Destiny of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “If you don’t like the arrangement, you can always go back to that toothless whore you and Dalton took up with back in Puxico.”

  “No, no, however you want to do it is fine with me,” Shaw said. “Long as I get my turn.”

  At that moment someone stuck his head in through the front door of the café. “Mr. Roosevelt, the judge wants you back in the court. The jury’s reached a verdict,” he said.

  Roosevelt thanked him, then he and Anna left. Within moments, Childers, Yerby, and Shaw were the only three customers left in the café.

  “Damn,” Shaw said. “Did you see that? Most of them folks just got up an’ left food on their table.”

  “I reckon they’re hurryin’ to see if they can get in to hear what the jury’s got to say,” Yerby said.

  “I hope they find the son of a bitch guilty,” Childers said.

  Shaw got up from the table and started wandering through the dining room, looking down at the plates left on the table.

  “Lookee here, here’s a whole chicken leg that didn’t get et,” he said, picking it up from the plate. “And lookee over there. There’s half a piece of apple pie.”

  “The hell you say,” Yerby said. He got up from the table then and, like Shaw, began wandering through the dining room, looking for uneaten leftovers.

  * * *

  Anna was the only one in the gallery who didn’t have to fight for her seat. That was because the bailiff had kept it for her. She was in her seat, and Roosevelt and Woodward were at their respective tables, when Falcon was brought into the courtroom.

  Anna found Falcon MacCallister to be a fascinating man. One of the things that had impressed her when she met him back in New York was how handsome he was. But he wasn’t handsome like the drawing room dandies she had met back in New York. The best description she could think of was “ruggedly handsome.” He looked like the mountain man that was his stock.

  When you added that to his reputation, there was something frightening about him. And yet, beneath that rather frightening veneer, she knew that he was a man of honor and integrity. She knew also that no one who was in the right need fear him. It was hard to equate the picture that was being painted of him now, a man of danger and daring, with the gracious man who had invited her to join his theater box.

  She remembered that she, Gail, and Emma Lou had discussed him after the theater that night.

  * * *

  “At first, I was a little frightened about sharing a box with a perfect stranger,” Gail said. “One never knows what can happen.”

  “What do you mean? What could have happened?” Emma Lou asked.

  “Why, what would have kept him from throwing us down on the floor and having his way with us?” Gail said.

  “Nothing, I suppose,” Emma Lou said. She laughed. “Gail, you are blushing. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted that to happen.”

  “Emma Lou! Why, what an awful thing to say!” Anna said, though all three had laughed at the suggestion.

  “I will say this. He is much more handsome than his famous brother,” Anna said.

  * * *

  “All rise!” the bailiff called, and the court stood as her father came into the room.

  Despite the fact that Anna found herself in disagreement with her father over Falcon MacCallister, she couldn’t help but feel a tremendous sense of pride in him. She could sense the honor and respect everyone in the courtroom had for him. But that honor and respect, she knew, was not limited to the courtroom. Her father’s standing throughout the entire Territory of the Dakotas was impeccable. She knew that not all judges enjoyed that reputation.

  “Be seated,” Judge Heckemeyer said and, as one, the gallery took their seats. “Bailiff, please bring the jury in.”

  All eyes turned toward the door to the jury room, and a moment later the jury, twelve men good and true, trudged back into the room. One bearded gent expectorated a quid toward a spittoon as he walked by it, making it ring as he hit it perfectly.

  The jury took their seats, then looked toward the judge. Anna studied their faces to see if she could detect any hint of what their decision might be, but all maintained a studied and stoic countenance.

  “Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” Heckemeyer asked.

  The foreman of the jury stood. “We have, Your Honor.”

  “Please publish the verdict.”

  With a great sense of drama, the foreman drew his glasses from his pocket, then put them on, looping them carefully over one ear at a time. He opened up a sheet of paper, then cleared his throat.

  His posturing had the desired effect because every eye in the courtroom was fixed upon him.

  “We the jury, after careful consideration of all facts presented, find the defendant, Falcon MacCallister . . .” Here, he paused, and stared directly at Falcon.

  Falcon returned the stare with a steady, unblinking gaze.

  “Not guilty,” the foreman said.

  “Yes!” someone shouted, and the courtroom erupted in spontaneous applause.

  Once again it was necessary for Judge Heckemeyer to use his gavel to bring the court to order. Finally, everyone grew quiet.

  “Mr. MacCallister, you having been found not guilty by a jury of your peers, I order that all bonds and restraints be withdrawn. You are free to go. This court is adjourned.”

  Once more he brought down the gavel; then he left the courtroom, exiting by a door behind the bench.

  Several in the courtroom hurried up to the defense table to extend their congratulations to Roosevelt for a job well done, and to Falcon for being found not guilty.

  Anna Heckemeyer was one of the first to congratulate both Roosevelt and Falcon.

  “Thank you,” Falcon said. “Though I must confess that I was a little concerned for a while.” He smiled disarmingly.

  “You had no confidence in me? Oh, you of little faith. I am wounded to my core. To my core, sir,” Roosevelt said, putting his hand over his heart.

