“Yes,” Kathleen said enthusiastically. “Yes, I think I would enjoy that.”
Kathleen and Billy were standing out front when Falcon and Rachael Kirby came walking up.
“Good evening, Miss Kirby, Mr. MacCallister,” Kathleen said.
“Good evening,” Billy added.
“Good evening,” Falcon replied.
“Now, there’s a sight I never thought I would see,” Rachael said as she and Falcon stepped inside.
“What is that?”
“General Garrison’s daughter with one of Ike Clinton’s sons. Those two men are bitter enemies.”
“Surely, being in the business you are in, you know that such a thing isn’t without precedence,” Falcon said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Romeo and Juliet?”
Rachael laughed. “Why, Falcon MacCallister,” she said. “Who would have ever thought you were such a romantic?”
When Ray and Cletus stepped into the hotel ballroom, the dance was already in progress and out on the floor couples moved and skipped, swayed and bowed as the music played and the caller called.
“What we comin’ to the dance for?” Cletus asked. “We ain’t got us no women to dance with.”
“Looks like there’s some women over there that ain’t dancin’,” Ray said.
Cletus looked toward the women. “Damn,” he said. “No wonder they ain’t dancin’. They’re uglier than cow plop.” He looked around the room. “I’m thirsty. Ain’t there no bar in this place?”
“There’s a punch bowl over there,” Ray said.
“Hell, I don’t want punch. I want somethin’ to drink,” Cletus said.
Ray chuckled. “Believe me, at things like this, punch ain’t what you think it is. Come on.”
The two men walked over to the table to get a cup of punch. Cletus got his, then smiled after he took the first swallow. “You’re right. This here ain’t half bad,” he said.
The set ended and the couples left the floor. Cletus finished his drink, then wiped his hand across his mouth. “I’ll be damn,” he said. “Lookie over there.”
“Where?” Ray asked.
“Over there, just comin’ in through the door,” Cletus said. “That’s our little brother with the Garrison girl.”
“What the hell is he doin’ with her?” Ray asked.
“Why don’t we just go find out?” Cletus replied. Putting the empty cup down, he started across the room toward Billy and Kathleen.
“Oh, no,” Billy said under his breath.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“My brothers are what’s wrong,” Billy said. “They’re coming over here to make trouble.”
“Maybe they won’t. I mean, not in a public place like this.”
“You don’t know my brothers.”
“Well, now, Billy boy, what do we have here?” Ray asked, coming up to them then. “You mixing with the enemy, are you?”
“Enemy?” Kathleen asked.
“Yeah, Miss Garrison, the enemy,” Ray said. “Maybe you don’t know that not all the cattlemen want you pa puttin’ in a railroad here.”
“Ray, whatever is goin’ on between pa and General Garrison has nothing to do with Kathleen and me.”
“Boy, you ain’t got the sense of a day-old goose,” Ray said.
“Oh, I don’t know, Ray,” Cletus said. “She is a good-lookin’ heifer, you gotta give him that. What do you say, little brother? Can I dance with your girl?”
Billy felt Kathleen cringe beside him, and he reached out to take her arm reassuringly.
“If you so much as even look at her, I’ll—”
“You’ll what, little brother?”
Billy sighed. “Go away, Cletus. Go away and leave us alone.”
Cletus laughed wickedly, then held up his hands. “All right, all right, don’t get yourself in a piss soup over it.”
As Cletus and Ray turned away from Billy and Kathleen, they saw Falcon MacCallister standing close by and looking at them.
“What the hell do you want?” Cletus asked.
“Are these men giving you any trouble, Miss Garrison?” Falcon asked.
“Please, Mr. MacCallister, it’s nothing I can’t handle,” Billy said.
Falcon stared for a moment longer, then he nodded. “You know, I believe you can at that, Billy,” he said. He started to turn away.
“Hold it, mister, don’t you be turnin’ away from me now,” Cletus called in a loud, angry voice.
Falcon stopped and turned back to Cletus and Ray. “You have something to say to me?” he asked.
