Destiny of Eagles by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2016-07-13T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

It was that in-between time of day . . . after daylight, but before nightfall . . . and Falcon was some twenty miles from Medora. Although he was not acting in any official capacity, he was still on the trail of Aaron Childers, Dalton Yerby, and Percy Shaw. About an hour earlier, he had lost their trail, but he was sure he would find it again. It was just a matter of patience, and it was Falcon’s experience that the hunter always had more experience than the hunted.

Falcon liked this twilight time of day best. The sun had set, but it was still light, the soft, silver kind of light that took away the glare and the heat. He had put on a pot of coffee a few minutes ago and was squatting by the fire, watching the glowing coals while waiting for the coffee to boil, when he felt a tingling on the back of his neck. He was being watched. Without being obvious about what he was doing, Falcon perused the area around him, and discovered that he was being watched by three men.

The strange thing was, the three men watching him now were not the three men he had been trailing. He knew this without knowing exactly how he knew it. He knew it from the intuition that he had developed over many years. Men who lived their lives like that took on senses that were beyond that of the normal person.

Without questioning how he knew, but merely accepting it as a part of his being, Falcon prepared himself for the danger that lay ahead. He tossed another stick of wood into the fire and paid a lot of attention to stirring the coals while, quietly, loosening the leather straps that held down the hammer of his pistol.

He waited, keeping a sideways watch and an open ear. He had a feeling they would make their play when he started to pour his cup of coffee, thinking they could catch him while he was distracted.

All right, Falcon thought. If this was the way they wanted to play, he would play their game with them, and he would even play it by their rules. But he was going to play this game on his own timing. As he took his tin cup from his saddlebag, Falcon was exceptionally keen to everything going on around him. He reached for the coffeepot.

Just as he knew they would, his adversaries took that precise moment to make their move. Turning toward them, Falcon dropped to the ground, then rolled to the right, even as the three men charging him were firing their own guns. Their bullets dug into the ground exactly where Falcon had been but a second earlier.

Falcon wound up on his stomach with his pistol in his hand.

“Shoot the son of a bitch, Zeb, shoot ’im!” Muley shouted.

Falcon recognized two of the shooters. Muley and Zeb were the men who had accosted Roosevelt in the saloon back in Medora. He didn’t know who the third man was, but he didn’t have time to speculate.

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