Dreams of Eagles (16 page)

Silver Wolf smiled and leaned back against his saddle, for the moment, at least, staying out of this. Besides, he was enjoying the exchange.

“You're gonna sit over there and grin like the cat who ate the cream, aren't you?” Jamie asked his grandpa.

“I just might take me a snooze,” the old man replied. “Man my age needs his rest.”

Jamie snorted at that.

“Because,” the old man added, “I figure I'm gonna need all my strength when Wesley Parsons and his bunch get here.” He again smiled.

“Say it all, Grandpa,” Jamie urged, picking up a note of warning in the old man's smile and words. “Is that bunch of bounty hunters close?”

“'Bout five miles out and closing,” the old man said with a satisfied smile.

“Thanks for tellin' us right off,” Jamie said.

“Them ol' boys is comin' on slow, son,” the old man said. He looked up at the sky. “I figure they'll be here 'bout three o'clock. We got plenty of time to set us up an ambush.” He leaned forward and refilled his coffee cup.

“How many?” Jamie asked.

“Twelve or fifteen, I reckon. It'll be an easy shoot. We'll put the animals in the center of them rocks where they's some graze and a tiny spring. But I reckon we best be gettin' set.”

While they worked setting up defensive positions, Ian asked, “Didn't this Wesley Parsons you said was leadin' this party swear to you one time that he'd never come back west, Pa?”

“Sort of. But I didn't believe him. He won't have to worry about it after this day, howsomever. I 'spect we'll bury him right here. If he's got the courage to head this pack of filth.”

“They'll be more after we do in this bunch,” Silver Wolf said. “I learned over to the tradin' post that Blake Evans's father is a mighty rich man back east. Got more money than he knows what to do with. Powerful government connections, too. Blake was no-count from birth. In some sort of trouble all his life, but his daddy always bought him out of it. Finally, he raped and killed a young woman and had to hit the outlaw trail. Young Ian's future is gonna be like your life down in the Big Thicket country, Jamie. It ain't gonna be easy.”

Jamie's eyes turned hard and mean as he looked at his grandfather. “Whereabouts back east?”

“New York City. Why?”

“I just might pay Mister Evans a visit if he wants to keep this up.”

“Now that would be a right interestin' trip,” the old man opined with a smile. “'Deed it would.”

“I fight my own battles, Pa,” Ian said.

“You hush up and take help from family when it's offered,” his father told him. “If this was something you had started, I could understand a father's position. But it wasn't none of your doin' to begin with. Blake done a terrible thing and he paid the price for it. Far as I'm concerned it's tit for tat. If Mister Evans wants to drag this thing out, then he can face me. That's my say on the matter and it stands.”

“Yes, Pa,” Ian said.

The men settled in among the rocks.

“There they are,” the old Wolf called from high up in the rocks. They each had two rifles, and the plan was that each man would take out two bounty hunters during the first few seconds of the fight and then get the hell out of the rocks before ricochets started screaming all around them and head for a creek that ran alongside the upthrusting of stones. They all felt that with half of the bounty hunters down in the first volley, a lot of the fight would go out of those remaining.

Jamie smiled as the men rode right up to the now cleaned up campsite, and one said, his words clearly reaching those high up in the rock, “This here looks like a dandy place to make camp. Water and some graze. My back hurts from the day's ride.”

“Yeah,” another bounty hunter said. “That trapper we tortured yesterday said the bastard's daddy was headin' up this way. If we can kill and behead father and son, that'll be twicet the money for us.”

“I want Jamie MacCallister alive,” another one said, just as the men in the rocks were sighting in. “I owe that bastard. I want to burn him and see how brave he is.”

The men in the rocks fired as one and three bounty hunters went down dead. Before the echo of the shots faded, three more balls ripped into the knotted up men and four of them hit the rocky ground, as the ball fired by Ian went right through the neck of one and slammed into the skull of the fourth man.

The remaining bounty hunters went into a panic, and the men in the rocks jerked out pistols and let them bang. The distance was really too great for any type of accuracy, but the lead flew true and two more man-hunters were knocked from the saddle.

