MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy: The Killing

by William W. Johnstone

  “Meghan, and if we are talking this kind of money between us I think I should be able to call you by your given name, do you realize what you are asking? You are asking me—and I suppose you will be asking R.W. and Biff—to loan you four thousand dollars when you have no collateral you can pledge, and you won’t even tell us what it is for?”

  “But you will have collateral,” Meghan said. “The herd will be collateral.”

  Matthews drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment, then he laughed. “I’ll give you this. Nobody can say that you don’t have brass. All right, I’ve known you for a while. And I know you to be not only a smart businessperson, but a good one as well. I’ll lend you the money.”

  “Thank you,” Meghan said. “Now I have another request of you.”

  Matthews shook his head in disbelief and smiled. “You’ve just hit me up for four thousand dollars and you have another request? All right, let’s hear it.”

  “I want you to go with me when I talk to Mr. Guthrie and Mr. Johnson,” Meghan said. “I want you to help me talk them into going along with this.”

  “Why not?” Matthews said. “They say that a fool likes company.”

  One hour later Meghan walked down to the bank.

  “Hello, Miss Parker,” the teller greeted. “Here to make a deposit? Or a withdrawal?”

  “Neither,” Meghan said. “I would like to speak with Mr. Dempster if I could.”

  “Certainly, he is back in his office. Just knock on the door,” the teller said.

  Scott Dempster welcomed Meghan with a smile, then invited her to have a seat across from his desk.

  “Now, Miss Parker, what can I do for you?”

  “I need sixteen thousand dollars,” she said.

  Dempster reacted in surprise. “Did you say sixteen thousand dollars?”

  “Yes. Actually, I will probably need seventeen thousand dollars.”

  “Miss Parker, I—I don’t know what to say. You are a very good customer and your store is very profitable. But there is no way I can lend you seventeen thousand dollars.”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to borrow seventeen thousand. I said I needed seventeen thousand. I have three thousand dollars in the bank, and I want to borrow two thousand dollars against my store.”

  “Oh, my,” Dempster said. “Well, yes, I suppose I can lend you two thousand against your store, but with that and what you have in the bank, you will still be short twelve thousand dollars.”

  Meghan slid three bank drafts across Dempster’s desk, each one for four thousand dollars.

  “This will make up the difference,” she said.

  Dempster examined the bank drafts: one from Fred Matthews, one from R.W. Guthrie, and one from Biff Johnson.

  “You convinced these men to loan you this money?”

  “Yes. I take it that their bank drafts are good?”

  “Oh, absolutely, all three of these gentlemen are more than good for their drafts. It’s just that ...” he let the sentence hang.

  “It’s just that what?”

  “Well, Miss Parker, this entire thing is extremely unusual,” Dempster said. “I mean, the fact that you have convinced three of our finest citizens to advance you so much money, and that you are contributing even more of your own funds. May I ask what this is for? It isn’t necessary that you tell me, you understand. It’s just a matter of curiosity.”

  “I am helping a friend,” Meghan said, without any further explanation.

  “She must be some friend.”

  “He is,” Meghan said.

  That evening Meghan worked late in her shop. It was quite a task, but she sewed one hundred and seventy one-hundred-dollar bills inside two petticoats.

  The next morning, wearing the two petticoats, she bought a stagecoach ticket to Cheyenne.

  Fred Matthews, R.W. Guthrie, and Biff Johnson came down to the stage depot to see her off. They were sitting in the far corner of the depot, away from the rest of the passengers, so they could talk without being overheard.

  “Do you have the money?” Matthews asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  Meghan smiled. “I’m a seamstress, remember?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Meghan looked over toward the others in the depot, and then when she was sure she couldn’t be seen, she lifted the hem of her skirt, to show her petticoats. “In here,” she said.

  Matthews laughed out loud. “What a marvelous way of hiding it,” he said.

  The others laughed as well.

  “Is the message he sent to Elmer, asking him to send his horse to him, the only thing anyone has heard from him?” Guthrie asked.

