“All right,” Donner said as, rather reluctantly, he walked out into the middle of the road and lay down.
* * *
“What the hell, Ray? Is that a man lyin’ in the middle of the road?” the driver asked.
“Yeah, I think so. You reckon he’s dead?”
“I don’t know,” Adam said. “But we can’t just leave ’im there. Whoa!” Adam called, pulling back on the reins.
The coach lumbered to a stop.
“George, we’re stopping,” Millicent said. “Why are we stopping?”
“Maybe it’s to give the horses a rest,” George suggested. “I know he has kept them at a pretty rapid pace ever since we left the railroad.”
* * *
“Now!” Callahan shouted, and three men suddenly appeared from either side of the road.
“Here, what are you men—” That was as far as the driver got with his question before all six of the men opened fire. By prearrangement, the three men on the left side of the road shot at the driver, and the three men on the right side of the road shot at the guard. Both driver and shotgun were killed in the fusillade of bullets.
Inside the coach, George and Millicent heard the sudden and unexpected outbreak of gunfire.
“What is it?” Millicent asked in fear. “George, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” George answered.
At that moment someone jerked open the door of the stagecoach. Millicent stifled a scream, not only because of the gunfire but also because of the appearance of the man who had jerked the door open. He was a big man, with a deformed nose and ear.
“You folks in the coach,” the man said in a loud, gruff voice. “Come on out of there!”
Millicent stared at him, too frightened to move.
“Come on, get out of there, I said. I ain’t goin’ to tell you again.” His voice was little more than a low, evil growl.
Cautiously, George stepped out onto the ground, then he turned and helped his wife down. In addition to the man who had ordered them out of the coach, George counted five more. Six men. George intended to remember that.
“What is this?” George demanded. “What’s going on here? How dare you to stop this coach! I’m a very busy man.”
“Yeah? Well your business is going to have to wait,” the big man said.
Millicent looked up toward the front of the coach, where she saw the driver and the messenger guard both slumped forward.
“George!” Millicent gasped. “The driver . . .”
“Is most likely dead,” George said, completing the sentence.
“You found the bank bag yet?” the big man called to one of the men who had climbed up onto the driver’s seat.
“Not yet,” the man called down. The man up on the stage had a purple scar on his cheek.
George amended his count to seven.
“I got it!” the scar-faced man shouted a few seconds later.
“All right, come on down, let’s go.” It was obvious by the reaction of the others to the big man’s orders that he was in charge.
George watched the man climb down over the wheel, studying him as if transfixed.
“George?” the big man said.
George was startled that the highwayman addressed him by name.
“That is your name, ain’t it? That’s what I heard the woman call you.”
“Uh, yes,” George replied.
“Are you heeled?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t see you wearin’ no gun. You ain’t carryin’ a holdout, are you?”
“No, most assuredly not. Why should I have a gun? My wife and I are from New York. The people there are quite civilized, and there is no need for anyone to be in possession of a firearm.”
The big man studied the two of them for a long moment, and Millicent was certain he was going to kill them both. Then he turned away from them and mounted his horse.
“Let’s go,” he said to the others, and the seven men rode away.
George and Millicent stood on the ground beside the coach for a long moment until the highwaymen were completely out of sight.
“George?” Millicent said in a pained voice. “Do you really think that the driver, and the man with him . . . ?”
“Are dead?” George asked, completing the question for her. “I don’t know for sure, but I expect they are. I’ll climb up there and take a look at them,” George put a foot on one of the spokes of the front wheel and, grabbing the edge of the front box, pulled himself up to examine the two men. Their status was quickly determined.
“They are both dead,” George said.
“Oh, my goodness!” she gasped. “George! We are stranded out here! What are we going to do?”
“We’re not stranded. We have a coach and six horses. I’m going to drive them on into town.”
“Don’t be silly! You can’t drive a stagecoach.”
“You forget, Millicent, I was in the war, and during the war, I drove an artillery caisson,” George said. “It’s been almost twenty years, but I expect I can drive this coach, at least well enough to get us on to Cummins City.”
“But, the driver and the guard . . . what will we do with them?”
“I’ll put them inside the coach.”
“Not with me in there, you won’t!” Millicent insisted.
“Then, Millicent, you can just ride up here on the driver’s seat with me.”
* * *
Less than one hour later George and Millicent saw some riders coming toward them.
“Oh! George! They’re back!”
George stopped the coach. For a moment he, like Millicent, thought that the stagecoach holdup men were back. But as they drew closer, he saw that these weren’t the same men.
The approaching riders stopped, right in front of the coach. “Who are you, mister?” one of the riders asked. “Where’s Drake ’n Carter?”
“If you are talking about the driver and the man who was with him, they are back in the coach,” George replied. “We were held up, and they were both killed.”
The questioner stroked his chin and nodded. “Yeah,” he finally said. “When you was as late as you was, we was sort of afraid it mighta been somethin’ like that. Come on, we’ll ride alongside you for the rest of the way in.”
“Thank you, I very much appreciate that,” George said.
