Rage of Eagles (24 page)

“Excuse me, uh, ladies,” Falcon said. He ran through the building and out the back door, jumping to the ground and cutting quickly to his left. He had no idea where he was going, but he damn sure wasn't going to stay in the Purple Palace.

“Cain't nobody spot him?” Penrod yelled. “Good God, he ain't but one man. Shoot the bastard!”

“Well, you ain't got no lead in him neither, big mouth,” someone yelled. “So quit your bitchin' at us.”

“Don't you git sassy with me!” Penrod hollered, the words reaching Falcon just as he paused for breath in a rear doorway.

I've got to get out of here,
Falcon thought.
Somehow. It's a crazy house.

Falcon slipped into the rear of the barbershop and walked into the main shop area. There were half a dozen men in the room. The locals turned and looked at him.

“Big doings in town today, huh, boys?” Falcon questioned.

“That is certainly one way of putting it,” the new barber said. He hadn't been in town more than a couple of weeks and looked as though he would like to leave as soon as possible.

“This has got to stop, Mr. MacCallister,” a local said. “There's going to be some women or kids killed.”

“Well, I know how it can be done,” Falcon told him. “Arm yourselves and put a stop to it.”

Several of the locals smiled faintly. They had gotten to know Falcon over the summer months and all liked him.

“Trying to get the men in this town to pull together is damn near impossible,” one of the locals said. “There are still some in this town who support Noonan and Stegman.”

“I don't know why,” Falcon replied. “But I suppose they have their reasons.”

“I can sum it up with one word,” another local said.
“Money.”

“Then they're fools,” Falcon told him, walking to the front door. He could see no one moving on the streets or the boardwalks.

Then Falcon heard a shout that brought a smile to his face. “Yonder comes them old mountain men from the Rockingchair! All of them. They're ridin' hell for leather, too.”

Falcon turned to the group of locals. “It'll be over in ten minutes,” he told them.

Falcon MacCallister checked his guns and stepped out onto the boardwalk.

Big Bob and his pals spread out just before they reached the town limits. They reined up and dismounted, quickly filling their callused hands with the butts of guns. They began advancing slowly into town, behind the buildings and straight up the boardwalks on both sides of the long street.

The Noonans and the .44 hands decided they wanted no part of the old mountain men coming at them with blood in their eyes. But for most of those who had lain in failed ambush for Falcon, it was too late. Dave cussed the advancing mountain men and leveled guns at them. Within a heartbeat he was filled with so many holes he died on his feet. Parnell ran out to help him and the mountain men drilled him, the impacting bullets turning the man around and around in the street, his body jerking from the hot slam of the .44 and .45 slugs.

“Hell's fire!” one of the others yelled, and hit the air, running all out to where their horses were hidden. Several others of the Noonan clan and of the .44 hands were right behind him. They leaped into their saddles and spurred their horses, quickly disappearing into the low hills.

There was a dead man sprawled on the boardwalk and Big Bob kicked him off into the street as he walked toward Falcon. “You can't even go to town to count your money without gettin' into trouble, can you, boy?”

“Certainly doesn't appear that way, Bob,” Falcon replied with a smile.

“Me and the boys kinda figured you'd get into a fight. We decided to follow you.”

“Damn good thing you did, too.”

“You shore left a passel of dead and wounded layin' about,” Stumpy remarked, looking around him as he strolled up. “They must have irritated you somethin' fierce.”

“They tried to ambush me.”

“That would piss me off too.”

“I count eight dead and two wounded,” Mustang said, walking up. “One of 'em was draggin' a busted leg and crawlin' off. I let him go.”

“I think that's the one called Sonny,” Falcon said. “Dale's in the hotel lobby. He might live. There's another called Penrod.”

“Penrod!” Puma blurted. “Penrod?”

“That's his name,” Falcon said with a laugh. “I think he's related to the Noonans, but I'm not sure.”

The doctor and the undertaker, newly arrived in town, were busy, moving from body to body.

“I feel in need of a drink,” Wildcat announced. “But not in the Purple Palace,” he quickly added.

“I was in there briefly,” Falcon said. He shook his head. “Those, uh, ladies were, uh, not entirely pleasant to the eye.”

“Only one of them is good-lookin',” Big Bob said. “Her name's Lilly and she runs the stable of gals. I been knowin' her for nigh onto fifteen years.”

“You poke her ever' now and then, Bob?” Dan asked with a grin.

“My pokin' and who I poke it to ain't none of your damn business, Dan.”

“I feel in need of a poke myself,” Dan replied. “That's the reason I was askin'.”

