Destiny of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

Anna fell back on the bed.

  “No,” Anna said. “Please don’t do this. My father has acceded to your demands.”

  “It don’t make no difference to me whether your pa come through or not,” Dalton said, glaring lustfully down at her. “I been plannin’ on havin’ me a little of this from the moment we snatched you up. Now the way I look at it, you got yourself two ways of getting’ through this. You can either cry and fight me . . . and I got to tell you, honey, I like that. I like that a lot. Or you can do like the whores do, pretendin’ that you like it, even though you don’t. Either way you do it is up to you.”

  Anna felt Dalton’s calloused hands bunching up her skirt and tugging at her undergarments until she could feel the night air on the most intimate parts of her body. Almost involuntarily, she squeezed her legs together.

  Dalton unbuttoned his pants, then put his hands between her thighs. Despite her efforts to resist him, he forced her legs apart.

  “There, that’s a good girl,” Dalton grunted.

  Anna felt Dalton’s weight press against her bruised and racked body. Then she felt something cold and metallic against her thigh.

  It was Dalton’s knife! The same knife he had thrown at her earlier. She shifted positions slightly, to allow her to get to the knife.

  “There you go, girl,” Dalton said. “I knew you would . . . uhn!!”

  Anna slipped the knife into Dalton’s body. She had presence of mind enough to know to turn the knife sideways to allow it to slide in between his ribs. She pushed it all the way to the hilt.

  “What . . . what have you . . .” Dalton asked in a strained voice. He got up, then backed away from her, looking down in shock at his own knife, protruding from his body.

  “Why, you bitch! You’ve stabbed me,” he said. He pulled the knife out and when he did, blood squirted from the wound, almost like water from a fountain. He put his left hand over the wound in an effort to staunch the flow of blood, but it spilled through his fingers.

  “I’m going to cut your heart out,” he said. With the knife in his right hand, he staggered toward her. Before he got to her, though, he fell. He gasped a couple more times before growing silent.

  Anna couldn’t hear him breathe, and as she looked down at him, she saw that his eyes were open, but already growing opaque.

  Anna tried to reach the knife, straining forward with her one free hand. She could brush the tips of her fingers across it, but that was all. She couldn’t get hold of it to pull it to her.

  She leaned back in frustration, then she saw her undergarments on the bed beside her. Grabbing them she leaned out again, tossed them toward the knife, and pulling on them, managed to drag the knife close enough to reach it.

  With the knife in hand, she began picking at the lock and, after a few attempts, successfully got the lock open. With a little gasp of thankfulness, she started toward the door, then remembered what had happened on her first try to escape. There was only one door in the cabin, but there was a window at the rear.

  Moving quickly, Anna went to the back of the cabin. Climbing up on the cabinet, she opened the window, then crawled through. It was a drop of six feet to the ground, but she didn’t care.

  Getting up from the ground, Anna brushed her hands off, then crept to the edge of the cabin and looked around. She saw Percy sitting up on a rock, looking out toward the approach.

  Keeping a wary eye on him, she slipped through the dark to the little lean-to that served as a barn. Because Aaron had taken two horses with him, there was only one horse in the lean-to. If she could get it . . . she could not only use it to get away, she would leave Percy without a horse so he couldn’t come after her.

  Anna managed to put the bridle on, but when she started to get the saddle, the horse started whickering and moving around.

  Looking toward the rock, she saw that the horse had caught Percy’s attention. She stepped back into the shadows of the lean-to so he couldn’t see her.

  Percy stared into the lean-to for a moment, but satisfied that everything was all right, he turned his attention back to the approach. Anna moved back out of the shadows, but she decided it was too risky to saddle the horse.

  She wondered if she could ride without a saddle, then decided, why not? She knew that Indians rode without a saddle.

  Without a stirrup, she had to climb up on the feeding trough to get mounted. Doing so, she lifted her skirt and straddled the horse. That was when she experienced the somewhat disconcerting sensation of feeling her nakedness against the horse’s back. She had not put her undergarments back on.

  Too late to worry about that now. Slowly, she guided the horse out of the lean-to. She was several yards away when she heard Percy call out.

