Destiny of Eagles (5 page)

* * *

“I hung 'em,” Puckett said, concluding the story.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It was me that hung 'em, Falcon. Captain Ward, Private Higgins, and Private Morrison. I was in command of the Union Infantry troops that were guarding the depot.”

Falcon was quiet for a long moment. The rage he had felt at the time he discovered the bodies of his captain and two of his men hanging from a tree limb had long since subsided.

“Why?” he asked.

“Rebels had destroyed three bridges, knocked down more than a hundred telegraph poles, and robbed two supply wagons. I had orders to make an example of anyone we caught who was engaged in that activity.”

“So you killed your prisoners,” Falcon said.

Puckett stared at the untouched steak on his plate. He was silent for a long moment. Then sighing, he nodded and said, “Yes, God help me, I killed them. At the time, I thought it was a legitimate act of war,” he continued. “But I know now, and have known for many years, that what I did was wrong. It has haunted me ever since.”

“Why are you telling me this now, after all these years?”

“I was there when you attacked the depot. I saw you jump down from your horse and try to save Ward. At first, I thought you were your father, you looked so much like him. But then I saw that you were too young to be Jamie. I asked Ward, and he confirmed who you were.”

“Captain Ward had a wife and two kids,” Falcon said.

“I . . . I didn't know that.”

“He didn't tell you?”

“Other than confirming who you were, he never said a word. He didn't even say anything when we put the noose around his neck.”

“Would it have made any difference to you if you had known he had a wife and two children?”

“At the time, I don't think it would have. Now, it just adds to my burden.”

“Why did you tell me, Billy?”

“I don't rightly know,” Puckett replied. “I reckon what I'm doing is asking for your forgiveness.”

“I can't do that,” Falcon replied. “It's not that I won't . . . it's that I can't. I don't think I have that right. If it's forgiveness you're wanting, I reckon you're going to have to get that from the families of the men you hanged.”

Billy stared at his steak for a moment, then pushed his plate away, totally untouched.

“I can't do that,” he said. “I can't ask them for forgiveness until I can forgive myself.”

Seeing the pain in Sheriff Puckett's face, Falcon sighed. “Billy, I expect that if truth were known, there's no one who fought in that war that doesn't have something they'd just as soon forget. I know that I have my own ghosts chasing me. It's something that we all have to live with. You didn't do what you did out of malice of heart, but because you deemed it your duty. But if it's any consolation to you, I want you to know that I'm not holding what you did against you. That was then, and this is now.” He offered his hand in friendship. “As far as I'm concerned, you're still the same brave, strong man who once fascinated a young boy with stories of your adventures in the mountains.”

A look of relief came across Billy's face then, and he smiled as he took Falcon's hand in his own.

“Thanks, Falcon,” he said. “You've just taken a huge load off my heart.”

 

 

 

The Howard brothers had been in Sheffield for almost two weeks now, and during that time they had spent money like water. All three were wearing new clothes. Thad had a new hat, and Creed was wearing new boots.

They had bought drinks for everyone in the saloon several times now, and had lost money in poker games without complaint. If there was any complaint, it was that whores of the town, anxious to get their share of the money, were paying so much attention to the three Howard brothers that the other men felt left out.

They had established a habit of having their breakfast in bed every morning . . . though because they were staying up so late each night, “morning” for them occurred at around one-thirty or two o'clock in the afternoon.

When Thad came down this morning, the bartender smiled and called out to him.

“Mr. Howard, it come in this morning.”

“What come in this morning?” Thad asked.

“Why, your champagne, of course,” the bartender said. “Don't you remember the other day when you asked me to order you some? Well, I did, and it come up from MacCallister.”

“Champagne, yes!” Thad said. “I ain't never tasted it before, and I figured that if I didn't do it now, I never would do it.”

Thad's brothers came down a few minutes later and Thad told them the news.

“Boys, we're goin' to drink some champagne!” he said proudly.

