Crusade of Eagles Read online

  Any public hanging drew the morbidly curious, but because four were to be executed, this one became an event. On the morning appointed, visitors came from far and wide to see the spectacle, so many that the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad had to add additional trains to accommodate the passenger load. As a result, there were almost as many visitors as there were residents of the town, and nearly all were gathered on the square on Saturday morning.

  The gallows stood in the center of town, its grisly shadow stretching under the morning sun. It was just past nine, and the hanging wasn’t scheduled to take place until ten. But the square was already filled, though people continued to crowd in, jostling for position.

  Several hundred people were gathered around the gallows, men in suits and work clothes, women in dresses and bonnets, and children darting about in the crowd. A few enterprising vendors passed through the crowd selling lemonade, beer, and bear claws. An itinerant preacher stood at the side of the gallows, taking advantage of the situation to deliver a fiery harangue to the crowd.

  “In a few moments four men are going to be hung—sent to meet their Maker with blood on their hands and sin in their hearts.”

  He waggled his finger at the crowd. “And hear this now! Them four lost souls is going to be cast into hell because there ain’t a one of ’em what’s got down on his knees and prayed to the Lord for forgiveness of his sins.

  “It’s too late for them, brothers ’n’ sisters. They are doomed to the fiery furnaces of hell, doomed to writhe in agony forever!”

  Some of those who were close enough to hear the preacher shivered involuntarily at his powerful imagery and looked toward the gallows. One or two of them touched their necks fearfully, and a few souls, perhaps weak on willpower, sneaked a drink from a bottle.

  “It’s too late for them, but it’s not too late for you! Repent! Repent now, I say, for the wages of sin is death and eternal perdition!”

  The preacher’s voice carried well, and could be heard by the four men in the holding cell. From time to time, first one face, then another, would appear in the window, look out through the bars at the crowd, and then disappear. Some of the older children climbed up on a box and looked in through the window from outside.

  “Get away from there!” Logan shouted at the face of a young boy in the window.

  “Mister, what’s it feel like to know you’re a’fixin’ to die?” the boy asked.

  “Get away from there now, damn you!” Logan screamed, running toward the window.

  Logan’s scream had the desired effect, because the boy ducked away out of sight.

  “Logan, will you, for God’s sake, sit down? You’re as nervous as a whore in church,” Loomis growled.

  “Don’t you think I have a right to be nervous? They’re about to hang us out there.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they say,” Loomis replied, his voice agonizingly calm.

  “Don’t this mean nothin’ to you?” Logan asked. “How come you’re not worried about it?”

  “What good’s worryin’ do?” Loomis replied.

  There was the sound of keys, rattling in the lock of the door. “Oh! They’re coming for us!” Logan said, his voice breaking with panic.

  Loomis sat up on the side of his bunk and looked toward the door. He smiled broadly as he saw someone fitting a key into the lock. The man was tall and slim, with an oversized handlebar mustache.

  “Hello, Kelly,” he said. “You sure as hell took your time gettin’ here.”

  “This is the first chancet I’ve had,” Kelly said.

  “Boys, this here is my other brother, Kelly Tate,” Loomis said.

  “Your brother?” Logan asked. He laughed. “He sure as hell don’t look nothin’ like you.”

  “Who’d want to look like that ugly bastard?” Kelly teased, and the others laughed.

  “So, that’s why you wasn’t worried, huh? ’Cause you’ve got another brother?”

  “Yeah, I figured he’d come get me out,” Loomis said.

  “Am I ever glad to meet you!” Logan said. He put his hand to his neck. “I thought we was goin’ to hang for sure.

  “We better hurry,” Kelly said. “If someone finds the guard with his head bashed in, they’re going to know something is going on.”

  “You got the horses?”

  “Yeah, they’re down at the livery.”

  “You couldn’t get ’em no closer’n that?” Loomis scolded.

  “Not without anyone getting suspicious. But don’t worry, there’s so many people out there now, we could walk right through the middle of the crowd butt-naked and nobody’d even notice.”

