Song of Eagles (9 page)

Falcon almost laughed at the expression on Dick Brewer's face as he and the Kid rode up to the Rio Feliz ranch house. Brewer was sitting on the front porch drinking coffee and smoking when they came within the light from several lanterns on the porch supports.

He jumped up and ran to the door. “Mr. Tunstall, come quick! It's the Kid, and he's got a whole passel of bodies with him!”

Tunstall came to the door, pipe in hand, and gave Falcon a quizzical look when he saw the horses with dead men thrown over the saddles strung out behind him.

“Good evening, Mr. MacCallister. You and the Kid have some trouble?”

Falcon smiled, thinking Tunstall was just like all the other men from England he had met . . . aloof, imperturbable, and prone to understatement. Well, he would beat him at his own game.

“Good evening, John,” Falcon replied as he dismounted. “No, no trouble. Why do you ask?”

Tunstall took the pipe from his mouth and pointed it at Diablo. “I see you've wrapped your kerchief around your horse's ear, and I notice a tear in your right trouser leg. I suspect there's been foul play of some sort.”

Falcon laughed. No one could best the British at being laconic.

“Well, John, I see what you mean. These men,” Falcon said, pointing over his shoulder at the bodies on the horses, “were rustling some of your cattle. They had the misfortune to try and do it in front of the Kid and me.”

The Kid swung his leg over the saddle horn and jumped to the ground, eyes bright with excitement.

“These galoots're part of Jesse Evans's gang, boss. He was with the rustlers and seemed to be callin' the shots.”

Tunstall nodded, thoughtfully. “And Evans got away?”

“Yes,” Falcon said, “along with two or three of his men. They weren't too happy about the welcome the Kid and I gave them.”

“Dick, would you get Juan and some of the boys to take care of . . . this mess, please? And have Carlos come and take a look at Mr. MacCallister's horse's ear, if you would.”

“Yes, sir,” Brewer replied, looking at the Kid and smiling.

Falcon saw the Kid return the smile. He remembered the Kid telling him that he and Brewer had become very good friends over the past couple of weeks and had taken to spending their off days together, fishing and sparking the ladies of nearby towns.

“Falcon, why don't you and the Kid come into the house? Dinner is ready, and Marguerite will be very disappointed if we let it get cold,” Tunstall said.

As they walked in he added, “I've asked Dick Brewer to join us, if you don't mind. I've some ranch business to discuss with you, and he can help apprise you of the situation we're facing here.”

The four of them sat down to a huge feast of enchiladas, beans, steaks, sliced tomatoes, and corn on the cob. Tunstall forbade any talk of business until they had all eaten their fill.

Falcon noticed that the Kid was ravenous, and ate like he was half starved. It was a reaction to killing someone he had seen before, both in the war and afterward out west. Some men became nauseated after a gun battle, others became very hungry, while some sought out the company of women for furious lovemaking. It was as if, in the face of death, they sought somehow to reaffirm being alive, and the fact of having survived.

Falcon, for his part, felt a strange sadness at the wasting of precious life, no matter how worthless the men he killed were. The taking away of all a man was, or could ever hope to be, by pulling a trigger and ending his life was an experience he didn't much like, even if the men brought it upon themselves.

After dinner, as Tunstall called it, the men gathered in his study, where he passed out cigars and brandy to Falcon and Brewer, and lemonade and a plate of sugar cookies to the Kid.

Tunstall settled himself behind a large, oaken desk, fiddled with his pipe until he had it going to his satisfaction, then held up his brandy glass.

“I drink a toast to you, Falcon and Kid, for saving my cattle from those desperadoes led by Jesse Evans. You have my gratitude.”

Falcon drank his brandy, then lighted his cigar and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Tunstall to come to the point of the meeting.

“Falcon, I think you know some of what has been going on between the Dolan faction in Lincoln, and John Chisum and myself.”

Falcon nodded. “The way I understand it, Murphey and Dolan pretty much had things their own way here with their store and their government contracts to supply beef to the Mescalero Indian tribes until you and Chisum decided to go into competition with them.”

“That is correct. Just recently, Dolan bought out Murphey when he became despondent over the death of his previous partner, Colonel Fritz. Fritz and Murphey, a few years back, were instrumental in getting Major William Brady, who served under them in the army, elected as sheriff of Lincoln County.”

Falcon nodded. Now he understood why Brady was under obligation to the Dolan faction, and why he was a frequent guest of theirs for lunch at The Drinking Hole.

“What about the state authorities? Can you go to them for help?” Falcon asked.

Dick Brewer snorted. “Not hardly. In addition to having the sheriff under their control, the Dolan gang has widespread influence in Santa Fe, with a group known as the Santa Fe Ring. These are powerful money men who practically control the state government, especially as regards the awarding of governmental contracts.”

