Destiny of Eagles (17 page)

“Did you correct him? What, exactly, did you say?”

“I said, ‘Your room is twenty-three, Mr. Howard. This is room twenty-five.'”

“And what did Mr. Howard reply?”

“He said, ‘Ain't that a hell of a note now?' he said. ‘I get myself kilt just for making a mistake on my room.'”

“Thank you, no further questions.”

Roosevelt stood up then, but he didn't approach the witness. Instead, he stood behind the defendant's table.

“Mr. Fillmore, have you rented room twenty-five since the incident?”

“Yes,” Fillmore said. “Nobody told me I couldn't do it.”

“Did you have to do anything to the room?”

“Do anything to it?”

“Yes. Clean up the blood or anything?”

“Oh, yes. I did that.”

“Did you do anything else?”

“Oh, I just sewed up a couple of holes in the mattress, is all.”

“What kind of holes?”

“Bullet holes. The sheriff took two bullets out of the mattress. They were .44-caliber bullets.” He looked over at MacCallister. “Same caliber as the gun MacCallister was carryin'.”

“Your Honor, please instruct Mr. Fillmore not to answer questions that I haven't asked. And I request that his remark be struck from the record,” Roosevelt said.

“Court recorder will strike the last comment. Jury, you will disregard. Mr. Fillmore, answer only the questions that are asked,” Judge Heckemeyer said.

“All right, Judge. Sorry,” Fillmore replied.

“Thank you, Your Honor. No further questions at this time, but I reserve the right to recall this witness.”

“Witness may step down.”

Woodward's next witness was Deputy Sheriff Jerry Kelly. Jerry Kelly was the deputy on duty on the night in question, and he was making the rounds when he heard gunshots coming from the hotel.

He further stated that when he reached the scene, he saw Fillmore and two of the hotel residents standing in the hall, looking into a lighted room. In response to the question, he identified the room as room 25. He also stated that he relieved MacCallister of his weapon and placed him under arrest.

“Were you present when the undertaker dug the bullet from Mr. Howard's body?” Woodward asked.

“I was.”

“What caliber was the bullet?”

“It was a .44 caliber.”

Woodward picked up the gun from the table. “Is this the gun you took from the defendant?”

“It is.”

“What caliber is this gun?”

“It is a .44 caliber.”

“Thank you. No further questions.”

Roosevelt stood up. “Deputy Kelly, did you find another gun in the room?”

“I did.”

“Where did you find it?”

“It was on the floor by Howard.”

“In other words, it was Howard's gun?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Calls for conclusion,” Woodward said.

“Objection sustained.”

“Deputy Kelly, what was the caliber of the second pistol that you found?”

“It was a .44.”

“I see. And was Mr. Howard wearing a gun belt and holster?” Roosevelt asked.

“He was.”

“Was there a pistol in his holster?”

“No.”

“Were there any cartridges in the bullet loops on the belt?”

“Yes.”

“I see. And what caliber were these bullets?” Roosevelt asked.

“They were .44-caliber bullets.”

“All right, now, just so that we have this straight, his holster was empty, but you found a .44-caliber pistol on the floor next to him. And the cartridges in the bullet loops were .44-caliber?”

“Yes.”

“You stated that you relieved Mr. Roosevelt of his pistol. How did you do that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How did you get the gun away from Falcon MacCallister?”

“I, uh, asked him for it.”

“Suppose he had resisted.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Given the ferocious reputation that prosecution has painted for him, if he had resisted, do you think you could have disarmed him?”

Kelly squirmed in his seat and stroked his chin for a moment. Then, with a resigned sigh, he said. “No, sir, I don't think I could have.”

“Thank you. No further questions.”

Woodward called two other witnesses, both of whom were guests of the hotel. Their story was substantially the same . . . they heard gunshots, ran to the room, and heard Howard's dying testimony that he had wandered into the wrong room by mistake.

After questioning his last witness, Woodward turned to the jury.

“Gentlemen of the jury, as you have heard with your own ears, all four witnesses were present in time to hear Mr. Howard's last words. And those last words were a statement of surprise that he had been shot merely because he wandered into the wrong room by mistake.”