  “Come on,” Logan said, “let’s go.”

  “Not yet,” Loomis replied, heading toward the office.

  “What are you doing?” Logan asked. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here before anyone else shows up.”

  “Don’t you think it would be good if we had our guns?”

  “Oh. Yeah,” Logan said. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Kelly was already armed, though there was blood on the butt of his pistol as a result of it being used as a club against the guard. He went over to the drinking-water pail and dipped the pistol into it, then used a towel to clean it off while the other four found their guns and began strapping them on. After the albino strapped on his own gun, he walked over to the deputy on the floor, then got his pistol as well.

  “What are you doing?” Strayhorn asked.

  “It never hurts to have a second gun,” the albino said.

  That was when Loomis saw some paper and a pencil.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, picking up the pencil.

  “What are you going to do?” the albino asked. “Write a letter?”

  “Yeah, sort of,” Loomis said.

  TO FALCON MACALESTER

  I AM GOING TO GIT EVIN WITH YOU FOR KILLIN MY BROTHER LIKE YOU DUN JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE.

  LOOMIS TATE

  “Put my name on there, too,” Kelly said.

  “I do that, folks will know you was the one helped us escape,” Loomis said. “And they’ll figure you’re the one who killed the guard.”

  Kelly chuckled. “Hell, Loomis, ain’t none of us goin’ to get out of this alive anyway. Put my name on it like I said.”

  Nodding, Loomis marked out the I AM and wrote in WE ARE, then added KELLY TATE under his own name.

  The five men stepped out into the alley behind the jail, then walked down to next street and joined the crowd.

  “Hey, Jake, is it true whenever someone gets hung that their neck stretches out?” they heard someone in the crowd ask.

  “Yep, it’s true all right,” Jake answered. “I’ve seen it myself.”

  “Four of ’em. Whoowee, four of ’em. By damn, this’ll be somethin’ I can tell my grandkids someday.”

  Logan’s face flushed in anger, and he started toward the two men, but Loomis grabbed him and pulled him back.

  “Maybe you got no more sense than to get yourself hung, but I don’t intend to let you get me hung,” Loomis hissed angrily. “Don’t say nothin’ to nobody. Just keep goin’ till we get to the horses.”

  Logan didn’t answer, but he did nod. Five minutes later they were at the edge of town, having walked their horses through the city. It was one of the most difficult things Logan had ever done, because every muscle in his body screamed out for him to run. To his own surprise, he managed to stay calm. It was not until they mounted, and rode slowly for about a mile, that Loomis gave them the word.

  “All right, boys,” he said. “Let’s go like a bat out of hell.”

  The five riders broke into a gallop.

  Even as Loomis and the others were putting distance between themselves and Colorado Springs, Sheriff Smith was stepping into the office.

  He didn’t see the guard, and from the moment he stepped into the office, he had a strange feeling. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on, but it just didn’t seem right.

  “Leroy?” he called. />
  There was no answer.

  “Leroy,” he called again. “Where are you?” he called. “It’s time to get the prisoners ready.”

  Sheriff Smith had left the front door open, and now a freshening breeze blew it shut with a slam. Startled, Smith drew his pistol and whirled around, only to see that the door had blown shut.

  “Damn, Leroy,” Sheriff Smith called, putting his pistol back in his holster. “Will you come out here? You’ve got me drawing on doors now.”

  Seeing the door that led back to the cells open, Sheriff Smith assumed that Leroy was back with the prisoners. He walked into the area that housed the cells, then stopped.

  The cell where his prisoners had been kept was empty, the door standing wide open.

  “What the hell?” he asked aloud.

  “Leroy! Leroy, where are you?”

  Pulling his pistol again, Sheriff Smith pushed open the back door, very slowly, and looked out into the alley.

  He saw nothing.

  “Leroy, are you back here?” he called. He was nursing the hope that Leroy might have found the prisoners gone and come to the alley to look for them.