“What for?” Creed asked.

“Because of the way folks talk about it all the time. I want to see what it is they're carryin' on about.”

By now several others in the saloon, none of whom had ever tasted champagne either, had gathered around the three brothers, and their hanger-on whores, to watch the proceedings.

Thad bit down on the cork to pull it off.

“Lord, no, don't do it that way!” the bartender warned, sticking his hand out to stop him.

“Why not?”

“You try and take it off that way and it will knock your teeth out,” the bartender said. “Here, let me do it.”

The bartender reached for the bottle, but Thad jerked it back from him.

“The hell you say. This is my bottle, I done bought and paid for it. Just tell me how to open it is all I ask.”

The bartender demonstrated how to do it by putting his thumbs under the cork and pushing up. Thad began following the bartender's directions and, slowly, the cork began easing its way up the neck of the bottle.

“Damn, what's wrong with it?” Creed asked. “It don't seem to want to—”

The cork popped up out of the bottle and flew three-quarters of the way across the room.

There were loud guffaws of laughter and squeals of delight as the champagne started spewing up from the bottle. Thad stuck the bottle in his mouth and tried to drink, but wound up coughing and choking instead.

Finally, when the fizz had died down a little, Thad and his brothers Creed and Bob passed the bottle around until it was gone.

Thad knew that several of the others in the saloon wanted a taste as well. They didn't want to help drink it, they knew that wasn't possible, but they did hope that the Howards, who had been so generous in buying drinks for everyone, would share in this as well.

But the Howards shared with no one, including the three whores who were so bold as to come right out and ask for a taste.

“Hell, no,” Thad said. “You think I'm going to let a whore have some of this?”

When the last of the champagne was gone, Thad wiped his lips with the sleeve of his shirt, belched, then looked at his two brothers.

“I hope you enjoyed it, boys, 'cause it's all gone,” he said.

“Well, it wasn't all that good anyway, if you ask me,” Bob said. “I'd as soon drink horse piss. Let's just get us another bottle of whiskey.”

“We can't,” Thad said.

“What do you mean?”

“It ain't just the champagne that's all gone. It's the money. We done spent ever' dime we got.”

“You mean you ain't got no more money?” one of the whores asked.

Thad turned his pockets inside out by way of demonstration.

“In that case, I guess you won't be needing us anymore,” the whore said. “Come on, girls.”

“Wait a minute,” Creed called to them. “You mean after all the money we done spent on you, you ain't goin' to stay with us anymore? I thought we might go back up to our rooms for a little more fun.”

“No money, no fun,” the whore said.

“No money, no rooms,” the bartender added. “I reckon you boys better be movin' on.”

“The hell you say!” Bob said angrily. “After all the money we've spent here, you owe us. Now, give us a bottle of whiskey.”

The bartender reached under the bar, but when he brought his hands up again they were wrapped around a double-barrel Greener.

“I expect you boys had better get on out of town,” he said.

“Why, you low-assed bastard,” Thad said, reaching for his pistol.

The sound of both barrels being cocked filled the room. “You want to try it, mister?” the bartender asked.

“Come on, Thad, let's go,” Bob said.

Thad glared at the bartender for a while longer. Then, with a shrug, he turned and started toward the door with his two brothers following him.

“Bye, boys,” one of the whores called to them. “Come back when you have money again.”

“Yeah. Lots of money,” one of the other whores added, and their laughter and the laughter of the bar patrons followed the Howards outside.

At the livery, the three brothers saddled and mounted their horses. When they started to ride away, though, Thad went one way, while Bob and Creed went another.

“Hey, Thad, ain't you a-comin' with us?” Creed called.

“No, I ain't goin' with you,” Thad called back. He neither looked around, nor gave any explanation as to why he'd decided to go off by himself.

“What are you goin' to do?” Bob asked.

Thad waved his arm as if dismissing the question.

“What are we going to do?” Bob asked. “We don't have no money.”