  Falcon laughed. “No, I had every confidence in you. It was the judge I was worried about.”

  “You shouldn’t have worried. I told you that my father is a fair man. I knew he would conduct an honest trial.”

  “You did tell me that, that is true,” Falcon said. “And I must admit that I found no fault with his conduct of the trial. But I am relieved that this is all over.”

  “So, my friend,” Roosevelt said as he began gathering his papers from the table. “What is next for you?”

  “After two weeks in jail, the first thing I want is a bath,” Falcon said. “Then a good dinner, a few beers, then a hotel room for a few days.”

  “No need for you to stay in a hotel,” Roosevelt said. “Why don’t you come out to Elkhorn for a few days? You’ll be a lot more comfortable in my guest room than you would in the hotel. And,” he added with an amused twinkle in his eye, “I can just about guarantee you that nobody will barge into your room in the middle of the night, bent upon killing you.”

  Falcon nodded. “Sounds good to me,” he said. “I think I just might take you up on it.”

  Chapter 19

  “Are you a reader, Falcon?” Roosevelt asked as the two men rode out to Elkhorn. “That is, if you don’t mind being addressed by your first name.”

  “I would consider it an act of real friendship to be addressed by my first name,” Falcon replied. “And to answer your question, I do read when I get the opportunity. I often carry a book or two with me, but I’m on the trail so often that books are sometimes difficult to come by. I’ve been known to read and reread the same book many times.”

  Roosevelt laughed. “Back at Harvard, we called that study,” he said. “I think you will like my house.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “It’s a low-lying, one-story house of hewn logs. The roof is pitched so that it is higher in the middle, but the ceiling is only seven feet high at the walls. It is clean and neat, with many rooms, so that one can be alone if one wishes to
.”

  “It sounds very nice.”

  “The reason I asked if you were a reader is because I have a library in the house.”

  “A library?”

  “A library of sorts,” Roosevelt said. “Rough board shelves hold a number of books. Without them, I fear some of the evenings would be long indeed.”

  “I’m sure they have brought you a great deal of comfort.”

  “Yes,” Roosevelt said. He got a sad, faraway look in his eyes. “That is, to the degree that anything can bring me comfort right now.”

  Falcon realized that he was thinking of the double tragedy of his life. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have stirred up old memories.”

  Unexpectedly, Roosevelt chuckled. “Oh, no, don’t be sorry, Falcon. I appreciate your concern, and I’m a big boy now. I will get over this.” He took in the mountain vista with a broad wave of his arm. “And this will help me do just that.”

  “I’m sure it will.

  “I think you need a respite as well,” Roosevelt said. “It can’t have been very pleasant for you, spending several days in jail.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Falcon said. “And the idea that I might have had to spend several years in jail was more than I wanted to deal with. If I haven’t expressed my gratitude to you for defending me, then I do so now.”

  “You were innocent of the charge,” Roosevelt said. “It is easy to defend an innocent man.”

  “I’m curious, how did a back-East man like you wind up with a ranch out here in the Dakotas? I know why you are here now, but you already owned the ranch, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Roosevelt said. “I think, by tonight, you won’t have to ask that question. We’ll have a nice dinner, then come out to sit in rocking chairs on the veranda.”

  “Do you spend much time there?” Falcon asked.

  “Yes, and you will see why once you are there. The house stands on the river brink, and from the porch, which is shaded by leafy cottonwoods, from the porch you can look across the sandbars and shallows to a strip of meadowland, behind which rises a line of sheer cliffs and grassy plateaus.”

  “Sounds nice,” Falcon said.

  “It is. And I can guarantee you this. In the summer evenings, when a cool breeze stirs along the river and blows in your face, why, this veranda is the most pleasant place in all the Dakotas. You can sit with a book in hand, and you don’t even have to read. You just rock gently to and fro and gaze sleepily out at the weird-looking buttes opposite, until their sharp outlines blur and purple in the afterglow of the sunset.”

  Falcon chuckled. “The way you’re describing it, I’m about to fall asleep in the saddle right now,” he said.

  Roosevelt laughed with him. “Oh, no, don’t do that,” he said. “We’ve got a way to go yet.”

  The two men rode on in silence after that, the only sound being the dry thud of horse hooves falling on prairie grass and the distant cry of an eagle.

  * * *

  Over dinner that night, Roosevelt began talking of his love for politics.

  “I’ve never been much for politics,” Falcon said as he spread butter onto a biscuit. “Truth is, I’ve never even cast a vote.”

  “You have never voted?” Roosevelt asked, surprised by Falcon’s pronouncement.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve always figured that I can take care of myself without any interference from the government,” Falcon replied. “And regardless of who is in office, it has never made that much of a difference in my own life.”

  “Ah, but that is not true, my friend,” Roosevelt insisted. “The bulk of government is not legislation but administration. That means you can never escape being governed. We must either govern ourselves or we must submit to being governed by others.”

  “That’s a noble thought,” Falcon said. “And I can see how, for someone like you who lives and works in a big city, that would be important. But my life is the mountains and the open spaces. I visited New York a few years ago, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I’ve always figured to just let the rest of the country take care of itself. Things are plenty good enough for me just the way they are.”