  Sighing when his call netted no response, Sheriff Smith returned to the front office. That was when he glanced over toward Leroy’s desk again. This time, because of the angle, he saw something he hadn’t seen earlier. He saw a boot sticking out from behind the desk.

  “Oh, no,” he said quietly. “Please, God, no.”

  The sheriff walked over for a closer look.

  His young deputy was lying on his back behind the desk. There was a large, dark wound on top of his head, and a pool of blood spread beneath it. “Oh, Leroy,” Sheriff Smith said sadly, kneeling down to check his condition.

  He didn’t have to put his hand on Leroy’s neck to feel for a pulse. He knew, even before he touched him, that the young man was dead.

  Chapter Five

  Loomis Tate and the others rode hard after they left Colorado Springs, and by nightfall they were at least thirty miles away. They spent an uneasy night on the ground, then got up at first light the next morning.

  “Damn, I’m hungry,” Logan said. “I ain’t et since breakfast in jail yesterday morning.”

  “There ain’t none of us ate,” Strayhorn said.

  “I know, I was just sayin’ I was hungry, is all,” Logan said.

  “Let’s get goin’,” Loomis ordered, and the five men mounted their horses and rode on.

  It was no more than half an hour later that Loomis called out to the other riders.

  “Hold up, hold up. My horse has gone lame.”

  The others looked back toward Loomis and saw that his horse was limping badly.

  “Where the hell did you get these horses?” Loomis asked.

  “From the back lot of the livery,” Kelly said. “I couldn’t be too choosy. I had to take what I found.”

  “You got ’em from the back lot?” Logan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn,” Logan said. “We’ll all be ridin’ cripple horses soon. That’s where they turn the horses out that’s too old to ride anymore. I wouldn’t be surprised if these horses wasn’t older’n we are.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t bring everyone three-year-old Arabians,” Kelly said.

  “My brother done what he could,” Loomis said.

  “Ain’t no sense in bitchin’ about it now. But we do need to get us some better horses or we’re goin’ to wind up afoot.”

  “Where do you plan to get ’em?” Strayhorn asked.

  “We need to find us a ranch or a farm somewhere,” Loomis said. “We’ll get us some breakfast there, then take whatever horses we can find. Logan, me an’ you will double up on your horse.”

  “Why are you doublin’ up with me?” Logan complained. “Why don’t you double up with Kelly? He’s your brother.”

  Loomis pulled his pistol and pointed it at Logan. “Of course, I could just kill you and take your horse,” he said.

  “No, no,” Logan said quickly, putting his hands up as if warding Loomis off. “You can double up with me if you want to.”

  “Yeah,” Loomis said. “I thought you might see it that way.”

  With Loomis and Logan riding double, they were not able to travel as fast as they had been traveling before, but as it turned out it didn’t matter, because after another mile they came upon a ranch.

  “Look down there, boys,” Loomis said, pointing to the ranch.

  With the sun still low in the east, a soft golden light was falling upon nearly two dozen horses gamboling about in the corral.

  “I do believe Christmas has come early,” he said.

  The Rocking R Ranch belonged to Elam Rafferty, and though it wasn’t a particularly large ranch, it was successful because he had a reputation for raising exceptionally good horses that brought premium prices. It also helped that it was a small, one-man operation and didn’t cost much to run.

  Sue Rafferty liked this time of day best, when the air was soft and still cool and there was a freshness about everything. She saw a few dead blooms amid the colorful profusion in her flower garden, and reminded herself that she would have to do a little puttering later, when she had time.

  As Sue walked down the path toward the barn, the blades of the barnyard windmill answered a breeze, turned into the wind, and began spinning. Sue continued on out to the barn to call her daughter and son in for breakfast.

  Lucy, her sixteen-year-old daughter, was milking, while fourteen-year-old Jimmy was forking hay into the horses’ feeding trough. She stopped just outside the barn for a moment to watch her children at work. They had grown from being underfoot to being somewhat helpful, to being almost indispensable.

  “Breakfast is ready,” Sue said.

  “Good,” Jimmy said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m so hungry that I’m near ’bout stove in.”

