Carnage of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “What’s he doin’ here?” a third asked.

  “What do you want, Drago?” Falcon asked.

  “I want you to die, MacCallister.”

  “You’ve just made a mistake, Drago. You have threatened an officer of the law. So now I’m going to ask you to unbuckle your gun belt and come with me.”

  “Suppose I don’t unbuckle my gun belt. Suppose I draw on you. What will you do, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “I will kill you,” Falcon said easily.

  MacCallister’s calm, almost expressionless reply surprised Drago, and the smile left his face. This wasn’t the way he was supposed to react. His adversaries always showed fear of him, and he used that as his edge.

  “Mr. City Marshal, do you have any idea who I am?”

  “I believe you just said your name is Drago.”

  “That’s right. Loomis Drago.”

  The expression on Falcon’s face remained fixed and unmoving. Now it was Drago who was getting a little uneasy.

  “Are you tellin’ me the name Loomis Drago don’t mean nothin’ to you?”

  “I’ve never heard of you,” Falcon said.

  “Bartender, do you know who I am?”

  “Yes, sir, I know who you are,” Jimmy answered from near the piano, where he had moved when the confrontation began.

  “You had better tell this—this city marshal about me before he bites off a hell of a lot more ’n’ he can chew.”

  “Loomis Drago is a gunfighter, Marshal. He’s killed more men than you can count in gunfights. Including Bing Short, who ever’one thought was the fastest gun there was.”

  “You are partly right,” Drago said. His smile could only be described as an evil sneer. “The only difference is, I know exactly how many I’ve killed. And it looks to me like I’m about to kill me another one.”

  “I told you to unbuckle your gun belt,” Falcon said. He had given no reaction of any kind to the information that he was confronting a deadly and skilled gunman.

  Drago raised his arm and pointed his finger at Falcon. “Marshal, I’m about to teach you a lesson. It’s too bad you aren’t going to live long enough to appreciate it.”

  A cold, humorless smile spread across MacCallister’s face. “Drago, you have just made a big mistake,” Falcon said.

  “Have I? And what mistake would that be?”

  “You’ve pointed at me without a gun in your hand.”

  “Don’t you worry about my gun, Marshal,” Drago said confidently. “I can get to it fast enough if I need to.”

  “It’s like I said. You don’t have a gun in your hand, and I do.”

  “What?”

  Falcon drew then, his draw so fast that it was a blur. One moment Drago was taunting, challenging Falcon, and a split second later the black hole at the business end of the barrel loomed large in Drago’s face.

  “No! Wait!” Drago shouted. He put both arms up. “I ain’t goin’ to draw! I ain’t goin’ to draw!”

  Falcon put his gun back in his holster.

  “Mr. Drago, I want you to leave now. You are no longer welcome in my saloon,” Hannah said.

  “You ain’t heard the last of me,” Drago said.

  “Marshal, look out!” one of the bar girls shouted.

  Looking up toward the second-floor landing, Falcon saw Deputy Russell aiming a rifle at him. Drawing and turning toward him, Falcon fired at the same time Russell fired, the bullet crashing into the bar behind Falcon. Falcon fired back, and Russell tumbled over the banister, then fell fifteen feet to the floor below.

  Falcon couldn’t say whether he heard Drago drawing his pistol, saw him out of the corner of his eye, or just felt it with that almost extrasensory intuition developed over a lifetime of exposure to danger, but somehow he knew. He turned toward Drago, who had planned to take advantage of the fact that Falcon was distracted.

  Again two guns roared, and again, Falcon’s shot found its mark. Drago fell to the floor with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. Falcon stood there holding the still smoking gun, while smoke from the four discharges gathered in an acrid cloud just under the ceiling of the saloon. He held the pistol for a moment longer, looking around the saloon to see if there was any further challenge.

  There was not.

  “He’s dead,” Sharp told Poindexter a moment later.

  Poindexter smiled. “Drago killed him, huh?”

  “No. MacCallister killed Drago.”

  “How the hell did that happen? I thought Drago was supposed to be fast with a gun. And where was Russell? Didn’t he back Drago up?”