  “Dalton? Dalton, where are you goin’?”

  Anna urged the horse into a gallop, but with no saddle, she was unable to stay on the horse. With the first burst of speed, she was unseated and she fell hard. By the time she got up, Percy was over her with his gun drawn.

  “Damn, when you goin’ to quit tryin’ to escape?” he asked.

  * * *

  When Falcon reached the now-dead campfire the next morning, he realized that his quarry had not camped there last night. The fire had been a ruse to hold him in place.

  “Damn,” he said, disgusted with himself for letting it happen. He should’ve come up closer to the fire to see if they had really made camp, but to be honest, he hadn’t given Aaron Childers credit for being that smart.

  “You got me that time, Mr. Childers,” he said under his breath. “But you won’t get me again.”

  Fortunately, their trail was still easy to read, so Falcon began following their tracks, moving more swiftly than he did the day before because there was less chance of overrunning them and giving himself away.

  Everything was going well until around noon. At noon a thunderstorm came up and as the rain poured down, it began washing away the tracks right in front of him.

  Falcon was about to throw up his hands in disgust when, about half a mile in front of him, he saw two men leading their horses into the opening of an old, abandoned mine.

  “Well, now,” Falcon said aloud. “We meet again.”

  Falcon wasn’t quite as lucky in finding shelter as the Childers brothers were. He did find a rock overhang that shielded him from some but not all of the rain. He got Diablo under as much of the shelter as was possible; then he pulled his slicker around him and sat as far back under the rock as he could.

  The rain finally eased up around three that afternoon, and Falcon watched as Frank and Aaron Childers reemerged, still leading their horses. After leading them for a few yards, they mounted them, then rode on.

  When Falcon reached the mouth of the abandoned mine, he saw that the rain that had washed away the old trail actually made the new trail much easier to follow. That was because there was only one set of tracks now, all previous tracks having been erased.

  Chapter 24

  “Where’s Dalton?” Aaron asked when he and Frank reached the cabin.

  “He’s lyin’ out back,” Percy answered easily.

  “Lyin’ out back? What do you mean he’s lyin’ out back? Lyin’ out back doin’ what?”

  “Lyin’ out back bein’ dead,” Percy said.

  “Dead? You son of a bitch, what did you kill him for?” Aaron asked angrily. “He was my cousin, damn you!” Aaron reached for his gun.

  “Hold on there, hold on!” Percy said, sticking his hands out in front of him as if pushing Aaron away. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “Well, if you didn’t kill him, who did?”

  “She did,” Percy said, nodding toward Anna, who, once again, was chained to the bed.

  “Wait a minute, don’t give me that. Are you tellin’ me that little ole slip of a girl killed Dalton?”

  “That’s what I’m tellin’ you,” Percy said.

  “How could she do that if you got her tied to the bed? What did you idiots do, leave a gun close enough for her to get ahold of it?
” Aaron asked.

  Percy shook his head. “Wasn’t no gun involved.”

  “Then how did she do it?”

  “She stabbed him with his own knife.”

  Aaron walked over to the bunk and looked down at Anna. “Is he tellin’ the truth. Did you kill Dalton?”

  When Anna didn’t answer him, Aaron slapped her hard. She cried out in pain and, almost instantly, her cheek grew red from the force of the blow.

  “This ain’t your papa’s court, woman,” Aaron said. “You ain’t got the right to remain silent. Answer me when I talk to you. Did you kill Dalton?”

  “Yes. He tried to rape me.”

  Aaron looked over at Percy. “Is that true?”

  “I . . . uh . . . don’t know,” Percy said. “I was outside. Next thing I knew, I seen her trying to escape. When I brought her back in here, I seen Dalton lyin’ on the floor, dead.”

  “Hey! This shack is on fire!” Frank suddenly shouted, and even as he was giving the warning, the room started filling with smoke.

  “What the hell? How did that happen?” Aaron said. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “What about the girl?” Frank asked.

  Aaron looked at her restraint. “Where’s the key?” he asked.

  “The key? I . . . I’m not sure. It may be in Dalton’s pocket.”

  The smoke got worse.

