Destiny of Eagles (12 page)

“Maybe he ain't as rich as all them other ranch owners,” the fourth man at the table suggested.

“The hell he ain't,” Zeb said. “He's rich all right. And they say that he carries more money on him than most folks will ever see in a lifetime.”

“Why would he do that? Carry so much money, I mean?” the bearded man asked.

“Ahh, he likes to be the big man,” Muley put in with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He comes into town, pays cash for all his supplies, then he goes over to the saloon and starts buyin' drinks for ever'one. He's got ever'one eatin' sugar cubes from his hand. If you want to know the truth, I think that's why the son of a bitch pisses me off.”

The bearded man laughed. “Why is that, Muley? Did you miss out on your turn at the sugar tit?”

The others laughed as well.

“You can laugh if you want. I just don't care for the son of a bitch,” Muley said.

“Me neither,” Zeb said.

The men at the table turned to another subject then, but Aaron was no longer interested in following their conversation. He was beginning to develop a plan.

Percy and Dalton came back to the table then, their faces flushed, each of them wearing a smile.

“You should'a been with us, Aaron,” Percy said. “It was good. It was real good.”

“Come on,” Aaron said, standing. “We've got to go.”

“Go? What do you mean we've got to go?” Dalton said. “Me'n Percy ain't even et yet.”

“You had your chance. You chose to go with the washerwoman. Now, we've got things to do. Let's go.”

“Just what is it we've got to do that's so damn important we can't even eat?” Percy asked.

“I just figured out an easy way for us to get a lot of money,” Aaron said, starting toward the door.

“Yeah, well, I hope it works out better'n it did the last time,” Dalton said. He grabbed a biscuit, opened it up, and put the bacon inside. By the time he had made his sandwich, Aaron was outside.

Percy had no choice but to follow suit and, biscuits in hand, he and Dalton hurried after their leader.

 

Misses Anna Heckemeyer, Gail Thorndike, and Emma Lou Patterson were sitting on a bench in Grand Central Station. As the trains rumbled in and out of the great shed, they could feel the building shake.

“Oh, my train is here!” Anna said when she saw the flag go up by the announcement board. Standing, she reached for her small train case.

“It is another hour before my train leaves,” Emma Lou said.

“Do you have everything, Anna?” Gail asked. Because Gail lived in New York, she wasn't going anywhere, but she had come to the station to see her two friends off, Anna to the Dakota Territory and Emma Lou to Richmond.

“Yes, my luggage has already been checked through,” she said.

As the three girls looked at each other, their eyes welled with tears.

“I don't know how I would have gotten through the last four years without you two,” Anna said. “You have been such wonderful friends.”

“You are my best friends,” Gail said.

“Oh, and to think that we will never see each other again,” Emma Lou said.

“Don't say that,” Anna said. “We will write letters, and we will visit again. I'm sure of it.”

“Yes, I am too,” Gail said.

The three girls embraced warmly; then Anna started toward the door under the sign that said
TO TRACKS
.

“Bye, Anna!” Gail called.

“Bye, Anna!” Emma Lou echoed.

As she reached the door, Anna turned for one last look at her two friends. She smiled through her tears, waved, then turned and quickly stepped through the door and out into the train shed.

Here, the noise of the trains was much louder than had been the subdued rumble one could hear inside the station itself. Here also was the smell of coal smoke and steam. She hurried down the platform, against which three dozen trains were backed. As she passed each train, she looked down the walkway between them where she saw passengers getting on and off. Each train, she knew, was an adventure within itself, and she wondered about all the people and what stories they might have to tell.

Finally she reached Track 29. The sign read
EMPIRE STATE LIMITED—CHICAGO—DEPARTS AT 4:30
P.M.

Several porters were standing out on the walk alongside the train. One of them approached Anna.

“May I help you, ma'am?” he asked, reaching for the train case.

“Yes, thank you. I believe this is my train,” she said, showing her ticket.

“Yes, ma'am,” the porter answered. “And I see you got a parlor car. You goin' have youself a fine trip, miss,” he said.

The porter led Anna up the stairs and into the train, where he showed her to a comfortable, overstuffed chair. “Soon's we're out of the station, I'll come take your reservation for the dining car,” he promised.

“Thank you.”

