Читать книгу Slaughter of Eagles - William W. Johnstone - Страница 8

When Luke Mueller opened his eyes he saw Patsy sitting on the side of the bed looking down at him. At least she had told him her name was Patsy, though he knew whores seldom gave their right name. He was surprised to see a man standing over the bed.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, sitting up quickly. Almost as quickly, a gun appeared in his hand.

The man gasped, and held his hands out before him. “Easy, mister, easy. My name is Arnie Cates. I’m the piano player here.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember you. What are you wakin’ me up for? I ain’t had me a bed sleep in a week of Sundays.”

“Them four men you come in with?”

Luke lay back down and scrunched up his pillow. “Yeah,” he replied, sleepily. “What about ’em?”

“They just got themselves kilt.”

Luke’s eyes popped open, and he sat up again.

“What did you say?”

“They just got themselves kilt. All four of ’em,” Cates said.

“What the hell? What happened?”

“They was a feller come in here by the name of Falcon MacCallister,” Cates said. “You ever heard tell of him?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”

“Well, he come in, said somethin’ about goin’ to take ’em all in for bank robbin’ and murder. Next thing you know they was all a’ shootin’ at each other and this man MacCallister, he kilt ’em all.”

“All of ’em? My brother too?”

Cates nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he was the first one to get hisself kilt.”

“Are you saying that Falcon MacCallister, one man, kilt them all?”

“Yes, by himself. I tell you, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.”

“If you was there watchin’ it, how come you didn’t you come up here and get me?”

“I come up here as soon as I could, but it all happened too fast for me to come get you,” Cates said. “Besides which, if you had been there, you would more’n likely have been kilt too.”

“Is MacCallister still here?”

“Yes, he’s still here. He’s downstairs now with the sheriff and a couple deputies.”

“That’s good to know,” Luke said. He reached for his pants and began to pull them on. “I’m going to go down and take care of this right now.”

“Mister, I don’t think you really want to do this,” Patsy said.

“Why not?” Luke picked up his pistol and spun the cylinder to check the loads.

“Didn’t you hear what Arnie said? The sheriff and all his deputies are downstairs now.”

“Besides which, now ever’one knows you five robbed a bank and kilt a couple people over in MacCallister,” Cates added.

“What? How do they know that?”

“Your brother purt’ near confessed to it,” Cates said. “And what with the sheriff and all his deputies down there, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“He kilt my brother,” Luke said.

Patsy nodded. “That’s right, he did. Even if you manage to kill MacCallister, your brother will still be dead. What’s more than likely though, especially with the sheriff and his deputies there, is you’ll wind up gettin’ yourself kilt.”

Luke lowered his pistol and sat there for a moment, then he sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “I can wait a while. I do plan to kill the son of a bitch, I just won’t do it tonight.”

Luke had finished dressing and was reaching under the bed where he had put the money sack, when there was a loud knock on the door.

“Miss Patsy? It’s Sheriff Gibbons, Miss Patsy. Anyone in there with you?”

Without a word, Luke fired through the door. There was a grunt and moan from the other side, then the sound of a body falling.

Patsy screamed. “What have you done?”

Luke reached again under the bed for the sack, when he heard a loud crash against the door. Abandoning the sack, he moved across the room to the window, raised it, then crawled through it, onto the mansard roof. At that moment a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated him. He jumped, just as the sheriff’s deputies and Falcon burst into the room.

“Where is he?” one of the deputies shouted.

“He went out through the window!” Cates shouted.

The deputies looked outside, but there was only a small space between the hotel and the building next door, so they saw nothing.

Falcon turned and ran to the end of the hall, which had a window that looked onto the street. Even though he had a view of the road, he could see nothing in the dark and the rain.

Hurrying back to the room he saw the sheriff sitting up, holding his hand over a wound in his shoulder.

“Did you see the son of a bitch?” the sheriff asked, his voice strained with pain.

“No,” Falcon answered.

“He got away.”

“For now,” Falcon said.

Falcon went into the room where he saw an over-weight, naked woman, trying to hide something under the bed quilt.