  “Yeah, well, here’s the thing, Sheriff. Russell is dead, too. Falcon kilt both of them.”

  Judge Dawes smiled broadly. “Now we’ve got him just where we want him,” he said.

  “What do you mean? I sent two people after him, and he killed them both,” Poindexter said.

  “‘Killed.’ That is the operative word,” Dawes said. “He killed them both. I want you to arrest him. I will try him for murder.”

  “The whole saloon seen it, Judge,” Poindexter said. “They are going to testify that it was in self-defense.”

  “You just arrest him, and bring him to my court. I’ll take care of finding him guilty.”

  “That new ordinance they passed says I can’t arrest nobody in town anymore.”

  “Except for felonies,” Dawes said. “I will write a warrant charging MacCallister with first-degree murder. That is a felony. You have every authority to arrest him.”

  Poindexter, Sharp, and Peters, armed with shotguns, waited until Falcon went into the Hungry Biscuit for his evening meal. Then, all three rushed into the restaurant with their shotguns leveled toward Falcon.

  “No need to be bringin’ his order to him, Ellie Mae,” Poindexter said. “He’ll be takin’ his supper in the county jail. You are under arrest, MacCallister.”

  “May I inquire as to the charge?”

  “Yeah, you can inquire. You are being charged with double homicide. You murdered Loomis Drago and Albert Russell. Now, take that gun belt off, real slow, put it on the table, stand up, and put your hands behind your back.”

  Harold Denham was just closing up his office when, through the recently replaced front window, he saw Poindexter and two of his deputies, all carrying shotguns, walking Falcon MacCallister down the street. Falcon’s hands were handcuffed behind his back.

  “Damn!” he said aloud. “This doesn’t look good.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Word that Falcon had been arrested spread quickly throughout the town, and when the citizens learned that he was about to be tried for murder, the courtroom was filled to capacity. Those who couldn’t find seats in the courtroom stood along the walls and at the back of the room. There were at least another one hundred people gathered outside the courtroom, unable to get inside and unwilling to leave.

  It was a hot day, and the windows were open to allow some air to circulate, though the room was so crowded that the open windows did little to alleviate the heat. Most of those present were holding fans, and there was a steady wave of fans throughout the gallery.

  Falcon was brought into the court through the side door. His hands were chained in front of him, and he was wearing leg irons.

  “Oh!” Lucy Smith said. “Oh, look at the way they are treating him.”

  “That ain’t fair, Sheriff!” someone shouted. “There ain’t none of the other defendants been chained up like that.”

  “Quiet!” Poindexter yelled. “The next person who says anything is goin’ to be kicked out.”

  There were no more shouts, but an angry buzz continued as the men and women in the gallery talked among themselves.

  James Earl Van Arsdale was standing at the defendant’s table waiting for Falcon, and he pulled the chair out to help Falcon be seated.

  “How are you doing?” Van Arsdale asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Falcon said.

  “Hear ye, hear ye, he
ar ye! This here trial is about to commence, the honorable Theodore Dawes pre-sidin’,” Sheriff Poindexter, who was also acting as the bailiff, shouted. “Everybody stand respectful.”

  There was a rustle of clothes and a scrape of chairs as everyone in the courtroom stood. Judge Dawes came out of a back room. After taking his seat at the bench, he adjusted the glasses on the end of his nose, then cleared his throat.

  “Is the accused represented by counsel?”

  “He is, Your Honor,” James Earl Van Arsdale said. “I am representing him.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Gillespie said.

  “Objection? What are you objecting?”

  “James Earl Van Arsdale is the city attorney. Since he represents the city, I think it improper that he represent MacCallister.”

  “Your Honor, Falcon MacCallister is the city marshal, and the shooting which has precipitated this case was done in the performance of his duty. Therefore, as he is a city official, I not only have the right to represent him, I have the obligation to do so.”

  “Are you drunk, Mr. Van Arsdale?” Judge Dawes asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s not a hard question, Counselor. I asked if you are drunk.”

  “I am not drunk, Your Honor.”

  “Approach the bench and let me smell your breath.”