  “And nothing the government has ever done has concerned you?”

  “No. Well, I take that back. I reckon the War Between the States was over political differences, and a lot of good men died, on both sides, because politicians couldn’t work things out. Seems to me like the politicians might have failed us then.”

  “I can see why you would have that attitude, and I must say that, in that instance, I agree with you,” Roosevelt replied. “But it has always been my belief that this country will not be a permanently good place for any of us to live in unless we make it a reasonably good place for all of us to live in. That is the job of a good politician, and I’ve always tried to apply my life to that principle.”

  Falcon chuckled. “I’ll say this for you, Teddy. If ever I have met anyone who could rightly be called a man of destiny, it is you. I just have a feeling that one of these days I’m going to tell folks that I knew you when.”

  Roosevelt laughed. “From your lips to God’s ear, my friend,” he said. “Now, what do you say to a little hunting trip tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good to me. What are we going after?”

  “Elk,” Roosevelt said. “After all, this is Elkhorn Ranch.”

  * * *

  It was raining when they woke up the next morning, but that didn’t deter the eager young man from the East.

  The cook had prepared a generous breakfast of biscuits, bacon, and eggs, which Falcon and Roosevelt washed down with hot, black coffee. Falcon always did have a good appetite, but it seemed even more stimulated here, in this place.

  After they finished the meal, Roosevelt looked through the window and saw that, while the heavy rain had stopped, a light drizzle continued to fall.

  “You do have a slicker, don’t you?” Roosevelt asked from his position by the window.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you had better put it on. It doesn’t look to me like this is going to end any time soon.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the two men were more than a mile away from the cabin, riding through the light but steady drizzle. Falcon had gone through blizzards where he’d had to get off and lead his horse, barely managing to survive the storm. A little thing like a light drizzle wasn’t going to stop him.

  “I think taking an elk is one of the most magnificent things a man can do,” Roosevelt said. Those were the first words either of them had spoken in several minutes. “I’m sure you’ve hunted elk before,” he continued.

  “Yes, I’ve hunted elk.”

  “Of course you have,” Roosevelt said. “And even larger and more magnificent game if I don’t miss my guess.”

  Falcon had once killed a bear with a knife. He wouldn’t have used Roosevelt’s word, “magnificent,” to describe that incident, because the bear had attacked him. The encounter left him badly mauled and it was nip and tuck for a while. If it had not been for his wife, Marie Gentle Breeze, and the Indian herbs and cures she applied to kill the infection, he would have died.

  They were following along a stream that emptied into the river. The stream itself produced sloughs, and one of them curled back against a beaver dam where the water had pooled and spilled out over the banks to create a small lake.

  Falcon saw several birds take flight, and from the agitated way they were flying, he knew they had been frightened by something. He stared into a thicket of aspen trees and saw a movement.

  Falcon was about to point it out to Roosevelt when he saw that the young ranch owner had already seen it. The fact that he had seen it as well surprised Falcon, and his respect for this rather fascinating man increased.

  Suddenly, the elk broke out of the trees and started across the meadow.

  “There he is!” Roosevelt shouted. “You’re my guest, he’s all yours!”

  “No,” Falcon said.
“He’s yours.”

  By now the elk was three-fourths of the way across the meadow, and Falcon realized that he should have taken the shot when it was offered. He could still bring the animal down, but it might be too late for Roosevelt.

  Without a verbal response to Falcon’s offer, Roosevelt raised his rifle to his shoulder and aimed.

  Falcon wanted to call out to him to shoot now, before it was too late, but he checked the urge. Then he heard the crack of the rifle.

  The elk was running in long, ground-eating strides. Falcon saw a little puff of dust fly up from the elk’s hide, as well as a tiny spray of blood where the bullet hit. The shot was a perfectly aimed heart-shot. The animal’s front knees buckled and he went down headfirst, then tumbled and fell. He tried once to get up again, but he managed only to get the front part of his body up before he fell a second time. This time he was still.

  “Good shot, Teddy,” Falcon said.

  “Thank you,” Roosevelt replied, the tone strangely pensive.

  Looking toward him, Falcon saw that Roosevelt had lowered his rifle and was just staring at the elk, now still.

  “Are you all right?” Falcon asked.

  “Yes,” Roosevelt replied. He put the rifle back in its saddle sheath, then took off his glasses and began wiping the lenses. He made no effort to approach the elk he had just killed.

  “Do you ever . . .” Roosevelt started, but he stopped in mid-question, sighed, then put his glasses back on. “Do you ever have a feeling for the animals you kill?” he asked, completing his thought.

  “Yes, I have those feelings all the time,” Falcon said. “Even when I need to kill for food, I’m aware of what I’m doing.”

  “Animals are the innocents of this world,” Roosevelt said. “They are God’s creatures, just as we are. I don’t think we are necessarily superior to them, just different from them. But only man has the intellect to change the environment, and that means we are charged by God to be the stewards of all creation.”

  “I’ve never thought of it in just those words,” Falcon said. “But now that you put it that way, I reckon I agree with you.”