MacCallister, The Eagles Legacy: The Killing

by William W. Johnstone

  “I expect it had something to do with Crack Kingsley,” Duff said.

  “Crack Kingsley? Who is that?”

  “If you will check your files, you will see that Kingsley is wanted for murder. He is also the man who stole a great deal of money from me.”

  “What did he have to do with the shooting?”

  “He was here, but he ran out the back door when the shooting started.”

  “That’s right, Sergeant,” the bartender said. “I seen him go out myself.”

  “You know this man, Kingsley?” the police sergeant asked the bartender.

  “No. But Loomis Byrd yelled at him, called him by name. Called him a coward too, for running away. And now that I think about, he yelled, ‘this is your fight.’”

  “You’re sure that’s what he yelled? ‘This is your fight’?”

  “That’s what he yelled all right, Sergeant, I heard it too,” one of the saloon patrons said.

  “Yeah, I heard it, too.”

  “Are either of you men wanted?” the police sergeant asked.

  “There ain’t no paper out on neither one of us,” Elmer said.

  “Of course that is what you would say. What are your names?”

  “My name is Duff MacCallister.”

  “I’m Elmer Gleason.”

  “Where are you from, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “We’re both from Chugwater, Wyoming. The constable there is a man named Jerry Ferrell. You could telegraph him, he can tell you about us.”

  “We will do that. I don’t suppose you would mind coming to the police station with us while we take care of that?”

  “We won’t mind at all,” Duff said.

  It took less than half an hour for the exchange of telegrams. When Duff’s story was verified, the police let the two of them go.

  “I’m sorry about the rough welcome you received from some of our citizens,” the chief said. “And I apologize for detaining you.”

  “No apology necessary,” Duff said. “We understand that you were just doing your job.”

  As they left the police office, Elmer spoke up.

  “I didn’t want to say nothin’ before, but the fella named Byrd? I have run across him before.”

  “Where?” Duff asked.

  “Mind that I told you that I caught up with the ones that kilt Alma and her family, and that I kilt ’em all ’cept for Kingsley? Well, that ain’t quite true. There was another’n who rode with Kingsley, and that was Loomis Byrd. I’m not sure I would have recognized him, if that police feller hadn’t a’ spoke his name.”

  “Aye, it all makes sense now,” Duff said.

  “What makes sense?”

  “How three strangers would suddenly start shooting at us. They were strangers to us, but not to Kingsley. I’m sure he recruited them for this, though how he did so I don’t know.”

  “You said he stole all the money from you. More’n likely he paid them,” Elmer said.

  “Aye, that would be my belief. The question now is where did he go?”

  “That’s a good question, all right,” Elmer said. “And the problem is with all this rain, it ain’t goin’ to be that easy to track him.”

  The first thing Kingsley did after running from the saloon was return to the abandoned house where he had hidden the money. His first thought was to get on the next train leaving Lincoln, but he was certain that MacCallister and Gleason would be checking the depot. He wished now that he hadn’t let his horse go. He could steal another one, but in order to do that, he would have to go back into town, and he didn’t particularly want to do that. On the other hand, if he was walking and they were both mounted, they would overtake him in no time at all.

  Then, even as it seemed as if he had nowhere to turn, he saw someone riding up the road headed for town. He stood on the side of the road and held up his hand to stop the rider.

  “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” the rider asked.

  “I want to buy your horse,” Kingsley said.

  “Well, Mister, I couldn’t sell you this horse even if I wanted to,” the rider replied. “This here horse belongs to Mr. Barkley, who owns Crossback Ranch. He just lets those of us that work for him use the horses.”

  “I’ll give you three hundred fifty dollars.”

  “I told you, it ain’t my horse to sell.”

  “Five hundred dollars,” Kingsley said, growing more desperate.

  “If you need a horse that bad, hell, you ain’t more’n a quarter of a mile from town. They sell ’em at the livery and prob’ly half a dozen other places too.”

  “I’ll give you seven hundred dollars for your horse.”

