MacCallister, The Eagles Legacy: The Killing

by William W. Johnstone

  “Before I go any further with this, are you willing to undertake this operation?”

  “Yeah, I’m in,” Kingsley said. “But I do have a question. How am I going to know who it is?”

  “His name is MacCallister. Duff MacCallister.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Oh, I don’t have any idea what he looks like,” Denman replied.

  Kingsley got a perplexed look on his face. “Well, if you don’t know what he looks like, just tell me how ’n the hell I’m goin’ to know who it is I’m supposed to rob?”

  “He is coming here by train from Cheyenne, Wyoming. He will telegraph us before he leaves Cheyenne. Since he cannot come here directly from Cheyenne, he will have to change trains in Fremont, Nebraska. You will be in Fremont, and I will telegraph you with information as to what day he will arrive there.

  “The eastbound train from Cheyenne arrives in Fremont just before midnight, and the train from Fremont to here will not leave until one-thirty the following afternoon. Mr. MacCallister is a wealthy man, so that means he will not spend all that time in the depot. He will, no doubt, walk from the depot to the hotel. He will be alone, and it will be in the darkest part of the night. I think that if you get to Fremont before him, you will be able to find a place somewhere between the depot and the hotel where you might accost him and relieve him of his money.”

  “You still ain’t told me how I’m goin’ to recognize him.”

  “As I said, he will be carrying almost sixteen thousand dollars in cash, and in order to carry that much money, he shall require a small satchel of some kind. That is how you will be able to recognize him.”

  “So what you are saying is I am to go after ever’-one who gets off the train that’s carrying one of them little satchels?”

  “If necessary, in order to find the right one,” Denman said. “But how many men do you suppose will exit the train at that time of night, carrying a briefcase and bound for the hotel?”

  “All right, I guess you got a point there,” Kingsley agreed. Again he smiled, and again the smile did nothing to ameliorate his foreboding countenance. “Me ’n you have us a deal. Now, let me ask you something else.”

  “Yes?”

  “What about the whore?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Kingsley pointed to Mandy, who was still standing over near the bar. “The whore over there. Are you going to take her to bed or not?”

  “Heavens, no!”

  “Then you don’t have no problem with me taking her?”

  “You, uh, can have her,” Denman said. “I must go.”

  Kingsley laughed at Denman as he hurried out of the saloon.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sky Meadow

  Even as Hodge Denman and Crack Kingsley were having their discussion, Duff was at Sky Meadow getting ready for the big Firemen’s Ball. While in Scotland, Duff had been a captain of the Black Watch regiment. Because of that, he had a complete Black Watch uniform, which consisted of a Glengarry hat with the cap-badge of the Black Watch, Saltire, the Lion Rampant and the Crown, with the motto Nemo Me Impune Lacessit (No One Provokes Me With Impunity), a kilt of blue and green tartan, a black waistcoat, an embossed leather sporran which he wore around his waist, knee-high stockings, and the sgian dubh, or ceremonial knife tucked into the right kilt stocking, with only the pommel visible. He was also wearing the Victoria Cross, Great Britain’s highest award for bravery, which was awarded him for his bravery above and beyond the call of duty during the battle of Tel-el-Kebir in Egypt.

  At the moment, Duff was standing in front of the hall mirror, making certain that all was as it should be, when Elmer came in, having just returned from the post office in town.

  “You got that letter you was lookin’ for, from the Kansas City Cattle Exchange.”

  “Good, let me see it.”

  Elmer handed Duff the letter and he read it, then nodded. “Yes, this confirms the telegram. They want me to bring the money there, in cash. And I’ll have to make my own arrangements for the train.”

  “I tell you what, Duff, once you get all set up there in Kansas City, you send me a telegram tellin’ me what time you plan on bein’ in Cheyenne and I’ll round up enough hands so’s we can push the herd back here.”

  “All right,” Duff said. “Thank you.”

  “Also, I’ve got the buckboard all hooked up and ready to go,” Elmer said. “So let me know when—damn—pardon me boss for mentionin’ it, but that sure as hell is some outfit you are wearing!”

