Dreams of Eagles by William W. Johnstone

given their descriptions and silently vowed to find them. For they had been the ones who had manhandled Ellen Kathleen, almost stripping her naked before Juan and the others had shown up causing the brigands to take flight.
    â€œYou have a talk with that son of yours, Jamie,” Kate told her husband. “He is entirely too quick to use that knife of his.”
    Jamie had stared down at her. “He used it protecting his mother and family and the others.”
    â€œJamie!” she stamped her foot. “He wanted to scalp the man!”
    â€œSo?” the rugged frontiersman said coldly.
    â€œI fear for him, Jamie. He’s too much like you.”
    â€œThat’s bad, Kate? Who stopped him from scalping the bastard?”
    Kate stared up at him. “Sam.”
    â€œI’ll have to speak to Sam about that.”
    Kate’s blue eyes turned cold and she swung around and walked out of the home, before she said something that both of them would later regret. Kate and Jamie quarreled little, but when they did, the kids scattered to nearby cabins to wait it out and the others in the community left them alone until they had patched it up.
    But try as hard as she could, Kate could not stay mad at Jamie for very long, and Jamie could not stay mad at Kate. Kate knew that she had to always bear in mind that Jamie had spent his formative years living with Indians, where scalping was not only acceptable, but a sign of bravery and honor. But she darn sure didn’t have to like it when father told son it was acceptable white behavior.
    But she also knew that Jamie Ian was so much like his father that the best thing she could do was keep her mouth shut and learn to live with it. Like it or not.
    Andrew now, the twin of Rosanna, their second born, was not at all like his father. Andrew was serious and sensitive, tending to be a bit of a dreamer and to lean toward books and the classics. Rosanna was just like him.
    â€œPut in an order for a piano,” Kate told Jamie, just before he and Sam pulled out.
    â€œA what?” Jamie blurted.
    â€œYou heard me. I want Andrew and Rosanna to learn to play.”
    Jamie very nearly lost his temper. “How in the name of God am I going to get a piano out here?”
    â€œYou’ll think of a way. Just do it.”
    â€œDo you have any idea how much that is going to cost?”
    She smiled sweetly at him. Very sweetly. Jamie took a step backward. He’d seen her back down an angry Ute with that smile.
    â€œWe can afford it.”
    â€œIf you say so.” He bent down and kissed her. “We’re gone.”
    Jamie muttered under his breath for several hours on the trail. Sam was amused but said nothing. He knew Jamie would get to whatever was bothering him in time.
    â€œA piano,” Jamie said aloud.
    â€œBeg pardon?” Sam asked, doing his best to hide his smile.
    â€œA piano. Kate wants me to order a piano.”
    â€œOh, that would be grand! Oh, my, yes. The girls should learn how to play.”
    â€œShe wants Andrew to learn how to play the piano,” Jamie said sullenly.
    â€œNothing wrong with that, Jamie. The greatest composers in the world are men, you know?”
    â€œNo. I didn’t. Andrew is a boy. Damn near grown. Sits around and dreams all the time. Invents things—when he doesn’t have his nose in a book. Makes up little tunes in his head and hums them. Good Lord, Sam. The boy can’t hunt worth a damn, can’t fish worth a damn, couldn’t track a wounded bear across an open meadow. Can’t shoot a rifle, can’t shoot a pistol, can’t shoot a bow and arrow. Sam, if he stays out here, he’s going to get killed. He’s as different from Jamie Ian as day from night. I keep hoping he’ll grow out of it. But now I don’t think he ever will. I just don’t know where I failed the boy.”
    Sam smiled. “He is what he is, Jamie. If you try to make him something