MacCallister, The Eagles Legacy: The Killing

by William W. Johnstone

  “How did you fix it?”

  “Don’t matter none how I did it. I did it. You just be ready.”

  “I’m ready,” Margolis said.

  “There’s two of ’em now,” Elmer said. “I wonder where he picked up a friend. Hell, more than that, what kind of man would be his friend in the first place?”

  “He has fifteen thousand dollars in cash,” Duff said. “It matters little how evil a person is. With that much money, he can buy friends.”

  “You got that right,” Elmer said. “There’s another cigar butt.”

  “Odd,” Duff said. “That’s the third butt we’ve seen in the last mile.” Duff dismounted, picked up the cigar butt, examined it, then held it to his nose and smelled it.

  “It’s just what I thought,” he said.

  “What?” Elmer asked.

  “This cigar hasn’t even been smoked. I thought it was strange to find three of them so close together.”

  “Damn, he’s leading us on, ain’t he?” Elmer asked. “He’s wanting us to find him.”

  “Aye.”

  “You know what that means, don’t you? That means he’s plannin’ to set up an ambush.”

  “So it would appear.”

  “Well hell, we ain’t goin’ to just ride into it, are we?”

  “We are,” Duff said. “But remember, forewarned is forearmed.”

  “Yeah,” Elmer said. “That sounds pretty good. I just wish I knew what the hell it meant.”

  “It means that when he springs his ambush, we shall be ready for him.”

  “Margolis, there they are,” Kingsley said. “Get ready. As soon as they get into the stream, start shooting. Their horses won’t be able to react fast enough, and we’ll have ’em dead in our sights.”

  “What if they don’t come across the creek?” Margolis asked.

  “They’ll come. They want me too bad to hold back. Get ready.”

  Both Kingsley and Margolis cocked their rifles and waited.

  “Now!” Duff shouted, and both men leaped down from their horses, just as they approached the edge of the creek.

  The road exploded with the sound of gunfire as Kingsley and Margolis opened up on what they thought would be easy targets. Instead, their bullets whizzed harmlessly over the empty saddles of the riderless horses, then whined off into empty space.

  Duff and Elmer had chosen their position perfectly, for after they leaped down from their horses, they separated, Duff getting behind a rock on the left side of the road, while Elmer found one on the right.

  “What the hell?” someone shouted. “Kingsley! Do you see ’em? Where did they go?”

  Duff fired toward the sound of the voice, and the man behind the voice fired back. There was silence for several seconds, and then came the bark of Elmer’s rifle. Immediately after Elmer fired, Duff heard a grunt of pain, and then he saw a rifle come sliding down the rock and splash into the water. A second or two later a man followed the rifle, sliding belly up, down the rock, winding up, as did the rifle, in the water.

  It wasn’t Kingsley.

  Nobody moved for several moments; then, carefully, first Duff, then Elmer, came out. Not being fired upon, they ran across the creek, then, gradually, worked their way up to the top of the rock where the shooting had been coming from.

  They found a few empty cartridges, ejected from the rifles, but there was no one there.

  Kingsley had gotten away.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Kansas City

  In the hotel the night before, Meghan had very carefully removed all the money from her petticoat. Now, with the money in an attaché case, she arrived at the Kansas City Cattle Exchange in the back of a hansom cab.

  “Do you wish me to wait, ma’am?” the cab driver asked as she stepped out of the conveyance in front of the KCCE office building.

  “Thank you, but I don’t believe that will be necessary. I am certain that someone here will arrange for my transportation.” Meghan paid the driver, including a tip; he touched the brim of his hat then drove off.

  Seeing any woman inside the Cattle Exchange office was a rarity. Seeing one as beautiful as Meghan caught everyone’s attention. No fewer than three men came to assist her.

  “I would like to speak with Mr. Jay Montgomery, please,” Meghan said.

  “I’m Jay Montgomery,” a tall, thin, dignified-looking gray-haired man said. “May I help you?”

  “I hope so,” Meghan said. “I want to buy some Black Angus cattle.”

