Revenge of Eagles

CHAPTER 16

Ponci had lain in the cave for two days, looking over at the rotting piece of meat that had been his leg. The stench of it was overpowering, but until now, he had not been able to move well enough to get rid of it.

His horse had found a little graze within hobble range, as well as a puddle of water from the last rain. The puddle had survived only because a rock overhang had shielded it from direct sunlight, thus keeping it from evaporating. But now, even it was beginning to dry up, and if Ponci didn’t get out of here soon, he and the horse faced the possibility of dying of thirst.

The horse was actually faring better than Ponci, who had not eaten in two days. Oddly, though he knew he should be ravenously hungry, he had no appetite. He had taken a few sips of water, having filled his canteen from the catch pool ... and he had taken a few sips of laudanum, just enough to make the pain manageable.

For the last two days Ponci had run a fever, but now, for the first time since his self-amputation, he felt that the fever was gone. The bleeding had also stopped, and the pain in his stub had subsided to a dull throb. If he was ever going to make it into Mesquite, now was the time to do it.

Painfully and laboriously, Ponci managed to get his horse saddled. Then, he tried to mount. Automatically he swung his right leg, or what should have been his right leg, over the horse’s back for balance and to carry him on into the saddle.

But the leg wasn’t there, and Ponci’s attempt to get mounted left him badly off balance. He felt himself slipping, made a desperate grab for the saddle horn, missed, then fell hard onto his wounded stump.

“Ahhh!!!” he screamed as pain shot up through his body.

Ponci lay there for a long moment, getting his breath and trying to regain his composure. Then he tried to mount again, this time holding tightly onto the saddle horn until he was seated. The sensation of sitting in the saddle with only one leg in the stirrup was unsettling, but he knew it was something he would have to get used to. Clucking at the horse, he left the cave, then rode out into the bright sunlight, headed for Mesquite.

Mesquite was ten miles ahead, and he figured on making it in two hours, given that he had no intention of trying to hurry.

Corporal Gibson left the sergeant major’s office, still seething over his run-in with the sheriff and his deputy. When he returned to the guardhouse, he saw Private Carter lying on the bunk, waiting for the next relief change. Carter would be posted as one of the guards of the next relief.

Like Corporal Gibson, Private Carter had been in the Army for many years, and like Gibson, Carter had been up and down the ranks. Last month he had been a sergeant, but he got into a drunken fight with a cowboy over a whore he met in a saloon in Papago. His thirty days in jail in Papago were counted as unauthorized absence from his duty post, so he was busted.

Now, as a private, Carter had to perform the post duties like any other private.

“Carter, what are you doing here?” Gibson asked.

“I’m on the next relief, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Hey, come on down to the sutler’s store and have a drink with me. We’ve got time.”

“I don’t mind if I do,” Carter said, hopping up from the bunk and following his friend out of the guardhouse. It never dawned on him to suggest that what they were doing was against army regulations.

As the two men sat in the sutler’s store drinking whiskey, Gibson told about his run-in with the two civilians who had come onto the post this afternoon.

“The deputy was a real bastard,” Gibson said. “I’d like to know just who he thinks he is, coming in here like he owns the place. Why, he marched in to see the colonel without so much as a fare-thee-well.”

“Are you talking about the fella that was with Sheriff Corbin?” the sutler asked. It was easy enough for the sutler to overhear their conversation. It was right in the middle of duty hours, and nobody else was in the place.

“Yeah, the deputy,” Gibson replied.

The sutler laughed. “He was no deputy.”

“Sure he was. At least, that’s what Sheriff Corbin said.”

“Maybe that’s what Corbin said and maybe, for some strange reason, he is acting as the deputy right now. But I’ll tell you this. He sure as hell ain’t no ordinary deputy. Don’t you know who that was?”

“No.”

“That was Falcon MacCallister.”

“Falcon MacCallister? Are you sure?”

“Who is Falcon MacCallister?” Carter asked.

“He’s a gunfighter,” Gibson said.

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve never met him, but I’ve sure heard of him. How do you know that was Falcon MacCallister?” Gibson asked the sutler.