This time, Thad didn't even give them the benefit of the dismissive wave of his arm. He just continued to ride, looking straight ahead.

The angle of the late-afternoon sun brought out a kaleidoscope of colors in the buttes and hills, the coulees and ravines of western North Dakota: pinks, reds, blacks, greens, yellows, and rich browns. The rider, a well-muscled man with wide shoulders and a short, bull-like neck, paused for a moment to enjoy the dancing light and changing hues before he sloped down a long hill toward a ford in the river ahead. Teddy Roosevelt was sitting in a fine, silver-studded saddle and mounted on a superb bay horse, wearing a new Stetson hat and glasses that, now and then, flashed in the setting sun. A full canteen, bedroll, and saddle-rifle showed that he was either planning to spend the night on the range, or would be able to do so should the need arise.

To Roosevelt's right was a long, rather magnificent escarpment, which looked for all the world like a shelf of books in his library. The difference was that the cliff was here in the Dakota Territory, whereas his library was back in New York.

As owner of Elkhorn Ranch, Roosevelt could've sent any of his hands out to search for straying cattle, but he preferred to do it himself because these long, lonely rides gave him just the solitude he was looking for.

He had come to Dakota shortly after the Republican National Convention nominated James G. Blaine as candidate for President in the upcoming election. As Roosevelt had promised, he remained true to Senator John Edmonds until the last ballot.

Once Blaine received the nomination, Theodore Roosevelt, as a good Republican, pledged his support for the campaign. But true to Joe Murray's warning, Blaine shut Roosevelt out. He was not offered any position whatever in the campaign.

Politically, that was not good for Roosevelt. But personally, he welcomed it. It allowed him the freedom of coming to Dakota and spending time on his ranch, healing from the pain that he still felt.

The bawling of a calf caught his attention, snapping him out of his reverie. He slapped his legs against the side of his horse and started toward the sound.

“Hold steady there, little fellow,” he called. “Be of stout heart, I'm coming to your rescue.”

Roosevelt found the calf hung up in a briar patch. Dismounting, he helped the animal free itself, then set it to running.

“Go now,” he said. “Join your mother and tell her of your great adventure.”

Roosevelt remounted, then continued with his ride.

* * *

Thad Howard's horse went lame and, though the creature tried gamely to continue to carry his rider, he finally went down and was unable to get back up.

“You worthless son of a bitch!” Thad said, kicking his horse hard in its side. “What are you doing? You are leaving me stranded out here!” He kicked the horse again, trying to make it get up. The horse tried one more time and fell again. This time he didn't even lift his head.

“I'll tell you this, you sorry bag of bones. I'll not be wasting a bullet on you. You can just lie there and die in your own good time. I'm through with you.”

With one more kick of frustration, Thad removed the saddle and saddlebags. Throwing the saddle on his shoulder, he started walking, but after a few yards tossed the saddle away in disgust.

He continued on with the saddlebags, but after less than a mile threw them away too.

Two miles later, he took the last swallow of water from his canteen and tossed it aside as well.

* * *

Falcon had spent only one night in Belfield. He and Billy Puckett had stayed at the dinner table, talking long after the other diners had cleared out. It wasn't that they were reminiscing about old times. The time they'd shared had been a period of no more than three months, and that had been a little over thirty years ago. But they did catch each other up on their lives, and they shared stories of their adventures during the war. As it turned out, they had faced each other several times during the war, though it wasn't until the incident at Chattanooga that they had come in direct, or nearly direct, contact with each other.

Falcon left the next morning just after sunrise. When he'd left MacCallister to come up here for a visit with Billy Puckett, he'd planned to take the train back. In fact, he'd bought a two-way ticket. But the more he thought about it, the less interest he had in going back home. The old wanderlust that had pulled at him for so many years had grabbed hold of him again. He left Belfield on horseback, with no clear idea as to where he was going.

