Dead Before Sundown

by William W. Johnstone

  “Sure ‘n the Somerleds and the MacCallisters have been enemies for two hundred years and more. I doubt that there is anything I could have done last night that would make it more so.”

  “You will see,” Malcolm said. “The sheriff was very angry. I’ve never seen him more angry.”

  “Be gone with ye, Malcolm. ‘Tis enough of your mouth I’ve listened to today.”

  “See that your fence is mended, Duff MacCallister. I will not have commerce along this road disturbed by the likes of your cattle,” Malcolm said, just before he rode away.

  Because the cattle frequently pushed through the fence at one point or another around his ranch, keeping them mended was an ongoing operation. Duff had long ago acquired the habit of carrying in his saddlebags the tools and wire he would need to perform the task. Dismounting and taking out his tools and wire, Duff’s horse stood by patiently for the fifteen minutes or so it took to make the repair.

  Chapter 2

  “I’ll not be playing the pipes at my own wedding,” Duff said that evening at the White Horse Pub. “For sure now, and how would that look? My bride would come marching in on the arms of her father, finely dressed in her bridal gown, looking beautiful, but there is no groom standing at the chancel waiting for her. ‘Where is the groom?’ people will say. ‘Poor girl, has the groom deserted her at the altar?’ But no, the groom is standing in the transept playing the pipes.”

  Skye laughed. “No, I dinnae mean play the pipes at the wedding. But afterward, at the reception you could play the pipes. You play them so beautifully, ‘twould be a shame if ye dinnae play them.”

  “A fine thing, Ian,” Duff said to Skye’s father behind the bar. “Your daughter wants me to work on my wedding day.”

  “Duff MacCallister, for you, playing the pipes isn’t work. It is an act of love and you know it. Sure’n there’s no a man alive can make the pipes sing a more beautiful song than you.”

  “So the two of you are doubling up on me, are you?” Duff said.

  “And if we need another, there’s m’ mother,” Skye said. “For she would want to hear you play as well. Say you will, Duff. Please?”

  Duff laughed. “Aye, I’ll play the pipes, for how can I turn you down?”

  “Best you be careful, Duff, m’ boy, lest you let the lass know how much power she has over you.”

  “Ian, do you think she doesn’t already know?” Duff asked. He put down his empty beer mug, then stood. “Best I get home,” he said. “Skye, would you be for stepping outside with me?”

  “No need for that, Duff MacCallister,” Skye said. “The only reason you want me to step outside is so I will kiss you good night, and I can do that right here.”

  “In front of everyone?”

  Skye smiled, sweetly. “Aye, m’ love. In front of God, m’ father, and everyone else.”

  Skye kissed him, and the others in the pub laughed, and applauded.

  Before stopping by the White Horse Pub, Duff had picked up his mail. Not wanting to read it in the pub he waited until he got home and now, settled in a comfortable chair near a bright lantern, he looked through the mail.

  Dear Cousin Duff:

  My name is Andrew MacCallister, and yes, we are cousins, though I’m certain that you have never heard of me. I have heard of you only because I hired someone to research my family’s past with particular emphasis on any of my family that might remain in Scotland. That brought me to you.

  You and I share a great-great-great-greatgrandfather, one Falcon MacCallister from the Highlands of Scotland. You might be interested to know that I have a brother named after him, and, I am pleased to say, Falcon has done the name proud.

  My twin sister Rosanna and I are theatrical players, and on the fifth of April we shall be appearing at Campbell’s Music Saloon on Argyle Street in Glasgow. It would please us mightily if you could attend the performance as our guest.

  Sincerely,

  Andrew MacCallister

  White Horse Pub

  “I thank you for the invitation, Duff,” Skye said in response to Duff’s invitation for her to accompany him to the play. “But ‘tis thinking I am, that you should go by yourself, for they are your kinsmen.”

  “And soon to be yours as well,” Duff said. “For when we are married, my kinsmen are your kinsmen.”

