Selecting the clothes he would wear for this last part of his trip, he got dressed, packed the rest away, then left the saloon for the walk to the depot. When he arrived, the train for MacCallister was sitting on the track, ready to go.
Chapter Twelve
North Bend, Nebraska
“A beer, barkeep, if ye dinnae mind,” Rab Malcolm said. He had come into the Occidental saloon while the train was stopped long enough to allow the passengers to take their meal.
There was a big, bearded man standing at the far end of the bar, and when he heard Malcolm give his order, he looked around quickly.
“Hey, you!” he called. “Where are you from?”
Malcolm picked up the beer, took a swallow, then wiped some of the foam off his lips before he turned to face the man who called out to him.
“I am from Donuun, though it be none of your concern,” he said.
“Would that be Scotland?”
There was a strong overtone of belligerence in the questioner’s voice, and though Malcolm recognized it, he had no idea why. He took another swallow of his beer before he replied.
“Aye, I’m from Scotland.”
“What the hell? Are we being overtook with people from Scotland? You’re the second one to come through here in the last week.”
“The other Scot—would he be a big man with broad shoulders, light-colored hair, blue eyes?”
“Yes, that’s what the bastard looked like, all right.”
“I take it you dinnae make friends with him?”
“Friends? If I ever see the son of a bitch again, I’ll shoot him on sight.”
“Barkeep,” Malcolm said. “Would you be for servin’ my new friend another drink?”
Malcolm slapped a coin on the bar. The bartender picked it up, then poured another whiskey for the big, bearded man.
“Why did you do that? And why did you call me your friend? I don’t even know you.”
“The name is Rab Malcolm,” Malcolm replied. “And in Scotland we have a saying. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The man you have developed such a dislike for is Duff MacCallister. Duff MacCallister is my enemy. Did you mean it, when you said you would shoot him on sight?”
“Damn right, I meant it. Uh, that is, unless you are the law.”
Malcolm smiled. “As it so happens, I am the law. And as it also so happens, Duff MacCallister is wanted by the law. So you would not be incurring trouble on my behalf if you were to shoot him.”
“Well, that’s good to know.”
“What is your name, friend?”
“The name is Shaw. Clyde Shaw.”
“Be ye gainfully employed, Mister Shaw?”
“Say what?”
“Do you have a job?”
“Oh, uh, no, not at the moment. I was workin’ down at the livery, but I got into a fight with the boss’s brother-in-law, so I got fired.”
“Do you seek employment?”
“Yeah, I reckon so. I reckon it depends on what it is, and if it’ll pay anything.”
“Suppose I hire you as my deputy, Mr. Shaw. You can help me hunt down MacCallister.”
“Hunt him down? I don’t know. You bein’ from Scotland and all, maybe you don’t know how big this country is. Hell, he could be anywhere between here and California.”
“Och, mon, but I know exactly where he is going.”
“You do? Where?”
“He is going to Colorado, where he intends to look up a kinsman of his, named Falcon MacCallister.”
“Falcon MacCallister?” Shaw replied.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“I’ve heard of ’im. Hell, near ’bout ever’one in the West has heard of ’im.”
“What have you heard of him?”
“He s’posed to be about the best with pistol there ever was. Better’n Wild Bill Hickock, they say.”
“Maybe when he was younger. I am told that he is nearly fifty years old now,” Malcolm said. “How fast can an old man be?”
“I don’t know. Like I say, I’ve never met him. Onliest thing is, I’ve heard of him.”
Malcolm made a waving motion with his hand. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Duff MacCallister is the one who is wanted by the law. He is the one we are going after, and I dinnae think you will have to worry about him. I know the man, and I know he has no skill with the pistol.”
“You’d hire me, you say?”
“Aye. As my deputy.”
“And what would that pay?”
“I’ll give you twenty-five dollars now, and seventy-five when the job is done,” Malcolm said.
“I ain’t all that good with cipherin’. How much is that?”