“Yeah, I have something to say to you,” Cletus replied. “Ray, this here is Falcon MacCallister, the fella I was tellin’ you about.”
“The one who gave you two black eyes?” Ray asked.
“Yeah,” Cletus said. Cletus forced another smile. “Only this time, he ain’t holdin’ a gun, he ain’t holdin’ a club, and he ain’t behind my back.”
“That’s right,” Falcon said. “I’m standing right here in front of you.”
“Well, you ain’t goin’ to be standing long,” Cletus shouted and, stepping forward, he threw a wide, arcing roundhouse right fist toward Falcon.
Falcon dodged the blow easily, then counterpunched with a straight left jab that landed at the point of Cletus’s nose that was right between his eyes.
“Oww!” Cletus shouted in pain, and he threw both his hands up to protect his nose.
“Heavens!” one woman said aloud.
“Oh, my!” another added as several were in position to witness the disturbance.
Falcon threw a second punch to the gut, and when Cletus bent over with an audible expulsion of breath, Falcon followed up with a right cross to the chin.
Cletus went down and out.
“Ray, get Cletus out of here,” Billy said.
“Yeah, I will,” Ray said.
Seeing Ray move toward Cletus, Falcon turned away. “Falcon, look out!” Rachael shouted.
Almost on top of the warning, Falcon felt a blow to the side of his head. He saw stars, but even as he was being hit he was reacting to the warning, so though it didn’t prevent the attack, it did prevent him from being knocked down.
Instead of picking up his brother as he had said he would, Ray Clinton had swung at Falcon, trying to take him down with one, huge blow.
He’d almost succeeded, but when Ray swung at him a second time, Falcon was able to avoid him. With his fists up, Falcon danced quickly away from Ray in order to have room to maneuver.
“MacCallister,” Ray said with a low growl. “I think it’s about time you got your due.”
“Fight!” someone shouted. “They’s a fight!”
Almost instantly, the music stopped as the dancers and observers all crowded around Falcon and Ray.
“Ray, why don’t we take this outside?” Falcon suggested. “There’s no need to break up the dance.”
Ray smiled, an evil smile. “Hell, what do I care if we break up the dance?” he asked. “I ain’t got me no woman like my little brother here.”
“You don’t have a woman?” Falcon said.
“No.”
“Well, now, do you think it might just have something to do with your personality?”
Some in the crowd laughed nervously.
“Enough talk, you son of a bitch!” Ray said. “I’m going to whip your ass good.”
Ray swung wildly at Falcon, but Falcon slipped the punch easily, then counterpunched with a quick, slashing left to Ray’s face. It was a good, well-hit blow, but Ray just flinched once, then laughed a low, evil laugh.
“Five dollars says Ray whups him,” someone said.
“I don’t know. Falcon ain’t quite as big as Ray, but I hear tell he’s tough as rawhide. I’m going with Falcon.”
With an angry roar, Ray rushed Falcon again, and Falcon stepped aside, avoiding him like a matador sidestepping a charging bull. And like a charging bull, Ray slammed into a suppor
t post, smashing through it as if it were kindling. He turned and faced Falcon again.
“Damn, these two fellas could bring the building crashing down on us if they keep this up,” someone said.
A hush fell over the crowd now as they watched the two men. They were watching the fight with a great deal of interest. They knew it would be a test of quickness and ability against brute strength, and they wanted to see if Falcon could handle Ray. Falcon and Ray circled around for a moment, holding their fists in front of them, each trying to test the mettle of the other.
Ray swung, a clublike swing that Falcon leaned away from. Falcon counterpunched and again he scored well, but again, Ray laughed it off. As the fight went on, it developed that Falcon could hit Ray at will, and though Ray laughed off his early blows, it was soon obvious that there was a cumulative effect to Falcon’s punches. Both of Ray’s eyes began to puff up, and there was a nasty cut on his lip. Then Falcon caught Ray in the nose with a long left, and when he felt the nose go under his hand, he knew that he had broken it. The bridge of Ray’s nose exploded like a smashed tomato and started bleeding profusely. The blood ran across his teeth and chin.