Those bounty hunters left raced away from the death scene and Jamie's grandpa watched them go from his high-up position. “They ain't even thinkin' about stoppin',” he called, pausing to reload his weapons. “They've had enough for this trip.”

The grandfather, father, and son made their way down to level ground and began rolling over the bodies to check for signs of life. Two of the man-hunters were alive, and one was not that badly hurt, with only a neat hole punched through one shoulder. The other one would not last long.

“Murderin' bastards!” the slightly wounded bounty hunter spat the words at the trio of men.

“You really ain't in no good position to be callin' folks names, laddie,” the Wolf told him. “As a matter of fact, was I you, if I wasn't goin' to say kindly things, I do believe I'd shut my mouth.”

The wounded man took the suggestion to heart and closed his fly trap.

Ian was busy retrieving weapons and stacking them. He made a second pile of shot and powder and caps.

“Go on and kill me and get it over with,” the wounded man said, after watching the other man die. “I know you're goin' to murder me. Go on and do it.”

Jamie knelt down beside the man, his big Bowie in hand, and the man paled and tensed. Jamie cut open the man's shirt and looked at the wound. “You'll live,” he told the man. “I'll fix up a poultice and you can be on your way.”

“Huh?”

“I didn't see Wesley Parsons in this bunch. Where is he?”

A sly look came into the man's eyes. “That's for me to know and you to find out.”

“You're a fool!” Jamie told him, standing up. “Tend to your own damn wound.”

“Is you just gonna leave me here alone and hurt to be butchered by the red savages?” the man cried.

Grandfather, father, and son made no reply to that. The Wolf had rounded up the horses and roped them together. Ian stashed the weapons in saddlebags and boots and Jamie got their own mounts from the rocks. The bounty hunters had left two pack horses behind, filled with supplies and equipment. Jamie tossed the wounded man a rifle and pistol, shot and powder and caps. He pointed to a lone horse.

“You have beans and bacon and coffee in those saddlebags. Ride out of here and don't ever come looking for any of us again.”

The three rode out, leading the saddled horses and the pack animals.

“Wait!” the wounded man yelled after them. “Ain't you gonna bury the dead. That ain't no Christian way to act. Wait! I be feared to stay here alone.”

None of the three looked back.

* * *

The bounty hunters stopped several miles from the ambush scene before they killed their rapidly faltering animals. To a man they were almighty scared. “Damn Wesley Parsons' eyes!” one said, so badly frightened he could barely stand. “He said this hunt would be easy.”

“Then that makes you a fool for believin' him,” another said. “If Parsons wants the MacCallisters, he can damn well go after them his own self. I hate this damn western wilderness. Me and this hunt is done.”

“Where you be headin', Leo?” another man asked.

“Back east. I'm done with this country. It's bilin' hot during the day and freezing cold at night. I don't see why no man in his right mind would choose to live out here. It ain't for me. Who's goin' with me?”

Everybody.

* * *

Jamie had given his grandfather and son the supplies taken from the bounty hunters and bid them both farewell. He had seen within the first few moments of talking with his son that Ian was not going to quit the hunt until all involved in his wife's killing were dead.

He rode south and picked up the trail of those bounty hunters who had survived the ambush and was amused by the haste in which they had seemingly elected to quit and go back home. There had not been much sand to this bunch.

Jamie headed back to the valley, for there was much to do before winter closed in the settlement. He carried in his pocket a letter from Ian to his mother. It would be of some comfort to her. Providing she could read Ian's hurriedly penciled scrawl.

On the fourth day from the rocks, riding easy and trailing what was left of the man-hunters, Jamie saw the smoke from the bounty hunters' camp. They had not chosen well, for none of them were experienced western men. Jamie, being the man he was, rode right up to the camp and walked Horse in. The bounty hunters looked up at him with a mixture of disbelief and open fear.

“Howdy, boys,” Jamie said, sitting his saddle, his rifle across the saddle bows, the muzzle pointed directly at a big hulk of a man. “I saw your smoke. Figured you might have a cup of coffee for a man.”

“You got a lot of nerve, MacCallister,” the hulking oaf said.

“I suppose I have to take that as a refusal to share your camp with me.”

