Cry of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page B

in buckskin walked to a fallen tree on the edge of the forest and sat, resting his Sharps on his lap. Falcon sat next to him and stared at the cabin, trying not to think of the unendurable agony the settlers must have gone through a few nights ago.
    â€œMy name’s John Henry Hawkins, but most just calls me Hawk,” the man said, also staring at the cabin.
    â€œI’m Falcon MacCallister.”
    Hawk glanced at Falcon, his eyes narrowed. “What’s yore interest in this cabin, Falcon?”
    Falcon’s eyes clouded, his mind returning to the story his father, Jamie Ian MacCallister, told him about the death of his wife. Marie Gentle Breeze, as she was called, was captured by a band of Indians who tried to take her north with them as a slave. She fought them all the way, until they killed her. They crushed her head with a war axe, raped her many times, and threw her body in the Colored River. Jamie MacCallister rode and walked for miles on either side of the river, searching for Marie. He finally found her body wedged between a large rock and a tree, a few feet away from the west bank of the river.
    Jamie gathered what was left of Marie’s body and buried it nearby, piling a mound of rocks over the grave and marking it carefully. He rode over to the mining town of Georgetown and got himself a room at Louis Dupuy’s fancy Hotel De Paris and sent word to Falcon. (Scream of Eagles)
    For all intents and purposes, Falcon’s world had ended that day. His gentle Marie, the love of his life and mother of his children, was gone forever. She had been taken from him the same way these poor folks had been taken, violently and horribly, suffering as no one should ever be made to suffer.
    Falcon looked at Hawk and said simply, “My wife was killed by renegades a while back. I don’t intend to let this massacre go unanswered.”
    Hawk nodded. He pulled out a twist of tobacco from his shirt pocket and cut a piece off with a large Bowie knife from a scabbard on his belt. As he chewed the tobacco, he watched the cabin.
    â€œOne of the men killed here was my baby brother. I sent word to him a few months back an’ tole him how much silver was to be had out here in the Dragoons.”
    Hawk’s head dropped and he stared at the ground between his feet. “Damn fool brought his wife an’ daughter an’ two other pilgrims with him from back east.”
    He looked up at Falcon with red-rimmed eyes. “I tried to tell ‘im to leave the womenfolk in town an’ let me teach ‘em somthin’ ‘bout livin’ out here in the wilderness ’fore they tried to settle in, but they wouldn’t listen.”
    Hawk waved his hand in a circle, “This is mighty purty land, but it’s wild, like the beasts that live here. Ain’t no place for pilgrims an’ women.” He shook his head, “I shore wish they’d listened to me.”
    Falcon studied Hawk as he talked. The man didn’t look like a typical miner. “How long have you been mining out here, Hawk?”
    Hawk spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fer ‘bout a year, more or less. I scouted fer the army for a spell, then tried my hand at huntin’ buffalo.” He looked at Falcon. “When the buffalo got scarce, I heared ‘bout the silver strike near Tombstone and just kind’a drifted this way.”
    He glanced at the cabin. “God knows I wished I’d never have come here.”
    â€œWhat are your plans now?” Falcon asked.
    Hawk turned eyes full of hate on Falcon. “I plan to hunt down the murderin’ bastards that did this an’ do to them what they did to my kin. I ain’t gonna rest ‘til my hoss is carryin’ they scalps.”
    Falcon glanced at the cabin and the dark stains in front of it. He got up and walked to the place where the dirt was soggy with blood. Squatting, he dipped his finger in the soil and rubbed