Revenge of Eagles

CHAPTER 7

No more than five miles away from where the stagecoach passengers were taking their meal, Fargo Ford and the four men with him waited at the top of Cerro Pass. Fargo walked over to the rock overhang and looked down into the valley, some 3500 feet below.

“You think we got here afore the stage?” Ponci asked.

“Yeah,” Fargo said.

“How do you know?”

“You see any tracks on the road?”

“No.”

“Then we beat the stage.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Now? We wait,” Fargo said. He walked back over to the shade of a rocky ledge, sat down, and pulled his hat over his eyes. “Wake me when you see it,” he said.

“Fargo?” Dagen said.

When the outlaw leader didn’t open his eyes, Dagen called him again. “Fargo?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a-comin’.”

Fargo got up, stretched, then walked back over to his earlier vantage point. Far below, just coming off the valley floor and starting up the winding mountain road, was the stage. From this distance it was so tiny that it looked like a toy stage and team he had once seen in a store window.

“I told you we’d beat it here,” Fargo said. “Now all we have to do is wait for it to get to the turnout. The driver will have to stop there to give the horses a rest and check his brakes before he goes down the other side.”

“If you ask me, we should’a just took the stage down there,” Dagen said. “’Stead of practically killin’ the horses bringin’ ’em up here. If we have to ride fast, the horses ain’t got nothin’ left in ’em.”

“Do you see anyone up here that’s goin’ to come after us?” Fargo asked.

“No.”

“Then don’t be worryin’ none about havin’ to ride somewhere fast.”

They waited behind some rocks for about half an hour. Then Ponci got up. “I gotta walk around a bit,” he said. “I’m gettin’ kinks just sittin’ there.”

“Walk around, but stay back away from the road. Wouldn’t want them to see anyone up here and get spooked,” Fargo warned.

“You know what I need right now?” Ponci said as he stretched his arms out.

“What’s that?” Casey asked.

“I need me a cold piece of pie and a hot piece of ass.”

Casey laughed. “Well, you might get yourself a cold piece of pie somewhere,” he said. “But you ain’t goin’ to be gettin’ you no hot piece of ass. Leastwise, not soon.”

“What do you mean, not soon?” Dagen asked, laughing. “What woman would have anything to do with Ponci?”

“I’ve got me a woman,” Ponci said. “She’s a good woman too.”

“Hell, the only kind of woman who would have anything to do with you would be a whore,” Casey said. “And anyone can get theirselves a whore if they have money.”

“Yeah, well, they’s whores and they’s whores,” Ponci said. “And back when I was butcherin’, I had me a special whore.” He looked at Fargo. “She was a real special whore, wouldn’t you say so, Fargo?”

“Enough talk about whorin’,” Fargo said, holding up his hand. “Quiet, here comes the stage.”

The five men pulled their guns and waited behind the rocks for the stage to reach the turnout. They could hear the driver shouting to his team, the whip snapping, the harness clanging and creaking, and the stage squeaking as it worked its way laboriously up the hill.

It arrived a few minutes later, the horses snorting tiredly, straining into the harness.

“Whoa, hold it up there, team,” the driver shouted, pulling on the reins. The stage rumbled to a stop. “Folks,” he called down. “We gotta let these here animals blow for a bit before we start down the other side, so we goin’ to be here for the better part of an hour. But they’s a real purty view from up here, and they’s a private place over there behind them rocks for you ladies if you’re a’needin’ it. So why’n’t you take a break and stretch your legs a mite?”

The outlaws, watching from behind a nearby rock outcropping, saw five passengers get out of the stage: two men, two women, and a young boy.

“Hey, Fargo,” Dagen said, pointing. “Is that tall son of a bitch there who I think he is?”

“Yeah,” Fargo answered. “That’s the one who killed Pete back in Calabasas.”

The driver was not wearing a side arm, and was near the lead horses, adjusting a loose harness. The shotgun guard leaned his gun against the front wheel and took several steps away from it to stretch.

