MacCallister, The Eagles Legacy: The Killing

by William W. Johnstone

  “What’s the matter, Miss? Is the punch a little too strong for you?”

  The question asked was obviously a mocking reference to the kilts Duff was wearing. The questioner was a cowboy, nearly as big as Duff, and there were two more with him. The questioner and the two who were with him laughed at the sarcastic question.

  Duff didn’t know their names, but he had seen all three before. It took but a moment for him to recall that they were the three cowboys Biff had kicked out of the saloon a while back.

  “Aye, ’tis a wee bit too strong and that is a fact,” Duff replied. He didn’t take the bait, so the cowboy tried again.

  “Me ’n my buddies was lookin’ at all the purty dresses the women folk is wearin’ tonight, and what we was tryin’ to do is figure out who was wearin’ the purtiest dress. And damn me, if we didn’t choose you.”

  “Aye, the kilt of the Black Watch is quite a handsome getup, I agree,” Duff said.

  “Come on, Al, hell, he either ain’t got enough smarts or enough sand to get riled by us. Let’s find us some women,” one of the other cowboys said.

  Duff watched them walk away, fighting back the quick flash of anger that had built up inside him. He didn’t react to the baiting, because he had no wish to cause any trouble.

  The music stopped, and Fred came over to talk to Duff.

  “Any trouble with those galoots?”

  “No trouble,” Duff answered.

  “They’re the same ones caused a little trouble down at Fiddler’s Green a while back, if you remember.”

  “Yes, I thought I recognized them. I don’t know them, though.”

  “The big one is Al Woodward. The other two are Case Martin and Brax Walker. They hang around Woodward like gnats buzzin’ around a dog’s pecker. They can’t hold a job more than a few months anywhere they’ve ever been, ’cause they are always getting into trouble.”

  “They did seem to be a bit quarrelsome,” Duff agreed.

  “Oh, the reason I come over here is that some of the folks were hoping you would play the pipes now,” Fred asked.

  “What about the band?”

  “The caller says he needs a break, and the band is all for it. And you did bring your pipes with you.”

  “Aye, I brought them.”

  “What are you going to play? I’ll announce it,” Fred said.

  “‘The Skye Boat Song,’” Duff said.

  Fred nodded, then he stepped up to the band platform. Because the music had stopped, it was easy to get everyone’s attention.

  “Ladies and gents, we are in for a treat tonight, and I mean a real treat. I have prevailed upon Mr. Duff MacCallister to play a tune for us on his bagpipes.”

  “Is he goin’ to curtsey, and whirl around a bit in that little dress he’s a’ wearin’?” Al Woodward shouted. Walker and Martin laughed loudly at Woodward’s taunt, but no one else did. On the contrary, the others stared at him in annoyance.

  “If you—gentlemen—would kindly be quiet so the rest of us can enjoy this treat, I will go on,” Fred said, separating the word “gentlemen” from the rest of his sentence.

  “Yeah, go ahead, don’t let us stop you!” Woodward shouted.

  “You ain’t stoppin’ us, sonny,” Elmer said. “But if you don’t shut up, a few of us are likely to stop you.”

  There were enough grunts of agreement with Elmer’s thinly veiled threat that Woodward and the others shut up.

  “The song Mr. MacCallister has chosen is a song of Scotland, called ‘The Skye Boat Song.’ Duff, the platform is yours,” Fred said.

  There was a scattering of applause as Duff moved up onto the platform. He inflated his bag, and there was a tone from the drone and chanter as Duff began to play. What he had not told Fred, and what he had not told anyone, ever, was that Skye McGregor had been named after this song.

  After he finished, several came up to thank him for playing. Meghan, especially, was moved.

  “That song means something to you, doesn’t it, Duff?”

  “Aye, ‘tis a song of Scotland, and ’tis Scotland-born I am.”

  “No,” Meghan said. “It’s more than that. I have seen and heard you play before. But there is something very special about this song. I could see it in your face.”

  “You are a very astute lass, Meghan.”

