Destiny of Eagles by William W. Johnstone

“We’ve got enough for each one of us to have our own whore.”
    * * *
    Billy Puckett showed Falcon around town, introducing him to the mayor, the banker, the newspaper publisher, and the saloon owner. He walked him to the hotel and made certain that he got the best room in the house, then that night he invited Falcon to have dinner with him.
    The Dunn Hotel proudly advertised bathing rooms on every floor, and Falcon took a bath and changed clothes so that when he stepped into the hotel dining room that night, he felt like a new man.
    â€œYou would be Mr. MacCallister?” the maître d’ asked.
    The maître d’ somewhat surprised Falcon, because he hadn’t been there for breakfast.
    â€œYes, I’m MacCallister.”
    â€œSheriff Puckett is waiting for you.”
    Falcon followed the maître d’ through the crowded dining room to a table in the far back corner. There were no windows near the table and, because the table was in the corner, both Falcon and the sheriff would be able to sit with their backs to the wall.
    Sheriff Puckett stood as Falcon approached, reached out again to shake his hand, and then the two men sat.
    â€œWould you like some wine, sir?” the maître d’ asked.
    Falcon shook his head. “I’d prefer some sippin’ whiskey.”
    â€œI’ll have the same,” Puckett said.
    â€œVery good, sir.”
    Both men ordered beefsteak and fried potatoes. Not until the waiter returned to the kitchen with their order did Puckett resume the conversation.
    â€œFalcon, I want to apologize for the way the judge behaved this morning. Actually, he is a fine and principled man.”
    â€œOh, I don’t have any trouble with his principles,” Falcon said as he cut a piece of bread and spread some butter on it. “It’s the fact that he has prejudged me that I don’t like.”
    â€œI can see how you’d be a mite upset over that. But like I say, he is an honest man. I have to tell you, Falcon, I’m very happy you accepted my invitation,” Puckett said. “And a little surprised as well.”
    â€œWell, I had holed up long enough. I figured it was about time for me to get out again,” Falcon said. “And I confess that I have thought about you from time to time, wondering whatever happened to that fella Pa brought in more dead than alive.”
    â€œYour pa was a good man,” Puckett said. “And your ma was a saint, nursing me the way she did.”
    â€œYou know, I don’t think I ever asked you, but how did you happen to wind up in Indian territory in the first place?”
    Puckett laughed. “I had a bad winter once, went to the Rendezvous with some of the sorriest plews you ever seen. I heard a bunch of folks talkin’ about a stream where the beaver were as thick as flies. Only thing was, it was Indian territory and everyone was afraid to go there.”
    â€œLet me guess. You figured if everyone else was afraid to go there, it would just make the pickings that much better for you,” Falcon said.
    â€œBoy, you read my mind,” Puckett replied. “And it was a good plan too. I was halfway through the season, had more pelts than I’d taken in the previous two years. And they was good pelts too. Then, one day when I was runnin’ my traps, a party of Indians showed up. I tried to parley with them, but they weren’t in a talkin’ mood. Next thing you know they was orderin’ me out . . . without my beaver skins. Well, I wasn’t going to have that, so I pointed my rifle at them and ordered them to get.”
    â€œI take it they didn’t get.”
    â€œThey rode out about fifty yards from me, then turned back. By then they had arrows in their bows, and they meant business. I shot one of them, but I took a couple of arrows before I could reload. Don’t know why they didn’t take my scalp, but when I come to, your pa was over me.