  “Black Angus, you say?” Montgomery replied. “Well, what a happy coincidence this is. It just so happens that we have quite a few Black Angus on hand. How many do you want?”

  “I want four hundred and eighty heifers and twenty bulls,” she said.

  Montgomery looked surprised. “This isn’t just a coincidence, is it?”

  “Not at all,” Meghan said. She opened her attaché case and began counting out money. “I trust you will be able to arrange transportation for me and the cattle back to Cheyenne?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We will take of everything for you.”

  That night, just before Meghan boarded the special car that had been attached to the train taking the cattle back to Cheyenne, she sent a telegram to Fred Matthews.

  HAVE TAKEN POSSESSION OF THE CATTLE. PLEASE HAVE DROVERS MEET ME IN CHEYENNE TO DRIVE THE HERD UP TO SKY MEADOW. MEGHAN PARKER

  Corning, Kansas

  “This is the horse,” Elmer said, examining the rear hooves of the pinto. “Hello, Lucky,” he said.

  The pinto, upon hearing his name, bobbed his head up and down several times.

  The horse was tied in front of the Union Saloon.

  Having learned from his cousin Falcon MacCallister how to enter a saloon, Duff checked the place out as soon as he and Elmer stepped inside. He did not see Kingsley, nor anyone else who represented a danger to him. Glancing over toward Elmer, he saw that he was doing the same thing, and satisfied that the room was clear, they stepped up to the bar.

  The bartender stood behind the bar. In front of him were two glasses with whiskey remaining in them, and he poured the whiskey back into a bottle, corked it, and put the bottle on the shelf behind the bar. He wiped the glasses out with his stained apron, then set them among the unused glasses. Seeing Duff and Elmer step up to the bar, the bartender moved down toward them.

  “Scotch, if you have it,” Duff said.

  The barman reached for the bottle he had just poured the whiskey back into, but Duff shook his head.

  “Never mind. Beer will do.”

  “Me too,” Elmer added.

  Shrugging, the saloonkeeper pulled the handle on the beer barrel, filling two mugs and putting a head on both.

  “Could you be for helping us out?” Duff said. “We’re looking for someone.”

  “This here ain’t the lost person’s bureau,” the bartender replied.

  “The pinto tied up out front is the horse he rode in on,” Duff said. “I say the horse he rode in on, rather than his horse, for ’tis a stolen steed.”

  “I can’t help you, Mister. What I do is pour drinks. Other than that, I mind my own business.”

  “He is a murdering scum,” Duff said. “He killed a young woman and her daughter.”

  “And that ain’t the only women he kilt. He kilt another woman, too, only this here ’n he kilt, he raped before he kilt her,” Elmer added.

  “Are you men the law?” the bartender asked.

  “No.”

  “Bounty hunters then? I don’t have much truck with bounty hunters.”

  “Bounty hunters?” Duff asked, looking toward Elmer for clarification.

  “No,” Elmer said. “We ain’t bounty hunters.”

  “Then, what are you after this fella for?”

  “Didn’t we give you enough justification? He murders women,” Duff said.

  “People like that you ought to let the law handle.”

  “I don’t have time to wait for the law.”

&n
bsp; “Is there a reward?”

  “I’m sure there is. But that ’tis no business of mine,” Duff said. “This is personal.”

  “What does this fella look like?”

  “He is about medium height, gaunt of face, with a purple scar that runs from his eye down to the corner of his mouth, thusly.” Duff ran his finger down his face, illustrating the scar.

  The barkeeper didn’t say anything, but Duff noticed a slight reaction to his description.

  “He is here right now, isn’t he?” Duff asked.

  The saloon owner said nothing, but he raised his head and looked toward the stairs at the back of the room.

  “Thanks,” Duff said.

  “I didn’t tell you nothin’,” the bartender said.

  At the back of the saloon, a flight of wooden stairs led up to an enclosed loft. Duff started up the stairs, pulling his gun as he did so.

  The few men in the saloon had been talking and laughing among themselves. When they saw Duff pull his gun, their conversation died, and they watched him walk quietly up the steps.

