Scream of Eagles (19 page)

Logan stopped his dancing and wandered over as Jamie opened the folded piece of paper and read: “OLD ABANDONED BUILDINGS NORTH OF TOWN. NOON TOMORROW.” It was signed Asa Pike.

“That's what's left of an old village built back in the late 1700s,” Logan told them. “Me and a half dozen ol' boys camped there one night back in ... oh, '44 or '45, I reckon it was.”

Jamie stood up. “Let's sorta ease on out there now,” he said. “Find ourselves some good fighting positions and get ready.”

“Why don't we just hide and ambush the bastards when they come ridin' up?” Logan suggested. “Then we'll have done with it and can get gone to the Muggyowns.”

“You're a sneaky old bastard, you know that?” Rick said.

Logan grinned. “Damn right, I am. And I'm
alive
because of it! You bes' remember that, boy.”

Jamie didn't say anything, but he agreed with Logan.

“Let's provision up,” Canby said. “Then when it's over, we can just head on west without havin' to come back here and answer a bunch of damn-fool questions.”

“Good idea.”

The second bunch of funerals were just getting underway as Jamie and the group checked out of the hotel in Old Town and rode out.

“Most depressin' damn music I ever did hear,” Logan said. “If you boys has to plant me, I want somebody to whistle a happy tune, and the rest of you do a jig over my restin' place. I'd hate to have to spend eternity with the sounds of that sorrowful mess a-ringin' through my bones.”

“I'll do a fancy jig right on top of your grave,” Red promised him.

“I didn't say collapse the damn thing,” Logan told him. “Big as your feet is, you'd cause an earthquake. Just dance around the hole, will you?”

Laughing, the men put the town of Albuquerque and the funeral music behind them.

“I haven't seen Mr. Washington all day, Sheriff,” the young lady at the newspaper office said. Then grinned and added, “Uncle Matt.”

Matthew winked at his niece and looked toward the rear, where the typesetter was busy working. “Paul? You seen Ben today?”

“Not hide nor hair of him, Sheriff. He's never been this late.”

“You reckon he's with Lola?”

Lola Dubois, a beautiful mulatto from New Orleans, had come to town one day and within weeks had bought the hotel and started redecorating it. It was the most elegant hotel outside of Denver. She had named it the La Pierre. She and Ben had been keeping company for months; and recently, Ben had proposed to her, and Lola had accepted his offer of marriage.

“No. She was by here looking for him. She's worried sick.”

“I don't like this,” Matthew said. “Not at all.”

“What could have happened to him in Valley?” the typesetter asked.

“I don't know,” Matthew said. “But I damn sure plan on finding out.”

After carefully searching the town for over an hour, Matthew and his deputies knew one thing for certain: Ben F. Washington had vanished.

The alarm was sounded, and townspeople turned out, armed, mounted, and each man with a three-day supply of food. Matthew sent groups out in all directions. From the saddle, the sheriff looked down into the worried face of Lola. “If he's within fifty miles of here, we'll find him,” he assured the woman. “He may have gone for an early morning ride and just got lost. It's easy to do. And we know his horse is missing. We'll find him, Lola.”

But Matthew didn't think Ben was lost. He felt certain that Ben had been taken against his will. But why? was the question.

* * *

“Well, if this ain't about the dumbest thing I ever saw,” Canby said, lowering his field glasses. “Yonder they come, in plain sight and all bunched up.”

“Get into position,” Jamie told his group. “We're going to settle this thing today, once and for all.”

Asa Pike halted his men about three-quarters of a mile from the ruins of the village. Jamie watched through field glasses as the men dismounted and bunched up for a few minutes. Then they picketed their horses and spread out, walking slowly, advancing toward the ruins in a long, straight line.

The men in the ruins looked on in silence for a few minutes, as the Pike group slowly advanced.

“This is nuts, Pa,” Falcon said. “They act like they want to get killed.”

“Hell, I can't bring myself to shoot at them,” Rick said.

“I can,” Logan said. “But I want them a tad closer.”

When the advancing men were about two hundred yards away, Jamie abruptly stood up and shouted, “Asa! This doesn't have to be. Let's call this thing off and go on about our business!”

“You go right straight to hell, MacCallister!” Asa shouted, then lifted his rifle and triggered off a round. The bullet howled past Jamie's head, and Jamie dropped down behind cover.

“I believe they just opened the dance,” Red observed.

“Fire,” Jamie said.

The ruins of the village thundered with rifle fire. When the smoke cleared, twelve of Asa's kin were on the ground, and those left were running back to their horses as fast as they could go. They pulled the picket pins, jumped into saddles, and were gone without looking back.

“I have been in some strange tussles in my time,” Logan allowed. “But this here has got to be the strangest ever.”

