“Wait a minute. How much money did you say he got?” Bivens asked.
“Fifteen thousand, eight hundred and twelve dollars,” Duff repeated.
“Mister, uh, what is your name?”
“MacCallister. Duff Tavish MacCallister.”
“Mr. MacCallister, excuse me for askin’, but just what in hell were you a’ doin’ carryin’ so damn much money? Do you always carry that much with you?”
“I am a rancher in Chugwater, Wyoming. I was on my way to Kansas City to buy five hundred head of cattle. That’s why I was carrying so much money.”
“I see. Well, whoever stole it hit the jackpot, didn’t they? I mean, here they figured to get maybe twenty or thirty dollars and they got over fifteen thousand,” Bivens said. They got lucky.”
Duff shook his head. “No, ’twas not luck, I’m thinking. Not at all. Whoever did it knew I would have the money, and they knew I would be here in the middle of the night last night, to change trains today to complete the trip to Kansas City.”
“You don’t say,” Bivens said. “Now would you like to tell me just how in the Sam Hill you come up with that idea?”
Duff pulled his wallet from his pocket and opened it to show to the marshal. “I have two hundred thirty-seven dollars in my wallet. That’s exactly how much I had in my wallet when I stepped down from the train. If someone just happened to rob me, he would have gone directly to my wallet, and probably wouldn’t even have looked in the briefcase I was carrying.”
Marshal Bivens stroked his chin. “I don’t know,” he said. “You may have a point there. But how would anyone in Fremont know that? You don’t know anyone in town, do you?”
“I don’t know a soul. And I doubt that the person, or persons, who robbed me even live here.”
“All right, if what you say is true, if someone was lyin’ in wait for you here, how did they know about you?”
“That’s what I’m going to have to find out,” Duff said.
“How do you plan to do that?”
“I don’t know,” Duff admitted. “I’ve got the
what
I need to do all figured out. What I don’t have figured out is
how
I’m going to do it.”
“I’ll give you what help I can,” Marshal Bivens said. “But you got to understand that if the fella that done this is outside the town limits, there really ain’t nothin’ I can do.”
“I know,” Duff said. “I need to get myself a hotel room, and I also need to send a couple of telegrams.”
“The telegraph office is in the depot,” Marshal Bivens said.
“Thank you.”
There was a train just pulling into the station when Duff stepped into the depot. The train was going west, and for a moment, Duff considered getting back on it. But only for a moment. He stood back against the depot with his arms folded across his chest, watching as the arriving passengers disembarked and the departing passengers boarded. A man and his wife got on the train. So did an attractive young woman, after a tearful good-bye to her parents. Duff overheard enough of their preboard-ing conversation to know that she was going farther west to teach school, and Duff thought of Meghan and how it must have been for her when she left her home to come west.
A young man, who had no one to see him off, got on the train. Duff watched him board, wondering if, perhaps, he might be the one who had robbed him last night.
Why couldn’t he remember anything? He had no memory at all between the time he left the train, and when he awoke this morning.
He wanted to go grab the young man before he boarded and search him to see if he had his money, but he knew that he couldn’t do that.
He felt a queasiness in his stomach, and it wasn’t all from the blow on his head. He had lost a lot of money, a year’s work in the mine, and perhaps the future of his ranch.
The engineer blew the whistle for two long blasts, signaling the conductor that the brakes had been released and he was about to proceed. The actuating cylinder puffed loudly, then there was a series of very quick hisses as the great driver wheels spun in place a couple of times before gaining traction. Then the train, with noisy, steady gushes of steam, moved forward, pulling out all the slack between the cars with a succession of rattles. Gradually, the train began increasing speed as it hurried out of the station.
Duff went inside and, locating the telegraph office, walked over to it.
“I would be for sending a telegram if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, sir, there’s the form,” the telegrapher said.
MR. JAY MONTGOMERY, KANSAS CITY CATTLE EXCHANGE
HAVE ENCOUNTERED UNEXPECTED DIFFICULTY. WILL BE DELAYED.