* * *

It was early morning when the Empire State Limited from New York backed into Chicago's Union Station, and even the squealing of the train as it came to a stop didn't awaken Anna Heckemeyer.

“Miss Heckemeyer? Miss Heckemeyer, ma'am, the train has arrived at the station,” a voice called. The call was accompanied by a knock on the compartment door.

Anna opened one eye as the knock sounded again, harder this time, and the persistent voice, which the young woman now recognized as the porter's voice, repeated, “Miss Heckemeyer?”

Awakening slowly, Anna raised herself up on her elbow and pulled the shade aside to look through the window. Another train was just a few feet away, separated from hers by a narrow, brick-paved walkway that was crowded with detraining passengers. The passengers were walking swiftly toward the main station through wisps of steam that drifted out to tease them.

“Miss Heckemeyer?” the porter called again, rapping on the door so loudly that Anna was certain he could be heard all up and down the car.

“Yes, yes,” Anna said. “I'm awake.”

“You have only thirty minutes to change trains, Miss Heckemeyer,” the porter said. “If you'd like, I'll get a station porter to take your luggage for you now.”

“Wait,” Anna said. “Give me about ten minutes to get dressed.”

“Yes, ma'am. But you'd best not tarry none,” the porter said. “The train you be wantin' will leave at eight o'clock sharp.”

“I'll be ready,” Anna promised.

Getting up from her bunk, Anna walked over to the little lavatory and ran water into the basin. As she washed her face and brushed her teeth, her image stared back at her from the mirror.

“Arrogantly beautiful” was the way Gail had once described her, and when Anna asked what arrogantly beautiful meant, Gail told her that she was “beautiful as if it is your right to be beautiful, and as if you can't understand why everyone else isn't as beautiful.”

Anna had just completed four years of schooling at the New York Conservatory for Young Women. During the previous summer vacation, she had gone to Europe on a “Continental Tour” as part of her overall education. She was headed back home now for the first time in over two years, and she was anxious to see her father again.

Anna's mother had died when she was five years old, so long ago that Anna's memories of her were manifested in bits and pieces . . . the smell of cinnamon and flour . . . the feel of her skin when she embraced Anna, and the look of the sun in her hair.

Anna's father, Judge Andrew Heckemeyer, had not remarried, so he had taken on the responsibility of being both mother and father to his daughter. For that reason, Anna had missed him even more than might be normally expected, so she was very anxious to get back home.

By hurrying, Anna was dressed within ten minutes after the first call. She opened the door to her compartment and looked out into the aisle. She saw the porter standing out on the vestibule, looking out over the station.

“Porter?” she said.

“Yes, ma'am?”

“I'm ready now. Would you see to my luggage, please?”

With a nod of assent, the porter looked back out over the crowded depot platform.

“You!” the porter shouted authoritatively, pointing to one of the many station porters scurrying about on the platform. “Come quickly. Miss Heckemeyer needs you.”

“Yes, sir, I be right there,” the man responded, recognizing the elevated position of the train porter.

Twenty minutes later, Anna was on the Northwest Flyer, leaving Chicago for points west. She would not have to change trains again until she got off in Medora, Dakota Territory.

Settled into her new compartment, Anna took out the last letter she had received from her father, and began to read.

Anna had inquired among her friends to see if any of them were familiar with Theodore Roosevelt. She was surprised by just how many people did know of him, and even more surprised to hear that no one had anything bad to say about him.

That, more than anything else, intrigued her. What sort of man could be so well known, yet not have developed enemies, if not from some event, then from jealousy? And yet this man, Theodore Roosevelt, seemed to be just such a man.

She found herself looking forward to meeting him.

* * *

Falcon MacCallister was in Medora because he had lost the trail of the three men he was following, due to the torrential downpour that had washed away their tracks. He wasn't too concerned, though. There weren't that many places a person could go out here, so all he had to do was bide his time until they crossed paths again. And he knew, without the slightest doubt, that they would cross paths again.

Falcon was both the hunter and the hunted, though at the moment, he had no idea anyone was looking for him. It would not have shocked him to learn that Thad Howard's two brothers were after him, though. He had dealt with men bent upon revenge before, and there was no doubt in his mind that he would have to deal with such people again.

