Massacre of Eagles

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Regret was still packing his shirttail down in his pants as he came down the stairs to join Sam Davis and Lucas Depro, who were both waiting in the lobby. Depro was no longer wearing a uniform.

“Have you heard?” Davis asked.

“Have I heard? Have I heard what?” Regret answered.

“There ain’t goin’ to be no dance. Instead, they’re havin’ a parade and a town picnic today.”

“Well, hell, that’s as good as a dance, I reckon,” Regret answered.

“Yeah, well, there’s more to it,” Davis said. “The picnic ain’t for us, it’s for the colored soldiers. And the reason they canceled the dance is ’cause the coloreds couldn’t come on account of they ain’t goin’ to let the coloreds dance with the white women. And now, they’re plannin’ on celebratin’ the coloreds killin’ Mean to His Horses.”

“Well, I don’t see why they couldn’t have a picnic for the coloreds, and go ahead and have that dance for us,” Regret said. “That way, we could go to both of ’em.”

Davis shook his head. “Ain’t goin’ to be nothin’ for us—’ceptin’ maybe jail if Cody and MacCallister have their way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Read this,” Davis said, showing him the paper.

“You know I can’t read.”

“Yeah, I forgot. All right, what it says is that Cody and MacCallister went out to the Injun village to have a look around, and now they’re tellin’ the whole country that what we done was just murder a bunch of Injun women and children.”

“How can you murder an Injun?” Regret asked.

“Ain’t that pretty much like steppin’ on a bug or somethin’? It ain’t like they was white or anything. I ain’t never heard of no one gettin’ in trouble for murderin’ an Injun.”

“There’s more,” Davis said. “They know that me and you and Depro sold the guns to the Injuns.”

“Damn!” Regret said. “They know that? How the hell do they know that?”

“I don’t know,” Davis replied. “But it don’t matter none how they know. The point is, they know.”

“We need to get out of here,” Regret said.

“Won’t do no good to run,” Depro said. “It won’t make no difference where we go. I know both MacCallister and Cody, and believe me, them two can track a fish through water and a bird through the air. If they are alive, they’ll find us.”

“If they are alive,” Davis said.

“What?”

“You said if they are alive,” Davis repeated. “Seems to me like you just come up with the answer. If they are alive they’ll find us, if they are dead, they won’t. So, the smartest thing we can do is to kill them before we leave. That way we can go somewhere else and not worry ’bout being found.”

“Yeah, well, killin’ ’em ain’t goin’ to be that easy,” Depro said. “Like I said, I know them two.”

“Besides which, we ain’t got enough money to go anywhere in the first place,” Regret said.

“Don’t worry about the money, we’ll get it,” Davis said.

“How we goin’ to get any money? You plannin’ on robbin’ a bank or somethin’? ’Cause I ain’t goin’ to do that. A man can get hisself kilt, doin’ somethin’ like that,” Depro said.

“We’ll get it from Bellefontaine. He owes us,” Davis said.

“Maybe he owes the two of you, but he don’t owe me nothin’,” Depro said.

“Sure he does. When you got them guns from the army, you was doin’ that for Bellefontaine.”

“Yeah,” Depro said. He smiled. “Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?”

Bellefontaine’s office

“You are mistaken, gentlemen, I don’t owe you anything,” Bellefontaine said. “If you wish to run, feel free to do so. But I have no intention of leaving. Not now, not when I have everything going just the way I want it to go.”

“You ain’t got nothin’ goin’ the way you want it to go,” Davis said. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? The paper says what we done out at the village was a massacre.”

“There are those who said the thing about Chivington at Sand Creek, and about Custer at Washita. But today Chivington is still a respected man in Colorado, and no one is more honored than Custer. I have no intention of letting a negative newspaper article change my plans.”

“Yeah, well maybe that works for you,” Depro said. “But it’s different with Davis, Regret, and me. We sold guns to the Injuns. If they catch us, we’re goin’ to jail for that.”