  “‘’Tis my regimental uniform,” Duff said.

  Elmer pointed to the kilts. “I’ll say this for you. It takes a brave man to wear somethin’ like that here. But I reckon anyone who makes fun of it will have to answer to you.”

  “There will be but few who would dare to make mockery o’ the blue ’n green,” he said.

  Elmer shook his head. “I reckon that’s so,” he said. “And just so’s you know it, Duff, I ain’t makin’ no mockery of it.”

  “I didn’t think you were,” Duff replied.

  Elmer was wearing a brown four-button suit coat, black and brown striped trousers, a rounded-lapel burgundy silk vest, and a saloonkeeper’s tie that was a black neckband from which four three-inch strips of cloth were suspended.

  “I must say that you seem exceptionally well turned out yourself,” Duff said.

  Elmer chuckled, then turned to show off his suit. “I bought this here suit from a mail-order catalogue,” he said. “Would you believe this is the first suit I’ve ever owned?”

  “Is it, now?”

  “Ha! I’ll bet the first time you seen me, you never thought you’d see me in a suit like this, did you?”

  Duff thought of the first sight he’d ever had of Elmer. He was with his cousin, Falcon MacCallister, and they were examining the old abandoned Spanish mine that was on the land he had just filed upon. The rumor was that, though the mine was fallow, it was haunted.

  Duff walked over to the wall and held up the lantern. Something in the wall glittered back in the light.

  “I’m going to pick here for a while and see what turns up,” Duff said.

  Sitting the lantern down, Duff began using the pickax on the wall. Each time he struck, large chunks of shale would tumble down from the wall. As he continued to strike at the wall the tailings piled up on the floor of the mine and Falcon got on his knees to sift through them, looking for any sign of color.

  “Have you found anything?” Duff asked.

  “No, not yet. Wait, there might be something here ...”

  Duff turned to look at Falcon, and when he did, he saw a frightening apparition behind him. A two-legged creature covered with hair, and with wild eyes, was holding a large rock in both hands, about to bring it crashing down on Falcon’s head.

  “Look out!” Duff yelled and, reacting quickly, Falcon leaped to one side as, with a loud scream, the creature brought the rock down.

  Thanks to Duff’s warning the rock had missed Falcon, but the creature lifted it over his head again, and with gleaming red eyes, came toward Duff. Duff used the head of the pickax to knock the rock out of the creature’s hands. With another bloodcurdling scream, the creature turned and ran, disappearing into the dark tunnel of the mine as if able to see in the dark.

  “Are you all right?” Duff asked.

  “Yes,” Falcon said, standing up and brushing himself off.

  “What on earth was that?” Duff asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe Mr. Guthrie’s ghost?” Falcon replied.

  “’Twas no ghost, for it was something physical.”

  “A bear, maybe?”

  “I don’t know about American bears, but I’ve never seen a bear in Europe that could use his hands like this one did.”

  “Are you going to continue to look for gold?”

  “Sure’n you aren’t thinking I’m going to be frightened off by a ghost, are you? Especially since it isn’t a ghost.”

  T
he mine was neither fallow nor haunted, and Duff chuckled as he recalled the memory.

  “Truth to tell, Elmer, first time I saw you I wasn’t even sure you were human.”

  “Yes, sir, well, I’m human enough now, and if you think all the widder women in town ain’t goin’ to be happy to see me, why, you just got yourself another think comin’.”

  “All the widows, Elmer? Or would you be talking about one in particular? Mrs. Winslow, I believe?”

  “Well, you got to admit, Duff, Vi Winslow is a handsome enough woman,” Elmer said.

  “Aye, she is at that,” Duff replied. With a last minute adjustment to his hat, he started toward the door. “Come, Elmer. We don’t want to keep the ladies waiting, do we?”

  Elmer laughed. “No, sir, not at all. Why, it just wouldn’t be right for a couple of handsome galoots like us to keep the ladies waiting.”

