Free Song of Eagles by William W. Johnstone

left Brewer at the bar and pulled up a seat across from Falcon.
    â€œHowdy, Kid. Would you like a beer?”
    The Kid frowned. “You know I don’t drink nor smoke, Falcon.”
    â€œWell then, how’s the new job going?”
    The Kid smiled. “It’s all right, so far. Mr. Tunstall seems a right decent man to work for.”
    â€œHe got you punching cows?”
    â€œNo, thank goodness. Dick’s in charge of the cattle. My job is to stay next to Mr. Tunstall and make sure nobody shoots him in the back.”
    Falcon frowned. “Things getting that bad?”
    The Kid nodded. “Yeah. The boss thinks Murphey and Dolan are getting right tired of him taking their business away from them with his store, and he said Mr. Chisum was working on gettin’ some of those government contracts to sell beef to the Indians. Mr. Tunstall says if that happens the lead is liable to start flyin’ sooner rather than later.”
    â€œWell, be sure to keep a close eye on your own back while you’re watching out for Tunstall’s, Kid.”
    The Kid patted the Colt on his hip. “I keep my holster greased and the hammer thong off all the time, Falcon. I’m ready for whatever those galoots want to throw my way.”
    â€œWhat are you doing out this way, Kid?”
    â€œI heard you bought into the saloon here, and I wanted to come give you some business. Mr. Tunstall advanced me some pay, an’ it’s been too long since I’ve sat in on a good poker game.”
    â€œYou any good at poker?”
    The Kid shrugged. “I usually win more’n I lose.”
    â€œThat’s all that counts.”
    Falcon glanced over the Kid’s shoulder and saw Ben Johnson, Johnny Albright, Louis Longacre, and Marcus Cahill coming through the door.
    â€œYou’re in luck, Kid. Here come some gents who’ll be glad to test your luck.”
    The Kid smiled. “Luck has very little to do with winnin’, Falcon. It’s all in knowin’ who you’re up against, and bein’ ready to do whatever it takes to beat him.”
    Falcon waved the men over and introduced them to the Kid.
    â€œYou men ready to play?” Falcon asked.
    â€œDeal ’em,” Johnny Albright said, his voice slurred enough to show he had already started drinking. “I feel real lucky tonight.”
    The Kid looked over at Falcon and winked, making Falcon smile in return. In some strange way, the Kid was a man after his own heart.

Eight
    In Lincoln, a late night meeting was being held in a back room of La Placita, J.J. Dolan’s general store. Dolan had asked Lawrence Murphey, called the Major, John Riley, Jack B. “Billy” Matthews, Jesse Evans, and Sheriff William Brady to meet together to discuss their strategy in dealing with Chisum and Tunstall.
    Dolan, holding a glass of Irish whiskey in his hand, paced the room as he talked to the others, who were seated around a large potbellied stove to ward off the autumn chill.
    â€œSheriff, you’ve got to crack down on Chisum and Tunstall more. Since they’ve opened their damned store and bank, they’ve started to get some support from the smaller ranchers in the area, and I even hear from our friends in Santa Fe that the army is considering giving Chisum some of our contracts to supply beef to the Mescaleros.”
    â€œHell, J.J., I don’t know what else I can do. Every time I see any of their men in town I brace ’em. I’ve thrown half of them in jail for drunk and disorderly, but Tunstall just bails ’em out and gets ’em back to work.”
    Murphey, who was well into his third drink, slurred drunkenly from the corner, “it was different when I ran things ’round here.”
    He waved his glass as he spoke, sloshing whiskey on his arm, “We didn’t put up with no interference in our plans. Those that didn’t go along didn’t get credit at the store. That kept