“I know about them,” Falcon said. “I also know that they’ve all been recalled.”
Sheriff Dennis nodded. “Yeah, when I inquired about them, that’s what I was told. It’s just as well. If you handled all three of these men by yourself, I don’t think I’d want to try and serve a warrant on you.”
Several in the crowd laughed at the sheriff’s candid remark.
“So what are you saying, Sheriff? That you are just going to let him get away with murder?” the Two Rivers man asked.
“Take it easy, Sutton,” Sheriff Dennis said. “Everyone who knew Muley and Zeb knows they was just the kind that would try a damn fool stunt like this. Besides which, if MacCallister here actually did murder them, he wouldn’t have brought their bodies in, and he wouldn’t have confessed to the killin’, now would he? So I got no reason not to believe his story.”
“Thanks,” Falcon said.
“But what I want to know is, what about this third fella? What kind of beef did he have with you?” Sheriff Dennis asked.
“I don’t know,” Falcon said.
“Could be he was just some friend of Muley and Zeb’s that they talked into helpin’ ’em out,” the sheriff suggested.
“Could be,” Falcon agreed. He didn’t tell the sheriff that it was just the other way around, that Rafferty had paid Muley and Zeb to help him. For the moment, he decided that information was best kept to himself.
Sheriff Dennis stepped down to look at the three bodies, then stopped to look at one of the horses.
“Say, wait a minute. This mare belongs to Chance Ingram, doesn’t it?” he said, looking closely at the animal.
“You’re right, it does,” one of the men in the crowd said. “That’s Belle. I’ve ridden her myself a few times. Chance rents her out.”
“What’s Zeb doin’ on a rented horse?”
“Muley’s on Zeb’s horse,” Sutton said. He looked at the other horse. “And the fella with his head blow’d off is on Muley’s horse.”
“I found the horses ground-hobbled,” Falcon explained. “I didn’t know who belonged to which horse and, under the circumstances, it didn’t seem to matter much.”
“Well, this here Rafferty fella is obviously the one that rented hisself a horse,” Sheriff Dennis said. “That can only mean that he come into town some other way, either by train or by stage. Maybe if I ask around, I’ll be able to find out who he is.” He looked pointedly at Falcon. “I’m going to ask you again. You’re sure you don’t know anything about him?”
Falcon shook his head. “I never saw him before,” he said.
* * *
There was one in the crowd who had more than a passing interest in the fate of the man Falcon had identified as Rafferty. Creed Howard wasn’t a citizen of Medora, but had arrived on the same train as the man who had been identified as Rafferty.
Creed offered no information, but he could have told them all about Rafferty, including the fact that Rafferty wasn’t his real name. His real name was Bob Howard.
Bob and Creed Howard were brothers. Only one other person in town knew that fact, and that was Isham Porter. Isham Porter, who worked at the wagon yard, and he was Creed and Bob’s first cousin. It was Isham Porter who sent Creed and Bob a telegram, telling them that Falcon MacCallister, the man who was responsible for getting their youngest brother, Thad Howard, hung, was in Medora.
Creed and Bob came to town looking for revenge. Bob got impatient, and got killed. But then, Creed thought, Bob always was an impatient son of a bitch.
When Creed went after MacCallister, he would be more careful.
Chapter 14
“More wine, Teddy?” Judge Heckemeyer asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Roosevelt said.
Judge Heckemeyer nodded at one of his house staff, and the young man hurried to the far end of the long table to pour wine into Roosevelt’s glass.
The table, which could easily seat twenty, had only three around it now, Judge Andrew Heckemeyer, Theodore Roosevelt, and Anna Heckemeyer. Roosevelt was the Heckemeyers’ dinner guest.
“It was most gracious of you to invite me over for dinner,” Roosevelt said. “I have made friends with the staff at my ranch, but it is still a lonely place. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the solitude . . . especially now that I have things to deal with.”
Anna knew that Roosevelt was referring to the mourning period he was going through, grieving for both his wife and his mother.
