Destiny of Eagles (24 page)

“You got me that time, Mr. Childers,” he said under his breath. “But you won't get me again.”

Fortunately, their trail was still easy to read, so Falcon began following their tracks, moving more swiftly than he did the day before because there was less chance of overrunning them and giving himself away.

Everything was going well until around noon. At noon a thunderstorm came up and as the rain poured down, it began washing away the tracks right in front of him.

Falcon was about to throw up his hands in disgust when, about half a mile in front of him, he saw two men leading their horses into the opening of an old, abandoned mine.

“Well, now,” Falcon said aloud. “We meet again.”

Falcon wasn't quite as lucky in finding shelter as the Childers brothers were. He did find a rock overhang that shielded him from some but not all of the rain. He got Diablo under as much of the shelter as was possible; then he pulled his slicker around him and sat as far back under the rock as he could.

The rain finally eased up around three that afternoon, and Falcon watched as Frank and Aaron Childers reemerged, still leading their horses. After leading them for a few yards, they mounted them, then rode on.

When Falcon reached the mouth of the abandoned mine, he saw that the rain that had washed away the old trail actually made the new trail much easier to follow. That was because there was only one set of tracks now, all previous tracks having been erased.

“Where's Dalton?” Aaron asked when he and Frank reached the cabin.

“He's lyin' out back,” Percy answered easily.

“Lyin' out back? What do you mean he's lyin' out back? Lyin' out back doin' what?”

“Lyin' out back bein' dead,” Percy said.

“Dead? You son of a bitch, what did you kill him for?” Aaron asked angrily. “He was my cousin, damn you!” Aaron reached for his gun.

“Hold on there, hold on!” Percy said, sticking his hands out in front of him as if pushing Aaron away. “I didn't kill him.”

“Well, if you didn't kill him, who did?”

“She did,” Percy said, nodding toward Anna, who, once again, was chained to the bed.

“Wait a minute, don't give me that. Are you tellin' me that little ole slip of a girl killed Dalton?”

“That's what I'm tellin' you,” Percy said.

“How could she do that if you got her tied to the bed? What did you idiots do, leave a gun close enough for her to get ahold of it?” Aaron asked.

Percy shook his head. “Wasn't no gun involved.”

“Then how did she do it?”

“She stabbed him with his own knife.”

Aaron walked over to the bunk and looked down at Anna. “Is he tellin' the truth. Did you kill Dalton?”

When Anna didn't answer him, Aaron slapped her hard. She cried out in pain and, almost instantly, her cheek grew red from the force of the blow.

“This ain't your papa's court, woman,” Aaron said. “You ain't got the right to remain silent. Answer me when I talk to you. Did you kill Dalton?”

“Yes. He tried to rape me.”

Aaron looked over at Percy. “Is that true?”

“I . . . uh . . . don't know,” Percy said. “I was outside. Next thing I knew, I seen her trying to escape. When I brought her back in here, I seen Dalton lyin' on the floor, dead.”

“Hey! This shack is on fire!” Frank suddenly shouted, and even as he was giving the warning, the room started filling with smoke.

“What the hell? How did that happen?” Aaron said. “Come on, let's get out of here.”

“What about the girl?” Frank asked.

Aaron looked at her restraint. “Where's the key?” he asked.

“The key? I . . . I'm not sure. It may be in Dalton's pocket.”

The smoke got worse.

“Well, I ain't goin' out there to look for it,” Aaron said. “We've got to get out of here; this smoke will kill us.”

“Wait! You can't leave me here!” Anna said, but even before she finished her cry the three men were out the front door.

Anna coughed, then got down on the bed, burying her nose in the blanket in hopes of filtering out some of the smoke. Then she felt someone's hand on her arm and when she looked up, she saw that whoever it was had the key in his hand. He opened the lock.

“They were right, the key was on Dalton. Come on,” he said. “We're going through the back window.”

It wasn't until then that Anna recognized her rescuer.

“Mr. MacCallister!” she said.

Falcon helped her up and led her to the back of the cabin; then he lifted her up onto the cabinet beneath the already open window.

Falcon shoved her through the window, then climbed through the window behind her. Grabbing her by the hand, he led her away from the burning building, through a thicket of trees, and onto a little dirt road. Here, a single large black horse stood quietly.

“This is Diablo. He'll get you out of here. About two miles down this road, you'll reach the railroad,” Falcon said. “Turn left and follow the railroad for about ten miles. That will take you back to Medora.”