“Damn, they are making it almost too easy for us,” Fargo said. He raised his pistol. “The rest of you, take out the shotgun guard.”

“What about the son of a bitch who killed Pete? He’s wearin’ a gun, and we know he can shoot.”

“He’s mine,” Fargo said, aiming. “Ready? Now!”

All five men fired at about the same time. Fargo had the satisfaction of seeing a spray of blood come from the top of the head of the tall man standing by the back wheel of the stage.

Kerry and Falcon went down.

Hearing the gunshots, and seeing his guard and one of the passengers go down, Gentry ran back from the front of the team, heading for the shotgun that Kerry had leaned against the front wheel.

“Hold it, driver!” Fargo called, stepping out into the open. “You pick up that scattergun and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

Gentry, realizing that he would never make it to the gun in time, stopped. As he looked toward the robbers, his face registered surprise when he recognized them. These were the same men who had attempted to rob the express office back in Calabasas.

“What are you doing here? I thought you fellers was in jail back in Calabasas.”

“They realized they made a mistake, and they let us out,” Fargo said.

“Yeah, they let us out,” Dagen repeated, and he and the others laughed.

“I doubt that. Not after you kilt Mr. Snyder like you done.”

“How we got out don’t matter. What I want you to do is climb up there and throw down that money pouch,” Fargo said with a wave of his gun.

“We ain’t carryin’ any money,” Gentry said.

“What do you mean you ain’t carryin’ any money? What do you think all that ruckus was about back in Calabasas this mornin’? You think we was just shootin’ to hear the sound of our guns? We was tryin’ to steal the money shipment.”

“That’s right, and you kilt the expressman, so they didn’t send the money. They won’t be able to send it till they get another expressman.”

“He’s lyin’, Fargo,” Dagen said. “Look at the son of a bitch sweat.”

Fargo pointed his gun at the drummer and pulled back the hammer. “Tell me the truth, or I kill another one of your passengers.”

“I told you, we ain’t carryin’... .”

“For God’s sake man, give him the money!” the drummer shouted, his voice breaking in terror. Then, to the outlaws, he said, “He’s got the money. I seen the shotgun guard bring a pouch from the express office. It’s up there under the seat right now.”

“You chicken-shit son of a bitch,” Gentry said to Johnson.

Fargo nodded, then eased the hammer back down. “Now don’t be too hard on him, driver. He’s what I call bein’ a good citizen. I thank you for your help, friend.” He looked back at the driver. “Get up there and throw that money down.”

Gentry hesitated, and Fargo pointed his gun at him.

“Driver, you don’t want me to kill you and leave these folks stranded out here, do you? ’Cause you know damn well this little pipsqueak ain’t goin’ to be able to drive this coach.”

Glaring at the drummer, Gentry climbed up onto the box and reached under the seat. Again, he hesitated for a moment, then looked at Fargo. A sixth sense, sometimes developed by creatures on the run, told Fargo that the driver was thinking of reaching for a gun.

“Driver,” Fargo said coolly. “If you come out from under that seat with anything other than a canvas pouch, you will be dead one second later.”

The driver picked up the pouch and held his hands in the air.

“That’s better,” Fargo said. “Now, throw the pouch down here.”

The driver did as instructed.

“Hey, Fargo,” Ponci said. “I think we ought to take one of these here women with us.”

“Why?”

“Well, just seems to me like it might be a good idea,” Ponci said.

Dagen laughed. “Looks like ole Ponci’s wantin’ to do a little sportin’.”

“Yeah, but he might be right,” Fargo said, stroking his cheek as he looked at the two women. “Having us a hostage along to keep as insurance might not be a bad idea.”

Protectively, Jane Stockdale pulled Timmy closer to her.

“You better not take my mama!” Timmy said, not out of fear, but defiance.

Fargo chuckled. “He’s a feisty little shit, ain’t he? Get the hell out of the way, boy,” he said, shoving Timmy down. “Come here, you! You’re goin’ with us.” Fargo grabbed Jane.

