Slaughter of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  Falcon chuckled. “If I fall, we are both out of luck. So maybe I should just be very careful.”

  “Good idea,” Joe agreed.

  Falcon started up the mount, then looked back at Joe. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Joe gave a resolute nod. “I’m ready.”

  The mountain was very steep. The climb was slow and hard. Falcon’s cowboy boots slid in the dry, rocky dirt. It was an intricate task to find secure spots to place his feet, keeping in mind the person behind him was not nearly as strong, and had a much shorter stride. At one point he came to a particularly precipitous section and he knew Joe would not be able to negotiate that stretch on his own.

  “Joe!” he called down.

  “Yes?”

  “Stay where you are, and give me as much rope as possible.”

  “All right,” Joe answered in a voice that reflected fear and uncertainty.

  Falcon walked around until he found solid footing, then he called back down to Joe. “Grab hold of the rope and hold on. I’m going to help you by pulling you up.”

  Setting his feet firmly he dug in his heels and began hauling Joe up, pulling on the rope hand over hand. It was easier to pull him up than he anticipated. Falcon doubted that Joe weighed much over 115 pounds.

  He pulled him all the way up, then pointed to a place where Joe could plant his feet securely.

  “All right, just stay right there until I call back for you,” Falcon said.

  Joe nodded, but said nothing.

  From that point it got considerably easier up to a wide ledge that ran along the wall of the mountain, gradually elevating toward the place where Falcon was sure the opening would be. Once he was secure on the ledge, he backed up against the wall and, as he had before, pulled Joe up to him.

  “I could have climbed the last part of it alone,” Joe said when Falcon pulled him onto the ledge.

  “I know,” Falcon said. “But this was a lot faster. It took us less than an hour to get this far. Besides, you don’t weigh much more than a half-starved dog. Don’t you ever eat?”

  “I eat,” Joe said defensively.

  “Stay as close to the wall as you can,” Falcon instructed. “It looks like this ledge will take us all the way to the mouth opening. Remember, if you fall, let me know so I can brace myself.”

  Joe laughed.

  “What is it?”

  “Believe me, Mr. MacCallister, if I fall, I will let you know. I will let the whole world know.”

  Falcon laughed as well. “Yeah, I guess you will at that, won’t you?”

  “What if you fall?” Joe asked.

  “If I fall, it won’t matter, will it?” Falcon replied.

  With their backs pressed against the wall they continued on until Falcon called to Joe. “There it is,” he said. “Hanlon was right, the opening is pretty narrow.”

  When they reached the opening, Falcon stuck his head and shoulders through and looked around. He was surprised at the amount of light. In addition to the mouth opening, there were three or four smaller openings at the top that let in light. And, once inside, there would be plenty of room to stand.

  Falcon rolled over the lip of the opening, then standing inside, he called back to Joe. “Come on in.”

  Joe appeared in the opening, then rolled through.

  They looked around for a moment.

  “Where is this big vein of gold that is supposed to be in here?” Joe asked.

  “There,” Falcon said, pointing to a couple canvas bags. “It’s not a vein of gold, but it is gold. It looks like Mr. Hanlon already gathered it up.” Both bags were filled with gold-bearing rocks or, in some cases, almost solid gold nuggets.

  “Did he dig them out of this cave?” Joe asked. “Where did they come from?”

  Falcon shook his head. “Not here,” he said. “They were mined somewhere else and moved here.”

  “Hanlon brought them here?”

  “No. I’m sure he found them here. If the story is true, Peralta’s mining party probably moved them here for safe keeping until they could get back to retrieve them.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that story,” Joe said. “How the Apache attacked the mule train, killed all the Mexican miners, and left the gold.”

  “It would appear the story is true, and this is some of that gold,” Falcon said.

  “Not exactly the millions of dollars everyone has been looking for, is it?” Joe asked.

  Falcon walked over and hefted the two bags. “No, but I would say there are at least ten or fifteen thousand dollars here,” he said. “Certainly enough that you can call yourself a rich man.”

  “It’s not all mine,” Joe said. “I promised to split it with Mr. Housewright.”

