Rage of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “You’re right about that, Puma,” Kip said. “From now on, you boys stay on Rockingchair range. You’ve brought back a lot more head than any of us ever expected you to find, and that will have to do us.”

  “Kip’s right and that’s settled,” John said. “The young stuff have to be branded anyway. We’ll have work aplenty right here close to home.”

  “Well, in a few days the additional supplies will be coming in over at the post and they have to be picked up. We’re going to have to patch up some wagons to haul it all back here. That’ll take a day or two. We’ve got enough work to last us for a time.”

  “I reckon we can call this the quiet time before the storm,” John said.

  “Oh, it’s going to bust loose,” Falcon agreed. “We haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “Have any of you ever heard of a gunfighter people have nicknamed the Silver Dollar Kid?” Kip asked.

  Puma shook his head. “That’s a new one on me.”

  “I have. I’ve seen him,” Falcon said. “He’s crazy. He’s just a kid, only about twenty or so, but he’s killed a lot of men. Has silver dollars on his vest and gunbelt and holster. He’s vicious. Why, John?”

  “Nance Noonan is rumored to have hired him and about a dozen more just as bad to clean out the farmers and small ranchers in this area. Friend of mine from up in Montana came through here while you boys was in town. He was on his way down south of here to buy a herd of horses. Told me about this Silver Dollar Kid. Said wherever he goes, people die.”

  “That’s the truth, and he’s quick, for a fact,” Falcon conceded. “But like so many fast guns, he doesn’t really have good control. You can count on him missing his first shot fifty percent of the time.” Falcon sighed as he reached for his hat. “I wondered when Nance or Rod or Miles would start bringing in the real shooters. Now we know.”

  “These boys won’t be makin’ no stupid mistakes, neither,” Puma added. “And they won’t be playin’ by no rules ’ceptin’ their own. I ’spect we’d all better ride in pairs from now on. And Miss Angie doesn’t dare leave the compound without an escort.”

  “You’re mighty right about that, Puma,” Kip said. “John, you’re gonna have to put your boot down about this.”

  “I will. And I think Angie will understand the seriousness of the situation.”

  “She better,” Martha said grimly. “Or I’ll step in and put my foot down.”

  “Oh, Lord have mercy on us all!” her husband said, rolling his eyes.

  Martha took a fake swing at him and he laughed and ducked. Falcon and Puma took that time to exit the main house, after Puma had filled up his hat with bear sign.

  “Gettin’ serious now, ol’ son,” Puma said, during the walk to the bunkhouse.

  “It is for a fact.”

  “You seen this Silver Dollar Kid work?”

  “Once. He’s quick.”

  “Better than you?”

  “He’s just as fast as I am, Puma. But he counts on speed rather than accuracy.”

  “And he’s crazy?”

  “Nuttier than a tree filled with squirrels. Laughs uncontrollably. Giggles like a girl. Very touchy; takes offense at anything. You never know what’s going to set him off.”

  “And he likes to kill?”

  “He lives for it. I think he’s twisted, if you know what I mean.”

  “One of those.”

  Puma frowned. “I don’t even like to be around that type. Gives me the goose bumps.”

  “Stay away from the Kid, Puma. Pass the word to the others.”

  “I’ll be sure do that, son. But you know he’s been hired to kill you?”

  “Probably. But that’s been tried before.”

  The men paused at the bunkhouse door. “You comin’ in now?” Puma asked.

  “No yet. I think I’ll take a walk around for a bit. I’m a little restless.”

  “Want some company?”

  “No.”

  “I know that feelin’. Night, boy.”

  “Night, Puma.”

  Falcon circled the house, then walked down to the corral. The horses were restless, moving. They sensed something amiss. But what was it? The Baileys didn’t have a dog. Night riders had killed Jimmy’s little dog before Falcon had appeared on the scene. That irritated Falcon, for he liked dogs and didn’t have much use for men who killed them just for the hell of it. Another mark against Miles Gilman and the men who rode for him.