“That is one hundred dollars. And, I will buy all the meals along the way.”
Shaw held up his glass. “Drinks, too?”
“When it is appropriate,” Malcolm said.
Shaw tossed his drink down. “Mister, you just hired yourself a deputy.”
Onboard the Colorado Eagle
“MacCallister! MacCallister! We are coming into MacCallister!” The conductor called it out repeatedly as he passed through the car, then he left by the back door to continue on through the train.
Duff sat up in his seat and ran his hand through his hair. He could feel the train slowing and as he looked through the window he saw the buildings of the town. This town was not that different from all the other small towns he had passed through for the last week, except for one very notable exception. The train passed by a life-sized bronze statue mounted on a cement pedestal. A large plaque attached to the pedestal read:
James Ian MacCallister.
Soldier, Statesman.
OUR FOUNDER.
“Folks, this is MacCallister,” the conductor said as he came back through the car a moment later. “We’ll only be here for fifteen minutes, so if you leave the train and this isn’t your destination, don’t wander too far.”
This town that bore Duff’s surname was the final stop of his six-day journey from New York. It was here that he would look for his kinsman.
Duff had thrown his sea bag in the overhead bin, and as soon as the train squeaked to a complete and rattling stop, he stood up and pulled the bag down. As he started toward the front of the car he saw a young woman with a small child at her side, struggling to retrieve her bag from the overhead bin.
“Here, lass, would ye be for allowin’ me to get your grip for you?”
The young woman smiled at him. “Yes, thank you,” she said.
Duff took her bag down, then, carrying it and his own sea bag, followed her out of the car.
The arrival of trains in MacCallister was still enough of an event to draw several citizens out, for no other reason than to see the trains arrive and depart. Falcon reread the telegram as he stood on the depot platform.
OUR SCOTTISH COUSIN DUFF MACCALLISTER WILL ARRIVE IN MACCALLISTER ON THE MORNING TRAIN ON SATURDAY AUGUST 7 STOP PLEASE MEET HIM AND EXTEND ALL HELP HE MAY NEED STOP LETTER TO FOLLOW STOP ANDREW
Only three people stepped down from the train: a man, a woman, and a child. The man was carrying two bags and the woman was talking to him, suggesting to Falcon that it was a husband and wife.
“Ruby! I’m here!” a man called, and the woman took one of the bags from the man who had stepped down from the train with her. Then, with a broad smile, she started toward the one who had called out to her. The child, with his arms spread wide, ran to the man to be scooped up in his arms.
The man who had stepped down from the train now stood on the depot platform for a long moment, looking around as if not quite sure what to do next. Behind him the train seemed something alive, the relief valve releasing steam in great, breathing puffs, the water in the boiler gurgling, the overheated axle terminals and wheel bearings snapping and popping as they cooled. Falcon knew then, without a doubt, that this would be Duff MacCallister.
Duff saw a big man coming toward him. There was a slight resemblance to Andrew, though the man coming toward him
was much taller and more muscular. In fact, the man in size and body proportion was almost a mirror image of Duff himself.
“You would be—” he started to say, but he was interrupted.
“Duff MacCallister?”
“Aye, Falcon, I am Duff MacCallister.”
Falcon and Duff extended their hands at the same time. The grip was firm and friendly.
“Help! Someone help me, that man took my reticule!”
The shout came from an old woman who was about to board the train. Looking toward her, Duff and Falcon could see a man clutching the woman’s purse as he ran toward his horse.
“Excuse me, sir,” Duff said, grabbing a polished cane from someone nearby. The man wasn’t using the cane as an aid to walking, but as an affectation to his suit, vest, tie, and bowler hat.
“Here, what do you mean?” the man sputtered angrily.
Duff threw the cane at the running thief, aiming it at his legs. The cane hit the man between his legs while he was in full stride, and it had the effect of tripping him. He fell clumsily to the ground, losing his grip on the woman’s purse.