  “Well, I ain’t goin’ out there to look for it,” Aaron said. “We’ve got to get out of here; this smoke will kill us.”

  “Wait! You can’t leave me here!” Anna said, but even before she finished her cry the three men were out the front door.

  Anna coughed, then got down on the bed, burying her nose in the blanket in hopes of filtering out some of the smoke. Then she felt someone’s hand on her arm and when she looked up, she saw that whoever it was had the key in his hand. He opened the lock.

  “They were right, the key was on Dalton. Come on,” he said. “We’re going through the back window.”

  It wasn’t until then that Anna recognized her rescuer.

  “Mr. MacCallister!” she said.

  Falcon helped her up and led her to the back of the cabin; then he lifted her up onto the cabinet beneath the already open window.

  Falcon shoved her through the window, then climbed through the window behind her. Grabbing her by the hand, he led her away from the burning building, through a thicket of trees, and onto a little dirt road. Here, a single large black horse stood quietly.

  “This is Diablo. He’ll get you out of here. About two miles down this road, you’ll reach the railroad,” Falcon said. “Turn left and follow the railroad for about ten miles. That will take you back to Medora.”

  “Wait a minute. Aren’t you coming with me?” Anna asked. “We can ride double.”

  Falcon shook his head. “I’ve got some business to take care of first,” he said.

  “But how are you going to get to town without a horse?”

  “I’ll borrow one,” Falcon said simply.

  “Mr. MacCallister, I . . . I can’t thank you enough for rescuing me,” she said. “You are, truly, a hero.”

  Falcon didn’t answer. Instead, he helped her mount Diablo. Then he snaked his rifle from the saddle sheath and patted Diablo on the rump.

  “Take care of her, boy,” he said.

  Diablo started off at a trot. Then, rifle in hand, Falcon started back through the clump of woods toward the cabin. The cabin was fully engulfed in flames now, throwing out a large radius of heat and sending smoke billowing into the sky.

  Falcon saw three men standing near the lean-to. They had already saddled their horses and were getting ready to ride away. He started toward them.

  “It’s MacCallister!” Frank said, pointing toward Falcon.

  “Shoot ’im! Shoot the bastard!” Aaron said, but even as he was issuing the order, he was mounting his horse. Grabbing the reins of the other two horses, Aaron galloped away.

  “Hey!” Percy shouted. “Where at you goin’ with them horses?” Percy started running after Aaron. Then Falcon saw a strange thing. Aaron turned and shot Percy.

  “Aaron, what are you doing?” Frank called, shocked by what he had just seen. “You’re takin’ the horses!”

  “Sorry, Frank, it’s ever’ man for himself!” Aaron shouted.

  “You son of a bitch!” Frank fired his pistol at his own brother.

  “Drop your gun, Frank, and throw up your hands,” Falcon shouted.

  “The hell I will!” Frank said, aiming his gun at Falcon. “I ain’t lettin’ you take me back to prison again.” He fired, and the bullet actually nicked Falcon’s ear. Falcon could feel the sting of it, as well as see a little spray of blood in the periphery of his vision.

  “Drop it, Frank, now!” Falcon shouted.

  Frank fired a second shot, and though this one didn’t nick him, it was close enough for Falcon to feel the concussion of its passing.

  Falcon returned fire, shooting once, hitting Frank in the middle of his chest. Frank went down.

  By now Aaron had opened up a considerable distance between him and Falcon. Falcon aimed his pistol at him, but realizing that he was out of range, put the pistol back in his holster, then checked on both Frank and Percy. Frank was dead and Percy was dying.

  “Why did he do that?” Percy asked in a voice that was wracked with pain. “Why’d he run off on us like that?”

  “Because he’s a coward, and that’s what cowards do,” Falcon answered.

  “You know what? I hope you get the son of a . . .” That was as far Percy got before he died.

  * * *

  When Aaron reached the top of the ridge, he turned and looked back down toward the burning cabin. He saw both Frank and Percy lying on the ground, and MacCallister standing just over Percy. The cabin was nothing but a burning pile of collapsed timber.

