Scream of Eagles (24 page)

Those in the saloon who weren't Kermits beat a hasty exit out the back door when Jamie and the others pushed open the batwings and stepped inside the smoky bar and began spreading out.

“You men are fools!” Percy Kermit said to Jamie. “I gave you until dawn to make your peace with God.”

“We done that,” Logan said. “He tole us to come on in here and kick your ass.”

“You blaspheme!”

Logan looked hurt. “I'm just tellin' you what He said. He said He don't have much use for hypocrites like y'all.”

A man stood up from a table. “Permission to speak, cousin?”

“Go ahead, Eli.”

“The Lord has delivered our enemies into our camp. It's God's will that we obey the sign and destroy them.”

“I do believe you're right, Eli.”

“What a bunch of bloomin' idgits,” Red said.

“Yeah,” Logan responded. “I believe the Lord has delivered us into this den of sin for a reason. And I sure wouldn't want to disregard no message from the Heavens.”

“My goodness no!” Canby said.

“You'll all burn in hell!” Percy said.

Jamie stared hard at Percy. “This fight doesn't have to be. Rick's a good boy, and we believe he's telling the truth about what happened. The woman chased him, not the other way around.”

“He's a lying fornicator,” another Kermit said, standing up.

“You be right, Ham,” Percy said.

“I do believe we've talked long enough,” Logan opined. “I think it's time to read some from the Scriptures.”

Claude Kermit grabbed for his guns, and Logan shot him in the belly.

Then Kermits and kin all jumped to their feet, and the barroom erupted in a hail of bullets and gunsmoke.

As soon as Logan had fired, Jamie and his group stepped out of position; for a few precious seconds that move threw off the aim of the Kermits.

Red put a bullet into the chest of a man just as Jamie dragged iron and dropped Percy with a bullet to the head. Rick lined up Fat Phil and put the pus-gut on the floor, bellering and squalling from the hole in his belly.

Jamie dropped to one knee and put lead into a man who was aiming at Red. The bullet broke the man's shooting arm at the elbow, angled off and up, and struck him in the jaw, knocking him down.

Canby stood with a pistol in each hand, blasting away with terrible results: there were several bodies lying in front of him, some moving, some who would never again move under their own power.

Jamie saw Red take a bullet in the chest. The big man staggered back, smiled, dropped his empty pistols and jerked full-loaded guns from behind his belt. “I'm a ring-tailed tooter from way back!” the flame-haired and freckle-faced man yelled. “And it'll take more than that to put me down, you damned pack of heathens!”

Red opened up, firing as fast as he could cock the hammers and pull the triggers. The results were devastating.

“I'm hit!” Archie Kermit screamed, just as his cousin, Bernard, took a bullet from Red's guns in the center of his forehead and fell against him, both men tumbling to the floor.

Jamie felt the whip and sting of a bullet cut a groove in his cheek as yet another bullet took off a small chunk of flesh from his upper left arm. Jamie took aim through the smoke and yelling and confusion and ended the days of Zeb and Zeke Kermit with four fast rounds from his guns.

Red was down on his knees, his face and chest bloody. He let out a wild yell and emptied one gun into a knot of Kermits and kin, did a fast border roll, and emptied his second pistol before falling over to one side, his pistol slipping from suddenly numb fingers.

Enraged at the sight, Logan jumped right into the middle of a group of Kermits, his big Bowie knife flashing back and forth, each slash reddening the razor-sharp blade.

Dunk and Dink went down, eyes wide with shock, gaping holes in their throats.

Jamie took splinters from the bar in one side of his face, and the blood poured out. Ignoring the sting and the wetness, he jerked freshly charged pistols from his belt and began pouring out the lead. Temple and Isham Kermit went down under the rolling and deadly thunderous barrage just as Canby ended the days of Samuel and Calhoun.

Rick jerked the sawed-off shotgun from pegs behind the bar and fired both barrels into several cousins and nephews, knocking one completely off his feet and sending another two rolling on the floor, chest and belly shot.

