Slaughter of Eagles Read online

  “Nellie, wherever did you find this lady? What a wonderful addition she is to your emporium. You must never let her go,” Mrs. Guthrie said.

  “I found her as soon as she came to Phoenix,” Nellie replied. “She will be a valued employee of the emporium for as long as she wishes.”

  “I cannot wait until I wear it. Oh, the people in Philadelphia will be absolutely pea green with envy,” she said as she left.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shortly after Mrs. Guthrie left, Ken Buckner came in, wearing a broad smile. “I just entered Vexation in the horse race for the Fourth of July,” he said.

  “Oh, Ken, after that spill last year, I thought you weren’t going to do that anymore,” Nellie said.

  “Don’t worry, I learned my lesson. I won’t be riding Vexation, I will have someone else ride for me.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’m sure I can find someone before Monday.”

  “I will ride for you,” Janelle said. She was busy gathering up the material she was going to add to Mrs. Guthrie’s dress.

  “I beg your pardon?” Ken said. “Did you say you would ride Vexation?”

  “Yes. I’m quite a good rider, if I say so myself.”

  Ken laughed out loud. “Forgive me for laughing, my dear. But I’m talking about a horse race, not a ride through the park. I don’t think you could race, sitting sidesaddle.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be riding sidesaddle. I will ride astride,” Janelle said. “Where is Vexation? Shall I give you a demonstration?”

  “Women can’t ride astride,” Ken said.

  “Oh, if you are worried about the propriety of such a thing, don’t. I have a special riding skirt that will allow me to do so, while still preserving modesty,” Janelle said.

  “It isn’t a matter of modesty. Woman can’t ride astride because their thighs are too rounded,” Ken insisted.

  Janelle laughed, then, when she saw the expression on Ken’s face, she apologized. “Excuse me for laughing,” she said. “But I have never heard such a thing.”

  “Everyone knows that,” Ken said.

  “Then everyone knows something that just isn’t true,” Janelle replied. “And I can prove it to you if you let me.”

  Something that Janelle had shared with nobody since her arrival in Phoenix, was the fact that she was an expert horsewoman. Her father kept a stable of horses that were specifically bred for fox hunting, and very quickly, Janelle became the most adept rider, male or female, in the Long Island Hunt Club.

  “Are you serious about this?”

  “Oh, I’m very serious. Where is Vexation now?”

  “I board him down at Housewright’s Livery,” Ken said.

  “I brought my riding habit with me,” Janelle said. “If you want a riding demonstration, I’ll just hurry back to my room and change.”

  “All right. If you are dead set on demonstrating this to me, I’ll go down to the livery and get Vexation saddled.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” Janelle said.

  “Ken, Janelle, listen to the two of you,” Nellie scolded. “Have you both gone daft? There is no way a lady, especially a well-bred lady from the East, can ride in a horse race. Ken, you know how dangerous it is. You were nearly killed last year.”

  “I wasn’t nearly killed, I broke my arm.”

  “In two places,” Nellie reminded him. “And it could have just as easily been your neck.”

  “I need a rider for the race on Monday, and she wants to ride. If she can do it, I say good for her.”

  When Marshal Cairns stepped into the Boar’s Head Saloon, he signaled Wally Cook, the bartender.

  “Yes sir, Marshal Cairns, what can I do for you?” Wally asked.

  “I heard tell there was a man in here who did some fancy shootin’ a half hour or so ago.”

  “Yes, sir. Damnedest thing I ever seen. He was standin’ right where you are now, and Quince was way over there in the middle of the floor. Quince got to braggin’ as to how he was goin’ to drop a whiskey glass, then shoot it before it hit the floor. Well sir, he talked it up ’til he got some folks ready to bet on it, then dropped the glass just like he said. Only the thing is, this here feller that was standin’ right where you are now, shot it right out of the air his ownself.”

  “Where’s this fancy shooter now?”

  Wally nodded toward the shooter who was still sitting alone at the table he had chosen on the far side of the room.