  Kip had told him it was Lars who’d shot the dog. Falcon would settle Lars’s hash one of these days—he was sure of that. But he wanted to do it with his fists, not with guns. What Lars needed was a good old-fashioned ass-kicking.

  Falcon walked down to the henhouse. Maybe a varmint had gotten in there. But no, the hens were settled in their nests.

  That left the barn. Falcon circled wide around and came up at the rear of the barn. Hell was raising it in his stall. Falcon smiled. Someone was in the barn. But it would be the last barn they ever entered if whoever it was made the mistake of getting into the stall with Hell. Hell was one of the meanest horses Falcon had ever seen . . . other than some of the ones his pa used to ride.

  Falcon pushed open the door and stepped inside, pistol in his hand.

  A shadow stood up and said, “Don’t shoot. I’m friendly. It’s about time we met, Falcon MacCallister.”

  Fourteen

  “I can just make out your hands,” Falcon warned. “Move your arms and you’re a dead man.”

  The man in the shadows chuckled. “Relax, Falcon. I’m a United States deputy federal marshal.”

  “Name?”

  “I’d best keep that a secret for the time being. I was sent into this area to find and arrest you. But I never did believe what those warrants said happened over in Utah. I tried to pet that horse or yours. Bastard tried to bite me.”

  “It’s a wonder you still have a hand.”

  “You want to put up the gun, now?”

  “No. Not yet. Tell me more.”

  “Can’t say as I blame you. All right. Long before the warrant on you was lifted, I started smelling the stink of all the rotten goings-on in this part of Wyoming. But I can’t do very much about it right now.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s all political, Falcon. Big money at work here, and big money puts politicians deep into those monied pockets.”

  “Does it reach all the way to the president of the United States?”

  “If it does, it will never be proven.”

  “Nice system we have in place.”

  “Believe me, Falcon, as time progresses and the nation grows, it will get much worse.”

  “Hopefully, we won’t be around to witness that.”

  “I share your sentiments.”

  Falcon holstered his pistol and started to move toward the man standing in the shadows. The federal marshal held up one hand in warning.

  “Don’t, Falcon. What you don’t know can’t be tortured out of you.”

  Falcon stopped. “The cattlemen’s alliance has done that to people?”

  “Oh yes. Rape, torture, murder, extortion ... you name it, they’ve had their greedy hands in it.”

  “And the government can’t do anything to stop it?”

  “Certain elected and appointed people in the government won’t do anything to stop it.”

  “So the small ranchers and the farmers in this area are on their own, right?”

  “That’s pretty much the way it is now, and pretty much the way it’s going for be for some time.”

  “Until ... what changes?”

  “Back east, the public doesn’t know what is really happening out here. To them, this is still wild and woolly country, untamed. Savage Indians, wild cowboys who settle every issue with a gun. People don’t carry guns back east, Falcon. They have policemen and courts and judges; that’s how they settle disputes, not with gunplay. But they need beef back east, and the big ranchers can supply that beef. And the big ranchers have a huge voice back
east when it comes to the press. The public is getting only one side of the story, and they will continue getting only one side of the story.”

  “So everything is stacked against the little man.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “No immediate relief in sight?”

  “None whatsoever. And I doubt there will be any help for years. The sheriffs in every county in the northern part of this state are bought and paid for by the cattlemen’s cartel. You’ll get absolutely no help from them.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I can’t come close to making the odds even for you and the people you’re trying to help, but I can at least warn you what you’re up against.”

  “But no help for us from the government?”

  “None. It’s going to have to get a hell of a lot worse before the government will be forced to step in. And that will probably come about by an outraged public all over America.”

  “I know that many small ranchers and farmers in the area have written letters to the government.”

  “They never got past some obscure clerk in a dusty office.”

  “I do appreciate you telling me this.”

  “It’s about all I can do. I’ll be around, but for the most part, my hands are tied.”

  Falcon stepped to one side and the shadowy figure walked past him and out the rear door of the barn without another word being exchanged between the two men.

