Thunder of Eagles

Chapter Twenty-one

J. Peerless Bixby, the Higbee undertaker, put Tyree’s body in a wooden coffin, then stood him up in front of his establishment. One of Tyree’s eyes was closed, the other was half open. His hands were crossed in front of his body, and he was holding his gun. A sign was pinned to his chest.

JEFFERSON TYREE

Noted Murderer And Outlaw

Killed in a FAIR FIGHT

by Falcon MacCallister

The Vermillion was decorated with black bunting around the windows and a black wreath on the door. It had been closed since Travis was killed, and had just reopened for the first time tonight.

Rachael had accepted Falcon’s invitation to dinner, and the two of them were sitting at a table at the back of the restaurant.

When the waiter came to the table, Rachael ordered baked chicken, green beans with mushrooms, and a salad. The waiter nodded, then started back to the kitchen with her order. He didn’t ask Falcon what he wanted.

“Aren’t you going to order?” Rachael asked.

“I don’t need to,” Falcon replied. “He knows what I want.”

“And what would that be?”

“Steak and baked potato.”

“You have the same thing every time?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I like it,” Falcon said simply.

For a long moment, Falcon and Rachael sat in silence, a single candle lighting the distance between them. Finally, Falcon broke the silence.

“You’re going back East,” he said. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

Rachael nodded, but said nothing.

“Edwin?”

“He wants me to come back and join him again for a series of performances.”

“You should go back,” Falcon said. “You are wasting your talent by playing piano in a saloon, even a saloon as nice as the Golden Nugget.”

“That isn’t the only reason I’m going back,” Rachael said.

“Oh?”

“May I be frank with you, Falcon?”

“By all means.”

“I have had romantic illusions about you, even before I met you, based in part on the way your brother and sister speak of you. Then, when I met you, I thought you were everything they said, maybe even more. But—”

“It’s the more, isn’t it?” Falcon asked.

Rachael nodded. “Yes, that’s a good way of putting it. It’s the more. Falcon, you are just too violent for me. No, wait, that isn’t fair. It’s this, this accursed West that is too violent for me. I had never known anyone who had been killed before. Since coming here, I have seen nothing but killing. And you—you are right in the middle of it. You killed the two men who killed the first Marshal Calhoun; then you killed the man who killed the second Marshal Calhoun.”

“I didn’t choose the life I live, Rachael, but I make no apologies for it. I’ve killed, yes, but I no longer kill anyone who doesn’t need killing.”

“You—you no longer kill anyone who doesn’t need killing? What an odd thing to say.”

“During the war, I killed men for no reason other than the fact that they were wearing a uniform different from my own. They were good men, with families that loved them. If I can kill such men during time of war, do you think I would hesitate for one minute to kill someone like the sorry example of humanity that J. Peerless Bixby is displaying in front of his mortuary right now?”

“I suppose there is some logic there somewhere,” Rachael said. “But for the life of me, I can’t see it.”

“Mr. MacCallister?”

Looking up, Falcon saw Kathleen Garrison coming toward her. He stood quickly.

“Kathleen,” he said. “Is something wrong? Is the general all right?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong,” Kathleen said. “No, wait, there is something wrong. It’s Billy.”

“Billy?”

“Billy is down at my house now, with my father. He asked me to come find you.”

“All right,” Falcon said. “Rachael, I’m sorry. I’m going to tell Troy to cancel my dinner. I have to—”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Rachael said. “You go ahead and do what you have to do.”

When Falcon stepped into the parlor of Garrison’s house, he saw Garrison sitting in a chair and Billy standing next to the fireplace.

“Billy, here’s Mr. MacCallister,” Kathleen said.

“Mr. MacCallister,” Billy said, turning toward him and nodding.

“Hello, Billy. What’s this about?”

“I came to warn you,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Tomorrow, Pa, my brothers, and just about every rider we have will be coming into town. There will be at least twenty men, maybe more, and they are all coming after you, Mr. MacCallister. Pa has promised one hundred dollars to everyone who comes with him.”

“I see,” Falcon said.

“Billy, why are you telling us this?” Garrison asked.

“Because I don’t want to see anyone else get killed,” Billy said. “Mr. True was a good man. I remember going fishing with him once. And Travis Calhoun always treated me well when I came into the café.” Billy looked at Falcon. “If you would leave town, there wouldn’t be anything happening tomorrow.”

“And you think my leaving town would end it?” Falcon asked.

“Yes, sir, I do, I truly do,” Billy said.

“Would your pa drop his fight against the general building his railroad?” Falcon asked. “Because if your pa would do that, I would leave.”

Billy glanced down toward the floor without answering Falcon’s question.