“I know because I used to live in Tombstone. I met him when he was down there. He ran with the Earps and Doc Holliday then.”

“I’ll be damn,” Gibson said in awe. Then, his awe turned to fear as he remembered that MacCallister had threatened to kill him. His hand started shaking and some of the whiskey in his glass splashed out.

“You all right, Gibson?” Carter asked.

“Yeah,” Gibson said. “I’m all right. Sutler, bring us another round.”

Nearly an hour after what should have been the changing of the guard, Lieutenant Kirby, the Officer of the Day, showed up and saw Gibson and Carter drunk. He had two men with him.

“Place these two men under arrest and take them to the guardhouse,” Kirby demanded.

Under the escort of the two privates, Gibson and Carter returned to the guardhouse, not as part of the guard detail now ... but as prisoners.

When Private Wilson came into the guardhouse a little later, he threw his hat onto the bunk in anger.

“What the hell is going on around here?” he shouted. “I was an hour late getting relieved.”

“Ask those fellas,” one of the other guards said, pointing to the cell at the back of the guardhouse.

Wilson walked to the back, then saw Corporal Gibson and Carter in jail.

“Corporal Gibson, Sergeant Carter, what are you two doing in here?” he asked in surprise.

“That’s Private Carter,” Gibson said.

“Oh, yeah, Private. But what are you doing in here?”

“I tell you what,” Gibson said. “Wait until the others are asleep, then come back here and we’ll tell you.”

Wilson looked confused. “Why should I wait until the others are asleep?”

“Because I’m going to tell you where my money is,” Gibson said, “and I don’t want anyone else to hear it.”

“Your money?”

“Shhh,” Gibson said, putting his finger over his lips. I told you, I don’t want anyone else to hear. Wait until the others are asleep, then come back.”

“All right,” Wilson agreed, nodding his head. He walked back up to the front of the guardhouse, then lay on his bunk with his hands laced behind his head. “What money?” he asked aloud.

“What?” Pettigrew asked. Pettigrew was in the bunk next to his. “What’d you say?”

“Uh, nothing,” Wilson replied. “I was just thinking out loud, that’s all.”

Unlike Carter and Gibson, Wilson had been in the Army for less than a year, and had never been anything but a private. It was also likely that he would never be anything but a private, because he had not found Army life to his liking. Wilson had grown up on a farm in Missouri and left when a young girl on a neighboring farm got pregnant and told him he was the father.

Wilson knew that it was possible that he could be the father, but it was also possible for at least four others that he knew. He wasn’t ready to get married yet, especially if he was going to be tricked into it, so he left in the middle of the night and went to St. Louis, where he enlisted at Jefferson Barracks.

He regretted it almost immediately, and wished many times that he was back home, even if he did have to get married. Besides which, Lou Ellen wasn’t that bad-looking a girl. He could’ve done worse.

An hour later, when snores rent the darkened interior of the guardhouse, Wilson got up from his bunk and walked quietly back to the cell.

“You fellas asleep?” he called into the darkened cell.

“No, we’re awake,” Gibson said. He and Carter appeared just on the other side of the bars, barely visible in the little ambient light that was available.

“All right,” Wilson whispered. “I’m here. What is this about your money?”

“It’s not just my money,” Gibson answered. “It’s Carter’s money, and your money too, if you have balls enough to come with me tonight to get it.”

“Come with you tonight?” Wilson shook his head. “How am I going to go anywhere with you tonight? You are in jail.”

“You noticed that, did you?” Gibson said.

“Well, yeah, I mean ...”

“Get the keys to the cell,” Gibson said. “They are on the corporal’s desk.”

“How’m I going to do that with him there?”

“He’ll be posting the new relief soon,” Gibson said. “When he does, all you have to do is get the keys and let us out.”

“I don’t know,” Wilson said.

“Look, you been bitchin’ and moanin’ ever since you come in how much you hate the Army,” Gibson said. “Haven’t you?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then this is your chance. Let us out, we’ll go get the money, then we’ll each go our own way.”