  “Yes, as far as I know. Only, from what I understand, Elmer didn’t send Sky to him. Elmer took Sky to him.”

  “I wonder what kind of trouble Duff ran into?” Matthews asked.

  “I don’t know,” Biff said. “But you men know Duff as well as I do. And you know damn well that he can handle just about any trouble he runs into.”

  “Yes, but if he can handle ‘just about’ any trouble he runs into, that means that from time to time there will be trouble he can’t handle,” Guthrie said.

  “Damn, R.W., do you have to look at the negative side of everything?” Biff asked.

  “I’m just trying to be practical, is all,” Guthrie replied.

  “What do you think, Meghan? You haven’t spoken much,” Biff asked.

  “I tend to agree with you, that there isn’t much that Duff can’t handle. But I know how badly he wants that herd, and if the telegram from the cattle exchange was sent to him here, that means they haven’t heard from him and they don’t know how to get ahold of him.”

  “I hate to agree with R.W., but something like this can make a person worry and wonder,” Matthews said.

  “All right, folks!” the depot manager called. “The stagecoach for Cheyenne is about to leave. If you’re plannin’ on goin’, you need to get onboard now.”

  The coach was drawn up in front of the depot. It was a Concord coach, green with yellow wheels, black window trim, and red letters:

  WYOMING OVERLAND COACH AND MAIL

  The six horses, now in harness, stood patiently, waiting for the command to begin their toil.

  “John, you and Willie got your slickers?” Guthrie called up to the driver and shotgun guard, who were already sitting up on the driver’s box. “Looks like it’s goin’ to rain.”

  “Yeah, it does look like it, don’t it?” the driver called back down. “But we got ’em.”

  Matthews helped Meghan climb into the coach. Once inside, she looked back out through the open window.

  “Thank you again,” she said. “All of you.”

  “If you find out anything, or you need anything, send us a telegram,” Biff said.

  “I will,” Meghan promised.

  “Hyah!” the driver shouted. He snapped the whip over the heads of the team, and it popped like a pistol shot. The team started at a brisk trot and the coach lurched ahead.

  Meghan stuck her head out through the window and yelled back at the three men who had come to see her off.

  “’Bye!” she called. “I’ll send you a telegram to let you know how things are working out!”

  “’Bye,” Matthews called. “Be careful!”

  The three men watched as the coach moved rapidly up Bowie Avenue until the avenue turned into the road leading to Cheyenne.

  “What do you think?” Guthrie asked. “Have we just told our money good-bye?”

  “I don’t think so,” Matthews said.

  “Well, yeah, you would say that. You helped her raise it.”

  “If Fred hadn’t helped her, I would have,” Biff said. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? We’ll all be part owners of a herd of Black Angus cattle.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Jefferson County, Nebraska

  “Look,” Duff said, pointing to something on the trail in front of them.


  “Yeah, I see it. It’s a cigar butt,” Elmer said.

  “I know not whether ’tis ignorance or arrogance, but ’twould appear that our quarry is leading us to him like Hansel and Gretel.”

  “Like who?”

  “You’ve never heard of Hansel and Gretel? It’s a fairy tale,” Duff said. “It is a children’s story about a family that is starving, so the parents lead their children into the middle of the forest, then leave them there.”

  “They leave ’em there? What the hell did they do that for?”

  “Because they are very short of food, and it is their hope that the children will not be able to find their way back so that the parents will not have to share what little food they have with their children.”

  “Now them must have been some kind of parents,” Elmer said.

  “Yes, but the children left a trail of crumbs of bread so they could find their way back.”

  “They left a trail of crumbs of bread? What kept the animals from eating it?”

  “Nothing. That is exactly what happened. The birds ate the bread, so the children remained lost until they were found by a witch who wanted to eat them.”

  Elmer laughed. “Duff, now I must that is one hell of a story. And it is supposed to be for children you say?”

  “Aye. And you are right. It does make one wonder why such a tale would be told to children. But the point is, Kingsley is doing that with his cigar butts. He is leading us directly to him.”