“I didn’t think he would,” Falcon said, discerning the answer from Billy’s reaction to his question.

“Mr. MacCallister, if Pa brings an army in here tomorrow, and he will, people are going to get killed. A lot of people. Maybe even—” He paused.

“Maybe even who, Billy? Kathleen?” Falcon asked.

Billy nodded, but didn’t speak.

“General, it’s up to you,” Falcon said. “Do I leave, or stay?”

“Whether you leave or stay, I intend to see this railroad built,” Garrison said. “And if that means an all-out war with Ike Clinton, then so be it.”

“I thought you might feel that way,” Falcon said. “I’m staying.”

“Well, I tried,” Billy said with a sigh. “I didn’t think I could talk you into leaving, but I figured I had to try.”

“Billy, does your pa know you came into town tonight?” Garrison asked.

“No, sir, he’d probably kill me if he knew.”

“Isn’t he going to wonder where you are?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Don’t go back,” Garrison said.

“I have to.”

“Son, I’m going to ask you something. Do you love my daughter?”

“What?” Billy asked, surprised to hear this question from Garrison. “Yes, sir, I do. I reckon I love her more than anything in the world.”

“And you, Kathleen, how do you feel about this boy?”

“I love him, Papa. You know that I love him.”

Garrison sighed, and ran his hand through his hair. “I never thought I would hear myself say this. But I’m going to say it anyway. Billy, if you will take my daughter away from here, go someplace where neither your father nor your brothers can find you, I’ll give you one thousand dollars. That should be enough for you and Kathleen to get married and start a life together somewhere. Then, when all this is over, maybe you could come back.”

“Oh, Papa, thank you!” Kathleen said excitedly. “Billy, what do you think?”

When the three looked at Billy, Falcon thought he had never seen a more anguished face in his life.

“I can’t,” Billy said, barely able to say the words.

“What? Billy, didn’t you hear what Papa said? He’s given us his approval! We can go away somewhere and get married!”

Billy pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “I can’t,” he said again. He started toward the door.

“Billy, no!” Kathleen screamed. She started after him, but Garrison reached out to stop her.

“No, darlin’, let him go,” he said.

With tears streaming down her face, Kathleen looked at Falcon. “You knew, didn’t you?” she said. “You told me about his honor. You knew.”

“I’m sorry,” Falcon said.

When the eastern sky was laced by the first streaks of dawn, the town of Higbee was prepared for a siege. A barricade of wagons and barrels blocked the east end of Front Street, behind which stood at least two dozen armed men. There were also men on the roofs of the leather goods store and Moore’s general store.

Every woman and child, plus the men who did not want to take part in the coming battle, had taken refuge in the church. The church was at the north end of town, set far enough off Front Street that it would be unlikely to catch any stray rounds.

General Garrison was in command of the men of the town, and he had strapped on his sword and put on his service hat.

“Where is Falcon?” Moore asked.

“Yes, where is MacCallister?” another wanted to know.

“Falcon should be here,” still another added.

“Don’t you folks be worrying about Falcon MacCallister,” Garrison said. “All you have to worry about is keeping your head down and making every shot count when Clinton and his men get here.”

In coordination with Garrison, Falcon was on a reconnoitering mission, having left town before dawn. He was actually on the Clinton ranch now, very close to the main house, and he lay flat on his stomach, looking through his binoculars at the activity below. Billy had said there might be as many as twenty riders come into town with them, but Falcon was surprised to see that there were at least twice as many.

From his position, he could not only watch them gather, he could hear them talking.

“Pa, we don’t have to do this,” he heard Billy say. “If we do this, a lot of innocent people could get killed.”

“Boy, you are either with us or ag’in us,” Ike said angrily. “Now I’ve put up with about as much pussyfooting from you as I can stomach. Make up your mind, and make it up now!”

“I’m coming with you,” Billy said.

“Good boy,” Ike said. “Lou?”

“Yeah, Boss.”

“You take half the men and go through Elbow Pass. Go all the way around town and come in from the west. I’ll take the rest with me and we’ll come in from the east. That way, we’ll have the town squeezed in between us.”

“Let me take the other group, Pa,” Ray said.

“No,” Ike said. “I want you three boys with me.”

As Ike and his men started saddling their horses, Falcon left.

Half an hour later, Falcon was sitting calmly on top of a large round rock watching as Lou and at least twenty riders approached Elbow Pass. The pass was so confined that they couldn’t go through without squeezing into a single file. It was a place that no one with any tactical sense would use. But these were not men with a sense of tactics. These were cowboys, fired up by the prospect of one hundred dollars for going after Falcon. Because of that, they were men who could be easily lured into a trap.