  “Aye, but we aren’t married yet, so they are not my kinsmen now. And they dinnae invite me. They invited you.”

  “That’s because they know nothing about you,” Duff said. “I will introduce you, then they will know you.”

  “I think it would be better if I dinnae go,” Skye said. “Besides, after we are married, I will no longer work for my father, so I feel I should give him all the time I can.”

  “If you won’t go, then I won’t either.”

  “Duff Tavish MacCallister, how dare you do that to me!” Skye said. “Don’t saddle me with the responsibility of you not going.”

  “I just meant …”

  “I know what you meant,” Skye said, interrupting him. “Duff, you must go to the play. I would be very upset with you if you did not. Go, then come back and tell me all about it.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” Duff said. “If you won’t go to meet my kinsmen, then I shall bring them here to meet you.”

  Skye smiled. “Aye, now that I would like. I have read of them in the newspaper. They are quite famous in America, you know.”

  “Are they?”

  “Aye. ‘Twill be a grand thing to meet them, I am thinking.”

  Campbell’s Music Saloon on Argyle Street, Glasgow—April 5

  Duff MacCallister was a reserve captain in 42nd Foot, Third Battalion of the Royal Highland Regiment of Scots. As such, when he arrived at the theater he was wearing the kilt of the Black Watch, complete with a 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.

  He went inside the theater to the “will call” counter.

  “The name is MacCallister. I am not certain, but I believe you may have a ticket for me.”

  “Indeed I do, sir,” the clerk replied. “Just a moment, please.” The clerk called one of the ushers over. “Timothy, would you be for taking Captain MacCallister to the green room? Introduce him to the stage manager, Mr. Fitzhugh. He will know what to do.”

  “Aye,” the usher said. “Come, Captain.”

  Duff followed the usher down a side corridor to an area behind the stage.

  “I heard Mr. Service call you MacCallister. Be ye a kinsman to Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister?”

  “I am told that is so, though I confess that I have never met them,” Duff said.

  “They are quite famous in theater,” Timothy said. “We are very lucky to have them come to Glasgow to perform.”

  They came to a large room with chairs and sofas, as well as tea and biscuits.

  “’Tisn’t green,” Duff said.

  “Beg pardon, sir?” Timothy asked.

  “He said take me to a green room. This room isn’t green.”

  The usher laughed. “It’s what they call the room where the actors can gather off stage. I think the first one must have been green, now ‘tis the name for all.”

  “Makes no sense to me,” Duff said.

  “Aye, nor does it make sense to me,” Timothy said. “There is much about the theater that makes no sense to one who is not in the business. But ‘tis a good job to have.”

  There were several men and women standing about in costumes and stage makeup, talking among themselves in words and phrases that were unique and exclusive to their profession.

  “George was out on the apron, corpsing while we were working out the blocking. He had me so flummoxed that I didn’t know whether to go stage left or stage right,” a young woman was saying.

  “Had it been me, I would have just given my exit line and stepped behind the backcloth,” a young man said, and they all laughe
d.

  “Mr. Fitzhugh, this is Captain MacCallister,” the usher said, introducing Duff to an older, bald-headed man who was wearing square-rim glasses, which were situated far down on his nose. He was looking at notes he had fastened to a clipboard.

  “Ah yes, Captain,” Mr. Fitzhugh said. “Mr. MacCallister was hoping you would come. If you would wait here, sir, I shall summon him.”

  “Thank you,” Duff said. He moved over to one side of the room, providing some separation between himself and the players in costume and makeup. He noticed that one or two of the young women seemed to be paying special attention to him, and he looked away self-consciously.

  Suddenly all the conversation stopped.

  “Mr. MacCallister, can I do something for you?” someone asked.

  Duff looked up, thinking the person was talking to him, but saw that he was talking to another person, a man who was in his early fifties and carrying himself with great dignity. Like the others, he was in costume and makeup.

