Read MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy Online

Authors: William W. Johnstone,J. A. Johnstone

Tags: #Fiction, #Westerns, #General

MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy (16 page)

BOOK: MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy
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“Fifty,” Pogue countered.
Malcolm fought hard to suppress his smile. He would have been willing to pay up to one hundred dollars.
“Twenty-five now, and twenty-five when the job is done,” Malcolm suggested.
Pogue held out his hand. “Give me the money.”
As Malcolm counted it out, Pogue started giggling.
“What is so funny?”
“I was goin’ to say ten dollars, ’till you come with twenty-five. When you said that, I figured I could maybe get fifty. You don’t know it, Mister, but you got took.”
“You’re just too smart for me,” Malcolm said. “Now, if you would, please start rounding up some more men.”
“You would’a give him more, wouldn’t you?” Shaw asked after Pogue left.
“Perhaps.”
“I mean, you give me a hunnert.”
“We’ll keep that between ourselves, won’t we?” Malcolm asked.
“Hell, yeah, you think I want Pogue knowin’ I’m gettin’ more money than he is?”
“I think he would not be too pleased with that,” Malcolm said.
Scotland—Donuun in Argyllshire
 
Sheriff Angus Somerled read the letter the postmaster brought him. It was another letter from Duff MacCallister, intended for Ian.
Dear Ian,
I am writing to inform you that it has become necessary for me to leave New York. Alexander and Roderick Somerled came to New York in the company of Rab Malcolm. They came upon me in the theater one night after everyone else had left. It was their intention not to arrest me, but to kill me. In the ensuing encounter I bested them, killing both of the sheriff’s sons. The deputy ran into the night, but I take no solace in thinking that my troubles are over.
As I have now dispatched all three of Somerled’s sons, I have no doubt but that he will make every effort to kill me, and feel that, for my own safety, as well as the safety of Andrew and Rosanna, my kinsman, I must leave. I am writing this letter from the railroad depot. From here I shall journey to a place in Colorado which bears the name MacCallister. There, I will meet with the brother of Andrew and Rosanna. His name is Falcon, the selfsame name of a distant ancestor whose blood runs in both of us.
I think often of Skye, you, and the town of Donuun. With prayers for your continued health, I remain,
Duff MacCallister
 
Sheriff Somerled folded up the copy of the letter and drummed his fingers on the desk for moment or two. Then he got an atlas of the United States and looked up Colorado. He put his finger on the town of MacCallister, between Red Cliff and Wheeler, in Eagle County.
“You think you are safe, do you, Duff MacCallister?” Somerled said aloud. He pulled his pistol from his holster and held it for a long moment, thinking of his three sons, all dead because of Duff MacCallister.
Then, putting his pistol back in the holster, he took out a piece of paper and wrote out his resignation. He had sent Malcolm to America to deal with MacCallister, but so far all he had done was get his two sons killed. The old adage “If you want something done, do it yourself,” resonated with him. He was going to America to find Duff MacCallister, and he was going to kill him.
Chapter Sixteen
 