Duff ran to him and, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, jerked him to his feet. Falcon was right behind Duff, and he picked up the purse, then returned it to the woman who had lost it.
“Thank you, sir,” the woman said.
Falcon smiled. “I’m not the one you should be thanking,” he said. “There’s your hero.” He pointed to Duff.
With his right hand, Duff was holding his thumb and forefinger tight against the back of the would-be thief’s neck. In his left hand, he was holding the cane he had “borrowed.”
“Your cane, sir,” he said to the well-dressed man who had, involuntarily, made the contribution. “I appreciate the loan.”
“I didn’t exactly loan it to you,” the man said. He chuckled. “But I must say you gave us all a show with it.”
“I assume there is a constabulary in this town,” Duff said to Falcon as he came up to him.
“We have a sheriff, Amos Cody,” Falcon said. “Come, we’ll pay him a visit.”
“Leggo my neck,” the would-be thief said. “You’re hurtin’ me.”
“You can let go if you want to,” Falcon said. “He won’t go away.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if he tries to run away, I will shoot him,” Falcon said easily.
Sheriff Amos Cody was sitting at his desk looking through a pile of wanted posters when Falcon, Duff, and Duff’s prisoner came in.
“Stand there and don’t ye be movin’ without the sheriff’s permission,” Duff said.
The young sheriff looked up. “What have we here?” he said. Then, seeing Falcon, he nodded. “Good mornin’, Mr. MacCallister.”
“And how would ye be knowin’ m’name?” Duff asked.
Falcon chuckled. “You aren’t the only MacCallister in the room, Duff.”
“Aye, ’twas foolish o’ me to respond. I’ll be for beggin’ your pardon, Sheriff.”
Still smiling, Falcon saw the confused expression on the sheriff’s face, so he made the introduction.
“Sheriff, this would be Duff MacCallister. He is my cousin, and he is from Scotland.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Sheriff Cody said. “And what have we here?”
“I don’t know the black heart’s name, but ’tis a thief he is. He stole a lady’s purse,” Duff said.
“Oh, I know his name all right,” Sheriff Cody said. “Hello, Stripland. Welcome to MacCallister.”
“My name ain’t Stripland. I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Really? Well now, that’s funny, because I just saw a dodger with your likeness on it.” Sheriff Cody shuffled through the pile of wanted posters until he found the one he was looking for. He held it up and looked at the woodcut on the poster, then compared it to the thief Duff had brought in. “Here it is,” he said. “George Stripland. It seems that you robbed a stagecoach last month. And here you stole a woman’s purse. That’s quite a comedown for you, isn’t it? From robbing stagecoaches to stealing a woman’s purse?”
“I didn’t hurt nobody,” Stripland said. “I’m hungry. I was just tryin’ to get enough money to get me somethin’ to eat.”
“Don’t worry. We feed you well in here,” Sheriff Cody said. “Ain’t that right, Dillard?”
An old, bald, and toothless man was standing behind the bars in one of the four cells at the back of the room. The other three cells were empty.
“Whoowee, you sure got that right, Sheriff,” Dillard said. “Didn’t I just tell you this mornin’ I didn’ want you to turn me loose ’till after I et? Come on in here, sonny, me’n you will have dinner together.” He laughed a high-pitched, cackling laugh, slapping his knee in glee.
“In there,” Sheriff Cody said.
“Sheriff, you ain’t goin’ to put me in jail with that old coot, are you?” Stripland asked.
“No, sir, you get your very own cell,” Sheriff Cody said, putting his hand on the prisoner’s arm and escorting him to the back. There, he pushed Stripland into an empty cell, closed the door, and locked it behind him.
“Well, if you have that blaggard well in hand, we’ll be goin’,” Duff said.
“Not so fast,” Sheriff Cody said. Sitting down at his desk, he pulled out a book and began writing. Tearing the page out, he blew on the ink to dry it, then handed it to Duff. “Here is a draft for two hundred and fifty dollars, reward for bringing in George Stripland. You can take it to the bank and they will cash it for you.”
