“MacCallister? Yes, I believe it is,” Clyde said.
“So he’s here then? MacCallister?”
“Well, no, he ain’t here,” Sylvester said. “Use your eyes. Me’n Clyde’s the only ones here.”
“I mean is he here in town?”
“Oh, yes, he’s in town all right,” Sylvester said. “In fact, he won a shooting match today. I swear, I never saw anyone who could shoot like that. I mean, he beat Frances Martin. I didn’t think anyone could do that.”
“He killed this Martin fella, did he?”
Sylvester chuckled. “Frances Martin ain’t a fella, she’s a woman. And no, he didn’t kill her. It wasn’t anything like that. This was a shooting match, shooting at targets.”
“You think MacCallister will be in here later tonight?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure of it,” Sylvester said.
* * *
It was the last song of the show, and Kathleen stepped to the front of the stage to speak to the audience.
“You have all been so wonderful tonight, and I have enjoyed singing the songs you have requested. But I am going to sing this last song for me. It was written by a man named Thomas P. Westendorf, and when you hear it, you will know why it has such meaning for me.”
Kathleen looked over at the orchestra leader and nodded. He raised his baton, and the music began to play. As Kathleen sang her song, she looked directly at Falcon.
I’ll take you home again, Kathleen,
Across the ocean wild and wide,
To where your heart has ever been,
Since first you were my bonny bride.
The roses all have left your cheek,
I’ve watched them fade away and die;
Your voice is sad whene’er you speak,
And tears bedim your loving eyes.
Oh! I will take you back, Kathleen,
To where your heart will feel no pain,
And when the fields are fresh and green,
I’ll take you to your home again.
When the song ended, Kathleen acknowledged the applause; then, as the curtains began to close, she held up her hand to stop them, and stepped out to the front of the stage again.
“We are having a celebration over at the Gold Strike, and I invite all of you to come join us.”
With a final curtsy, she retreated back behind the closing curtains as the audience stood and began to file out of the theater.
One of the stagehands came out into the audience and found Falcon as he was talking to Kohrs and some of the other cattlemen.
“Mr. MacCallister?” the stagehand said.
“Yes.”
“Miss Coyle’s compliments, sir, and she asks if you would wait long enough to escort her over to the Gold Strike.”
“I think quite an impression on the lady you have made,” Kohrs said, laughing.
“So it would seem,” Falcon said. He wasn’t particularly pleased that she had asked him to wait for her, but he decided it would be rude to turn her down.
“What shall I tell her?” the stagehand asked.
Sighing, Falcon sat back down. “Tell her I will wait right here for her,” he said.
“Very good, sir.”
* * *
Back at the Gold Strike, Gilly Cardis was on his third beer by the time the crowd started arriving from the theater. They were laughing and talking, and while several of them hurried to the bar, the others found tables and, within a few minutes, the saloon changed from being empty and quiet to crowded and noisy.
“I’m tellin’ you, she’s a pure nightingale, that girl is,” one of the arriving customers was saying. “I ain’t never heard no one who could sing as pretty as that.”
“Why, she sings in here most ever’ night,” one of the others said. “So I could’a told you before this here concert ever come about how pretty a singer she is.”
“She ain’t just a pretty singer; she’s a pretty girl too, and that’s a fact.”
“Yeah, but it won’t do no good for any of us to get any ideas. She has a fancy for MacCallister,” the first man said.
Hearing MacCallister’s name mentioned, Cardis moved closer to them so he could overhear their conversation.
“How do you know she has a fancy for him?”
“ ’Cause, I was sittin’ right behind MacCallister and Mr. Kohrs for the whole show. I figured something was up, the way she kept lookin’ over toward him while she was singin’. Then, soon’s the show was over, a stagehand come out and ask MacCallister to wait for her. He’s over there now.”
“Are you sure? The theater’s empty now, ain’t it?”
“Not entirely empty. MacCallister’s over there now, sittin’ out in the dark, just waitin’ for her.”
The other man laughed. “Can you imagine someone like Falcon MacCallister sittin’ in the dark like that just because some woman asked him to?”
“Yeah, well, there’s no tellin’ what all a man will do for a pretty woman. Even a man like Falcon MacCallister.”
* * *
The gas lamps in the theater had been extinguished except for the one closest to Falcon. The theater staff left it burning because they knew that he was waiting for Kathleen. Falcon pulled his watch from his pocket and checked it. He had been waiting for her for one half hour. How long did it take her to get ready anyway?
* * *
Cardis tried the front door of the theater and found that it was unlocked. He let himself in, then moved quietly through the lobby and into the orchestra seating area. As soon as he stepped into the orchestra area, he saw a single light glowing down front, near the stage. And he saw a man standing near the light.
Cardis drew his pistol, aimed carefully, then pulled the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot sounded very loud in the closed, darkened, and quiet confines of the theater. Through the billowing cloud of gun smoke, Cardis saw the man he had shot at clutch his chest, then fall.
“MacCallister! My name is Gilly Cardis and I got you, you son of a bitch!” he shouted. “That’s for killing my brother!”
Suddenly someone stood up from one of the seats.