“Well, go ask her if you can poke her,” Big Bob said. “But Lilly ain't cheap. And she's still right smart of a mover, too. You better get cinched down tight when you climb on board and be shore to grab hold of somethin'. She can throw you.”

Laughing, Falcon walked on up the boardwalk toward the bank building. There would be no work done this day at the ranch. But he doubted there would be any further trouble in town . . . not once the survivors of the failed ambush got back to home range and spread the word.

But, Falcon thought, you never could tell. The shoot-out in town could bring the whole passer of them riding in. You just never knew.

Falcon spent an hour at the bank, dealing with Willard and one of his tellers. He made some arrangements for some of his money to be spent—mainly setting up through the bank lines of credit for half a dozen small farmers and several of the smaller ranchers. Then he walked over to the general store and found several nice shirts that would fit him and much to his surprise, a suit coat that would also fit him. He bought a pair of britches and changed clothes in the rear of the store. Then he bought the last hat in stock that was in his size . . . and in a style he did not like. He took his dirty clothes over to the laundry and cleaners to have them washed and pressed.

Big Bob Marsh approached him, a smile on his face. “The mayor of the town done looked me up,” Big Bob said. “When the trouble's over, he wants me to be marshal of this town. I told him I would if I could have Stumpy as my deputy. He said that would be just fine with him.”

Falcon shook hands with the man and congratulated him. “What does Stumpy think about all this?”

“Oh, I ain't told him yet. But he's been makin' noises 'bout it bein' time for us all to be thinkin' of settlin' down somewheres. He'll go along with it.”

“The work's just about done at the ranch, for sure,” Falcon told him. “Cattle are on good graze and by the time winter gets here, John will have several permanent hands hired. How about Puma?”

“Oh, he'll head back to the mountains and that damn cat of his. He ain't gonna farm and he ain't gonna settle near no town. He's done made that clear. He'll die up in the high country. Hell, that's what he wants to do. I think he's got a right to do just that.”

“Man should be able to do what he chooses,” Falcon agreed. “But it won't be lasting much longer. Not with so-called civilization fast coming this way.”

“Well, it's gonna be a sorry damn day when that gets here,” Big Bob said with a frown.

“I certainly agree with you, Bob. How about the rest of the boys? What are they going to do?”

“They're gonna stick around and farm them parcels of land you give out. I kinda figured they would. It's time for us to be thinkin' of warm fires and soft beds. Ain't none of us got that many more years ahead of us.”

And their passing will be the end of another era, Falcon thought. An era of American history that will never come again. And how will it be marked?

“I got to find Stumpy and tell him the news,” Big Bob said. “I can't wait to see his face.”

“Those Double N and .44 boys might come back, Bob,” Falcon cautioned. “I can't shake a bad feeling that fell on me a few minutes ago. You pass the word for the boys to be careful.”

“Will do, Falcon.”

As Big Bob walked away, Falcon consulted the clock in the bank window. It was just mid morning. Plenty of time for the Double N and .44 riders to reach home range, inform their friends what had taken place in town, and return en masse.

The feeling that the Noonans and the .44 bunch would do just that would not leave Falcon. And Falcon's men were going to do a bit of celebrating; they would stay in town all day, probably.

Falcon looked up the street: The farmers he had met along the way into town were just arriving in their wagons; wives, kids, and all.

Falcon spotted a young boy of about twelve sitting on the boardwalk and approached him, giving him a couple of dollars to situate himself on the edge of town, on one of the low hills, and keep watch. “You see riders coming, boy, you run find me and warn me, all right?”

“You betcha, Mr. MacCallister. I'll sure do it. You can count on me.”

Falcon got himself a table at the rear of Rosie's Café and checked his guns . . . all four of them. He loaded them up full while he drank his coffee and ate his huge wedge of pie. He had seen Dan Carson go into the Purple Palace in search of Lilly to poke. Big Bob and Stumpy would be off together somewhere in town, making plans about when they became lawmen. Mustang was in the farm implement store, talking about plows and such, Wildcat with him. Puma Parley was wandering around town somewhere.

Falcon had not seen the man he suspected of being a deputy U.S. marshal. He had ridden out of town early that morning, the stableman had told him. He had him a bedroll and supplies for a couple of days with him.

The minutes ticked slowly by and became an hour, then two hours. Falcon sat in Rosie's and drank coffee and waited.

Shoppers had returned to the streets of the town, visiting and gossiping and shopping. The café began filling up and Falcon paid for his coffee and stepped out onto the boardwalk. The dark feeling of danger had intensified within him. He felt certain a showdown was imminent, and it would be a bloody one, he was sure of that.

