Free Scream of Eagles by William W. Johnstone

floor.
    Jamie pulled both triggers of the Greener, and Waddy Keeton and Slim Terry got splattered all over the log wall. Dropping the sawed-off, Jamie bellied down on the floor, his hands filled with Colts, and let them bang.
    Bob Perlich took a round in the belly and sat down hard on the floor, screaming and cursing Jamie. Willie Evans’ lights were forever turned out as a .44 slug punched a hole in his forehead. Lonnie Rayburn and Jed Hudson ran out the back door and made it to their horses.
    But they left all their supplies behind.
    Jamie got to his boots and walked over to Perlich. He stood for a moment, then knelt down beside the man.
    â€œYou’re a rotten son of a bitch, MacCallister,” Perlich gasped the words.
    â€œI’ve been called worse,”Jamie replied, reloading his pistols.
    â€œMiles will kill you, MacCallister. You’ll not get lead in that man.”
    â€œWe’ll see about that.”
    The other men in the large room were getting up, looking warily all around them.
    â€œIt wasn’t in our plans to kill your wife, MacCallister,” Perlich said with a grin. “We had plans to grab her and as many of yourn and hers daughters and use ’em up ’til we got tarred of ’em.”
    Jamie fought back his anger and stared at the man.
    â€œSee, we had us a plant in your town feedin’ us everythin’ that went on. How’d you figure out what we was gonna do?”
    â€œA lucky guess, I suppose.”
    â€œI’ll see you in hell, MacCallister. ’Cause you ain’t no better than us’n.”
    â€œYou may be right, Bob . . .”
    â€œThis here one’s still alive! ” a man called from the bloody, buckshot-blasted corner of the room. “But not for long.”
    Kicking Perlich’s guns away, far out of the man’s reach, Jamie walked over to Waddy Keeton and knelt down.
    The man had taken a full load of buckshot in the belly and chest. The pale rider on his death horse was galloping hard toward Waddy, and the man knew it.
    â€œYou have something to say to me, Waddy?”Jamie asked.
    â€œYeah,” the outlaw gasped through his pain. He spewed obscenities at Jamie for a moment, then had to catch his breath as the pain from his wounds overcame him.
    Jamie waited. Glanced over at Slim Terry. Terry had received the second blast as the shotgun was lifting from the recoil and Jamie’s body twisting. He had taken the full load in his face and was unrecognizable . . . due to the fact that most of his head was missing.
    â€œMiles Nelson is shore to be hirin’ the top guns in the country, MacCallister,” Waddy blurted, spitting out blood with every word. “I ain’t gonna be around to see it, but he’ll git the last laugh.”
    Jamie had been hearing words to that effect for nearly five decades. He was still around. He offered no comment. Kneeling there, he watched Waddy die, a curse on the outlaw’s lips as he passed over from life to death. Waddy was blaspheming God with his last breath.
    â€œI’d not like to go out cussin’ the Almighty thataway,” a trapper remarked.
    Jamie removed the money belts from the men. They were not as thick as when he first started his hunt, but still held a goodly amount of stolen gold and money.
    â€œThe money is stolen,” Jamie explained. “I’m sending it back as I find it.”
    â€œDrag them heathens out back and plant ’em,” the trading post owner told a couple of men. “Do that and I’ll zero out your bar bill. Somebody open the door and let this damn gunsmoke out. It’s smartin’ to my eyes.”
    â€œCan I have his boots?” another man asked, pointing to Perlich. “Mine’s plumb wore out.”
    â€œHell, I don’t care,” the owner said.
    â€œHow ’bout them pistols?” another man asked. “Them’s fine shootin’ irons.”
    â€œTake ’em if you