Savage Sunday, page 5
John was about to use his pistol for the first time, not in the lawful defense of the animals in his charge, but as an outlaw. As he stood there waiting, he could feel his stomach fluttering. He didn’t know if his nervous condition was driven by fear or a visceral reaction to his violating his promise to use the gun only to oppose the commission of a crime. It didn’t matter, he was committed. He had no choice but to carry it out.
Totally unaware that they were being stalked, Duff and Meagan walked out into the holding pen area to make arrangements for their cattle when they were due to arrive later that same day.
“’Tis not big enough for them to be held for any length of time,” Duff observed, “but the creatures will nae be here for too long.”
As they started toward the Cattlemen’s Club, they walked through the narrow lanes between the pens. Just ahead of them John suddenly stepped into the path, pointing a pistol at Duff and Meagan. Duff recognized him as the man who had been standing near them back in the broker’s office.
“Stop right there!” John said in a loud voice. “I’ll be relieving you of any money you may have on your person.”
“Tell me, lad, what makes you think we are carrying any money?”
“You did come here to sell your cattle, didn’t you?”
“Aye, but I haven’t sold them yet,” Duff said.
“Perhaps not, but I’m quite sure you have enough money to defray any expenses you may incur as you are waiting for the payment, and I’m afraid that, due to the circumstances of my current situation, the amount of money you are carrying makes little difference to me. I’ll just ask you to hand over any money you have.”
“’N would you be for tellin’ me why I might want to do that?”
“What do you mean, why? Do you not see that I’m holding a gun on you? The threat of being shot should be ample incentive for you to choose money over injury and possible death.”
“Aye, ’tis easy to see why you might think that. But I should tell you that I am skilled in the art of rapid extraction of my pistol, and once it is engaged, I never miss my shot. So ’tis askin’ you I am, to put away your pistol before such a thing is needed.”
The man confronting them looked confused. “What did you say?”
“He said if you don’t put your gun away, he will shoot you,” Meagan said in a voice that exhibited absolutely no apprehension.
“I know what he said. I’m just surprised that he would say such a thing when I obviously have the advantage of holding my pistol in my hand, while his gun is still in its holster.”
Duff drew his pistol and fired, his bullet striking the would-be assailant in his gun hand.
With a cry of pain, John dropped the gun and put his left hand over the wound to his right hand. “Damn, that wasn’t an idle threat, was it?”
“’Tis not a deep wound, ’n ’tis thinkin’ I am, that the bullet will nae cause you any permanent problem, but ’twould be best if you would see a doctor.”
“I’m afraid that I am too deficient of funds to see a doctor.”
Duff took out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the man who, but a few moments earlier, had tried to hold him up. “Here. ’Tis enough for you to see a doctor ’n maybe get yourself a meal,” Duff said.
“Mister, I don’t understand you. I just tried to rob you, and now you are giving me money of your own free will?”
“What would be your name?” Duff asked.
The man laughed. “Under the circumstances, I would be foolish to tell you who I am, wouldn’t I? Why should I tell you my name just so you can report me to the police?”
“I’ve nae intention of reporting you to the police, lad. ’Twas a friendly request is all.”
Despite the situation, the man smiled and held up his hand. “Friendly, you say? Tell me, do you have a habit of shooting your friends in the hand?”
“Nae, but my friends don’t have a habit of attempting to rob me.”
“Touché.” The would-be robber sighed. “My name is John, though I have been given the sobriquet of Lonesome John. I’m not disposed to give you my last name at the moment. I have covered my family name with nothing but shame.”
“John it is then. John, ’twould be best if you would be for tellin’ the doctor that you shot yourself in the hand. There’s nae need for any to know that you were tryin’ to rob me.”
“Am I to take it that your generosity extends to you not taking me to the police?”
“There’s nae need for me to be doin’ that. You didn’t rob me.”
“You’re right. I didn’t, did I? Though the difference between actual and attempted robbery would seem small. Apparently, I have failed in yet another endeavor.”
John held the twenty-dollar bill out toward Duff. “Mr. MacCallister, I can’t take this money. I did nothing to earn it.”
Meagan laughed out loud. “John, a moment ago you were ready to take our money at the point of a gun. Do you consider that earning it?”
John chuckled as well. “I will grant you, that is rather convoluted reasoning. Therefore, I will take the money, and you have my undying gratitude.” He looked down at his wounded hand. “I suppose I had better get over to the doctor’s office. Damn if I didn’t do a dumb thing like shooting myself in the hand.”
Meagan chuckled softly as the man who called himself John hurried off. “I do believe that our new friend John is the most articulate robber I’ve ever met.”
“Aye, ’twas his competency with the language that led me to give him twenty dollars, thus violating the code of the parsimonious Scotsman.”
“I swear to you, Mr. Duff MacCallister, you are the most unique man I have ever known.”
“And would you be for thinkin’ that’s a good thing?” Duff asked.
Meagan put both hands on his arm and pulled him closer to her. “Aye, lad, ’tis a very good thing,” she said, responding in his own brogue.
