Cry of Eagles

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Book: Read Cry of Eagles for Free Online
Authors: William W. Johnstone
bullet wound in his right hip. He could still see the bullet hole in his pants and the bloodstains on the cloth. Evidently Doc hadn’t even changed clothes before he began his nonstop poker playing.
    Doc took a seat next to Falcon, so he, too, could watch the other men in the bar. When the waiter brought their cups of coffee, Doc took out a silver flask and poured a dollop of amber liquid into them.
    Doc held up his cup toward Falcon. “A toast,” he said, a strange look in his eyes. “A toast to the man behind the scenes.”
    Falcon clinked his cup against Doc’s. “What do you mean?”
    A sly smile crossed Doc’s lips. “Don’t think you went unobserved in your little altercation with Johnny Ringo.” He took another drink, and added, “Your timely interference was much appreciated. The man might have gotten lucky and actually hit one of us with that rifle.”
    Falcon laughed. These last few years, there had not been many men he enjoyed being with. Billy the Kid had been one, and Doc Holliday was another. The man’s sense of humor, and his loyalty to his friends, caused Falcon to feel a kinship with him that was rare for a man who spent most of his time alone.
    â€œWhat are you going to do now, Falcon?” Doc asked, as the waiter piled plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, tortillas, sliced tomatoes, and potatoes in front of them.
    Falcon shrugged. “Mosey on down the trail, I guess. I’ve still got a lot of country to see.”
    â€œWhy not stay here in Tombstone? It is a growing town, and given enough time I might be able to teach you how to play poker.
    â€œThat’d be the day,” Falcon said. “In the little time I’ve watched you, I’ve noticed you have a tendency to go against the odds. In the long run, that’s a no-win strategy.”
    â€œAh, but that is the key, my friend. For me, there is no long run, only the here and now.”
    Doc bent his head and began to nibble at his food, but Falcon could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He knew consumption took away the appetite, but he wished Doc would at least try to take better care of himself. Of course, he didn’t say that, for he respected him too much to try to tell him how to live what was left of his life.
    After they finished eating, Doc said he was going home to take a nap, and Falcon went to Morgan Earp’s house, where both he and Virgil were recovering from their wounds.
    Wyatt answered the door, a pistol in his hand. “Oh, it’s you, Falcon. Come on in.”
    â€œExpecting trouble?” Falcon asked as he took his hat off and entered the room.
    Morgan was lying on a sofa, propped up on several pillows, bandages on both shoulders. Virgil was across the room with his wounded leg stuck out in front of him on an ottoman, a shotgun cradled in his arms.
    Wyatt peered out the door for a moment, then closed and bolted it. “Yeah. Sheriff Behan has been making noises about arresting us for murder.”
    â€œBut he has no authority in Tombstone. He’s the county sheriff,” Falcon said.
    Virgil nodded. “That’s correct, Falcon, but he still has plans to haul us in to stand trial.”
    â€œHow do you think it’ll play?”
    Morgan gave a short, harsh laugh. “There’s no tellin’. Half the people in Tombstone make a lot of money off The Cowboys’ trade. They’re gonna be plenty pissed off that we’ve shut them down.”
    â€œWell, I just came to say good-bye, and good luck,” Falcon said, walking around the room and shaking hands with each of the brothers. “But if you need some help—”
    Wyatt shook his head. “No, Falcon, you’ve done enough. This is our battle now, and we’ll see it through.”
    Falcon took Wyatt’s hand. “I’ll keep watch in the newspapers. If I see that the trial is going against you, I’ll be back.”
    â€œThanks

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