MacCallister Valley—Falcon’s homeplace
 
“You Americans have tremendously large breakfasts,” Duff said as he split open a biscuit and laid a piece of fried ham between the halves. His plate showed the residue of three eggs and home fried potatoes.
“That may be so, but you seem to be up to the task,” Falcon said.
Duff laughed as he took a bite of his ham biscuit. “I didn’t say that I didn’t approve. I was just commenting.”
“I eat a big breakfast when I can,” Falcon said, “because I’m not always certain I will get to eat again on that day.”
“Seems reasonable enough to me,” Duff said.
“Didn’t you tell me that you bought a pistol?” Falcon asked.
“Aye, that I did. I bought an Enfield Mark 1.”
“Enfield is it? Hmm, I’ve heard of Enfield rifles. I didn’t know they made a pistol.”
“Quite a good one, actually,” Duff replied.
“Do you have a belt and holster set?”
“Oh, I do indeed,” Duff said.
“I tell you what. After breakfast, suppose you strap on your pistol and we’ll go outside for a little shooting?”
“I think that would be splendid.”
When Duff stepped outside a few minutes later, he was wearing a pistol belt with bullets in every loop. The holster was in front, just over his right leg.
“Why are you wearing your holster like that?” Falcon asked.
“’Tis the way I wore it in the regiment.”
“No, no, pull it around to your side.”
Duff did as directed.
“And let it hang low. Look at my gun. When my arm is hanging normally by my side, my hand is even with the pistol grip. See?”
Duff made the necessary adjustments.
Falcon began the task with some reservation because he feared that the job of teaching Duff to use a pistol might be more than he could handle. But he knew, also, that if Duff was going to survive his time in the West, he was going to have to be prepared for it.
“Let’s see what you can do,” Falcon said. He pulled his pistol and pointed at a nearby tree. “You see those three little limbs sticking up there? I’m going to shoot the one in the middle.”
Falcon fired, and half the twig flew away.
“Now you try it.”
Duff fired, and the rest of the twig was blasted from the tree.
Falcon squinted, then looked over at Duff. “What did you do? Miss your twig and hit that one by mistake?”
“No, I didn’t miss at all,” Duff said. “I thought that was the twig you wanted me to hit.”
“Can you hit one of the others?”
“Which one?”
“Your choice.”
Duff fired twice, the shots coming so close together that it sounded almost as if it were one sustained roar. Both of the other twigs were cut by his bullets.
“Damn,” Falcon said. “You’ll do just fine.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the skills necessary to make a rapid extraction though,” Duff said.
Falcon had to think for a moment until he realized what Duff was saying. Then he laughed. “You mean a quick draw,” he said.
“Aye.”
“Let me tell you something about quick draws,” Falcon said. “Half the people who can draw faster than you, can’t shoot. They depend upon their speed, then just blaze away, hoping they can hit what they are shooting at. Being able to hit your target is much more important than being able to get your pistol out first.”
“You said half the people,” Duff said. “That means that the other half can draw faster than I can, and can also hit their target.”
“You might think that,” Falcon said. “But there is still another consideration. If you are going to draw on someone, you must be prepared to kill them, and you must be prepared to do so without the slightest hesitation.”
“I would imagine that one would not draw upon another if he did not want to kill him,” Duff said.
Falcon shook his head. “And that is where you would be wrong. It takes a lot of resolve to kill a man. Most will hesitate for just a second trying to fortify themselves to the task at hand. And that hesitation can be fatal. You have killed before, in self-defense, yes. But sometimes the question of self-defense might be a blurry line. Could you do it then?”