Tunstall paused to relight his pipe and refill his brandy glass, motioning Brewer to continue.

“Besides having the Santa Fe Ring and all its power behind him, Dolan also has the backing of the judge of the third district Warren Bristol, and the district attorney, William Rynerson.”

Falcon looked at Tunstall. “And against this group stands only yourself and John Chisum?”

Tunstall nodded. “And of course, our lawyer, Alexander McSween.”

“What about the other ranchers around here? Won't any of them stand with you?”

Tunstall shrugged. “Some will, those who've been treated bad by Dolan's store, but most are afraid that if they go up against Dolan they won't have anyone to buy their cattle, and the very low prices Dolan pays are better than nothing.”

“I see. Well, John, what is it you want from me?”

Tunstall leaned forward, his elbows on his desk. “We have an opportunity. Since Dolan bought out Murphey, he's taken John Riley, his old overseer, in as a partner and promoted Billy Matthews to his second in command. I think it is Billy Matthews who has hired Jesse Evans and his gang to raid my and Chisum's herds.”

Tunstall reached across the desk to refill Falcon's glass.

“I want you to come in with Chisum and me against these cattle thieves and help us defeat them. We need every man who is good with a gun to stand alongside us.”

Falcon shook his head. “I'm sorry, John, but this affair is none of my business.”

He held up his hand as Tunstall started to protest. “Like I say, I'm just a saloon owner, and I don't know how long I'm going to be staying in the area. But I will say this if I'm ever in a position to help you out or to make things a little more even I will do all in my power to do so.”

“Will you testify along with the Kid that it was Evans who tried to steal my cattle?”

“Absolutely. And I'll make sure Sheriff Brady arrests him for it. Perhaps if he faces enough time in jail he can be made to tell who hired him to rob you, and who he was selling the cattle to.”

“With Judge Bristol on the bench, Evans will probably never be convicted, but I guess that's about all we can do.”

Falcon stood up. “Thanks for the excellent dinner, John. I've been getting awfully tired of hotel food lately.”

“Say, Falcon, that reminds me. There is a little spread over on the Ruidosa River. The owner fell off his horse a few months back and broke his neck. His widow, Mary Smithers, has been talking about moving to town if she can find someone to lease the place. She's got a wonderful Mexican cook working for her, a cousin to my cook, Marguerite.”

Falcon smiled. “I'll certainly look into it, John. Anything's better than living in one room in a hotel.”

He walked out and found Diablo tied to the hitching rail, a white bandage on his ear.

He stepped into the stirrup and climbed into the saddle, tipping his hat.

“Adios, John. I'll see you in town tomorrow, Kid, and we can go to the sheriff and tell him about Evans.”

Though the autumn days were getting quite cool, Sheriff William Brady was sweating. Falcon thought he had never seen a man dance around a question so much.

Brady took off his hat and sleeved sweat off his forehead. “I don't think Judge Bristol will issue an arrest warrant for a man on such flimsy evidence,” he said, as he sat at his desk and avoided meeting Falcon's eyes.

Falcon glanced at the Kid, who was standing next to him and becoming angrier by the minute. He winked, trying to get the Kid to cool off and not cause any trouble. He wanted the matter to be handled as diplomatically as possible.

“Sheriff Brady, I don't believe you need a judge to sign an arrest warrant in this case. After all, you have two witnesses who saw Evans commit a crime, and known friends and associates of his were killed during said crime. According to the law, that's evidence enough for you to arrest the man and put him in jail.”

Brady shook his head. “I don't know. I'd better talk to the judge, or the district attorney, Mr. Rynerson.”

Falcon narrowed his eyes, and his voice got hard. “I can see that you are not going to do your duty, Sheriff.”

He turned to the Kid. “Come on, Kid, let's go over to the telegraph office and wire the governor's office like you suggested in the first place.”

Brady looked up, eyes wide. “Now hold on, gents. You don't have to do anything like that. I didn't say I wouldn't do it.”

The Kid spoke up from the doorway where he was standing. “Hey, Falcon, there's Evans's horse now. It's tied up down in front of Dolan's store.”

Falcon unhooked the hammer thong on his Colts.

“Come on, Kid. Let's go have a talk with Mr. Evans. I don't rightly appreciate someone shooting at us while trying to rustle cattle on my friend's ranch.”

Brady jumped to his feet. “Wait a minute! You two can't just go up and brace a man in my town. He's liable to go for his gun—”

The Kid snarled, “That's what we hope he'll do. Then we won't have to hang around waiting for you to get off your butt and do your job.”