  “No, thank you, relax, relax,” the man said. Spying Duff, a broad smile spread across his face. “Cousin Duff, how good of you to come,” he said, extending his hand.

  “It was good of you to invite me,” Duff replied, appreciative of the man’s firm grip. “You would be Cousin Andrew?”

  “I am,” Andrew replied.

  “Ma’am,” someone said, and as they had with Andrew, all stood in respectful silence as a very attractive woman, also in costume and makeup, came into the room.

  “Sister, come and meet our Scottish kin,” Andrew called to her. “Cousin Duff, this is Rosanna.”

  Rosanna stuck out her hand and Duff bowed his head slightly, then raised her hand to his lips for a kiss.

  “Oh, my! How gallant!” Rosanna said. “Andrew, do pay attention to our young cousin, perhaps you will learn a thing or two.”

  “Timothy?” Andrew called.

  “Yes, m’laird?” the usher replied.

  “Please take Mr. MacCallister to the orchestra, row five, center seat,” Andrew said. He smiled again at Duff. “I may have just sown the seeds of my own disaster. That is the best seat in the house; if I stink up the stage with a poor performance, there will be no hiding it from you. The play we are presenting tonight is called The Golden Fetter, by Watts Phillips. I do hope you enjoy it.”

  “Oh, I am certain that I will greatly enjoy the performance,” Duff replied.

  When Duff was escorted with great pomp and circumstance to his seat in the theater, he was aware of the reaction of the others when he, a Highlander in the uniform of the Black Watch took the best seat in the house.

  “Who is he?”

  “Perhaps a relative of the Queen?”

  “He is someone of great importance, of that we can be certain.”

  “Aye, he is wearing the Victoria Cross. That alone should be enough to warrant the best seat in the house.”

  The lights in the theater dimmed, but were brightened on the stage. Before curtain rise the sound of a storm was heard, and as the curtain drew up a flash of vivid lightning was seen, followed by a loud clap of thunder. On stage was the interior of a village barber’s shop, fitted up with the usual paraphernalia.

  Duff enjoyed all three acts of the melodrama, feeling a sense of pride that his kinsmen were indeed the stars of the performance. After escaping many perils and dangers, Andrew and Rosanna were now the last two actors on the stage.

  Andrew as SIR GILBERT: Look up—look up, dearest! With his own hands he has broken the fetter, and you are mine now, (embraces her) you are mine!

  Rosanna as FLORENCE: (her head sinks on his shoulder) Forever, Gilbert, forever.

  The curtain came down to thunderous applause; then it rose again so that the players could take their curtain call, in groups for the lesser players, then singly for the more principal roles, before finally Rosanna curtsied, then left the stage for Andrew. He bowed, then held out his hand to call Rosanna back so they could take the final bow together as, once more, the curtain descended.

  * * *

  Duff remained seated as the others in the audience began to exit the theater. He wasn’t entirely sure of what was expected of him now. Was his only obligation to come and see the show? Should he go back to the green room and wait? Or would that be too presumptuous on his part?

  Not until he was the only person remaining in the auditorium did he stand and start to leave. That was when Timothy appeared from the same side door Duff had gone through when he visited the Green Room.

  “Captain MacCallister?” Timothy called.

  “Aye?”

  “Mr. MacCallister’s compliments, sir, and he asks if you will join him in his dressing room.”

  Duff followed Timothy through the same path he had traversed earlier, but this time they passed through the green room, which was even more crowded now than it had been before, because all the cast and the stagehands were gathered there, babbling in excitement as they came down from the exhilaration of the production. Timothy led him through the green room and down a long hall to one of two doors, each of which had a star just above the name. The sign on one door read: MISS MACCALLISTER. The sign on the other door read: MR. MACCALLISTER. It was upon this door that Timothy knocked.

  “Mr. MacCallister? It is Timothy, sir. I have Captain MacCallister with me.”

  The door opened and Andrew stood just on the other side, his face white and shining with some sort of cleansing lotion.