  Duff tried to open the first door, but it was locked. He knocked on it.

  “Go ’way,” a man’s voice called from the other side of the door. “Get your own woman.”

  Duff raised his foot, then kicked it hard. The door flew open with a crash and the woman inside the room screamed.

  “What the hell?” the man shouted. He stood up quickly, and Duff saw that it wasn’t the man he was looking for.

  “You son of a bitch! Get the hell out of here!”

  “I’m sorry,” Duff said, holding up his hand. “Wrong room.”

  Duff heard a crash of glass from the next room and he ran to it, then kicked that door open as well. He saw the window broken, and a breeze lifting the curtain out over the floor.

  “Who are you?” the woman shouted. “Get out! Get out!”

  Duff ran to the window and looked down, but he saw nothing.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kingsley holding out a knife.

  It had been a trick! Kingsley had broken the window to make it appear as if he had jumped outside. Now Kingsley was coming toward him, making a slashing motion with the knife. He managed to cut Duff’s hand, forcing him to drop his pistol. Kingsley made another slash and Duff jumped back, barely avoiding being disemboweled.

  “I’m going to gut you like a fish,” Kingsley said, swinging again.

  Again Duff managed to avoid him, this time by going down on one knee. He felt around on the floor, searching desperately for the pistol he had dropped, but he couldn’t find it. What he did find was a long, jagged shard of window glass. Duff picked it up, and thrust upward into Kingsley’s belly. The shard was turned sideways, and it slipped easily in between Kingsley’s ribs. Duff pushed it all the way in, and he felt hot blood spilling across his hand. Kingsley’s eyes opened wide, and he dropped to his knees, with his hands clasped over his wound.

  “You—you kilt me,” he gurgled.

  “Aye,” Duff said calmly. “It seemed to be the thing to do.”

  By the time Kingsley fell to the floor, Elmer was in the room.

  “Hold it, woman!” Elmer shouted. “Put the gun down!”

  Duff had forgotten all about the woman and, looking toward her, he saw that she had pulled Kingsley’s pistol from his holster and was pointing it at Duff. She lowered the gun, and Duff stepped over to take it from her.

  “Don’t kill me, don’t kill me,” the woman pleaded.

  “You don’t need to worry none about that, Miss,” Elmer said. “The only one in here that ever kilt a woman is the son of a bitch that’s lyin’ dead on the floor.”

  Kansas City

  “No, sir, I’m sorry, Mr. Montgomery isn’t here,” the man in the Kansas City Cattle Exchange office said. “He has gone to St. Louis. My name is Stan Cornett. I am temporarily in charge. May I help you?”

  “Aye, I hope so,” Duff said. “I am here to take possession of my cattle.”

  Cornett got a confused look on his face. “Take possession of your cattle? And what cattle would that be?” he asked.

  “Black Angus. I believe you are holding a herd of five hundred Black Angus for me. Four hundred eighty heifers, twenty bulls.”

  “Oh, yes. I wasn’t here, but I think I did hear something about that. Would you be Mr. MacCallister?”

  “Aye,” Duff said, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Then you do have them?”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Cornett said. “Those cattle have been sold.”

  “Sold? Why? I sent a telegram explaining that I would be delayed.”

  “I’m afraid I am unable to give you all the facts about it,” Cornett said. “As I said, Mr. Montgomery, who is our director, is gone. He is in St. Louis. And Mr. Denman, the man who was handling your account, is deceased. I don’t have any of the specifics, other than the fact that the herd of Black Angus has been sold.”

  When Duff stepped back outside, Elmer was leaning up against the front of the building with his arms folded across his chest.

  “Where’s your cows?” Elmer asked.

  “They’re gone,” Duff said.

  “Gone? What do you mean, gone? Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know,” Duff said. “Come on, Elmer. Let’s go home.”

  The train ride back to Cheyenne was frustrating. Duff had encountered and overcome obstacle after obstacle, only to be denied the goal of acquiring a herd of Black Angus.

