Slaughter of Eagles. William W. Johnstone

said. “What’s it like?”

      “It’s got beer, whiskey, food, and women,” Poole said. “What else do you need to know about it?”

      Terrell chuckled. “Don’t need to know nothin’ more about it a’tall, I don’t reckon.”

      It took the better part of a quarter hour to reach the town after they first saw it, and they rode in slowly, sizing it up with wary eyes. It was a town with only one street. The unpainted wood of the few ramshackle buildings was turning gray and splitting. There was no railroad, but there was a stagecoach station with a schedule board announcing the arrival and departure of four stagecoaches per week. The first few drops of rain started to fall, and the few people out on the street ran to get inside before the rain started in earnest.

      “There’s where we’re headed,” Luke said, pointing to a saloon. Painted in red, outlined in gold on the false front of the saloon were the words Lucky Nugget.

      The five rode up to the front of the saloon, dismounted, and tied off their horses. Luke reached for the little cloth bag that was tied to his saddle horn.

      “You takin’ the money in with you?” Terrell asked.

      “You don’t think I’m goin’ to leave it out here, do you?”

      “I reckon not. Just think it might be a little strange for you to be carryin’ all that money.”

      “Don’t worry about it,” Luke said as they stepped onto the porch. Almost as if on cue, the clouds opened up and the rain fell in torrents.

      “Ha!,” Clete Mueller said, a few minutes later. “I’ll just bet you that ol’ Egan Drumm is a’ wishin’ he was with us now, after all the money we just stoled. He got to thinkin’ he could do better goin’ out on his own, so he left. But now here we are. We got us all this money, and he ain’t got nothin’.”

      “We don’t know that he ain’t got nothin’,” Luke said. “We don’t know nothin’ about him, not even where he’s at.”

      “Yeah, but I’d be willin’ to bet he ain’t got nothin’,” Clete said.

      “Speakin’ o’ goin’ out on our own, I think maybe we ought to divide up the money now, and go our own ways,” Ollie Terrell said, bringing up the subject again.

      “We’ll divide the money when I say we divide it,” Luke Mueller said. “Anyway, what are you worried about? We got plenty of money to spend now, ain’t we? Order whatever you want, we can afford it.”

      “Yeah,” Clete added with a cackle. “We can afford it.”

      “What about women?” Terrell asked. “What if I’m a’ wantin’ me a woman?”

      “Don’t you be worryin’ none about gettin’ yourself a woman,” Luke said. “They’s plenty of women around, and once we start spendin’ the money, the women will be comin’ out of the woodwork.”

      Terrell laughed. “Women comin’ out of the woodwork. I like that. I ain’t never heard nothin’ like that before.”

      “How bout we start spendin’ some of that money now?” Caldwell asked. “I’m hungry. And I got me a thirst worked up, too.”

      “Barkeep!” Mueller called. “Bring us a couple bottles of whiskey, some glasses, and some food. Lots of food.”

      “And some women!” Terrell added. “Let’s get some women over here.”

      Three of the bar girls who had been wandering around the saloon, flitting from table to table like bees around flowers, answered the call and within a moment the five bank robbers and three women were having themselves a party.

      Though Luke Mueller was the smallest of the men, he turned all his attention to the biggest of the women.

      “Ain’t that there’n a little big for you, Luke?” Terrell teased, laughing out loud.

      As quick as a thought, a pistol appeared in Luke’s hand, and he pointed it at Terrell, pulling back the hammer.

      “You have somethin’ to say about what woman I pick?” Luke asked.

      The laughter died on Terrell’s lips, his pupils dilated with fear, and he held his hand out as if by that action he could ward Luke off. “’Course, you know I didn’t mean nothin’ by that, Luke. I was just a’ funnin’ you is all.”

      There was a long moment of high tension and absolute silence as everyone watched the tableau. Then, suddenly, a smile spread across Luke’s face, and he eased the hammer down and put the pistol back in his holster.

      “I didn’t mean nothin’ neither. I was just funnin’ you, too,” he said.

      The burst of laughter that followed was precipitated more by the release of tension, than humor.

      “What’s your name?” Luke asked the big woman.

      “Patsy,” the woman answered. A moment earlier she had been enjoying her flirtation with the little man, but now he frightened her.

      “Tell me, Patsy, what will you charge for me and you to go upstairs?”

      “A dollar for one hour,” Patsy said. “Three dollars for the rest of the day.”

      “Here’s five dollars. I might want to stay longer than the rest of the day.”

      Smiling, Patsy took the money and stuck it inside the top of her dress, between her very large breasts. “Oh, honey, we’re goin’ to have us a real good time,” she said. The money had changed her attitude about him.

      Luke reached under the table and picked up a cloth bag.

      “What’s that, darlin’, your laundry?” Patsy asked. “Honey, for five dollars I’ll give you a very good time, but I ain’t a’ goin’ to be doin’ no laundry.”

      The other soiled doves laughed.

      “You can leave your—uh—laundry here, if you want,” Clete said.

      “That’s all right, I’ll take care of it,” Luke said. “This way, we’ll all know where it is, won’t we?”

      “This way, darlin’,” Patsy said, leading Luke away from the table. The others in the saloon watched them go up the stairs.

      “Looks like a mouse following an elephant,” someone said on the far side of the room. Having seen the lightning draw of the “mouse,” he made the observation quietly, and his friend’s resultant laughter was just as quiet.

      Chapter Three

      Two hours later

      From the moment he left MacCallister, Falcon had been on the trail of the band of outlaws. Though the tracks were gone, washed out by the steady downpour, before he lost them they had been leading directly and inexorably toward Black Hawk. The cold, driving rain that had started up in the higher elevations then moved down the slopes of the Front Range Mountains had turned the single street of Black Hawk into a rushing river.

      Falcon knew if he couldn’t find his quarry in Black Hawk he would have to give up. But he was also reasonably certain the men, confident they had gotten away cleanly after the rock slide, would be there somewhere, taking shelter from the rain. Shivering in the cold downpour, Falcon perused both sides of the street as he rode into town. He rode past the buildings, subconsciously enumerating them as he passed. There was a rooming house, a livery, a smithy, and a general store that had DRUGS, MEATS, GOODS painted on its high, false front. There was a hotel, a restaurant, and of course, the ubiquitous saloon.

      It was not exactly a bolt from the blue when he saw the horses he had been tracking—two roans, a black, a white, and a paint—tied up outside the Lucky Nugget Saloon.

      “Well, boys,” he said aloud. “I’ll just bet you thought you were home free. Looks