MacAllister

by William W. Johnstone

  “What is Colorado?” Somerled asked.

  “Do you mean where is Colorado?”

  “Where and what? Is it a city?”

  The immigration clerk laughed. “You people come to America and you know nothing about us. Colorado is a state. It is in the western part of America, many miles from here.”

  “How would one go about getting there?”

  “Well, you don’t just go to a state. You must choose a town or city within the state. For example, Denver.”

  “Denver is in Colorado?”

  “It is.”

  “What sort of conveyance goes to Denver? Does one reach it by boat?”

  “Ha! One would have a most difficult time reaching it by boat,” the clerk said. “Seeing as there is no water that goes there.”

  “Then how does one reach it?”

  “By train, of course. Unless you want to go by wagon or coach, but if you choose to go that way, you will be an awfully long time in transit. Your best move would be to go to Grand Central Station and secure your tickets there.”

  “Tickets?” Somerled asked. “You mean I must purchase more than one ticket?”

  “Yes. There isn’t one train line that makes the entire trip, so you will have to purchase tickets for every train. But you can buy all you need at Grand Central, which will give you a ticket on every rail service between here and Denver.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Next,” the clerk called.

  Cheyenne

  In order to more closely examine the bank, Rab Malcolm stepped up to the teller’s window with five hundred and fifty-seven dollars in his hand, which was all the money he had remaining from the amount that had been sent to him by Somerled.

  “Yes, sir?” the teller said, smiling obsequiously at him.

  “My good man, I should like to make a deposit in your bank.” Malcolm had never in his life used the term “my good man,” but he had heard some of the wealthier lairds use it, and he thought that it, along with his natural accent, would impress the teller.

  “Yes, sir, we would be glad to open an account for you,” the teller replied. He pulled a book of forms over to him, picked up a pen and started to write. “What is your name, sir?”

  “The name is Malcolm. Rab Malcolm.” Almost as soon as Malcolm told him his name, he realized that he should not have given it. But he was not known here, so it might be all right. It wasn’t something he was going to worry about.

  “And how much money do you wish to deposit?”

  “Here, let’s not be in such a hurry,” Malcolm said.

  The teller looked up from the book of deposit slips with a questioning expression.

  “I beg your pardon, sir? Is something wrong?”

  “How safe is this bank? What I’m asking is, suppose I put my money in here and someone robs the bank?”

  The bank teller laughed. “Oh, sir, I assure you, you will never have to worry about anything like that happening.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Mr. Snellgrove?” the teller called.

  A rather rotund man with a bald head, round face, pudgy nose, and eyes enlarged by the glasses he was wearing looked up at the call. Like the bank teller, he was wearing a three-piece suit.

  “Yes, Mr. Lisenby?” Snellgrove asked.

  “This gentleman wants to make a deposit with us.”

  “Very good,” Snellgrove said. “I am sure you will be pleased with our bank, sir. All of our customers are.”

  “I’d like you to show me around,” Malcolm said. “I want to see just how safe my money would be in here.”

  “Oh, it will be quite safe, I assure you.”

  “Aye, but I’m from Scotland, and if you know anythin’ about we Scots, it is that we are very frugal people with our money. Could you show me some of the features that you say will keep my money safe?”

  “I would be glad to. Suppose you step back here,” Snellgrove invited as he reached down and released a latch that opened the Dutch door to allow Malcolm access to the back part of the bank. “Right this way.”

  Snellgrove led Malcolm to the side, where sat a very large, heavy-looking, steel safe.

  “It is called an American Standard,” Snellgrove explained, standing proudly in front of the big safe. The heavy door was painted light green, while the trim and lettering were in gold. “The door is four-inch-thick steel, and it is locked by four steel bars, each two inches in diameter. In addition, the tumblers are absolutely silent so that no one can pick the lock.”

  “Could one breach the door with dynamite?” Malcolm asked.

  Snellgrove laughed. “If someone attempted to blast the vault open with dynamite all they would do is destroy the building. The safe would remain impervious.”

