Revenge of Eagles

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Falcon MacCallister stood on the depot platform at Glenwood Springs, Colorado. Behind him, the train popped and snapped as the bearings and gearboxes cooled. The relief valve vented steam in puffs that made it sound as if the mighty engine was trying to recover its breath after a difficult run.

Standing slightly over six feet tall, Falcon had shoulders so wide and muscular, and a waist so flat and thin, that his suits had to be custom-made for him. His eyes were pale blue, staring out from a chiseled face. He had wheat-colored hair, which he wore short and neat under a black hat decorated with a turquoise-encrusted silver band. Right now he was wearing a black suit with a crisp white shirt and a black string tie.

He had come to Glenwood Springs because an old friend was here. Walking across the depot platform, he threw his grip in the back of a hack.

“The Glenwood Springs Hotel,” he said.

The driver snapped the reins over his horse and the Light Brett carriage pulled away.

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