Falcon wandered around with no particular destination in mind for about two weeks. He was heading back to Belfield for some more supplies when he came across someone on the trail.

The man looked exhausted, sunburned, and very thirsty. Stopping, Falcon tossed his canteen to the man.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Thad said, taking several Adam's-apple-bobbing swallows from the canteen.

“Been walking long?” Falcon asked.

“My horse stepped in a prairie-dog hole three days ago,” Thad lied. “Broke his leg and I had to put him down. I been afoot ever since.”

“Sorry to hear about that,” Falcon said. He pointed just over a ridgeline. “But there's a town just over the ridgeline, not more'n five miles from here. It's called Belfield. If you cut through that pass, you can make it by noon.”

“Thanks,” Thad said. He handed the canteen back, and as Falcon was distracted while hooking it onto his pommel, Thad drew his gun. “You don't recognize me, do you, mister?”

“Should I?”

“Well, there's no reason you should. It was pretty dark that night, and I was wearin' a mask. I sure as hell recognize you, though.”

“You're the train robber that got away,” Falcon said. “You're the one that got away.”

“With the money, yeah,” Thad said. He giggled. “Too bad I ain't got none of it left, but me'n my brothers had a fine old time, I'll tell you that. Say, whatever happened to them boys that robbed the train with me? Did they go back to jail?”

“I killed them,” Falcon said matter-of-factly.

Thad nodded. “Yeah, I figured you did. I just wanted to see if you would admit it.”

“You don't seem all that broken up over it,” Falcon said.

“Why the hell should I be? With them dead, me'n my brothers just had more money to spend. Now, climb down off that horse.”

“Now, why would I want to do that?” Falcon replied calmly.

“Because if you don't, I'm going to put a bullet in your gizzard,” Thad said. He reinforced his comment by pulling back the hammer of his pistol. The double clicking sound of the sear engaging the cylinder was cold and deadly.

“All right, you've convinced me,” Falcon replied. He dismounted and handed over the reins.

“Hah, looks like maybe you're smarter'n I thought you was,” Thad said. He pointed to the same pass Falcon had indicated earlier. “But, like you say, if you walk though that pass, it won't take you 'ny more'n an hour or so to reach that little town you was a-tellin' me about. Only thing is, you're goin' to have to go alone.”

“How about leaving me my canteen?” Falcon asked.

Thad started to reach for it, then smiled and shook his head. “You think I'm fool enough to fall for my own trick?” he asked.

Falcon smiled back. “You're a smart one, all right,” he said. “His name is Diablo.”

“What?”

“The horse,” Falcon explained. “His name is Diablo.”

“Hell, mister, I don't give a damn what your horse's name is,” Thad said gruffly. “I am to ride 'im, not make a pet out of him.”

Thad jerked Diablo's head around. “Come on, horse,” he growled.

Diablo didn't move.

“Come on, horse, giddyup,” he said again, speaking more loudly this time. He slapped his legs against the side of the horse.

Diablo remained still.

“What the hell's wrong with this horse?” Howard asked.

“I don't know. He works fine for me.”

“Say something to him.”

“Now, Diablo,” Falcon said.

Suddenly, and without warning, Diablo bucked hard, and Thad was thrown off.

With a shout of alarm and surprise, Thad tossed his gun aside as he was flying through the air. He hit the ground hard, then lay there for a long moment trying to collect his senses and get his breath. Finally, he got up onto his hands and knees, shook his head a few times, then stood.

“Are you in one piece?” Falcon asked.

“Yeah, I—” Thad started to say. Then, looking up, he noticed that Falcon had not only remounted his horse, he was holding a gun. And the gun was pointing directly at Howard.

“What the—?” Thad stuttered. “How the hell did you do that?”

“Pick up the canteen and take another drink of water,” Falcon said. “You've got a pretty good walk in front of you.”

* * *

“Falcon,” Billy Puckett said. “I didn't expect to see you again so soon.” He smiled broadly when he saw the man Falcon was bringing in. “I'll be damned! That's Thad Howard.”

