Destiny of Eagles (7 page)

“Come on! Come on! Get mounted! Get mounted!” Corey shouted, trying to hand the others the reins to their horses. Corey's own horse started twisting around with him.

Aaron and the others leaped into their saddles, then started at a gallop down the street.

There had been several citizens out on the street and the sidewalks when the shooting erupted, and now they stood there watching in shock as the men who had just robbed their bank were getting away. They were too shocked by the suddenness of the event to dive for cover. On the other hand, either none of them were armed, or else none of them wanted to be a hero, because no one attempted to engage the bank robbers.

* * *

Falcon heard the roar of the shotgun first, then the shout of the man who was running down the street.

“They are robbing the bank! They are robbing the bank!” the man shouted.

Quickly, Falcon got up from the table and, gun in hand, hurried to the door, arriving just as the six mounted men thundered past him. It was strange. They were at a full gallop, and yet he could see each of them with such crystal clarity that it was as if they were on stage, performing a tableau.

He could see their jaws set, the muscles in their necks standing out, the raw, wind-burned brown of their skin, the flared nostrils, and their eyes, desperate eyes, staring straight ahead.

The hooves of the horses were throwing up large clods of dirt from the street as they passed by in full gallop.

* * *

It looked to Aaron as if they were about to get away cleanly. Other than the one attempt with a shotgun when they first emerged from the bank, no one made any attempt to stop them.

Then, ahead of them, a man stepped down off the boardwalk and out into the street. A flash of sunlight revealed the fact that a star was fastened to his vest.

“It's the sheriff!” Aaron shouted.

* * *

Falcon watched as the retreating bank robbers raised their pistols toward Billy.

“Billy, look out!” Falcon shouted, even as the sheriff raised his own pistol.

There was a ripple of gunfire and a cloud of smoke as the bank robbers fired a volley toward the sheriff.

* * *

After the first volley Billy grabbed his shoulder, then staggered back a step. Aaron followed up with a second shot, as did the others, and the sheriff went down under the fusillade of bullets.

With a shout of rage, Falcon fired at the bank robbers. He saw a puff of dust rise from the impact of his bullet.

“Dalton, I'm hit! I'm hit!” Ethan shouted. He grew unsteady in the saddle, then tumbled to the ground.

Corey went down next.

“Corey! Corey!” Frank shouted. Turning his horse, he headed back toward Ethan.

“Frank, keep up!” Aaron shouted.

“I ain't a-goin' to leave Corey and Ethan.”

Frank rode back toward the two wounded men, but the others continued on out of town.

“Come back here!” Frank shouted in desperation. “Aaron, come back here! We can't leave them like this!”

Frank leaped from his saddle, then knelt beside the two wounded men.

The man who had shot them came running up with his gun drawn and pointed directly at Frank.

“Stand up,” the big man shouted, illustrating his command with vigorous motions of his pistol.

“Who would you be, mister?” Frank asked.

“The name is MacCallister. Falcon MacCallister.”

“What did you take a hand in this for? You ain't no lawman.”

“You interrupted my lunch,” Falcon said sarcastically.

“They're hurt pretty bad,” Frank said, pointing to his brother and his cousin. “They need a doctor.”

“If the sheriff dies, they won't be needing a doctor, they'll be needing an undertaker,” Falcon growled as he came closer. “All three of you will.”

Frank dropped his gun, then stood with his hands raised.

* * *

By now the three remaining robbers were well out of town and pushing their horses into a lather to put as much distance between them and the town as they could.

“Is anyone comin' after us?” Aaron shouted.

Percy, who was bringing up the rear, looked back over his shoulder at the receding town. He saw no one in pursuit.

“No,” he answered. “They ain't no one mounted. We got away clean!” He laughed out loud, whooping into the wind. “We got away clean!”

“All except Ethan, Frank, and Corey,” Dalton said. “They're still back there.”

“What the hell got into Frank to go back like that?” Aaron asked.

“We should'a gone back for them our ownselves,” Dalton said.

“The hell you say. If we had, we'd be right there with them now.”

“Nevertheless, we shouldn't of just left 'em like that,” Dalton said. “They're our kin.”

“What could we do for them if got captured too?” Aaron asked.

“Nothin', I reckon. Why? Are you planning on somethin'?”

“Maybe,” Aaron said without being specific.

* * *

By now others from the town were moving, cautiously, out into the middle of the street where Falcon was standing with his three prisoners, Ethan Yerby and Frank and Corey Childers. Ethan had a bullet in his thigh, and Corey had one in his shoulder. Frank wasn't wounded.

“You got 'em,” one of the townspeople said.