Actually, it was just as unlikely that he was the hunter now too. He had no official capacity as far as law enforcement was concerned. And despite the fact that he'd accepted reward money for bringing in Thad Howard, Falcon was not a bounty hunter.

It wasn't reward money that had put him on these men's trail. He was trailing them to avenge the senseless slaughter of Luke and Mary Douglass. He knew in a real sense, though, that these three men were merely surrogates for the outlaws who had killed his wife.

Marie Gentle Breeze was killed by renegade Cheyennes. She was already dead by the time he learned of it, and he didn't even have the satisfaction of settling scores himself. The ones who did it were dealt with by others.

Falcon learned a lot about loss and grief from that experience. He learned that grief never really goes away. Time can dull the ache, but it doesn't heal it. He left home after that, drifting from place to place as if in that way he could run away from the ghosts that trailed him.

Falcon developed a mixed reputation during those years of wandering. Because he was a man who gave no quarter when put in a life-and-death situation, there were some who thought he was a cold-blooded killer. Others claimed he was an outlaw, though those who knew him also knew that the dodgers once circulated had been withdrawn. Falcon paid no attention to what others thought of him. They could think whatever they damn well chose to think.

Some of the stories were true. He was called a gunfighter, a gambler, and a bad man to crowd. He was all of these things. He was also called a skilled tracker, a solitary hunter, and a formidable foe, and he was these things as well.

But the stories of him being a desperado, like the stories that he was a highwayman and a mercenary assassin, were not true. If he sometimes rode the owlhoot trail, it was not by choice.

There were many men who wanted to find Falcon MacCallister, some for the reward that had been offered for his capture, not realizing that the reward, like the wanted posters, had been withdrawn. Some sought revenge, meaning to pay Falcon back for an alleged wrong, generally because Falcon had killed some close relative of theirs in a gunfight. Their lust for revenge made no allowances for the fact that every man Falcon had killed had been in face-to-face combat with him.

There were also those who sought him so that they might test themselves against him, especially as time passed and his reputation grew. And as Aaron Childers had observed, the unlucky ones found him.

After a few days' rest in Medora, enjoying a real bed to sleep in, and meals he didn't have to cook for himself, Falcon went out again in search of the men who had killed the Douglasses. The recent rains had washed away any of the original tracks, but when he ran across a fresh set, he got down from Diablo for a closer examination.

He smiled, because this was what he had been looking for.

When Falcon followed them from the Douglass Ranch, he had been trailing five horses, three carrying riders, two with empty saddles. What he saw now was the track of three horses, all of which were carrying riders. He didn't know what happened to the other two horses, but he was certain that at least two of these horses were the ones he had originally been tracking.

One of the horses had a nicked shoe on the right hind foot. One of the other horses led with his left forefoot. These tracks fit that pattern. In addition, a nearby horse dropping was still fresh.

He was close. He was very close. Stroking his chin, Falcon mounted Diablo and looked ahead. The trail led into a low-lying range of mountains. That was good, because the mountains established a limit as to the number of directions they could go. They could only go where the mountains would let them go.

* * *

Falcon was even closer than he thought, for less that three miles ahead, Childers, Yerby, and Shaw were discussing their upcoming operation.

“What makes you think this here Roosevelt fella will be carryin' a lot of money on him?” Shaw asked.

“ 'Cause he's rich. Not just flush, I mean really rich. And he'll be ridin' into town today to pay for supplies for his ranch,” Childers replied. “Whenever he goes to town, he also goes into the saloon, where he puts on the big dog by buyin' drinks for ever'one. They say he carries a roll of money around that's big enough to choke a horse.”

“How do you know all this?” Yerby asked.

“While you boys was beddin' that ugly girl back at the tradin' post, I was listenin' in on the talk at the other table. Why . . . robbin' him will be as easy as takin' money from a baby.”

“Yeah, well, that bank was supposed to be easy too, and look what happened. We didn't get no money, and we wound up gettin' my brother killed.”

“He didn't get killed robbin' the bank. That didn't happen until later. Besides, my brother was killed too, if you remember,” Childers said.

“Yeah, but you didn't like your brothers.”

“That ain't true. I liked Frank all right. Him an' me had the same ma. It was Corey I didn't like.”