  Cairns looked in the direction Wally pointed, then he chuckled quietly. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “Do you know him, Marshal?” Wally asked, surprised by Cairn’s reaction.

  “Yeah, I know him,” Cairns said. “Give me a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.”

  “Mostly you just get a beer,” Wally said.

  “What?”

  “I mean, well, I don’t never charge you anything for the beer, bein’ as you are the city marshal and all. But a bottle of whiskey, that’s a little more expensive.”

  “If you have a complaint, take it to the city council,” Cairns said, gruffly.

  “No, no, I don’t have no complaints,” Wally said, pulling a bottle of whiskey from beneath the bar. He took two glasses down from the shelf and handed them to him as well. “I was just commentin’ is all.”

  “Well, keep your commentin’ to yourself,” Cairns said.

  “Yes, sir,” Wally replied meekly.

  Taking the bottle of whiskey and glasses from the bar, Cairns walked over to join Mueller. Mueller watched, a surprised look of recognition on his face. Then, seeing the lawman’s star on Cairns’s vest, the look of surprise changed to one of absolute shock.

  “Hello, Luke,” Cairns said quietly. He filled the two glasses, then slid one over in front of Mueller. “Long time no see.”

  Without a word of thanks, Mueller picked up the glass and drank it quickly. Putting the empty glass back on the table, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Who the hell ever made you a deputy?” Mueller asked.

  Cairns smiled, and shook his head. “I ain’t a deputy. I’m the city marshal.” Cairns noticed the missing earlobe and the jagged, still purple mass of flesh. “What the hell happened to your ear?”

  “A dog bit it off.”

  Cairns laughed. “What? A dog bit it off? How did you let a dog bite your ear off?”

  “What happened to my ear don’t make no never mind,” Mueller answered gruffly. “Are you serious? Are you really the marshal?”

  “Yeah, I’m really the marshal.”

  “Well I’ll be damned. Is this the same Egan Drumm I know? Is this the same Egan Drumm that held up a train in Missouri, killed a shotgun guard and a passenger during a stagecoach robbery in Kansas, and rustled cattle down in Texas? Is this the same Egan Drumm that was ridin’ with me an’ my brother when we stoled that hog money from Dumey, then wound up killin’ him and his whole family? Yeah, seein’ as I was there, I would say this is the same Egan Drumm I know. So my question to you is, how the hell did Egan Drumm become a city marshal?”

  Cairns chuckled. “Well, that’s just it, Luke,” he said. “My name ain’t Egan Drumm. Leastwise, not no more it ain’t. It’s Jimmy Cairns.”

  “Jimmy Cairns? Wait a minute, wasn’t that Wyatt Earp’s deputy back in Wichita?”

  “Yeah, it was. When I got here it come in just real handy to borrow his name,” Drumm said. “There was one or two here that had heard of him, but nobody that had ever actually seen him, so it was real easy to make the city council think I’d been a lawman in the past. They needed a city marshal and that got me this job.”

  “Ha!” Mueller said. “Wouldn’t they be surprised if they know’d who you really was, and that you was wanted for robbery and murder in three states?”

  “They think that I—that is, Jimmy Cairns—killed Drumm. And in a way, you might say that I did, seein’ as how I don’t use that name no more. I’ve got a sweet deal here,
Mueller. I wouldn’t want anything to happen that would mess it up.” Drumm poured Mueller another whiskey.

  Mueller took a swallow of it, then held his glass out. “So you expect to buy me off with a couple glasses of whiskey, is that it?”

  “Not exactly,” Drumm said. “Truth is, I reckon we can sort of scratch each other’s back, so to speak.”

  “How?”

  “Well, to begin with, I have paper in my office that says you are a wanted man. It seems you and your brother held up a bank in MacCallister, Colorado, and you kilt a couple of people doin’ it. Sorry to hear about what happened to your brother, by the way.”

  “You’ve got paper on me, you say?” Mueller said, taking another swallow of his whiskey.

  “Oh yes. Fresh paper with a new reward. You’re worth fifteen hundred dollars, Luke. Did you know that?”