  “Your Honor, I protest to the effrontery of that request.”

  “That isn’t a request, Counselor, that is an order. Now you will either come up here on your own, or I will have the sheriff and a deputy bring you here.”

  “Your Honor, request permission to approach the bench, as well,” Gillespie said.

  “For what reason?”

  “I am prosecuting this case. I believe that I should know, firsthand, whether or not my adversary is intoxicated.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Gillespie. I will make the determination.”

  “Very good, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Van Arsdale, if you will?”

  Van Arsdale got up from behind the defendant’s table and walked up to the bench. Stepping up onto the little platform, he walked around behind the bench, then blew his breath in Judge Dawes’s face.

  “I don’t smell any liquor. You may be seated.”

  “Your Honor, you have not ruled on my objection as to having a city attorney represent the defendant,” Gillespie petitioned.

  “Your objection is overruled. Mr. Van Arsdale may act as counsel for the defendant. Bailiff, would you publish the charges please?”

  “Your Honor, comes now before this court, Falcon MacCallister, who is charged with murder in the first degree of Loomis Drago, and murder in the first degree of Albert Russell.”

  “Would the bailiff please bring the accused before the bench?”

  The sheriff walked over to the table where Falcon was sitting with Van Arsdale.

  “Get up, MacCallister,” he growled. “Present yourself before the judge.”

  Falcon shuffled up to stand in front of the judge. Van Arsdale went with him.

  “Mr. MacCallister . . . ,” Judge Dawes started, but Van Arsdale interrupted him.

  “It is Marshal MacCallister, Your Honor. And it is necessary to our defense that he be addressed as such.”

  “Very well. Marshal MacCallister, you have been charged with murder. How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  “Your plea is heard. Be seated.”

  Falcon shuffled back to the table, then looked over toward the jury. Voir dire had been a joke. The jury pool was handpicked by the judge and prosecuting attorney, and it didn’t matter who was challenged or preempted, the result was the same: a jury that was stacked in favor of the prosecution.

  Gillespie rose from his chair behind the prosecutor’s table and, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders, approached the jury.

  “Gentlemen of the jury, the case before you today is particularly heinous, because it pertains to an officer of the law, a man who has sworn to uphold the law, to protect and defend the citizens who are subject to that law.

  “Marshal Falcon MacCallister violated that oath of office when he, with malice and aforethought, gunned down two men. He was wearing the badge of his office even as he was committing the crime of murder, killing in cold blood, Loomis Drago and Albert Russell.

  “This wasn’t a random killing. Prosecution will prove that he had motive for killing both men. He had his first encounter with one of the deceased when he brutally pistol-whipped Deputy Russell while Russell and his friends were trying to enjoy a theatrical at the Malone Theater.

  “And what, you may ask, was the reason for the pistol whipping?

  “It was as simple as an exercise in power. MacCallister had just been appointed to the position of City Marshal, and as a way to project his newfound authority, he decreed that there be no guns in the theater except his own. This was despite the fact that Albert Russell was himself a deputy sheriff, an officer of the law, duly authorized to be armed at all times. He didn’t just arrest Deputy Russell, he pistol-whipped him.

  “I believe that it was a residual of this bad feeling between them that motivated his recent killing of Albert Russell.

  “The killing of Loomis Drago is easier to understand. Loomis Drago was a man with a reputation for being skilled in the use of firearms, a man who had, many times, faced armed and desperate men in deadly confrontations. Always, I may add, in the performance of a legal duty, because Loomis Drago was what is known as a regulator, a concerned citizen who, on his own, helped rid the State of Texas of wanted criminals. Yes, he received a bounty for the men he captured or killed, but no less a personage than Governor Roberts himself has stated that, ‘without the bravery and patriotism of the individual bounty hunters, our law officers would be overwhelmed. ’

  “Loomis Drago was one of those valiant few, the civilian who puts his life on the line to bring to justice the most dangerous and hardened criminals in our state.

  “Judge Dawes had issued a warrant against Falcon MacCallister dealing with the deaths of Deputies Harry Toombs and Lou Hamilton. Drago was attempting to serve that warrant when the altercation took place.