Jamie watched through unbelieving eyes as Red staggered to his boots and emptied a six-gun into the chest of Ham Kermit. Then the big man turned, his eyes meeting those of Jamie, his smile bloody. “See you on the other side, Mac,” he said, then fell forward, dead.

As suddenly as it had begun, the fight was over. The barroom was filled with thick gunsmoke, the acrid smell mingling with the sharp odor of blood.

Only two of the Kermit kin were unhit and able to stand, Gratton and Cornelius. They stood with their hands empty and in the air. Their eyes were wide and disbelieving at what had just happened in the saloon. The moaning of the wounded filled the smoky air.

Only two of the eight brothers were still alive, Claude and Temple, and they were badly wounded.

Jamie reloaded, then pulled what splinters he could from his face and wiped away the blood. “I believe that just about ends your problem with the Kermits, Rick,” he said calmly.

Logan wiped the bloody blade of his Bowie on a dead man's shirt and said, “Damn shore does.”

As King Fisher would later say, “I'm glad I wasn't around that night. Those old bastards are rattlesnake mean. I'd not want to lock horns with Jamie Ian MacCallister or anybody who rode with him.”

The highest compliment one gunfighter could give another.

Jamie and his friends looked over at Red. He had died with what appeared to be a very faint smile on his lips. Logan walked over to him and knelt down. With his fingertips, he very gently closed Red's eyes. “Have a good journey, ol' partner,” he whispered. “I'll be along someday. Then we can ride together forever.”

Rick was struggling with his emotions, fighting to keep the tears from rolling down his cheeks. He lost the battle and let the tears flow.

“Well, look at the little baby cry,” Gratton sneered.

Canby closed the distance between them and hit Gratton across the jaw with the barrel of his pistol. The sound of the jawbone cracking was loud in the near silence. Canby turned to Cornelius.

“You got anything you want to say?”

“N-no ... no, sir. Nothin' a-tall.”

“Fine.”

Logan looked at the bartender, who had just a moment before gotten up from the floor behind the bar and was dusting himself off. “You got airy undertaker in this burg?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go fetch him.”

“What about our kin?” Cornelius asked.

Jamie glanced at the man. “What about them?”

“They need a doctor.”

One of the wounded Kermits raised up on one elbow and gave Logan a cussing, then made the mistake of pointing a pistol at him. The old mountain man shot him between the eyes and said, “That 'un don't no more.”

“You foul, evil old man!” Cornelius said.

“Old, I'll go along with, sonny. But foul and evil suits you more'un me. Now shut that blowhole of yourn 'fore I take me a notion to shut it for you.”

Cornelius closed his mouth and kept it closed.

Rick and Canby gathered up all the weapons from the dead and wounded and toted them out back, dropping the whole kit and caboodle down the opening of the one-hole privy.

Gratton was getting to his feet, holding his busted jaw, when the undertaker and his helper arrived. The undertaker smiled and rubbed his hands together at the sight. There were dead bodies all over the place.

Jamie pointed to Red. “You do this man first. And you do him right. We'll bring you clean clothes within the hour.”

“Yes, sir. Of course. Now, about the headstone . . .”

* * *

Red was buried the next morning, a cold, windy overcast day in South Texas. No one knew what his first name was or if Green was even his Christian last name. After the short service, the men did not linger long at the grave site. They said their goodbyes to Red and rode out of town, following the Rio Grande north.

Two days later, sitting at a table in a cantina, the men toasted the memory of Red Green.

“I think I'll head back home,” Canby announced. “I don't figure any of my brothers or sisters is still livin', or even if they was, if they'd want to see me, but I ain't never even seen my parents' graves. I think I ought to do that.”

“I think I'll head up to Fort Stockton and hook up with a party that's maybe heading to Californee,” Logan said. “Hell, I might decide to spend the rest of my days out yonder. You been out there, ain't you, Mac?”

“Oh, yes. Some years back. The weather's nice year-round.”

The group was silent for a time, knowing they were splitting up, probably for the last time.

