Rage of Eagles (13 page)

Terri missed her wildly thrown punch and fell off balance. Angie seized that opportunity to slap her across the face. Terri screamed and the horses went into a panic. The Silver Dollar Kid's horse reared up and the Kid hit the ground, dumping him right in the middle of a huge pile of fresh horse crap . . . and that horse must have been suffering from a slight bowel problem: The pile was very large and wet.

“Oh, God!” the Kid hollered, as his hands went wrist-deep into the pile and his butt splattered into the mess. “Oh, phew!”

Terri grabbed Angie and tried to throw her to the ground but Angie was too strong. She broke free and popped Terri on the side of the face with a small hard right fist.

Terri screamed and Miles's horse began bucking and pitching and snorting. “Whoa, damnit!” the rancher hollered.

Miles grabbed for the saddlehorn, missed, and went sailing off the hurricane deck, landing on his butt on the ground.

Terri managed to land one punch on Angie's cheek, but it was a glancing blow and did little except further enrage the woman. Angie hollered and swung a fist, connecting solidly with Terri's jaw and knocking her to the ground. Angie straddled Terri and began pounding her face.

“By God!” Miles yelled. “I'll not tolerate that.” He jumped to his boots and ran to his daughter's assistance.

Lars had sat his saddle for a moment, just looking at the melee. Then he slowly turned his horse and rode off without a change of expression. He had one thought on his mind, and this was not the time to act on it.

Miles grabbed Angie's shoulders and tried to pull her away from his daughter. Martha yelled out her concern and John put a hard hand on Miles's shoulder and spun him around, giving him a solid shot to the jaw with a work-hardened fist that knocked Miles to the ground.

“All right, by God!” Miles hollered, crawling to his hands and knees. “I should have done this a long time ago.”

“Get up and do it, you son of a bitch!” John yelled.

John was about ten years older than Miles, but unlike Miles, John had never stopped doing hard brutal work every day of his life. He was in excellent physical shape, while Miles had grown soft.

Falcon had stepped away from the fighting, keeping an eye on the Kid. But the Kid was busy at a watering trough, concerned only with getting the horseshit off of him. Right now, he was doing a dandy job of spreading it all over himself.

“Yuck!” the Kid hollered, as the crap seemed to grow on his hands and forearms.

Angie and Terri were both cussing and duking it out, as were their fathers.

The mountain men left their hiding places to stand and stare in disbelief at the goings-on.

“Oh, for Heaven's sake!” Martha yelled at her husband and daughter.

Miles was huffing and puffing while John appeared to be enjoying himself. He was certainly getting the better of the younger man, landing lefts and rights on Miles's face.

Lars had completely disappeared from sight, riding slowly back to the road that would either take him to town or to the Snake ranch. He had not looked around once during his slow departure.

“By God, I'll teach you a lesson with my bare hands,” Miles puffed, swinging at John and missing.

“Well, you're doin' a piss-poor job of it,” John told him, just a split second before smacking his once best friend and longtime neighbor in the mouth and busting his lip.

Miles yelled and bored in, swinging both fists and hitting nothing but air.

John sidestepped Miles's charge and stuck out a boot, tripping the man and sending him sprawling to the ground. Miles ate a little dirt and came up roaring like an angry grizzly. He charged at John and grabbed the man in a bear hug, each of them going hard to the ground, kicking and cussing and yelling and spitting and trying to hit the other, neither of them succeeding in doing any damage.

Angie and Terri were standing toe-to-toe and slugging it out, cussing each other.

Martha had walked over to stand beside Falcon, a very disgusted look on her face.

Jimmy and his little puppy were down by the creek, playing, unaware that anything except conversation was going on by the corral.

“This is positively disgraceful!” Martha said.

“That's certainly one word for it,” Falcon agreed.

Angie and Terri both stepped in a puddle of water and lost their balance, both of them hitting the ground. Falcon seized that moment to grab Angie by the neck of her dress and haul her away, physically slinging her in the direction of her mother. Terri crawled to her feet and Falcon pointed a finger at her.

“It's over,” he warned her. “Settle down.”

Terri's nose was bleeding, one lip was puffy, and her hair was all a mess. But she was game. She very bluntly told Falcon what he could do—which was impossible—and charged him. She slammed into the man, knocking him to one side. Falcon tripped and went sprawling to the ground. Terri stepped all over him in her wild charge to get to Angie and the two women went at it again.

“Whore!” yelled Terri.

“Slut!” yelled Angie.

“Well, the hell with it!” Falcon said, crawling to his feet.

John and Miles had lost their six-shooters, Angie had propped her rifle up against the corral, and Terri's pistol was lying in a big pile of horse crap. There was no danger of anyone starting any gunplay.

Dan Carson had followed Lars when he rode off. He returned and told Big Bob Marsh, “Lars is gone. Headin' into town. We'll not see him again this day. What's happenin' here?”

“Craziness,” Big Bob replied. “I reckon the best thing we can do is just let them fight until they're plumb wore out.”

Falcon had crawled into the corral, putting the corral bars between him and the combatants.

Martha had walked back to the house and slammed the front door in disgust.

The four participants in the free-for-all were still at it, but rapidly running out of steam.

The Kid had removed his gunbelt, hanging it on a peg and doing his best to clean all the crap off his hands, arms, and jeans. He had taken off his shirt, which he had managed to smear quite liberally with horseshit.

He wadded up his shirt and turned to stuff it into his saddlebags when he noticed the six mountain men, all armed with rifles, all looking at him. The Kid smiled rather weakly and held out his hands wide, signaling that he wanted no trouble at this time.

Mustang walked over and gathered up the Kid's guns, stuffing them into his saddlebags and buckling the flap securely.

John took that time to give Miles a solid shot to the jaw and Miles went down in a heap, not quite out, but very close.

