Dreams of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  Flooky cursed the man and jerked up the bag of supplies. He staggered out of the trading post and stumbled toward the stable for his horse.

  “If anybody’s got anything they want to say to Flooky, they better do it now,” Big Jim said. “’Cause you’ll not see him no more after this day.”

  “Well, he wasn’t much good no way,” a grizzled old mountain man said. “Give me a bowl of that stew, Morris. I worked up a hunger watchin’ MacCallister use that rope.”

  “There he goes,” the cook said, peeping out through a crack in the shutters. “Flooky’s gone after the lad.”

  “His hoss’ll be back in a day or two. Pretty good hoss.”

  “Where’s that stew?” the old mountain man said.

  Two

  Just as the warm winds of spring began to gently bathe the land, two trappers wandered into MacCallister’s Valley and had a home-cooked meal at the large cabin of Jamie and Kate. They had news but were loathe to speak in front of Kate.

  “Say it,” Jamie said. “She’s the boy’s ma.”

  “A no-count name of Flooky braced your boy in a tradin’ post over in the Deschutes. The lad purt near beat him to death with a length of new rope. Flooky, he got it in his mind to avenge the beatin’ and rode out after the boy. The winter was a cold one and the ground too hard to dig. Big Jim Williams found Flooky’s body about a week later. He’d been shot through the head and propped up agin a tree, his hands folded acrost his lap. Name carved in the tree. The lad come up on one of the men who kilt his bride over in the Willamette Valley. Shot him dead in a tradin’ post and took his scalp right there in front of everybody. Then about two weeks later, he found another one up along Roarin’ River—kilt him and scalped him. The boy is gettin’ a real bad reputation amongst the folks who want eastern law to be applied out here.”

  “Any word about my Grandpa?” Jamie asked.

  “He’s never more than half a day behind the boy,” the second man said. “Sometimes they ride together. He’s teachin’ the boy right good, I hear. You know your grandpa, Jamie. He ain’t got no use for no law other than hissen.”

  Long after the men had left, heading for Bent’s Fort, Jamie sat at the table drinking coffee. He finally lifted his eyes to meet those of Kate. “Do you want me to go after him, Kate?”

  She frowned and then shook her head. “No. Ian is a man grown. He’s got to find his own way. He’ll never be able to rest and make a useful life for himself until the vengeance he feels in his heart is over and done with.” She smiled at her husband. “Are you getting itchy feet, Jamie?”

  “No,” Jamie said truthfully. “I am not.” He drained his cup and stood up. “Time to break the ground, Kate.” He looked at his wife, still beautiful and with the shape of a woman half her age. “When is Ellen Kathleen going to deliver?”

  “This month, I’m sure—Grandpa!” she said with a laugh.

  “Grandpa!” Jamie snorted and walked out of the cabin. “Thirty-four years old and a Grandpa.” He looked back at Kate. “It’s your fault,” he said, then ducked the chunk of stovewood she flung at him.

  * * *

  Ian pushed open the door to the trading post and stepped inside. His great-grandpa was seeing to the horses at the livery. Ian knew they were in Canada, he just didn’t know how far into Canada they had pushed. What he did know was that four members of the gang who’d attacked the settlement were here, or close by, for he and the old Silver Wolf had tracked them all the way from the Yakima. And he knew their names: Joe Forrest, Blake Evans, and two men called Shaw and Zack. Neither Ian nor his great-grandpa had minded the distance, for if Joe and Blake and Shaw and Zack wanted to be buried in Canada, that was fine with the two of them.

  Ian took a corner table and ordered food and a pot of coffee. Just as Ian was pouring a cup of coffee, the door burst open and a man rushed in.

  “They’s two men just rode in, Fred!” he said, not seeing Ian in the gloom of the far corner. “One of them’s got scalps tied to his horse’s mane. A lot of scalps.”

  Fred was frantically waggling his eyebrows and cutting his eyes to Ian. The messenger finally got the message and shut up and crowded close to the bar. He and the barkeep began conversing in low tones until Silver Wolf walked in, looking like an eagle about to sink talons into prey, and then they both shut up. The old man took a seat at Ian’s table, and the barkeep quickly brought out the food. He sat the big steaming bowls down quickly and backed off.

  Ian and his grandpa, as Ian called him, fell to eating.

  Between mouthfuls, the old Wolf said, “After the shootin’s over and the smoke clears, boy, we’re gonna have to make fast tracks out of here. These Canucks don’t hold with gunplay.”