“Sit down and have some food and coffee, MacCallister,” yet another man said. “Don't pay no attention to Tiny yonder. He don't like nobody. We give up the hunt. I had me a bad feelin' about it all along.”

“I ain't give up crap!” the huge oaf called Tiny said. “You git off that horse and I'll pick up the hunt soon as your boots hit the ground.”

“You'll do it alone, Tiny,” another ex-bounty hunter said. “You're welcome to sit and drink and eat, Jamie MacCallister. But if you want your hoss tooken care of, you'll have to do that yourself. I ain't touchin' that mean-eyed stallion.”

Jamie laughed and swung down. He tied Horse to the picket line and turned around. Tiny was standing about five feet from him, hate shining through his piggy eyes.

“I warned you, MacCallister. Now you're dead meat and all mine.”

Jamie stepped forward and hit the man on the jaw with the butt of his rifle. Tiny's jaw cracked, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he stretched out on the cool ground for a long, involuntary rest.

“Nobody never could tell Tiny nothin',” a man said. “He always figured he knew it all.”

“You made yourself a bad enemy, Jamie MacCallister. Tiny will carry the hate in his heart for as long as he lives.”

Jamie poured himself a cup of coffee and took the offered pan of beans and bacon and bread and sat down and started eating. “I've got lots of people who hate me,” he finally spoke. “For one reason or the other. That seems to be the cross I have to bear for the rest of my days.”

“I'd say you was bearin' up mighty well under it,” the first friendly man said . . . with a twinkle in his eyes.

The rest of the men laughed and Jamie joined in with them. Whatever tension there might have been vanished.

But not being a terribly trusting man, Jamie thanked the men for the food and company and pushed on for a few more miles before settling down in a cold camp for that evening. None of them knew Tiny's last name, at least they said they didn't. But since the man stood over six and a half feet tall and was as ugly as sin was bad, Jamie would have little trouble describing him to other trappers. Someone would know him, for though the west was vast, it was still sparsely populated.

The trip south was uneventful, and Jamie was grateful to once more top the ridge and look down into the valley. As always, his eyes drifted to the tiny cemetery to check for new graves. There were no new additions. But there was a new building going up, and parked beside the building, a half dozen big wagons.

“Well now,” Jamie said and rode on down to the valley floor.

Kate ran out to meet him, and when Jamie handed her the letter from Ian, she went to the porch and sat down without another word or greeting kiss. “I will never understand women,” Jamie muttered, as he led Horse off to the barn and a well-deserved rest.

“It's a store, Jamie,” Sam said proudly. “We have a real store here now.”

Jamie was introduced to the man who owned the store, one Abe Goldman, his wife Rebecca, and their three children, Rachel, Walter, and Tobias. Rebecca was very gracious and the kids well-behaved.

“We'll soon have everything anybody might ask for,” Abe said proudly, obviously eager to please the man whom the valley was named after. “From buttons to bacon.” He smiled nervously, took a deep breath, and added, “And there will be a wagon train in next spring with people to settle in the next valley over.”

Sam took Jamie aside. “In the next valley over, Jamie,” he repeated. “Not here.”

Jamie shrugged his massive shoulders. “The days are gone when I have much say about who settles where, Sam. It'll be good to have a store close by.”

And that was all he had to say about the new store.

That night, snuggled close together in their bed, Kate asked, “Ian is never coming back, is he, Jamie?”

Jamie was long in replying; so long Kate thought he might have drifted off to sleep. Finally he said, “I don't know, Kate. If he does it won't be anytime soon. This valley has bad memories for him. Losing Linda was a terrible blow.”

“Is our son going to turn out to be a gun man?” she asked, using the newly coined western phrase which would soon become just one word. “Is he, Jamie?”

“A gun man, Kate?”

“That's what some reporters and columnists are beginning to call western desperadoes. I read it in the latest papers several times.”

“Interesting phrase,” Jamie muttered. “I don't know, Kate. I hope not. But I'm really not sure what it means. I do know that Ian is no desperado.”

“Did he take scalps back at the ambush site?”

Jamie never tried to hide things from Kate. Like most married men, he had found out the hard way that it's better to come right up front with matters.

“Yes.”