Song of Eagles Read Online Free

everybody in this part of the territory. He owns the N Bar N ranch.”
    â€œHe’s right, mister,” another local said. “Get gone from here as quick as you can. Pride ain’t worth dyin’ for. Not in my book, anyways.”
    â€œYou do have a point,” Falcon said.
    â€œI’ll saddle your horse whilst you pack your possibles,” the local said. “Then ride, boy, ride. The name MacCallister don’t mean nothin’ to men like Nance Noonan . . .”
    The federal marshal stirred and reached for his gun. “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!”
    Falcon palmed his gun and shot him, the .45 slug punching a hole in the center of the man’s forehead.
    â€œGit the hell up to your room and pack, son,” Falcon was urged. “I’ll throw a saddle on your horse.”
    Falcon was coming down the stairs with his bedroll, saddlebags, and rifle when Sheriff Butch Noonan rose to his boots and grabbed for his guns. Falcon lifted the Winchester. 44-40, thumbed back the hammer, and drilled the man in the center of his chest.
    â€œOh, shit!” a citizen breathed.
    â€œRide, MacCallister, ride!” a man shouted. “Ride like Ole’ Nick is after you, ’cause he damn shore is!”
    Later, Falcon sat by a hat-size fire, frying his bacon, the coffee already made and the pot set off to one side on the circle of rocks. He knew he was in serious trouble, for even though the two brothers he’d killed back down the trail a ways had been no more than worthless bullies, they were still star packers. And one of them a federal lawman.
    He’d have to stay on the run until this thing got straightened out; already he missed his kids something fierce.
    He’d have to get word to his brothers in Valley, and they’d hire detectives to come in and ferret out the straight story of what had happened. Until then?
    Falcon’s laugh was void of humor. “I’m an outlaw on the run,” he said. “Probably the richest outlaw in history, but on the run, nevertheless.”
    Falcon summed up his mood: “Crap!”
    A hundred miles away, Jamie Ian MacCallister was buying supplies at a trading post on the North Platte when he heard the news about Falcon. To the eyes and mind of the new post owner, Jamie was just another rugged-looking old relic of a mountain man, not worth a dup of spit for anything.
    Jamie bought his supplies, then had a drink and listened to the men talk. Falcon had killed two lawmen over in Utah Territory, a county sheriff and a deputy federal marshal.
    But why had he killed them?
    The men at the bar didn’t know that, only that he had. Falcon had left the little town riding a horse the color of dark sand—a big horse, for, like his father, Falcon was a big man. His packhorse was a gray.
    Riding a horse the same color and approximately the same size as mine, and trailing a gray packhorse, just like mine, Jamie mused.
    Jamie quietly left the trading post without notice and once more headed south. He stopped at Fort Fred Steele and told the commanding officer there what had really taken place at the Little Big Horn. The CO and his other officers listened intently as Jamie laid it all out, from beginning to end.
    It was there that Jamie arranged for a wire to be sent to his kids in Valley. He knew that by now they would be worried sick.
    Jamie pushed on toward home. He crossed the Divide, felt pretty sure he was in Colorado, and felt better. He was not that far from home. Well, maybe a week’s riding.
    About a day out of Valley, Jamie was humming an old war song that Kate used to sing when two hammer blows struck him in the back, almost knocking him out of the saddle. As he struggled to stay on the horse, he thought he heard a shout of triumph. Sundown took off like a bolt of lightning, the packhorse trailing.
    When he got the big horse calmed down, Jamie managed to stuff handkerchiefs in the holes in his back. He knew