“Then, gentlemen, I suggest you start running.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re going to do, as soon as you give us enough money to get out of here.”

“And how much do you consider to be enough money?” Bellefeontaine asked.

“I’d say about a thousand dollars apiece,” Davis said.

“A thousand dollars apiece?” Bellefontaine laughed. “You must think I’m a fool. Get out of here. You are on your own.”

“You can’t turn your back on us now, not after all we’ve done for you,” Davis said. He drew his pistol, then pointed toward the safe that sat against the back wall. “Open that safe and take out your money. We would’a been satisfied with a thousand dollars apiece. Now we want all of it.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Bellefontaine said.

“Not as big a mistake as you just made,” Davis said. “Now, open that safe like I told you to.”

Bellefontaine walked over to the safe. “What makes you think I have that much money in this safe?”

“It don’t matter to me how much money you have. However much it is, we’re goin’ to take it all,” Davis replied.

Bellefontaine opened the safe and stuck his hand inside, then, so quickly that he almost got away with it, he spun around with a pistol in his hand.

“You didn’t really think I was goin’ to let you steal my money, did you?” he shouted.

But, though he was quick, Davis was quicker. He pulled the trigger and the bullet from his gun hit Bellefontaine in the forehead. He fell, dead before he hit the floor.

“See how much money he has, Depro,” Davis said.

Depro looked into the safe, smiled broadly, then stuck both hands in and turned back toward the others with both hands filled with money.

“Look at this! There must be ten or twenty thousand dollars here,” Depro said.

Davis looked at Bellefontaine’s body. “The dumb son of a bitch should have give us the money,” he said. “All we was askin’ for was a thousand dollars apiece.”

Quickly, the three men began taking money out of the safe and stuffing it down into their clothes.

Out on the main street, the air was redolent with the aroma of fried chicken, and freshly baked pies, cookies and cakes. But no one was eating yet, because all the people of the town were lined along both sides of the street to watch the parade. Mayor Joe Cravens had invited Falcon, Cody, and Ingraham to sit on the reviewing stand with him as the elements of the parade marched by.

First came Mrs. Foley’s Grammar school, thirtyseven children from the first to the eighth grade. All were excited at being in the parade and they were waving flags they had made as a part of their school projects, ranging from no more than a few marks on a piece of paper the efforts of the first-graders, to genuine works of art among the eighth-graders.

Next came the eleven high school students, the excitement replaced by embarrassment. They were followed by the brand new pumper, consisting of glistening polished brass, the machine being pulled by six uniformed firemen. After the pumper came the Fire Brigade Band, the music of the tuba and the flute being the most noticeable.

Finally came the mounted members of the Ninth Cavalry, riding in a column of twos, led by Major Benteen. The soldiers were perfectly aligned, impeccably uniformed, and staring straight ahead as the sound of the horses’ hooves echoed back from the buildings that lined both sides of the street.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the town auctioneer shouted through the megaphone he was using. “Here are the heroes of the Stinking Water River fight! The officers and men of the Ninth Cavalry!”

The citizens of the town applauded, then gave the soldiers a loud cheer, notwithstanding the fact that they were black.

Very soon after the parade broke up, the word began passing up and down the street, moving with telegraphic speed.

“Pierre Bellefontaine is dead!”

“Bellefontaine kilt himself!”

“He must’a read the newspaper article.”

“He didn’t kill himself, someone kilt him.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cause his safe was open and all his money was took.”

“Bellefontaine is dead.”

“Wonder who did it.”

Eventually, the rumor reached even the reviewing stand, and Falcon, Cody, Ingraham, and Mayor Cravens wondered about it, as did everyone else. That was when Mayor Cravens asked Buffalo Bill if he might come to his office for a few moments.

“I want to speak to you about your town,” Cravens said.

“Are you going to try to talk me out of building it?” Cody asked.