  Falcon stood in the silence and listened for the sound of a horse. He heard nothing. The federal marshal must have left his horse some distance away.

  Falcon walked over to Hell and stroked the animal’s nose. The big horse nickered softly. Anyone else who had tried to touch Hell would have immediately been minus several fingers.

  “Interesting little talk I just had, ol’ boy,” Falcon whispered. “But it damn sure pointed out plain and clear the direction the little man has to take against the cattlemen’s alliance.”

  Falcon lit a lantern and inspected the still damp earth just outside the rear barn door. There were his own bootprints, and the prints of a person walking away from the area. Those prints had a clearly visible V-shaped cut in the right boot heel.

  Falcon squatted there for a few moments. He wouldn’t tell John Bailey about the federal marshal. No point in further depressing the rancher; the situation was bad enough as it was without adding to it.

  All Falcon could do was wait for the cattlemen’s alliance to make the next move.

  * * *

  Falcon told no one about his meeting with the federal marshal. All the hands stayed close for the next several days, for there was plenty to keep them busy. In the middle of the week, Falcon, Wildcat, and Stumpy hitched up teams to three wagons and pulled out early for the old trading post. Falcon had ordered enough supplies to last, hopefully, until the end of the summer. He had also ordered enough ammunition to start a major war.

  A drifting cowboy had stopped at the Rockingchair the day before and told his story about approaching the Snake ranch to see about work. He had known nothing of the trouble in this part of Northern Wyoming. He said he had never seen so many hired guns in all his life. He said a man would be hard-pressed to find a real cowboy in the whole bunch. Falcon told him about a small rancher over east of the Rockingchair who needed a hand and the man thanked him and headed that way.

  “So the hardcases have arrived,” Stumpy said, during a rest break at a shallow running creek.

  “Looks that way. Some of them.”

  “Least he didn’t didn’t say nothin’ ’bout no kid with silver dollars on his vest and gunbelt.”

  Falcon smiled. “Don’t worry about the kid, Stumpy. I haven’t lost any sleep over him.”

  Stumpy cut his eyes to Falcon. “You that sure you can take him?”

  “I’ve seen the kid do his stuff. He’s a showboat. Most of the time he has to work himself up to gunplay. I don’t think he’s ever faced anyone who was really good with a gun.”

  “Max Wells,” the older man corrected.

  “Max was drunk. That’s the way I heard it.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “Max was also gettin’ on in years and he’d ’llowed hisself to get fat,” Wildcat said. “And careless. Thought his reputation could get him out of any trouble. He was wrong.”

  “You was there?” Stumpy asked. “I didn’t know that.”

  “I was there. Little town in Arizona. Max’s best days was long behind him and he’d taken the job as marshal just to have somethin’ to do. Max hadn’t pulled iron on nobody in five, six years. The kid comes sashayin’ into town, makin’ his brags. Backed Max into a corner and forced him to draw. But as drunk as he was, Max still cleared leather ’fore the kid plugged him.”

  “My pa knew Max Wells,” Falcon said. “Rode with him a time or two. Said he was a good man as long as he stayed off the bottle.”

  “That was his undoin’, all right,” Wildcat agreed. “I believe he’d a taken the kid sober.”

  “We’ll never know,” Falcon said, standing up from his squat by the creek. “But if he braces me, I’ll kill him. I got no use for people like the kid. All right, boys, let’s push on. We’re going to have a slow pull back to the ranch.”

  * * *

  “I never seen so many supplies in all my borned days,” the trading post owner allowed. “I had to store some of them in the barn. I don’t think them three wagons you brung will hold ’em all.”

  “Then we’ll come back another day for what’s left,” Falcon told him. “Soon as we finish this coffee, let’s get them loaded up and get out of here before trouble shows up.”

  “You expectin’ trouble?” the post owner asked.

  “The way this country is filling up with hired guns?” Falcon put it as a question.

