Flying Eagle

by Tim Champlin

  “What about the man in Chicago the note is addressed to?”

  “I have dispatched a rider to the Western Union office in Rawlings with a message to our brothers in Chicago to lay hands on this man, if he can be found. But we have no assurance that he can decipher this note either.”

  “What makes you think this note has any reference to gold at all?” Jay asked.

  Jacob Wright eyed him through the magnifying lenses. “Maybe that is the reason you are only a Wells Fargo messenger. Of course, you are very young yet. If you were destined to live longer, you might learn more about the nature of men and their motives. If a man who has stolen much gold sees or hears his captors, torturers, or executioners coming for him in his house, and he has only a few minutes before they arrive, what do you suppose would be his last act?”

  “If I couldn’t get away, I’d pray.”

  “Not if your whole life centered around this huge amount of gold, as Brown’s did. No. His last desperate act before the hatchet men found him in his study and chopped through the door would be to somehow get a note outside to a friend telling where the gold was hidden. And this he did by way of the boy in the garden just outside his window. I don’t know of this Simpson fellow, but I’ll wager we find that he is a business partner or a banking associate of Brown’s who is aware of the tong’s deal with Brown.”

  “Then if this Simpson doesn’t know the meaning of the note, you are as far away from the gold as ever,” Jay said. He wanted to gloat, but he was too tired and too scared. He just wanted to sit down somewhere and close his eyes for a nap.

  “We will break the code,” Wright said confidently. “The authorities do not yet know that Brown is dead. And they have no reason to connect the tong with his disappearance.”

  Oh yes they do, Jay thought, recalling Fred Casey’s mentioning the tong trademark of the Chinese houseman’s skull being split. But he kept silent.

  “A telegraph message will be sent to San Francisco with the words of this note as soon as one of my men can reach Rawlings,” Wright continued. “In the meantime, I hope I have satisfied all your curiosity concerning this matter. I like things tied up in nice, neat packages, and I would hate for a man to enter the black void not understanding all the reasons for his going.”

  “Robbing that train has already put the law on your trail,” Jay retorted. “And killing us will definitely increase that to a hanging offense.”

  “Oh, I don’t plan to kill you and your friends,” Wright said, brightly. “We will arrange for a little accident. It will be an accident that could happen to anyone such as yourselves not familiar with these mountains.” He made a tent of his fingers and touched them to his pursed lips. “I would tell you what to expect, but I don’t want to ruin all your surprises.”

  He picked up the loaded Colt and got up, stepping around the desk. His movements were all small and precise.

  “If you gentlemen will open that door behind you, we’ll be on our way.”

  Chapter Twenty

  When Jay awoke some hours later, he had no idea what day it was, and only the vaguest recollections of what had been happening to him. And he was terribly thirsty.

  He pushed himself up to a sitting position from the bare dirt floor of what appeared to be a log woodshed and rubbed the sleep from his gritty eyes. In the dim light that filtered between the unchinked logs of the walls, he saw Fletcher Hall sitting on the floor a few feet away, watching him. Heavy, steady breathing sounded on the other side where Marvin Cutter lay, close to the base of the wall, head pillowed on his arm, and fast asleep. He looked even grimier and more unkempt than Jay remembered him.

  “You been asleep a long time,” Hall remarked. His own red, puffy eyes told a tale of sleeplessness.

  “What time is it?”

  Hall consulted his watch. “About six-fifteen.”

  Jay was confused. He felt as if he had slept more than two or three hours. “Six-fifteen?”

  “In the morning. You been asleep more than twelve hours.”

  “Where are we?” Try as he might, he could not remember the details of anything that had transpired after the meeting with Jacob Wright.

  “We’re only about fifty yards from the ranchhouse. Old Bowlegs brought us here and locked us in around four o’clock yesterday afternoon. Appears to be some sort of woodshed.” He gestured at the inside of their prison, and Jay looked around at the split lengths of firewood stacked loosely in two comers of the eight by ten foot pine log structure. No fresh wood had been thrown in here for some time, and cobwebs festooned most of the corners. The place smelled musty and unused. It was about time for someone to lay in a fresh supply of winter firewood, Jay noted absently.