As the riders accompanied the coach on into town, Millicent reached out to grasp George by the arm.
“George?” she said.
“Yes?”
“I’m very proud of you.”
* * *
“Nothing!” Callahan said, throwing the canvas bag down in disgust. “Not a damn thing in this bag but a bunch of letters ’n a couple of newspapers!”
“I thought it was supposed to have two thousand dollars,” Cooper said.
“Yeah, well, you heard them men talkin’ in the saloon, same as I did,” Pardeen said. “They was talkin’ just real big about how the stagecoach would be carryin’ two thousand dollars when it come back.”
“Only there warn’t nothin’ there,” Manning said.
“Hell, we all know there warn’t nothin’ there,” Morris said. He pointed to the canvas mailbag. “All you got to do is look into that bag to see that there ain’t nothin’ there.”
“Damn,” Pardeen said. “And the three of us,” he took in Donner and Bates with a wave of his hand, “still ain’t got a pot to piss in, ’ceptin’ what you loant us.”
“Speakin’ o’ which, maybe you could lend us another twenty dollars,” Donner asked.
“Get it from one o’ them,” Callahan replied. “I done give you the loan of twenty dollars.”
“I’ll lend you boys twenty dollars apiece,” Cooper said.
“Thanks, Cooper,” Pardeen said.
“Onliest thing is, when you do get some money, you’ll have to pay me back thirty dollars.”
“Thirty dollars?” Bates said. “Hell no, I ain’t goin’ to give you
thirty dollars for the loan o’ twenty.”
“I will,” Donner said. “I’m tired o’ bein’ out of money.”
Chapter Twenty
Sky Meadow Ranch
“I did it!” Ina Claire said excitedly, coming into the house where Duff and Meagan were sitting in the parlor listening to the music box. “I hit twenty cans in a row, and it didn’t take me ten days to do it, either.”
“Good for you!” Meagan said.
“What about you?” Ina Claire asked Duff. “Aren’t you going to say good for me, too?”
“Aye, but I knew ye could do it, or I would have nae asked ye to try it in the first place.”
A while later as they sat at the table eating lunch, Duff stared across the table toward Ina Claire. He said nothing, but he held his stare until she either saw, felt, or sensed it, and she looked toward him.
“Have I suddenly gone green?” she asked with the hint of a laugh in her question.
“I beg your pardon?” Duff replied, surprised by the question.
Meagan laughed. “I think that must be a young person’s expression,” she said.
“But, whatever does it mean?” Duff asked.
“It means you are staring at me,” Ina Claire said. “Why are you staring at me?”
“Oh. Well, I suppose I was staring at you. It’s just that now comes the most important, and the most difficult, part of your training,” Duff said.
“You mean you want me to shoot some more?”
“Nae, lass, this has nothing to do with the accuracy of your shooting. This has to do with your willingness to set aside the natural, human reluctance to do something that violates all nature and decent behavior.”
“I still don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I’m talking about your willingness to kill.”
“My willingness to kill?”
“Aye. I’m not saying that you have to be eager to kill, but I am saying that you must be willing to do it. I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Successful gunfighters aren’t good because they are fast, or because they can shoot straight. Obviously that is important. But the most important thing is the ability to recognize and act upon the pivot point, that is to say the point of no return.”
“The point of no return?” Ina Claire asked, still not certain that she understood what Duff was talking about.
“Yes, the point of no return, and by that I mean a situation where you know you must kill or be killed. Taking another person’s life from them is an awesome thing. And the average person, when they reach that point of no return, will hesitate. The task we have set for ourselves almost guarantees that you will reach that point, and when you do, there will be no time for hesitation. You must be willing to kill a human being with as little thought as in slapping a mosquito. Can you do that?”
“If I answer truthfully, would you change your mind about taking me?” Ina Claire asked.
“I want a truthful answer.”
“All right, the truth is, I don’t know if I could do that or not. Killing a human being is not like swatting a mosquito. If that means you won’t take me with you, then I suppose I’ll just have to accept that.”
Duff didn’t respond for a long moment, then he smiled at her. “If you had answered any other way, I wouldn’t have taken you. You’re right, killing a human being isn’t like swatting a mosquito. But you can use the time between now and when you will have to face that possibility to prepare yourself. You can go with me.”
“Us,” Meagan corrected. “She can go with us.”
“Us,” Duff agreed.
“When will we go?” Ina Claire asked.
“Is tomorrow too soon for you?”
“No, it isn’t too soon at all,” Ina Claire replied. “I am ready to go.”
* * *
“You’re sure you don’t want me ’n Wang to come with you?” Elmer asked the next day. It was midafternoon before Duff, Meagan, and Ina Claire were finally ready to get away.
“I’ve given it some thought,” Duff replied, “but I think for now that ’twould be best for the two of you to stay here ’n keep an eye on the ranch.”
“All right, whatever you say, you’re the boss,” Elmer said.
“Elmer ye ken that ye be my partner now, ’n ye have been from the time we built this ranch. If we are partners, then that means I am nae your boss.”