“Wait a minute. Aren't you coming with me?” Anna asked. “We can ride double.”

Falcon shook his head. “I've got some business to take care of first,” he said.

“But how are you going to get to town without a horse?”

“I'll borrow one,” Falcon said simply.

“Mr. MacCallister, I . . . I can't thank you enough for rescuing me,” she said. “You are, truly, a hero.”

Falcon didn't answer. Instead, he helped her mount Diablo. Then he snaked his rifle from the saddle sheath and patted Diablo on the rump.

“Take care of her, boy,” he said.

Diablo started off at a trot. Then, rifle in hand, Falcon started back through the clump of woods toward the cabin. The cabin was fully engulfed in flames now, throwing out a large radius of heat and sending smoke billowing into the sky.

Falcon saw three men standing near the lean-to. They had already saddled their horses and were getting ready to ride away. He started toward them.

“It's MacCallister!” Frank said, pointing toward Falcon.

“Shoot 'im! Shoot the bastard!” Aaron said, but even as he was issuing the order, he was mounting his horse. Grabbing the reins of the other two horses, Aaron galloped away.

“Hey!” Percy shouted. “Where at you goin' with them horses?” Percy started running after Aaron. Then Falcon saw a strange thing. Aaron turned and shot Percy.

“Aaron, what are you doing?” Frank called, shocked by what he had just seen. “You're takin' the horses!”

“Sorry, Frank, it's ever' man for himself!” Aaron shouted.

“You son of a bitch!” Frank fired his pistol at his own brother.

“Drop your gun, Frank, and throw up your hands,” Falcon shouted.

“The hell I will!” Frank said, aiming his gun at Falcon. “I ain't lettin' you take me back to prison again.” He fired, and the bullet actually nicked Falcon's ear. Falcon could feel the sting of it, as well as see a little spray of blood in the periphery of his vision.

“Drop it, Frank, now!” Falcon shouted.

Frank fired a second shot, and though this one didn't nick him, it was close enough for Falcon to feel the concussion of its passing.

Falcon returned fire, shooting once, hitting Frank in the middle of his chest. Frank went down.

By now Aaron had opened up a considerable distance between him and Falcon. Falcon aimed his pistol at him, but realizing that he was out of range, put the pistol back in his holster, then checked on both Frank and Percy. Frank was dead and Percy was dying.

“Why did he do that?” Percy asked in a voice that was wracked with pain. “Why'd he run off on us like that?”

“Because he's a coward, and that's what cowards do,” Falcon answered.

“You know what? I hope you get the son of a . . .” That was as far Percy got before he died.

* * *

When Aaron reached the top of the ridge, he turned and looked back down toward the burning cabin. He saw both Frank and Percy lying on the ground, and MacCallister standing just over Percy. The cabin was nothing but a burning pile of collapsed timber.

“Sorry 'bout takin' the horses, Frank,” he said quietly. “But I figured this way you'n Percy would have to deal with him and that would get me a head start.” He turned the other two horses loose, then turned his own horse and galloped away.

* * *

After nearly an hour of trailing on foot, Falcon was pleasantly surprised to see a golden palomino standing quietly in a meadow, eating grass. As he came closer, he saw that it was a mare. Was this Douglass's horse?

“Rhoda?” he called.

Upon hearing her name, Rhoda trotted easily over to him.

Falcon began patting the horse on the neck and, looking toward her rump, saw the letter D over an arc. The Rocking D, Douglass's brand.

“It is you, isn't it, Rhoda?”

Rhoda pushed her head against his hand, welcoming the attention.

Falcon pulled the rifle out of the saddle sheath and tossed it aside, replacing it with his own. He mounted the horse.

“Come on, old girl,” he said. “Let's go find that evil bastard.”

Now that he was mounted, it was much easier to follow Aaron's trail. He hadn't gone too far, though, before he noticed that the horse Aaron was riding had broken stride, badly. Reading the sign told the story. In his desperate attempt to flee, Aaron had ridden his horse into the ground. The hour lead that Aaron had on Falcon meant nothing now.

Falcon found Aaron's horse about half an hour later. The animal was still alive, though only barely. His nostrils were flecked with blood, evidence that Aaron had ridden the horse until its lungs burst.

“I'm sorry, friend,” Falcon said to the horse. He patted the animal gently on the neck, and looked into its sorrowful brown eyes. The horse seemed to understand what Falcon was about to do. Falcon put his pistol to the horse's head and pulled the trigger. Mercifully, the horse died instantly.