  “Suits me,” Ian said, washing down the stew with sips of strong coffee.

  Ian had changed dramatically since he had left the valley nearly a year ago. He was no longer a boy. He had filled out and his face had hardened. And he was the spitting image of his father. He had grown a blond drooping moustache that added years to his face.

  The elder MacCallister had not visibly changed in more than thirty years. He was still all wang-leather and gristle and dangerous as a grizzly. “In case we get separated, and it might be best if we lay down two trails, you ’member where I told you we’d meet.”

  “Yes.”

  The Wolf looked out through a crack in the shutters. “All right, son. You best eat quick, for here they come. All four of the bastards. They’ve been to the livery and seen the horses. Ian?”

  The young man looked up.

  “You going to take scalps?”

  “What do you think?”

  The old man smiled. “Thought so. Cut ’em quick and jerk ’em hard. We ain’t gonna have much time.”

  “That’s why you insisted we camp just a few miles from here last night, right, Grandpa? So’s the horses would be rested when we make our run?”

  “You’re learnin’, boy. You’re learnin’. You got a ways to go, but you’re gettin’ there fast. Maybe too fast.”

  “You thinkin’ about my ma, Grandpa?”

  “Yeah, I am. You’ve matured fast. And you got the name of a man who is quick on the shoot.”

  “Like you, Grandpa?” Ian asked with a smile. Ian looked out through the crack in the shutter. The four men had stopped in the street, talking things over. It was obvious they didn’t quite know how to handle this.

  “I think you got more of a reputation than me, boy. But news travels a lot faster now than years back. Is them trash comin’ on in or not?”

  “They’re talking.”

  The old Wolf shifted his chair so he had a full view of the front door. Both men picked up the pace of eating. The barkeep, the cook, and the messenger made ready to hit the floor when the shooting started, and they sensed it was just moments, perhaps seconds, away.

  “Here they come,” Ian said.

  Silver Wolf looked. The men all had their hands filled with pistols. “They’re goin’ to come in shootin’, Ian.”

  The barkeep, the cook, and the messenger all hit the floor behind the rough bar.

  Ian and Silver Wolf filled their hands with pistols, all of them double-shotted.

  Joe Forrest was the first one in the door. Ian and the Wolf waited while Joe got his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the interior of the trading post. Forrest found Ian and said, “You bastard! You’ve chased me long enough.”

  He lifted his pistol and Ian shot him, the heavy ball taking the man in the chest. Joe Forrest stumbled backward, his pistol discharging as death touched him, the ball blowing a hole in the floor.

  Zack ran around to the rear of the post and kicked in the back door. He made the corner before Silver Wolf drilled him clean, right between the eyes. Zack’s feet flew out from under him and bits of bone and brain splattered the wall.

  Blake Evans and Shaw crowded into the trading post from the front, both of them cursing and hollering. Ian and Wolf fired as one. Two more lay dead on the floor. Ian and th
e Wolf reloaded and then Ian quickly scalped the men, conscious of but ignoring the eyes of the barkeep, the cook, and the messenger watching him in undisguised horror and disgust.

  “That ain’t decent!” the messenger said.

  “It wasn’t decent when these men come charging into the settlement, shootin’ and killin’, neither,” Silver Wolf said. “And it damn sure wasn’t decent when they killed Ian’s new bride. Now shut your blow-hole.”

  The bloody souvenirs tucked behind Ian’s belt, Ian and the Wolf walked out into the sunlight and calmly walked the short distance to the livery.

  “I saddled your mounts, boys,” the liveryman said. “You best ride hard.”

  “Thanks kindly,” the Wolf said. A moment later the two men were galloping away, neither of them aware that young Ian was about to become a wanted man, with a bounty on his head.

  * * *

  Ian had been gone fourteen months when the news of the killings up in Canada reached Jamie and Kate. Big Jim Williams rode in from the fort and brought a stack of newspapers. A reporter from a New York City newspaper had gotten his silk and lace underwear in a wad and written a long column deploring the killings and wondering when this terrible violence would end. He called for an immediate ban on all pistols except those in the hands of the police and the military.

  “This columnist must be a total fool,” Kate remarked.

  “It’ll get worse as the years go by,” Jamie said. Jamie read another newspaper while Big Jim sat on the porch and drank coffee and ate hot biscuits, spread with butter and jam. “Ian is wanted by Canadian authorities and he’s got bounty hunters after him. That means they’ll surely come here.”