“All right,” Wilson said. “All right, soon as the new relief is posted, I’ll get the key and let you two out.”

Although Ponci reached Mesquite before dark, he decided to stop outside town and wait until the sun set, because he didn’t want to ride in while it was still daylight. While he was waiting for nightfall, he utilized his time by finding a stout staff, cutting it to the right size, then crossing it at the top with a bar that would fit under his arm. The result was a usable crutch. It would have worked better if he had something with which to pad the armrest, but he had used his extra shirt and pants as bandages over the stump of his leg.

Eating a handful of grasshoppers and the fruit of a saguaro cactus, Ponci had his first food in three days. When night came, he waited outside town listening to the sounds of night creatures. He dozed off a couple of times, but woke himself up every time because he didn’t want to sleep through the night out here.

Then, when he figured it was about midnight, or even a little later, he remounted and rode into town. He had purposely waited until it was this late because he didn’t want to be seen. He knew that someone who came riding into town with only one leg would not only be noticed, he would also be remembered.

The town was very dark, with not a flicker of light from anywhere, not even from the cantina. But the bright full moon painted a soft silver halo around all the buildings and laid a shimmering path on the road before him. That provided him with enough illumination to ride down the familiar street until he reached the leather goods store. His horse didn’t like going through the narrow passageway between the leather goods store and the apothecary, especially as the two buildings crowded out what little light there was from the moon. But Ponci cajoled the animal, and kicked with his one good leg until they were through and into the open area that lay between Suzie’s crib and the rear of the leather goods store.

The inside of the crib, like every other building in town, was totally dark. Ponci took his horse around behind the crib and tied it off in the lean-to shed. The lean-to was less for the comfort of the animals, and more for the convenience of Suzie’s customers, who might not want the presence of their horses to give away the fact that they were visiting a soiled dove.

With his horse secure and out of sight, Ponci used his crutch to come around to the front of the little house. He reached up to the eave where he knew she kept an extra key.

It wasn’t there.

He felt around a bit more, but still couldn’t come up with the key. Where the hell was it? Finally, giving up on his search for the key, he knocked lightly on the door.

“Suzie,” he called.

He knocked again.

“Suzie?”

“Go away,” Suzie’s muffled voice called back from inside. “It’s too late to do any business.”

“Suzie, it’s me, Ponci. Will you open the damn door?”

“Ponci?”

“Yes. Open the door, will you? I can’t find the key.”

“I don’t keep it out there anymore.”

“Let me in.”

“Just a minute.”

Ponci heard her stirring around inside; then the door opened.

“The reason I don’t keep the key out here anymore is because Fargo ...” Then she gasped in mid-sentence when she saw him standing there on one leg and a crutch. “My God, Ponci! What happened to you?”

“Well, if you won’t keep me standing out here on the stoop and let me come in, I’ll tell you all about it,” Ponci said.

“Yes, yes, come in,” she said, stepping aside as he hobbled in.

Seeing the bed, Ponci hopped over to it, then sat down with a sigh of relief.

“Have you got anything to drink?”

“I’ve got some whiskey,” she said.

“Water first,” Ponci replied. “Then whiskey. And maybe something to eat.”

“All I have in the house is a can of peaches if that’ll do.”

“That’ll do fine. Open it. But first, I need a drink of water.”

Suzie scooped a dipper of water from the water bucket and handed it to Ponci, who drank thirstily and with such abandon that some of it trickled down his chin and onto his shirt. He handed the empty dipper to her.

“More,” he said.

“My, you are thirsty, aren’t you?” she said as she handed him the refilled dipper.

“You said something about a can of peaches?” Ponci asked as he finished the water.

“Yes,” Suzie said. Finding the can of peaches, she opened it, then handed it and a spoon to him.

“I don’t need this,” Ponci said, handing the spoon back to her. He turned the can up to his lips, drank the juice, then poured the peaches into his mouth directly from the can, gobbling them down ravenously.

“How long has it been since you ate?” Suzie asked.

“I had me some grasshoppers this mornin’,” Ponci answered as he finished the last of the peaches.