  “I reckon I did know that. So, what are you gettin’ at?”

  “Just this. You are goin’ to need a safe place to hang your hat, a place where you don’t have to keep lookin’ behind you,” Drumm said. “You can stay here, there ain’t nobody goin’ to bother you.”

  “You said you have paper in your office. What if someone recognizes me?”

  “I’ve got two deputies, one will recognize you and one won’t.”

  “Which one will recognize me?”

  “Bert Appleby.”

  “Appleby? He’s here? He’s a deputy?”

  Drumm chuckled. “Yep. I had to take him on as a deputy. I didn’t have no choice. He seen who I was, right off the bat.”

  “Maybe he won’t recognize me. I ain’t seen him since we pulled that job together back in Missouri. That’s been five years ago, at least. And as I recall, we wasn’t exactly good friends then.”

  “There ain’t no way he won’t recognize you. You ain’t exactly an easy man to forget.”

  “Like I told you, we didn’t get along all that good. What if he decides to tell folks who I am?”

  “Ha!” Drumm said. “Appleby is wanted for murder back in Missouri his ownself. He ain’t likely to want to open that can of worms.”

  “I reckon not. But what if someone else recognizes me?”

  “As far as I know, there ain’t nobody else in town that would actually know you, other than Appleby. But if anybody thinks they recognize you from your description or something, I’ll just tell them that they are wrong. I’ll tell them that I’ve met the real Luke Mueller, and while you might look somethin’ like him, you ain’t him. I’ll tell folks you are my first cousin.”

  “What do you want for that?”

  “Like I said, we’ll be scratchin’ each other’s back. I won’t tell anyone who you are, and I don’t want you to tell anyone who I am,” Drumm said. “In addition, from time to time, I might also require some, uh, let us say special services done, the kind of services that a man in my position, bein’ as I’m the marshal an’ all, can’t do. Something that someone like you can perform for me.”

  “There any money to be made from these services?”

  “What do you need money for? From what I heard, you got a pretty good haul from that bank holdup. Am I hearin’ wrong?”

  “Yeah, but you may have heard that an hombre by the name of MacCallister got on our trail. He’s the one that kilt Clete, and the others. That caused me to have to leave town pretty fast, and I left the money behind.”

  “I read that MacCallister recovered most of the money, I figured that meant you managed to keep some of it.”

  Mueller shook his head. “Nary a cent. The only money that wasn’t recovered was what we had already spent.” Mueller chuckled. “I’ll tell you this though, we was havin’ us a fine time with the money we was a’ spendin’.”

  “Until MacCallister butted in, right?”

  “Yeah, until MacCallister butted in.” He finished the second glass of whiskey then as he had before, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “That’s why I put out a thousand dollar reward to anyone who would kill the son of a bitch.”

  “You’ve got a thousand dollar reward out for MacCallister?”

  Mueller chuckled, a low, growling kind of laugh. “Yeah, ain’t that rich, puttin’ out paper on him?”

  “I thought you didn’t have any money.”

  “I don’t have the money. That reward ain’t nothin’ but a bluff.”

  “What would you do if someone did kill him and tried to collect?”

  “I just want the son of a bitch dead,” Mueller said. “So I reckon if it happens, I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  “Then you damn sure do need to stay here for a while, don’t you?”

  “I reckon I do,” Mueller admitted.

  “Do we have a deal, Luke?”

  “Yeah, Drumm, we have a deal.”

  “It ain’t Drumm.”

  “I mean Cairns.”

  “Come on down to the jail with me now.”

  Mueller got a strange look on his face. “What do you mean, come down to the jail with you? What have you got in mind?”

  “I ain’t got nothin’ in mind,” Drumm insisted. “I’m just going to introduce you to my deputies now, that’s all.”

  Mueller started to get up, then he stopped and stared hard at Drumm. “You better not be pulling a fast one on me,” he said.

  Drumm held up his hand and shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that. I told you, I’ve got as much to lose as you do.”