  “That must be a very strong safe,” Malcolm said.

  “It has to be strong,” Snellgrove replied. “As of this morning we have on deposit.” He paused and called over to Lisenby, “Exactly how much money do we have?”

  “Eighteen thousand, nine hundred, twenty-seven dollars, and forty-six cents,” Lisenby replied with a smirk of pride that he could quote to the penny the amount of money deposited with the Cheyenne Cattlemen’s Bank and Trust.

  “That’s a lot of money,” Malcolm said.

  “Yes, it is. And now, how much money will you be depositing with us?” Snellgrove asked.

  “I don’t know, I need to think this over for a while,” Malcolm replied.

  Snellgrove smiled. “Very well, Mister—uh—I don’t think I heard your name.”

  “Malcolm,” Lisenby said. “His name is Rab Malcolm.”

  “Mr. Malcolm, once you consider the security of our bank, I’m sure you will wish to become a customer,” Snellgrove said.

  “Thank you for the information,” Malcolm said. “I will make my decision shortly as to whether or not I will entrust my funds to your establishment.”

  Sky Meadow

  Duff and Falcon had been working the mine for three days, and though they had not made a significant find, they had found enough color in the tailings to make their effort worthwhile. Last night, examining the nuggets they had recovered, Falcon estimated that they had at least one hundred dollars’ worth of gold.

  “If we keep getting these results, you will get enough money to build your herd,” Falcon said.

  “Aye, and that is my intention,” Duff replied.

  The creature that had appeared on their first day in the mine did not reappear until late on their third day. This time, though, they were ready because they heard it when something hit the tripwire causing the empty tin cans to rattle.

  “Did you hear?” Falcon asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Get ready.”

  Duff picked up the lantern and moved it about fifty feet back toward the entrance. Doing so left them in the dark, but that was part of their plan. Falcon had a looped rope ready, and when the creature passed them, Falcon stepped out behind, then threw the rope out in a wide loop. The loop fell down over the creature and Falcon jerked the rope back, tightening the loop, which had the effect of securing the creature’s arms by its side.

  The creature let out a bloodcurdling scream as Duff leaped out behind him to knock him down. The creature struggled, but Duff and Falcon were too strong, and within a moment Falcon had looped the rope around him enough times to have both his arms and legs restricted. The creature continued to scream for the whole time.

  “Get the lantern, Duff, let’s see what we have here,” Falcon said.

  Duff hurried back to get the lantern. Then he returned and held it up as Falcon turned the creature over.

  “I’ll be. It’s a man,” Falcon said.

  The man’s hair hung down to his waist and he had a full beard. He was wearing clothes made of wolf skin and his fingernails were long and curled.

  “Of course, I’m a man! What did you think I would be?” the man replied in a gravelly voice. “Turn me loose!”

  “So you can try to kill us again?
” Falcon asked.

  “I wasn’t tryin’ to kill you. I was tryin’ to scare you away.”

  “Like the three men you killed?”

  “I only kilt two.”

  “There were three, Elmer Gleason, Lonnie Post, and Sam Hodges.”

  “Is that what their names was? They never told me.”

  “Why did you kill them?”

  “I kilt ’em ’cause they tried to kill me. They wanted me to show ’em where the gold was, and when I wouldn’t do it, they pointed a gun at me and said they was goin’ to shoot me. I got away from ’em, and when they come after me, I kilt ’em. Then I dragged their bodies outside as a warnin’ to anyone else as might come around.”

  “What about Elmer Gleason? Did he try to kill you, too?”

  The man laughed, a high-pitched, insane cackling laugh. Then he stopped laughing and stared at Duff and Falcon, his eyes gleaming in the light of the lantern. “What are you doin’ here?” he asked. “You got no right in here. This is my home.”

  “Sure’n you aren’t for sayin’ you live here, in this mine, are you?” Duff asked.

  “Yes, I am a-sayin’ that. Now I want you to turn me a’ loose and get out of here.”

  “How do you live? What do you eat? What do you drink?” Falcon asked.