“How's Billy?” Falcon asked.

A couple of men were standing over the sheriff, and one of them looked back toward Falcon and shook his head slowly. “The sheriff's dead,” he said.

“Looks like we've got you boys for murder,” Falcon said to his prisoners.

“Hey! There's another one!” someone shouted, pointing to a body lying in the alley between the sheriff's office and the apothecary that was next door.

Quickly, several men ran to the other body.

“It's Eames!” someone called. “Gerald Eames! He's dead, shot clear through the heart.”

“I need a doctor,” Ethan said.

“Is there a doctor in town?” Falcon asked.

“We got Doc Gill, if he ain't drunk yet,” someone said.

“He ain't normally drunk this time of day.”

“Get 'im,” Falcon said. “Bring 'im down to the jail to have a look at this man.”

Falcon waved his pistol toward the sheriff's office, and the three prisoners responded.

When Falcon took them inside the building, Thad Howard was standing in his cell, his hands wrapped around the bars.

“What happened out there?” he asked. “Where's the sheriff?”

“The sheriff's dead,” Falcon said. “These two killed him. It looks like you're going to have company on the gallows.”

When Falcon went back outside, he saw several people standing over Billy, looking down at his body. He joined them, then looked up as Emil Prufrock arrived. Prufrock was the undertaker, and Falcon recognized him because he had seen him at the depot after the shootout on the train.

“Oh, my,” Prufrock said, removing his hat as he looked down at Billy. “Oh, my, it's the sheriff.”

“I want you to do right by him, Prufrock,” Falcon said.

“Oh, yes indeed, I will,” Prufrock promised.

“Give him the best coffin you have.”

“You would be talking about the Eternal Cloud,” Prufrock said. “That is a lovely coffin, but I'm afraid the county can't afford that.”

“I'll pay for it,” Falcon said.

“Yes, sir!” Prufrock said. “Oh, I'm sure Sheriff Puckett would be so pleased to know that he had such a dear friend. What a wonderful thing you are doing.”

“Yeah,” Falcon said dryly. “Wonderful.”

Walter Merrill was appointed to the office of sheriff of Belfield, replacing Billy Puckett. Shortly after the new sheriff was appointed, the Honorable Judge Andrew J. Heckemeyer came to Belfield for two days of trials. On the first day he tried Thad Howard. Howard was found guilty of train robbery, and as an accessory in the murder of the train engineer and the passenger. For that crime he was sentenced to forty years in prison. That sentence was meaningless, however, because the execution warrant for his conviction for murder in the first degree had been already been transferred for implementation.

On the second day, the Childers brothers, Frank and Corey, and Ethan Yerby were tried. The trial had lasted less than an hour, and the jury had gone out for deliberation.

A few minutes ago, the bailiff had announced that the jury had reached a verdict and Falcon and the others had filed back into the courtroom to await both the verdict and the judge's sentencing.

The bailiff came out first.

“All rise!” he called.

There was a sound of rustling cloth and creaking seats as the gallery responded to the bailiff's order.

“Oyez, oyez, oyez, this court in and for the county of Stark is now in session, the Honorable Andrew J. Heckemeyer presiding.”

Wearing a black robe, Judge Heckemeyer entered the courtroom from a door in front, stood behind the bench for a moment, then sat down.

“Be seated,” he said.

The gallery sat.

There were four people at the defendants' table: Dan Gilmore, the court-appointed defense counsel, as well as Frank Childers, Corey Childers, and Ethan Yerby. Corey and Ethan were still showing the effects of their gunshot wounds. However, both had recovered sufficiently to stand trial.

The three men were being tried, not only for the murder of Sheriff Billy Puckett, but also for the murder of Gerald Eames.

Heckemeyer picked up a gavel and banged it once. “This court is now in session. Before we bring in the jury, I would like to address a few remarks to Mr. Falcon MacCallister. Mr. MacCallister, would you stand, please?”

Falcon, who was sitting about halfway toward the back of the court, was surprised by the judge's request, which, because he was a judge, was actually an order. Falcon stood.

“Mr. MacCallister, there are those who might want to congratulate you for capturing three of the men who robbed the bank and killed Sheriff Billy Puckett. Some might even call you a hero.

“But I do not share that opinion. Although a comparison of the caliber of the bullet that killed Mr. Eames showed that it was not from your gun, I believe you were indirectly, if not directly, responsible for his demise. By engaging the outlaws as you did, you showed reckless disregard for the safety of the citizens of Belfield. For that, sir, I feel that you should not be commended for your action, rather you should be chastised. You may sit down.”