  Mueller was silent for a long moment, then he nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I reckon you do at that, don’t you?”

  Janelle walked from Mrs. Poindexter’s Boarding House to the livery stable. She had changed clothes, and was wearing a riding skirt which was split into panels that would allow her to button off the panels to either side, thus creating riding breeches. She drew several looks of surprise along the way.

  Ken had saddled Vexation by the time Janelle arrived. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  “I’m sure,” Janelle said.

  “What’s going on here?” Housewright, owner of the stable, asked, walking over to join them.

  “Murray, I’m going to let Miss Wellington ride Vexation around in your corral if you don’t mind.”

  “She’s going to ride Vexation in them clothes?”

  “I imagine she is, since she’s about to ride him, and that’s what she’s wearing.”

  “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that.”

  “It’s called a riding habit,” Janelle explained. “It allows me to ride astride.”

  “Women can’t ride astride. Their thighs is too rounded. They can’t stay in the saddle,” Housewright said.

  Janelle laughed, and looked at Buckner. “So I’ve heard. But I’d sure like to give it a try, to prove you are wrong.”

  “All right, go ahead,” Housewright said, waving his arm as he surrendered the argument. “When you get right down to it, I think this is somethin’ I’d like to see, anyway.”

  Smiling, Janelle took the reins from Ken and mounted the horse. She slapped her heels against its side and Vexation bolted forward as if shot from a cannon. Seeing a watering trough that protruded out from a windmill she headed directly for it, intuitively feeling the horse under her gathering itself for the jump.

  “Look out, miss, you’re about to—” Housewright cut his yell midsentence when he saw the horse spring from the ground with its legs extended fore and hind. It sailed over the watering trough as if it had wings, then landed gracefully on the other side, continuing at full gallop.

  There were three others present at the livery and, upon seeing the graceful jump, they all applauded.

  Janelle gave the horse its head, allowing it to race all the way around the paddock, staying close to the fence. Finally she guided Vexation back to where Ken Buckner, Murray Housewright and the others were standing, eyes wide open in shock over what they had just seen.

  Janelle brought the horse to an abrupt halt, then leaped adroitl
y from the saddle. “He’s a good horse,” she said, handing the reins back to Ken.

  “Do you really want to ride in the race, Monday?” Ken asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Janelle replied, a broad smile spreading across her face.

  “Well, I have to say, that’s some of the best riding I’ve ever seen. So if you want the job, it’s yours.”

  “Thanks,” Janelle said, smiling broadly.

  Janelle changed clothes again and returned to the emporium, where Ken and Nellie were engaged in conversation. Nellie smiled at her.

  “Well, I must say, my dear, you made quite an impression on Ken. He is now saying he actually thinks you might win the Fourth of July race on Monday.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Janelle replied. “I will be riding to win, I know that.”

  “Oh, by the way, Janelle, I stopped by the post office before coming back to the shop. You have a letter,” Ken said.

  “Thank you, I’ll read it later,” Janelle said, taking the letter, then slipping it under the counter. “Mrs. Buckner, if you will give me Mrs. Guthrie’s dress, I will go into the back and work on it now,” she added.

  The Buckners watched her gather up the brightly colored material and the dress, and head into the back of the store where sat the most valuable commodity of the store, the sewing machine.

  “She won’t, you know,” Nellie Buckner said quietly, after Janelle left.

  “She won’t what?” Ken replied.

  “She won’t read the letter.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she has already received four letters since she started working here, and all four are right there, under the counter, unopened and unread.

  Chapter Twelve

  New York, New York, Independence Day

  The Eagle Theater was decorated in patriotic flags and bunting appropriate for the occasion. The set on the stage resembled the parlor of an elegant house. Rosanna McCallister, costumed as a very wealthy lady, stood in the middle. With one leg slightly in front of the other so as to best accent her feminine form, with her left arm down by her side and her right arm extended, the fingers curled just so, Rosanna, as Mrs. Abernathy, delivered the last line of the play. “Alas—now we know—he truly was an English gentleman.”