Massacre of Eagles

Book 16: Eagles

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Westerns; Thrillers

Synopsis

The Greatest Western Writer Of The 21st Century Fame And The Fighting Man A long way from Montana Territory, Falcon MacCallister is back east, visiting his family, with Buffalo Bill Cody by his side. When the government asks both men to take a break from being famous to get back to fighting, Falcon and Buffalo Bill head west-into a hornet's nest of trouble. A renegade Indian has followed his vision of bloodshed on a once peaceable territory. A land baron uses the slaughter as an excuse to clear out a valley. And the U.S. Army, trying to keep the peace, is backstabbed by a traitor. Now, Falcon and Cody are headed into this beautiful, vast and deadly land. A place where history, spirits, greed, and guns have come together-and hot lead is roaring like a prairie fire. . .

Release date: January 28, 2011

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 337

Sample

From the New York Register Journal:


By the use of clever stage props, dirt, horses, cattle, cowboys and Indians, Madison Square Garden was transformed into a part of the American West. Falcon MacCallister and his brother and sister, the twins Andrew and Rosanna, were among the many spectators enjoying the Buffalo Bill Wild West Exhibition. So far the show had portrayed Pony Express mail carriers galloping to deliver the mail, leaping off one horse and instantly mounting another to continue at breakneck speed around the arena; Indians setting fire to and attacking a burning cabin from which heroic settlers would escape just in the nick of time; and stagecoach robbers who were fought off by the bravery of the shotgun guard and armed passengers.

They also had cowboys bringing a cattle stampede under control, and it was during the stampede that something went wrong. A bull broke out of the thundering herd to come rushing toward the audience.

“Oh, isn’t it wonderful how they have trained the bull to do that?” Rosanna said, her voice tinged with excitement.

When the bull first broke loose from the herd, Falcon, like Rosanna and everyone else in the audience, believed it to be a part of the show. But looking around, he saw that there was no cowboy in position to be able to stop the runaway, and the reaction of the nearest cowboys to the bull clearly indicated that this was unplanned. There was a mounted New York policeman nearby but he was for crowd control only, and Falcon could tell by the expression on his face that he also thought the runaway bull was part of the show.

With no time to spare, Falcon got up from his seat, climbed onto the railing and, pushing the policeman out of the saddle, leaped onto his horse. He wished he was on Lightning, but he had no choice. This police horse was all he had. He raced across the arena toward the bull.

Behind him the policeman blew his whistle in anger. “Stop that man! Stop him! He stole my horse!”

The crowd, still believing that it was all part of the show, cheered in approval and applauded as Falcon, bent low over the horse’s neck, urged the animal into what was, without doubt, the fastest it had ever run. Falcon measured the distance between the bull and the crowd and between himself and the bull, and realized that if he was going to catch up with it, it would be at the last possible second.

As he drew alongside the bull, he could smell its pungent odor and see the fear, confusion, and anger in the bull’s eyes. Falcon leaned over the bull, then leaped from the saddle, grabbing the bull by the horns as he did so. He dug his heels into the ground as he twisted the bull’s neck, throwing the animal over onto its side.

With the bull safely on the ground, Falcon quickly regained his feet, then swung back into the saddle of the horse that had stopped running and was now waiting for him. The bull, its initial charge stopped, got back to its feet, shook its head and snorted a few times. By now a couple of the cowboys from the show had come over and herded the bull, docile now, back to rejoin the others.

Buffalo Bill himself rode up to Falcon’s side and, reaching over, grabbed Falcon’s hand and lifted it up into the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted. “The cowboy who performed this thrilling rescue for your viewing pleasure is Falcon MacCallister!”

The crowd gave Falcon a thundering ovation.

“You are acting as if you had planned that,” Falcon said quietly.

“Why not?” Cody replied, still smiling and speaking without moving his lips. “It was a great act.”

Falcon laughed, shook his head, then rode the horse back to the policeman who, while angered by the “theft” a few minutes earlier, had now joined the crowd in applauding him.

Falcon swung down from the saddle and handed the reins to the police officer.

“Thank you for the loan of the horse,” he said.

“Well, I didn’t exactly lend the horse to you,” the policeman replied with a big smile. “But I’m glad Harry was here for you.”

“Harry, is it?” Falcon asked. He rubbed Harry behind one of his ears. “You did well, Harry.”

“I’ll say he did. I never knew he had that in him.”