Terri and Angie were also running out of steam, but of the two, Terri had fared the worst: One eye was closing, her nose was bleeding, and her mouth was all puffy. Angie gave her one more good pop to the jaw and the woman went down on her butt. This time she stayed there.

“That's it,” Falcon said, stepping out of the corral and motioning for the others to join in. Together, Falcon and Big Bob and the others managed to get Terri and Miles on their boots and get between the Baileys and the Gilmans and keep them separated.

“Get them on their horses and get them out of here,” Falcon told the others.

“I'll kill you, you bitch!” Terri squalled.

“You've not heard the last from me, John,” Miles warned.

“Anytime you want to really settle this, Miles,” John told him, “just let me know and we'll stand up and face each other with guns.”

“I just might do that, by God.”

“Anytime,” John told him. “Now get off my property and don't ever come back. I might just decide to shoot you on sight.”

Miles cursed the man under his breath and managed to get into the saddle. Puma had shucked all the cartridges out of his pistol and stuck it back into Miles's holster. Stumpy had done the same with Terri's pistol.

The Kid had gotten his crap-smeared behind into the saddle and was waiting patiently.

Angie came to her father's side and put an arm around his waist. She was a mess, but not near the mess she'd left Terri. Father and daughter stood and watched Miles, Terri, and the Silver Dollar Kid ride off. John had a lump on one side of his jaw and a busted lip, but other than that, he was unhurt.

“The fat's in the fire now, folks,” Kip said. “From now on, it'll be shootin', not fists.”

“You're probably right about that, Kip,” John said, then grinned. “But damn, that sure was fun!”

“John, Angie!” Martha called from the front door. “You get yourselves in here and let me clean you up. And I mean, right now! Kip, you get down to the creek and see about Jimmy.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Kip said, and vacated the scene promptly.

Laughing, arm in arm, father and daughter walked toward the house.

“It's gonna get dirty from now on, Falcon,” Wildcat said. “Real low-down dirty.”

“It had to come, boys,” Falcon said. “We all knew that. From now on it's going to be pistol play instead of cattle work.”

Puma grunted. “That suits me. Sooner we get done here the sooner I can get back home and see my Jenny.”

“You think that beast misses you, huh?” Big Bob asked.

“Shore she does,” Puma replied indignantly. “Jenny's my baby.”

Big Bob walked off, muttering to himself about grown men that keep cougars for pets.

* * *

During the next week, Falcon visited each of the farmers and small ranchers north and south and east of the Rockingchair, warning them that everything was about to pop. He brought them spare weapons and ammunition and made certain each person who was of age knew how to use the weapons. After talking with each family member, Falcon felt sure that every family would stand and fight, and fight to the last person.

He reported as much to John and the rancher agreed.

“They'll fight, and they'll put up one hell of a fight,” John said. “The ranchers have been here, some as long as me. They've fought Injuns and outlaws. The farmers are all combat veterans from the War Between the States. A couple of them officers. They're all good people. Not a quitter among them. Martha's met all the ladies and speaks highly of them.”

“John, I have to ask this: Do you want to take the fight to Miles and the others?”

The rancher was reflective for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. “I should, I know I should, but I just can't do it, Falcon. It just isn't in me.”

“I know, John,” Falcon replied easily. “It's got to be all them. I understand.”

“You think I'm wrong, don't you, son?”

“Speaking frankly, yes I do, John. But it's your decision to make.”

“They've got to start it, Falcon,” the rancher said stubbornly.

“And you don't think they have already?”

“That's my decision. Can you and the other men live with it?”

“Oh, we can live with it, John. Problem is, can you and your family live with it, and do you have the right to speak for all the others?”

“I've spoken with my family. We all agree that Miles has got to make the first move. After that . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “... I guess anything goes.”

“All right. We'll wait for them to open the dance. But I warn you of this: When they strike up the band, rules go right out the window. I don't fight by rules, and neither do any of the boys. It's going to get down and dirty real quick.”

“When the other side starts it, Falcon, deal the cards and let the chips fall.”

Falcon smiled his reply. He was a gambler, and now the game was getting to his liking.

* * *

The first bunch of Stegman and Noonan's hands rode in. Stumpy was posted up on a ridge and was watching them through field glasses as they rode across the grasslands. He reported back to Falcon.

“They're hired guns, all right,” the older man said, after pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking a seat at the table in the bunkhouse. “I recognized a couple of them. They're experienced shooters.”

“Where are they out of, you reckon?” Wildcat asked.

“Some was sittin' Texas rigs,” Stumpy said. “I seen one that I know is out of New Mexico and another that's made quite a name for hisself out of Utah. The rest . . . ?” He shrugged. “From all over where scum gathers.”

“How many in this first bunch?” Dan Carson asked.

“I counted ten.”

“Probably more than that unless he took off his boots and used his toes to count with,” Big Bob said.

The insults started flying then, and Falcon laughed and walked out of the bunkhouse. Kip was leaning against the corral, smoking a cigarette. He looked up.

“Trouble, Falcon?”

“It's gathering, for a fact.” He explained what Stumpy had seen that morning.

“They can gather until Hell freezes over,” Kip said. “But until they actually do something, John isn't goin' to strike.”

“I know. I just thought he'd want to know.”

Kip nodded his head. “The herds won't be far behind, will they?”

“Oh, probably no more than two or three weeks would be my guess.”

“I'll tell John.”

Kip walked to the main house, leaving Falcon alone by the corral with his thoughts. Falcon knew there were others he could call in to assist in this fight, but he also knew that numbers alone would not win it for John and the others. All more men would accomplish would be more deaths.

Dan Carson walked out to join him. The older man shaped himself a cigarette and handed Falcon the makings. The two of them smoked in silence for a moment.