Falcon stood up so he could clearly be seen against the skyline.

“I’ll be damned! Look! There he is!” Lou shouted, pointing at Falcon.

“What’s he doin’ out here?”

“Who cares? Let’s get him!”

The riders galloped through the draw, bent on capturing or killing Falcon MacCallister.

A couple of the men in front thought Falcon made an easy target, so they pulled their pistols and began shooting up toward him as they rode. Falcon could see the flash of the gunshots, then the little puffs of dust as the bullets hit around him. The spent bullets whined as they ricocheted through the little draw, but none of them even came close enough to cause him to duck.

Falcon leaned over, almost casually, to light two fuses. A little starburst of sparks started at each fuse, then ran sputtering and snapping along the length of fuse for several feet alongside the draw. The first explosion went off about fifty yards in front of the lead rider, a heavy, stomach-shaking thump that filled the draw with smoke and dust, then brought a ton of rocks crashing down to close the draw so that the riders couldn’t get through.

The second explosion, somewhat less powerful, was located behind the riders. It, too, brought rocks crashing down into the draw behind them, closing the passage off. All twenty men were now bottled up inside the pass, and it was going to take them at least a day, maybe two days, to dig their way out. They were no longer part of whatever might happen in Higbee.

Leaving the trapped cowboys behind him, Falcon leaped onto his horse and urged it into a gallop. When he came galloping into Higbee from the west end of town a few minutes later, he saw everyone in position behind the barricade, and he knew that he had arrived before Clinton and his men.

“Here’s MacCallister!” someone said.

“Where’ve you been?” another asked.

“How did it go?” Garrison asked.

Only Garrison knew where Falcon had been, and why.

“I’ve got about twenty of them trapped in Elbow Pass,” Falcon said. “Another twenty will be coming from this direction. Is everything ready?”

“We’re ready,” Garrison said.

“Where’s the breach?”

“Right there,” Garrison said, pointing to a stack of barrels.

“You sure it’s wide enough?”

“Major, you may have come up with the plan,” Garrison said. “But I think I have the military experience to implement it.”

Falcon chuckled. “I would never question you, General,” he replied.

“They’re comin’!” someone shouted down from the roof of Moore’s general store.

“All right, men, get ready,” Garrison said. Then, spotting Denham, he scolded him. “Mr. Denham, what are you doing up here? I said I wanted only young men who could run up here.”

“I can get out in time,” Denham said.

“Get back there now before I shoot you myself,” Garrison said, pointing to the Golden Nugget.

“All right, all right, but don’t think for a minute I’m not going to write an article about overbearing generals,” he grumbled.

Falcon chuckled as he saw Denham moving back toward the Golden Nugget. Then, turning, he saw Garrison.

“General, you’re no spring chicken,” he said. “You need to get back there, too.”

“Since when does a major give a general orders?” Garrison replied.

“Go,” Falcon ordered.

“Hah!” Denham said as Garrison caught up with him. The two men went about fifty yards down the road, then stepped in behind the Golden Nugget.

Falcon watched them until they disappeared. Then he stepped up to the barricade with his pistol in hand.

“Are you boys ready?” he asked.

“Bring ’em on,” Tom said. Tom, Larry, and Frank, the three young men who had ridden as guards for the Thompson shipment of Garrison’s depot material, were among the five who were waiting behind the barricade with Falcon.

“Hold it up, men, hold it up!” Ike Clinton said when he saw the barricade stretched across the street in front of them.

Suddenly, a ripple of gunfire came from the barricade. Ike and the others started shooting back.

“Pa, should we dismount?” Cletus asked.

“Yes, dismount and take cover on the side of the road,” Ike replied.

Then a part of the barricade collapsed, and when it did, the shooting from the barricade stopped.

“Son of a bitch! Their barricade came down!” Ike said. “Mount up men! Mount up and charge! By God, we’ve got ’em now!”

“Now!” Falcon ordered. “Fall back!”

The five men with Falcon, all young, chosen for their youth and the ability to run fast, dashed down Front Street as fast as they could run. All five were faster than Falcon, who was considerably older than they were, and even before he got there, more wagons were being pulled into the street from alongside the buildings to form a second barricade. Falcon got there just in time to get behind the second barricade.

Behind them, Ike and his men, remounted now, thundered through the breach in the first barricade. No sooner had they passed through than another wagon was brought out behind them, resealing the breach. Dozens of the townsmen, who had been waiting behind the buildings, rushed out to man the second barricade.

Billy saw it first, and realized before anyone else that they had ridden into a trap. All twenty men were caught within a fifty-yard pen, with armed men behind barricades at each end.