  He ran a hand over his face and combed his fingers through his hair. “I was dead on my feet. Didn’t realize how tired I was. You don’t look like you slept too well, though.”

  “Got a few catnaps in is all,” Hall replied. “Kept waking up with nightmares. Don’t know how you can sleep so soundly, considering what’s going on here.”

  Jay nodded as he got stiffly to his feet. “If that half-breed Chinese fellow has his way, we’ll all be sleeping pretty soundly before long.”

  “I don’t know how you can be so flippant about it,” Hall growled, turning away and placing his eyes to a crack between the logs.

  “Have to keep my spirits up. We’re not dead yet.”

  Hall turned a haggard face toward him. “Got any ideas how to get out of here?”

  Jay looked around at the log structure. The heavy sleep had left him feeling somewhat dull and lethargic. But he knew that would pass shortly. His youthful strength and energy were back. He knew a little food would bring him back to his peak. Even though he had not eaten in twenty-four hours, he was not hungry. Only thirsty. Hall was a different story. Even though the man was stocky and strong, he was probably fifteen or twenty years older than Jay, and unused to hardships of losing sleep and going without food. Jay wondered about his physical stamina. If there was an opportunity for a breakout, would Hall have the speed and endurance to take advantage of it? Or would Jay have to wait for him and for Cutter? Living by his wits on the streets had probably conditioned the thief for nearly anything. In any case, Jay resolved not to worry too much about him.

  “Have you checked the door?” Jay asked. Might as well start with the obvious.

  “First thing. Solid pine planks about three inches thick. I heard them drop a bar in place across it.”

  “Huh. Evidently they use this place for things other than just to store firewood.”

  Jay walked around, inspecting the corners. The logs were notched and fit closely. A little air and a little daylight could get through the cracks, but that was all, except maybe a fieldmouse. The ceiling was supported by squared-off pine logs, crossed with small pine or cedar poles and topped with some type of wooden shakes. The flat roof was canted slightly from back to front to allow runoff. The supporting beams were about seven feet up. Maybe if he could climb up a pile of wood in the corner and reach it, he could use a hunk of firewood to batter a hole in the roof. But, because of the noise, this would have to be done when nobody was at the house. Had Wright left a guard? There was very likely someone close by who could keep an eye on the place, and maybe a closer guard at night. And night was many hours away.

  “Well?” Hall asked.

  “We might be able to knock a hole in that roof if we had plenty of time and nobody could hear the noise we would make. It would sure help if we knew what they planned to do with us. Did he mention anything about how long we have?”

  Hall shook his head. “Nothing. Just had Bowlegs bring us down here and lock us in.”

  “Do you think if Wright thought we knew what that note meant, he’d keep us alive until we told him?”

  “No. If he thought we knew, we’d be tortured. And for what purpose? We don’t.”

  “We could tell him anything.”

  “He’d hold us until he found out it was a lie, and then
kill us.”

  “It might buy us some time,” Jay mused. “There has to be a posse combing these hills, looking for us by now. They’ve probably even found our balloon, who knows?”

  Hall nodded. “Yeah, who knows? But we can’t rely on that. We have to make some plans to defend ourselves now.”

  “Well, they won’t walk in here and shoot us down, anyway. Wright said he was arranging some sort of ‘accident.’ My guess is that it will be out away from this ranchhouse. Maybe somewhere in the mountains. Wright wouldn’t take a chance on our bodies being found near here.”

  “Huh! Hope you’re right,” Hall grunted. “Of course he could always kill us here and haul our bodies somewhere else and dump them.”

  The same thought had occurred to Jay, but he was forcing himself to put the best light on things. It wouldn’t do to start getting depressed and lose hope now. If only they knew what “surprise” Wright had in store for them!