“You was in the army, same as I was,” Elmer replied. “All right, yeah, you was an officer in the British Army, ’n I rode as a guerrilla for the Confederates. But they was both the same in that they needed to be someone that’s in charge. ’N you bein’ a heap smarter’n I am, I figger that makes you the boss.”
Duff laughed. “All right, I suppose you’re right, someone does have to be in charge. But I wouldn’t be for makin’ a bet that I’m smarter than you. Maybe you don’t have a formal education, but I’ve seen few people who have a higher innate intelligence than you.”
“Innate? See there you go using one o’ them words that I don’t have no idee what means.”
“Intuitive acumen,” Duff said.
The expression on Elmer’s face indicated that he was still in the dark.
“It means you were born smart,” Meagan said with a little chuckle.
“Well, hell, why didn’t you say that?” Elmer asked. “Besides which, I already knowed that I was born smart. I just said you was smarter, that’s all.”
Duff shook his head and laughed. “Meagan, Ina Claire, let’s go before Elmer gets me totally discomposed.”
“Well, at least we can see you off,” Elmer said as he and Wang followed Duff, Meagan, and Ina Claire out to the three saddled horses that waited for them.
* * *
Elmer watched them ride through the gate. “Since it is so late now, they’ll more’n likely be campin’ out tonight so’s that they can be in Cheyenne tomorrow mornin’.”
“When will we go?” Wang asked.
Elmer chuckled. “You knew damn well I didn’t intend to stay out of this, didn’t you? I’d say we give ’em a week, or maybe ten days, ’n if they ain’t back by then, we’ll go hunt ’em up.”
* * *
That night, Ina Claire lay near the fire, watching as the red sparks rode the heat waves up to join with the blue stars in the black velvet sky. As she lay out under the stars, she couldn’t help but think of her mother and father, and her eyes filled with tears. Those evil men had taken them from her far too early. When Ina Claire got married, her children would never know their grandmother and grandfather.
The sadness was replaced by anger, and the anger by determination.
She would find the men who did this to her parents, and she would see that justice was done. Even as she was thinking this, though, she knew that justice might well mean that she would have to kill one or more of the men.
She recalled Duff’s challenge to her.
“Taking another person’s life from them is an awesome thing. And the average person, when they reach that point of no return, will hesitate. The task we have set for ourselves almost guarantees that you will reach that point, and when you do, there will be no time for hesitation. You must be willing to kill a human being with as little thought as in slapping a mosquito. Can you do that?”
Ina Claire thought about pulling the bodies of her mother and father from a burning house, and the anger grew more intense.
“Yes,” she said aloud, though speaking very quietly. “I can kill those men with as little thought as slapping a mosquito.”
With the knowledge that she was physically involved in locating the men who did this, and in seeing to it that they received justice, a grim peace came over her, and Ina Claire’s active mind stilled enough for her to fall asleep.
* * *
Although Ina Claire had said the words so quietly that she didn’t think she would be heard, Duff did hear them. Duff not only heard them, he well understood the anger that was driving her now. All he had to do was think back to the tra
gedy that had caused him to leave Scotland.
* * *
Skye McGregor, his fiancée, had been murdered by Sheriff Somerled and his deputies. Duff killed two of the deputies but the others got away. Because he had killed officers of the law, Duff was forced to flee the country, and he wound up in New York working as a stage manager for the theater production company of his American cousins, Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister.
But the Somerled brothers came to America after him, catching up with him backstage one night just after the curtain had closed on his cousins’ production. He was working on one of the stage flats when he realized that he wasn’t alone.
“Duff MacCallister, we have come for ye,” a familiar voice said from the darkness.
The voice was familiar, because it was the voice of Alexander Somerled.
Startled at hearing Alexander’s voice here, in America, Duff turned toward the sound but saw nothing in the darkness. He was at a disadvantage because while Alexander was cloaked by the darkness, he was well lighted.
“Alexander Somerled,” Duff said. “Have you come alone?” Duff moved away from the flat to the properties locker. Alongside the properties locker was the light control panel.
“I am with him,” Roderick said.
“And so am I, Deputy Malcolm,” a third voice said.
“Deputy Malcolm is it?” Duff replied. “Well you have wasted a trip, Deputy Malcolm, for you have no jurisdiction here. You can nae arrest me.”
“Och, but ’tis not for to arrest you we have come, Duff MacCallister, but ’tis to kill you,” Alexander said.
Reaching his hand up to the light control panel, Duff turned off the backstage lights. As soon as the theater went dark, he grabbed the claymore sword, the same sword Andrew and Rosanna had handled on stage. And though it was used as a prop, it was a real claymore sword, fifty-five inches in overall length, with a thirteen-inch grip and a forty-two-inch blade.
“What the hell, where did he go?” Malcolm asked.
“Where is he?” Roderick asked.
“Shoot him!” Alexander shouted. “Shoot him!”
“Shoot where?” Roderick asked.
Duff picked up a vase and tossed it through the darkness to the opposite side of the room. When it hit the floor, it broke with a great crash.
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