“I’m MacCallister!” he shouted. “You shot an innocent man, Cardis!”
“No!” Cardis shouted as he turned to run from the theater.
With his gun drawn, Falcon ran out of the theater after him.
A couple of people were standing in front of the theater. They had heard a shot, and they saw someone run from the theater; now they saw Falcon coming out holding a pistol.
“What’s going on?” one of them asked.
Falcon recognized Hayford, the publisher of the town newspaper.
“Hayford, get the doc quick,” Falcon said. “That man just shot one of the stagehands.”
“He ran to the other side of the track!” one of the others said. This was Nye, the lawyer.
A gunshot sounded from the other side of the track, and Falcon heard someone shout. Falcon started toward the track on the run; then he saw someone coming out of the darkness toward him. It was Deputy Joyner.
“Joyner, did you see him? Which way did he go?” Falcon asked.
Falcon saw a circle of fire on Joyner’s coat.
“Damn!” Joyner said, his voice strained with pain. “Damn, this hurts.”
Joyner fell facedown. Falcon ran over to him and rolled the deputy over. He patted out the ring of fire on his jacket. That was when he realized what had caused the fire in the first place. Deputy Joyner had been shot at point-blank range, and the powder blast from the revolver had set his jacket ablaze.
As he knelt over the deputy, Falcon could hear the sound of an approaching train.
“Joyner? Joyner, can you hear me?” Falcon asked the deputy.
Joyner moved his lips as if trying to speak, but was unable to. He took two more ragged gasps; then he stopped breathing. Falcon put his hand to the young deputy’s neck, feeling for a pulse. There was none.
The train sounded closer.
“
Deputy Joyner, he’s over here!” a man’s voice called from the other side of the tracks, and Falcon, with his pistol drawn, ran across the track and saw Cody Martin.
“Where’s Deputy Joyner?” Cody asked when he saw Falcon.
“He’s dead,” Falcon replied. “Cody, did you see the man who shot him?”
“I think I did. At least, I saw a man holding a gun running that way,” Cody said, pointing toward one of the railroad signs.
“Thanks,” Falcon said. Looking back up the track, he saw that the train had already reached the far end of town. “Cody, you’d better get back to the depot and get those people out of the way.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Cody said.
* * *
Falcon started in the direction Cody had pointed, but it was too dark to see anything. As he got closer, though, he could hear heavy breathing. He listened for any sound of movement, but there was none. Whoever he was after was remaining very still.
Now the train was so close that its headlight beam began to light up the area, and in the darkness alongside the track, it picked up the gleam of a spur rowel.
“I see you!” Falcon shouted. “Come toward me with your hands up, or I’ll shoot!”
“Not as good as I can see you!” the man called, and Falcon realized then that he was being backlit by the headlamp of the train.
The man fired at Falcon, and he heard the bullet fry past his ear. Using the gunman’s muzzle flash as a target, he returned fire.
At the precise moment Falcon fired, the train was coming around a small bend, which brought its light to bear on Falcon’s adversary. Falcon saw the gunman suddenly throw up his gun, then fall backward, sliding headfirst down the railroad embankment. Now he was lying in the light of the train, which was pulling into the station no more than fifty yards behind them. Falcon could hear the squeal of brakes and the sound of steam being vented through relief valves. The bell was clanging loudly.
Falcon ran to his would-be assassin, and as he stood over him, he saw bubbles of blood coming from the man’s mouth. The wounded man was trying hard to breathe, and Falcon heard a sucking sound in his chest. He knew then that his bullet had penetrated the man’s lungs.
“Gilly Cardis?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you were in prison.”
“I didn’t like it all that much, so I left,” Cardis said. Despite the seriousness of his wound, he couldn’t help but chuckle at his own dry humor. He paid for the laughter, though, by an episode of sporadic coughing, which he found very painful.
“You would have been better off if you had stayed.”
“Yeah, it looks like it, doesn’t it?” Cardis said. “Who was it I shot back there?”
“You shot the deputy.”
“No, I mean in the theater. Who was it I shot in the theater?”
“You shot a stagehand.”
“Damn. I thought I was shootin’ you.” He took a few more rasping breaths. “Ain’t that a hell of a note?”
Falcon didn’t answer.
“I’m dyin’, ain’t I?”
“Yes,” Falcon replied flatly.
There had been several people on the depot platform awaiting the arrival of the train, and though Cody had managed to get them out of the way temporarily, they’d seen Falcon’s adversary go down in the light of the train. Now they surged down the track to be firsthand witnesses to the drama that was playing out before them.
“Where is he?” one of them shouted.
“He’s up there, lying alongside the track,” another said. “MacCallister shot him.”
“Get a rope. Let’s string the son of a bitch up!”
“No need for anything like that,” Falcon said.
“What do you mean there’s no need? The son of a bitch killed two men. Are you saying he don’t deserve to hang?”
“No, I’m saying no need for a rope. He’ll be dead before you can even find one.”
“MacCallister’s right,” another said as he looked down at Cardis. “In fact, he’s already dead.”
