Talons of Eagles (32 page)

“Pa,” Jamie Ian said softly. “Just as long as there are two MacCallisters or kin alive, the other ain't never goin' to be alone.”

Falcon and Ben Pardee rode into the camp. Jamie said, “Light and sit, boys. Let's plan this out . . .” He grinned. “Since this is gonna be a family affair.”

41

“Miss Kate,” a man who farmed a section of land at the far end of the valley addressed her. “Meanin' no disrespect, but we just can't let your man and your sons carry the whole burden of fightin' this crazy man, Layfield. Jamie Ian MacCallister and you and them few who come with you to this spot, why, y'all pioneered this land. You carved a garden spot out of the wilderness. Y'all made it easy for the rest of us. I been elected spokesman to tell you this, ma'am. Now, this is what we plan on doin' ...”

* * *

Rosanna and Andrew and troupe had arrived in the boom town of Denver and were staying at the finest hotel in the city. They were all anxious to get the shows over with and head for MacCallister's Valley. It had been years since they'd seen their parents. They had lots to talk about and new babies to see and lots of mama's good homecooked meals to eat. Kate had written them both, and Ellen Kathleen had written James. Everybody was looking forward to a big eatin' on the grounds and to some fine entertainment from world renowned professionals.

And Jamie and sons and Little Ben Pardee—among others that Jamie was not yet aware of—aimed to see that everybody got their wishes . . . everybody, that is, except for Colonel Aaron Layfield.

* * *

“There's a whole passel of folks paralleling us, Pa,” Morgan said, after being gone all of one morning. “But I couldn't get close enough to see just who they might be. They're stayin' to the flats as much as possible.”

“How many folks?”

“ 'Bout fifty, I think.”

Jamie thought about that. “The army?”

“No. And I'm sure of that. And I'm also sure they're not outlaws, either.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“I went into one of their camp sites. It was all cleaned and tidied up. Stone fire rings was careful laid and the fires careful put out. They even dug latrines, Pa. And filled them in when they was done.”

“You're right. That was no outlaw camp.”

“What do we do, Pa?”

“Nothing. Layfield's camp is a day and a half away, and I want this issue settled once and for all. I don't know what those other men are doing out here, but they're staying a distance away and leaving us alone. We'll do the same for them. Let's go.”

* * *

“Jamie MacCallister and a few others are coming, Colonel,” Layfield was informed.

“Good, good!” Aaron Layfield beamed, rubbing his hands together. “Have the men get into position.”

“They're coming under a white flag, sir.”

Layfield thought about that, his smile fading. “Very well. I shall honor a white flag of truce. Let them enter the camp.”

Layfield carefully dressed in his best uniform and laid out his plumed hat. He pulled on his freshly blacked boots and buckled on his sword. He brushed his hair and combed his beard and stepped out of his tent. He walked to the edge of the camp and waited for Jamie Ian MacCallister.

At last! Layfield thought. I've got him at last. And he is coming to me.

Jamie and sons and Ben Pardee rode to the edge of the camp, Jamie in the lead. He stopped about fifty feet from Layfield.

“Don't he look nice, now?” Little Ben muttered.

“Elegant,” Morgan returned the whisper.

“Colonel Layfield,” Jamie said.

“Colonel MacCallister,” Layfield returned the military title.

“I've come to talk peace,” Jamie said. “The war is over.”

“Not our war, sir. Not until one of us is dead and in the grave will it be over.”

“Why?” Jamie asked. “Why does it have to be that way?”

“Because we are enemies.”

“Colonel, the war is over and done with. Your side won. Lee surrendered. I have no reason to fight you and you have no reason to fight me.”

“Are you forgetting that you destroyed my town, Colonel MacCallister?”

“Are you forgetting that you destroyed several dozen towns in the South, Colonel Layfield?”

“That was different,” Layfield said quickly. “Oh, my, yes, sir. Much different.”

Jamie blinked at that. He stared at the man. “Different, sir? How? Why?”

Layfield smiled, then laughed; a sound without humor. “You were the enemy, sir. That's why. And because you were the enemy, you are the enemy. That's in the Bible.”