  “Sure you are,” Lucy said. “Why, anybody could see that you are just wasting away.”

  Jimmy was a big boy for his age. He was only fourteen years old, but was already taller than his mother. And a good appetite and a lot of work had caused him to bulk up some.

  “At least I’m not so skinny that I don’t even throw a shadow,” Jimmy teased, tossing some hay at his sister.

  “Mama!” Lucy called out.

  “Mama!” Jimmy mimicked.

  “Jimmy, don’t do that,” Sue scolded. “I just washed Sis’s hair last night.”

  “What a coward you are, running to Mama for help,” Jimmy teased. “What’s the matter, are you too much of a coward to fight back?”

  “I’m not raising my daughter to be a common brawler,” Sue said. “I wish I could say the same for you.”

  “What are we having for breakfast?” Jimmy asked.

  “Bacon, eggs, biscuits, fried potatoes,” Sue said. “You and your pa are going to be clearing some pastureland, so you’ll be needing a substantial breakfast.”

  “I don’t think I can help him today,” Jimmy said. He put his hand around to the middle of his back. “I think I must have hurt my back a while ago.”

  Lucy reached up and flicked her brother on the earlobe, then jumped away from him as he twisted around to try and get her.

  “Ha!” Lucy said. “It doesn’t look to me like you have a bad back.”

  “You’re going to help your pa today, Jimmy, and that’s all there is to it,” Sue said. “Now, get washed up and come on in the house for breakfast.”

  Sue went back into the house, carrying the pail of milk Lucy had gotten, while Lucy and Jimmy stepped over to the pump to wash up. Sue pumped the water for Jimmy as he held his hands under the spout, washing them vigorously with a bar of lye soap. Then Jimmy operated the pump handle for Lucy—stopping just as she got her hands well lathered.

  “No, don’t stop pumping now,” Lucy said. “Can’t you see that I’ve got soap on my hands?”

  “What will you give me to pump some more water for you?” Jimmy asked.

  Luc
y reached up and ran her soapy hands through Jimmy’s hair. “I’ll give you a hard time if you don’t,” she said.

  “Hey, stop!” Jimmy said, and laughing, he pumped the handle until her hands, and his hair, were free of soap.

  They were still laughing when Jimmy pushed the door to the house open. Then they came to a complete halt as their eyes widened in confusion.

  There were five strange men in the kitchen. One was short and stocky, with a bushy red beard and hair. He was standing behind their father, holding a gun to his head. Another was medium-sized, pale-skinned, with pink eyes. The albino was holding their mother down in a chair, with a knife at her throat.

  A third intruder had pockmarked skin and a drooping eye. He was standing by the table eating a biscuit and bacon sandwich. The other two were standing by the back wall, almost as if they were observing what was going on, rather than participating in the unfolding drama.

  “Well, now, would you lookee at what just come dragging in here,” Loomis said.

  “Mama, Papa, what’s going on?” Lucy asked.

  “Just—just do as they say and everything will be all right,” Sue said, her voice quavering with fear.

  “Who are these men?”

  “I know who this one is,” Jimmy said, pointing to the one with the droopy eye.

  “You know who I am, do you, boy?” Loomis asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How is it that you know me?”

  “I seen your picture on a wanted poster oncet when I was in town. You’re Loomis Tate, ain’t you?”

  “That’s my name, all right,” Loomis said. “What’s your name, boy?” he asked.

  “Jimmy. Jimmy Rafferty.”

  “Jimmy Rafferty, is it? You’re a pretty smart boy, ain’t you, Jimmy Rafferty?” Loomis said.

  “I’m smart enough,” Jimmy replied challengingly.

  “Well, if there’s one thing I don’t need, it’s a smart boy,” Loomis growled. He pulled out his gun and before anyone could say a word, pulled the trigger. The gun roared, a wicked finger of flame flashed from the barrel of the gun, and a cloud of smoke billowed out over the table. The bullet hit Jimmy in the forehead and he fell back, dead before he hit the floor.