Dreams of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Page A

he’s not, he’ll resent it for all his life. And probably hate you for it.”
    Jamie looked at his long-time friend. Sam was graying now, his hair all salt and pepper. And his wife Sarah was no longer a young woman. Her last birthing had been a very difficult one. After the hard birthing, Sam had said they would have no more children.
    They rode in silence for a few more miles. Finally, Jamie heaved a great sigh and nodded his head. “If Kate wants a piano, then a piano she shall have.” He smiled and lifted his head up. “Oh well. Perhaps a musician or two in the family will be a good thing.”
    â€œOf course, it will. We’ll have a good time gathered around the piano.” Excitement grew in his voice. He twisted in the saddle. “Jamie. Let’s build a combination school and church building. We’re growing and soon there will be others coming in. Won’t it be grand to gather on a Sunday and sing praises to the Lord while Andrew or Rosanna plays the piano?”
    Jamie smiled and agreed with his friend. Jamie was more inclined to worship in the Indian way—to Man Above, the Great Father, Wakan Tanka. It just made more sense to him. But Kate had been firm about that. The children would be raised in a Christian home with white European concepts of God. “You’re right, Sam. It would be a good thing.”
    â€œWonderful, lad! Wonderful.”
    â€œBut right now, let’s pull in them rocks up yonder and see who it is that’s trailing us. There’s a spring in there and I have a bad feeling about them who’s been slipping up behind us.”

Eleven
    As soon as Jamie and Sam and the mules vanished into the rocks those behind sought cover.
    â€œNo decent man would do that,” Sam remarked. “They must be scalawags.”
    Jamie did not reply. His mind had already shifted to what the Shawnee called the Warrior’s Way. His eyes had taken in all his surroundings, picking out the best defensive positions and any place he and Sam might be vulnerable. He concluded that they were in a very good spot.
    â€œSecure the mules, Sam. And bring the rifles up here when you return.”
    â€œAre they Indians, Jamie?”
    â€œNo. White men. But I don’t have a clue as to who they might be. And that troubles me.”
    After Sam had picketed the mules and gathered up the rifles, he said, “You told us about the man you had trouble with last summer, Jamie. Could this be him and his kin?”
    â€œMaybe. But it could be anybody. To have lived no longer than I have, I certainly managed to gather more than my share of enemies.”
    Sam nodded his head in agreement with that. Jamie had just passed his thirtieth birthday, and Sam had never known nor could think of anyone in recent memory who had more enemies than Jamie MacCallister.
    The puzzle was suddenly solved when a shout rang out. “You give us them fine-lookin’ mules and you boys can ride on. There ain’t no mules worth dyin’ for. Think about that.”
    â€œHighwaymen,” Sam said with a snort.
    Jamie smiled. “How can they be highwaymen when there are no highways out here, Sam?”
    Sam shook his head. Jamie’s sense of humor could surface at the strangest of times. “Then we’ll just call them thieves.”
    â€œAmong other things.”
    â€œHow ’bout it, boys?” the shout came from the west of their location.
    â€œWhy don’t you come and take them,” Jamie yelled defiantly.
    â€œThat ain’t very smart on your part,” the unknown man yelled. “You bes’ think ’bout that some.”
    Jamie leveled his rifle and put a big ball whining and bouncing among the rocks where the thieves were hiding. He did not expect to hit anyone, and he didn’t, but judging from the yelling, he sure caused some anxious moments among the brigands.
    â€œFire into those rocks, Sam. Let’s give them something