  “Bugs, rabbits when I can catch ’em, such wild plants as can be et. And they’s a pool of water back a-ways.”

  “What is your name?” Duff asked.

  The man laughed again, the same, high-pitched insane laugh as before. “You already know my name. You done said it.”

  “What do you mean we’ve already said it?”

  “I’m the feller I didn’t kill.”

  “Mister, you’ve been in this mine too long,” Falcon said. “You aren’t making any sense at all. What do you mean, you are the man you didn’t kill?”

  “Wait a minute,” Duff said. “I think I know what he means. Are you trying to tell us that you are Elmer Gleason?”

  “I ain’t tryin’ to tell you nothin’, sonny,” he said. He laughed again. “I’m a’ doin’ it. I am Elmer Gleason.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Cheyenne

  “I think it would be ill advised of us to arrive at the bank simultaneously,” Malcolm said.

  “What?” Asa Moran asked.

  “He means don’t all of us show up at the same time,” Carter Hill said.

  “Why not?” Pettigrew asked.

  “Because if all of us ride up to the bank together, then dismount and enter the bank simultaneously, it cannot help but arouse suspicions,” Malcolm explained.

  “I think he’s right,” McKenna said.

  “All right. So how are we going to do it?” Pettigrew asked.

  “We won’t ride up to the bank at all. Shaw, Pogue, McKenna, and Johnny Hill will be with me. We will come up Central from the south, then dismount about four buildings away and walk to the bank. Pettigrew, you, Moran, Carter Hill, and Garcia, will come down Central from the north, and you will also stop about four buildings away from the bank.

  “Pettigrew, you and I will go into the bank first, but since we will be approaching from different directions, it will not appear that we are together. I will go to the table and start filling out a slip as if I am about to make a deposit. Pogue, you, Shaw, and McKenna will come together from the south; Moran, and Garcia will come down from the north. That will give us seven men inside the bank at the same time, certainly enough to take care of business. Johnny Hill will hold the horses from the south group; Carter will hold the horses from the north group. When you two see the last one of us enter the bank, both of you come riding toward the bank and stop out front, holding the horses. After we get the money we will make our exit from the bank as rapidly as possible, mount our horses, and ride away.”

  “That sounds like a real good plan,” Moran said.

  “I would add something to it,” Shaw said.

  “What would you add to it?” Malcolm asked.

  “I think as we ride out of town we ought to be shooting.”

  “Certainly if we are shot at, we should return fire,” Malcolm said.

  “No, I ain’t talkin’ about just returnin’ fire. I mean we should just start shootin’ at anybody and ever’body.”

  “Why would you suggest such a thing?” Malcolm asked.

  “You want to get away, don’t you?” Pettigrew asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then Shaw is right. If we start shootin’ up the town on the way out, there ain’t nobody goin’ to think about shootin’ us. Only thing they’re goin’ to be thinkin’ about is not gettin’ kilt. Near ’bout ever’one is goin’ to just try and find ’em a place to get out of the line of fire.”

  “All right,” Malcolm said. “This is your country, I shall defer to your suggestion.”

  When Malcolm and the others rode into town the next morning, approaching as planned from opposite ends of Central Avenue, Cheyenne was in the middle of its mid-morning commerce cycle. At the Wyoming Freight and Transport Company, three wagons were backed up against the loading dock taking on freight that had come into town by train, but would have to be delivered to the various destinations by wagon.

  A boy of about sixteen was sweeping the front porch of Dunnigan’s General Store. A dog that lay sleeping on the porch made no effort to move, nor did the boy make an effort to move him.

  There were two Chinese women doing laundry outside Wo Ching’s Laundry and they were carrying on a spirited conversation in their own language.

  A man was standing on the porch roof of Sikes’ Hardware store, painting the false front.

  Malcolm dismounted in front of White’s Apothecary, then started walking toward the bank. He saw Pettigrew approaching the bank from the other side. Arriving at the bank door simultaneously, they went inside without acknowledging each other. Malcolm stepped up to the table, while Pettigrew, holding a twenty-dollar bill, went up to the teller’s window and stood in line as if waiting to make change. There were four other customers in the bank, three men and one woman.

