Bloodshed of Eagles. William W. Johnstone

Falcon, m’ boy, I hope this meets with your approval.”

      “Sergeant Major, you don’t call a lieutenant colonel by his first name. And it’s for certain that you don’t call him ‘laddie,’” Major Brisbane said.

      “Aye, Major, ’n ’tis right you are,” O’Leary said. “But I’ve known the colonel here since he was but a wee lad, and by his first name I’ve called him all these years. Sure ’n ’tis hard for an old man to be for changin’ his habits now.”

      “You are fighting a losing battle, Adrian,” Falcon said with a chuckle. Then to O’Leary: “You already have my train tickets? You work fast, Sean.”

      “Aye, after I read the letter, I saw no need to tarry,” O’Leary said.

      “You read the letter? It was addressed to me, wasn’t it?”

      “If I brought you everything that was addressed to you now, lad—uh, ’tis Colonel I’m meanin’ to say—sure ’n you’d have no time to do anything but read,” O’Leary said, feeling no sense of guilt over having read Falcon’s mail.

      “Taft is Secretary of War?” Brisbane asked after reading the letter. “What happened to Belknap?”

      “He got caught up in some scandal and resigned a couple of weeks ago,” Falcon said.

      “Beggin’ your pardon, Colonel, m’ lad, but I’ve taken the liberty of having your horse saddled,” O’Leary said. “Your train leaves from Denver in two days, and you’re going to have to get started if you are to make it in time.”

      “Brisbane, take command,” Falcon said.

      “Yes, sir,” Brisbane replied, saluting Falcon.

      Falcon chuckled, then looked over at Sergeant Major O’Leary. “That is, if this old horse thief will allow it.”

      “Now, Colonel, m’ boyo, you’ve known me for a long, long time. I ask you now, have I ever stolen a horse unless it was an absolutely needful thing for me to do?”

      Falcon laughed, then left the headquarters building. He saw a private standing out front, holding the reins to Hell, his horse. Instead of the normal saddle blanket, Hell was now boasting a blue blanket, outlined in gold. An oak leaf denoted Falcon’s rank.

      “Well now, Hell, aren’t you all gussied up?” Falcon said as he approached the horse. The private handed Falcon the reins, then snapped a sharp salute.

      Falcon returned the salute, then mounted his horse and started the two-day ride to Denver. As he passed through the gate, both guards brought their rifles up in present arms.

      Falcon smiled as he returned the salute. Major Brisbane had been a West Point graduate, and Falcon had to give him credit. Very quickly, his executive officer had taught a bunch of farmers, ranchers, and town clerks how to dress, salute, and stand at attention. Falcon had no idea how effective they would be if actually called upon to fight, but at least they looked like soldiers.

      As soon as he cleared the gate, he urged Hell into an easy but ground-eating lope. He would back off after he was out of sight of the fort, but the truth was, Hell could easily maintain this gait for an hour.

      April 15, 1876

      Denver, Colorado Territory

      “Five hundred dollars,” Harris said as he slid a brown envelope across the table in the Lucky Strike Saloon. “Your share.”

      “I take it everything went all right,” Potter said. He put his hand on the envelope and drew it over to him, but didn’t look inside.

      “It went very well,” Harris said. “But now I need something else from you.”

      Potter held out his hand. “I took a big chance on setting up the rifles for you,” he said. “Everyone from the governor down is trying to find the damn things. If they ever find out I misdirected the shipment, I’ll be dead meat.”

      “How are they going to find out, as long as you are handling all the inquiries?” Harris asked.

      “So far, they haven’t caught on.”

      “If you are smart, nobody will ever catch on. And you can pick up another seven hundred dollars real easy.”

      “Another seven hundred dollars, you say?”

      “Seven hundred dollars, and it’ll be the easiest money you ever made,” Harris said.

      Potter drummed his fingers on the table for a moment before he replied. “What do I have to do?”

      “I need a couple of Gatling guns.”

      “What?” Potter said so loud that several other saloon patrons glanced over in curiosity.

      “You want to stand up on the table and make a speech, do you?” Harris asked sarcastically.

      “No,” Potter said, lowering his voice. “But you just asked for the impossible.”

      “I ain’t askin’ you to do it for free,” Harris said. “I told you, there’s seven hundred dollars in it for you. And all you have to do is locate them for me.”

      “Well, that ain’t goin’ to be all that easy to do,” Potter said. “We don’t have any Gatling guns assigned to us.”

      “Ain’t you in position to order some?”

      “Maybe,” Potter admitted. “But there’s no way I can misdirect the shipment again—not after what happened with the rifles. If we ordered Gatling guns and they never showed up, they’d turn heaven and hell upside down to locate them.”

      “All you have to do is get the guns shipped to you,” Harris said. “Then give me the particulars and I’ll take care of the rest.”

      Potter stroked his chin.

      “Seven hundred dollars, you say?”

      “Seven hundred dollars,” Harris repeated.

      Potter nodded. “All right, I’ll get it all set up. But that’s all I can do. The rest will be up to you.”

      Harris laughed, then reached across to put his hand on Potter’s shoulder.

      “Don’t worry, cousin,” he said. “You just give me the particulars, and I’ll take care of everything.”

      Chapter Four

      April 24,1876

       New York

      From the New York Standard

      Amusements

      Audiences have delighted in the Edward E. Rice production of Evangeline, performed on the stage of the magnificent Niblo’s Garden, located at Broadway and Prince.

      Of particular delight to the audience is the skillful manipulation of mechanical devices representing a spouting whale and a dancing cow. Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister call upon their skills as both musical and dramatic performers to make the play the most popular in New York.

      Falcon had utilized his time in New York to visit his brother and sister and to attend, as their guest, tonight’s performance. He was seated in a private box, looking at the show bill when there was a light knock on the door.

      “Yes?” he said.

      The door opened and one of the theater ushers stepped inside. “Excuse me, Mr. MacCallister, but your brother asked me to give you this note.” He handed a folded piece of paper to Falcon.

      Falcon,

      My dear brother, I ask you to please accept as a guest in your box the person of General Custer. The gallant general has been kind enough to invite Rosanna and me to a command performance at Ft. Lincoln. And, as you know, both Rosanna and I will take any opportunity to visit the West.

      Andrew

      After