People continued to come up the track from the depot, some of them gathering around the body of Cardis, while others gathered around Deputy Joyner. Falcon was surprised to see that not only were many of the train passengers among the morbidly curious, but so was the train crew, as he saw the engineer, fireman, and conductor standing in the crowd.
“Make way! Make way here!” an authoritative voice called, and Falcon looked around to see Sheriff Rodney Gibson coming, parting the crowd before him like Moses parted the sea.
“What happened here, what’s all the . . . ?” He paused when he saw his young deputy lying on the ground. He knelt beside him. “Oh, damn,” he said quietly.
“He’s dead, Sheriff,” Falcon said.
“Who shot him?”
“That fella up there shot him,” Cody Martin said, pointing to another body just up the track.
“Is that fella dead?” Sheriff Gibson asked.
“Yes,” Falcon said.
“You shot him?”
Falcon nodded.
“Do you know who he is?”
“Yeah, I know. His name is Gilly Cardis.”
“Gilly Cardis,” Sheriff Gibson said. He shook his head. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“He escaped from Yuma Territorial Prison,” Falcon said.
“Yuma? In Arizona? What’s he doing way up here in Laramie?”
“He came here to kill me,” Falcon said.
“I see,” he said. “He came to Laramie to kill you; instead he kills two of our people.”
“I’m sorry,” Falcon said.
Sheriff Gibson shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. And at least you killed the son of a bitch. Cody?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Get these people and this train out of here. I’ll get Nunlee to come over to pick up the bodies.”
“Yes, sir,” Cody said. “Come on, people, you heard the sheriff. Cephus,” he said to the conductor. “Get your train loaded and get it out of here.”
“Board!” the conductor shouted, starting back up the track toward the standing train.
“C.G.,” the engineer said to his fireman, “did you let the steam die?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry, Austin, I can get it back up in no time,” C.G. said.
The crowd moved back up to the depot, leaving only Sheriff Gibson and Falcon behind. Both men were standing over Joyner’s body.
“I’m going to have to tell his folks,” Gibson said. He sighed. “That ain’t somethin’ I’m lookin’ forward to.”
Thirteen
If someone had wagered that the triple killing that evening would put a damper on the party at the Gold Strike, they would have lost the wager. If anything, the excitement of the shooting added to the excitement of the party.
Sylvester called for, and got, a moment of silence to remember Paul Mobley, the young stagehand, and Seth Joyner, the deputy.
“And three cheers for the man who brought the killer down!” Sylvester called.
“Hip, hip!”
“Hooray!”
“Hip, hip!”
“Hooray!”
“Hip, hip!”
“Hooray!”
Again, toasts were drunk, and several people came over to offer to buy Falcon a drink. He wasn’t all that enthused about having people celebrating the fact that he had shot and killed someone, but he took the accolades as gracefully as he could.
Suddenly there was a loud popping noise, followed by a woman’s shout of fear and pain. Looking toward the sound, they saw that a big man had just slapped Suzie.
“You bitch! You have been watering my drink, haven’t you?” the big man yelled angrily.
“I don’t water the drinks,” Suzie said. “I don’t even pour them. All I do is drink with the customers.”
The man slapped her again. “Don’t lie to me, bitch!”
“She’s tellin’ the truth, Carney,” Kathleen said.
<
br /> The big man pointed to Kathleen. “You stay out of this, unless you want some of the same.”
“Here!” Falcon shouted, starting toward the commotion. “You leave the women alone!”
The belligerent customer was a big man, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. He turned to look toward Falcon.
“I’ve heard of you,” he said. “You’re the one they call Falcon MacCallister, ain’t you?”
“I am MacCallister.”
“Well, Mr. MacCallister, what are you buttin’ into this for? Is this here whore your girlfriend or something?”
By now, Kathleen had taken Suzie away from the big man. She put her arms around the girl to comfort her.
Falcon saw that Suzie was safe now, and he turned to the bartender.
“Sylvester, I don’t mean to be throwing out your customers, but I intend to throw this man out. I think it would be best for everyone if he left.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Sylvester said.
“Oh, so you are going to throw me out, are you? And how are you going to do that? Are you going to shoot me, like you did that fella tonight? Is that how you fight? By shooting people you don’t agree with?”
“Hold on there, mister,” Sylvester said. “Where do you get off sayin’ somethin’ like that? Practically the whole town seen what happened. MacCallister didn’t have any choice. Besides, the man he killed had already killed two of our own.”
“I’m just sayin’ that Falcon MacCallister is a big man as long he he’s got a gun in his hand. I wonder how big a man he would be without it.”
“My pa told me a long time ago that I was as big as I needed to be,” Falcon said.
The big man smiled, showing uneven, tobacco-stained teeth. “So,” he said. “You think you’re big enough to fight me?”
“If that’s what it takes,” Falcon said. “But I’d rather us handle this peacefully by you just walking out of here.”
The big man turned as if he were leaving. Then, suddenly, he whirled back around and threw a surprise roundhouse right at Falcon.
Sensing it coming, Falcon ducked, then countered with a left jab to the big man’s nose. He was well set and he hit the big man squarely. The nose went flat, and almost immediately began to swell. The big man let out a bellow of pain, and a trickle of blood started down across his lips.
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