  Marvin Cutter began to stir, then sat up, blinking and rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a fist.

  “Morning, gents,” he greeted them, showing a yellow-toothed grin through the long black stubble on his lean cheeks. “It is morning, isn’t it?” he asked, squinting at the slats of oblique light striping them from between the pine logs. “Yeah, I reckon it is,” he said, nervously glancing at the two men standing above him. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked, pushing himself erect by means of the log wall behind him.

  “How’s the knee?” Jay asked.

  “Oh, much better,” he answered hurriedly, ignoring the sarcasm.

  “I’ll bet it’s much better than Vincent Gorraiz’s head.”

  “Oh, that. I really didn’t mean to hit him so hard. Fact is, I was trying to slip out of there quietly, but I saw him on guard, and knew I wouldn’t get a half-mile if I didn’t put him out for a while. But I’m not a violent man, you know.”

  “A bunch of cowboys showed up right after you left and started shooting up the flock,” Hall added. “Did you see or hear any of that?”

  “So that’s what that shooting was about. I just could hear it. I musta been more than a mile away by then.”

  “Nice of you to come back and help out,” Jay said.

  Cutter shrugged. “Say . . . I heard the two men who brought me here talking about one of the hands being shot. They didn’t say what happened, but they had him in the bunkhouse and were going to take him by wagon to Rawlings to the doctor. Musta been hit pretty bad, ‘cause they were wonderin’ if he could stand the trip.”

  Jay and Fletcher looked at each other.

  “Likely the one we got,” Hall said.

  “Did you overhear anything else?” Jay asked. “Anything about what else might be going on around here?”

  Cutter shook his head.

  “Did you meet Jacob Wright?” Jay asked.

  “Who?”

  “The owner of this ranch.”

  “Oh, him. Yeh. Strange-looking little fella.”

  “Then you know they’re going to kill you,” Jay said.

  Cutter swallowed hard and looked away.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were running from the tong? It might have saved us all from this.”

  “I didn’t want to be mixed up in any of this,” Cutter said in a low voice, still not looking at Jay.

  “Well, you’re in it and so are we.”

  “Why in hell didn’t you at least tell us what that note meant?” Hall demanded angrily.

  “I don’t know what it means,” Cutter whined defensively. “I just recognized the handwriting, is all.”

  “But you were there at his estate—in his house—when he wrote it,” Jay persisted. “You saw the hatchet men chop down that poor Chinese servant.”

  Cutter nodded, dumbly.

  “What were you doing at Julian Octavian Brown’s estate?”

  Cutter took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you the whole story. I don’t suppose it matters now.” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair that was matted with dirt and twigs. “Julian Brown met me on the street about fifteen years ago. In fact, I had just pinched his billfold as he was coming out of the Palace Hotel. I didn’t know who he was, but he looked like he had a lot of money, from the way he was dressed. Well, one of the men with him seen me do it, and grabbed me before I could get away. Well, to make a long story short, the old man felt sorry for me and didn’t turn me in to the police. I seen that he kinda wanted to take me under his wing, not having any children of his own, so I give him a sad story about my upbringing—which wasn’t all that joyous, as you can probably understand. Anyhow, he offered me a job on his estate and I took it. Worked in his stables and just did whatever jobs needed doin’ around there for several months. Well, these hands were never made to fit a shovel and directly, I’d had enough of that, so I lit out. The old man was kind enough to me and fed me well, so I didn’t relieve him of none of his valuables when I left—and God knows, there was stuff laying around everywhere that I could’ve picked up and sold for cash. Well, anyways, I’d run into him on the street now and then, but he never said anything to me or I to him. We just went our separate ways. I reckon he just considered it an experiment that failed.