  “Seven hundred dollars? Mister, are you loco? That’s three times what this horse is worth!”

  “Are you going to take the offer or not?”

  “Well, yeah, I’ll take it. I can pay Mr. Barkley what the horse is worth and keep some for myself.”

  The cowboy dismounted, then, with a big smile on his face, held out his hand. “Where’s the money?” he asked.

  The smile left the cowboy’s face when he saw a pistol pointed toward him.

  “Hold on, here! What’s this about?”

  “You didn’t really think I would give you seven hundred dollars for that horse, did you?” Kingsley asked.

  Kingsley pulled the trigger and the cowboy went down.

  Fifteen minutes later as Duff and Elmer were about to leave Lincoln, they saw a man walking toward them, holding his stomach, weaving about, stumbling, barely staying on his feet. They hurried to him and saw a lot of blood on his right thigh.

  “Here! What happened?” Duff asked.

  “Some son of a bitch shot me and stole my horse,” the cowboy replied.

  “Elmer, help me get him up on Sky,” Duff said. “We’ll get him to a doctor.”

  The doctor washed his hands, then looked over at Duff and Elmer. “I’ve got the bullet out and the bleeding stopped.”

  “Is he going to make it?” Elmer asked.

  “I don’t know. Caine has lost a lot of blood.”

  “You know him?” Duff asked.

  “Yes. He rides for the Crossback Ranch. I know most of Mr. Barkley’s riders.”

  “You say he has lost a lot of blood. I have read about replacing blood. Is that a possibility?” Duff asked.

  “I know about blood transfusions,” the doctor said. “Sometimes they are successful, and sometimes they seem to make the situation worse. Nobody knows why. I think if he rests, he’ll build his own blood back up. That is certainly safer than trying to replace his blood.”

  “Is he conscious?” Duff asked.

  “Yes. He is weak, but he is conscious.”

  “I would like to talk to him, if you don’t mind.”

  “Go ahead, talk to him.”

  Duff walked over to the bed where the cowboy lay, shirtless and with a fresh bandage around his lower abdomen. His eyes were closed.

  “Mr. Caine?”

  The cowboy opened his eyes. Looking up at Duff, he smiled. “You’re the feller that brung me in, ain’t you?”

  “Aye,” Duff answered. “I was wondering if you could tell me about the man who shot you.”

  Caine shook his head. “Don’t know him. I never seen him before.”

  “Was he a thin man, dark eyes, and with a scar on his face?”

  Caine became more animated. “Yeah! Yeah, that was him, all right. Do you know him?”

  “I certainly know of him,” Duff said. “His name is Kingsley. Crack Kingsley.”

  “Tell me about the horse,” Elmer said.

  “He’s a pinto. Answers to the name of Lucky.”

  “Will he give Kingsley any trouble?” Elmer asked. “I mean, being as he’s a stranger and all.”

  “No, Lucky’s a good horse, he ain’t never met no stranger,” Caine said.

  “All right, thank you, Mr. Caine. We’ll let you get some rest now,” Duff said.

  Duff and Elmer started to turn away when Caine c
alled out to them.

  “One thing might help, that is, if you’re plannin’ on trackin’ Lucky.”

  “What’s that?” Duff asked.

  “His rear shoes. The ends of both of ’em points way in.”

  “Thank you, Caine. That will be a big help,” Elmer said.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Kansas City, Missouri

  The Kansas City Cattle Exchange was busy this morning, with telephones ringing, the ticker-tape machine clacking, and a man reading the latest quotes, then calling them out loudly to another who was posting them on the blackboard.

  Hodge Denman took a telegram from his desk drawer and looked at it again. It was dated six days ago.

  HAVE ENCOUNTERED UNEXPECTED DIFFICULTY. WILL BE DELAYED. DUFF MACCALLISTER.

  Denman knew exactly what the difficulty was. He had been robbed.

  Just as they had worked out a code for Denman to let Kingsley know what day to expect MacCallister to arrive in Fremont, they had also worked out a code whereby Kingsley could let Denman know when the job was done.

