Rage of Eagles Read Online Free Page A

Falcon replied with a smile.
    â€œI’ll get you fresh blankets for your bunk,” Angie said, smiling at Falcon.
    Amazing how attitudes can change so quickly, Falcon thought, hiding his smile. Five hours ago she wouldn’t give me the day of the month. “That’s very nice of you, Miss Angie.”
    â€œAngie, please,” she said, batting her eyes at him.
    Falcon helped carry the supplies into the house, got his blankets, and by the time he returned, a man with a bad limp had taken his horses down to the corral and was waiting to howdy and shake with Falcon. He had not attempted to unsaddle Hell.
    â€œI’m Cookie,” he said, holding out a callused hand.
    Falcon took the hand, hard as a rock, and shook it. “Val Mack.”
    â€œUh-huh,” the older man said, just as Falcon got the distinct impression that somewhere down the line he’d met the man. “You know what you’re gettin’ onto here, Val?”
    â€œA peck of trouble, I reckon.”
    â€œMore like a wagon load, Val. Come on, let’s walk over to the bunkhouse and get you settled in.”
    The bunkhouse was well built and snug, the bunk comfortable and long enough for Falcon’s tall frame. He’d been in some fancy hotels where his feet hung over the end of the bed.
    Cookie limped back to the house and Falcon unpacked his gear and stowed it away. Then he went down to the barn and brushed his horses and forked hay to them. He had noticed that Cookie wore a pistol all the time, so Falcon checked his own six-shooters and his rifle. He made sure all the ammo loops in his cartridge belt were full, then sat outside the bunkhouse on a bench, smoking a cigarette.
    Nice spread, Falcon thought. John Bailey’s done well for himself and his family.
    Then he wondered what had happened to the man who’d fathered Angie’s child. Dead? Drifted away like some men do? Fine-looking woman like that, he rather doubted the husband drifting off. Course, he smiled, she might have a temper like a wolverine. That had caused many a man to haul his ashes.
    Then Falcon gave some serious thought to the men he’d try, and the optimum word was try , to get hold of, come the morning. He would send a wire to some settled-down friends of his, and then they would attempt to get hold of the ol’ war-hosses ... somehow. Money to get them here as quickly as possible was no object, for Falcon had money in banks and with investment houses and attorneys all over the west, under various names. He had five thousand dollars with him, in a money belt and in his saddlebags (now hidden under a loose board in the bunkhouse, which was loose no longer), in gold and greenbacks.
    But Gilman was small potatoes compared to Nance Noonan and his nutty brothers, and on his way to the cabin where he’d holed up, Falcon had learned there were ten Noonan boys. Well... there were eight left, since Falcon had dispatched Chet and Butch. And each of the brothers had five or six kids.
    â€œJesus,” Falcon whispered to the breeze. “Nance has an army just with his brothers and their kids.”
    Plus, Falcon knew, with all hands combined, there were at least a hundred men at Nance’s command . . . probably more.
    Well, Falcon thought, his pa’d had about that many men chasing him on more than one occasion. Falcon smiled at that, knowing that he wasn’t quite the hoss Jamie Ian MacCallister had been. Close, but not quite.
    Hell, no man was.
    Falcon rose from the bench and went to the washbasin to clean up for supper, scrubbing his face and neck and hands with strong soap and drying off with a towel from a peg. He ran his fingers through his thick hair and then looked at his reflection in the piece of mirror affixed to a post. In the mirror, he caught movement and turned. Kip was walking up behind him.
    â€œSupper’s nearabouts ready, Val. John wants you to come up to the house now for a drink ’fore we