“But sometimes that solitude can become . . .” He paused for a moment, considering the word he wanted to use. “Quite overwhelming,” he concluded.
Realizing that he had changed the mood of the dinner by his melancholy, Roosevelt raised his glass. “But enough of that kind of gloomy talk,” he said, smiling broadly. “I propose a toast to Miss Heckemeyer’s graduation from the very fine school she attended.”
“Hear! Hear!” Judge Heckemeyer replied, holding his own glass up.
“Thank you,” Anna said. Then, scoldingly, to Roosevelt: “And I have told you, it is Anna, not Miss Heckemeyer.”
“Of course it is. And Anna is such a beautiful name,” Roosevelt said. “So I promise you, from now on, Anna it is.”
“Tell us about your school, Anna,” Judge Heckemeyer said. “Did you learn anything marvelous?”
“I got a glimpse into the future,” Anna said.
“A glimpse into the future? Heavens, don’t tell me you went to a fortune-teller.”
Anna shook her head. “No, not that kind of future,” she said. “I didn’t have my personal future told. I mean that, in our class on modern science and its applications, I got to see what life in America will be like in the next century.”
“Did you now? So, tell us about twentieth-century America,” Judge Heckemeyer said.
“The twentieth century will be a century of marvelous inventions and gadgets,” Anna said. “Why, we’ve already started.”
“How so?”
“Consider my recent trip here, from New York. I sent you a telegraph message informing you of the precise day and hour I would arrive and, only eight days after leaving New York, I was here. Consider that only thirty years ago this same trip would have taken me months to complete.”
“That’s true.”
“And back in New York there are already wondrous things that the people out here can only imagine. Well, Teddy, you know what I’m talking about,” she said. “You can reach any spot in the city within a matter of minutes by taking the cars.”
“Taking the cars?” Judge Heckemeyer asked.
“That’s what the New Yorkers call the commuter trains that whisk them from one end of the city to the other,” she said. “Sometimes you ride on elevated railways so that, as a passenger, you feel as if you are flying amidst the rooftops.”
“That is true,” Roosevelt agreed. “The transportation system of the city is quite well developed.”
“There are also several telephones in New York,” Anna said.
“Telephone? Yes, I believe I have read about them,” Heckemeyer said. “If I understand it right, it is a device that you can speak into, and someone else who is similarly equipped will be able to hear you.”
“Not only hear you, but speak back to you,” Anna said. “And let us not forget Mr. Edison’s talking machine.”
Heckemeyer laughed. “A talking machine? Now I have heard everything.”
“No, it is true, Andrew,” Roosevelt said. “The Edison talking machine uses a cylinder of wax and a stylus that, somehow, transfers the vibrations of the voice onto that wax. Then, when you play it back, the voice, or any sound for that matter, is reproduced.”
“What will they think of next?” Heckemeyer asked.
“I’ve already thought of it,” Anna said.
“Oh?”
“Yes, I proposed it to my professor in science class, and he said it was a good idea, though he had no idea how it could be done.”
“What is your idea?” Roosevelt asked.
&
nbsp; “I proposed that you find some way to connect Mr. Alexander Graham’s telephone with Mr. Thomas Edison’s talking machine,” Anna said.
“To what end?” Heckemeyer asked.
“Well, think about it, Father,” Anna explained. “Suppose someone, we’ll make up a person and call her Mary, was equipped with a telephone in her own house. And someone else, let’s say Mary’s grandmother, is similarly equipped.
“The grandmother calls, but Mary is not home. If a clever scientist could find a way to connect the talking machine to the telephone, the grandmother could leave a message.”
Anna made a motion as if holding the telephone base with one hand, and the earpiece with the other, then she imitated the call.
“Hello, this is Mary. Thank you for calling me, but I am not home. However, you may leave a message for me on my talking machine.”
Then, changing the tone of her voice, Anna continued the demonstration.
