Thunder of Eagles

might be better for you.

Hugh said he is not going to let J. Garon get away with stealing our money, and he intends to recover it. I don’t know how he plans to do this, but you know that Hugh is a very determined man, once he sets his mind to it.

If he is successful in recovering the money, I will try to see that you receive what is due you, but in order to do that, you must keep in touch with me, so I will know where you are.

You will always be able to reach us at the Players’ Guild in New York. Good luck to you in your Western adventure.

Love,

Your friends, Mary and Hugh

P.S. The rest of the troupe sends their love as well.

Putting that letter aside, Rachael opened the other one.

Dear Miss Kirby,

My name is Corey Hampton. My brother Prentiss and I own a saloon in Higbee, Colorado. Let me assure you, it is a saloon of the highest repute.

Last night I attended the performance you and the others gave, and I enjoyed it very much. But what I enjoyed most was your piano playing. It was beautiful, and it held me spellbound for the entire evening.

Then, later, I enjoyed a late dinner, only to discover that you and the other players were at a table very near mine. I intended to come introduce myself to you, but I overheard your conversation, and realized that you had been stranded by an unscrupulous thief who took all your money.

As I understood the conversation (and I beg you to forgive me for my eavesdropping), you and the others are now without employment. Also, if I understood correctly, the others are returning, but you plan to say out here.

I would be very pleased to offer you a job playing the piano in the Golden Nugget. If you are interested in such a position, please meet me for breakfast at Two Tonys Restaurant on Santa Fe Avenue. I will stay there until ten o’clock, at which time I must catch a train to return to Higbee.

Sincerely,

Corey Hampton

When Rachael stepped into the restaurant a few minutes later, the maitre d’ came up to her.

“Yes, madam, are you alone?”

“No, Mr. Deckert, the lady is with me,” a man said, getting up from a nearby table.

“You are Mr. Hampton?” Rachael asked.

“I am.”

Rachael smiled. “I am a pianist,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“In your letter, you said you wanted to hire me as a piano player. I am not a piano player, I am a pianist. Do you still want to hire me?”

Corey Hampton smiled, and nodded. “Oh, yes, ma’am, I want to hire you, Miss Kirby,” he said. “I think Higbee is ready for a pianist.”

Chapter Four

As Falcon rode down the street in Boulder, Colorado, the hollow clumping sound of his horse’s hooves was interrupted by a clang, then a cheer.

“You’re goin’ to be workin’ against a leaner there, Jimmy,” someone said. “Better be careful you don’t knock it down so that it becomes a ringer.”

“You boys don’t be worryin’ none about that,” Jimmy said. “I’m goin’ to knock that one off and drop mine in, clean as a whistle.”

By then, Falcon was even with the contest, and he heard the sound of the shoe hitting the steel stob, then shouts and laughter.

“I told you, you was goin’ to knock that into a ringer,” someone said.

“You jinxed me. If you hadn’t said nothin’, I would’a knocked that horseshoe plumb away from there.”

“Yeah, and if a frog had wings, he wouldn’t bump ’is ass ever’time he jumps,” someone else said, and everyone laughed.

Falcon continued on until he pulled up in front of the saloon. Dismounting, he went inside, stepped up to the bar, and slapped a silver coin down in front of him.

Looking around, the bartender broke into a wide grin.

“Well, I’ll be damned, if it isn’t Falcon MacCallister,” the bartender said, smiling at him. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hello, Ed,” Falcon said. “How cold is your beer?”

“I’m running a little low on ice,” Ed said. “But I can promise you that it’s colder than horse piss.”

Falcon laughed and slid his coin across the bar. “That’s good enough,” he said.