“Treat him well.”

“He’ll get an extra ration of oats tonight,” the policeman promised.

“He’s a good horse,” Falcon said.

“And you are a good man,” the policeman responded. He stuck his hand out and Falcon shook it.

The waiters at Delmonico’s Restaurant on Number Two William Street vied for the opportunity to serve the handsome assemblage of guests in the private dining room on the upper floor. All the diners were well known personalities. There was Buffalo Bill Cody, easily recognizable by his flowing blond hair and his neatly trimmed moustache and goatee. In addition there were the MacCallister twins, Andrew and Rosanna, who were famous show business personalities. Andrew had what the newspapers called “rugged good looks,” handsome enough to play the most romantic lead, but manly enough to play the most gallant hero. Of Rosanna it was said that she had discovered the fountain of youth, for her skin was smooth and flawless, her dark hair luxuriant, and her eyes ablaze with still-youthful beauty.

The fourth diner was Falcon MacCallister, brother to the show-business twins. Falcon was over six feet tall with wide shoulders, a flat stomach, and powerful arms. Someone once described his face as “not weathered, but cured.” It bore a permanent tan, and his eyes had the suggestion of a squint as if he were outside in the sun. Unlike Buffalo Bill, Falcon wore his hair, which was the color of sun-ripened wheat, cut short.

The four were here at Delmonico’s because after the performance Buffalo Bill had insisted they be his guests. There was an empty chair available and when Rosanna asked who it was for, Cody was rather circumspect. Then, about fifteen minutes later, the mysterious guest arrived.

Cody’s guest was shorter than any of the other three men present, slender of build, with dark, piercing eyes and a sweeping moustache, but no beard.

“Friends, may I present Colonel Prentiss Ingraham? At least, that is the name he is going by today. He has also been called, at various times in his life, Dr. Noel Dunbar, Dangerfield Burr, and Colonel Leon Laffite. Of course, you can understand that, when you realize what an unsavory life he has lived. While training for the noble profession of medicine, Ingraham left school to become a soldier for the South. He was wounded and captured at Fort Hudson, but escaped only to be wounded for a second time at the Battle of Franklin, Tennessee.

“Then after the war ended, Ingraham, not content to return to civilized life, traveled the world to find another war to fight. He served under Juarez in the Mexican rebels’ revolution against Maximillian, then went to Europe to fight against the Turks, was in the Austrian army during the Austro-Prussian War, and was in Egypt with the Khedive’s army, then was a colonel in the Cuban army, and if that isn’t enough, he was also a captain in the Cuban navy. While fighting for the Cubans against Spain, he was captured and sentenced to death. But as they say, only the good die young, so once again he escaped.”

“Why, thank you, Cody. Never have I received a more eloquently delivered introduction,” Ingraham said, speaking in a soft Southern accent.

“But, surely, none of that can be true?” Rosanna said. “Have you really lived such a dangerous life?”

“I have had a terrible case of wanderlust for my entire life,” Ingraham said. “But I’m afraid my friend, Bill Cody, is making it sound much more romantic than it really is.”

“Romantic? Not a word of it,” Cody said with a scoffing sound. “Seedy you are, and seedy I report. And why, you may ask, would I be friends with such a seamy character?” Cody asked.

“Are you really going to tell them, Cody?” Ingraham asked. “I think they could accept a rebel, a soldier of fortune, and an escaped convict. But if you tell them the worst of my sins, they will rise as one and walk away from here.”

Rosanna laughed. “Surely it can’t be that bad. What sin is it?”

“Will you tell them, Ingraham, or shall I?” Cody asked.

Ingraham made a courtly bow, then held his hand out toward Cody. “I defer to my esteemed and famous friend, Buffalo Bill Cody.”

“I am famous,” Cody said, “because this gentleman made me famous. Indeed it was he who coined the moniker Buffalo Bill.” Cody looked at Falcon. “He made you famous as well, my friend. Because, to date, he has written over three hundred literary masterpieces,” Cody said, then he chuckled. “At least, that is how he refers to them, though the rest of the world considers them dime novels.”

“Wait a minute,” Falcon said. “You mean I have you to thank for those awful dime novels about me?”