  The others came as planned. When all seven were in the bank, Malcolm nodded at Pettigrew, who nodded at the others. Pettigrew drew his pistol, which was the signal for all to draw their weapons.

  “Ever’body put their hands up!” Pettigrew yelled. “This is a bank holdup!”

  “Oh, my!” Lisenby said.

  “Open that safe!”

  “I don’t know the combination,” Lisenby said. “Only Mr. Snellgrove knows.”

  “Who is Snellgrove?”

  “He isn’t here.”

  “You are lying, Mr. Lisenby,” Malcolm said. “That gentlemen is Mr. Snellgrove.”

  “Mr. Malcolm, you?” Lisenby said, surprised by Malcolm’s comment. “You are with them? But, you were going to make a deposit.”

  “I decided I would rather make a withdrawal,” Malcolm said, laughing at his own joke.

  “How the hell does he know your name?” Pogue asked.

  “It’s quite simple, Mr. Pogue. I told him my name,” Malcolm said, purposely using Pogue’s name.

  “That was a dumb thing to do,” Pogue said.

  Malcolm looked over at Snellgrove. “Mr. Snellgrove, I appreciated the guided tour you provided for me yesterday. Now, if you would be so good, sir, please open the safe for us.”

  “No,” Snellgrove said.

  Pettigrew pointed his pistol at Snellgrove. “Open the safe, or I’ll kill you.”

  “What would that accomplish?” Snellgrove asked. “If I am dead, then no one will be able to open the safe.”

  “You’re right,” Pettigrew said. He pointed his pistol at one of the male customers. “Open your safe or I’ll kill this man here.”

  “I have no intention of opening the safe.”

  Pettigrew pulled the trigger. The pistol boomed and smoke poured out of the end of the barrel. Even before the smoke drifted away, the customer was lying on the floor of the bank with a bullet in his he
art.

  “God in Heaven, man!” Snellgrove shouted. “You murdered him!”

  “No, Mr. Snellgrove, ’tis you who committed the murder,” Malcolm said. “You didn’t pull the trigger, true enough, but you were given the opportunity to cooperate with us, and you refused to do so. That sealed the man’s fate.”

  “How can someone like you be in league with people like this?” Snellgrove asked. “You aren’t like them.”

  “I would advise you to cooperate,” Malcolm said. “My friend does seem quite determined to see you open the safe.”

  “No.”

  Pettigrew pointed at one of the other men.

  “No, please, I beg of you!” the man said. “I have a wife and children.”

  Pettigrew looked over at Snellgrove. “Did you hear what he said? He has a wife and children. You want to be responsible for another one of your customers gettin’ killed?”

  “No, please!” The man pleaded. He got down on his knees.

  “Maybe your customers don’t mean anything to you,” Pettigrew said. “I reckon I’m shootin’ the wrong people. Maybe I should kill your friend here.” He pointed the pistol at Lisenby.

  “No, wait!” Lisenby said. “I’ll open the safe for you!”

  “You will open the safe? I thought you didn’t know the combination,” Malcolm said. “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Lisenby. It would appear that you lied to us.”

  “That’s what Mr. Snellgrove told me to say if anything like this ever happened.”

  “Lisenby, don’t do it!” Snellgrove said.

  “Mr. Snellgrove, I’m not going to die for twenty dollars a week,” Lisenby said.

  With shaking hands, Lisenby walked over to the safe and began turning the combination. It took only a few turns, then the big vault door swung open.

  “Very good, Mr. Lisenby,” Malcolm said. He produced a cloth bag from under his jacket and handed it to Lisenby. “Now, if you would be so good, please put all of your money in here.”

  “Lisenby, you are fired!” Snellgrove said.

  “I can get another job, Mr. Snellgrove,” Lisenby said as he began dropping bundles of cash into the bag. “I can’t get another life.”