  “And Janelle Wellington, I would hope.”

  “What? Oh, yes, of course. And Janelle Wellington.”

  “All right, Joe, I’ve carried out my end of the bargain. It’s your turn. Tell me where I can find Janelle Wellington.”

  “I—” Joe’s response was interrupted by the sound of a bullet hitting flesh. His eyes grew wide in shock, fear, and pain, and Falcon saw a shoulder wound begin to gush blood.

  “Get down!” Falcon yelled. Tearing off a piece of his own shirt, he stuck it over the wound, then put Joe’s hand on it. “Hold it there, tight,” he said.

  “MacCallister, how does it feel to know you are about to die?” a voice called from outside the cavern.

  “Mueller?” Falcon called back.

  “Yeah, I’m Mueller. I’ll just bet you thought we’d never meet again, didn’t you?”

  “Where is Marshal Cairns?”

  “Cairns?” Mueller replied. He laughed. “His name ain’t Cairns, it’s Drumm. Egan Drumm. I mean, it was Egan Drumm. It ain’t nothin’ now, ’cause I kilt him. Just like I’m about to kill you.”

  Mueller fired again, three quick shots, and in so doing made the walls of the cave work for him. The bullets hit the wall, then ricocheted around so each bullet did the work of three.

  Falcon knew Mueller had a significant advantage over him. He and Joe Henry were literally trapped inside the small cave, unable to improve their position. Mueller was outside, well covered, armed with a rifle, and with an excellent field of fire.

  He fired three more quick shots, the bullets ricocheting from wall to wall. Joe cried out as one more bullet found its mark. Falcon was hit twice, though by the time he was hit, the bullets were nearly spent. He fired back, but it was just to let Mueller know he couldn’t come into the cave at will. Falcon knew he had no shot.

  “You got yourself in quite a spot, ain’t you, MacCallister?” Mueller shouted. “You know the only thing that bothers me? Here I am, about to kill the great Falcon MacCallister, and there ain’t no one around to see me do it, so as to tell the story.”

  Mueller fired four more shots.

  “That was just to let you know I got me a whole pocket of bullets,” Mueller called out. “And I got me two canteens. I seen that you left your canteens down below. Too bad.”

  Muller fired three more times, nicking Falcon a little worse than before, bringing blood.

  “Mr. MacCallister, if we are going to die in here, there’s something I want to tell you,” Joe said.

  “We’re not going to die in here,” Falcon said resolutely.

  Although the situation was looking bad, Falcon saw what might be a way out. A huge boulder, precariously placed, sat just outside the mouth of the cave. If he could get to it, he might be able to push it far enough and force Mueller to give up his position.

  Falcon ran to the boulder, chased by another shot from Mueller.

  “Ha!” Mueller called out to him. “You ain’t goin’ to have any better shot at me from there than you did before.”

  Falcon began pushing on the boulder.

  “Where did you go?” Mueller asked. “You think hidin’ behind that big rock is goin’ to help you? You can’t shoot at me without lookin’ around it. That gives me a lot better shot at you, than it does yo
u at me.

  Falcon continued to push, and after a gut-busting strain he felt the rock move slightly. He figured the rock weighed at least four or five hundred pounds. If he could get it dislodged, the leverage would be in his favor.

  “Ha! You’re trapped back there, ain’t you MacCallister?” Mueller called. You come out, then get behind that rock, only there ain’t no shot, and now you can’t get back.” Mueller cackled in glee. “Oh, Lord, I’m enjoyin’ this!”

  With one final heave, Falcon felt the leverage suddenly shift in his favor. The boulder started down so quickly he had to reach back and grab the edge of the opening in order to keep from tumbling with the boulder.

  He pulled his pistol and waited to see if the falling boulder would expose Mueller’s position. To his surprise it had results beyond his best expectations. The rock knocked into Mueller, pushing him over the edge of the high cliff. As he fell over four hundred feet, his terrified death scream echoed and re-echoed throughout the canyon.