“You may call them awful, Mr. MacCallister,” Ingraham said. “But the rest of the world calls them heroic.” He began to recite as if on stage. “With the reins of his horse held tightly in his teeth, a flaming six-gun in each hand dispensing death to the desperados, our hero hurled a challenge that brought fear to the heart of the evildoer. ‘Dangerous Dan, your day is done!’” Ingraham smiled. “I particularly like the alliteration of the letter ‘D.’ Do you recognize that passage?”

“Do I recognize it? No, should I?” Falcon asked.

Ingraham chuckled. “No, I suppose not. I seriously doubt that anyone with your sterling qualities would ever be impressed by, or even read, stories that glorify your name. But what I just quoted came directly from that stirring novel of derring-do: Falcon MacCallister and the Robbers of the Deadwood Stage.”

“If he had the reins of his horse clenched between his teeth, how could he yell?” Andrew asked.

Ingraham stopped to think about it for a moment, then he burst out laughing.

“An excellent point, my good man,” Ingraham said. “A most excellent point indeed.”

“You were at the Wild West Exhibition today, Ingraham. What did you think of the thrilling new act that I added? Did you see the way Falcon, who for all intents and purposes was naught but a spectator, suddenly appeared from the crowd to wrestle to the ground a runaway bull?”

Ingraham laughed. “You may have had it planned, Cody, but something tells me that Falcon was not in on the plan.”

“Maybe not,” Cody agreed. “But knowing Falcon as well as I do, I knew that were I but to present him an opportunity to be heroic he would react exactly as he did.”

“Surely you aren’t saying that you arranged for the bull to break away, are you?” Rosanna asked.

Cody held up his finger. “That, my dear, will forever be a closely guarded secret. But, what about it, Falcon? Would you care to join my exhibition?”

“Thank you, Cody, but I’ll pass. Andrew and Rosanna are the two show-business luminaries in the MacCallister family.”

“And luminaries they are,” Cody agreed. He glanced over toward Falcon’s siblings. “I loved your performance in The Lady and the Soldier.”

“Thank you,” Andrew said.

“No, not you, Andrew, I was talking to Rosanna,” Cody said, and all laughed.

“Cody, what is the latest on your town?” Ingraham asked.

“Your town? What town?” Andrew asked.

“Haven’t you heard?” Ingraham asked. “There is to be a town in Wyoming Territory named Buffalo Bill.”

“Really?” Rosanna asked. “My, how wonderful!”

“It isn’t to be called Buffalo Bill,” Cody said. “It is to be called Cody, if it comes about.”

“It will happen,” Ingraham said. “Thornton Beck is behind it, and he is a man who accomplishes what he starts.”

“Thornton Beck, the financier in Wyoming Territory?” Falcon asked.

“Yes. He has already developed three towns in Wyoming Territory: Sheridan, Buffalo, and Beckton. He wants to develop a town in the Bighorn Basin, along the Stinking Water River between Heart Mountain and Cedar Mountain, very near Yellowstone. Do you know the area there?”

“Yes, I know the area quite well,” Falcon replied.

“I suppose some people might think it a bit vain of me to be interested in a town that bears my name, but I’m sure you understand the attraction, as you have a town named after you.”

“Actually, MacCallister is named after my father, not me,” Falcon said.

“Mr. Cody?” a young man called, stepping into the room then.

Looking toward the visitor, they saw that he was wearing a cap with a shield stating that he was an employee of Western Union.

“Yes, I am Bill Cody,” Cody said.

The young man smiled. “I know you, Buffalo Bill. I would recognize you anywhere,” he said. “I’ve seen your Wild West Show.”

“It is an exhibition, my good man,” Cody said. “It is not a show. A show is make-believe, whereas an exhibition is real.”

“Yes, sir, well, it’s real all right. Oh, I have a telegram for you.”

Cody took the telegram, and tipped the young man a dollar.

“Gee, thanks, Buffalo Bill!” the young man said, his smile growing even broader at the large tip.

Cody opened the telegram and took a moment to read it. “It is from General Miles,” he said. “He wants me to come to Chicago.”

“Why?” Falcon asked.

“Here, you read it,” Cody replied, handing the telegram to Falcon. “You may read it aloud, if you wish.”

Falcon began to read.

“There is a movement among the Indians that they call Spirit Talking. This is a dangerous new development and should it get out of hand, I am concerned that another Indian war might be in the offing. It is also my belief that Sitting Bull is behind the unrest. As you are familiar with the badlands and have befriended Sitting Bull, request you visit me soonest at my headquarters in Chicago. Respectfully, Nelson Miles, General, Commanding Department of the Missouri.”