“I’ll take that, miss,” Falcon said, holding his hand out.

“It’s nothing but laundry,” the woman said.

“Really?” Falcon took the sack from her, and opened it.

“I’ll be,” the whore said, feigning surprise. “There is money there. Who would have thought that?”

Falcon chuckled. “Yeah,” he said. “Who would have thought it?”

Luke Mueller managed to make it to the far end of town without getting shot, but his horse was still tied up in front of the saloon. He stole a horse to make good his escape, and rode through the downpour, cursing Falcon MacCallister, and swearing revenge on him. Though in truth, he was more angry over the loss of the money than he was over the fact that his brother had been killed.

He began planning ways to kill MacCallister. He wouldn’t get his money back, but somehow, he would get revenge.

Downstairs in the Lucky Nugget Saloon, the bodies of the four men Falcon had shot were lying in a neat row alongside the wall, next to the piano. Manuel, the fourteen year old boy who worked at the saloon, had a bucket of water and a mop, and was cleaning up the blood from the floor.

Most of the regular customers of the saloon had already satisfied their curiosity, but Hodge Deckert, the barkeep, was doing a brisk business as people from the town kept coming in to get a look. Of the four bodies stretched out on the floor, Caldwell garnered the most attention. The eyes of the other three were shut, but Caldwell’s one eye was open and appeared to be glaring. It gave him a macabre look, juxtaposed as it was alongside the puff of flesh where his other eye should have been.

Patsy had come back downstairs and was sitting at a table with two other women. They were talking quietly among themselves.

Sheriff Gibbons was sitting in a chair by the stove, with his shirt off, while Dr. Urban treated the wound in his shoulder. Falcon stood close by, with his arms folded across his chest.

“Did you count the money?” Sheriff Gibbons asked.

“Yes. Except for twenty dollars, it is all here,” Falcon said.

“You probably ran them so hard they didn’t have a chance to spend any of it, and Hodge says twenty dollars is just about what they spent here. I imagine the bank back in MacCallister will be pretty pleased to get—damn! What are you doing, Doc? That burns!”

“I’ve poured alcohol on your wound,” Dr. Urban replied. “You don’t want it to mortify on you, do you?”

“No, I reckon not. But I didn’t plan on you settin’ me on fire, neither.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Dr. Urban growled as he began applying the bandage.

“You goin’ after Luke Mueller?” the sheriff asked Falcon.

Falcon shook his head. “Not right away. First thing I need to do is get this money back to the bank in MacCallister. Folks back there will be needing it.”

“You starting back tonight? In this weather?”

“No, I thought I would get a room tonight, start back first thing tomorrow.”

“You can spend the night in one of the jail cells if you’d like,” Sheriff Gibbons said. He chuckled. “Believe me, you’ll be as comfortable there as you would be in anything that passes for a hotel here.”

Luke Mueller found a rock shelf that enabled him to get out of the rain, but it was a cold, wet, miserable night and he spent every waking moment of it, thinking about Falcon MacCallister. He had never met MacCallister. But everything changed from the moment MacCallister came onto the scene. By rights, Luke thought, he should be waking up in a whore’s bed, having a breakfast he didn’t cook, and spend the day drinking and planning on how to spend his money. Money that he no longer had—money that Falcon MacCallister took from him.

Oh, how he hated that son of a bitch.

From the MacCallister Eagle:

JUSTICE DISPENSED:

Falcon MacCallister the Dispenser

Readers of this newspaper are well aware of the dastardly murder, last week, of Reverend Charles Powell, and his wife, Mrs. Claudia Powell. There are few men to whom the town of MacCallister owes more gratitude than it owes to Reverend Powell. He had been specially selected to offer the convocation to the Lord in the dedication of the statue of Colonel Jamie Ian MacCallister. The good reverend was one of Colonel MacCallister’s contemporaries in time, and his peer in service to his friends, neighbors, and indeed, the whole valley.

This newspaper is pleased to report nearly all the perpetrators of the appalling murders of this saintly man and his good and loving wife have been brought to justice.