  “It’s Skye, isn’t it? Yes, that’s it. I believe Mr. Matthews said this was called the ‘Skye Boat Song.’ You were thinking of her when you were playing it.”

  Duff bowed his head slightly, and Meghan reached out to put her hand on his arm.

  “Don’t be embarrassed or self-conscious about it, please, Duff,” she said. “You’ve no idea how wonderful I think you are for being able to sustain that kind of love. Skye was such a lucky woman.”

  “I should have chosen another song,” Duff said. “I’ve no wish to bring such melancholy.”

  “I’m glad you chose it,” Meagan said. She smiled. “And my dance card is free again.”

  “Ladies and gents, form your squares!” the caller shouted.

  Over by the punch table, Woodward, Martin, and Walker, the three cowboys who had accosted Duff, were getting drunk on the heavily spiked punch.

  “I got me an idea,” Woodward said. “Martin, let’s me ’n you join one o’ them squares.”

  “We can’t, we ain’t got no women to dance with us.”

  “That don’t matter none,” Woodward said. “Once we start the dancin’ and the do si do’n and all that, why, we’ll be swingin’ around with all the other women in the square.”

  “Yeah, Martin said. “That’s right, ain’t it?”

  “No, it ain’t right,” Walker said.

  “What are talkin’ about? What do you mean, it ain’t right?” Woodward asked.

  “Well, think about it. Whichever one of you takes the woman’s part will be do si do’n’ with all the other men when you get to swingin’ around.”

  “Yeah, I hadn’t thought about that,” Martin said.

  “Hell, that ain’t nothin’ to be worryin’ about,” Woodward said. “Next dance, why, we’ll just switch around. Martin, you can be the woman on the first dance, then I’ll set the next one out, and Walker you can come in and let Martin be the man. Then on the third dance, why, I’ll come back in and be the woman. That way, all three of us can do si do with the other women.”

  “All right,” Martin said. “But let’s pick us a dance with some good-lookin’ women in it.”

  When the next set of squares was formed, Woodward and Martin joined the same square as Duff and Meagan.

  “Well, lookie here, Martin,” Woodward said, pointing toward Duff. “Looks like you won’t have to do si do with all men. You’ll get a man in a dress. That ought to count for somethin’.”

  Martin laughed just as the music started.

  As the couples broke apart to swing with the others, Martin made a round with the men, including Duff. But on the next round, he rebelled. Pushing one of the men aside, he started swinging around with all the women until he got to Meghan. That was when Duff stepped out into the middle of the square and grabbed him by the arm.

  “Get out of my way, girlie,” Martin said. He reached for Meghan, but as he did so Duff, with his thumb and forefinger, squeezed the spot where Martin’s neck joined his shoulder. The squeeze was so painful that Martin sunk to his knees with his face screwed up in agony. The other squares, seeing what was happening in this one, interrupted their dancing. Then the caller stopped, as did the band, the music breaking off in discordant chords.

  “If you gentlemen are going to dance in our square, you’ll be for doing it correctly,” Duff said, talking quietly to the man, who was on his knees in pain.

  “Missy, you done started somethin’ you can’t finish,” Woodward said. Woodward was the other interloper cowboy, and he swung a powerful right fist toward Duff.

  As gracefully as if he were performing a dance move, Duff bent back at his waist and allowed Woodward’s fist to fly harm
lessly by his chin. Duff counterpunched with one blow to Woodward’s jaw, and he went down to join Martin, who was still on the floor.

  Suddenly a gunshot erupted, and men shouted and women screamed.

  “Ow!” one of the young boys cried out from the balcony above. “I got shot!”

  Looking toward the sound of the gunshot, Duff saw the third of the three cowboys he had encountered earlier. This was Walker, and he leveled his pistol at Duff.

  “No!” Meghan shouted.

  Duff reacted before anyone else did. Pulling the sgian dubh, or ceremonial knife, from its position in the right kilt stocking, he threw it in a quick underhanded snap toward Walker. As he had intended, the knife rotated in the air and the butt, not the blade, hit Walker right between the eyes, doing so with sufficient force to knock him down.