“Rick,” Canby said. “You got Red's gold, and with your share, that makes a tidy poke. You ought to think about settlin' down. Marry up with a nice woman and stop this here wanderin'.”

“What woman would want me?” the young man asked.

Jamie smiled. “Oh, I know a place just full of single gals. Most of them blond-headed and blue-eyed.”

“You don't say!”

“Sure do. And I know where there's a nice piece of land for sale to the right person. It's ten sections. Man could raise horses, run some cattle, and have him a nice garden. And I know the president of the bank right well, too. The land could be got for a fair price.”

“That sounds good to me,” Rick said.

“We'll pull out at dawn, then. It's a long ride.”

“Well, I guess it's trail's end, boys,” Logan said with a sigh. “But I want to tell y'all this: I ain't never ridden with no better men. Now, I ain't much for mushy goodbyes. So I'll just finish this drink and walk out of here. Nobody needs to say no more.”

The men nodded their heads and watched as the old mountain man drained his glass, then stood up and walked out of the cantina.

Canby poured himself another drink, downed it, and stood up. “See you boys around,” he said, then tossed them a salute and walked away.

Rick finally broke the silence after Logan and Canby had left. “I ain't never gonna forget them men,” he said, his voice husky.

“Nor they us,” Jamie replied.

“I used to think all I ever wanted to do was ride the trails, Mr. Mac. But now I realize that a man's got to have a home, something solid to hold on to. Logan's never had that and neither has Canby—'ceptin' for all them years in the army. I reckon I want more than that out of life.”

Jamie nodded in agreement. “I been talking around. It's about eighty-five miles straight north to a trading post. We'll make that and provision again there. Then ride on up through the plains and angle some west. We'll be home when the mountain flowers are just beginning to bloom.”

“That sure has a good sound to me, Mr. Mac. But then what'll I do?”

Jamie smiled. “You can build you a cabin, hang those guns up on a peg, and for the most part, leave them there. Then you can go courtin'.”

“And I'll have me a home.”

“That you will.”

* * *

Logan rode west, Canby rode east, and Jamie and Rick headed north. Red lay in his grave just outside of Eagle Pass. But the five of them had broken the back and cut off the head of the Kermit gang in a shoot-out that would become legend.

Jamie and Rick rode across the once empty plains that were not so empty anymore. Pioneers were pushing steadily westward, building their lonely cabins, with the only company the whine of the wind and the howl of the coyote. In another twenty-five years, the panhandle of Texas would be dotted with small towns and settlements.

The two men crossed the windswept and lonely plains and provisioned at a trading post near the juncture of the Mustang and Carrizo rivers and spent a day and a night there, resting their horses and themselves. They crossed into Oklahoma Territory, an area that was rapidly filling with outlaws on the run and assorted other riffraff and dropouts from the human race. They had just made camp and had the coffee ready when a voice called out from the gathering shadows.

“Come on in,” Jamie said, his pistol in his hand, hammer back. “But you'd better be friendly.”

“I'm friendly if you are. I'm a U.S. marshal, on the hunt for three murderers.” The man stepped into the light and Jamie smiled.

“Pat Riordan,” Jamie said. “It's been a while since I've seen you.”

“Jamie MacCallister!” the federal marshal called. “Well, I'll be damned.”

The two men shook hands, and Jamie introduced Rick. Pat led his horse in and up to the picket line and saw to its needs before seeing to his own. Then he settled down with a sigh and accepted a cup of coffee.

“Who are you looking for?” Jamie asked.

“Twins named Dunk and Dink Kermit, and a cousin of theirs called Rip.”

Jamie smiled. “They're all dead.” Then he explained about the shoot-out.

“Good,” Pat said. “You've got several thousand dollars of reward money coming, Mac.”

“Give it to Rick, here. Have it sent to the Bank of Valley, Colorado, in his name. He'll be settling there.”

“Fair enough.” Then he chuckled. “You boys realize you wiped out the whole damn gang! You done something in five minutes that we've been tryin' to do for five years.”