“On the contrary, sir. Especially if it is true that Bellefontaine is dead. I want to examine the possibility of becoming a part of your new enterprise,” Cravens said.

“All right,” Cody said. “Falcon, would you excuse me for a while?”

“Take your time,” Falcon said. “The aroma of all this food has been driving me crazy all morning, and I intend to try some of it out.”

Climbing down from the platform, Falcon recognized Juanita Kirby, Gary, and Abby behind one of the tables. Smiling, he walked over to the table and touched the brim of his hat.

“Mrs. Kirby, how nice to see you,” he said. He looked at Gary, who still had his arm in a sling.

“How is your arm?” Falcon asked.

“I have shown it to everyone,” Gary said. “I’m the only one of my friends who has ever had a broke arm,” he added proudly.

“Broken,” Mrs. Kirby corrected.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m the only one.”

Mrs. Kirby laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Correcting his grammar is a losing battle,” she said. The smile left her face. “Have you heard the rumor about Mr. Bellefontaine? Do you really think he is dead?”

“Generally, when the rumor is that strong, it is true,” Falcon said. “I’m sure he is dead. The question, of course, is who killed him?”

“It could have been almost anyone,” Mrs. Kirby replied. “As I told you before, he was not a man one could easily like. I imagine he had many enemies, and since the story came out of his brutal activity with those poor people in the Crow village, almost anyone could have done it. I’m just glad that my husband had already left Mr. Bellefontaine’s employ. We are going back East, tomorrow.”

“Well, I wish you all the luck in your move,” Falcon said.

“So, did you just drop by the table to visit? Or would you like a piece of fried chicken?”

“I would love a piece of fried chicken.”

The first shot rang out, just as Falcon reached for the drumstick.

One year later—excerpt from the now-published MacCallister and Cody: Heroes of the Western Plains

Before we come to the conclusion of this factual story of the adventures of Falcon MacCallister and Buffalo Bill Cody, I believe it would serve the reader well if a perfect picture could be summoned from my imperfect words, by which the reader could visualize the appearance of Falcon MacCallister on the day of the events to be here described.

Falcon MacCallister is a plainsman in every sense of the word, yet unlike any other of his class. He is north of six feet in height and looks even taller due to his bearing. He has broad shoulders, well-formed chest and limbs, a face that, though cured by exposure to wind, sun, rain, and cold, is nevertheless considered handsome by every woman who has ever made the observation. Whether mounted or afoot, Falcon MacCallister is one of the most perfect specimens of manhood one might ever see.

Of his courage, there can be no question, for it has been tested far too often for there to be any doubt. His skill in the use of the pistol and rifle is unerring, while his deportment is entirely free from all bluster or bravado. He is anything but a quarrelsome man, yet he has been involved in innumerable conflicts, always instigated by another party, and almost always ending in the death of his adversary.

On the day of the parade and picnic and while celebrating the victory over Mean to His Horses, extensively written about in a previous chapter of this book, Falcon MacCallister was confronted by the desperadoes, Sam Davis, Lee Regret, and Lucas Depro. Without regard to the safety of the innocent men, women, and children of DeMaris Springs, the three brigands began firing at Falcon MacCallister with the intention of killing him.

“MacCallister, you have drawn your last breath!” Davis yelled. “For my friends and I have come to lay you in your grave!”

“It is not I who will die this day, but you, for I am armed with the power of right!” Falcon called back. As he shouted at the villainous three, he drew his pistol and with but three shots, none wasted to put the innocent to danger, killed the men who would have killed him.

And with their demise, this story of Falcon MacCallister and Buffalo Bill Cody, a factual account more thrilling and exciting than anything I have written of the two of them before, despite that it is true, comes to an end. Buffalo Bill has returned to tour with his Exhibition, and Falcon, though earnestly invited to be a part of the show, declined. As of this writing Falcon MacCallister continues to live in the wind, and his destiny now, as it ever shall be, is danger.