this trip at least once every two weeks,” Billings explained to the others. “Why, Sam and I are old friends by now.”
The coach started forward with a lurch then, and within a few minutes was out of town and moving at a faster-than-a-walk clip on the road leading to Higbee.
The twelve-year-old boy took a book from his back pocket and began reading. On the cover of the book, a man held blazing guns in each hand and had a knife clenched between his teeth.
Falcon shook his head slightly, then looked out the window at the passing countryside.
“Say, young man,” Billings said. “I see that you are reading about Falcon MacCallister.”
“Yes,” the boy replied.
“Jimmy,” his mother said.
“I mean, yes, sir,” Jimmy said.
“Jimmy, huh?” the drummer said. “What’s your last name?”
“Ellis, sir,” Jimmy replied. “Jimmy Ellis.”
“Well, Jimmy Ellis, you can read about Falcon MacCallister if you want to. Or you can listen to a story about him from someone who knows him well.”
Jimmy’s eyes grew wide. “You know Falcon MacCallister?”
Falcon looked over at Billings, but Billings didn’t notice it.
“Do I know him?” Billings replied. “Why, Jimmy, I used to ride with him.”
“You did?”
“Yes, sir, I did. In fact, most of the adventures me ’n’ him had were so big and so dangerous that they ain’t even been wrote about yet, ’cause truth to tell, I don’t think folks would believe them.”
Smiling, Falcon resumed his study of the passing countryside.
“Wow,” Jimmy said. He put the book back in his pocket. “Would you tell me about one of them adventures?”
“It’s one of ‘those’ adventures,” Jimmy’s mother corrected. “And don’t bother the gentleman by asking him to tell you stories.”
“Oh, it’s no bother, ma’am,” Billings said. “Believe me, it’s no bother. And I’d love to tell the story. That is, if you’d like to hear it, Jimmy.”
“Yes, sir! I would love to hear it!” Jimmy said.
Mrs. Ellis sighed, then, like Falcon, turned her attention outside the coach.
“Well, sir, this here story happened down on the Pecos,” the drummer began. “That’s a river,” he explained.
“Anyway, me ’n’ Falcon—I call him that and he calls me Fred, bein’ as we’re good friends’n all—we was down on the Pecos, lookin’ for some men that robbed a bank in Santa Fe. Next thing you know, we was jumped by more’n twenty bandits.”
“What did you do?” Jimmy asked.
“Well, sir, that’s exactly what Falcon asked. ‘What do we do now, Fred?’ he asked. So, I put the horse’s reins in my teeth, pulled both my guns, then turned my horse toward the outlaws and fed him some spur. ‘Follow me!’ I yelled.”
“Wow!” Jimmy said. “And did he?”
“Oh, yes, Falcon held up his end just real good that day,” Billings said. “I didn’t get no more’n fourteen or fifteen of ’em myself, and Falcon got all the rest of ’em.”
“How come they ain’t never wrote no books about you, like they do about Falcon MacCallister?” Jimmy asked.
“Well, Jimmy, it’s like this. Some folks sort of crave publicity, and I reckon Falcon, for all that he is a good man, sort of likes all the fame and such. But then there’s also folks like me. I figure it’s best to just do your duty when you see it, then be quiet about it.”
“Would you autograph my book for me?” Jimmy asked.
“Why, I’d be proud to do it,” Billings said, taking out a pencil and signing his name to Jimmy’s book.
“Whoa, hold it up there!” they heard the driver call. Sam pulled back on the reins and put his foot on the brakes, bringing the coach to a halt.
“What is it, Sam? What’s going on?” Billings called up to the driver.
“There’s some folks in front of us, wantin’ us to stop,” Sam called back.
“Well, that’s ridiculous. Just drive on through.”
“I don’t think I can do that,” Sam said.
“You folks in the coach, climb outta there now!” a gruff voice called from outside.
“What? My word, what is going on?”
There was the sound of a gunshot, followed by a sharp cry of alarm from Mrs. Ellis. The bullet penetrated the
