Bloodshed of Eagles. William W. Johnstone

there was a scrape of chairs across the floor as the gallery took its seat.

      The judge looked over at the bailiff. “Bailiff, show the jury in if you would, please,” he said.

      The bailiff stuck his head out the door. “The judge has called the jury back in!” he shouted.

      A moment later twelve men “good and true” came back into the classroom to take their seats. Not until they were seated did the judge speak again.

      “Mr. Gilmore,” the judge said to the defense attorney. “Just before the recess, Mr. MacCallister had testified for the prosecution. Do you now wish to cross-examine?”

      “I do, Your Honor,” Gilmore said, standing up from the defense table.

      “The court calls Falcon MacCallister,” the bailiff intoned, and Falcon walked up to the witness chair, which was sitting right next to the teacher’s desk, which was being used as the judge’s bench.

      “Mr. MacCallister, I remind you that you are still under oath,” Judge Hawkins said.

      “Yes, Your Honor,” Falcon replied.

      “Mr. MacCallister, before the events we are trying here took place, did you, or did you not, make all of the passengers leave the stage?” Gilmore asked.

      “I did.”

      “And I was one of the passengers who left the stage. Is that right?”

      “That is correct.”

      “Why did you do that?”

      “I thought it might be safer for the passengers,” Falcon replied.

      “Did you? Or did you think it might be better not to have any witnesses to what you were about to do?”

      “I thought it would be safer for the passengers,” Falcon repeated.

      “During your testimony, I believe you said that after you forced everyone to leave the coach, you later left the coach yourself and came up behind the defendant and the two who were with him. Is that right?” Gilmore said.

      “That is right.”

      “You shot two of them, did you not?”

      “After they shot at me.”

      “So you say,” Gilmore said sarcastically.

      “Objection, Your Honor, the driver and the shotgun guard both testified to the same thing,” Joe Kincaid, the prosecutor, said.

      “Sustained. Jury will disregard defense attorney’s last remark,” the judge said.

      “Mr. MacCallister, did Mr. Garon shoot at you?”

      “No, he did not.”

      “Did he make any threatening act toward you?”

      “He was threatening the driver and—”

      “Your Honor, please instruct the witness to answer the questions I ask.”

      “Witness will respond to specific questions asked,” Judge Hawkins ruled.

      “Mr. MacCallister, I ask you again. Did Mr. Garon make any threatening move toward you?”

      “He did not.”

      “No further questions, Your Honor.”

      “Redirect, Mr. Kincaid?” the judge asked.

      Without standing, Kincaid asked, “Did Jim Garon make any threatening moves toward the driver or the guard?”

      “Yes, he did,” Falcon replied.

      “And your initial response, even before the two deceased fired at you, was to prevent them from shooting at the driver, the guard, or both?”

      “It was.”

      “Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor.”

      “The witness may step down.”

      Gilmore called Garon to the witness stand. Garon was sworn in; then Gilmore approached him.

      “Mr. Garon, on the first of this month, did you, Andy Parker, and Poke Waggoner confront the Pagosa Springs coach on the Pagosa Springs road?”

      “Yeah, we did,” Garon replied.

      “Was it your intention to rob the coach?”

      “No, we wasn’t goin’ to rob it.”

      “What was your intention?”

      “We was needin’ a ride, that’s all.”

      “But there was gunplay, was there not?”

      “Yeah, well, this MacCallister fella come up behind us with his gun drawn, and the next thing you know, he shot and killed Andy and Poke.”

      “Did Andy and Poke shoot at MacCallister?”

      “Yeah, but what I think they done was shoot back at him. Only, not bein’ professional gunmen like MacCallister is—”

      “Objection, Your Honor, to the defendant referring to Falcon MacCallister as a professional gunfighter,” Kincaid called.

      “Your Honor, may I respond?” Gilmore said. He returned to the defendant’s desk and picked up three paperbound novels. “I hold in my hand the book Falcon MacCallister at Shoot Out Canyon. Also, Falcon MacCallister, Gunfighter for Justice, and finally, Falcon MacCallister and the Fast Draw Kid. All three of these books refer to Falcon MacCallister as a professional gunman.”

      “They are novels, Your Honor,” Kincaid said.

      “But they are all about Falcon MacCallister, who is a real person.”

      “Objection overruled,” Judge Hawkins said. “Reference to Mr. MacCallister as a professional gunfighter may stand.”

      “You may continue with your statement, Mr. Garon.”

      “I lost my place,” Garon said.

      “Would the court reporter please read back Mr. Garon’s last words?” Gilmore asked.

      Clearing his throat, the court reporter began to read. “Mr. Kincaid: ‘Did Andy and Poke shoot at MacCallister?’

      “Mr. Garon: ‘Yeah, but what I think they done was shoot back at him. Only, not being professional gunmen like MacCallister is—’” The reporter looked up. “That is as far as he got before the objection.”

      “Would you please finish your statement, Mr. Garon?”

      “Yeah, I was goin’ to say that not being professional gunmen, when they shot back at MacCallister they missed. MacCallister didn’t miss, and he killed Mr. Parker an Mr. Waggoner,” Garon said.

      “Thank you, no further questions.”

      Despite Kincaid’s best efforts, he was unable to break Garon’s insistence that he, Parker, and Waggoner had only intended to flag down the coach in order to ask for a ride.

      Closing arguments for both attorneys did little more than reiterate the arguments they had already presented. After that, the jury was dismissed so they could return with a verdict.

      Deliberation took less than half an hour, then the jury returned.

      “Gentlemen of the jury, have you selected a foreman?” Judge Hawkins asked.

      “We have, Your Honor,” someone said.

      “And who is the foreman?”

      “I am, Your Honor.”

      “And you would be?”

      “My name is Harris, Your Honor. Clete Harris.”

      “Mr. Harris, has the jury reached a verdict?”

      “We have, Your