Chapter Seven
Cabin outside Cheyenne
The four men had occupied the cabin for over a month and had, out of boredom as much as anything else, made several improvements. The door had been rehung and the windows repaired, not with glass as there was no glass available, but with boards to cover the holes.
At the moment, Black Lib was sitting on the floor with his Springfield carbine spread out in pieces before him.
“Damn, Black Lib, I ain’t never seen no one clean their guns as much as you do,” Moe said. “Is that somethin’ you learnt whilest you was in the colored army?”
“It wasn’t a colored army. It was a colored regiment, the Tenth Cavalry, which is a part of the US Army.”
“Black Lib deserted,” Slim Gardner said with a laugh. “When his company come up agin’ some Injuns, why ole Black Lib here, ran away
“I don’t have nothin’ against no Injuns,” Black Lib said as he ran a cleaning rod through the barrel of his Springfield. He had not told any of them, not even Bart, that killing First Sergeant Hawkins was the real reason for his desertion.
“I wonder,” Moe Conyers said, “if we was to get ketched up by the law, would you go to prison with us or would you be put in some army prison?”
“Whether he goes to army prison or not, he won’t be with us,” Bart said. “I done three years in prison, ’n didn’t see no colored folks there. They got their own prisons.”
“That’s right,” Black Lib said with a smile. “Our prisons have soft beds ’n chairs, ’n we ain’t locked in our cells except at nighttime. Durin’ the day we can visit, play cards or checkers. We’ve got our own saloon, too, ’n once a week, they let soiled doves come in, ’n we can spend the night with ’em, if we want to.”
“What?” Slim asked, literally shouting the word.
Black Lib laughed.
“He’s foolin’ with you, Slim,” Bart said.
“Yeah?” Slim glared at Black Lib. “I don’t like being fooled, you black son of a—”
Slim’s sentence was interrupted by a threatening glare from Black Lib.
Slim forced a laugh. “What I mean to say is, you got me good.”
Cheyenne
John had overcome the feeling of being embarrassed because he had taken the money from the very man he had tried to rob. Well aware of the threat of gangrene, he decided that going to the doctor was well worth the expense and used that money to visit Dr. Urban’s office, which was located upstairs over the barbershop.
The bullet had gone all the way through his hand, and the torn pieces of his shirt that he had poked into both the entry and the exit holes had just about stemmed the flow of blood. The twenty-dollar bill he had been given brought his personal wealth up to twenty-three dollars. He would need only four more dollars to have the price of a ticket to St. Louis, but that wouldn’t be enough. The trip to St. Louis would take forty-eight hours, and he would have to eat somewhere along the way. And even the money he had was about to be decreased by five dollars, the cost of his medical treatment.
Dr. Urban looked at John’s damaged hand. “You’re lucky,” he told John. “It’s a ridge cut between your thumb and your index finger. It won’t take long to heal, but you must keep it very clean to prevent sepsis. When it does heal, you should have full use of your thumb and your index finger.”
“Thank you, Doctor. That’s good to know.”
“And you say you shot yourself in the hand?”
“Yes, it was damn fool thing for me to do, I admit.”
Dr. Urban chuckled. “You’re a big boy. You should know to be careful when you play with guns.”
“Oh, I will in the future,” John said. The medical expense of five dollars brought his personal fortune to eighteen dollars, which was the most money he had had in a long time.
He worked at the livery. The owner, J.C. Abney, gave him ten dollars a month to muck out the stalls and a place to live, which was actually just a walled-off corner of the loft. Almost all of his salary was used for food, thus making it very difficult for him to save anything.
John looked at the bandage on his hand. He was sure he could still muck out the stalls, but he was going to have to be careful to keep it clean.
* * *
Duff was greeted warmly by the maître d’ when he and Meagan arrived at the Cheyenne Cattlemen’s Club. He’d been there many times before and had a persona that was most memorable.
“Mr. MacCallister, it is so good to see you again. Are you just visiting our fair city or have you brought more cattle?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Sanders. ’Tis cattle I have brought. And Miss Parker, as well.” He nodded toward Meagan.
“Duff, did you mean to include me with the cattle?” she teased.
Duff chuckled. “Nae, for none of the cattle have as sharp a tongue as you.”
“A sharp tongue means a sharp mind,” Meagan replied.
“Lass, you’ve a wit about you that is so sharp it could cut paper,” Duff replied with a little self-deprecating laugh.
Duff turned his attention back to Sanders. “Miss Parker isn’t sure she will be welcome here as she is a cattle woman, ’n the name is the cattlemen’s club.”
“Ah, Miss Parker, not to worry, a beautiful lady like yourself is always welcome.”
“So, I’m welcome because of how I look and not because I own cattle? Would a homely cattlewoman be just as welcome?”
“I . . . uh . . .” Sanders stammered, not certain how to handle the question.
Duff laughed. “The lass is just having a wee bit o’ fun with you. Dinnae be for paying her any mind.”
“To be sure,” Sanders said, the relief showing on his face. “This way. I have a nice table by the window for you.” He led them through the dining room then held out his arm inviting them to the table he had selected.
“What are you going to do with the money you make from the sale?” Duff asked her when they were seated and Sanders had returned to the front.