“Your Honor, is prosecution giving his summation now, before I've even had the opportunity to present my case?” Roosevelt asked.

“That is a very good question, Mr. Roosevelt. Counselor, are you giving your summation?”

“No, Your Honor, I am not,” Woodward replied.

“Then please call your next witness.”

“I have no further witnesses, Your Honor. Prosecution rests.”

“Very well, then court stands adjourned until tomorrow morning, at which time we will hear from the attorney for the defense,” Judge Heckemeyer said. He brought his gavel down sharply.

As Roosevelt started putting papers away in his briefcase, Anna walked over to the defense table. She smiled at the would-be attorney.

“Teddy, you are doing wonderfully,” she said.

“I thank you for your vote of confidence, but it's a little too early to make a valid judgment on my performance,” Roosevelt replied. “All I have done today is parry the thrusts of the prosecution. Tomorrow will tell the tale.”

“I'm sure you will do very well,” Anna said.

The sheriff and his deputy came for Falcon then.

“Oh, gentlemen, before you take him away, please allow me to introduce him to my friend,” Roosevelt said. “Mr. MacCallister, this is Anna Heckemeyer.”

“We have met,” Falcon said.

“Indeed we have. Allow me to thank you again, Mr. MacCallister, for your graciousness in sharing your theater box.”

“It was my pleasure,” Falcon said. He chuckled. “Under the circumstances, I wish it had been your father, rather than you. I'm afraid he doesn't like me very much.”

Anna chuckled. “I think you have pegged him correctly, sir,” she said. “On the other hand, I know my father to be an honest man. I can promise you that you will get fair treatment in his court.”

“Come along, MacCallister,” the sheriff said gruffly.

“Good luck to you, Mr. MacCallister,” Anna called as he was led away.

“Thanks,” Falcon called back over his shoulder. “I have a feeling I am going to need it.”

When word reached Aaron Childers that Falcon MacCallister was in jail and being tried for murder, he talked the others into going to Medora to see for themselves.

“You want to tell me why we're comin' into Medora when the fella who's been chasin' us all this time is in this town?” Yerby asked. “Seems to me like the smart thing to do would be to stay away from him.”

“Don't know why you're so worried, Dalton,” Childers said. “Ole MacCallister sure as hell ain't in no condition to do us any harm now. I mean, bein' as he is in jail and is being tried for his life.”

“Yeah,” Percy Shaw added. He chuckled. “Besides which, when it comes time for 'em to string ole MacCallister up by his neck, I want to be there watchin' and laughin'.”

The three men looked around warily as they rode into Medora. None of them had ever committed a crime in this town, but all three of them were wanted and it could be that someone might recognize them.

They rode right up Third Avenue until they reached the saloon. The saloon was one of the larger buildings in town, false-fronted like most of the others and with its name, Golden Spur, painted in black letters outlined in gold. Between the word “Golden” and the word “Spur” was a pair of golden spurs.

Tying their horses at the hitching rail, they went inside, then stepped over to the bar. The saloon was fairly busy, with nearly all of the tables filled. In addition, there were several men standing at the bar. The bartender, who was laughing at something someone just said, tossed a towel over his shoulder, then moved down the bar to greet Childers and the others.

“Welcome, gents,” he said. “What can I get for you?”

“Beer,” Childers ordered. The others said the same.

“We just got some new barrels of beer from St. Louis. It's a really good beer.”

“Is it your cheapest?” Childers asked.

The bartender chuckled and shook his head. “No, sir, it isn't the cheapest. But wait until you taste it.”

“I ain't a-goin' to taste it if it ain't the cheapest,” Childers said. “Give us the cheapest beer you got.”

“Yes, sir, whatever you say,” the bartender replied.

The bartender drew three beers and set them in front of the three men, then picked up the three nickels.

“Hey, is it true what they're sayin' about Falcon MacCallister?” Childers asked as he blew the foam off and took a drink. “Is he really bein' tried for murder?”

The bartender shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not murder. He's being tried for manslaughter.”

“Manslaughter? What's that?”

“The illegal killing of a human being.”

“Well, hell, ain't that and murder the same thing?”

“No. It isn't the same thing at all.”

“What's the difference?” Childers asked.