Falcon looked for another chance at the nose, but Ray started protecting it. Falcon was unable to get at it again, though the fact that Ray was favoring it told Falcon that the nose was hurting him.
Except for the opening blow, Ray hadn’t connected. The big man was throwing great swinging blows toward Falcon, barely missing him on a couple of occasions, but as yet, none of them had connected.
After four or five such swinging blows, Falcon noticed that Ray was leaving a slight opening for a good right punch, if he could just slip it across his shoulder. He timed it, and on Ray’s next swing, Falcon threw a solid right, straight at the place where he thought Ray’s nose would be. He timed it perfectly and had the satisfaction of hearing a bellow of pain from Ray for the first time.
Ray was obviously growing more tired now, and he began charging more and swinging less. Falcon got set for one of his charges; then as Ray rushed by with his head down, Falcon stepped to one side. Like a matador thrusting his sword into the bull in a killing lunge, Falcon sent a powerful right jab to Ray’s jaw. Ray went down and out.
By now, Cletus had gotten back onto his feet, and he was glaring at Falcon.
“Get him out of here,” Falcon said, and Cletus and Billy grabbed hold of Ray’s unconscious form and dragged him away. As Ray was pulled away, the crowd began to disperse.
“Did you ever think anyone could handle Ray like that?” someone asked.
“Hell, look at Falcon. His hair ain’t even none messed up,” another said.
Falcon followed them outside, and saw Cletus and Billy put Ray belly-down across the saddle.
“Billy, you can come on back in,” Falcon told him.
Billy shook his head. “No, sir, I can’t,” he said. “These are my brothers. I’d better stay with them.” Then, leading Ray’s horse, Billy and Cletus rode away.
Inside, the music had yet to start up again.
“I’m sorry about that,” Falcon said, returning to Rachael Kirby.
Rachael was standing in front of the orchestra, talking to Edwin Mathias.
“Is that how all disputes are settled out here?” Edwin asked. “With an approach like that, it is no wonder this is called the ‘wild’ West.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Falcon replied. “It was either stand there and fight, or get hit. I chose to fight.”
“And you like it out here, do you, my dear?” Edwin said to Rachael.
“Yes,” Rachael replied, “I do like it.”
“Maestro, more music!” someone called.
Edwin sighed. “If you will excuse me, I must jump through some hoops now.”
“Mr. Mathias seems to be a bitter man,” Falcon said.
“Edwin Mathias had a taste of glory once,” Rachael replied. “It is always difficult when one falls from glory.”
When the music started, Rachael smiled and offered Falcon her arm. Falcon joined her on the dance floor.
After the dance, Falcon escorted Rachael away from the dance floor. He had just said something funny and they were both laughing when they looked up to see the stern, staring, angry eyes of Wade Garrison confronting his daughter.
“Is it true that you took a walk with Billy Clinton?”
“Pa, it isn’t what you think,” Kathleen said.
“Oh? And tell me, daughter, just what am I thinking?” Garrison replied.
“That we did something wrong,” she answered.
“You went for an evening walk with him, did you not? Without a chaperone?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t tell me you weren’t doing anything wrong. I wouldn’t approve of that kind of behavior no matter who you were with. But this is much worse. Kathleen, this man is the son of Ike Clinton. Ike Clinton is our sworn enemy, you know that.”
“Billy isn’t like the others.”
“Darlin’, Billy is a Clinton,” Garrison said. “When it gets right down to it, it always comes out the same. He is a Clinton.”
“I love him, Papa.”
“What? What did you say?”
“I said I love him.”
“No, that can’t be.”
“Papa, I can’t help it. This isn’t something I can just turn on and off.”
“Let him go, child, let him go,” General Garrison said gently, putting her hand on her shoulder.
“It’s not fair, Papa,” Kathleen said. “It’s just not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, darlin’,” Garrison replied. “It never was, and it never will be fair.”