“I saw sights just like it during the war,” Jamie said, punching rounds into his rifle. “Brave men doing foolish things. Let's go see how many are wounded.”

Six men were dead, six were wounded. Rick and Falcon went to get their horses while Jamie and the others saw to their wounds as best they could with what they had. Of the six wounded, two had only minor wounds, three were hard hit, and one probably would not last the day. The badly wounded man died at noon, just as the county sheriff, his deputies, and a doctor were riding up.

“Good God!” the sheriff said, swinging down from the saddle. He looked at Jamie. “You and your men are under arrest, MacCallister. Surrender your weapons.”

“Not likely,” Jamie told him.

Falcon and the others had spread out, the muzzles of their rifles pointed at the sheriff and his men. At this range, if any shooting started, it would be carnage. Jamie had exchanged his rifle for the Greener. And this close up, that terrible weapon could easily take out two or three men, and not leave much to write home about.

“Mr. MacCallister,” the sheriff softened his tone. “Over the past two days, you and your people have killed or wounded twenty-six men—at least. Not counting Indian attacks, this is the worst shoot-out this county has ever experienced....”

“They didn't start it,” one of the badly wounded men gasped out the truth. “We did.”

“Did you hear that, Dr. Ferrara?” the sheriff asked the doctor.

“I did.”

The sheriff slowly nodded his head. His eyes found the packhorses, then looked back at Jamie. “Are you men leaving this area?”

“Today, if possible,” Jamie told him.

“Thank God,” the sheriff muttered. He cleared his throat and said, “Fine. That's dandy. The best news I've heard in days. You can leave whenever you like. The sooner, the better. Personally, I hope I never see any of you again.”

“You need some help totin' these folks back to town?” Logan asked, a wicked glint in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“No! Hell, no!” the sheriff quickly replied. “I want you people gone.”

“Then we'll be heading for home,” Jamie said, conscious of several of the wounded men listening intently, knowing Asa was too much of a coward to face the entire MacCallister family. “Springtime in Colorado is a beautiful sight.”

“I'm anxious to see it,” Logan said, picking up on the lie immediately.

Falcon produced a badge from his pocket. “I'm a deputy sheriff up in Valley, Colorado. My brother is county sheriff. I want you to tell Asa Pike something for me, Sheriff. If I ever lay eyes on him in Valley, I'll kill him where he stands, and I won't hesitate.”

“I'll see he gets the word.”

“And I mean what I say, Sheriff,” Falcon added.

“I've no doubt of that.”

Jamie and his people turned and walked to their horses. Two minutes later they were riding north.

One of the deputies took off his hat and wiped his sweaty face. “That could have got real ugly in a hurry.”

“It ain't over,” one of the wounded men said. “I can promise you that. As long as they's one Pike or kin left alive, he'll be huntin' Jamie Ian MacCallister and his kin.”

“Then that makes you a family of fools,” the sheriff told him.

* * *

There was no trace of Ben F. Washington to be found. Matthew's Indian trackers could turn up nothing. Ben had vanished without a trace. Matthew and his weary posse rode back to Valley, and Matthew went immediately to see Lola with the bad news.

She took the news as calmly as possible; Matthew could see she was shaken, but struggling to maintain composure. She waved him to a chair and brought coffee. “It has to be either his mother or his uncle behind this, Sheriff. Or both of them. He told me several times that he knew they were still alive and would someday try to kill him. There have been attempts on his life.”

“I know. Ben's told me the whole sorry story. And we'll find Ben, Lola. He's got to be in this area. Every farmer, rancher, cowboy, and trapper in a seventy-five-mile radius is looking. I think they're close, Lola. I feel it. But I don't know where.”

Matthew was right. They were close. The men were holding Ben in Jamie's cabin, on the ridge overlooking Kate's grave. But it was just unthinkable to the residents of Valley that anyone outside of the family would dare intrude into the home of Jamie MacCallister.

Matthew went to his office and found several wires waiting for him from various lawmen, some as far away as San Francisco.

The San Francisco wire read: RECEIVED WORD FROM MY STREET INFORMANTS THAT FIVE THUGS ARE HEADING YOUR WAY. STOP. STONE GIBSON BILLY CARNES NATE CLAPTON ERIC ARMER PETE DREW. STOP. ALL ARE KNOWN HOOLIGANS AND STRONG ARM MEN. STOP. ALL HAVE BEEN ARRESTED FOR SUSPICION OF MURDER BUT NO CONVICTIONS. STOP. THEY'RE BAD ONES. STOP. BE CAREFUL WITH THEM.

