“Is anything wrong?”
“No, there is nothing wrong. ’Twas thinking, I was, what a wonderful family ye have, Falcon MacCallister,” Duff said.
“You are thinking of Skye, aren’t you?”
“Aye, and the family we would have had.”
“These people, my brothers and sisters, and my brothers- and sisters-in-law, are your family, too,” Falcon said.
“I much appreciate your sharing them with me.”
“It’s not my doing, cousin. It’s a fact of life. But I can understand your thinking about Skye. We’ve all lost people that we love, Duff,” Falcon said. “But we go on with life.”
“And I will as well,” Duff said. “Though I’ve no idea as to what my new life will be.”
“What did you do in Scotland?”
“I had land. I raised cattle.”
Falcon laughed.
“What is it?”
“You are a cattle rancher. There’s no need for you to have a new life,” Falcon said. “You’ll have your old life; you’ll just be having it in a new place.”
“I don’t know how it is in America. But in Scotland, one needs land to be a rancher.”
“You can homestead.”
“Homestead. Aye, Andrew mentioned something about that, but I’m not sure what he was talking about.”
“It’s an easy way of getting land,” Falcon said. “All you have to do is file on it, build on it, and live on it for five years.”
“That sounds good.”
“I’ll tell you what, cousin. We’ll go into town tomorrow and find the best place for you to go, to file on some land.”
Duff smiled. “Ha. I’ll be an American landowner. Imagine that.”
Chapter Fourteen
When Duff and Falcon went into town the next day, Duff was fascinated with how busy it was. The sign at the depot that gave the elevation of MacCallister as 8,750 feet also gave the population as 956. But Duff believed there were at least that many people moving about, walking up and down the planked sidewalks, crossing the crowded street, moving in and out of the stores, and riding on horseback or in wagons, surreys, and buggies. He commented on it.
“That is because we are the only town for several miles around,” Falcon replied. “Many of the people you see live out in the country on farms and ranches, or in some cases, as prospectors and miners. They come into town about once a week and when they do, it is a big occasion for them. This is Saturday, that is their day to come into town.
“Let’s go in here,” Falcon suggested.
The painted sign on the glass window in front of the building read:
MacCallister Monitor
It was the newspaper office, and inside was the smell of ink, fresh-cut paper, and oil to keep the press operating smoothly. A somewhat overweight man, wearing a green visor, was sitting at a desk, selecting type from the type boxes as he composed a story. He looked up as Duff and Falcon entered the building.
“Falcon!” the editor greeted them with a broad smile. “How good to see you. I was just about to look you up.”
“Look me up for what?”
“I wanted to get your story about what happened at the depot yesterday when a through passenger tripped up George Stripland by throwing a cane at his feet. Was it really Toots Nelson’s cane?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder what made the man decide to use a cane in such a way.”
“Why ask me, when you can get it straight from the horse’s mouth?” Falcon replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Larry, this is my cousin from Scotland, Duff MacCallister. Duff, this is Larry Fugate, editor of the MacCallister Monitor, as good a newspaper as you will find between the Mississippi River and the Pacific Ocean.”
“’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Fugate,” Duff said.
“Good to meet you as well,” the editor said. He turned back to Falcon. “What do you mean, getting my story from the horse’s mouth?” he asked again.
Falcon chuckled. “I just introduced you to the horse, so to speak.”
“It was you?” Fugate asked Duff. “You are the one who threw the stick at the thief?”
“Aye.”
“Well, then I shall need the full story from you.”
“There is no story to tell,” Duff said. “He snatched the lady’s purse and commenced to run, I borrowed a gentleman’s bat and hurled it at him with an unexpected degree of success.”
“Ha,” Fugate said. “Something there is that tells me that the success of your maneuver wasn’t all that unexpected.”
Despite Duff’s reticence, Fugate managed to get the story from him, though his reluctance to be self-aggrandizing made it necessary for Falcon to introduce a few comments here and there to add the necessary color.
After the interview, Falcon called upon the newspaper editor for a favor.
“Larry, suppose a fellow wanted to homestead some land. Where would be the best place to go?”
“You mean here in Colorado?”
“Colorado, yes, that would be fine, but it isn’t necessary. We are looking for the most available, as well as the best quality of land for raising livestock.”
“Oh, well, in that case, if you don’t just have to be in Colorado, Wyoming would be the best place, I think.”
“Wyoming?”
“Yes. Up there they are so eager to have settlers that when you homestead, the territory of Wyoming will make additional land available.”
“Where in Wyoming?” Falcon asked.
“Oh, just about anywhere in Wyoming. You could practically throw a dart at the map and settle wherever the dart hits. But of course, you would want the land to be fertile and well watered, so that does somewhat limit your possibilities.”
“What about Cheyenne?”
“Cheyenne? Yes, I think Cheyenne would be a good place to start.”
“Then what do you say, cousin, that we take a trip to Cheyenne in a couple of days?”
“I would not want to put you out any,” Duff said. “’Tis not necessary that you come.”
“Nonsense. You are still new to the country. I’m sure I can be of some assistance to you. Besides, I would enjoy the trip.”
“Then your company would most assuredly be welcome,” Duff said.
It was Falcon’s routine to drop in at the post office anytime he was in town, and this morning the postmaster handed him a letter.
“It is addressed to Duff MacCallister, care of you,” Pleas Terrell said as he handed Falcon the letter. “It’s from your brother in New York.”
Falcon took the letter from Terrell. “Thank you. This is my cousin, Duff MacCallister, the man to whom the letter was addressed. Duff, this is Pleas Terrell, our postmaster.”
“’Tis an honor to meet you, Mr. Terrell,” Duff said.
“Will you be with us for a while, Mr. MacCallister? The reason I ask is because if I should get any further mail addressed to you, I shall know what to do with it.”
“I shan’t be here for too much longer. But if you should receive another letter for me, please feel free to give it to Falcon.”
“Thank you, that is how I will handle it, then,” Terrell said.
From the post office they went to the City Pig Restaurant, and there, as they waited for their meal to be served, Duff read his letter.
Dear Cousin Duff,
I hope this letter finds you, for I am writing to impart some information that I believe to be of great importance to you. Percy Fowler, whom you will remember as one of the stagehands, has betrayed a confidence. As a result, Fowler has lost his position with the theater. However, it is an act of closing the door after the horse has left the barn for I have learned, upon good authority, that Fowler provided information to Deputy Sheriff Malcolm from Argyllshire County in Scotland. Malcolm has learned that you are in Colorado and I am certain that he will be coming out there to find you, so please be on the lookout for him.