  “Yeah, well, I got to say that I do like the part about the witch eatin’ ’em,” Elmer said. “Because when we find Kingsley, I might just consider that.”

  Duff chuckled.

  “I’m serious.”

  “What do you mean, you are serious?”

  “You ever heard tell of a fella by the name of Liver Eatin’ Johnson?” Elmer asked.

  “Liver Eatin’ Johnson? I can’t say that I have. ’Tis a most unusual name, I must say. Is there really such a person?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s real all right. He’s a friend of mine. At one time or another he has been a sailor, scout, soldier, gold seeker, hunter, trapper, whiskey peddler, wagon train captain, and a deputy sheriff. But he got his name from when he went on a personal warpath against the Crow Injuns. Seems they kilt his Injun wife, so he commenced killin’ them. He kilt about twenty of ’em, and he cut the liver out of ever’one he kilt, then he cooked it up, and he et it. Turns out that was big medicine to the Crow, and they finally decided to make peace with him.”

  “You wouldn’t really do such a thing, would you, Elmer? I mean, eat Kingsley’s liver?”

  “I might,” Elmer said.

  Duff didn’t know if Elmer was serious or not, so he decided not to press the issue any further.

  “Look at the tracks there,” Elmer said. “See them rear hooves? The shoes are curved inward, just like that young cowboy said.”

  Elmer dismounted and picked up the cigar butt. “And this cigar butt hasn’t dried out yet,” he added. “It can’t be more than a couple of hours old.”

  “It looks like we are catching up with him,” Duff said.

  “Yeah. But for me, it is twenty-five years too late,” Elmer said.

  “Aye, m’ friend, but as they say, revenge is a dish best served cold.”

  “Not cold,” Elmer said. “If I eat the son of a bitch’s liver, I plan to fry it up first.”

  Kansas City

  Hodge Denman was at the supper table with his wife, Mary, when Mr. Terrance Cooper came into the house. Cooper was Denman’s father-in-law.

  “Hello, Mr. Cooper,” Denman said. “Won’t you join us for supper?”

  Cooper’s face was contorted in anger.

  “What have you done?” Cooper shouted, yelling so loud that spittle was flying from his mouth.

  “Father, what is it?” Mary asked. “Why are you so angry?”

  “Your mother and I are about to lose everything,” Cooper said. “That’s what it is. And it is your husband’s fault!”

  “Hodge, what is father talking about?”

  “I can explain,” Denman said weakly.

  “Explain? Explain? I am losing my farm, my house, everything I have worked for, for my entire life, and you can explain?”

  “I had no choice,” Denman said. “I needed the money. The people I was in debt to are very bad people. If I did not pay them, they would have killed me.”

  “So you gave them my house?”

  “Hodge, what are you talking about? Why did you borrow from such people? Why did you need money so badly?” Mary asked.

  “I didn’t borrow from them. I borrowed from the bank to pay the people that I owed. It’s the bank who has the mortgages not only on your father’s house, but ours as well,” Denman said.

  “If you didn’t borrow from those men, how is it that you owed them so much money? I don’t understand.”

  “They were gambling debts,” Denman said.

  “Gambling? You gambled away my house?” Cooper said.

  “I had no choice.”

  Mary began crying. “Hodge, how could you?” she asked. She turned to her father. “Oh, father, I am so sorry. I knew nothing about this. Nothing.”

  “I know you didn’t, darlin’,” Cooper said. “It is all the fault of this no-count bastard you married.”

  “I won’t be married to him any longer,” she said. “In fact, I don’t intend to spend one minute longer with him. Please, Father, I know I have no right to ask. But take me with you.”

  Cooper opened his arms, and his daughter came to him.

  “Denman,” Cooper started, but Denman interrupted him.

  “I’m sorry,” Denman said. “If there is any way I can make it up to you, I will.”

  “The only way you can make it up to me, you miserable son of a bitch, is to die,” Cooper said.