“I’m going to remodel my store and order new stock.”
She owned Meagan’s Dress Emporium, which was one of the most successful business operations in all of Chugwater. She also owned several head of cattle that were intermingled with Duff’s herd. Originally her participation in the ranch had been the result of a loan she had made to Duff, but when he attempted to pay her back, she said she would rather him consider it as her investment in cattle. Ever since that time, as cattle were sold or bought, Meagan was a 10 percent participant.
As the good women of Chugwater liked to explain to anyone who might ask about their relationship, Meagan and Duff were courting. It had been an extended courtship. Meagan wasn’t ready to give up her dress shop and move out to Sky Meadow, and Duff didn’t want to move in to Chugwater. Though they had never finalized their relationship by way of marriage vows, the affection they felt for each other was none the weaker for any lack of documentation.
Later that same afternoon
There was an hour between the two trains Duff had hired. The first having already arrived, Duff and Meagan waited in the depot for the second. As they had done with the first one, they would observe the off-loading of their cattle.
“Here comes a train,” Meagan said. “I wonder if it is ours.”
“I would expect that it is,” Duff said.
As the train grew closer, his expectation was proven to be correct. They watched the engine pass, then the long line of stock cars. Finally, the train came to a complete halt.
One of the freight train crewmen walked toward Duff carrying a box. “I’m the conductor of this train. Would you be Duff MacCallister?”
“Aye. You are nae be for telling me that there was some trouble with the cattle now, would you?”
The conductor chuckled. “No, we had no problems at all. But a gentleman by the name of Elmer Gleason asked that I deliver this box to you.”
“Very well. I thank you.”
“No problem,” the conductor said before turning back to supervise the off-loading of the cattle.
“What is it?” Meagan asked.
“Upon my word, ’tis four revolver cylinders,” Duff said, surprised by the contents of the box.
“Why on earth would Elmer send you four pistol cylinders?”
“I’m sure this letter will tell us.” Duff read the letter, then chuckled.
Duff,
These here 4 cilenders come from the guns of some no-counts. After Wang taken care of em I got these out of their guns and I told em they could get em at the police station in Cheyenne.
Duff handed the letter to Meagan, and she, too, chuckled after reading it. “It looks like we will be visiting the police station.”
Once the cattle were counted by the broker’s men, and in the holding pens, they went back into the office to see Abner Pugh.
“Five hundred head safely arrived and counted. Here you are, Mr. MacCallister,” Pugh said, counting out the money. “At seventy-five dollars per head, it comes out to thirty-seven thousand, five hundred dollars.”
“And your share, lass, is three thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars,” Duff said, counting out the money.
From the cattle broker’s office to the Cheyenne Cattleman’s Bank and Trust was a walk of but a couple of blocks down Sixteenth Street, but as they would be passing the police station before reaching the bank, they stopped there first.
The first man Duff saw was the desk sergeant. The policeman was wearing a pith helmet and heavy sideburns that came down the side of his face then hooked around to connect by way the full moustache.
“Could you be for helping us?” Duff asked.
“Yes, sir, I’m Sergeant Creech. What can I do for you?”
“’Tis a favor I’m asking of you,” Duff said, opening the box to show the policemen the four revolver cylinders. “There may be some men calling for them.”
“Who?” the confused policeman asked.
“I’m nae able to tell you that, for I dinnae know. But who would come here to ask for them, other than the people that lost them?”
“I’ll be damned. Revolver cylinders seem to me to be funny things to lose, and not one, but four of them,” Sergeant Creech said. “Howsoever, if someone shows up asking for ’em, I’ll turn these things over to ’em.”
“You have my thanks.”
“And who might you be?” the police officer asked.
“MacCallister. Duff MacCallister.”
“Duff MacCallister? Are you the one who owns the big ranch up near Chugwater?”
“Aye, I have a ranch there.”
The expression on the police officer’s face brightened. He stuck his hand across the desk. “I’ve heard of you Mr. MacCallister, and I’m that pleased to meet you.” He held out the four cylinders. “And don’t you be a-worryin’ none ’bout these things. If someone shows up askin’ for ’em, well I’ll turn these things right over to ’em.”
“You have my thanks,” Duff said.
Chapter Eight
The bank was but a few more buildings down the street, and once there, Meagan and Duff were greeted by Joel Prescott, a tall, prematurely gray-haired, distinguished-looking man, whose blue eyes reflected his intelligence. He was not only the president of the bank but also Duff’s friend, the friendship having developed from Duff’s frequent visits to the bank.
“Well, Duff MacCallister, I see you have abandoned the paradise of Sky Meadow to come visit the wicked city,” Prescott teased.
“Aye, for there is business to be done.”
“And would that business have anything to do with the bank or is this just a courtesy visit?”
“’Tis business with the bank, for we have just sold five hundred head of cattle to Mr. Pugh, ’n I’ll be wanting to make a deposit of twenty-five thousand two hundred fifty dollars to my account, and seven thousand dollars to Elmer Gleason’s account. Also, I’ll be holding back one thousand dollars in cash from my account, and five hundred from Mr. Gleason’s account.”