  Denman had heard nothing from Kingsley, but he had intercepted MacCallister’s telegram to Jay Montgomery; therefore, he knew that Kingsley had stolen the money.

  That was six days ago. Kingsley had plenty of time to get back to Kansas City and make the split. If he was going to. But so far, Kingsley had not even let Denman know that he had succeeded. And Denman was now convinced that Kingsley had no intention of ever coming back to split the money. All his plans for getting out of debt, or of having enough money to run away and start over, were for naught. The entire thing was about to come down on his head.

  On the other side of the banister that separated the bull pen from the rest of the Cattle Exchange office, Jay Montgomery was perusing all the latest transactions. He saw that he was still holding and feeding five hundred head of Black Angus cattle that were consigned to Mr. Duff MacCallister of Wyoming Territory. He saw, also, that Hodge Denman was in charge of that operation, so he stepped into the pandemonium of the bull pen and walked over to Denman’s desk.

  “Mr. Montgomery?” Denman said, surprised to see his boss standing right in front of him.

  Montgomery dropped some papers onto Den-man’s desk. “What do you know about this transaction?” he asked.

  Seeing MacCallister’s name at the head of the page, Denman knew immediately what Montgomery was talking about.

  “Yes, I’ve been putting off talking to you about this,” Denman said.

  “Putting it off? Why?”

  “Well, sir, it is beginning to look to me like MacCallister isn’t going to show up.”

  “Show up? What do you mean, show up? Had we not agreed to ship his cattle to him upon receipt of a bank draft for the necessary amount?”

  Denman hesitated for a moment. He had been the one who changed the details of the sale, insisting that MacCallister show up with cash in hand and make his own arrangements to take the cattle back. He nearly let it slip with Montgomery that he had changed things.

  “Uh, yes, sir, that was the arrangement. He was to send the bank draft. But as of this morning’s mail, no bank draft, nor have we heard a word from him,” Denman lied. “I am beginning to think that the whole thing may have been a ruse of some sort.”

  “A ruse? What do you mean, a ruse? Why would he do something like that? What would be in it for him?”

  “Who knows why people do such things?” Denman replied. “Perhaps he just wanted to make himself feel important. I’m sure he is nothing but a cowboy somewhere with grandiose ideas.”

  “No,” Montgomery replied. “He is legitimate, all right. I received a letter from Mr. Woodson of the American Aberdeen Angus Association about MacCallister. Woodson did some research on him and said that he owns a great deal of improved land, is very well respected, and very serious about introducing Black Angus into Wyoming.”

  “Good,” Denman said. “I would hate to think we had been duped by someone. But we still have the problem of him not having claimed or paid for the cattle, and it is costing us every day we keep and feed them.”

  Montgomery stroked his chin. “Yes, that is true. They are not only costing us to feed them, they are occupying pen space that we could use for other cattle. This is most distressing.”

  “Would you like for me to redistribute the herd and sell the cattle as best I can?”

  “Where is your business sense?” Montgomery asked.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “As of today’s market, the price of Angus is down two dollars per head. That means the MacCallister contract is worth one thousand dollars more than we could get by unloading the herd today. It is to our advantage to hold the cattle for him. That is, if he actually goes through with the contract. On the other hand, if we don’t hear from him within two weeks, then the cost of keeping them will eat up the difference in market price and we will be forced to sell.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Montgomery started toward the railing that separated the two areas, then turned back toward Denman.

  “But you let me know the moment we hear from him.”

  “The moment we hear from him, I will, Mr. Montgomery,” Denman said.

  Two more weeks, Denman thought. Interesting that he would say two more weeks. Two more weeks was just about how long he had before the rest of the world would come crashing down on him.

  Chugwater

  There were no customers in the Ladies’ Emporium at the moment, so Meghan was using the time to unpack the three boxes of material that had come in on special order this morning. She had just taken the last bolt of gingham out when the telegrapher, Mr. Murchison, stepped into her store.