“When I was in Egypt I killed men for no other reason than that they were wearing a uniform different from my own,” Duff said. “As far as I know they were good men, family men, husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers. But I didn’t think about any of that. The only thing I thought of was my duty.”
On the morning they were to leave for Cheyenne, Morgan MacCallister arrived at the homestead driving a buckboard. Falcon tossed his saddle and saddlebags into the back of the buckboard, then tied Lightning, his big bronze stallion, onto the back. He had made arrangements to ship Lightning up to Cheyenne on the same train he and Duff would take. Morgan put his bagpipes and sea bag into the back.
“Duff, as you are my guest, you ride up front in the seat with Morgan,” Falcon invited. “I’ll sit back here.”
“Are you sure? I’m as comfortable in either place,” Duff replied.
“I’m sure. Besides, this will give you and Morgan an opportunity to visit,” Falcon said as he crawled into the back of the buckboard.
“I appreciate the kind gesture,” Duff said. He climbed into the buckboard and sat beside Morgan.
“So how have you two gotten along?” Morgan asked as he snapped the reins against the back of the team.
“Splendidly,” Duff said. “I feel much closer than a fifth cousin.”
“Fifth cousin? Is that what we are? Fifth cousins?”
“Yes, our nearest relative is five generations ago.”
Morgan laughed. “Would that be once removed or something?”
Duff laughed as well. “It is admittedly, quite distant,” he said.
Toots Nelson was standing on the depot platform when they arrived, and upon seeing Duff, he made a big show of pulling his cane closer to his body.
“Young man, I do hope you have no intention of using my cane to subdue another fleeing ruffian.”
“Your bat is safe from me, sir,” Duff said.
Duff presented a much different appearance today than he did on the day he arrived in MacCallister. On that day he had worn striped trousers, a white shirt, a frock coat, and a bowler hat. Today he was wearing blue denim trousers, a wine-colored shirt, a broad-brimmed Stetson hat, boots, and a belt with bullet loops, holster, and pistol.
“However, I should not complain. Thanks to your heroics, I got my name in the newspaper,” Toots said. “And every time someone’s name appears in the paper, they are one step closer to immortality.”
“Immortality?”
“Well, not in the flesh, my good man,” Toots said. “But it is by newspapers that we chronicle the sojourn of mankind here upon earth. Why, with your name in the paper, it is quite possible that someone one hundred years or more from now will read your name and, for that moment, you are alive again, if only in the mind of the reader.”
“I suppose that is so,” Duff said, not really knowing where to go with this conversation.
Falcon laughed. “Don’t let Toots climb too far into your mind, cousin. He is a—what is it you call yourself, Toots?”
“I am a gentleman out of time, a frustrated poet whose words of wit shall never receive the accolades they deserve.”
“But it’s my understanding that you have never actually written anything,” Morgan said.
“The fact that I have not written anything does not mean I am not a poet,” Toots said. “I am afraid, however, that that is a concept few men can actually grasp.”
“I have no trouble with it,” Duff said.
“Oh? You mean that you can accept that I am a poet, even though I have not written one word of poetry?” Toots asked.
“Aye,” Duff replied. “After all, a drum is a drum, whether someone beats upon it or not.”
Toots smiled broadly, and nodded his head. “Morgan, my good man,” he said. “You should heed your cousin, for he is a man of uncommon genius.”
The whistle of the arriving train broke up the conversation as Falcon hurried to make arrangements for his horse. Duff took his sea bag from the back of the buckboard, and Morgan, with a good-bye wave, drove away.
Duff walked toward the train. The next chapter of his adventure was about to begin.
Denver
 