Jamie doubted that most sincerely; but he was no Bible scholar and let it pass. He also felt that attempting to argue the Bible with a man like Layfield would only add fuel to the fire. He just did not know what tact to take.

“That was quite a fight you put up in that old town, Colonel,” Layfield said. “Yes, indeed. Quite a fight. But there was something missing there.”

“Oh? What?”

“The Rebel flag, of course.”

Jamie sighed. “Sir, the war is over. It's been over almost five years. Hostilities have ceased.”

“Not for me, sir. Never for me or for those who follow me. You burned my town.”

Jamie sighed. This was getting nowhere. “Would you like for me to apologize, sir?”

Layfield slowly shook his head. “Don't be ridiculous, sir! That was war. One never apologizes for acts committed during war.”

The man is truly crazy, Jamie thought. His cinch strap is too tight. Where the hell do I go from here?

“I think we have said all there is to say to each other, Colonel MacCallister. You should withdraw now and prepare for battle.”

“Gird my loins?” Jamie asked drily.

“Quite, sir.”

“Nuttier than a pe-can pie,” Falcon muttered. “Man needs to be put in an insane asylum.”

“What's that?” Layfield shouted, his face turning crimson. “What did you say, sir?”

“I said you're nuts,” Falcon told the man. “You're holdin' the reins too tight.”

“You can't speak to me in such a manner!”

“I just did,” Falcon said. “You . . . nitwit!”

“Prepare for battle, sir!” Layfield shouted, waving his arms. Spittle oozed from one corner of his mouth. He jumped up and down and began shouting orders to his men.

“Thanks a lot, brother,” Morgan said, twisting in the saddle to look at Falcon. “Your mouth has done it again.”

“My God!” Ben Pardee said, looking at the ridges all around the little valley.

“Cease and desist, Layfield!” came the shout from above the two groups of men.

Jamie looked up. Troops of the U.S. Army cavalry lined one side. He cut his eyes to the other side, where about fifty men from his valley stood, all armed with rifles.

“You are under arrest, Colonel Layfield!” the shout came from the side of the cavalrymen. “I am Major Paul Silver, United States Army. Order your men to lay down their weapons and do so immediately.”

“Never!” Layfield shouted, pulling his sword. “I have God on my side. I shall never surrender. Death to all traitors!”

“Get ready to leave the saddle,” Jamie said. “Get behind those rocks yonder and keep your heads down. It's about to get real wild here.”

“Fire, men!” Layfield shouted. “Fire!”

“Now!” Jamie yelled, and threw himself from the saddle.

Layfield's men opened up, and the canyon thundered with gunfire as the men lining both sides returned fire.

It was a slaughter. But a carnage that Layfield miraculously survived. When the firing stopped, Layfield was still standing, turning around and around, waving his sword and shouting orders. But his orders fell on dead ears.

Jamie stood up and walked to the man, grabbing his arm and taking the sword from him. Morgan tied the man's hands behind him and sat him on the ground.

“I am a colonel!” Layfield shouted. “I cannot be treated in such a manner.”

“Hush up,” Morgan told him. “You're going to have a nice long rest, Layfield. You need it.”

“Strike this infidel dead, Lord!” Layfield screamed. “Fling a lightning bolt from the heavens with Your mighty hand and destroy this heathen!” He tried to bite Morgan, and Morgan jerked his hand back just in time.

“This guy is nuttier than a tree full of squirrels, Colonel,” Ben Pardee said, just as the men from the valley and the cavalrymen rode up.

“Colonel MacCallister,” the officer in charge said, dismounting. “I am Major Silver.” He offered his hand and Jamie took it. “We tried to get here in time to arrest these men peacefully. But we were delayed.”

“You got here just in time, Major.” He looked at the men from his valley. “What can I say, men?”

“You don't have to say anything, Mister MacCallister,” Minister Powell said. “We were only too glad to help.”

“I'll have President Lincoln court-martial you for high treason against the United States government and hang you all!” Layfield shouted.

“Somebody needs to tell him that Lincoln is dead,” Jamie Ian remarked.

“More importantly,” Major Silver said, “somebody needs to tell him that the war is over and the nation is healing.”