  One of the men close to Walker reached down quickly and grabbed his pistol.

  Marshal Ferrell and his deputy took charge then, escorting all three of the troublemakers out of the dance hall and down to the jail.

  In the meantime Dr. Pinkstaff had gone up the stairs to the balcony to check on the boy who was hit.

  “It’s all right, folks,” he called back down. “He wasn’t hit with a bullet, just with a splinter of wood.”

  “But it hurt anyway,” the boy said, and the crowd laughed, more from relief than anything else.

  “Ladies and gents, form your squares!” the caller shouted, and the dance resumed.

  Elmer and Vi Winslow were sitting this dance out.

  “Don’t they make a good-looking couple?” Vi asked.

  “Oh, handsome enough, I reckon,” Elmer said. He smiled. “But iffen you was to ask me, why I’d say we make a right handsome couple our ownselves.”

  Vi laughed and waved her hand at Elmer. “Hush, Elmer. You’ve got me blushing like a young girl.”

  “Why hell, Vi, you are a young girl,” Elmer said. “Purty as one, anyhow. And you make the best pies I ever et.”

  “Elmer!” Vi said, hitting him playfully. “Now I don’t know if it is me or my pies you are interested in.”

  “Both,” Elmer said.

  “Well, after the dance, you’ll have to stop by the restaurant for a piece of pie.”

  “Say, that sounds like a good idea. We’ll get Duff and Miss Parker, too.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Meghan and I discussed it,” Vi said. “This will give them a chance to be alone.”

  “Oh?”

  “And us too.”

  “Oh.”

  After the dance Duff walked Meghan home, and she invited him up to her apartment.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee to help keep you awake for your drive back out to the ranch?” Meghan asked.

  “I’d like to, but Elmer and I came into town together, and he ...”

  Meghan smiled at Duff and put her finger on his lips. “Worry not about Elmer. Vi will keep him busy for a while.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Would you believe me if I said we arranged it?” Meghan asked.

  Duff chuckled. “Who would have thought that women could be so devious?”

  “Oh, devious?” Meghan said, and she hit him, but her response was ameliorated with a laugh. “Not devious, cooperative,” she said.

  “Cooperative,” Duff agreed.

  Meghan stepped over to the cooking stove that already had wood and kindling laid in. She lit the fire, which caught quickly, and within a few minutes her apartment was permeated by the rich aroma of coffee at the boil.

  They spoke of the dance and laughed at some of the events of the evening as they drank their coffee.

  “I got a letter from the Kansas City Cattle Exchange today,” Duff said. “So I expect I will be leaving Monday morning to go to Kansas City.”

  “Will you write to me while you are gone?”

  Duff smiled. “Aye, if you think the scribbling of a Scotsman would be of interest.”

  “Oh, I think it would be of great interest,” Meghan said. “And I also want you to do something else for me, if you would.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Meghan walked over to a cabinet and opened a drawer. Reaching in, she pulled out a piece of yellow ribbon.

  “I’ve sewn a lock of my hair into this ribbon,” she said. “And I’ve added a few drops of my favorite perfume. It’s foolish, I know. But if you would, I would like you to carry it with you.”

  “Meghan, I ...” Duff started, but Meghan held up her hand to interrupt him.

  “Worry not about any implied meaning,” she said. “It is for luck, and for luck only. It will comfort me to know that you have it with you.”

  “I wasn’t about to protest,” he said. “I was about to tell you that I would be most happy to carry it with me.” He lowered the ribbon from his nose to his lips. “The French call this a jeton d’affection.”

  “Oh, what lovely sounding words,” Meghan said. “What does that mean?”

  “It means a token of affection.”

  Meghan smiled. “Really?” she said.

  Duff raised the ribbon to his nose, inhaled the perfume, then kissed it.

  “You can be satisfied with kissing the ribbon,” Meghan said. “Or ...”

  “Or?”

  “This,” Meghan said, standing on her tiptoes and lifting her lips to his to kiss him. The kiss was quick and chaste, but when Meghan pulled away from him, her face was flushed with embarrassment.