The second telegram he sent back to Chugwater to Elmer Gleason.
ELMER. HAVE RUN INTO A BIT OF A PROBLEM. PUT SKY ON THE TRAIN, SEND HIM TO ME IN FREMONT, NEBRASKA. DUFF.
Duff considered sending another one to Meghan, but knew that Elmer would tell, not only Meghan, but Biff and Fred as well.
“That will be sixty-six cents,” the telegrapher said.
Duff paid the fee, then, getting his luggage, went outside and hired a buckboard to take him and his luggage to the hotel. There he secured a room where he washed the wound on his head. It wasn’t until then, that he realized he had lost the yellow ribbon Meghan had given him. Compared to the loss of all his money, losing the ribbon was an insignificant thing, but he found it upsetting, nevertheless.
Chapter Twenty
After taking his lunch in the hotel restaurant, Duff walked down to the OK Saloon.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, coming down to stand in front of Duff. He took a towel from his shoulder, wiped the bar, then flipped the towel back over his shoulder.
“Would you be for havin’ Scotch whiskey?” Duff asked.
“Beer and Old Overholt.”
“I’ll have a beer,” Duff said, putting a nickel on the bar.
The bartender drew a mug of beer from the barrel behind the bar, then set it in front of him.
“I’ve not seen you before. Just get off the train, did you?”
“Aye, last night,” Duff said. Picking up the beer, Duff turned his back to the bar and looked out over the customers. There was a game of cards going on at one of the tables and one man seemed to be the big winner. The winner let out a whoop as he raked in the pot.
“Whooee, boys, that’s the third hand I’ve won today!”
“What’s got into you, Crocker? You ain’t never won three hands in one game.”
“He ain’t winnin’ these. He’s buyin’ ’em,” one of the players around the table said.
“Yeah, and what I want to know is, where did he get the money to buy the hands? Hell, most of the time the son of a bitch is here beggin’ for drinks. Yesterday he didn’t have two pennies to rub together.”
“I got the money from beating people like you in poker,” Crocker replied, arrogantly. “Yes, sir, I’m ridin’ a lucky streak now.” Crocker picked up a yellow ribbon and held it to his nose. “And this is my lucky charm.”
Before Crocker could even put the ribbon back down on the table, Duff closed the distance between them. He grabbed the front of Crocker’s shirt with both hands and lifted him from his chair, knocking the chair over in the process as he literally carried a protesting Crocker over to the bar.
“Here! What’s goin’ on here?” one of the other players shouted in alarm. All the other players leaped up from the table.
Paying no attention to the shouts of surprise and alarm, Duff slammed Crocker back against the bar. Then, reaching over to grab a whiskey bottle, he broke it on the bar with a spray of whiskey, shattered pieces of glass flying from the point of impact. What he had remaining in his hand was the neck of the bottle and several wicked shards. He placed those shards against Crocker’s neck, then pushed the bottle hard enough to break the skin.
“Where did you get it?” Duff asked.
“Where did I get what? What are you talking about?” Crocker cried out in alarm.
Duff shoved the sharp edges of the bottle just a little deeper into Crocker’s neck, enough to be painful, and to start bleeding—though not enough to really harm him.
“Oww!” Crocker called out. He started to raise his hands in protest.
“Don’t be for movin’ now, you lowlife scoundrel, or so help me God, I’ll open up your throat like I’m gutting a swine,” Duff said. “Now, I’ll ask you again. Where did you get that yellow ribbon?”
“I found it.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Mr. MacCallister, you want to pull that bottle out of Crocker’s neck?”
Duff recognized Deputy Archer’s voice, so he pulled the bottle out, then stepped back, still glaring at Crocker.
Crocker put his hands to his throat. There was some blood, but not much.
“MacCallister? You are MacCallister?” Crocker asked.
“Aye. And how is it that you know my name?” Duff replied.