  “Well, a month or two ago, things started getting really tough on the street. More competition, if you know what I mean. Lots of people out of work. And I got beat up a couple of times when I picked on the wrong man. I guess my hands were shaky from being hung over. Anyway, it got to the point where I almost had to get caught so I could get put in jail to have a place to sleep and something to eat. Well, I finally decided I’d go out to Brown’s estate and see if I could come up with something valuable that was small enough to carry off that I could sell to keep me going for a few months. As I said, things were really getting difficult on the streets, and the police were getting harder on us. They’d just as soon whip me with a nightstick as run me in. I walked the ten miles to Brown’s place, since I had no money. I was familiar with the layout so it was no trouble for me to get into the grounds at night without being seen. Slept in the stable when I couldn’t find anything outside to cart off.

  “Figured I’d slip into the house come daylight after the old man had gone off to the city in his carriage and see if there was some gold trinket he wouldn’t even miss. As it turned out, I didn’t know the old man didn’t go to his bank every day, and when he didn’t come out the next morning, I figured maybe he wasn’t even home, so I went in through the back servant’s entrance. Before I could even work my way back to the study, I heard someone coming so I jumped into the pantry that was handy. It was the Chinese houseman.

  “I heard him shout something in Chinese and there was a crashing of glass and the old servant went running past the pantry, yelling for Mr. Brown to run for his life. Then these other Chinese came bustin’ in and went for the old man and then I didn’t hear any more except some scufflin’ around down the hall in another part of the house, then a couple of shouts. When I took a peek outside of the pantry, there was the houseman on the floor in the doorway to the kitchen with his head split open. It about made me sick. There was blood everywhere. I knew I had to get out of there, ’cause I figured they had killed Brown, too. But, as luck would have it, they saw me slipping out the back door and raised a helluva shout. I guess the only thing that saved me was that I was really scared and could run faster. And they were distracted by the young fella who was a gardener taking off on a fast horse toward the road. I knew the grounds and I managed to dodge them and get over the wall and into the trees and hide until they were gone. I stayed there all day and then walked back to town after dark. I can tell you I jumped at every sound on the way, too. But I knew they had seen me, and I had seen them. They knew I could tell the police and describe them, so I knew I had to get myself put in jail for safety. That’s why I let myself get caught filching billfolds at that balloon demonstration the next day.

  “But even after I got jailed, I was afraid there were ways the t
ong could get me. Well, I watched for a chance to escape. I been in and out of that jail so much over the past few years that all the jailers know me. I’m like one of the family. Because of that, I guess, they got a little careless. I’m good with my hands and, when the night shift came on duty and brought me my supper, I filched the cell key and stashed it under my mattress until things got quiet, and the turnkey had settled down to doze in his chair; then I was out of there and gone as fast and quiet as a cat. I hid out in an old, empty building until daylight, then lifted a few dollars from a well-dressed gentleman who wouldn’t miss it, and grabbed the ferry over to Oakland and stowed away on the first eastbound train I saw.”

  Jay let out a sigh as if he had been doing all the talking and was out of breath. “That pretty well clears up the mystery, except that nobody seems to know where the gold is.”

  “To hell with the gold,” Hall said. “What about us?”

  No more the dapper, cocky aeronaut who thrilled crowds with his derring-do. He had been reduced to a scruffy, middle-aged man fearful for his life.

  “If we have to make a quick break for it, do you feel up to it?” Jay asked.

  Hall nodded. “Just give me a chance.”

  Jay went to the wall and peeked out through one of the larger cracks. “No sign of life around the house.” He pulled out the watch that had not been taken from him. “Six-thirty. If this were really a working ranch, don’t you think we’d see somebody up and around by now?”

  “Not necessarily,” Hall replied. One or two of them may have taken the wounded cowboy to Rawlings. Another one—Coyote-face—was sent in to Rawlings with that message to the Western Union office. Remember? If there are any others working on this place they may have been sent after Vincent Gorraiz.”

  “I hope he had enough sense to move his flock on farther away or back up into the mountain meadows for now.”

  Hall nodded. “Me, too. And I guess Wright and that woman who opened the door are probably inside the house.”