  “I hope you do not think ill of me for doing such a thing,” she said.

  “Meghan Parker, I could never think ill of you,” Duff said. “And I promise you that this”—he held up the yellow ribbon—“and your kiss,” he put his finger on Meghan’s lips, “will be with me for m’ whole journey.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Duff and Elmer had not ridden into town, but had driven a buckboard. They were talking animatedly about the events of the night as they drove back home, but about two miles from Sky Meadow, they saw an orange glow in the dark sky ahead.

  “What’s that?” Elmer asked.

  “It looks like a fire at home,” Duff replied.

  “Hyah!” Elmer shouted, snapping the reins and urging the team into a gallop.

  As they got closer to the ranch they could see flames in the sky, and closer still, they saw that the barn was on fire.

  “Sure ’n what would make the barn catch fire?” Duff asked. “We left no lanterns or such.”

  The team ran all-out for the last two miles, and Elmer applied the brake and pulled them to a halt as they slid to a stop in the front yard. By now, the barn was totally involved, the fire was leaping high into the air, and they could feel the heat.

  It was too late to do anything about the fire or even to help the animals, the two milk cows, and Sky. Fortunately, Elmer’s horse, Rebel, was one of the two that were pulling the buckboard.

  There was no sound except for the pop, snap, and roar of the fire.

  “Sky,” Duff said, shaking his head.

  They heard a horse whinny, and looking around, saw Sky standing near the house, his eyes shining in the light of the fire.

  “Sky!” Duff said, leaping down from the buckboard and running to him. Sky lowered his head and let Duff pet him. “I thought I had lost you.”

  Sky pulled away from Duff and trotted over to the fence, then he turned back toward Duff, whinnied again, and began bobbing his head.

  “What do you think he’s found over there?” Elmer asked, climbing down from the buckboard. He and Duff started toward Sky but saw, even before they got there, what Sky was trying to show them. There was the body of a man lying on the ground. The man’s fingers were clutched around the handle of a kerosene can.

  “I’ll be damned,” Elmer said. “This must be the son of a bitch who burned the barn. What’s he doing here?”

  “Look at the side of his head,” Duff said. “I think Sky must have killed him.”

  “Well good for you, Sky
,” Elmer said. He leaned down for a closer look. “Wait a minute. I know this galoot.”

  “You do? Who is it?”

  “His name is Clete Wilson. You heard the story they told about the fella that braced me in Fiddler’s Green?”

  “Yes.”

  Elmer pointed to the body. “This is him. He must’ve found out that I lived out here and figured burnin’ your barn would get him even with me. I’m sorry, Duff. Looks like I brought this one to you.”

  “Nothing for you to be sorry about,” Duff said. “You had nothing to do with it.”

  “What do you want me to do with him?”

  “Take him into town tomorrow, I suppose. Take him to Constable Ferrell’s office, I expect he will know what to do next.”

  “All right,” Elmer said.

  “Poor Tillie and Sable,” Duff said, speaking of the two milk cows. “They were such gentle creatures. It’s a shame they had to die like this.”

  By the next morning, there was nothing left of the barn but a pile of blackened boards and rubble. Fortunately, the tack house was separate from the barn, so the saddles and tack were unharmed by the fire. Duff had also withdrawn the money earlier, and it was safe in an attaché case in the house.

  Duff and Elmer poked around in the residue of the barn to see if anything could be salvaged. They found the charred remains of the two milk cows, and though there wasn’t much left to bury, they buried them over in the corner of the corral where they liked to stand and look out toward Bear Creek.

  It was late morning by the time Duff was ready to leave for Cheyenne. Elmer had loaded Wilson’s body onto the back of the buckboard and covered it with a tarpaulin. After an exchange of good-byes, the two men left at the same time, going in opposite directions.

  Because Duff got away from Sky Meadow late, he didn’t reach Cheyenne until it was already past normal business hours at the J.C. Abney Livery Stable. Only the night crew was there, two teenage boys, neither of whom Duff knew. One was white and one was an Indian. Both of them came out front to meet him.