Dreams of Eagles (28 page)

The man and wife topped the ridge trail overlooking the western valley late one summer afternoon and stopped.

“Prettiest valley in all the world,” Jamie said.

“I don't care to leave again, Jamie,” Kate said softly. “I had a grand time in the city, but this is my home. I've seen the sights now, and those wonderful memories will last me for the rest of my life. It was a grand adventure going to San Francisco.” She pointed to the valley below, her eyes on their cabin. The largest one in the valley. With most of the kids gone, she and Jamie rattled around in the large home like peas in a pod. “That's where I want to stay. Right down there with family and friends and familiar things.”

“Then we'll stay here together,” Jamie said.

Kate laughed at the words and cut her blues to Jamie. “Don't you be making promises to me that you won't be able to keep, Jamie Ian MacCallister. You're a wanderer, husband of mine; you always will be, and I love you for that. You'll stay for a time, then the wild trails will start singing their soft songs to you, and you'll saddle up and go. I saw that in you when we were just children.”

“Then why did you marry me?”

She looked at him with a woman's patience and said, “Because I love you, you ninny!”

“Oh,” Jamie said. “Well, I love you too, Kate.”

She laughed at the expression on his face and lifted the reins. “Let's go see how the kids and grandkids have grown. My goodness, it feels like we've been gone for years. I want to sleep in our own warm feather bed this night.”

“Just sleep?” Jamie asked with a smile.

“You have anything else in mind?”

“I could probably think of something.”

“My goodness!” Kate said with mock seriousness. “I just can't imagine what it might be!”

 

The westward movement was on and there was no stopping the pioneers. The tide of humanity surged forward, toward new lands, new hopes, new opportunities, new beginnings. They came in wagons, on horseback, and on foot. Men, women, and children. Thousands of them, like lemmings to the sea and ants on a march, invading, overrunning, seizing, slaughtering, and fouling what the Indians had called theirs for centuries. Many killed game for sport, something the Indian did not and never would understand. The Indian was one with Mother Earth; the white man scorned that and ruined whatever he touched. The white man put up wooden houses that could not be moved and built fences around land and called it his. The Indian could understand that, sort of. Many whites tried to make friends and live in peace with the Indians, many more did not.

With thousands of people on the move west, leaving wagon wheel ruts in the earth that would last for hundreds of years, game began to disappear along the Oregon Trail and many Indian tribes met in council and decided to fight. That decision was to mark the inevitable end of the Indian way of life. The Indian simply could not change a way of life that had been practiced for only God knew how many hundreds of years, and the white man demanded that he must change. The irresistible force met the immoveable object.

In late 1849 and during 1850, the nation changed rapidly, with much of that change taking place west of the Mississippi River. The army bought the fur trading post of Fort Laramie and turned it into a military post. Mormon Station was settled in Nevada. It was the first white settlement in the state. A stagecoach line was formed to carry mail between Missouri and Santa Fe, New Mexico. Mail service was established between Missouri and Utah. Millard Fillmore became the thirteenth president of the United States. Gold was discovered in Oregon. California was admitted as the thirty-first state of the Union. Portland, Oregon, now had a newspaper, the
Weekly Oregonian. The Deseret News
began publication in Utah, that state's first newspaper, and the University of Deseret opened in Salt Lake City.

In the late spring of '51, a treaty was signed called the Traverse des Sioux, calling for the Dakotas—better known as the Sioux—to give up their land in Iowa and most of Minnesota.

* * *

But in MacCallister's Valleys, crops were planted and babies were born and life was good.

All that was about to change.

* * *

Kate had been wrong about Jamie and his urge to wander, but being a tactful person, her husband didn't mention it. Jamie and Kate were both forty-one years old—al— though neither of them looked it—and as for Jamie, he was content to farm the land, raise horses and cattle, trap and hunt, and be with Kate.

Jamie Ian and Ellen Kathleen were both twenty-four and each had a houseful of kids.

Andrew and Rosanna now made their homes in New York when they weren't touring in Europe.

Of the triplets, Matthew and Megan had married and were busy with families of their own. Morgan had become a scout for the army and was building a reputation as a damn bad man to mess with. He was fast as lightning with a six-gun and not a bit slow to use it. He was, also, like all the boys except for Andrew, approximately the same size and temperament as his father, and looked enough like him to be his brother.