“For one thing, even if he's found guilty, he won't hang. The most that can happen to him is he'll wind up in territorial prison.”

“Yeah, but he ain't a-goin' to be found guilty,” one of the other men at the bar said.

“Who are you?” Childers asked.

“The name is Josh Andrews,” the cowboy said. Smiling, he extended his hand. “What's your name?”

Instead of taking the cowboy's hand, Childers raised his glass to his lips. He didn't answer the inquiry about his name, but asked another of his own.

“Why do you say MacCallister won't be convicted?”

“Because Mr. Roosevelt's defending him.”

“Hey, Aaron,” Percy started. “That's . . .” Before Percy could complete his sentence, Aaron shushed him.

“You know this here Roosevelt fella, do you?”

“Know him?” Josh smiled broadly. “Why, I'm proud to say that I work for him. I ride for the Elkhorn Ranch.”

“So he's your boss?”

“He is. And there's no finer boss in the land,” Aaron said.

“Is he good at lawyerin'?”

“Ha,” Josh replied. “Funny thing is, he ain't even a real lawyer, but he's better at it than just about any lawyer I ever seen. But the plain fact is that Mr. Roosevelt is good at just about anything he does.”

“I'll say,” one of the other patrons said. “He's sort of a dandif ied-lookin' fella, but that don't mean he can't fight.”

That started a general discussion of the incident between Roosevelt and the onetime riders for Two Rivers Ranch, Zeb and Muley.

“Course, ole Zeb and Muley's both dead now,” one of the others said.

“Dead? What happened to 'em?”

“MacCallister killed them.”

“MacCallister?”

“Yeah. Funny, ain't it?”

“What's funny about it?”

“Well, here MacCallister's bein' tried for killin' a man that there didn't nobody in town even know. But he ain't bein' tried for killin' Zeb and Muley, and ever'one in town know'd them.”

“Yeah,” someone else said with a little laugh. “And it's because ever'one did know them two that MacCallister ain't bein' tried for killin' them. Hell, when you get right down to it, there ain't nobody who didn't think but that them two men needed killin'.”

The others laughed.

“Look here, are you sayin' you think MacCallister is goin' to get off?” Aaron asked.

“With Mr. Roosevelt defendin', you damn right he's going to get off,” Josh said.

“Yeah, but you know, don't you, that bein' good at lawyerin' ain't the only reason Roosevelt is goin' to get MacCallister off?” one of the other saloon patrons said.

“What do you mean?” Josh asked.

“Hell, ever'body knows that Roosevelt's been squirin' Miss Anna Heckemeyer around. Not only that, I hear tell he's done got her won over to his side. And if she wants her pa to find MacCallister not guilty, like as not that's the way it'll come out.”

“Are you sayin' the trial don't mean nothing, that even if the jury finds MacCallister guilty, the judge would let him go?” Aaron asked.

“If Miss Anna asks him to, he will.”

“I don't believe that,” one of the others said. “I've known Judge Heckemeyer for a long time, and I've never known a more honest man.”

“I believe it,” another put in. “I agree with you that the judge is an honest man, but there don't nobody set more store with the judge than his daughter. He'd do anything in the world for that girl.”

“Well, that's 'cause her mama died when she was just a young'n, and the judge had to raise her up all by hisself,” the bartender said.

“That may be so, but don't none of that matter none,” Josh said. “I know Mr. Roosevelt, and I know he's not the kind of man that would use the judge's daughter like that.”

“I would,” one of the other patrons said.

“What do you mean, you would?”

“Well, think about it. All you got to do to win the bull is bait the calf. Like you said, the judge would do anything his daughter asked him to do. If I was Roosevelt, I'd play that card like it was the ace of spades.”

“Hey, court's about to start again,” someone said, sticking his head across the batwing doors.

“What good does it do to tell us about it?” Josh replied. “Court's so crowded that nobody else can get in.”

“Yeah, but they's some folks standin' just outside the open windows, listenin' it. They're lettin' ever'one else know what's goin' on.”

“Hey, Aaron, we goin' to go over there and try to get in?” Percy asked.

Childers shook his head and slapped a nickel down on the bar, signaling for a second beer.

“If we hang around here, I reckon we'll be able to find out what's goin' on,” he said.