“I ran across him about five miles out of town,” Falcon said. “He's the other train robber.”

“He's also a murderer,” Billy said. “Turns out he killed a sheriff over in Blue Springs. Was tried and convicted for it too, but escaped jail before they could hang him.”

“He ain't goin' to get out of our jail,” Deputy Merrill said. “Come along, you, in the jail with you.”

“There's a reward for him,” Billy said. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a voucher, then made it out to Falcon MacCallister. “Take this over to the bank,” he said. “It's good for five hundred dollars.”

“The hell you say,” Falcon said, smiling broadly. “Well, that more than pays for my trip up here, doesn't it?”

“I reckon so. What are you going to do with all that money?” Billy asked. “As if that is a lot of money to you. Your pa was one of the richest men in Colorado before he died, and you don't strike me as the kind of man that spends a lot. If I had to guess, I'd say you had just about every penny your pa left.”

“Maybe a little more,” Falcon said. He held up the voucher. “But found money is always good. And as to what I plan to do with it, well, I thought I'd go down to the saloon, have myself a good lunch, a few drinks, and maybe get into a friendly game of cards.”

Billy laughed. “Must be good to be a man of leisure.”

Falcon started toward the door, then stopped and turned back toward Billy.

“I've been thinking about Judge Heckemeyer,” Falcon said.

“You don't want to go thinking too much about him, Falcon. Like I told you, he's a fair and honest man, but he ain't someone you want to be against you.”

“No, it's not that. It's the name. I told you I had heard that name before, and now I remember where it was. Does he have a daughter, oh, I'd say about twenty or twenty-one now?”

“Yes, he does. Her name is—”

“Anna,” Falcon said.

Billy looked surprised. “Now, how could you possibly know that? She's been away to school for four years now.”

“In New York,” Falcon said.

“Yes, in New York. Falcon, you want to tell me what's goin' on?”

“I met her,” Falcon said.

“Where?”

“In New York. You may recall from our conversation the other night, my brother, Andrew, and my sister, Rosanna, live in New York.”

“Yes, they are actors of some note, you said.”

“Actors, musicians, composers,” Falcon said. “It's clear they got all the talent in the family. Anyway, about two or three years ago I went up to New York to visit them, and I saw one of their plays. There were three young girls . . .” He paused in mid-sentence, then remembered Anna's comment that, biologically speaking, they were beyond girlhood. “Make that three young women, who needed tickets to the play. I let them sit in the box with me.”

“And you say one of them was Anna Heckemeyer?”

“Yes. From Medora, Dakota Territory, she said.”

Billy Puckett nodded. “That would be her, all right. I'll be damned. This is a small world, ain't it?”

Deputy Merrill came back to the main office. “I got him all locked up back there. So, what do we do next?”

“How would you like to spend a day or two in Bismarck?” Billy asked.

Merrill smiled broadly. “That would be great,” he said. “My sister lives there.”

“Go to the Territorial Attorney's office and get a warrant transfer for Thad Howard,” he said. “And tell them to send the hangman.”

“We goin' to hang him here?” Merrill asked.

“That's the instructions we received,” Billy said. “They don't want to take a chance on his escaping in transit again. So, whoever takes him into custody will have a warrant transfer that will authorize execution of the court findings. In this case, a hanging.”

Merrill looked up at the clock. “If I hurry, I can catch the twelve-fifteen,” he said.

“Are you going to stay around for the proceedings?” Billy asked.

“What? You mean the hanging?” Falcon asked. He shook his head. “Watching a man's neck stretch isn't my idea of a good time.”

“Damn,” Billy said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, damn, I'm sorry, Falcon, I wasn't thinking. You would be thinking about Captain Ward and your men, wouldn't you?”

Falcon shook his head. “Well, now that you mention it, I guess I was. But truth to tell, I'd as soon see them come up with some other way of executing folks.”