Clete Mueller, Ollie Terrell, Bo Caldwell, and Clarence Poole, four of the five brigands who underhandedly murdered the Reverend and Mrs. Powell, have been sent to appear before their maker for final judgment. The instrument of their demise was Falcon MacCallister who was so moved by the most foul bank robbery and murder committed by the villains, he tracked them down and brought them to justice. Confronting them at the Lucky Nugget Saloon in Black Hawk, it was reliably reported by witnesses that Colonel MacCallister gave the thieves and murderers ample opportunity to surrender and present themselves for a fair trial. The outlaws refused to avail themselves of this prospect so graciously offered, choosing instead to test their mettle against Falcon MacCallister, believing their superior numbers to be to their advantage.

Their supposition was wrong, and in the resultant gunplay, described by witnesses to the event as “quicker than thought,” all four desperados were killed. Luke Mueller, the fifth member of the gang, was not present at the time of the aforementioned confrontation and, as of this writing, is still at large.

New York, New York

A young woman sat in the front of the hansom cab holding her baby under the blankets and against her body to protect it from the cold night air of early spring. Though her part of the cab was partially enclosed, the driver sat outside the enclosure, on a high seat above and behind her. Janelle Wellington was a strikingly pretty woman with dark hair, deep blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a smooth, olive complexion.

When the cab stopped, Janelle spoke to the driver through the hole in the roof.

“Please wait for me,” she said. “I’ll only be here for a few minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the driver answered, calling back down to her. Tying the reins off, he pulled his scarf up around his neck all the way to his ears, stuck his hands into his pockets, then hunkered down into his heavy coat to wait for his fare.

The young woman carried the baby to the front door of the brownstone, then up one flight of stairs. She knocked on the door and when it was answered, stepped inside.

“Janelle? What are you doing here? And out on a cold night like this with that baby?”

“Sue, I need to leave the baby with you for a while.”

“Over night?”

“For a while longer.”

“What is this about? What is going on?”

“You know what is going on. You know the disgrace I have brought to the family. I can’t stay here anymore, and I can’t take the baby where I’m going.”

“Janelle, what do you mean? What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m not quite sure yet where I’m going. I guess I’ll know when I get there.”

“No, don’t do this. Don’t do this to yourself, don’t do it to the family.”

“The family,” the young woman said with a derisive laugh. “After all that I have done, do you really think I could do anything more to this family? I have disgraced myself, I have disgraced Mother and Father, and I have disgraced you.”

“Don’t be silly. You haven’t disgraced me.”

Janelle’s smile became more sardonic.

“I haven’t disgraced you,” she said. “See, even you realize that I have disgraced our parents.”

“I didn’t mean that and you know it. They were upset and disappointed, yes,” her older sister agreed. “But I think it was more over what happened to you, than they were with you. They love you. We all love you, and I don’t want to see you throw your life away like this.”

Janelle sighed. “Please, just tell me you will take care of the baby. At least for a while. I need some more time, is all.”

“Of course, you know I will take care of the baby. But what about Mother and Father? Do they know you are leaving?”

“No. And please, say nothing to them until after I have left.”

“You don’t know what you are asking of me.”

“I do know. Believe me, I do know. And I know I couldn’t ask this of any other person in the world.”

“I will say nothing until after you have gone, on one condition.”

“What condition is that?”

“You must let us know where you are, and that you are safe.”

“I promise I will let you know.”

“No, not just me. You must let Mother and Father know as well. We must be assured that you are all right.”

“I will, I promise. Thank you for loving me, even after all this.”

The two embraced, then the younger woman, kissing her baby on the forehead, handed him over to her older sister. Her eyes bedimmed by tears, Janelle didn’t look back, She hurried down the stairs, then outside where she climbed into the cab.

“Where to now, miss?” the driver asked.

“Grand Central Station,” she said, barely able to get the words out.

The driver nodded, then slapped the reins against the backs of the horses. The team plodded on, the clip-clop of the hoofbeats echoing off the three-and four-story brownstone houses that fronted the street from each side.

Janelle wept silently.