Brady stood there for a moment, and Falcon thought he could almost hear the man thinking. He was certainly between a rock and a hard place—he knew they would kill Evans if he didn't arrest him.

Finally, he shrugged and got his hat off a rack. “All right, gentlemen. I'll put Mr. Evans under arrest. But I doubt he'll be convicted on your testimony alone.”

“Not in Judge Bristol's court. But we're going to see if we can get the U.S. Marshals to take him over to Ruidosa, to stand trial where he doesn't have so many . . . business associates,” Falcon said, enjoying the look it brought to Brady's face.

Falcon and the Kid followed the sheriff as he walked down the boardwalk to Dolan's store. When they entered they found Jesse Evans and two other men sitting at a table in the back, talking to James Dolan and John Riley.

When Evans saw Falcon and the Kid with Brady, he jumped up and grabbed for his pistol. Before he could clear leather, he found himself facing the drawn guns of both Falcon and the Kid.

Brady stepped between the men, his hands in the air. “Now hold on. Everyone just calm down.”

Dolan stood up. “What is the meaning of this intrusion, Sheriff Brady?”

“These two say they saw Jesse attempting to rustle cattle off Tunstall's ranch last night, Mr. Dolan.”

Dolan stared at Falcon, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Why, that couldn't be true,” he said. “Jesse was with me last night. We were talking business until late in the evening.”

The Kid, his voice rising, said, “You're a liar, Dolan! We killed most of his men, and the yellow-bellied coward ran for cover like a scalded dog!”

“Why you—” Evans started to say, shutting his mouth when the Kid eared back the hammer on his Colt and raised it to point directly at his face.

“Go on, you lowdown cur. Give me a reason,” the Kid said, his eyes blazing and his lips grinning.

Falcon stepped forward, a thoughtful look on his face. “I was there, Mr. Dolan, so I know you aren't telling the truth. I wonder why someone would deliberately lie to protect a cattle rustler, unless he was somehow involved in the matter himself.”

“Are you accusing me of—” Dolan started to say, until Sheriff Brady interrupted him.

“Take it easy, Mr. Dolan. I've got to arrest Jesse and take him to jail. Then, we'll let Judge Bristol decide what to do about all this.”

Dolan relaxed and sat back down at the table. “That's right, Sheriff. This is a matter best handled by the judge.”

“I'm not goin' to let him put me behind bars,” Evans said.

“Calm down, Jesse,” Dolan said. “We'll take care of this. I'm sure the judge will realize there's been some mistake made.”

“You're the one who's made the mistake, Dolan,” Falcon said. “I'm going to ride over to Ruidosa and see if I can get the U.S. Marshals to take a hand in this affair. You and your cronies on the bench and in the district attorney's office had better watch yourselves. One way or the other, justice will be done.”

As Brady took Evans's pistols from him and walked him toward the jail, Falcon and the Kid could see the sheriff talking rapidly to the gunman, no doubt telling him not to worry that the judge would let him go.

“Kid, I'm going to ride over to Ruidosa and talk to the marshals over there, and while I'm in the area I'm going to see about leasing that ranchito Mr. Tunstall told me about. You head on back to the Rio Feliz and tell John what's going on.”

“All right, Falcon. But if Brady lets Evans out of jail, I'm gonna kill him.”

“Settle down, Kid. Don't go off half-cocked. We've got the law on our side, so don't do anything foolish.”

The Kid nodded. “I'll see you when you get back.”

* * *

Falcon was disappointed to find out the U.S. Marshals wouldn't intervene in a local matter of Lincoln County unless there was obvious malfeasance at the trial. They refused to move Evans to Ruidosa, but promised that if he were let go under suspicious circumstances, they would take action.

On his way back to Fort Sumner, Falcon stopped off at the Smithers' ranch. It was a small cabin, nestled in a grove of pine trees on the very banks of the Ruidosa River. He talked to Mrs. Smithers, a middle-aged woman who looked tired and worn out from trying to run the small spread without her husband.

She agreed to rent the place to Falcon while she tried to find a buyer for it. They settled on a price, and he asked if the cook would be willing to stay and keep house and cook for him. She said she would, so the deal was struck.

Falcon accompanied Mrs. Smithers into Fort Sumner and arranged to have his clothes and personal items sent out to the ranch.

Now,
he thought,
maybe I can get back to running my saloon and doing a little gambling. I'm tired of mixing in other people's business, though it would be nice to see Dolan and his cronies brought down a notch or two.
He shook his head as he walked into The Drinking Hole. John Tunstall was a good man, but Falcon just didn't know if he was tough enough for the West, where might made right more often than not, and the rule of law was secondary to who had the upper hand.