“Charge!” Layfield screamed. “Slay the infidels. Kill the slavers. Blow, bugler, blow!”

“The bastard is crazy!” a sergeant said, after jumping to one side to avoid being bitten on the leg by Layfield.

Layfield had toppled over to one side and was thrashing about on the rocky ground, kicking his legs. He began singing about John Brown's body.

Jamie looked at Layfield. “What will you do with him, Major Silver?”

“I'm sure he'll be confined to a lunatic asylum. If he doesn't have a heart attack before we get him there. Excuse me for a moment, sir. Sergeant Bowren! Get the surgeon up here and dose this man with laudanum. Keep him quieted down for his own safety.”

“Yes, sir.”

Reverend Powell touched Jamie on the arm. “Let's go home, sir. We have much to do before the performers arrive.”

Jamie smiled at the smaller man. The reverend was carrying a rifle, and Jamie had no doubt but that he had used it. “Let's do that, Charles.” He leaned down and whispered, “But I still think the Indian way makes more sense.”

The reverend looked stunned for a moment; then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I'll convert you yet, Jamie Ian MacCallister! You just wait and see.”

As Ross LeBeau, now going under the name of Russell Clay, sat in his expensive box seat and watched the performers on the stage, he was filled with a strange sort of sadness. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.

He remembered Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister with a smile. He would have recognized them anywhere. And, he was forced to admit, they were superb performers; much more talented than he expected them to be.

He thought of his own children: Garrison and Chastity, the boy and the girl he would never see again. That, he realized with a start, was the reason for his sudden sadness. Paternal instincts rearing up quite unexpectedly. He missed the boy and the girl. That was the simple truth Ross was forced to admit. They were a part of him that could not be denied.

He had detectives working to find his sister's whereabouts; but that was going to take some time. Months, probably. A bitter smile creased his lips as he reflected on the past. A house of cards, Anne had called their lives. Well, Ross thought with a sigh, that was a very apt description. A house of cards.

Roscoe Jefferson, who had changed his name to Ross LeBeau, and who now lived under the name of Russell Clay, sat alone in his box at the theater and silently wept as the performers on the stage below went into their grand finale to the sounds of thunderous applause from the packed house.

* * *

Hundreds of miles to the west, Andrea Petri sat in her grand home, surrounded by expensive and lovely possessions, and was alone with her thoughts. Her ruminations, however, were not nearly so gentle as her brother's. She did love her daughter Page, in her own strange way, and for a time, she had felt some affection for Ben Franklin Washington. But no more. That quarter-breed had very nearly ruined things for her; and Anne was not the type of person to forget and forgive.

Now she had learned that Ben Franklin Washington was continuing his snooping around Richmond. “You're a fool,” the woman who now called herself Andrea Petri muttered. “And unless you back off, it's going to cost you most dearly—your life, you idiot. I missed once, I shall not miss the next time.”

The authorities had ruled that Anne Woodville had died in the tragic fire that had consumed Ravenswood Plantation. It was plain for all to see that two men tried to rob Mrs. Woodville and she, although mortally wounded, had managed to shoot them both. During the struggle, lamps had been overturned and the great house set on fire.

Ben Franklin Washington didn't believe a word of it. It was just too pat. First his Uncle Ross mysteriously disappeared, then his birth mother died in a fire. Nonsense!

He tried to speak to some of the Negroes who worked the land. But they rebuked him coldly.

“You want me to talk bad about the lady who done give me this parcel of land I'm workin' clear and free and taxes paid,” one man told him. “You must be some sort of fool, boy! I don't even know what you is, much less who you is. But you shore actin' like some goddamn ignorant swamp nigger! Why you want to stir up trouble and woe agin the memory of that grand lady? I knowed Georgia Washington. Her last boy-child died when he was just a young'un. Right out yonder in them swamps.” He waved a hand. “Drowned in the black water. Now you come 'round here tellin' folks that you be he? Damn, boy, you a fool! You bes' carry your breed ass back north. 'Cause you shore ain't gonna git no one 'round here to put no badmouth on Mrs. Woodville. Now git on out of here. I got work to do.”