“Pa, we’re trapped!” Billy said.

“Shoot!” Ike replied. “Shoot the bastards!”

The men who had ridden in with the Clintons, suddenly realizing the hopelessness of their position, threw their guns down and started running to either side of the street with their hands up.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” they shouted.

“You cowardly bastards!” Cletus called toward them. He shot one of the fleeing men; then Cletus went down, shot by one of the defenders. Now, only Ike, Ray, and Billy were left, and the three men were shooting and getting shot at. Ray went down, then Ike, and Billy was alone.

“Billy, give it up!” Falcon said. “It’s over!”

Billy pulled the trigger on an empty chamber. Then he picked up guns from both Cleetus and Ray and, with a gun in either hand, started firing again.

“Billy, no! It’s over!” Kathleen shouted, suddenly darting through the barricade.

“Where did she come from?” Denham asked.

“Kathleen, get back here!”

Billy, who was firing both pistols wildly, suddenly saw a hole appear in Kathleen’s forehead.

“No!” he cried in anguish. “Kathleen, no!”

“Give it up, Billy!” Falcon said. “It’s over!

Falcon came out from behind the barricade then, and started toward Billy, who was now standing there, holding both guns down by his side, staring at Kathleen’s body.

“Drop your guns, Billy,” Falcon said as he approached him.

Billy looked up at Falcon. The expression on Billy’s face was that of a wild man.

“No!” Billy shouted. Raising both guns, he began shooting at Falcon. One of his bullets nicked Falcon’s arm and another took off Falcon’s hat. Falcon had no choice but to return fire, and when he did so, Billy fell forward. Billy lay there for a second; then, wriggling forward on his stomach, he worked his way through the dirt of the street to Kathleen’s body. Reaching out, he took her hand in his, squeezed it, then died.

One hour later, with the street cleaned up and with the bodies of the Clintons and Kathleen down at the undertaker’s, the morning stage left for La Junta. Falcon saw it go by, saw Rachael looking through the window as it left. She didn’t wave, and neither did Falcon.

Two months later

EPITAPH FOR HIGBEE.

This is the final issue of the HIGBEE JOURNAL. Should some future historian happen upon this journal, it might be of interest to know that only twenty-five copies of this issue will be printed. Only twenty-five copies, but this will be enough for every man, woman, and child remaining in Higbee.

Three months ago Higbee was a vibrant community, with the prospects of a railroad to be built by General Wade Garrison. That railroad, the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas, would have connected our city to the rest of the country, indeed to the rest of the world. We had wonderful business enterprises. Moore’s General Store was as fine a store as one could find this side of Denver. Moore’s is no more. Our apothecary, leather goods store, hardware store, mortuary, all wonderful establishments of commerce, are gone, too. The Golden Nugget, where once we could gather in a convivial atmosphere and be entertained by the beautiful music of one of our nation’s greatest musicians, is also gone, as is the Morning Star Hotel. Even the church closed its doors when the parson, Reverend E. D. Owen, found that he no longer had a flock to tend.

This all came about by the greed and evil machinations of one man, Ike Clinton. In this one man’s twisted mind, the railroad, which would have guaranteed growth and prosperity for Higbee, was a threat, and he set about to stop it.

If a final score is somewhere being kept, let it be known that Ike Clinton succeeded in stopping the railroad, though not in the way he intended. Clinton’s evil greed cost him his own life, as well as the life of his three sons. It also brought about the demise of Kathleen Garrison, a beautiful, innocent young lady who provided meaning to her father’s life.

When Kathleen Garrison was killed, the spark which sustained General Wade Garrison was extinguished. Losing all reason to live, General Garrison stopped the building of the railroad. He left town, a broken and dispirited man, and at last report, was living the life of a recluse in a home for the mentally disturbed in Memphis, Tennessee.

Without the hope of a railroad, that which was sustaining the growth and vibrancy of Higbee, the town withered and died. And now, as I set the type that will reproduce these words, I can only hope that at least one of these journals will survive until some future time, one hundred, or maybe even one hundred fifty years from now. To you, dear reader in the future, I leave these final words. Our town, which will be but a faded shadow in your history, was once bright with hope and promise. And long after the last building has turned to dust, the spirits of such men as Norman True, Carl Moore, Titus, Travis, and Troy Calhoun, General Wade Garrison, Corey and Prentiss Hampton, and such women as the general’s daughter Kathleen, the talented pianist Rachael Kirby, and yes, even the madam, Maggie, will occupy this place until the entire planet returns to dust.

I am Harold Denham, editor and publisher of the Higbee Journal.

I bid thee all a final farewell.