  The dance was being held in the ballroom of the Dunn Hotel. The hotel was on the corner of Bowie Avenue and First Street, and the ladies of the town had spent the entire day decorating it for the dance. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from the walls, and potted plants and bouquets of flowers were in the corners and on the tables that were placed around the outer corners of the floor, thus allowing enough space for the dance.

  The ladies had been preparing food as well, and cakes, pies, cookies, doughnuts, divinity, and fudge were in crystal bowls around the floor. There was also a very large punch bowl filled with Roman punch made from lemonade, champagne, rum, orange juice, and egg whites.

  The fire brigade had hired a band from Cheyenne, and when they had arrived earlier that same afternoon, several of the citizens of the town saw them step down from the stagecoach while gingerly handling their instruments. Soon word passed through the entire town that the band was here and the level of excitement increased throughout the town, for this was the social event of the year.

  Back in her apartment over the Ladies’ Emporium, Meghan lay three dresses out for her examination, and looked at them as she made up her mind which one to choose for the ball tonight. She had made all three: one white and demure, one blue and regal, and one red and daring. With a degree of boldness she didn’t really feel, she chose the red one. With its low neckline, no sleeves, and tight bodice, it was a dress that would show off her figure to perfection. She picked it up, then held it in front of her as she looked in the mirror. She smiled at her image.

  “Mr. Duff Tavish MacCallister, are you ready for Meghan, because she’s ready for you,” she said. Laying the dress down, she went back to fill the tub for her bath.

  By dusk, the excitement that had been growing for the entire day was full blown. The sound of the practicing musicians could be heard all up and down Bowie Avenue as well as First Street. Children looked through the glowing yellow windows on the ground floor of the barn. As soon as the doors were opened, they rushed inside, then scrambled up the stairs to the balcony overlook in order to have the best view of all the proceedings.

  Horses and buckboards began arriving and soon every hitching rail within two blocks of the Dunn Hotel was filled. Men and women streamed along the boardwalks toward the barn, the women in colorful dresses, the men in suits or clean, blue denims and brightly decorated vests.

  A sign on the door and behind the bar of Fiddler’s Green said that the establishment would be closed at six o’clock that evening. Most had already cleared out of the saloon except for Biff, who was behind the bar, young Lonnie Mathers, who was earning a little extra money by sweeping the floor, a couple of older gentlemen seated together in the back of the room, and three young cowboys: Al Woodward, Case Martin and Brax Walker.

  As it so happened, these were the same three men that Biff had run out of his saloon at the point of a gun a few weeks earlier when they had gotten too surly with the piano player. They had returned the next day, contrite and repentant, asking politely to be allowed to visit the saloon again. Biff had granted them permission, and so far they had done nothing to violate his generosity.

  “How come you’re closin’ at six?” Woodward asked.

  “I’m closing at six because of the dance,” Biff answered. “I promised my wife we would go. Besides, with most of the town being there, I doubt that I will have many customers.”

  “What dance?” Martin asked.

  “You know what dance, Case,” Brax Walker said. “Hell, they got the whole town plastered with banners and posters about it.”

  “Oh, yeah. I seen ’em.”

  “We ought to go,” Brax said.

  “Why? We ain’t got no women to go with,” Martin replied.

  “That don’t mean nothin’. Hell, they’ll have women there. What do you say, Al? Think we should go to the dance?”

  “Yeah, why not? Woodward answered. “We may as well. There ain’t nothin’ happenin’ in this place now.”

  “You men,” Biff called to the three as they left. “Stay out of trouble. A lot of people in town look forward to these dances, and I wouldn’t want to see their time there upset by a bunch of men acting like fools.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Woodward replied with an impatient wave of his hand as he left. “Don’t worry about it, old man.”

  Meghan arrived before Duff and, after receiving oohs and ahhs from all the other women about her dress, she walked over to one side so she could keep an eye on the door without being too obvious. As she was standing there, Sue Stearns came up to her to show off her dress, a dress Meghan had made for her.