  “Mary, please,” Denman said. “Give me another chance.”

  “You got into trouble like this once before by gambling,” Mary said. “You told me then that you quit, remember? But you didn’t quit. And now this is worse than anything you have ever done.”

  “Come, Mary. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I need to pack a bag,” Mary said, starting for the bedroom.

  When Mary left the room, only Denman and Cooper remained.

  “I had a plan to get us out of all this,” Denman started. “And it still might work, if you’ll just give me a little more time.”

  “I will get myself out of it,” Cooper said. “I’ve already talked to the bank, and they have agreed to rewrite the loan. As far as I’m concerned, you have no time left.”

  “Please try to understand,” Denman begged. “I was terrified. I had no choice!”

  “You had a choice,” Cooper said. “You could have faced it like a man, instead of the whimpering coward you are.” Cooper called to the bedroom. “Mary, are you about ready? I can’t stand to be in the company of this son of a bitch for a moment longer!”

  Denman walked into the living room, then opened the drawer to the hall coat tree. Reaching inside, he removed a Colt .44 pistol; then, holding it down by his side, he returned to the dining room just as Mary came out of the bedroom carrying her suitcase.

  “I didn’t get everything,” she said. “I’ll come back for the rest when you are gone.”

  “No need,” Denman said.

  “What do you mean, no need?”

  “You won’t be needing them,” Denman said. Raising his hand, he pointed the pistol toward Cooper.

  “Hodge! What are you doing?” Mary screamed.

  “You son of a ... !” Cooper shouted, but that was as far as he got before Denman pulled the trigger.

  The sound of the gunshot was ear-piercing inside the house.

  Mary screamed as Cooper went down.

  Denman turned the pistol toward Mary. He smiled at her, a crooked, mirthless, smile, then he raised the pistol to his own head and pulled the trigger.

  Mary watched in horror as blood, brain, and
bone detritus burst from the wound.

  She continued screaming as she looked down at the two men, her father and her husband, both lying dead on the dining room floor.

  Cheyenne

  It was a six-hour trip to Cheyenne by stagecoach, and Meghan was familiar with it because she had made the trip many times before. There were seven people on the coach, including the driver and the shotgun guard. It had started raining shortly after they’d left Chugwater, and Meghan couldn’t help but feel sorry for the driver and guard, who were sitting outside in the downpour. Both were wearing yellow rubber ponchos, but she knew the ponchos were doing little to keep them dry.

  Meghan had heard them talking before they left, commenting that as they were not carrying any money, they were unlikely to be stopped. That meant that the guard’s only purpose would be to give the driver someone to speak to. She wondered what they would think if they knew she had seventeen thousand dollars in cash sewn into her petticoat. As for the passengers, the jolting of the heavy vehicle over the roughening road made conversation difficult. The drummer sitting across from Meghan was asleep with his arm passed through the swaying strap and his head resting upon it. Mrs. Petre, who was traveling to Cheyenne in order to take the cars to San Francisco to see her daughter, was also asleep, unconscious of her appearance now, a disarray of ribbons, veils, and shawls.

  Because there was no conversation, there was no sound but the rattling of wheels and the drumming of rain upon the roof. Pulling the isinglass curtains across the windows managed to keep out the rain, but it also made the interior of the coach very close and unpleasant. She was glad when they finally reached Cheyenne.

  Thankfully, the rain had stopped by the time the coach rolled into Cheyenne. The coach stopped at the train depot, by arrangement, and because most of their passengers were departing or arriving on trains, the stage depot was in the train depot.

  When Meghan bought a train ticket to Fremont, she was told it would not depart until the next day. She then walked across the road to the Inter Ocean Hotel, where she took a room to spend the night. As she waited in her hotel room that night, a room that had the luxury of electric lights, she took a piece of the hotel stationery and drew a line down the middle. On one side of the line she put all the positives about what she was about to do with the money. On the other side she put all the negatives. She was as frank and candid as she could be, putting down even the most remote positives and negatives, just to make certain that everything was covered.