Falcon poured some water into a hat and held it up for Rhoda, then began walking, following Aaron's trail. The sign continued to tell the story, as clearly as if Falcon were reading it from a book.

Aaron had run as far as he could; then he'd started walking, then he'd started throwing things away. Falcon found the pistol belt, though the holster was empty, which meant Aaron did keep his pistol. Next he found the spurs, then Aaron's shirt, and finally an empty canteen.

Within another mile, Falcon found indications that Aaron was beginning to have a very difficult time. There were signs that he would fall, crawl a few feet, then get up and lunge ahead a few feet more before falling again.

Falcon heard a train whistle, and realized with a start that he was closer to the railroad than he thought. He knew then where Aaron was going and what his intention was. Aaron planned to hop a freight, and if he did, he would get away.

Falcon remounted and urged Rhoda into a trot. The train whistle sounded much closer now, and Falcon brought Rhoda to a lope. Ahead of him was a long, rather steeply rising slope. The slope was high enough in front of him that it obscured his view of the other side so, though he could hear the train, he still couldn't see it. It also made it more difficult for Rhoda, and the game mare started gasping for breath.

“Don't give up on me now, girl,” Falcon said, and amazingly, at his call, Rhoda moved from a lope to a gallop. The train whistled again, this time right in front of him.

Finally, Falcon reached the top of the long slope, and was surprised and disappointed to see that it did not slope down on the other side as he had thought. Instead, it was a steep descent, much too steep to ride down.

Dismounting, Falcon patted Rhoda on the neck. “You've done all I asked of you,” he said. “I'll take it from here.”

Falcon looked down toward the track. The train he had been hearing was, at that very minute, passing by in front of him. What he saw was a freight train, consisting of an engine and about a dozen boxcars. There was no caboose.

Falcon pulled his rifle out of the sheath and looked back down toward the track.

That was when he saw Aaron, seeing him for the first time since he had last glimpsed him at the cabin. The outlaw, though near collapse, had somehow called upon a hidden reserve of strength. He was running now, and he managed to catch the last car. He hung on the ladder for a moment or two, then climbed to the top.

Falcon sat down on the crest of the hill and, almost leisurely, jacked a round into the chamber of his rifle. He raised the rear sight and slid the gate up to a range marking of five hundred yards. Crossing his legs and resting his left elbow just inside his left knee, he raised the rifle to his shoulder, then sighted down the long, octagonal barrel.

The distance opened to about five hundred yards. He was shooting down, and his target was at an angle and moving at better than twenty miles per hour. It was also a little over a quarter a mile away. To ninety-nine men out of a hundred, it was such an impossible shot that they wouldn't even try.

Falcon took in a deep breath, let half of the air out, then held it. Aaron was standing on top of the retreating boxcar, and he began dancing a taunting little jig. From this distance, Aaron was not much bigger than the front sight itself.

Slowly . . . ever so slowly . . . Falcon began squeezing the trigger.

* * *

Aaron had seen Falcon take his rifle from the saddle sheath and sit down on top of the hill. The train was picking up speed now, moving faster than a good horse could gallop. The car was rattling and shaking, and Aaron was having a difficult time standing. He realized that he should get down, not only to help maintain his balance on top of the rapidly moving train, but also to make himself a smaller target. But he felt compelled to make some gesture of defiance, find some way to extract victory from the ordeal MacCallister had put him through. Instead of sitting down, he remained standing and hurled a challenge knowing it wouldn't be heard.

“Look at you now, you son of a bitch!” he shouted. “You killed one of my brothers, and caused the other one to get killed. But now I'm gettin' away and you're left suckin' hind tit! Go ahead and shoot at me if you want to. I'm out of range, you dumb shit!”

Aaron saw a little flash of flame from the end of Falcon's rifle, and he saw the recoil rock Falcon back. He started to laugh at the futile attempt, then, suddenly, and unexpectedly, felt a blow in the center of his chest. He had only a moment to be surprised before he fell from the train, dead, even before his body bounced along the rocky ballast alongside the track.

* * *

Falcon MacCallister was not one for parties, and would not have gone to this one if Roosevelt hadn't insisted.

“It would mean a lot to me, Falcon, if you would come,” Roosevelt had told him. “It's not only a celebration of the rescue of Anna, it's also sort of an epiphany for me.”