  “Good point,” the man agreed. “Say, you heard anythin’ ’bout the Silver Dollar Kid comin’ in?”

  Falcon sighed. He was already getting weary about hearing the name of that crazy killer. “I heard Nance Noonan hired him. Don’t know if he’s here yet or not.”

  “I heard he’s faster than Billy the Kid.”

  “Billy isn’t fast,” Falcon corrected. “He’s just about half nuts, that’s all.”

  “You’ve seen Billy the Kid?”

  “I’ve seen him. He didn’t impress me.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned! Have some more coffee and I’ll help you get loaded. Tell me about Billy the Kid.”

  “Not that much to tell. If he ever had a stand-up face-off in the street with anybody who was any good, I haven’t heard about it.”

  “Who’s the best?” the trading post owner asked.

  “John Wesley Hardin,” Falcon said without hesitation. “The Texas gunfighter. But there’s probably dozens out there just as good or better. They just haven’t gone around looking for a name. John Wesley and Wild Bill Hickok faced each other a few years back. Neither of them would draw.”

  “Hickok’s dead, ain’t he?”

  “So I hear. Somebody name of Jack McCall shot him in the back over in Deadwood.”

  “They hang him?”

  “Not yet. I heard the first jury found him not guilty. Judge called for another trial. That jury found him guilty and sentenced him to hang.”

  “Hickok was holdin’ aces and eights,” Wildcat said. “McCall slipped up behind him and shot him in the back of the head. Hickok never made a sound, way I heard it. He just straightened up for a few seconds, then fell over dead.”

  “How come he shot him?” the trading post owner asked.

  “Don’t no one really know.”

  “I heard one story about the man claiming Hickok cheated him at cards,” Falcon said. “Then he changed that to claim that Wild Bill had killed his brother.”

  “Had he?”

  Falcon shook his head. “No trace of a brother was ever found.”

  “When’s he gonna swing?” Stumpy asked.

  “Soon, probably.” He sat his coffee mug down on the co
unter. “Well, let’s get to work, boys.” He smiled. “We’ve only got about three tons of supplies to load.” He looked at the post owner. “And don’t forget those shotguns and cases of shells.”

  “They’re packed and ready to go.”

  The men worked for over an hour, not working in a hurry, but getting a lot done and packing the boxes and crates and barrels of supplies carefully for the long pull back to the ranch.

  They paused and looked up as the post owner came rushing out onto the loading dock after a trip back inside. “Trouble, boys. Snake riders comin’ in.”

  “How many?” Falcon asked.

  “ ’Bout ten or so. They don’t never ride nowheres ’ceptin’ in a big bunch.”

  “Somethin’ tells me we’re gonna be late gettin’ back to the ranch,” Wildcat said, straightening up and mopping his sweaty face.

  “Well, hell,” Stumpy said. “I want a beer anyways. It’s time to take a break.”

  “Lars is with ’em,” the post owner added softly. “And he’s primed and cocked for trouble.”

  “This should be very interesting, then,” Falcon said, stepping onto the loading dock. “Let’s go meet Mr. Lars Gilman. It’ll be my pleasure.”

  Fifteen

  Falcon, Stumpy, and Wildcat entered the post from the rear at the same time the Snake riders were coming in the front door. They reached the steps of the saloon at the same time. For a few seconds, it looked as though trouble would start right there while they were all jammed up, neither side willing to give an inch to clear the steps. The men stood and glared at one another for half a minute.

  Finally, Wildcat took off his hat and with a sweeping gesture and a bow, said, “Oh, after you boys, please.”

  “I’ll be damned!” a Snake rider said. “You go first.”

  “Oh, no,” Wildcat said. “I insist.”

  “Hell, no!”

  “Well, I want a beer,” Stumpy broke the impasse. “I’ll go first.”

  Stumpy shoved his way through the knot of men and a few Snake riders followed. Then Falcon and Wildcat, followed by the rest of the Snake bunch and the post owner, who was wearing a very worried expression.