“No!” Cloud Dancer said quickly, stepping toward the men. “Let her go! Take me instead.”

Fargo looked at Cloud Dancer for a moment. “You serious? You’re volunteerin’ to go in her place?”

“Yes.”

Fargo shoved Jane back roughly. “All right,” he said, pointing at Cloud Dancer. “As far as I’m concerned, one of you’s as good as the other. Come on.”

“Son of a bitch! Look at her, Fargo, that’s a Indian woman!” Casey said.

“So she is,” Fargo said.

“Well, what kind of a hostage is a Indian goin’ to make? I mean, there ain’t goin’ to be anybody who gives a shit what happens to her,” Casey said.

“We’ll take her,” Fargo insisted. “Let’s go.”

“Where at is the girl goin’ to ride? We didn’t bring a spare horse,” Monroe asked.

“She can ride with me,” Ponci said. He rubbed himself pointedly. “Oh, yeah. She can sit right in front of me.” He walked over to Cloud Dancer and grabbed her by the arm. “Come on, girlie. You are goin’ to like ridin’ with ole Ponci.”

“Dagen, get the horses,” Fargo said.

As Dagen went to get the horses, Fargo climbed up to the front of the stage and reached down under the seat. He pulled out a Winchester rifle, then turned and smiled down at the driver.

“This here what you were goin’ after while ago?” he asked.

With the Winchester in hand, he jumped back down, then picked up the shotgun that was leaning against the front wheel. By that time, Dagen had returned with the horses.

“You boys get mounted now,” Fargo said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Get up there, girlie,” Ponci said, patting the saddle. “Course, you bein’ Indian ’n all, you prob’ly ain’t never rode in no saddle before.”

“Wait a minute, Ponci. Better let me hold the reins once she’s mounted, else she might try’n run off,” Casey said.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ponci said. He handed the reins over to Casey, then looked back at Cloud Dancer, who, having made no effort to mount, was still standing there.

“I told you to get mounted, girlie,” he said, growling at her.

“I can’t ride straddle with this dress,” Cloud Dancer said.

“Well, hell, if that’s all it is, I can take care of that,” Ponci said, giggling. Pulling his knife, he cut a slice down through the front of her dress and petticoat, then did the same thing to the rear.

“Now you can ride,” he said. “Get up there.”

Cloud Dancer put her foot in the stirrup, then swung easily, gracefully, onto the back of the horse. The slit in her dress allowed it to fall to either side of the horse.

“Scoot up to the front,” Ponci said, reaching up to grab the saddle horn. He swung into the saddle behind her. “Oh, yeah,” he said when he was in the saddle. “This’ll do fine. Yes, sir, this’ll do just real fine.”

“Let’s go,” Fargo said when all were mounted.

As the riders started away, Cloud Dancer glanced back toward Jane. Jane saw the look of fear in the young Indian woman’s eyes, and she felt guilty that she had allowed Cloud Dancer to take her place. But she also knew that she had a son to look out for and, involuntarily, she put her arm around Timmy and pulled him to her.

After just a few feet, the horses broke into a gallop and started down the other side of the pass. Within moments, they were out of sight.

“That there is about the bravest thing I’ve ever seen,” Gentry said.

“Yes, it was,” Jane said in a quiet, plaintive voice.

Realizing that she might be feeling guilty, Gentry looked at her.

“Miz Stockdale, don’t you go be holdin’ on to no guilt feelin’s or nothin’,” Gentry said. “She done what was right, and you done what was right.”

“I know,” Jane said. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Gentry glared at Johnson. “And you, you lily-livered son of a bitch. You had to go ’n tell them about the pouch, didn’t you?”

“I had no choice, I had to tell them. They would have killed me if I hadn’t told them,” Johnson said. He pointed at Gentry. “And you. You’re supposed to look after your passengers, but you would have let them do it, wouldn’t you?”