Joleen was seventeen and looked exactly like her mother, and the boys from both valleys were buzzing around her like bees to honey.

“Goddamn it!” Jamie said, after hauling his youngest daughter and a neighbor boy out of the hay loft, both of them panting and red-faced. Kate, holding onto Joleen's right ear with all the strength of an angry badger, marched her into the house and sat her down for a mother-to-daughter talk about the birds and the bees.

“Pat,” Jamie said to the boy. “I've about had all of this gropin' and pawin' I'm gonna tolerate.”

“Mr. Jamie,” the boy stood his ground. “I've been courtin' Joleen proper for two years now. I got me a piece of ground and I've proved it up. I'll have me a good crop and I got some cows and pigs. I been buildin' a right nice cabin, and—”

“Will you get to the goddamn point!” Jamie roared, rattling the rafters of the still-steamed-up barn.

“I want to marry Joleen!” the frightened young man stammered.

“Well, Jesus Christ, Pat! Why didn't you say so? You want my permission to marry her? Hell, yes. Please do!”

* * *

Falcon MacCallister was twelve and looked and acted several years older. When he was twelve, he said he wasn't goin' to go to school no more and that was that. If his pa and ma didn't like it, then they could just take turns whuppin' him all they liked—wasn't goin' to change nothin'.

“Go to your room!” Kate told him. “And you get no supper this night.”

“I don't care,” Falcon said. “I got enough jerky and pemmican up there to last for months. I'll see you both next year.” He walked up the stairs, his moccasins barely whispering on the wood, and closed the door.

Kate was so mad she could spit. She sputtered for a moment while Jamie braced himself for what he knew was coming out of her mouth, and hoping he could contain his amusement. Kate stamped her little foot and said,
“Shit!”

Then she got madder still when she looked at Jamie and he was just barely able to control his laughter.

“You think this is
funny?”
she demanded, standing in front of him, hands on hips.

Jamie was choking on suppressed laughter; he could but nod his head.

Kate pointed to the upstairs. “That's
your
son, Jamie Ian MacCallister.
You
made him what he is. You've roughhoused with that boy and taught him how to fight and shoot and quick-draw when you should have been helping him with his studies. Fine! Well, that's just dandy.”

“What do we have for supper?” Jamie asked, wiping his eyes on a bandanna.

A very dangerous look came into Kate's eyes. Jamie recognized it and stood up, moving toward the front door as Kate walked swiftly into the kitchen and picked up a pie, returning to the large family room.

“Well, Jamie Ian MacCallister!” she shouted. “I fixed this jist pie
¹
for dessert. But I think you can have it right now!”

Jamie almost made it but not quite. The jist pie caught him on the back of the head and neck just as he was pickin' 'em up an puttin' 'em down leaving the room. Kate had a pretty good throwing arm on her, too. The pie splattered and the pie pan bonged off his head and fell with a clatter to the porch floor. Jamie reached around and got a mess of pie on his fingers and ate it.

“Good pie, too,” he said, heading for the small saloon until Kate cooled down.

* * *

Jamie came back home after an hour, cautiously opening the door. Kate was sitting in her rocker, a shawl over her knees, reading by lamplight from Hawthorne's The Maypole of Merrymount. She pointed to the kitchen. “Your supper's in there. And I just took another pie out of the oven.”

“What I had of the first one was delicious,” he said.

She ducked her head to hide her grin.

While Jamie ate, Kate drank coffee at the table with him. Finally, she said, “About our son—”

“He'll be out of here and gone in two years, Kate. I see it in him. He's a wild one. He takes after Grandpa and me.”

“But he's just a child, Jamie!”

“So were we when we left Kentucky, Kate. The boy is tough and he's smart. He reads and figures well. But he's had enough of it. I've seen this coming for months. You and Sarah and the others have had him for almost seven years of schooling. Now it's my turn to teach him what he
really
needs to know to survive.”

“He's going to turn out to be a gun man, Jamie.”

“Maybe. Yes, you're probably right. But he will always be on the side that he believes is right.”

“He's too good with a gun, Jamie.”

“He's near'bouts as quick as I am, for a fact. Faster when he uses those Baby Dragoons of yours,” he added with a smile. “Besides, Morgan hasn't done too badly, so I hear.”

Both of them looked up at the sounds of a fast galloping horse.

“At this hour?” Kate asked.

“I'm friendly!” came the shout, after someone in the village hailed the rider. “Lookin' for the father of Morgan MacCallister.”