  “Thank you, Timothy. Come in, Duff, come in,” Andrew said. “I shall be but a few minutes longer, then perhaps you would honor Rosanna and me by allowing us to take you out to dinner.”

  “No,” Duff said.

  “No?” Andrew had a surprised expression on his face.

  Duff smiled. “I was your guest for the wonderful play. Now I insist that you and Rosanna be my guests for dinner.”

  Andrew smiled and nodded his head. “We would be delighted,” he said.

  Duff watched in fascination as Andrew sat down at his dressing table and, using a towel, wiped his face clean of the cleansing lotion. Gone, also, were the dark lines that had been around his eyes, and the dark outline of his lips.

  “You must wonder what kind of man would put makeup on his face,” Andrew said, glancing at Duff in his mirror.

  “No, I …”

  Andrew’s laugh interrupted his response. “I know, I know, my own brothers tease me about it. But one must outline the eyes and the mouth when on stage, for next to the voice, those are the most important instruments in an actor’s profession. With them we exhibit surprise”—Andrew opened wide his eyes and mouth—”anger”—he squinted his eyes and drew his mouth into a snarl—”sadness”—he managed to make his eyes droop and his lips curl down—”and happiness.” Again his eyes were wide, though not quite as wide, and his mouth spread into a wide smile.

  Duff laughed, and applauded. “That is very good,” he said.

  “Yes, you could see it because you are here with me, in the same room and but a few feet away. On stage, however, the audience member in the farthest row from the stage must be able to see those same reactions, and in order to do that, we must use makeup.”

  “I can see how that would be so,” Duff said.

  There was a light knock on the door and a woman’s voice called through. “Andrew, are you decent?”

  “Why, Sister, I am one of the most decent people I know,” Andrew replied.

  “That had better be more than a joke, because I am coming in,” Rosanna said, pushing the door open and stepping into the room. Her makeup and costume had been removed, but she was still, Duff saw, a very attractive woman. She smiled at Duff. “Did Andrew tell you we want you to be our dinner guest tonight?”

  “I told him, but he refused,” Andrew said.

  “What?” Rosanna replied in surprise.

  “It turns out that he wants us to be his guest.”

  Rossana laughed. “I hope you accepted.”

  “Of course I did,” Andrew said.


  Chapter 3

  After the show Duff took his two cousins out to dinner at the King’s Arms restaurant.

  “It is Scot you are, so Scot ye shall eat,” Duff said.

  “We defer to you, cousin,” Andrew said.

  Duff ordered a rich, Scotch broth to start the meal, then a hearty pot of roasted chicken with potatoes as the main course, and he finished it up with clootie dumplings covered in a rich custard sauce.

  During the meal Andrew explained how they were related.

  “Our father, that is mine and Rosanna’s, was Jamie Ian MacCallister the Third. He was captured by the Shawnee Indians in 1817 on his seventh birthday and raised among them so that he was more Indian than white. He learned the warrior’s way and when he was only nine, he shot a deer with a bow and arrow he had made himself. And if that wasn’t enough, he fought off two wolves for the carcass. That earned him the name Man Who Is Not Afraid.”

  “Father was at the Alamo,” Rosanna added. “He was the last courier Colonel Travis sent out before the final battle.”

  “There is a statue of him in the town of MacCallister, Colorado. The statue was made by the noted sculptor Frederic Remington,” Andrew continued.

  “My with a history like that, a statue and a town of the same name, your father must have been quite a successful man,” Duff said. “I’m sure you are very proud of him.”

  “We are,” Rosanna said. “He was one of the true giants of the American West, and founder of the city that bears his name.”

  “His father was Jamie Ian the Second,” Andrew said, continuing the narrative. “He was one of the early settlers and a successful farmer in Ohio. My great-grandfather was Jamie Ian the First, and he was truly a giant. He made the trek west with Lewis and Clark, and he became a mountain man, living and trapping on his own for many years before returning to civilization.