  “And?” Kate asked.

  “If they come here and start trouble, they’ll be buried here” Jamie said. “I’ll show them no mercy.”

  “Wesley Parsons and crew was at the Fort,” Big Jim called through the open window. “They’re ridin’ after Jamie. He was spotted up near Powder River Pass.”

  Kate looked at Jamie. “I would like to know that my oldest is all right,” she said.

  “I’ll get my gear together,” Jamie said.

  “I’ll ride with you part of the way,” Big Jim said. “Then I got to angle off and meet up with some ol’ boys. We’re fixin’ to winter in California. I would saddle up your hoss, but if you’re gonna ride that monster you usually ride, I’ll pass.”

  Jamie saddled up Horse and the two men were gone in less than an hour. Jamie was carrying a long letter for Ian, written by his mother while Jamie was packing. Big Jim said his farewells and cut west at Bridger Pass and Jamie continued on north. Except for hunting trips, Jamie had not left the valley in months, and both he and Horse were ready for the trail. When he could, he stayed in Indian villages, only entering after he had killed game to share with them.

  A hunting party of Indians told Jamie where his son was camped, and Jamie rode close and helloed the camp. His grandpa was nowhere to be seen. But Jamie recognized the tall young man who stepped out from brush and rocks.

  Jamie walked Horse down to him and sat his saddle for a moment, staring at the young man. “You’ve changed, son.”

  “That’s what the Wolf tells me.”

  “Where is Grandpa?”

  “Gone for supplies. Light and set, Pa.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ian shoved the coffeepot back on the fire and found two cups and shook them out. “You hungry, Pa?”

  “I could eat. I’ve got a side of bacon in the left-hand pack and some of your ma’s put-ups in jars on the other side. They’re for you and Grandpa.”

  “Ma send you?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I’ll break out the fryin’ pan while you get the grub, all right?”

  “I’ll put your horses up, too. I think Horse probably still remembers me.”

  “He’s not the only one,” Jamie said drily.

  That got the father a cool look from the son, but Ian wisely curbed his tongue.

  The animals put up and cared for, the bacon frying in the pan, Jamie handed Ian the letter from his mother. “I’ll just step over here and fetch some wood while you read what your ma wrote.”

  But Ian was already lost in the letter from home and did not acknowledge his father’s words.

  Jamie returned after a few moments and put a few sticks on the fire, then poured himself coffee. He studied his son while Ian was totally engrossed in the letter, reading it for the second time. Jamie noticed that the young man’s eyes were a bit red.

  Ian carefully folded the letter and tucked it safely away. He snuffed a couple of times and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, a shirt that his ma had made for him, Jamie noted. “Guess I caught a bit of a cold,” Ian said.

  “Yeah. It’s easy to do up here. Gonna be a hard winter, too, I reckon.”

  Ian poured him a cup of coffee and stared at his father for a moment. “I ain’t goin’ back ’til my mission is done, Pa.”

  “I didn’t ride up here to talk about that. I come up here so’s I could tell your ma how you was lookin’ and how you was doin’ and so she wouldn’t take a notion to put a bundlin’ board between us.”

  Ian grinned for a moment, then the grin faded. “Ma keepin’ flowers on Linda’s grave?”

  “Everybody does, boy. She’s never going to be forgotten.”

  “I still dream about her, Pa.”

  “I ’spect you will for a long time, son. But there’ll be someone else come along in the years ahead. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

  “That’s what the Wolf tells me.”

  “He’s comin’ yonder,” Jamie said.

  Ian spun around, almost spilling his coffee, then settled back down. “Will I ever be as good as you, Pa?”

  “In time. Me and your ma, Ian, we grew up on the run. You can remember how it was back in the Big Thicket.”

  “The younger generation has it easier than the one before?” Ian asked with a smile.

  “That’s the way it’s always been. It’s the way it should be.”

  Both of them got up to greet Silver Wolf and help him unload the pack horse. Then they all settled down around the fire to eat bacon and bread, drink the strong coffee, and talk.

  “You asked about your ma, Ian,” Jamie said. “I’ll just flat out shoot straight with you. She doesn’t like that price on your head.”

  “You’ve had one on your head nearabouts all your life, Pa,” the son retorted.

  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.

  Three

  “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?”

&n
bsp; “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.”