  “Mr. MacCallister!” Joe called out. “Mr. MacCallister, are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine!” Falcon replied and he hurried back in to attend to Joe. Like his own nicks, Joe’s subsequent wounds were minor, but Falcon was concerned about the first hit—the wound in the shoulder. He ripped open Joe’s shirt to get to the bullet. Seeing a woman’s perfectly formed breast, he gasped. “Damn!”

  “I’m sorry about keeping the secret from you,” Joe said. “I am Janelle Wellington.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I never seemed to find the right time.” Janelle replied. She chuckled, even as she winced with pain. “Now seems to be a good time.”

  New York

  The Wellingtons had reserved the entire upper floor of Shoemaker’s Dining Salon and were throwing a huge dinner celebration for the family. The event was to welcome back Janelle who was safely at home, and on the mend. Falcon and his brother and sister were there as well.

  Janelle, over her original embarrassment and shame, had reclaimed her son and was proudly showing him off to all. At the moment, Rosanna was bouncing him on her knee, and the baby was grinning broadly at her, as a little string of drool escaped from his lips.

  Andrew had bought the latest issue of the New York Times before coming into the restaurant, and, somewhat detached from the rest of the party, was reading the Entertainment and Amusements page.

  “Ah ha!” he suddenly shouted, his outburst interrupting all other conversations and drawing attention to him.

  “What is it, Andrew?” Rosanna asked.

  “Listen to this. It’s the play review from the New York Times. “‘No stars in the firmament could possibly shine more brightly than the luminance Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister bring to the stage. Long after the nineteenth century has slipped into history, the accolades of these two wondrous players will ring down through the ages.’ What do you think of that?” he asked, flipping his hand against the paper.

  “Andrew, that is awful!” Rosanna said.

  “Awful? What do you mean awful? No stars in the firmament could possibly shine brighter than us? What is awful about that?”

  “Janelle is the guest of honor at this party, and here you are calling attention to yourself. I mean it is awful that you would brag so about it.”

  “Wait a minute!” Andrew said. “I’m not bragging! I’m merely reading what the New York Times reported!”

  The others laughed, then Joel tapped on his glass to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, there is another MacCallister I wish to laud tonight. I offer a toast to the man who not only found our daughter, but saved her life, and delivered her safely home to us.” Joel held his wineglass out. “To Mr. Falcon MacCallister!”

  “Here, here!” Andrew shouted enthusiastically, and everyone around the table lifted their goblets toward Falcon, who responded with a slight nod.

  “Janelle, tell us again how much gold you and Mr. MacCallister found.” Sue said.

  “It came out to a total of eleven thousand, three hundred and twenty-seven dollars and fifty-three cents,” Janelle said.

  “You should have given it all to Mr. MacCallister,” Joel said.

  Janelle shook her head. “I couldn’t. I had promised half of it to Mr. Housewright. I tried to give half of what was left to Mr. MacCallister, but he wouldn’t take it. So I gave the rest of it to Mrs. Montgomery.”

  “I’m so glad she didn’t blame you for her husband’s death,” Emma Wellington said.

  “As it turns out, I wasn’t the only one who saw Marshal Cairns, I mean, Egan Drumm, kill Mr. Montgomery,” Janelle said. “Mr. Depro, who worked in the bank, also saw it, but he was too afraid of the marshal to say anything until after the marshal was killed. Then he went to Mr. Forbis, who became the new marshal, and told him everything. By the time I left Phoenix, I was completely cleared.”

  “Well, I don’t understand how anyone could have ever believed such a thing about you, anyway,” Emma said pointedly.

  “Nobody did believe it, Mrs. Wellington,” Falcon said. “I found that out very quickly when I was looking for your daughter. Everyone I talked to, everyone who knew her, or had anything to do with her, was absolutely convinced of her innocence, from Maxine Butrum to Mayor Alsop.”

  Janelle took a swallow of her wine, but she laughed and sprayed some of it out of her mouth at the mention of the bar girl’s name. “Maxine,” she repeated.

  “Who is Maxine, dear?” Emma asked.