“I don’t know—I,” Crocker started, then he stopped in mid-sentence. “I just now heard the deputy call you that.”
“You are lying. You spoke the name as if you had heard it before. Where have you heard it? How did you know I was carrying the money?”
“What is all this about, MacCallister?” Deputy Archer asked.
Duff walked over to the card table. Meghan’s yellow ribbon was lying there by the pile of money in front of where Crocker had been sitting. He picked it up, then showed it to the deputy.
“Whoever robbed me last night took this from me,” he said.
“I didn’t take it offen you. It was was just layin’ there on the porch,” Crocker said.
“It was laying by me?”
“Yeah, it was just ...” Crocker started, then he put his hand over his mouth. “I mean, no, I didn’t say it was layin’ by you, all I said was it was just layin’ there on the porch.”
“Where did you get the money?”
“What money?”
“I heard one of the players say that yesterday you didn’t have two pennies to rub together. Today you seem to be flush. Where did you get the money?”
“Yeah, Crocker, that’s a good question,” Deputy Archer said. “Where did you get the money?”
“I earned it.”
“How?”
“I just earned it, that’s all.”
“You’re lying,” Duff said again. Duff stepped up to Crocker, pulled his pistol, and stuck the barrel into Crocker’s mouth. He pulled the hammer back.
Crocker tried to protest, but with the pistol in his mouth, he couldn’t say one word.
“Take your gun out of his mouth, MacCallister,” the deputy said. “He can’t talk as long as you have that pistol shoved halfway down his throat.”
Duff pulled his pistol out, and Crocker gagged and coughed, coughing up blood from where the gunsight had bloodied the top of his mouth.
“I’m tired of dealing with you,” Duff said. Again cocking his pistol, he held it up to Crocker’s forehead. “If you aren’t going help me, I’ll just kill you here and now and go on my way.”
“No, no!” Crocker said. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with takin’ your satchel!”
Duff let the hammer down and put the pistol back in his holster. “Satchel? Who said anything about a satchel?”
“I don’t know what made me say that.”
“So far, you haven’t made me angry,” Duff said. “But I believe I’m about to be angry.”
“Son of a bitch!” one of the other card players said. “If he ain’t been angry so far, I wonder what he’s like when he really gets angry!”
“You’re about to find out,” Duff said. Again he pulled his pistol. “I’m going to shoot your fingers off, one at a time, until you tell me what I want to know.”
Duff pointed the pistol directly at Crocker’s crotch. “After I shoot off your pecker,” he said.
“No! Wait! Wait! His name was Kingsley. Crack Kingsley!”
“Crack Kingsley was here?” Deputy Archer said.
“Do you know this man Kingsley?” Duff asked the deputy.
Archer shook his head. “I’ve never seen him, but we have some paper on him. He’s wanted for murder. Are you saying Crack Kingsley was in town?”
“He was here,” Crocker said. “Only he was tellin’ ever’one that his name was Carl Butler.”
“Carl Butler? You mean the fella that was buying livestock for the Kansas City Cattle Exchange?” the bartender asked.
“Yeah,” Crocker said. “Only he wasn’t buyin’ no livestock. He was just sayin’ that so he could stay in town ’til MacCallister come through with his money.”
“How did he know I would be here?” Duff asked.
“I don’t know, he never told me that.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know that, either. I just know he give me a hundred dollars to give him a signal when I seen you comin’ up the street.”
“How did you recognize me? We’ve never met.”
“It was easy. He said you would probably be the only one carryin’ a satchel.”
Kingsley sat on his horse on top of a ridge and looked down on the little ranch before him. The house, barn, and smokehouse looked well cared for, evidence that the ranch was well run. That also meant that there would be meat in the smokehouse and probably an ample supply of flour, coffee, and beans, everything he would need for an extended stay on the trail. He planned to stay on the trail because he had no intention of going back to Kansas City to share the money with Denman.