  “Oh, Meghan, I am getting so many compliments on this dress, you did such a wonderful job,” Sue said.

  “They aren’t complimenting the dress, Sue, they are complimenting you. You look beautiful in it.”

  “Why, thank you,” Sue said, blushing. Sue turned to leave, then she gasped. “Oh, my, look over there,” she said.

  Looking in the direction Sue had indicated, Meghan saw Duff standing just inside the front door. He was perusing the room, and he was in his kilts. For most men, in fact, for just about any other man Meghan knew, it would have been a farcical entry. But Duff towered over every other man there, not only in his height but in his raw power, broad shoulders, powerful arms, and muscular legs, shown off by what he was wearing. Duff was also carrying his bagpipes, having been asked by Biff Johnson to bring them. Biff’s wife was Scottish, and had a fondness for the pipes.

  Duff and Meghan saw each other at about the same time, and, with a big smile, Duff came toward her.

  “My, don’t you look beautiful tonight,” Duff said.

  “So do you,” Meghan replied.

  Duff laughed. “Sure ’n don’t let Elmer hear you say that. Methinks he is havin’ a bit of a problem with m’ wearin’ o’ the kilts as it is. And I suppose it is a bit pretentious of me.”

  “Nonsense, you look devilishly handsome,” Meghan said.

  “Ladies and gents!” someone shouted, and looking toward the sound they saw Fred Matthews standing up on the band platform. Fred was the city fire commissioner, and as such, was in charge of the Firemen’s Benefit Ball.

  “Ladies and gents, may I have your attention, please?” Fred said, holding his hands up.

  The laughter stopped and the myriad conversations ended as everyone looked toward Fred.

  “I want to thank you folks for coming tonight. And I thought you might like to know that the money we raised by selling tickets to this event is enough to buy a new pumper!”

  Everyone cheered and applauded.

  “And now, what do you say we have some fun?” he shouted, and there were more cheers and applause.

  The caller stepped up to the front of the platform then. “Ladies and gents, form your squares!” he shouted, and the men and women rushed to the floor to form the squares. Elmer and Mrs. Violet Winslow, the attractive widow who owned Vi’s Pies, joined the same square as Duff and Meghan.

  The music began then, and the caller started to shout. As he did so, he clapped his hands and danced around bowing and spinning as if he had a girl and w
as in one of the squares himself. The floor became a kaleidoscope of color as the dancers moved and swirled to the caller’s commands—the butterfly-bright dresses with skirts whirling out, the jewels in their hair, at their necks or on the bodices, sparkling in the light.

  Ladies do and the gents you know,

  It’s right by right and wrong you go,

  And you can’t go to heaven while you carry on so,

  And it’s home little gal and do-si-do,

  He was quiet for a moment, and the fiddle player stepped front so that the high skirling sound carried throughout the barn as the dancers moved in and out and whirled about.

  The fiddler stepped back and the caller became king again.

  Now it may be the last time, but I don’t know,

  And oh by gosh and oh by Joe.

  Circle eight and you get straight,

  And we’ll all go east on a westbound freight.

  Once more the fiddler held sway as the dancers continued. The fiddler worked the bow up and down the fiddle, bending over, kicking out one leg then the other as he played, his movements as entertaining as the music itself. Then, when his riff was over, the caller stepped up again.

  Round we go and do si do

  Pass by Bill, say hello to Joe

  Knock down Sal and pick up Kate,

  And we’ll all join hands and circle eight.

  Around the dance floor sat those without partners. As there were many more men than women, the only ones who were not dancing were the men. Every woman, regardless of her comeliness, or lack thereof, was engaged in one of the squares. Overhead, young boys and young girls lay on their stomachs at the edge of the balcony, the better able to look down on the dancing below.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Because there were so many more men than there were women, Duff agreed to sit several of the dances out in order that Meghan could dance with some of the unattached cowboys. Duff walked over to the punch bowl and poured himself a drink, but nearly choked, because over the course of the evening, cowboys had added so much whiskey to the punch that it was nearly pure whiskey by now.