Meghan dropped the letter down and held it to her breast, afraid to read any further. Was he about to tell her that he wasn’t coming back to America?
Then I think of the beauty of my ranch, Sky Meadow, and the joy of the friends I have made since I came there, and I know that America is truly my new home.
Again, Meghan dropped the letter to her chest, but this time, not in fear, but in joy.
“Yes!” she said aloud.
Looking around then to make certain that no one was observing her odd behavior, she continued to read the letter.
I will be back within one month of your receipt of this letter. My visit here has been both personal and for business, and I now know the next step I am going to take with my ranch. I hope your memory of me has been kept green in my absence.
Yours Truly,
Duff MacCallister
The last time Duff crossed the Atlantic from Scotland, he had done so as a crewman onboard the Hiawatha, a three-masted, square-rigged sail ship. This time, he was a paying passenger on the HMS Adriatic, a steamship that had already set a record in crossing. The trip was fast and pleasant, with good weather and good food. When he put in to New York, he visited with Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister, the famous brother-and-sister team of stage players who were his cousins.
“You simply must tell me about your ranch,” Rosanna said. They were having dinner at Delmonico’s. Duff’s train was due to leave Grand Central Station at eleven that same evening.
“Truly, it is a beautiful place,” Duff said. “It sets between timbered hills that stretch down to the rolling green plain below, through which the Bear and Little Bear creeks run, shining like strands of polished silver.”
“Oh, it sounds lovely,” Rosanna said. “I should love to visit it some day.”
“And I would love to have you as my guest,” Duff replied.
“How many head of cattle are you running?” Andrew asked.
“Counting my milk cows,” Duff said, pausing for a moment, then added, “two.”
“Two? You have two cows on the entire ranch? Well, are you raising sheep?”
“Sheep? Oh, heavens no,” Duff said, laughing. “I’ve taken enough teasing from the others for having no cattle. But I wanted to get the ranch exactly right before I introduced cattle, and also, ’tis a certain breed of cattle that I want. A breed that is not now in Wyoming.”
“What breed would that be?” Andrew asked.
“Black Angus.”
Duff explained what he considered to be the plus side of raising Black Angus, adding that he had raised the breed back in Scotland.
“And you will be the first to introduce them to Wyoming?” Andrew asked.
“Aye, as far as I know, I will be.”
Andrew smiled and put his hand on Duff’s shoulder. “Then you will be making history, cousin,” he said.
Andrew and Rosanna went to the train station with Duff and waited with him until it was time for his train. With a final wave good-bye, Duff passed through the door that read TO TRAINS. Out under the train shed, he could smell the smoke and the steam, and feel the rumble of the heavy trains in his stomach as he walked toward track number eight. Then he walked down the narrow concrete path that separated the train on track number eight from the train on track number nine. Half an hour later, the train pulled out of the station and began its overnight run to Chicago.
Chicago, Illinois
In Chicago, Duff looked up the address of the American Aberdeen Angus Association, and after a few preliminary questions was directed to a man named Eli Woodson.
“Yes, sir, Mr. MacCallister, we are absolutely encouraging the expansion of Angus cattle in America,” Eli Woodson said, when Duff told him what he had planned. “And you say that you have been around them before?”
“Aye. When I was in Scotland, I was growing the breed.”
“Good, good, then I won’t have to be selling you on them, will I? You know what a fine breed they are. Tell me, where will you be ranching?
“In eastern Wyoming, a place called Chugwater Valley. It is just north of Wyoming.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Woodson said. “Wyoming is a big cattle area. It would be good to have the noble Angus represented there.”
“My question now is, where do I purchase the animals?”
“Well, I can set you up with a bull, and maybe ten heifers from here. You can ship them back on the train.”
“Thank you, but I would like to start with a much bigger herd.”
“How large is much bigger?”
“I want at least five hundred head,” Duff said.
Woodson blinked. “You intend to start your herd with five hundred head?”
“Aye.”
“Mr. MacCallister, do you have any idea how much something like that would cost?”
“I think no more than thirty dollars a head. Maybe a little less,” Duff said. “And I can do the math.”
Woodson smiled. “Well, now. If you are fully aware of the cost of starting a herd with such a number, and, nevertheless want to pursue it, I’m sure we can find enough cattle for you. How long will you be in Chicago?”
“I plan to take the train to Cheyenne tomorrow.”
“Do you have a hotel for tonight?”
“I do. I will be staying at the Palmer House.”
“Good. Enjoy your stay there, while I do some research. I will telephone the front desk at the Palmer House and leave a message for you when I get the information you need.”
“Thank you.”
The Palmer House was seven stories high. The room, compared to all the other hotel rooms Duff had occupied, was quite large and luxuriously decorated. It also had a private bathroom with hot and cold running water.
