“The Highlander” continues to run with naught but glorious accolades from the newspapers. The “New York Tribune” said of Rosanna: “Rosanna MacCallister portrays Lady Margaret in the play ‘The Highlander,’ and such a luminary is she that Mr. Edison’s electric lights, by which the theater is illuminated, are scarcely needed. Miss MacCallister brightens the stage by her mere appearance.” I report this to you in all great pride of my twin sister’s accomplishments, though I dare not say this to Rosanna, lest her head grow too large.
With regards and affection from your American cousin, I remain yours faithfully.
Andrew MacCallister
“The New York newspapers speak well of Rosanna,” Duff said as he finished reading the letter.
“They always do,” Falcon said as he spread butter on a biscuit. “They praise Rosanna and Andrew alike, and I agree. I have seen them perform and think it is more than mere brotherly pride that makes me believe them to be players of great talent.”
“’Tis no mere brotherly pride, for I have seen them, too, and they are very good.”
“What else did my brother have to say?”
Duff hesitated for a second before he responded because he didn’t want Falcon to think that he would be asking for help in dealing with Deputy Malcolm. Then he thought that to hold back anything Falcon’s brother may have said would seem impolite, so he passed the letter across the table.
Falcon read it quickly, then glanced up at Duff.
“This man, Malcolm, would be the deputy who came for you in the theater?”
“Aye.”
“Then Andrew is right, we should be on the lookout for him.”
“I thank ye kindly, Falcon, but this isn’t your battle.”
“Duff, do you really think this deputy will come after you by himself?”
“I don’t know,” Duff answered, though not too convincingly.
“He will find as many men as he can,” Falcon said.
“But how will he be able to recruit so many?” Duff asked. “He knows no one in America.”
“He knows that you have come to join me,” Falcon said. “He will use that as his means of recruiting. Believe me, Duff, he will be able to round up an army just by collecting men who want to see me dead.”
“Och,” Duff said, hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I did not think of that. I left New York so no’ to bring danger to Andrew and Rosanna, and here, I have brought it to you instead. I am sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Falcon said. “I’ve been in danger before. And this may be a good way of bringing my enemies out.”
After they ate, they went to the depot, where they bought tickets to Cheyenne. They would leave on the train the next day, then change trains in Denver for the northbound to Cheyenne. After making their travel arrangements, Falcon took Duff around the town, introducing him to the sheriff, the doctor, and several of his friends. They participated in a game of horseshoes, in which Duff did poorly, and a game of darts, which Duff won handily.
Then they went to the saloon, where Duff was introduced to Argus Fincher, the saloon keeper.
“You’re Scottish?” Fincher asked.
“Aye.”
“I’ve something to show you,” Fincher said.
Fincher went into the back room, then reappeared a moment later, gingerly carrying something.
“Pipes!” Duff said. “Sure an’ I haven’t heard that sweet sound since I left Scotland.”
“Can you play the bagpipes, Duff?” Falcon asked.
“Aye, and would I be Scot if I couldn’t?”
“How did you come by this, Argus?” Falcon asked.
“A couple of years ago a drummer sold them to me for ten dollars,” Fincher said. “I thought I might learn to play them, but they are the devil’s own device. I can barely get a sound from them.”
“May I?” Duff asked, reaching for them.
“What is all that sticking out of the bag?” Fincher asked.
“This is the tube you blow into in order to inflate the bag,” Duff explained. “This is the chanter. You move your fingers over the holes in the chanter to play the notes. And these are the drones, two tenor and one bass.”
Duff took the bag, inflated it, then began to play. At first the strange sound coming from the instrument surprised the others in the saloon, but then they heard the melody, sweet and harmonious over the steady thrum of the three drone tubes.
When Duff finished the impromptu concert, every person in the saloon applauded. He thanked them, then handed the pipes back to Fincher.
“No, sir,” Fincher said, holding his hand out. “That thing belongs to someone who can play it. You keep it.”
“I can’t do that,” Duff said. “But I’ll buy them from you. How much did you pay for them?”
“Ten dollars.”
Duff took out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to the bartender.
“Thank you,” Fincher said.
“No, Mr. Fincher. Thank you.”
“Play us another tune, would you, Mr. MacCallister?” one of the saloon patrons asked.
“I’ll play for you, ‘Scots Wha Hae,’” Duff said. “That means, ‘Scots Who Have.’”
Duff played the song, a stately slow melody, then afterward he spoke the words.
“Scots, who have wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, whom Bruce has often led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to Victory.
“Now’s the day, and now’s the hour:
See the front of battle lour,
See approach proud Edward’s power—
Chains and Slavery.
“Who will be a traitor knave?
Who will fill a coward’s grave?
Who will base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee.
“Who for Scotland’s king and law
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or Freeman fall,
Let him follow me.”
That evening Duff and Falcon sat on the front porch of the old MacCallister homestead. It was on this porch that Kate Olmstead, Falcon’s mother, had died. And now she and Falcon’s father lay buried twenty-five yards away.
The two men sat far into the night, exchanging stories. Falcon said that he could understand the killing rage Duff felt after Skye was killed. His own wife had been kidnapped and murdered, and Falcon went after and killed those who were responsible. He also told of his father and mother, how they had met when very young and run away together, how he was mentored by an old mountain man who was called simply Preacher. He also told of his own, as well as his father’s adventures in the American Civil War.
Duff spoke of his own father, Brigadier Duncan MacCallister, a career soldier in India, where Duff had spent much of his childhood. Brigadier MacCallister was at Lucknow, in command of 855 men, when it was besieged by over 8,000 rebels. He held them off until relieved by Major General Havelock. Though Duff had earned a commission, he had not made a career of the army. He did serve in Egypt for a while, and he told Falcon his own experiences at the battle of Tel-el-Kebir. He also told of his time at sea.
“They are a breed in and of themselves, these men who sail before the mast,” he said. “Good men who have only each other for company.”
In the dark vault of night, a golden meteor streaked across the sky.
“That was Skye, saying hello to me,” Duff said.
“The meteor was Skye?”