Crusade of Eagles

by J. A. Johnstone

  Ten minutes later, they had two horses saddled.

  “Let’s go,” Andrew said.

  “Which way?”

  “That way,” Andrew said, pointing south.

  “Let’s go that way,” Rosanna said, pointing north.

  “Why north?”

  “Look at their tracks,” Rosanna said, pointing to the tracks of three horses. “They went south.”

  “Well, if you knew which way we should go, why did you ask me in the first place?”

  “To make you feel good,” Rosanna answered with a little laugh. She urged her horse into a gallop, heading north, and Andrew followed.

  They left the way station at a gallop, and held it for well over a mile before slowing to a trot, then to a walk.

  “Let’s give the horses a rest,” Andrew said. “We’re going to have to depend on them for a while. It won’t be good to run them into the ground.”

  “I agree,” Rosanna said. She leaned forward, patted her horse on the neck, and laughed.

  “What is it? What are you laughing about?”

  “I was just thinking,” she said. “After this, you won’t have to be making up stories about your past. You are living out exactly what you say you are.”

  “After this?” Andrew asked.

  “Yes.”

  Andrew laughed as well. “That’s what I like about you, Rosanna. You have a lot of confidence.”

  “Confidence?”

  “Yes, confidence. Think about it. You said ‘after this’ as if you truly believe there will be an after this.”

  “Oh, I believe it, all right,” Rosanna said. “I truly believe that someday we’ll be sitting around a table at the Metropole, telling the tale of this great adventure.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, I know so. And you’ll have everyone in the cast, especially the ladies, hanging on your every word. Why, you’ll be their hero,” Rosanna teased.

  “Oh, I won’t be the only center of attention,” Andrew said. “What about you?”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “Your dance of the seven veils?” Andrew teased. “All the men will be wanting to hear about that in its most minute detail.”

  “And you will tell it, dear brother?”

  “I will.”

  “And will you do it justice?”

  “Justice?”

  “Yes. Will you describe it in the seductive manner in which it was performed?” Rosanna asked.

  Andrew laughed out loud. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “I believe you enjoyed that. The next thing you know, you will be wanting to incorporate such a dance into our act.”

  “And why not? Don’t you think such an act would go over well for our audience?” Rosanna asked. “Certainly our audiences are more sophisticated than that albino character.”

  “A Jezebel,” Andrew said, shaking his head. “My sister has turned into a Jezebel.” He started his horse forward. “Come on, the horses are rested enough. We need to keep moving.”

  “Wait,” Rosanna said.

  “Wait? Wait for what?”

  Rosanna tore a little strip of cloth from the hem of her dress and tied it to the branch of a willow tree.

  “What is that for?”

  “Falcon will be looking for us,” she said.

  “So will the bad men. What if they see that?”

  “I think it’s a chance we need to take,” Rosanna said.

  Andrew thought for a second, then nodded. “You’re right,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The Landers farm sat on top of a gently rising hill. It consisted of a house, barn, smokehouse, and corral. The house itself was surrounded by a white picket fence, and flowers grew in colorful profusion on both sides of a brick sidewalk that ran from the porch of the house down to the gate.

  Two women were working in the flower garden, but as Falcon drew closer, he saw that one of the women was actually a girl of about sixteen or so. He stopped outside the gate and called out to them.

  “Is this the Landers place?”

  The two looked up at him, and the younger one wiped her face with the back of her hand. It left a little smear of dirt on her cheek.

  “What do you want, mister?” a man’s voice called from the loft of the barn.

  Falcon had already seen the man in the barn, and he knew that the man had seen him. He knew also that by the time he reached the house the man was holding a rifle on him.

  “Mr. Landers, my name is Falcon MacCallister,” Falcon said.

  “Really?” a young male voice called from the door of the barn. “Are you really Falcon MacCallister?”

  The boy came out of the barn. Like his father, the boy had been holding a rifle, but he was no longer pointing it at Falcon. Instead, he was holding it down by his side.