After taking a bath, Duff went downstairs and into the barbershop to get a haircut. The marble tiles of the barbershop floor were inlaid with silver dollars. It, like the entire hotel, was well illuminated by electric lights. A wax recording machine sat in the back of the barbershop, and one or more of the barbers kept it playing all the time Duff was in the barber chair.
From the barbershop he went into the restaurant where he saw Angus steak on the menu, and ordered it. By the time he finished dinner, it was dark, but still too early to go to bed, so Duff decided to take a walk around the city. He wound up at the Chicago River and stood there by the bridge for a while, watching the boat traffic.
“No! Please, no!”
The voice was that of a woman, and she sounded frightened. The sound was coming from under the bridge, but when Duff looked underneath, it was far too dark to see.
“Oh, please, don’t hurt me. I am but a poor woman, I have done you no harm.”
Moving quickly, Duff climbed over the railing of the bridge, then down the embankment.
“Miss?” he called. “Miss, where are you?”
“Help, oh please help!”
Duff started toward the voice.
“We’ve got one, Percy, don’t let him get away!” a woman’s voice said excitedly. It was the same woman who had been calling for help.
Duff realized at once that he had fallen for a trap. And in the time it would take others to figure out what was wrong, Duff was already reacting. He knew that where he was standing would make him stand out in silhouette against the reflections off the Chicago River. He moved quickly to step farther under the bridge and to put the dark part of the embankment behind him.
“Where the hell did he go?” a gruff voice asked.
Duff looked toward the sound, using a trick he had learned when fighting on the desert in Egypt at night. By not looking directly at the object, but slightly to one side, a person could see better at night. Duff saw a shadow moving toward where he had been, but a moment earlier.
“Find him, Percy!” the woman’s voice said. “Don’t let him get away!”
Percy was holding one arm out in front of him.
“I’m going to cut him up good,” Percy said.
Duff breathed a sigh of
relief, knowing that it wasn’t a gun. He wasn’t armed, and under the circumstances, he thought it would be a lot easier to deal with someone who was holding a knife than it would be to deal with someone who had a gun.
“I’m over here, Percy,” Duff said.
“What?” Percy said. He moved quickly toward where Duff had been when he spoke. But Duff had stepped to one side, and he felt, heard, and saw Percy make a wild and unsuccessful swipe with his blade.
Duff reached out at the exact moment Percy’s arm was most extended. Putting one hand on Percy’s elbow and the other on Percy’s wrist, he jerked the arm back, breaking it at the elbow.
“Ahhh!” Percy screamed in pain.
Duff heard the knife hit the ground, and reaching down quickly, he picked it up and tossed it into the river, hearing the little splash as it went in.
“Percy!” the woman shouted.
“He’s here,” Duff said.
“Percy, what happened?”
“The son of a bitch broke my arm!” Percy said, his voice strained with pain.
“Aye, but ye should be glad ’twas your arm I broke, and not your neck,” Duff said.
“You son of a bitch! You broke Percy’s arm?” the woman said, angrily.
“Tch, tch, such language from a lady,” Duff said. “Sure now, lass, an’ I’m beginnin’ to think ye were in nae danger at all, now, were ye?” Duff asked.
“Kill him, Percy! Kill him!” the woman said, her voice rising in fear.
“Kill him? I can barely move, you dumb bitch! How am I going to kill him?”
“I would be for betting that I’m nae the first ye have invited down here by your ruse,” Duff said. “But ’tis thinking I am that I might be your last.”
“I need a doctor,” Percy said. “M’arm is about to fall off.”
“Aye, if I were you, I would get that arm looked at,” Duff said. Stepping out from under the bridge, he climbed back up the embankment. Behind him, he could hear Percy and the woman arguing.
“I got him down here for you. The rest was up to you, but you couldn’t handle it.”
“He broke my arm,” Percy replied. “Can’t you understand that? He broke my arm. I need a doctor.”
Their angry and accusing voices faded behind him as he walked through the night back toward the hotel.
“Mr. MacCallister,” the hotel clerk called to him as he crossed the lobby.
“Aye?”
“You’ve a message, sir, from a Mr. Woodson.” The clerk handed a note to Duff.
“Thank you,” Duff said.
Duff took the message over to one of the sofas in the lobby and sat there as he unfolded it to read.
The Kansas City Cattle Exchange can make all the arrangements to provide you with Black Angus Cattle. Good luck with your enterprise.
Woodson.
Smiling, Duff put the note in his pocket. As soon as he got back to Wyoming, he would contact the Kansas City Cattle Exchange and make whatever arrangements as might be necessary.
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2012 William W. Johnstone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-3003-3
Notes
1
Snake River Slaughter
Massacre at Powder River Page 26