Massacre of Eagles

moniker Buffalo Bill.” Cody looked at Falcon. “He made you famous as well, my friend. Because, to date, he has written over three hundred literary masterpieces,” Cody said, then he chuckled. “At least, that is how he refers to them, though the rest of the world considers them dime novels.”

“Wait a minute,” Falcon said. “You mean I have you to thank for those awful dime novels about me?”

“You may call them awful, Mr. MacCallister,” Ingraham said. “But the rest of the world calls them heroic.” He began to recite as if on stage. “With the reins of his horse held tightly in his teeth, a flaming six-gun in each hand dispensing death to the desperados, our hero hurled a challenge that brought fear to the heart of the evildoer. ‘Dangerous Dan, your day is done!’” Ingraham smiled. “I particularly like the alliteration of the letter ‘D.’ Do you recognize that passage?”

“Do I recognize it? No, should I?” Falcon asked.

Ingraham chuckled. “No, I suppose not. I seriously doubt that anyone with your sterling qualities would ever be impressed by, or even read, stories that glorify your name. But what I just quoted came directly from that stirring novel of derring-do: Falcon MacCallister and the Robbers of the Deadwood Stage.”

“If he had the reins of his horse clenched between his teeth, how could he yell?” Andrew asked.

Ingraham stopped to think about it for a moment, then he burst out laughing.

“An excellent point, my good man,” Ingraham said. “A most excellent point indeed.”

“You were at the Wild West Exhibition today, Ingraham. What did you think of the thrilling new act that I added? Did you see the way Falcon, who for all intents and purposes was naught but a spectator, suddenly appeared from the crowd to wrestle to the ground a runaway bull?”

Ingraham laughed. “You may have had it planned, Cody, but something tells me that Falcon was not in on the plan.”

“Maybe not,” Cody agreed. “But knowing Falcon as well as I do, I knew that were I but to present him an opportunity to be heroic he would react exactly as he did.”

“Surely you aren’t saying that you arranged for the bull to break away, are you?” Rosanna asked.

Cody held up his finger. “That, my dear, will forever be a closely guarded secret. But, what about it, Falcon? Would you care to join my exhibition?”

“Thank you, Cody, but I’ll pass. Andrew and Rosanna are the two show-business luminaries in the MacCallister family.”

“And luminaries they are,” Cody agreed. He glanced over toward Falcon’s siblings. “I loved your performance in The Lady and the Soldier.”

“Thank you,” Andrew said.

“No, not you, Andrew, I was talking to Rosanna,” Cody said, and all laughed.

“Cody, what is the latest on your town?” Ingraham asked.

“Your town? What town?” Andrew asked.

“Haven’t you heard?” Ingraham asked. “There is to be a town in Wyoming Territory named Buffalo Bill.”

“Really?” Rosanna asked. “My, how wonderful!”

“It isn’t to be called Buffalo Bill,” Cody said. “It is to be called Cody, if it comes about.”

“It will happen,” Ingraham said. “Thornton Beck is behind it, and he is a man who accomplishes what he starts.”

“Thornton Beck, the financier in Wyoming Territory?” Falcon asked.

“Yes. He has already developed three towns in Wyoming Territory: Sheridan, Buffalo, and Beckton. He wants to develop a town in the Bighorn Basin, along the Stinking Water River between Heart Mountain and Cedar Mountain, very near Yellowstone. Do you know the area there?”

“Yes, I know the area quite well,” Falcon replied.

“I suppose some people might think it a bit vain of me to be interested in a town that bears my name, but I’m sure you understand the attraction, as you have a town named after you.”

“Actually, MacCallister is named after my father, not me,” Falcon said.

“Mr. Cody?” a young man called, stepping into the room then.

Looking toward the visitor, they saw that he was wearing a cap with a shield stating that he was an employee of Western Union.

“Yes, I am Bill Cody,” Cody said.

The young man smiled. “I know you, Buffalo Bill. I would recognize you anywhere,” he said. “I’ve seen your Wild West Show.”

“It is an exhibition, my good man,” Cody said. “It is not a show. A show is make-believe, whereas an exhibition is real.”

“Yes, sir, well, it’s real all right. Oh, I have a telegram for you.”

Cody took the telegram, and tipped the young man a dollar.

“Gee, thanks, Buffalo Bill!” the young man said, his smile growing even broader at the large tip.

Cody opened the telegram and took a moment to read it. “It is from General Miles,” he said. “He wants me to come to Chicago.”

“Why?” Falcon asked.