the terrible war that had so recently torn asunder the very fabric of civilization as brother fought brother, till his time as a peacekeeper, both in Arizona and there in Colorado. The Reverend Owen told about the marshal’s two brothers, Travis and Troy, who had come to Higbee to join him and to begin a restaurant.

Finally, when it began to grow apparent that the mourners would rather brave the rain than listen to the preacher talk any longer, he brought the service to a close and indicated by a nod of his head that the pallbearers could now close the coffin and carry the body to the waiting hearse.

It was a measure of the respect that the citizens of the town had for Titus Calhoun that all braved the rain, standing under umbrellas as the coffin was lowered into a grave that was quickly filling with muddy water. After the funeral, many of the mourners gathered in the home of Troy Calhoun, where Troy and his wife had prepared cake, pie, and coffee.

At the gathering, Mayor Coburn; Carl Moore, proprietor of the general store; Harold Denham; Prentiss and Corey Hampton; as well as Travis and Troy Calhoun, all approached Falcon.

“We’ve been talking it over,” Mayor Coburn said. “Falcon, we would like for you to become our new marshal.”

Falcon’s first reaction was to refuse the offer so vehemently that it wouldn’t be repeated, but he knew that they were serious about it, and he knew also that the offer was actually one of honor and respect. He did not want to accept the job, but neither did he want to refuse it in a way that would be discourteous.

“I appreciate the offer,” Falcon said. “But the truth is, if I accept the position, I would be bound by law to acting only within the city limits of Higbee. As it is now, working for General Garrison, I have a much wider range of authority.”

“I don’t understand,” Mayor Coburn said. “What authority could you possibly have working for Wade Garrison?”

“I can explain that,” Garrison said, stepping into the conversation.

“Please do.”

“Although not one mile of track has yet been laid, the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas Railroad has been granted a charter. And because we are a chartered railroad, I am authorized to hire a railroad detective. By the state laws of Colorado and Texas, as well as federal and territorial laws which cover New Mexico and cross state lines, Falcon MacCallister is granted police enforcement authority. Gentlemen, by accepting an appointment as city marshal, you are limiting his jurisdiction to an area of about two square miles. But as a railroad detective, he has jurisdiction over fifteen hundred square miles.”

“You mean he has jurisdiction over Sheriff Belmond?” Troy asked.

Garrison shook his head. “No, not over Belmond, but he has concurrent authority with Belmond on anything that pertains to the railroad.”

Mayor Coburn laughed. “Why, that’s wonderful,” he said. “Mr. MacCallister, no disrespect meant, but the offer to be marshal of Higbee is hereby withdrawn.”

“What do we do now?” Moore asked.

“I have a suggestion,” Falcon said. “That is, if you are open to it.”

“Yes, we’re open to anything,” Mayor Coburn replied.

Falcon looked up at Travis and Troy. “Both Travis and Troy have been acting as deputies,” he said. “I would suggest that you hire one of them as the new marshal.”

“Oh, no,” Lucy Calhoun said, stepping up beside her husband. “We have two children. I don’t want to take a chance of what happened to Titus happening to Troy.”

“Darlin’, there’s always been that chance,” Troy replied. “Even when I was deputying for Titus.”

“It’s not the same,” Lucy insisted.

Troy shrugged his shoulders and looked at the mayor. “Sorry,” he said. “But I guess that lets me out.”

“I’ll do it,” Travis offered. He looked at Troy. “But that will put more work at the restaurant onto you.”

“I’ll help at the restaurant,” Lucy said.

“I think you’d make a fine marshal, Travis,” Troy said.

“Gentlemen, we have a new marshal,” Mayor Coburn announced.

Chapter Nineteen

Rose Simpson’s breasts were large and sagging. The sagging wasn’t so bad, but what disturbed the symmetry was the fact that her left breast had only half a nipple, the other half having been carved off by a drunken sailor when Rose lived and worked in San Francisco.

Sitting up, she reached for a bottle of whiskey and poured a generous amount into a glass. She handed the glass to Ray Clinton, who was lying in bed alongside her. Like Rose, Ray was naked, but from the waist down Ray was covered with a sheet.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Rose said as she poured a second glass for herself.

“You ain’t as pretty as any of them whores Maggie has, but you’re a heap more friendly.”