“Mary, this is your grandmother. Please come to dinner at my house tomorrow night.”
Anna made the motion of hanging up. “What do you think?” she asked.
“I think you have a very active imagination,” Judge Heckemeyer said.
“Active and fertile,” Roosevelt added. “In fact, I will make the prediction right now that someday, some clever person will come up with just such a device. And whoever it is will no doubt think that he was the one who invented the answering machine, when a few of us will know that it was you.”
“Answering machine,” Anna said. “Oh, what a delightful name for it.”
After dinner that evening, Roosevelt invited Anna to take a walk with him and she accepted. They walked from the judge’s house down to the railroad station and back. The night was clear and the sky was ablaze with stars.
“I missed seeing the stars when I was in New York,” Anna said. “At first, I thought that perhaps there were just fewer stars over New York. Later, of course, I realized that it was just the brightness of the many gas lamps that made the sky seem dimmer.”
“Yes, the sky is beautiful out here,” Roosevelt said. “Everything seems more beautiful out here.” He looked at Anna and smiled. “Everything,” he said, with some emphasis.
“Please, Mr. Roosevelt,” Anna said demurely. “You shall make me blush.”
“I’m sorry,” Roosevelt said quickly. “I’ve no wish to embarrass you.”
“I know,” Anna said. “I was teasing.”
“Oh.”
They walked on in silence for a few moments longer. Then Roosevelt spoke again.
“Anna, I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed being in your company,” he said.
“And I have enjoyed your company as well,” Anna replied.
“Teddy.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A moment ago you called me Mr. Roosevelt. And yet you insist that I call you Anna. I’m sure you’ve heard the expression ‘What is good for the goose is good for the gander.’”
Anna laughed. “Yes, I have heard that, Teddy,” she said.
“I am glad you are my friend,” Roosevelt added.
“It is not difficult being your friend. You are an interesting man, a fascinating conversationalist, and a generous soul.”
“I appreciate your appraisal of me,” Roosevelt said. He cleared his throat. “Especially since you are aware of my personal burden of grief.”
“Yes, I know that your wife and your mother both died recently. And on the same day. I know what a tremendous grief you must be enduring.”
“I’m glad that you understand it,” Roosevelt said. “For I would not want to give you the wrong idea as to my intentions.”
Anna chuckled. “Oh, heavens, Teddy. Please do not think me a naive young girl who believes that the friendly attentions of a man friend must inevitably lead to matrimony.”
“It’s not that I never want to marry again,” Roosevelt said. “Indeed, someday I think I will get married again, and if I do, I hope it is to someone just like you. But for now . . .”
Laughing again, a lilting, friendly laugh, Anna put her hand on Roosevelt’s arm.
“I’m sure you will find someone just for you,” she said. “And as to whether or not she is like me, well, time will just have to tell, won’t it? In the meantime, let us be just as you proposed. Good friends who find pleasure in each other’s company.”
“You are a good woman, Anna,” Roosevelt said. “A good woman indeed.”
“Now, perhaps you should take me back home before my father comes after us with a shotgun.”
“What?” Roosevelt gasped.
Anna laughed. “I was teasing you, Teddy,” she said. “Merely teasing.”
* * *
It was nearly midnight, and Falcon MacCallister extinguished the lantern on the table in the hotel room he had taken for the night. His room fronted the street and as he happened to glance outside, he saw an orange glow in the darkness of the alley between two buildings across the street.
Falcon watched for a moment, and as he watched, the glow brightened and dimmed. That told Falcon that he was looking at the tip of a cigarette. Someone was standing back in the shadows of the alley, smoking as he stared up at the hotel. Falcon knew what it was, but he didn’t know who it was, or why the person was watching the hotel with such intensity.
* * *
Creed Howard had spent the evening in the saloon, sitting in the back, quietly nursing his beer while he kept an eye on Falcon MacCallister.
Falcon had supper, then played a few hands of cards. Several men came over to talk to him, anxious to make friends with the man who could take on three assailants.
