Within moments, Duff was asleep, and again he dreamed.
The regiment was back in Scotland, and in formation. The pipes and drums were playing as Lieutenant-General Wolseley stepped to the front.
“Adjutant,” General Wolseley said. “Summon the honoree.”
“Captain Duff Tavish MacCallister, front and center!” The adjutant shouted.
Duff, who was standing at the rear of the formation, marched to the front, then halted in front of Lieutenant-General Wolseley and saluted.
“Read the citation, Adjutant,” Wolseley said.
The adjutant, also a captain, began reading. “Attention to orders. Know all ye present by these greetings that Captain Duff Tavish MacCallister of the 42nd Foot, Third Battalion of the Royal Highland Regiment of Scotts, is, for intrepidity and performance of his mission, above and beyond the call of duty, by the Queen, awarded with his nation’s highest award, the Victoria Cross.”
When Duff awakened the next morning, he opened his sea bag and looked at the clothes he had, those he had bought in New York, those he had bought in Kansas City, and the uniform of the Black Watch that Andrew and Rosanna had given him. He thought it strange that twice, during this trip, he had dreamed of his time in the army. Perhaps it was because he knew that he had this uniform with him, the last vestige of his life before America.
Selecting the clothes he would wear for this last part of his trip, he got dressed, packed the rest away, then left the saloon for the walk to the depot. When he arrived, the train for MacCallister was sitting on the track, ready to go.
Chapter Twelve
North Bend, Nebraska
“A beer, barkeep, if ye dinnae mind,” Rab Malcolm said. He had come into the Occidental saloon while the train was stopped long enough to allow the passengers to take their meal.
There was a big, bearded man standing at the far end of the bar, and when he heard Malcolm give his order, he looked around quickly.
“Hey, you!” he called. “Where are you from?”
Malcolm picked up the beer, took a swallow, then wiped some of the foam off his lips before he turned to face the man who called out to him.
“I am from Donuun, though it be none of your concern,” he said.
“Would that be Scotland?”
There was a strong overtone of belligerence in the questioner’s voice, and though Malcolm recognized it, he had no idea why. He took another swallow of his beer before he replied.
“Aye, I’m from Scotland.”
“What the hell? Are we being overtook with people from Scotland? You’re the second one to come through here in the last week.”
“The other Scot—would he be a big man with broad shoulders, light-colored hair, blue eyes?”
“Yes, that’s what the bastard looked like, all right.”
“I take it you dinnae make friends with him?”
“Friends? If I ever see the son of a bitch again, I’ll shoot him on sight.”
“Barkeep,” Malcolm said. “Would you be for servin’ my new friend another drink?”
Malcolm slapped a coin on the bar. The bartender picked it up, then poured another whiskey for the big, bearded man.
“Why did you do that? And why did you call me your friend? I don’t even know you.”
“The name is Rab Malcolm,” Malcolm replied. “And in Scotland we have a saying. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The man you have developed such a dislike for is Duff MacCallister. Duff MacCallister is my enemy. Did you mean it, when you said you would shoot him on sight?”
“Damn right, I meant it. Uh, that is, unless you are the law.”
Malcolm smiled. “As it so happens, I am the law. And as it also so happens, Duff MacCallister is wanted by the law. So you would not be incurring trouble on my behalf if you were to shoot him.”
“Well, that’s good to know.”
“What is your name, friend?”
“The name is Shaw. Clyde Shaw.”
“Be ye gainfully employed, Mister Shaw?”
“Say what?”
“Do you have a job?”
“Oh, uh, no, not at the moment. I was workin’ down at the livery, but I got into a fight with the boss’s brother-in-law, so I got fired.”
“Do you seek employment?”
“Yeah, I reckon so. I reckon it depends on what it is, and if it’ll pay anything.”
“Suppose I hire you as my deputy, Mr. Shaw. You can help me hunt down MacCallister.”
“Hunt him down? I don’t know. You bein’ from Scotland and all, maybe you don’t know how big this country is. Hell, he could be anywhere between here and California.”
“Och, mon, but I know exactly where he is going.”
“You do? Where?”
“He is going to Colorado, where he intends to look up a kinsman of his, named Falcon MacCallister.”
“Falcon MacCallister?” Shaw replied.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“I’ve heard of ’im. Hell, near ’bout ever’one in the West has heard of ’im.”
“What have you heard of him?”
“He s’posed to be about the best with pistol there ever was. Better’n Wild Bill Hickock, they say.”
“Maybe when he was younger. I am told that he is nearly fifty years old now,” Malcolm said. “How fast can an old man be?”
“I don’t know. Like I say, I’ve never met him. Onliest thing is, I’ve heard of him.”
Malcolm made a waving motion with his hand. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Duff MacCallister is the one who is wanted by the law. He is the one we are going after, and I dinnae think you will have to worry about him. I know the man, and I know he has no skill with the pistol.”
“You’d hire me, you say?”
“Aye. As my deputy.”
“And what would that pay?”
“I’ll give you twenty-five dollars now, and seventy-five when the job is done,” Malcolm said.
“I ain’t all that good with cipherin’. How much is that?”
“That is one hundred dollars. And, I will buy all the meals along the way.”
Shaw held up his glass. “Drinks, too?”
“When it is appropriate,” Malcolm said.
Shaw tossed his drink down. “Mister, you just hired yourself a deputy.”
Onboard the Colorado Eagle
“MacCallister! MacCallister! We are coming into MacCallister!” The conductor called it out repeatedly as he passed through the car, then he left by the back door to continue on through the train.
Duff sat up in his seat and ran his hand through his hair. He could feel the train slowing and as he looked through the window he saw the buildings of the town. This town was not that different from all the other small towns he had passed through for the last week, except for one very notable exception. The train passed by a life-sized bronze statue mounted on a cement pedestal. A large plaque attached to the pedestal read:
James Ian MacCallister.
Soldier, Statesman.
OUR FOUNDER.
“Folks, this is MacCallister,” the conductor said as he came back through the car a moment later. “We’ll only be here for fifteen minutes, so if you leave the train and this isn’t your destination, don’t wander too far.”
This town that bore Duff’s surname was the final stop of his six-day journey from New York. It was here that he would look for his kinsman.
Duff had thrown his sea bag in the overhead bin, and as soon as the train squeaked to a complete and rattling stop, he stood up and pulled the bag down. As he started toward the front of the car he saw a young woman with a small child at her side, struggling to retrieve her bag from the overhead bin.