  “MacCallister had a double motive for murdering Drago. He killed him to prevent the warrant from being served, and he killed him for another, more sinister reason. You see, gentlemen of the jury, Falcon MacCallister enjoys a reputation similar to Drago, in that he has killed many men in deadly disputes. Indeed, he is the hero of many a popular dime novel.”

  Gillespie pointed dramatically toward Falcon. “But how can he stay a hero if there is another man who can draw his pistol faster, and shoot more accurately—a man who has been tested and emerged victorious in many gun battles? There is only one way, and that is to eliminate he who is your rival.

  “And that, gentlemen of the jury, is exactly what Falcon MacCallister did. He assured his position in the folklore of gun fighting by murdering the very man who was the biggest threat to his position. I will prove all these contentions during the course of this trial, and you will have no recourse but to find the defendant guilty as charged.”

  With a smug look of satisfaction, Gillespie returned to take his seat behind the prosecutor’s table.

  “Damn good job, Gillespie, good job,” one of the jurors called.

  “Your Honor, I object!” Van Arsdale shouted. “And I ask that this juror be replaced.”

  “Voir dire has been completed,” Judge Dawes said. “However”—he turned in his seat to face the jury—“I will have no more outbreaks from any juror. The next juror who speaks without permission will be removed and held for contempt.”

  “Sorry, Judge,” the guilty juror said.

  “Mr. Van Arsdale, your opening remarks?” Dawes said, turning his attention back to the defense table.

  Van Arsdale walked toward the jury and measured the hostility in the eyes of the twelve men sitting there. He knew all twelve of them, knew that all were considered to be in the sheriff’s
camp. Instead of addressing them, he aimed his remarks at the gallery, where he knew he would get a much more favorable reaction.

  “Not too long ago, I stood right here in this same position, not as defense counsel, but as prosecutor in a case involving Sheriff Poindexter. Sheriff Poindexter had just shot and killed a Texas Ranger . . .”

  “Objection!”

  “Sustained. Limit your opening remarks to your case, Counselor. The case you cited is not relevant.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Van Arsdale suppressed a smile. The judge had sustained the objection, but he had already put the thought in the minds of the people in the courtroom. And he was playing to them, more than to the jury, since he knew the jury was stacked.

  “It is interesting to note, is it not, in the prosecutor’s opening remarks, we learn that this case doesn’t deal just with the noted killer Loomis Drago? There was another who was killed in the same incident. Al Russell.

  “You see, it was not just Loomis Drago who attempted to kill Marshal MacCallister, but Deputy Al Russell as well. But Russell wasn’t facing Marshal MacCallister. Russell was standing on the second-floor overlook, armed with a rifle.”

  Van Arsdale took a bullet from his pocket and held it out, first briefly, for the jury, then more leisurely so that the gallery could examine it.

  “This bullet was taken from the bar, not two inches from where Marshal MacCallister had been standing. It is a forty-four, forty-caliber bullet, the same caliber bullet as fired by the Winchester Deputy Russell was using when he attempted to kill Marshal MacCallister.

  “We will prove that Marshal MacCallister was not only acting in his official capacity as an officer of the law, but that the shooting was justified because it was in self-defense.”

  After Van Arsdale sat down, prosecution called Deputy Sharp as its first witness.

  “Did you see the shooting?” Gillespie asked.

  “Yeah, I seen it. I seen it all.”

  “Please tell the court what you saw.”

  “MacCallister was standin’ there at the bar, drinkin’ a whiskey, when he looked up and seen my friend Al Russell standin’ up on the upstairs landin’. Al was just standin’ there lookin’ down on the rest of the folks that was in the saloon. He liked to do that, you know, just look at people. Al was a good sort who liked people. Well, the next thing you know, MacCallister seen him. And I don’t know, maybe he was still mad about the little fracas they had at the theater that time whenever MacCallister pistol-whipped Russell for no reason at all. Anyhow, without so much as a fare-thee-well, MacCallister pulled out his pistol and shot poor ol’ Al. Then he turned his gun on Loomis Drago and shot him, too.”