“We’ll never know now, will we?” Gentry said. “’Tell you what, if you’re all that easy to bluff, why, I’d sure love to get you in a poker game.”

“You weren’t bluffing. You were serious. You would’ve let him shoot me,” Johnson insisted, pouting his displeasure.

“Yeah, well, maybe I would have and maybe I wouldn’t. But there ain’t no sense in arguin’ over it now. Help me get these two bodies up on top of the coach so we can get ’em into town.”

“Why don’t we just leave them here, and send someone back for them?” Johnson suggested.

“Send who back?” Gentry asked. “I would be the one who came back for them. We’re not going to leave them out here. Now are you going to help me, or do I have to do it myself ?”

“How are we going to get these two bodies all the way on top?”

“I’ll climb up onto the seat and you get them up this far. I’ll put ’em on top.”

“Are we going back to Pajarito?” Jane asked.

Timmy walked back to have a closer look at Falcon MacCallister, who was lying facedown by the rear wheel of the stage.

“Timmy, get back here,” Jane said.

“No, we’re closer to Oro Blanco now. I figure we may as well go on through,” the driver said, answering Jane’s earlier question.

“Hey,” Timmy said. “Mama, come look! Mr. MacCallister ain’t dead!”

“Isn’t,” his mother corrected automatically.

“He isn’t dead,” Timmy said.

Falcon groaned once, then got up on his hands and knees. He stayed that way for a moment, then stood the rest of the way up. Doing so made him dizzy, however, and he fell back toward the coach, and Jane, who had come over at Timmy’s bidding, had to reach out to steady him or he would have fallen down.

“Whoa, take it easy,” she said solicitously.

“Thanks,” he said, taking her hand for stability.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I guess so. What happened?” Falcon asked, confused by what he was seeing and hearing.

“You’ve been shot.”

“Shot?”

Falcon put his hand to his head and felt a ridge running from front to back, just above his right ear. When he pulled his hand back, he saw blood on the tips of his fingers.

He looked at the blood for a second; then he saw the shotgun guard lying belly-down in the dirt.

“I see that I wasn’t the only one,” he said. “Road agents?”

Gentry nodded his head. “We was robbed,” he said. “When we stopped to rest the horses, they was hidin’ behind them rocks over there, and they opened up on us. They kilt Kerry right off the bat, and we thought they kilt you. They shot you in the head.”

Falcon chuckled. “Yeah, well, that’s where they made their mistake. Folks always did say I was hardheaded.” He looked around. “Where’s Yaakos Gan?”

“Who?” Gentry asked.

“That’s the Indian girl’s real name,” Timmy said. “Yaakos Gan.”

“Oh. They took her with them,” Gentry said.

“They took her? Why?”

“They were going to take me,” Jane said. “But that dear, sweet girl volunteered to go in my place. So they took her.”

“That still doesn’t explain why they took her,” MacCallister said.

“Fargo Ford said somethin’ about usin’ her as a hostage,” Gentry suggested.

“Fargo Ford? Wait a minute, isn’t he the one that tried to rob the express office back in Calabasas?”

“That’s him, all right.”

“How did he get out here? I thought he and his men were in jail.”

“Yeah, I thought so too, and I asked him about it. He said the sheriff let ’em go, but I don’t believe that for a moment. I believe they escaped.”

“I believe you are right.”

“We need to get going if we are going to make Oro Blanco by dark. Come on, Johnson, give me a hand with Kerry.”

Gentry climbed up onto the driver’s seat, then held his hands down while the drummer tried, unsuccessfully, to pick up Kerry.

“Here,” Falcon said, pushing Johnson aside. “I’ll do it.”

“Mr. MacCallister, be careful. You’ve got a bad head injury,” Jane said.

“Yes, well, it’s my head, not my hands,” Falcon said. He picked up Kerry and handed him up to Gentry, who was able to pull him the rest of the way up, then position him on top of the coach.

“Get on board, folks,” Gentry said. “The sooner we get going, the better.”