  “Yes, Mr. Murchison, what can I do for you?” she asked, greeting him with a smile. But when she saw he was holding a telegram in his hand, she gasped in fear.

  “Oh! What is it?” she asked, her voice breaking. Murchison, seeing that he had frightened her, held his hand out. “I don’t know, it may be nothing,” he said quickly. “But, it’s something I thought you might want to know.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “I’m not supposed to do this, but I’m going to share a couple of telegrams with you, seeing as I think you might have a special interest,” Murchison said. “This first one was from Duff to Elmer Gleason. It came in last week.” He handed the telegram to Meghan.

  ELMER. HAVE RUN INTO A BIT OF A PROBLEM. PUT SKY ON THE TRAIN, SEND HIM TO ME IN FREMONT, NEBRASKA. DUFF.

  “Well, sir, Elmer didn’t just put Sky on the train; he took him.”

  “Have you heard anything else from either of them?” Meghan asked.

  “Not from either of them, but I did get this telegram today from a Mr. Jay Montgomery of the Kansas City Cattle Exchange. Only thing is, it was sent to Duff, but Duff isn’t here.” He showed the second telegram to Meghan.

  MR. MACCALLISTER. AS PER YOUR INSTRUCTIONS, I HAVE ASSEMBLED A HERD OF FOUR HUNDRED EIGHTY HEIFERS AND TWENTY BULLS OF THE BLACK ANGUS BREED. WE EXPECTED YOU HERE ONE WEEK PREVIOUS. IF YOU ARE NOT HERE TO TAKE DELIVERY OF THE CATTLE WITHIN TWO WEEKS, I WILL BE FORCED TO SELL OFF THE HERD AS BEST I CAN. THE ORIGINAL FIFTEEN THOUSAND, EIGHT HUNDRED TWELVE DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS, PLUS TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS PER WEEK FOR FEEDING AND HANDLING. PLEASE REPLY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. JAY MONTGOMERY.

  “I’m not sure what to do, Miss Parker. I mean, he wants a reply, but Duff isn’t here.”

  “Don’t do anything for the moment,” Meghan said. “I mean, since you can’t deliver the telegram to him, there’s nothing you can do, is there?”

  “No ma’am, I don’t reckon there is. But I know you and Mr. MacCallister are friends, so I thought you might like to know.”

  “You were right, it is something I would like to know. And, Mr. Murchison, I thank you very much for bringing this to my attention.”

  “You’re welcome. I should probably get back to my office now.”

  Meghan thought about the two telegrams for the rest of the day and
far into the night. Around midnight, she got an idea. It took her another couple of hours to decide whether the idea was good or bad. She also had to consider whether or Duff would agree with the idea.

  She finally decided that Duff wasn’t here to offer any agreement or disagreement. She was going to have to make up her own mind, and that is exactly what she did. Then, the next morning, she left the little CLOSED sign on the window of her front door, and instead of opening her shop, walked down the street to speak to Fred Matthews.

  “Miss Parker,” Matthews said, surprised to see her. “What brings you here?”

  “Mr. Matthews, I need to raise some money,” Meghan said.

  “Well, Miss Parker, you have a very good business going, I’m sure the bank will lend you some money on it. Do you owe anything on your building?”

  “No.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have any trouble raising money. How much do you need?”

  “I need sixteen thousand dollars.”

  “Sixteen thousand?” Matthews gasped. “Miss Parker, there is no way you are going to be able to borrow that much money on your store.”

  “I know. That’s why I have come up with an idea that involves you, Mr. Guthrie, and Mr. Johnson. If I could get four thousand dollars from each of you, that would be twelve thousand, and I can come up with four thousand on my own.”

  “What do you want the money for?”

  Meghan showed Matthews the telegram that had been meant for Duff.

  Matthews read it, then looked up.

  “Where is Duff? Why didn’t he show up?”

  Meghan showed him the telegram that Duff had sent to Elmer.

  “I don’t know what the ‘bit of a problem’ is, but I can’t let Duff lose that herd. He has worked all year to get things ready. I can’t let him lose it.”