  “Jesse!” Landers called. “Jesse, you get back in here! You know better than to expose yourself like that!”

  “But Pa, this is Falcon MacCallister!” Jesse said. “Ain’t you never heard of him?”

  “You are Jesse?” Falcon asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re the one I came to see.”

  “Really? You came to see me?”

  “What do you want with my boy?” Landers yelled. By now Landers had completely exposed himself and, like the boy, was holding his rifle down by his side.

  “I want to talk to him, that’s all,” Falcon said. “That is, if you don’t mind,” Falcon said.

  “What do you want to talk to my boy about?”

  “About Johnny,” Falcon said. “I’m after the men who killed your son.”

  “Just a minute,” Landers called back. “Wait right there until I come down.”

  Falcon waited until Landers came down from the loft and out of the barn. Landers started toward him, still carrying his rifle; then, as if thinking about it, he went back and leaned his rifle against the front of the barn.

  Falcon swung down from his horse, and was standing there as Landers approached. Landers brushed his hands together, then extended his right hand.

  “I’m Josh Landers,” he said.

  “Falcon MacCallister,” Falcon repeated.

  “Wow,” the boy said. “I’m Jesse, Mr. MacCallister.” He extended his hand as well, and Falcon shook it.

  “Mr. MacCallister, your name evidently means something to my boy,” Landers said. “But I’ll be honest with you. I’ve never heard of you.”

  “Pop, you know all those books Johnny reads—uh—” Jesse stopped, then corrected himself. “I mean, the ones he used to read?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, most of ’em is about Falcon MacCallister. He’s a real famous gunfighter, but he only uses his guns for truth and justice.”

  “Truth and justice, huh?” Landers replied with a little chuckle.

  “Yes, sir, that’s what it says on the covers of all the books they’ve ever wrote about him. They say, ‘Falcon MacCallister is a warrior of the plains fighting for truth and justice.’”

  “Well, in that case, we can’t send him away, can we?” Landers said.

  “You know what else? He always says, ‘Get ready to eat supper in hell,’ just before he kills someone. Don’t you, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “That’s what the books say,” Falcon replied. That one phrase had become such a standard part of all the novels about him that, though it wasn’t true, he no longer denied it.

  “You’ve killed a lot of people, have you, Mr. MacCallister ?” Landers asked.

  “Mr. Landers, those are dime novels,” Falcon said. “They don’t call them ‘penny dreadfuls’ for nothing.”

  Landers was silent for a moment; then he chuckled. “Well, I don’t suppose I can hold you responsible for what they write about you in those books. You’re going after the men who killed Johnny, are you?”

  “I am.”

  “Why? Has someone put up a reward?”

  “I don’t know,” Falcon admitted. “But if nobody has, they should.�
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  “So you’re not going after them just for the reward?”

  “No.”

  “So, you are going after them in pursuit of—what is it it says on the cover of all your books? Truth and justice?”

  “Well, now, while that is certainly a noble goal,” Falcon answered, “the fact is, I’m going after them because they have my brother and sister. They have taken them prisoner.”

  “I see,” Landers said. He nodded. “I admire your honesty, Mr. MacCallister. How about staying for lunch?”

  Falcon started to decline the invitation, feeling that he really should be getting on. But he realized that he was hungry, and the idea of a home-cooked meal, as balanced against trail jerky, sounded very good to him.

  “All right,” he agreed. “Thanks, I will stay for lunch.”

  The Landers family consisted of Josh and his wife, Mary, their sixteen-year-old daughter, Sue, and thirteen-year-old son, Jesse.

  “And, of course, we had Johnny as well,” Mary said. “In fact, you are sitting in his chair now.” They were all seated around the dinner table.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be foolish, you have no cause to be sorry, and I had no cause to say such a thing. It’s just that we still miss him,” Mary said.

  “Of course you do. I’ve lost people of my own,” Falcon said. “I understand the hurt.”