More farmers and small ranchers had arrived in town with their families. Many of them would make a day of it in town, and were taking rooms at the hotel and the boarding house to spend the night.

Falcon walked down to the livery to check on his horse. Someone had tossed some loose dirt over the bloody spots on the livery floor. He left the livery to slowly walk the town. He spoke to the people he met and stopped a couple of times to chat with farmers and ranchers.

The crops looked good, cattle were fat, there was plenty of water this year, and everything looked good.

Except in town, Falcon thought. All hell was going to break loose in town before this day was over. Now he was sure of it.

Falcon walked outside of town and climbed the low hill. The young boy smiled up at him. “I ain't seen a thing, Mr. MacCallister. But I'm keepin' my eyes open a-lookin'.”

“Good boy. You keep sharp and there'll be a couple more dollars in it for you.”

“Yes sir!”

Falcon walked slowly back to town, his thoughts dark. The feeling of impending danger had increased within him. More people had arrived in town and Falcon wondered why so many people were coming into town to shop on a weekday?

He watched with a feeling of dismay as John Bailey and his family came riding up the main street. Kip and the cook and the extra hand John had hired—a local young man still in his late teens—were not with them; they had stayed back at the ranch, taking care of odds and ends. Angie, Martha, and Jimmy were in the wagon, John on horseback.

“Damn!” Falcon swore just under his breath.

“Something the matter, Brother MacCallister?” The question came from Falcon's left.

He turned. Reverend Watkins was standing there, all spiffed up in his best suit.

“You're mighty dressed up this day, Preacher,” Falcon said.

“I'm waiting for Miss Terri and her family,” the minister said. “There is a box supper at the church this evening. Didn't you know?”

Falcon sighed. So that was it. Now Falcon remembered John and Martha talking about it. A box supper. That's why so many people were flocking into town.

“It slipped my mind, Preacher. Lots of people coming in, hey?”

“Nearly the entire population of this end of the county will be here,” Watkins replied. “Every room at the hotel and at Mrs. Deekins's boarding house is taken.”

“Interesting,” Falcon muttered.

“People will be sleeping in tents and under their wagons,” Watkins went on. “We're going to have a lovely service at the church. You will be there, Mr. MacCallister?”

“I'm sure,” Falcon said, then excused himself. He walked off shaking his head. Reverend Watkins and Terri Gilman . . . Good Lord, what a pair. Falcon smiled at the thought as he walked away. Well, stranger things had happened, he supposed, but offhand he couldn't think of any.

At the general store he bought a bottle of sarsaparilla and some crackers for his lookout on the hill and carried them up to him.

“Ain't seen a thing, Mr. MacCallister,” the boy said.

“But I'm a-watchin'.”

“Good boy.”

Maybe I've just been imagining the danger,
Falcon thought, as he walked back to town.
Letting my imagination run away in my head.

But he didn't believe that for a minute.

Noonan and Stegman and their hired guns were coming to town, and they were coming to town on this day. And it wouldn't make any difference to them how many innocent people caught a bullet; men, women, or kids.

And it wouldn't make a whole lot of difference if Falcon and his boys rode out of town back to the ranch. Noonan and Stegman would just wait until the next time he came into town. Falcon was beginning to see Noonan's plan now . . . or he guessed it might be the rancher's plan: Noonan just might have in mind subduing the townspeople, kicking them back into submission by a huge show of force. Showing them he was boss and by God that's the way it was going to be from now on.

The more Falcon thought about it, the more convinced he became he was right. Today just happened by accident and it fit right into Noonan's plans.

Falcon stopped up short on the boardwalk. But someone had known about it: The new hand knew of Falcon's plans. Falcon had been currying his horse late yesterday afternoon and the young man had asked point-blank if he was going somewhere. Falcon hadn't given it a second thought; he just told him about his planned trip into town today.

The hired hand had ridden out shortly after that and hadn't returned until long after dark. Had to be him. Falcon would have a little chat with Young Mr. Louis when he got back. That is, if Louis ever returned to the Rockingchair. If he had any sense, he wouldn't.

Falcon turned to look in the direction of the Double N and the .44 ranches. They were coming. He was sure of that. He just didn't know when.

He went in search of his crew and one by one told them of his suspicions.

“You think maybe we should all head back to the ranch?” Wildcat asked.

“Then they'd tear up the town just for spite and perhaps kill or injure some people just for the hell of it,” Falcon said. “No. We'll stay. We're a thin line, but with any kind of luck we can make the difference.”