Falcon, barely able to hold his anger in check after being publicly berated by the judge, sat back down. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room staring at him.

“Now, Mr. Bailiff, if you would, please bring the jury into the courtroom.”

The bailiff left the room for a moment, then returned, leading the twelve men who had served on the jury. They were a disparate group consisting of cowboys, farmers, store clerks, draymen, and businessmen. Without a word, and without a glance right or left, which might tip off the verdict, they took their seats.

“Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Heckemeyer asked.

The foreman of the jury, who also owned the gunsmith shop, stood.

“We have, Your Honor.”

Heckemeyer turned toward the defense table. “Would the attorney for the defense and the three defendants please stand?”

Gilmore, the lawyer for the defendants, and his three clients stood.

Heckemeyer turned back toward the foreman of the jury.

“Publish the verdict, Mr. Foreman.”

“Your Honor, on the first charge, the murder of Sheriff Billy Puckett, we, the jury, find the defendants Corey Childers and Ethan Yerby coequally guilty of murder.

“On the second charge, the murder of Mr. Gerald Eames, we, the jury, find the defendants Cory Childers and Ethan Yerby coequally guilty.”

“We find Frank Childers, on both counts, guilty of bank robbery and reckless endangerment.”

“So say you all?” the judge asked.

“So say we all,” the foreman replied.

“Thank you, you may be seated.”

Heckemeyer turned toward the defendants, who were still standing.

“Mr. Gilmore, please bring the prisoners before the bench.”

Gilmore instructed his three clients to approach the bench. Corey strolled up defiantly, arrogantly. Frank was a bit more contrite. Childers, because of the bullet wound in his thigh, limped up to the bench.

“Before I pass sentence, do any of you have anything to say?”

“Do what you have to do, you fat-assed son of a bitch,” Corey said.

There was a gasp of surprise from the gallery.

“Corey, you son of a bitch, you have condemned us all,” Frank said angrily. “I should have left your ass in the dirt.”

“Oh, believe me, Mr. Childers, when I tell you that I will do what I have to do,” Heckemeyer said. He cleared his throat.

“Frank Childers, you could have gotten away with the others,” Judge Heckemeyer said. “But you came back to aid your brother and your cousin. Even though you have chosen a life of dishonor, there is some honor in what you did. Also, you were carrying a thirty-six-caliber pistol. None of the bullets taken from Sheriff Puckett's body were thirty-six caliber. The bullet that killed Mr. Eames was a forty-five caliber. That means that you did not kill either one.

“The jury could not find you guilty of murder, but you are guilty of armed bank robbery and by the discharge of your weapon, the reckless endangerment of innocent civilians.”

Judge Heckemeyer looked out into the galley and fixed a steely and telling gaze upon Falcon, though he didn't address him. Then he returned his attention to Frank Childers.

“Therefore, it is the decision of this court that you will be taken to the territorial prison in Bismarck, there to serve a twenty-year sentence.”

Realizing that his life had been spared, Frank gave a sigh of relief.

Heckemeyer then turned his attention to Corey and Ethan. The expression on his face grew more stern.

“Man is put upon this earth but a short time, and we are obligated by God to spend that short time in such a way as to make the world a better place by our having been here. Some do this by helping others, some do this by being a faithful steward to the bounty God has bestowed upon us.

“In your case, Corey Childers, and in your case, Ethan Yerby, the world will be a better place simply by being rid of you. Therefore, the jury having found you guilty of the murders of Sheriff Billy Puckett and Mr. Gerald Eames, it is my obligation, and, though I don't often say this, it is also my satisfaction, to make the world a better place by taking you from it.

“I hereby order, command, and direct that a contrivance be built of sufficient height and strength to elevate you from the ground, and from which you will be hanged by the neck.

“And there, hanging from the aforementioned gallows, you both shall remain suspended until all breath has left your bodies, your hearts have ceased to beat, and your blood stops its course. I further order, command, and direct that your bodies shall not be cut down until a doctor ascertains that you are both dead . . . dead . . . dead.

“Unfortunately, my power ends with the termination of your worthless lives, for if I could, I would not only hang you, I would send you to hell. However, I have every faith and confidence that the Judge of all men awaits you just on the other side of death's portal. And there is no doubt in my mind but that this Judge will take care of that situation for me.”

Heckemeyer slammed the gavel against its pad.

“This court is adjourned.”

* * *

There were at least one hundred people gathered in the town square, with more arriving by the minute. The gallows stood in the center of the square, its grisly shadow stretching under the morning sun. Judge Heckemeyer had ordered the hanging of Thad Howard to take place at exactly noon. Corey Childers and Ethan Yerby were to meet their fate exactly one half hour after the doctor declared Thad Howard dead.