The wire from Denver read: FIVE LOCAL THUGS BELIEVED HEADED YOUR WAY STOP. JACK WALLACE MARCUS HINTON STERLING DRAKE JEFF HOOKS CARTER YOUNG. STOP. ALL HAVE CRIMINAL RECORDS AND CAPABLE OF DOING ANYTHING. STOP. BELIEVE THEM TO BE INVOLVED IN SOME SORT OF KIDNAPPING SCHEME. STOP. WATCH YOURSELF.

Matthew removed his spurs, then leaned back in his chair and put his boots up on the desk. It made sense to him that Ben's mother and uncle were in San Francisco and Denver, living under assumed names. And they had to be the ones who hired the men to kidnap Ben.

But where in the hell were they holding him?

* * *

Ben was unconscious—again. He was tied to a chair, and his chin rested on his chest, blood dripping from his mouth, numerous cuts on his face, and his nose busted.

“What the hell do we do now?” Stone asked, looking around him. “We don't want to kill him, and he can't take much more beatin' on.”

“You're workin' at the wrong end,” Eric said. “Nigger ain't got no sense in his head. It's all in his pecker. Threaten to cut his pecker off, he'll tell you ever'thang he knows.”

“So would I,” Nate said. “And so would any man. Stone? I'm beginnin' to think the darky's tellin' the truth. I don't think he's got anythin' that's a threat to anybody.”

“You may be right about that. But we'll hammer on him a little bit more. Throw a bucket of water on him and get him awake.”

* * *

“You go on up and dust off things in your grandpa's house, Cathy Lou,” Joleen told her middle daughter. “And yes, you can ride that paint your Uncle Falcon gentled for you. I'll be up later on.”

“Yes, Ma,” the fourteen-year-old said with a grin. She liked to go up and be alone at her grandpa's house. The place was filled with so many pictures and old books and pillows with fancy stitching on them that her grandma, Kate, had done. She liked to sit in her grandma's rocker in the big living room and look through the old family Bible.

She threw a saddle on the paint pony and hopped on. She'd ride by that Johnny Scott's house on the way and wave at him. She pinched her cheeks to get a little color in them before Johnny saw her, and rode off at a gallop.

* * *

Just a few miles north of the ruins, Jamie and his group hooked up with a bunch of teamsters heading north to Santa Fe. Jamie said goodbye to Falcon and watched as his son rode off with the wagons.

“That's a mighty fine boy there, Mac,” Logan said. “How many kids did you say you had?”

“Nine living. Falcon's the youngest. The ages range from forty-six to thirty-four.”

“Fever got the others?” Canby asked.

Jamie shook his head. “Bounty hunters looking for me killed Baby Karen when she was about six months old. Down in the Big Thicket country of East Texas. Back in '29.”

“I reckon I don't have to ask what happened to them men,” Red said.

“No, you don't.”Jamie lifted the reins. “Let's ride.”

* * *

Cathy hopped down from the pony and stood for a moment. She thought she heard something coming from the small barn. But that was impossible; Grandpa Jamie had been gone for months. All his livestock was out at Uncle Falcon's ranch. She shook her head and walked up to the front porch to stand for a moment. Quite a view from up here. The town of Valley lay peaceful-looking, a few miles away. She could see almost the entire town; could almost pick out her house.

She turned and opened the door. Rough hands grabbed her and jerked her inside. One hard hand clamped over her mouth while the free hand roamed her body.

“Would you just take a look at the titties on this one,” the man holding her said. “Man, she is ripe for the pickin'.”

Cathy tried to bite the man. Pain exploded in her head as he clubbed her with a fist.

“You just settle down, honey.” Her clothing was being torn from her. “I got something you're gonna like.”

Cathy's eyes found Ben tied to a chair, his face all bloody and swollen. He was unconscious. She felt herself lifted off the floor and carried into the bedroom and dumped on the bed.

“You scream, little girlie,” the man hissed in her ear. His breath was very bad. “And I'll hurt you something awful. You understand?”

Cathy nodded her head while the man was pulling off his clothing.

“That's good. You just lay back and enjoy this.”

Rough hands roamed all over her flesh, fondling her breasts, her body, all the secret places.

Cathy could not help herself. She screamed as the nakedness of the man covered her and he tore into her.

A rag was tied over her mouth, silencing the sound.

It was the beginning of a long and painful afternoon for fourteen-year-old Cathy Lou MacKensie.

* * *

“They's a trading post up here on the Puerco River,” Logan said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “I figure we're two days' ride from it. Then the country gets rough and wild. But it's some pretty.”
²⁰

“You reckon what's left of them Pikes will be followin' us, Mac?” Canby asked.

“Not if they're smart.”

“Smart, they ain't,” Red said. “But at least we cut 'em down to size.”