Ben Franklin Washington returned to Boston, but he was more determined than ever to learn the truth. One way or the other, by hook or crook, he would start digging up bones, so to speak, and uncover the truth.

And he no longer gave a damn whose apple cart got upset.

* * *

Jamie rode back with the men from his valley. For the first time in years he was at peace with himself and the world, and it was a very strange feeling. So far as he knew, he had not a single enemy left in the world—at least not that he could think of.

He had some good years left him, a few more anyway, and now he and Kate could grow old together, side by side and peacefully.

As he rode, with the company of good and loyal friends all around him, Jamie again thought that he had everything any man could ever hope for. He and Kate had their health, nine kids who were all as fertile as any bottom land in the country, more grandkids and great-grandkids than he could count—much less call their names—and ample time to sit back and take it easy and enjoy life.

Lord knows, Jamie thought, Kate has sure earned some quiet times with her man staying close to hearth and home. He'd been gone months at a time scouting for the government, then almost four years off in the war. Tell the truth, he was looking forward to some quiet times with Kate.

Falcon had put off his marriage to Marie until the trouble was all over and his brother and sister came to the valley. Now that was set for next month.

Jamie smiled, thinking that it was about time they got married, for Falcon had already fathered two kids out of Marie, twins, a boy and a girl. An event that Falcon had wisely kept from his mother for almost a year. Indians had told Jamie, but he had kept his silence, knowing that Kate would fly off the handle when she learned of it. Which she did, just a few weeks back, and she let her feelings be known to Falcon in no uncertain terms.

“But, Ma,” Falcon had protested. “Me and Marie was married in the Cheyenne way!”

Kate had stamped her little foot, said, “Shit!” and grabbed her son's ear and damn near twisted it off. Falcon had done so much hollerin' half the town turned out to see if someone hadn't got themselves all tangled up with a mountain lion.

“You go get the pulpit-pounder, Ma!” Falcon yelled. “Me and Marie will stand up and be married in front of God and everybody. Just please turn a-loose of my damn ear!”

Kate did, then promptly grabbed the other ear. “Don't you swear in front of me, boy!”

“Lord have mercy!” Falcon hollered, towering over his mother.

Jamie had beat it off the front porch when Falcon had told his mother about the twins. He'd already ridden to the village to see them, and knew at first glance they were Falcon's kids all right. Both had dark hair, fair skin, and very pale blue eyes.

“Boy,” his dad had told Falcon, “I don't know how you're gonna break this news to your ma, but when you do, you leave me out of it.”

“I was kinda hopin' you'd sorta, ah . . .”

“You want me to tell her?”

“Ah . . . yeah, Pa. As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Hell, no!”

As they rode along toward home, Jamie cut his eyes to Falcon. “How's your ear, boy?”

“My what, Pa?” Then he flushed, remembering. “Aw, Pa,” he said with a grin. “It's all right. To be no bigger than a minute, Ma sure has some strength, don't she?”

Jamie laughed and rode on ahead. Falcon was a good boy, but he could be as wild as the wind. Marie though, both he and Kate hoped, would settle him down. Falcon would be the last of their kids to marry. The last eagle to really leave the nest. Jamie recalled a conversation he and Kate had 'bout a month back.

Jamie had pointed to a couple of blond-headed, blue-eyed youngsters walking past their home, a boy and a girl. “Now those have to be MacCallisters, Kate, but damned if I know who they belong to.”

Kate had laughed. “They're Pat and Joleen's kids, Jamie. Number forty and forty-one.”

“Forty and forty-one what?”

“Grandchildren, Jamie. Our grandchildren.”

“Jesus Christ!” Jamie muttered. “Don't those kids of ours ever get out of bed?”

Kate started naming names until Jamie's head began aching. He finally got out of his chair and went for a walk. He'd never heard so damn many names in all his life. Walking didn't help much: seemed like every other person in town, grown-up and kid alike, had blond hair and blue eyes. And nearly half the kids called him grandpa.

When he had finished his walk and finally returned to the porch and sat down in his chair, Kate had said, “Look at it this way, Jamie: there will be someone to take care of us in our old age.”

“Yeah,” Jamie replied drily. “Providing we can remember their names.”