MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy: The Killing Read Online Free PDF Page B

his whip to hurry the team by.
    “Oh!” Mildred said, frightened. “What was that?”
    “Not to worry, child,” Dr. Rosen said. “That was just Mr. Schaeffer, popping his whip over the heads of the horses.”
    The stage rolled on by the rock, then passed a grove of aspens and cottonwood trees that were ideal for harboring a robber or robbers. The road angled down from there, still paralleling the stream running clear and cold among the rocks. Then the road started up, a long, slow ascent, with the stream dropping off so that one could look down upon it breaking white over the rocks and sparkling brightly in the sunshine.
    As the coach continued to climb, Mildred felt cold shivers run down her spine. From every bush, stump and rock, she expected a masked man to leap out before them. Whereas the coach had been traveling as fast as a man could run, it was now slower than a crawl as the horses labored up the long hill, a hill that was haunted by the ghosts of travelers who had been murdered there in at least half a dozen robberies in the past.
    Finally reaching the top of the hill, the horses were allowed to rest a few minutes, and the passengers were encouraged to step out to stretch their legs. It was not mere coincidence that here, too, were two privies, the ladies’ on the left side of the road, the men’s on the right.
     
     
    Crack Kingsley had been waiting behind a clump of bushes about twenty yards from the ladies’ privy. Hearing the coach laboring up the hill, he discarded his half-smoked cigar, called a “Long Nine,” and ground it out under his heel. Subconsciously, he rubbed his finger across the puffed-up purple scar tissue on his face, and waited until the coach reached the top of the hill. He made no further move until he saw the passengers step out, the driver get down to check the harness, and the shotgun guard leave his gun on the seat while he went into the toilet to relieve himself. Kingsley had waited in this place for just such an opportunity, and he walked up to the right side of the team so he would be able to keep an eye on the men as they came back to the coach.
    The driver, having found a loose line, was so busy adjusting it that he didn’t notice Kingsley until he spoke.
    “Now, gents, this is what I want you to do,” Kingsley said, his voice startling all of them. “Drop your guns right here on this side of the log.” He was referring to a fallen tree of about four feet in diameter.
    The driver and shotgun guard pulled their pistols and dropped them as Kingsley ordered.
    “I’m a doctor,” Dr. Rosen said. “I don’t carry a gun.”
    “What about you?” Kingsley asked the gambler.
    Dooley Long pulled his pistol from the holster and dropped it alongside the log. “You look to me like the kind of person who carries a holdout,” Kingsley said. “Let me see it.”
    Long hesitated a moment, and Kingsley pointed his pistol at him and cocked it.
    “I’ll just shoot you now and be done with it,” he said.
    “No!” Long said. He pulled a small pistol from his jacket pocket and dropped it with the other weapons.
    At this time, Mildred and Mrs. Rosen emerged from their privy and, seeing a robbery in progress, Mrs. Rosen gave a loud gasp. “Kingsley!” she said.
    Kingsley jerked his pistol over in her direction.
    “Damn, have I gotten famous?” he asked. He waved his pistol toward the stage. “Get over here where I can keep an eye on you.”
    “You’ll never get away with this, Mr. Kingsley,” Mildred said. “My daddy is the sheriff of Dawson County.”
    Kingsley chuckled. “Is he, now? Well, you tell your daddy that Crack Kingsley sends his regards. Now, you, driver, climb up there and throw down the money box.”
    “Mr. Kingsley, maybe you should’ve scouted this out a little better than you done,” Schaeffer said. “We ain’t carryin’ no money box on this trip.”
    “What do you mean, you ain’t carryin’ no money? You always carry money.”
    “No, sir, we