Creed had nothing but disgust for them. They were making a hero out of the man who had been responsible for the death of one of his brothers, and had killed the other.
Creed spoke to no one for the entire time he was in the saloon. When Falcon left, Creed left as well. He followed Falcon, staying about one block behind, until Falcon turned into the hotel.
As it happened, Creed was staying at the same hotel, but rather than going in then, he decided to wait across the street for a while. He had never met Falcon MacCallister, so there was little chance he would be recognized. On the other hand, he had spent the entire evening in the saloon and Falcon might have noticed him. It would be best for his plans if they didn’t run across each other.
Creed walked across the street from the hotel and slipped into the shadows of the alley between the apothecary and the leather-goods store. A few minutes later, he saw a lantern flare up in one of the upstairs rooms. In the light, Creed saw Falcon moving about in the room.
Creed watched until the lantern was extinguished.
“Well, Mr. Falcon MacCallister, let’s see how much of a hero you are tomorrow, when they find you dead in your bed,” Creed said quietly. He tossed the cigarette to one side.
Loosening the gun in his holster, Creed crossed the dark street. It was quiet in the town now; the saloon was closed, so there was nothing coming from there. Out on the prairie a coyote howled, its howl answered by a dog from town. In a house down the street, a baby was crying. The swinging sign over the apothecary creaked somewhat in a freshening wind.
Creed stepped in through the front door of the hotel. The lobby was dark, except for a lantern that illuminated the stairway and another at the desk. Mr. Fillmore, the hotel clerk on duty at the front desk, was napping in his chair. Quietly, so as not to awaken him, Creed turned the registration book around so he could read the entries. He found the one he was looking for.
Falcon MacCallister . . . . Room 25
Creed reached around behind the desk and took the spare key from the hook under the number 25. As he went up the steps, he extinguished the stairway lamp, then each lantern in turn as he walked down the hallway toward Room 25.
* * *
Falcon lay in his bed listening to the hiss of the gas lanterns from the hallway. He could hear the decrease in sound as each lantern in turn was extinguished. He wa
tched the little line of light under his door dim until it was dark. Then he got out of bed, pulled his pistol from the holster, and stepped into the far corner of his room.
He heard the key turn in the door lock; then the door was pushed open. In the ambient light from the street, Falcon could see a shadow, but nothing more. He had no idea who this would-be assailant might be.
For the next few seconds, the room was brightly lit by the muzzle blasts of Creed Howard’s pistol as he fired three shots toward the bed. Feathers and dust flew from the bed as the bullets impacted.
Falcon fired back, shooting just to the left of the flame pattern. He shot only once, heard a groan, then the sound of a man falling. Quickly, Falcon lit the table lantern and turned the flame up, filling the room with light.
He stepped over to the body and turned it over. He didn’t know who it was, but he remembered seeing him in the saloon, and had thought it odd then how he had sat so quietly for so long.
The man was still alive, though it was obvious he wouldn’t be for long.
“Who are you?” Falcon asked. “And why did you come for me?”
“The name is Howard,” Creed said in a voice strained with pain. “You killed both my brothers.”
Falcon shook his head. “The law hung Thad Howard, I didn’t. That’s the only Howard I know of.”
“What’s going on in here?”
Looking toward the door, Falcon saw the hotel clerk and two of the guests, drawn to his room by the sound of the shots.
“I just come into my room and found this fella here,” Creed said. “When I asked what he was doing in my room, he shot me.”
“Your room is twenty-three, Mr. Howard,” the clerk said. “This is room twenty-five.”
Creed snorted. “Ain’t that a hell of a note now?” he said. “I get myself kilt just for making a mistake on my room.”
“What?” Falcon said. “What the hell are you talking about, Howard? You know that’s . . .” Falcon stopped in mid-sentence. Creed Howard was dead, though Falcon was sure he could almost see a smug smile on his face.
By now the deputy sheriff, who had been making his night rounds, arrived on the scene.
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