The crowd, already thick and jostling for position, was awaiting the show with eager anticipation.

A few enterprising vendors passed through the crowd selling fried chicken, lemonade, beer, popcorn, and sweet rolls. A black-frocked preacher climbed up onto the gallows, even as the carpenters were making last-minute adjustments behind him. Taking advantage of the gathered audience, he began delivering a fiery sermon. He had a long, narrow face, sunken cheeks, and eyes as black as coal.

“In a short time, three men are going to be hung. Men like you and me, men who woke up this morning to the sweetness of God's own earth, will, by the time night rolls around, be six hours into their eternal damnation! The never-ending fires of hell will burn their souls, and the pain they feel tonight will be just as severe ten thousand years from now.

“It is too late for them. Already, the devil is making room for them, for they are unrepentant sinners. But what about you?” He shouted the last word and pointed to a young boy who was standing in the front row, eating popcorn. “Do you want to go to hell?”

The boy turned white as a sheet, and began shaking so badly that he spilled popcorn from the bag.

“Repent now! Repent, you sinners, before it is too late!”

* * *

Thad Howard, Corey Childers, and Ethan Yerby were in two jail cells some 150 feet away from the gallows. Howard was in one, Corey and Ethan were sharing the other one.

“It ain't fair,” Corey said.

“What ain't fair?” Ethan asked.

“It ain't fair that the judge sentenced me'n you to hang, but he let Frank go free.”

“He didn't let Frank go,” Ethan said. “He put him in prison for twenty years.”

“Yeah? Well, that ain't hangin' him, is it?”

“He come back for us,” Ethan said. “He didn't have to, but he did. He's your own brother. A body would think it would make you happy, knowin' he isn't goin' to hang.”

“You know what would make me happy? Knowin'
I
wasn't goin' to hang.”

Although they couldn't see the gallows because the window of their cell looked out onto the alley behind the jail, they could hear the preacher's harangue, even from there.

“That fella does preach one ripsnorter of a sermon, don't he?” Corey said.

“Don't that bother you none?” Ethan asked.

“What?”

“Thinkin' about burnin' in hell for ten thousand years.”

“If it bothered me, I never would'a chose this here life,” Corey replied. “Why do you ask? Does it bother you?”

“I confess I been thinkin' about it some.”

“Yeah, well, think about it like this. Most of the folks we know that's dead is prob'ly in hell already. So it'll just be like an ole-time get-together.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said. He forced a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you could kind'a look at it like that.”

“Hey, you, Howard,” Corey said.

“Yeah?”

“Looks like you're going to get there about half an hour before us. Find us a good, cool spot, will you?”

“Go to hell,” Thad said, growling.

Ethan laughed. “Go to hell? That's a good one!” he said. “Why, you dumb son of a bitch, what do you think we are talking about? That's exactly what we are all just about to do. Go to hell,” he said again, still chuckling. “That's a good one.”

The door to the jailhouse opened and Walter Merrill stepped inside.

“Howard, we're ready for you,” he said.

Thad, who had been sitting on the bunk, got up and shuffled over to the door of his cell. He had to shuffle because there were shackles on his legs and his arms.

“I'll be back for you boys in a little bit,” the sheriff said, glancing over at Corey and Ethan.

“That's all right, Sheriff, don't you be hurrying none on our account now,” Cory said. “Just take your time.” He laughed out loud.

“Corey, you've gone stark raving mad,” Ethan said, shaking his head.

The new sheriff took Thad outside then, and led him through the crowd to the gallows.

“Get back, get back,” the sheriff said, waving his arms at the people as they crowded closer in order to get a good look. “Get back out of the way and give us some room. Ain't you got no decency? This here man is about to meet his Maker.”

One little boy suddenly darted out of the crowd, reached out to touch Thad, then darted back into the crowd.

“I touched him!” the boy shouted proudly. “I touched a fella that's about to hang! I just retched right out and touched him.”

“Jimmy, you get back over here and behave yourself,” a woman's voice ordered.

Thad was led up the steps, then out onto the gallows platform. He stood there for a moment, looking out over the crowd. In his entire life, he had never seen so many people gathered in one place before.

“Thad?” the sheriff said.

Thad didn't reply.

“Thad, pay attention here,” the sheriff said. “We want to do this right.”

“Sorry,” Thad said. “What was it you was sayin' to me?”

“I was sayin' that we got us two traps here,” the sheriff explained, “'cause we're goin' to hang the next two together. But since you're first, you can take your choice of which one.”