“Yes, MacCallister, that’s who we are after,” Malcolm replied.
“No, I mean MacCallister the town. It’s named after Falcon MacCallister’s old man, and there’s a whole heap of MacCallisters that live there, includin’ Falcoln hisself,” Johnny Hill said. “And if this feller Duff is with Falcon, then that’s more’n likely where we are goin’ to find him.”
“Yes, that’s right,” McKenna said. “I recollect now that there is a town by that name.”
“Then that is where we shall go,” Malcolm said.
“We ridin’, or we goin’ by train?” Shaw asked. “’Cause if we’re ridin’, I ain’t got no horse and you don’t neither.”
“We’ll go by train.”
“That’s fine,” Pettigrew said. “Only thing is, the MacCallisters ain’t likely to be a standing right alongside the railroad tracks, which means we’re goin’ to have to have our horses with us when we get there.”
“All right,” Malcolm said. “Shaw and I will buy a couple of horses, then we will ship all of them on the train along with us.”
“Señor, where you goin’ to get the caballos?” Garcia asked.
“I beg your pardon. The what?”
“Caballos, uh, horses. Where will you get them?”
“I don’t know. The stable, I suppose. Where does one ordinarily get horses?”
“I can get you two horses, with saddles, I think, for one hundred dollars.”
“Where?”
“You don’t need to worry. I can get,” Garcia said.
“All right. Get them, and have them here at the depot in time to ship them with us when the train leaves.”
Two hours later, Garcia showed up with two horses, complete with saddles.
“Better you put these horses on the train rapido, I think,” Garcia said.
Malcolm was reasonably sure then, if he had not been before, that the horses were stolen. But they looked like good animals, and this search was beginning to eat into his funds, so it was better to pay one hundred dollars for horses without bills of sale than it was to pay up to four hundred dollars for two horses with bills of sale.
Thus it was that nine men, well mounted, well armed, and with a common purpose in mind, boarded the train in Denver for the town of MacCallister.
Cheyenne
As Duff and Falcon journeyed by train to Cheyenne, Duff read of the city in his copy of Williams Pacific Tourist Guide.
MAGIC CITY OF THE PLAINS
516 miles from Omaha; elevation, 6,041 feet, Cheyenne is at present the most active and stirring city on the entire line. Cheyenne is well laid out, with broad streets at right angles to the railroad and has an abundant supply of pure water.
Travelers will here take a dinner in comfortable style at one of the best kept hotels between the two oceans. It is a good place to rest after a tiresome journey, and it will pay to stop a few days and enjoy the pure air and genial sun in this high altitude. The Inter-Ocean Hotel is owned by the railroad company and is 150 feet long by 36 feet wide, with a wing 25 feet square. It is two stories high, the upper floor being well furnished with sleeping rooms for guests.
The first place Falcon and Duff went after arriving in Cheyenne was the land office. A small bell attached to the top of the door tinkled as it was pushed open. The land clerk, a very thin man with white hair and glasses, was sitting at a table behind the counter that separated his area from the front.
“Yes, sir, can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, looking up as Duff and Falcon entered.
“I have come to file a claim on some land,” Duff said.
“And you are?”
“MacCallister. Duff MacCallister.”
“Have you picked the land out yet, Mr. MacCallister?”
“I have not. I have just arrived on the train.”
“Well, then, welcome to Wyoming. It is always good to get new people in the territory. What do you say you come back here and we’ll take a look at the map and find some property for you?”
Falcon and Duff both stepped around the counter, then up to the wall whereupon was attached a large map. The map was of Laramie County, which stretched from the Colorado border more than halfway up the eastern part of Wyoming.
“Now here is a piece of land you may like, Mr. MacCallister,” the clerk said. “It is quite near the town of Chugwater. The land is situated between the Little Bear and Bear Creeks, starting at the confluence of the two creeks and extending for three quarters of a mile to the west, bordered on the north by the Bear and on the south by the Little Bear.”
“Do the creeks have water year around?” Duff asked.
“Very good question, Mr. MacCallister, and the answer is, yes, they do. And the land between the two streams is gently rolling grassland, so it is ideal for farming or ranching. You can homestead six hundred and forty acres of federal land and two thousand acres of Wyoming territorial land. And, as it is free range there with no adjacent claims, it means you will have an additional ten thousand acres of grazing land available to you.”
“What do I have to do to make this come about?” Duff asked.
“Just sign these forms, then occupy and improve the land,” the clerk replied. “It is vital that you improve it.”
“And that means?”
“You must build and occupy a structure.”
“I shall be in need of a horse,” Duff said as he signed the papers the clerk put before him. “Have you any suggestions?”
“Beeman’s Barn sells horses,” the clerk said. “You might start there.”
The clerk took the application form from Duff, examined it, then pulled a pre-printed form from his desk. He signed it with a flourish, then picked up a stamp, inked it, and pressed the stamp onto the form. Then he pulled out a second form and did the same thing.
“This is a provisional deed to the six hundred and forty federal acres,” he said. He handed the second form to him. “And this is a provisional deed to the two thousand acres of Wyoming Territory land.”
“Provisional?”
“The land is yours in all respects,” the clerk said. “Provisional just means that if you abandon the land in the first five years, it reverts back to the government. But if you occupy it for that whole time, it is yours without reservation.”
Duff took the documents, looked at them, then smiled at Falcon. “How quickly I have improved my lot from pauper to landowner,” he said.
“Welcome to America.”
“I believe I am going to like my new country.”
“My name is Depro. Dennis Depro. If you have any questions about your land, feel free to call on me,” the clerk said.
“Mr. Depro, ye have my gratitude, sir,” Duff said.
Chapter Seventeen
Falcon had brought his horse on the train to Cheyenne, but Duff was without a mount. Since the only way to the land he had just claimed was by horseback, it was necessary for him to buy one. Taking the land clerk’s advice, Duff walked down to Beeman’s Barn, a large livery that sat at the end of the street. The two men stepped inside the barn through the big, open, double doors. It was considerably darker inside the barn as it was illuminated only by the sun that spilled in through the doors, or slashed down through the cracks between the wide, unpainted boards. There were little bits and pieces of hay drifting down from the overhead loft, and the barn was redolent with the pungent aroma of hay and horseflesh and horse droppings.
“Yes, sir, can I do somethin’ for you gents?” a man asked, coming toward them from the back of the barn. He was wearing bibbed coveralls over a red flannel shirt and had the stump of a pipe clenched between his teeth.
“Are you Mr. Beeman?”
“I am.”
“Mr. Beeman, I should like to make the purchase of a horse,” Duff said.
“You are a foreigner, ain’t you?”