“Grasshoppers?” Suzie shivered. “I can’t imagine eating grasshoppers.”

“You’ll eat ’em if you’re hungry enough,” Ponci said.

“What happened to your leg?”

“I cut it off,” Ponci replied, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his dirty shirt. “Can you believe that shit? I cut off my own leg.”

“My God! Why would you do that?”

“Because I had the gangrene,” Ponci said. “And it was either cut off my leg or die.” He giggled. “And since I’m rich, I wasn’t particularly ready to die yet.”

“What do you mean you’re rich?”

“I’m rich, Suzie. I got more money than me or you has ever seen. After I lay up here for a few days, me’n you are going to leave this town. Maybe go back to St. Louis, or New Orleans, or even out to San Francisco. We’ll go first-class by train, and when we get there, we’ll live like a king and queen. What do you think of that?”

“Is this the same money that Fargo was talking about?”

The smile left Ponci’s face, to be replaced by a quick flash of fear.

“Fargo? Is Fargo in town?”

“No,” Suzie said. “He was here, lookin’ for you. But he’s not here now.”

“You sure he’s not here?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Ponci gave a sigh of relief. “That’s good,” he said. “But you say he was here, looking for me?”

“Fargo come here lookin’ for you, all right. He wants to kill you.”

Unexpectedly, Ponci laughed. “Yeah, I reckon he does.”

“What is all this about, Ponci? Where did all this money come from that you and Fargo are talking about? And how is it that you wound up with it?”

“We robbed us a stagecoach,” Ponci said. “And we stole fifteen thousand dollars. Then I got hurt in the leg and caught me a case of the gangrene. Fargo wanted to leave me, without givin’ me my share. So, I let on as I was in much worse shape than I was; then when Fargo and the others wasn’t expectin’ it, I stole all the money and lit out.”

“What do you mean you was lettin’ on like you wasn’t hurt all that bad? It must’ve been pretty bad,” Suzie said. “I mean, it had to be bad for you to cut off your own leg like you done.”

“Yeah,” Ponci said. “Well, it was bad, and over the next couple of days after I stole the money and started runnin’, it started in gettin’ a lot worse. Pretty soon, I know’d that if I didn’t do somethin’ soon, I was goin’ to die. So, I didn’t have me no choice but to cut off my leg, so, that’s just what I done. I hacked her off, clean as a whistle.”

Suzie shivered. “How in the world could you do such a thing?”

“It wasn’t all that hard,” Ponci said. “If you remember, before I took up to runnin’ with your brother, I used to be a butcher. I was a good one too. I’ve carved up pork and beef lots of times, and I’ve cut a lot of legs off’n hogs ’n steers. And to tell you the truth, Suzie, cuttin’ off a human leg was lots easier.”

“But this ain’t just any human leg you’re talking about. That was your own leg you cut off! Didn’t it hurt?”

“You’re damn right it hurt. But hell, it was already hurtin’. And I had me some laudanum, so that helped. After that, I just waited till I healed up some, and here I am.”

“So, where’s the money now? Do you have it with you?”

Ponci shook his head. “No, I don’t have it with me. I got it hid. I figured, if Fargo and the others happened to catch up with me, that might be ’bout the only thing that would keep ’em from killin’ me soon as they seen me.”

“Yeah,” Suzie said, hiding her own disappointment that he didn’t have the money with him. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“Listen, Suzie, I’m goin’ to need to stay here for a few days till I get stronger. Don’t be bringin’ no business in until then.”

“You can’t ask me to do that, Ponci. I’ve got to make a livin’,” she said.

Ponci reached down into his pocket and pulled out one hundred dollars.

“No, you don’t,” he said. “This’ll take care of you for the next few days. And once I’m on my feet again and we are out of here, there’s lots more where that came from.”

“What’ll I tell my customers?”

“Tell ’em you’re takin’ care of a sick aunt, tell ’em anything. Just don’t bring nobody here.”

“All right.”

Ponci lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.

“Don’t wake me till breakfast time,” he said.