Kingsley rode down to the ranch house where he saw a young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, drawing water from the well. So intent was she upon her task that she didn’t see Kingsley until the pail of water was sitting on the rim of the well; she picked it up to transfer it into the empty water bucket she had brought outside.
“Oh! Sir! I did not see you!” the girl said.
“Where’s your pa, girl?” Kingsley asked.
“He has gone into town, and he won’t be back until late this afternoon,” the girl said. “You’ll have to come back then.”
“Will I, now?” Kingsley said, smiling as he dismounted.
“Ellie Mae, come into the house,” an older woman called from the back porch.
“Yes, mama,” Ellie Mae said and, holding the water pail with both hands, she started back toward the house.
“Here,” Kingsley said. “Let me get that for you.”
Before Ellie Mae could protest, Kingsley took the pail from her, then walked quickly toward the house.
“You don’t have to do that, Mister,” Ellie Mae’s mother said. “She is quite capable of carrying the water herself.”
“Here, now, I’m just tryin’ to be nice,” Kingsley said. “I’m in need of some supplies. I thought maybe I could get them here. Bacon, flour, coffee, sugar, beans. I’d be glad to pay you top price for them.”
“There is a store in town, no more than five miles from here,” the woman said. “I’m sure they’ll have everything you might want. Don’t come any closer. You can put the water down there and go on, now.”
Ellie Mae stepped up onto the porch and stood alongside her mother.
“Is that any way to treat a guest?” Kingsley asked. “Like I told you, I’m willin’ to pay for anythin’ that I take.”
Kingsley took another step closer, then was shocked when he saw the woman pull her hand out of the folds of her dress. She was holding a pistol.
“I told you to go on,” she said. “Go on, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Could I at least fill my canteen with water?”
“All right. But go back to the well to do it.”
“I’ll just get my canteen off my horse,” Kingsley said.
Kingsley walked back to his horse, then stepped around behind it as he made a big show of getting his canteen. Then, suddenly, his hand appeared over the top of the saddle, and he was holding a pistol.
“Mama!” Ellie Mae shouted, but her warning was too late.
When Todd Raymond came back home from town late that afternoon, he had a big bag hanging from the pommel of his saddle.
“Julie! Ellie Mae! Harley!” he called. “How come none of you came to meet me? Wait until you see what I bought for all of you!”
Todd dismounted, removed the bag from the saddlehorn, and started toward the house. That was when he saw them. Julie was lying on her back on the porch, and Ellie Mae was on her stomach on the ground.
“God!” Todd shouted. “God! No! No! No!”
At eleven-thirty that same night, Duff MacCallister was standing on the depot platform waiting for the train to come in. He had checked the blackboard frequently for the latest information on the train, which was updated by telegraph as the train passed each of the stations en route. The most recent intelligence indicated that the train was running about fifteen minutes late.
During the day, he had learned as much information as he could about Crack Kingsley. As Deputy Archer had said, the marshal’s office had received Wanted posters on him that not only provided a detailed description of his appearance, but also listed all the crimes for which he was wanted, including train robbery, stagecoach robbery, bank robbery, and murder.
Crack Kingsley rode with Doc Jennison and the Jayhawkers in the Missouri-Kansas border war prior to, and during the Civil War. He took part in several depravities during that time. He is known to have a fondness for the cigars known as Long-Nines. He is seldom to be seen without one. It is his habit to smoke no more than one half of the cigar before he discards it.
When the train arrived, Duff waited until it stopped, then he moved forward to the stock car to watch as the animals were offloaded.
“I brought Rebel, too,” a familiar voice said and turning toward the voice, Duff saw Elmer.
“Elmer, what are you doing here?”
“You did say you ran into a bit of a problem, didn’t you?”
“Aye, you might say that.”
“Then I figured I would come along too. Anytime someone is havin’ a problem, it’s always good to have help in gettin’ it took care of. So that’s what I aim to do. I aim to help you get this problem, whatever it is, took care of.”