“My,” Ingraham said. “That certainly sounds like an invitation to adventure.”

Falcon handed the telegram back to Cody. “Are you going to see him?” Falcon asked.

“I don’t know,” Cody said. “He said he wants to see me as soon as possible, but I have one more week of the show remaining in New York. What do you think, Falcon? Have you ever heard of this Spirit Talking movement the general mentions?”

“I have heard of it, yes,” Falcon said.

“Do you think, as General Miles does, that there may be an Indian uprising because of it?”

“A general uprising? No, I don’t think so,” Falcon said. “There are some renegades causing problems, but nothing on the order of a full-scale Indian war.”

“I think you are right,” Cody said. “And even if were true, Sitting Bull wouldn’t have anything to do with it. As you well know, Sitting Bull was, for a short time, a member of my Wild West Exhibition. I got to know him very well, and I have a great deal of respect and admiration for him. He told me that it came to him in a spirit dream that the Indians and the White Men must live in peace, and that it is the responsibility of the Indians to adapt to our ways.”

“Do you believe that?” Andrew asked.

“The real question is, does he believe that?” Cody replied. “And because it came to him in a spirit dream, I think yes, he does believe it. From what I know of Sitting Bull, he gives great credence to the power of visions and dreams.”

“Yes, and it may well be that is exactly what has Miles worried,” Falcon said. “As you say, Sitting Bull is known to be a person who believes in talking with spirits, and as this new movement is called Spirit Talking, it is easy to see how General Miles may have made the connection.”

“But it’s not the same thing,” Cody said.

“No, it is not the same thing. However, once something like this gets started, it tends to develop a life of its own, so it is important to get it stopped before it gets started,” Falcon said. “I know you haven’t asked for my opinion, but I think you should suspend the show for now, and go see General Miles just as quickly as you can pack your clothes and catch the next train.”

“All right, I’ll do that if you will come with me,” Cody said. “General Miles holds you in high regard. I know he would like to see you, and I would like you with me when I meet with him.”

“I’ll come with you. I was about to start back anyway, and it has been a while since I’ve seen General Miles, so it would be nice to see him again.”

“So you are saying there is absolutely no possibility that there will be any Indian trouble?” Ingraham asked.

“I wouldn’t say absolutely,” Falcon said. “There will always be a few Indians who, for excitement or some perceived injustice, are willing to go off the reservation and cause trouble.”

“I hope so.”

“You hope so? What a strange thing for you to say,” Rosanna said, and she and the others looked at Ingraham with equal surprise.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Ingraham said. “I certainly would not want another incident like what happened to Custer. But a little excitement would be welcome and, as you know, I live for excitement.”

It was just after sunup and Running Elk left his tipi to walk out onto an overlook where he could view the mountains around him. Though it was late spring, the higher peaks were still covered with snow. Interspersed with the snow-covered peaks were the slab-sided cliffs rising a thousand feet or more into the sky. At the lower ranges were the sage-covered mountains that lay in ridges and rolls, marked here and there by patches of light and shadow from the early morning sun. On the lower elevations of the treeless mountains, elk were grazing.

Down in the valley he could see, sparkling silver in the sun, the Meeteetsee River. Alongside the river was a small herd of antelope, and sneaking up on them, a wolf was hunting his morning meal.

Today, Gray Antelope and Howling Wolf were going hunting. Running Elk would have gone with them had they asked, but they did not. He had not been hunting since returning from the white man’s school, and he missed it, but he knew it was not his place to invite himself.

When Running Elk was back East attending Carlisle Indian School, they changed his name from Running Elk to Steve Barr, and they told him and the other students that the Indian ways were bad. They said he must get civilized and be like the white man. While he was there he wore white man’s clothes, cut his hair as a white man, ate white man’s food, went to the white man’s church, and spoke the language of the white man. If any of the students were ever overheard speaking their native tongue, they were severely punished.

The books Running Elk learned to read told how bad the Indians had been to the white men. They made no distinctions among the Indians as to what tribes were friendly and supportive of the white man and what tribes were enemies. Running Elk was Absaroka. The Absaroka were called Crow by the white man, and though most of the Crow were in Montana, many had settled in the Big Horn Basin just outside the newly designated Yellowstone National Park. The Crow were a Siouan language tribe, but they maintained an identity beyond t. . .