Rab Malcolm was a structured man who didn’t like to be in any situation that wasn’t well thought out in advance. He had tried to tell the Somerled brothers that going to the theater after Duff MacCallister without a plan wasn’t a good idea. But, even though Sheriff Somerled had told his sons that Malcolm would be in charge of the expedition, the Somerled brothers had insisted upon having their own way. As a result of that insistence, their hasty actions had gotten them both killed.
After agreeing to be a part of Malcolm’s entourage, Pogue found six more men who were willing to join in pursuit of the MacCallisters. Their motivation was to find and kill Falcon MacCallister, but as Falcon and Duff would probably be together, Malcolm had no problem with the arrangement.
Being the kind of man he was, Malcolm found out as much as he could about each of the men who had joined him.
Clyde Shaw had been his first recruit, and had come west with him on the train. Shaw was in his early thirties, a sometime cowboy, sometime handyman, and sometime rustler. He had been fired from his last job because the rancher for whom he worked suspected Shaw of stealing ten head of cattle and selling them for ten dollars apiece.
“It ain’t so much that you stole from me,” the rancher told him, “as it is that you sold the beeves for only ten dollars apiece. That makes it harder for an honest cowman to get a fair price.”
Pogue (Malcolm still didn’t know if that was his first name or last name), was one of the ugliest men Malcolm had ever seen. He had seen Pogue in action when he shot and killed the man named Gentry. He since learned that Pogue had done some time in the Colorado Prison at Cañon City, the result of a failed bank robbery. The bank robbery failed because Falcon MacCallister happened to be in the bank at the time. Pogue killed another prisoner while he was incarcerated, but had beaten the charge because it had been self-defense. Malcolm didn’t have any idea how many men Pogue had killed, but if he was to succeed in finding and killing Duff MacCallister he would need someone with the ruthlessness of a man like Pogue.
The other six men were Liam Pettigrew, Asa Moran, the brothers, Carter and Johnny Hill, and two men, McKenna and Garcia, who, like Pogue, had given only the one name. All six men had reason to want to go after Falcon MacCallister, and while none of them had the courage to try it alone, they welcomed the opportunity to do it as part of a larger group. Pettigrew, reputed to have killed nine men, was the most dangerous of the group, and Malcolm considered not taking him because of that. On the other hand, he wasn’t that eager to tell Pettigrew that he didn’t want him.
Asa Moran was the smallest member of the group. Swarthy, with dark brown eyes, black hair, and beard, he was almost rodentlike. Moran had served five years in prison because of Falcon MacCallister.
Carter and Johnny Hill were brothers who had once ridden with Nance Noonan, but were away when Falcon MacCallister went on a killing rampage in revenge for the killing of his father. Their other brother, Pen, wasn’t so lucky and was killed by Falcon. Now they wanted to kill him.
McKenna and Garcia’s reason for going after Falcon MacCallister was more business than personal. Martin Mueller, the father of Clete and Luke Mueller, had put up a reward of $1,000.00 to anyone who would kill Falcon MacCallister to avenge Falcon’s killing of his two sons.
2
No one but McKenna and Garcia knew of the reward, and they had no intention of telling anyone else about it. Once Falcon MacCallister was killed, they would claim the reward, no matter who killed him.
And they would throw in the killing of Duff MacCallister as a bonus.
“Tell me about this man Duff MacCallister that you are after,” Pettigrew said. “Is he anything like Falcon MacCallister?”
“I can’t answer that, because I know nothing of Falcon MacCallister,” Malcolm said. “I will say, though, that even if he were alone, Duff MacCallister would present a most formidable adversary. He has killed five men that I know of, and has often bested his opponents, even when placed in the most precarious of circumstances.”
“What makes you think he will be with Falcon MacCallister?”
“Falcon is his cousin, and he came west specifically to be with him.”
“All right, I don’t mind killin’ this feller Duff for you, as long as I get a shot at Falcon.”
“Do you have any idea where they are?” Moran asked.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. I was hoping that I could find someone out here who might help me find him.”
“MacCallister,” Johnny Hill said.
“Yes, MacCallister, that’s who we are after,” Malcolm replied.
“No, I mean MacCallister the town. It’s named after Falcon MacCallister’s old man, and there’s a whole heap of MacCallisters that live there, includin’ Falcoln hisself,” Johnny Hill said. “And if this feller Duff is with Falcon, then that’s more’n likely where we are goin’ to find him.”
“Yes, that’s right,” McKenna said. “I recollect now that there is a town by that name.”
“Then that is where we shall go,” Malcolm said.
“We ridin’, or we goin’ by train?” Shaw asked. “’Cause if we’re ridin’, I ain’t got no horse and you don’t neither.”
“We’ll go by train.”
“That’s fine,” Pettigrew said. “Only thing is, the MacCallisters ain’t likely to be a standing right alongside the railroad tracks, which means we’re goin’ to have to have our horses with us when we get there.”
“All right,” Malcolm said. “Shaw and I will buy a couple of horses, then we will ship all of them on the train along with us.”
“Señor, where you goin’ to get the
caballos
?” Garcia asked.
“I beg your pardon. The what?”
“
Caballos
, uh, horses. Where will you get them?”
“I don’t know. The stable, I suppose. Where does one ordinarily get horses?”
“I can get you two horses, with saddles, I think, for one hundred dollars.”
“Where?”
“You don’t need to worry. I can get,” Garcia said.
“All right. Get them, and have them here at the depot in time to ship them with us when the train leaves.”
Two hours later, Garcia showed up with two horses, complete with saddles.
“Better you put these horses on the train
rapido
, I think,” Garcia said.
Malcolm was reasonably sure then, if he had not been before, that the horses were stolen. But they looked like good animals, and this search was beginning to eat into his funds, so it was better to pay one hundred dollars for horses without bills of sale than it was to pay up to four hundred dollars for two horses with bills of sale.
Thus it was that nine men, well mounted, well armed, and with a common purpose in mind, boarded the train in Denver for the town of MacCallister.
BOOK: MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy
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