  “You ain’t give up, have you?” Elmer asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it would be easier to just raise Herefords. Or even Longhorns.”

  “You don’t want to do that,” Elmer said.

  Duff chuckled. “Elmer, you are the one who said it was foolish for me to try and introduce Black Angus to Wyoming. You, and as matter of fact, just about everyone in Chugwater, said that I should raise Longhorns or Herefords.”

  “That was then, and this is now,” Elmer said. “You’ve done been through too much to give up on ’em now. I say, soon as we get back home, you should wait until this Montgomery feller gets back into his office, then order you some more Black Angus. You got most of the money back from Kingsley. And this time when you go after ’em, I’ll go with you.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’m tired of having a cattle ranch without cattle. I think I’ll just stock it with whatever I can buy here. It’s not like there aren’t any cattle available.”

  “That ain’t what you want though, is it?”

  “It’ll be all right.”

  “That ain’t what you want, though, is it?” Elmer repeated.

  Duff smiled, put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, squeezed it, then leaned his head back on the seat to take a nap.

  Two days later, after offloading their horses from the attached stock car, they rode back to Sky Meadow. After they passed the southern tip of the Laramie Mountain Range, just before they came to Bear Creek, they heard the sound of bawling cattle.

  “What the hell?” Elmer said. “Duff, do you hear that?”

  “Aye, I do hear it,” Duff replied. “The question is what is it?”

  “Sounds like cattle.”

  “Aye, it is cattle, but why are we hearing cattle? There shouldn’t be any cattle here. I don’t have any cattle, and I have the only ranch in this area.”

  The two men urged their horses into a trot; then, as they came over the last ridge, they had a panoramic view of Sky Meadow spread out below them. Gathered along the banks of both the Bear and Little Bear Creeks were large clusters of cattle.

  They weren’t just any cattle. They were Black Angus cattle.

  “What is this?” Duff asked. He looked over at Elmer. “Where did these cattle come from? And look, the barn has been rebuilt! Elmer, do you know anything about this?”

  “I swear to you, Duff, I don’t know a thing about it,” Elmer said. “This here has me as bamboozled as it does you.”

  “Well, let’s find out, shall we?”
>
  Slapping their legs against the sides of their horses, the two men galloped down toward the ranch. Seeing the two horses approach at a gallop, the cattle parted as they rode through. A rider came toward them from the bunkhouse. Duff recognized him as one of the three cowboys who had caused trouble at the dance.

  “What are you doing here?” Duff asked. “It’s Woodward, isn’t it? Didn’t you and I have some difficulty at the dance a while ago?”

  “Yes, sir, the name is Al Woodward,” the cowboy said. “I didn’t think you would remember me. And I’m awful sorry ’bout what happened at the dance. I was just bein’ stupid, is all.”

  “I remember you, all right. But I’ll ask you again, what are you doing here?”

  “Why, Mr. MacCallister, I’m keepin’ an eye on your cows,” Woodward said. “Me ’n Case Martin and Brax Walker. Them was the other two that was there that night, actin’ just as stupid as I was. Right now, they’re both down at the other end of your property roundin’ up some of the cows that wandered off. These here cows sure is pretty. I ain’t never seen cows like these before.”

  “How did these cattle get here?” Duff asked, no more enlightened than when he began the questioning.

  “Well, me ’n Case ’n Brax brung ’em down from Cheyenne after they come in on the railroad. Mr. Matthews, he hired us. And, seein’ as you ain’t got no other cowboys workin’ for you, well, he hired us to stay here ’n keep an eye on ’em ’til you come back. So that’s what we done, an’ the truth is, why, me ’n the boys was kind of hopin’ you’d hire us on for good.”

  “You want me to hire you?”

  “Yes, sir, we do. I mean, seein’ as we was ridin’ you at the dance ’n all, we could understand if you don’t want to hire us. But we’d make good hands for you, Mr. MacCallister, I promise you that we would. Besides which, you got the nicest bunkhouse any of us have ever been in.”

  “Have you already been paid to bring the cattle down?”