  “She is”—Janelle started, then stopped and smiled—“she is a Western lady with a heart of gold. Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “Yes,” Falcon replied. “I would definitely say so.”

  “Speaking of gold, Falcon, do you think there really is a lost gold mine on Superstition Mountain?” Andrew asked.

  “That gold had to come from somewhere, so yes, I do.”

  “Do you think it will ever be found?”

  “If I find it, I’ll let you know,” Falcon replied, as he lifted his own glass of wine.

  Turn the page for an exciting preview of

  SAVAGE GUNS

  A Cotton Pickens Novel

  By William W. Johnstone, with J. A. Johnstone

  Coming in October 2010

  Wherever Pinnacle Books are sold

  Chapter One

  I was mindin’ my daily business in the two-holer when I got rudely interrupted. Now I like a little privacy, but I got me a bullet instead. There I was, peacefully studying the female undies in the Montgomery Ward catalog, when this here slug slammed through the door and exited through the rear, above my head.

  “Hey!” I yelled, but no one said nothing.

  “You out there. Don’t you try nothing. This here’s the law talking. I’m coming after you.”

  But I sure didn’t know who or what was in the yard behind Belle’s roomin’ house. I thought maybe a horse was snorting or pawing clay, but I couldn’t be sure of it. I wanted to see what was what, but the half-moon that let in fresh air was high up above me, and I had my business to look after just then. You can’t do nothing in the middle of business.

  I don’t know about you, but I wear my hat when I’m in the two-holer, just on general principles. A man should wear a hat in the crapper. That’s my motto. It was a peaceful enough morning in the town of Doubtful, in Puma County, Wyoming, where I was sheriff, more or less. So that riled me some—the bullet that slapped through there. It knocked down my good Five-X gray felt beaver Stetson topper, which teetered on the other hole but did not drop. If it had dropped down there, I’d have been plumb peeved.

  I thought for a moment I oughta follow that hat through the hole and get my bare bottom down there in the perfumed vault, but that was plum sickening. Besides, how could I slide a hundred fifty pounds of rank male through that little round hole? I don’t need no more smell than I’ve already got. When I pull my boots off, people head for the doors holding their noses. It just wouldn’t work. If someone was gonna ki
ll me, they held all the aces.

  The truth of it was that I wasn’t finished with my business. All I could do was sit there and finish up my private duties, rip a page out of the Monkey Ward catalog, and get it over with. Like the rest of us who used the two-holer behind Belle’s boardinghouse, I was inclined to study ladies’ corsets and bloomers and garters for entertainment, saving the wipe-off for the pages brimming with one-bottom plows, buggy whips, and bedpans. Them others in Belle’s boardinghouse, they felt like I did, and no female undie pages ever got torn out of the catalog. That sure beat corncobs, I’ll tell you.

  “Sheriff, you come outa there with your hands up and your pants down,” someone yelled. I thought maybe I knew the feller doin’ all that yelling but it was hard to tell, sitting there with pages of chemises and petticoats on my lap.

  “Hold your horses,” I said. “I ain’t done, and the longer it takes, the better for you, because I’m likely to bust out of here with lead flying in all directions.”

  That fetched me a nasty laugh. I knew that laugh and thought maybe I was in more of a jam than I’d imagined.

  But no more bullets came sailing through. I finished up, ripped out a page of men’s union suits and another page of hay rakes and spades, and got it over with. I wasn’t gonna bust out of there with my pants down, no matter what, so I stood, got myself arranged and buttoned up. I drew out my service revolver, and with a violent shove, threw myself out the door and dodged to the left to avoid any incoming lead.

  It sure didn’t do me no good. As my mama used to tell me, don’t do nothing foolish.

  Sure enough, there before me were eight or nine ratty-assed cowboys on horses, all of the lot waving black revolvers in my direction, just in case I got notions. And a dude with a buckboard, holding some reins.

  “I shoulda known,” I said to the boss, who was the man I figgered it was.

  “I told you to come out with your pants down, and you didn’t. That’s a hanging offense,” the man said. “You do what I say, and when I say it.”

  “My pants is staying put, dammit,” I replied.