“Yonder's his cabin,” Dan Noble said.

Jamie flung open the door. “I'm Jamie MacCallister. Morgan is my son.”

“I be a friend of Preacher's, Jamie MacCallister. Name is Pete Bristol.”

“I've heard Preacher speak of you.”

“Morgan's down in New Mexico, Jamie. Little town just south of Taos. So little it ain't even got airy name. But it's run by a rancher name of Barlow—”

“Light and sit,” Jamie called from the porch. “Have some food while you tell the rest of it. Is Morgan in trouble?”

“Shootin' trouble, Jamie. He needs help bad.”

“Falcon!” Jamie roared, and the door to the boy's bedroom was flung open. “Go get your brother, Ian. Move, boy. Now!”

Jamie and Ian listened to Pete's story while the exhausted man wolfed down two plates of food and a pot of coffee. It was obvious that he had ridden hard to get there.

Matthew had slipped into the room, listening.

When Pete had finished, the man was almost asleep in his chair. Jamie put him in a spare bedroom—they had plenty now that all but one of the kids were gone—and turned to Ian. “Saddle us up two horses apiece, son—”

“And two for me,” Matthew said softly.

Jamie turned to look at the young man. Matthew was not a fast gun, but he was steady and puma-mean when angered. Jamie nodded his head. “All right, Matt. Ian, saddle up stock we can trade along the way.” He looked at Falcon. “You're the man of this house while I'm gone, boy. You look after your ma and do it right, you hear me?”

“Yes, Pa. You can count on me.”

“Boys, have your wives fix some pokes of food. We're riding tonight and we'll sleep in the saddle. Move!”

Kate grabbed hold of one arm. Her blue eyes were flashing fire. “You get my boy out of trouble, Jamie, you understand?”

Jamie smiled. “Yes, ma'am!”

Jamie kissed Kate and held her close for a moment, then gently pushed her away and stepped out onto the porch.

Swede, Sam, Moses, Wells, and the others had gathered outside, all of them armed and ready and willing to go. “You need some help, Jamie?” Sam asked.

Jamie looked at all his friends, good, solid steady men all. He smiled and shook his head. “I'd feel better if you all stayed here and took care of this valley. Pete could have unknowingly been duped into bringing a false alarm.” Jamie didn't believe that at all, he just didn't want his friends to get hurt or killed in this mini-war.

“Hadn't thought of that,” Swede said. “You're right, Jamie. By golly, you are.”

Jamie stepped into the saddle and picked up the lead rope to his spare mount. “Let's ride, boys.”

Father and sons rode south into the night. Each carried two Colt revolvers belted around his waist, two more in holsters specially made to fit over the saddle horn, left and right, and two more in the saddlebags. They each carried two full cylinders for each pistol, plus a rifle.

They rode until dawn, changing mounts whenever the ones they were riding began to tire. At dawn, they stopped at a small ranch many miles south of the valley and explained their situation. The rancher yelled for his wife and kids to make coffee and put some food on while he took the tired horses and swapped them for fresh ones from his corral.

The men wolfed down food, swallowed huge gulps of hot, black coffee, and were once more in the saddle.

The rancher had warned them, “Injun trouble south of here, MacCallister. Jicarilla 'Paches are on the prod. Be careful.”

Jamie thanked the man and pointed his horse's nose south.

They stopped at noon to once more swap horses and eat and sleep for a couple of hours, then they were on their way.

The hours seemed to melt into one long ride, day or night, it made no difference. The boys learned then why their father was held in such respect and awe. He never seemed to tire. Never complained. Never once did they see the big man slump in the saddle. When they stopped for rest, Jamie stretched out on the ground and was asleep in a dozen heartbeats, awake in two hours and ready to go.

“The man's indestructible,” Matt whispered to his brother, during a time they were walking their horses along to save them. “He's twice our age and ridin' us both into the ground.”

Ian grinned through the strain on his face. “That's why half the country is scared to death of him,” he returned the whisper. “And Falcon's gonna be just like him.”

“You bet. For a time I thought I'd be the one to step into Pa's boots.” He shook his head. “I'm fast enough and mean enough, I reckon, but I'm lackin' something that Pa's got. But Falcon's got it, and it scares ma.”

“I just never noticed.”

Ian smiled. “Hell, brother, you're still honeymoonin'! You ain't come up for air yet.”