  “Would you like some potatoes, Mr. MacCallister?” Sue asked.

  Mary was a good-looking woman and her daughter Sue was already exceptionally pretty. Sitting down to dinner with a family like this made MacCallister realize what had been taken from him when his wife was killed.

  “What sort of men would kill a boy over a couple of horses?” Mary asked. Just forming the question brought back bitter memories, and she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

  “They are evil personified, Mrs. Landers,” Falcon said. “Back in Colorado, they murdered an entire family just to steal some horses.”

  Falcon went on to explain that they had all been tried and convicted for murder, and were awaiting the hangman’s noose when they managed to break out of jail.

  “To my sure and certain knowledge they have killed, to date, six people,” Falcon said. He paused for a moment before he continued. “I just hope it isn’t two more.”

  “Two more?” Mary said. Then, realizing that Falcon was talking about his brother and sister, she nodded. “Oh, oh, yes, I see what you are talking about. I pray that they are still safe.”

  “I thank you for that, Mrs. Landers, especially in light of what you have gone through.”

  “I hope you kill them,” Jesse said. “I hope you kill them all.”

  “I intend to do just that,” Falcon replied.

  “Mr. MacCallister, you will excuse me for asking, but why would they have taken your brother and sister?” Mary asked.

  “My brother and sister are performers upon the stage in New York,” Falcon replied. “They are quite well known, not only in New York but all over the world. Loomis and his bunch took them to hold for ransom.”

  “I do hope you get to them in time,” Landers said. “Now, you said you wanted to talk to Jesse. Be my guest. Jesse, tell him anything he wants to know.”

  “All right, Pa,” Jesse replied.

  “First of all, Jesse, I read in the paper that you lay on your back, on the bottom of the pond, breathing through a hollow reed. Is that true?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jesse replied. “It’s the way I used to hide from Johnny.”

  “Well, let me tell you that I think that is one of the smartest things I’ve ever heard of,” Falcon said. “I congratulate you.”

  “Maybe it will show up in one of your books someday,” Jesse suggested.

  Falcon chuckled. “Maybe it will,” he agreed. “Now, did you see which way they went when they left?”

  “I didn’t see them leave ’cause I was still hiding,” Jesse said. “But when I come up from the water I saw the tracks, and they was leadin’ that way.” Jesse pointed.

  “North,” Landers said.

  “Any towns up that way?”

  “Not till you get to Gem. And that’s a good thirty miles.”

  “I doubt they would take them into a town. Anything else up there, old mine shafts, line shacks?”

  “Nothing that I know of,” Landers said. “Though I’m reasonably certain there must be some farms or ranches.”

  “Pretty has a tie-bar shoe,” Sue said.

  “Pretty?”

  “My horse,” Sue said. “It’s the horse Jesse was riding that day, one of the horses the men stole. Her name is Pretty, and she has a tie-bar shoe.”

  “Pretty,” Jesse said sneeringly. “Have you ever heard such a dumb name for a horse?”

  “Papa said I could name her anything I wanted,” Sue said. “And she is so pretty that I named her Pretty.”

  “And she has a tie-bar shoe, you say?”

  “Left forefoot,” Landers said. “She has a weak foot, and that seems to help her.”

  “I thought maybe, that is—if you are going to be tracking them, that . . .”

  “Knowing that one of the horses has a tie-bar shoe is very helpful,” Falcon said. “Thank you, Sue. That is a very good bit of information to know.”

  Sue beamed under the praise.

  “And thank you, Jesse, Mr. and Mrs. Landers, for the meal and the information. You’ve all been a big help.”

  “Do you think you’ll find them?” Mrs. Landers asked.

  “Oh, I’ll find them, all right,” Falcon replied.

  “But the country is so big,” Mrs. Landers said.

  “It’s big, but there aren’t that many places they can go. Besides, they’ll be looking for me as hard as I’ll be looking for them.”

