Scream of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Page A

driftin’ in and out of here for about six months. They don’t never work. I don’t know where they get their money. Steal it, I reckon.”
    â€œThat’s about right.” Jamie shoved Woody’s body off the busted table and then lifted the table off of the pinned man.
    â€œOh, Lord,” the young man said, getting to his hands and knees.
    â€œYou reckon He knows you, boy?”
    The young man looked up, fear stark in his eyes. “He will from now on, Mr. MacCallister. And that’s a promise.”
    â€œTake a little more time in choosing your friends in the future,” Jamie advised him.
    â€œCount on it, sir. Can I go now?”
    â€œI’m not holding you.”
    The man struggled into a coat and without a look back at his dead friends ran out of the trading post, into the bitter cold and howling winds and blowing snow.
    â€œGround’s too damn frozen to bury these fools,” the barkeep said. “We’ll just stack ’em out in the shed and they’ll freeze soon enough. We’ll plant ’em come spring.”
    * * *
    James William and Page returned from New York, and both were surprised and pleased to see Falcon. Falcon gave them a day to get settled in, then went over to their house for dinner and brought them up on all the news from home.
    â€œSomething is really gnawing at you, Uncle Falcon,” James William said, over cigars and brandy in the front room that faced the street.
    â€œYes,” Page said. “You seemed to be preoccupied all evening. What’s wrong? Do you have news of Grandpa Jamie?”
    â€œLast we heard from Pa, he was going strong in his hunt. He’s nailed over a dozen of the bunch who killed Ma.”
    â€œDo you have any idea where he is, Uncle Falcon?”
    â€œNo. He might be up in Canada.” Falcon sighed heavily. He knew he should tell Page about her brother. He should warn her about what her brother was going to do, and Falcon was certain that Ben was going to spill the beans. But was it his place to tell the couple? Moreover, did he have the right to do it? What would be Page’s reaction? Hysterics? Shock? Fainting? And what would be James William’s reaction? Would he pick up a gun and go after Ben F. Washington? He was a MacCallister, and MacCallister blood could run hot. There were a lot of things that had to be considered, and Falcon had spent many an hour going over them in his head. But all the hours of ruminations hadn’t done a thing to make this moment any easier.
    Falcon drained his brandy glass and got up to pour another. He lingered by the table for a moment, sat down on the sofa and looked at the young couple. “This is about the hardest thing I have ever tried to do,” Falcon said, his voice low.
    Page smiled strangely at him, reaching over to take the hand of James William.
    â€œJust come right out and say it, Uncle Falcon,” James urged. “Whatever it is, there is no point in allowing it to fester.”
    â€œThere is a man here in town who wants to cause a lot of trouble for the both of you,” Falcon said quickly. “He’s a reporter, from Boston. I’ve spoken at length with him, trying to talk some sense into the man. But I don’t think I got through to him.”
    â€œBen F. Washington?” Page said, that strange smile on her lips.
    Falcon stared at her. “Yes. But how? . . .”
    â€œPage told me all about her family history before we got married, Uncle Falcon,” James William said. “I am well aware that she is a quadroon.”
    Falcon stared for a moment more. “But? . . .”
    Page laughed, and it was a good, hardy, lusty laugh. “I grew up on a plantation, Uncle Falcon. In the deep South. Like my mother, I am somewhat of a sneak. I may even be better at it than she is. When I was just a little girl, I used to slip out of bed and make my way down to the colored quarters at night and eavesdrop