“Two hundred and fifty dollars? Just for bringing the blaggard in?”
“Sorry it isn’t more,” Sheriff Cody said.
Duff smiled broadly. “’Tis plenty enough, and you have my thanks.”
“It’s about dinnertime,” Falcon said as they left the bank a few minutes later. “Shall we find a place to eat?”
“Dinner? My word, what time is it? I know the time changes as one travels west, but is it evening already?”
Falcon chuckled. “Out here it is breakfast, dinner, and supper,” he said. “This is our noon meal.”
“Noon meal. Aye, I am a bit hungry. But I’ll be buyin’ if you don’t mind.”
Falcon laughed. “Just because you’ve got all that money, there’s no need for you to be spending it all that quickly. I thought Scots were thrifty.”
“Och, lad, we’re beyond thrifty, we’re cheap,” Duff said. “But it’s thankful I am to you, and to your brother and sister for takin’ in one who is so distant in kin that it can barely be traced. So I would appreciate it if you would let me buy the lunch.”
“All right, and I thank you for it,” Falcon said.
“This is your town, what do you recommend?”
“I would suggest the City Pig.”
“Sure’n I hope there is something on the fare other than fried ham and potatoes,” Duff said.
“I know what you mean,” Falcon said. “I’ve taken several trips to New York. On the trains east of Kansas City they have dining cars so you have a little more choice, but on all the restaurant stops west of Kansas City the food can get pretty tiresome. But, the City Pig is a good restaurant, the best in town, I believe, and I think you’ll like it.”
“I don’t suppose they’d have haggis and neeps,” Duff said.
Falcon laughed and waved his hand dismissively. “Lord, I would hope not,” he said. “I may be Scottish, but if I have to prove it by eating that, I’ll turn Irish, or English, or even French.”
“So you know what it is?”
“Oh, yes. I know what it is. I tell you what, suppose you let me order for the two of us.”
“Aye, that might be the best way.”
Norman “Hog Jaw” Landers was standing behind the counter when Falcon and Duff stepped in through the door.
“Gracious, Falcon, who’s that fella with you?” Landers asked. “He’s as big as you are. I swear, the two of you together could block out the sun
.”
“Hello, Hog Jaw. This is my cousin, Duff, fresh from Scotland,” Falcon said. “And he just got off the train, so I hope you have a lot of food back in your kitchen, because we are going to make a run on it.”
“Oh, I think we can handle it,” Hog Jaw said. “We’ve got a big joint of beef we’ve been cookin’ since before daylight. I tasted a bit of it a while back and it melted in my mouth.”
“All right, we’ll have roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits, and lots of gravy,” Falcon said.
“I’ll get them started,” Hog Jaw said as he walked into the back.
There were about a dozen other diners in the restaurant, and all of them greeted Falcon as he led Duff to a table in the corner at the extreme back of the room.
“Sit there,” Falcon said, pointing to one of the chairs. “I’ll sit here, and because we are in the corner of the room, we will each have a wall to our back.”
“Is it your habit to always have a wall at your back?” Duff asked.
Falcon nodded. “Yeah. Wouldn’t be a bad thing for you to follow, either.”
“But everyone in town seems to know you. You have a lot of friends.”
“I also have a lot of enemies. And even when you are with friends, you never know who might come up behind you. Bill Hickock told me that, once, and if he had paid attention to his own advice, he might still be alive.”
“You knew Wild Bill Hickock?”
“I knew him,” Falcon said.
“I’m told that you are as well known as Hickock was, and that you are as good with a pistol.”
Falcon chuckled. “Andrew tell you that, did he?”
“Aye, but he was only the first,” Duff replied. “I heard from many others as well.”
“You are new to America and new to the West,” Falcon said. “You don’t want to believe everything you hear. People in the West—I don’t know, maybe it’s because we tend to be a little isolated from the rest of the world—but people tend to exaggerate.”
MacAllister Page 11