  “Why will they be looking for you?” Landers asked.

  “Because they think I’m going to pay them a ransom for Andrew and Rosanna.”

  “Would you?” Mrs. Landers asked. “I mean, if that was the only way you could get your brother and sister back, would you pay a ransom for them?”

  “Mrs. Landers, if I know for sure that paying a ransom would get them back, I would do so in a heartbeat. Their lives are worth much more than money to me. The problem is, even if I paid the ransom, I don’t think they would let them go. So it has become a cat-and-mouse game. They are looking for me and the money. I’m looking for them and my brother and sister. We will find each other.”

  Falcon got up from the table. “I’d best be going. Again, I thank you for everything.”

  “Mr. MacCallister?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Thank you. It’ll give us some peace knowin’ that the killers of our boy are goin’ to have to pay.”

  Falcon nodded, then went out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  With their horses tethered behind them, Andrew and Rosanna were lying on their stomachs. Andrew held the pistol stretched out in front of him with the hammer cocked.

  “Don’t frighten him off,” Rosanna said.

  “Shhh,” Andrew replied.

  Andrew pulled the trigger. The rabbit jumped once, then fell and lay very still.

  “You got him!” Rosanna said excitedly.

  “Yeah,” Andrew said. “Now the only problem is going to be how to skin him without a knife.”

  “All you have to do is get it started. Then you can pull the skin off. Don’t you remember Pa teaching us to do that?” Rosanna said.

  “I remember how squeamish you were about it,” Andrew teased.

  Rosanna laughed. “You weren’t exactly Daniel Boone,” she said.

  “I know, I didn’t take to it all that well either. But I’m glad Pa insisted that we do it, because now that I have to, I know that I can,” Andrew answered. “That is, if I can get it started.”

  “How about the belt buckle?” Rosanna suggested.

  “What?”

  Rosanna pointed to the belt buckle on the pistol belt Andrew had taken from
the albino. “I’ll bet you could sharpen the edge of the buckle on a rock, then use it to get the skinning started.”

  Andrew smiled. “Good idea,” he said.

  “I don’t know whether or not we can get a fire started by rubbing sticks together, though,” Rosanna said. “That’s what’s worrying me.”

  “Don’t you be worrying about that. I’ll take care of it,” Andrew said. He took off the pistol belt and handed it to Rosanna. “You start filing down the belt buckle.”

  Rosanna smiled at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, in a rather perverse way, I am,” Andrew said.

  “Do you think you can actually get a fire started?”

  “Let’s just say that I believe your humble thespian will be sufficient to the task,” Andrew replied.

  As Rosanna found a rock and began filing the belt buckle, Andrew gathered wood for a fire. He also found two forked sticks, and a long, green limb to use as a skewer. Finally, he gathered a lot of dry grass and piled it up under a little tent of twigs.

  “How are you coming on that belt buckle?”

  “Pretty good. You can just about shave with it,” Rosanna said, handing the buckle over to Andrew.

  Andrew ran his thumb across it, then nodded in approval. Picking up the rabbit, he discovered, to his delight, that the buckle would work quite well. Using the sharpened edge, he sliced the skin down the belly, then pulled the skin off. After that, he cut open the belly and pulled out the intestines.

  “Now,” Rosanna said. “Let’s see you rub those sticks together.”

  “I have a better idea,” Andrew said.

  Andrew pulled a shell from one of the loops on the pistol belt; then he separated the bullet from the shell casing. Punching one of the shells out of the pistol, he pushed the defanged cartridge into the empty chamber. Then, putting the barrel of the pistol in the dry grass, he pulled the trigger.

  The muzzle flash ignited the dry grass, and by feeding it more grass and a few twigs, a fire was started.

  “Oh, Andrew, that was brilliant!” Rosanna said, clapping her hands in delight.

  “Yeah,” Andrew said as he pushed the green willow skewer through the skinned and gutted rabbit. “It was, wasn’t it?”