Chapter Seventeen
From the Higbee Journal
DISRUPTION AT DANCE !
But One More Example of
Clinton Mischief.
Saturday night last, nearly everyone in town repaired to the Morning Star Hotel for the fifth annual Higbee dance. The music was provided by a group of musicians headed by Edwin Mathias, who is regarded by many as the finest fiddle player in America. Beautifully decorated, the reception hall of the Morning Star Hotel was an ideal place for the festivities, and the dance was proceeding with high spirits and merriment.
But such was not to be for very long, for the Clinton brothers, Ray and Cletus, in keeping with their nature of troublemakers, did institute a fight.
Alas, the brothers Clinton did not consider the consequences of their plan, for the man with whom they picked the fight was none other than Falcon MacCallister. Having attended the dance, this reporter was there to witness the action, and it was a joy to behold the two thugs get their comeuppance. Falcon dispatched both Clinton brothers with little effort on his part.
If picking a fight and disturbing the peaceful pursuit of a pleasurable evening be the only offense of Ray and Cletus Clinton, this paper would have little to say of the issue. But there is strong evidence that the Clintons have been involved in dealings of a much more serious, and nefarious nature.
It is no secret that Ike Clinton wishes to prevent General Garrison from constructing a railroad that would benefit all. Would that he express his dissatisfaction with the railroad by peaceful petition, one might espouse some sympathy for his position. But his protest has already erupted into violence and bloodshed, costing, at last count, some five lives.
It is the strong opinion of this newspaper that the Clinton family in whole, and Ray and Cletus in particular, were directly involved in all five deaths. For that reason, this paper will institute a vigorous campaign to urge the sheriff to begin an investigation of the Clintons and all their activities.
It was noon on Wednesday, and Falcon was in the Golden Nugget, having a beer with Marshal Calhoun; Harold Denham, the newspaper editor; and Corey Hampton. The marshal was reading Denham’s article and, after finishing it, laid it down, nodded, then picked up his mug of beer.
“That’s it?” Denham asked. “All you are going to do is just nod? Aren’t you go
ing to say anything about the article?”
“Well, what is there to say, Harold?” Calhoun replied. He shook his head. “I’ll give you this, that’s one hell of an article. It might be a bit overstated, but it is one hell of an article.”
“What do you mean it’s overstated? It’s true,” Denham insisted. “Every word of it is true.”
Calhoun sighed. “As far as the fight at the dance is concerned, there were more than one hundred witnesses, so I don’t think anyone is going to disagree with you. But as to the other, we have no direct proof that the Clintons were involved.”
“Come on, Titus, you know damn well they were. Hell, everyone in town knows that they were.”
“Knowing and proving are two different things,” Calhoun said. “You can’t prove something in a court of law simply by saying that you know it to be so. You have to have solid evidence and concrete proof, or it won’t make it past the judge and jury.”
Denham chuckled. “Well now, that’s where I’ve got you, Titus,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“In my profession, I don’t need to prove anything in a court of law. All I have to do is prove it in the court of public opinion, and that, my friend, I can do.”
“He’s got you there, Titus,” Falcon said. “There is nobody who is going to read this article without a sure and certain belief that the Clintons are as guilty as sin.”
“Let’s say that’s true. What good will it do to prove this in the court of public opinion? That has no bearing on the legal status.”
“The Clintons are a school of sharks,” Denham said. “And sharks need a friendly ocean in which to swim. In the case of the Clintons, the people of Higbee and the county of Bent make up their ocean. If the people aren’t friendly to them, they won’t last long.”
Calhoun chuckled. “You do believe in the power of the written word, don’t you?”
“It’s why I chose this profession, Marshal,” Denham replied.
“Marshal! Marshal Calhoun!” someone was shouting from outside. Falcon could hear the rapid approach of boots on the boardwalk; then the batwing doors slapped open and the grocer, Moore, ran inside, while the batwing doors swung back and forth behind him.
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