  “Sorry ’bout takin’ the horses, Frank,” he said quietly. “But I figured this way you’n Percy would have to deal with him and that would get me a head start.” He turned the other two horses loose, then turned his own horse and galloped away.

  * * *

  After nearly an hour of trailing on foot, Falcon was pleasantly surprised to see a golden palomino standing quietly in a meadow, eating grass. As he came closer, he saw that it was a mare. Was this Douglass’s horse?

  “Rhoda?” he called.

  Upon hearing her name, Rhoda trotted easily over to him.

  Falcon began patting the horse on the neck and, looking toward her rump, saw the letter D over an arc. The Rocking D, Douglass’s brand.

  “It is you, isn’t it, Rhoda?”

  Rhoda pushed her head against his hand, welcoming the attention.

  Falcon pulled the rifle out of the saddle sheath and tossed it aside, replacing it with his own. He mounted the horse.

  “Come on, old girl,” he said. “Let’s go find that evil bastard.”

  Now that he was mounted, it was much easier to follow Aaron’s trail. He hadn’t gone too far, though, before he noticed that the horse Aaron was riding had broken stride, badly. Reading the sign told the story. In his desperate attempt to flee, Aaron had ridden his horse into the ground. The hour lead that Aaron had on Falcon meant nothing now.

  Falcon found Aaron’s horse about half an hour later. The animal was still alive, though only barely. His nostrils were flecked with blood, evidence that Aaron had ridden the horse until its lungs burst.

  “I’m sorry, friend,” Falcon said to the horse. He patted the animal gently on the neck, and looked into its sorrowful brown eyes. The horse seemed to understand what Falcon was about to do. Falcon put his pistol to the horse’s head and pulled the trigger. Mercifully, the horse died instantly.

  Falcon poured some water into a hat and held it up for Rhoda, then began walking, following Aaron’s trail. The sign continued to tell the story, as clearly as if Falcon were reading it from a book.

  Aaron had run as far as he could; then he’d started walking, then he’d st
arted throwing things away. Falcon found the pistol belt, though the holster was empty, which meant Aaron did keep his pistol. Next he found the spurs, then Aaron’s shirt, and finally an empty canteen.

  Within another mile, Falcon found indications that Aaron was beginning to have a very difficult time. There were signs that he would fall, crawl a few feet, then get up and lunge ahead a few feet more before falling again.

  Falcon heard a train whistle, and realized with a start that he was closer to the railroad than he thought. He knew then where Aaron was going and what his intention was. Aaron planned to hop a freight, and if he did, he would get away.

  Falcon remounted and urged Rhoda into a trot. The train whistle sounded much closer now, and Falcon brought Rhoda to a lope. Ahead of him was a long, rather steeply rising slope. The slope was high enough in front of him that it obscured his view of the other side so, though he could hear the train, he still couldn’t see it. It also made it more difficult for Rhoda, and the game mare started gasping for breath.

  “Don’t give up on me now, girl,” Falcon said, and amazingly, at his call, Rhoda moved from a lope to a gallop. The train whistled again, this time right in front of him.

  Finally, Falcon reached the top of the long slope, and was surprised and disappointed to see that it did not slope down on the other side as he had thought. Instead, it was a steep descent, much too steep to ride down.

  Dismounting, Falcon patted Rhoda on the neck. “You’ve done all I asked of you,” he said. “I’ll take it from here.”

  Falcon looked down toward the track. The train he had been hearing was, at that very minute, passing by in front of him. What he saw was a freight train, consisting of an engine and about a dozen boxcars. There was no caboose.

  Falcon pulled his rifle out of the sheath and looked back down toward the track.

  That was when he saw Aaron, seeing him for the first time since he had last glimpsed him at the cabin. The outlaw, though near collapse, had somehow called upon a hidden reserve of strength. He was running now, and he managed to catch the last car. He hung on the ladder for a moment or two, then climbed to the top.

  Falcon sat down on the crest of the hill and, almost leisurely, jacked a round into the chamber of his rifle. He raised the rear sight and slid the gate up to a range marking of five hundred yards. Crossing his legs and resting his left elbow just inside his left knee, he raised the rifle to his shoulder, then sighted down the long, octagonal barrel.