Roy’s face drew up in an expression of total confusion. He looked at Billy Ray.
“What the hell did he just say?”
“I believe he is funning you,” Billy Ray replied.
“Are you funnin’ me, boy?” Roy asked, turning back toward Duff.
“By funning, I take it you want to know if I am teasing you?”
“Yeah. You tryin’ to tease me? ’Cause I don’t take too kindly to folks that try and tease me.”
“Then, Roy, ye may put your mind at ease. I don’t tease people that I don’t like. And though I have just met you, you have made reproachful comments about my pipes. I have heard the call of the pipes when engaged in deadly combat, so I dinnae take kindly to those who pass disparaging remarks about something that is so dear to my heart. So, for that reason, if for no other, I don’t like you.”
“You’re a foreigner, ain’t ya?” Roy asked.
“Aye. I am Scot.”
“I didn’t ask you your name. I asked you iffen you was a foreigner.”
“When I say I am Scot, I’m not telling you my name. I’m telling you my nationality. I am from Scotland. You do seem to have some difficulty in speaking English, don’t you?”
“I know’d you wasn’t American,” Roy said. “What are you doin’ here? You’re a long way from home, ain’t you?”
“On the contrary, I am quite close to home. I’ve just arranged for a parcel of land near here,” Duff said. “So, Roy, it looks as if you and I are going to be neighbors. And because of the inauspicious meeting, I do not think we could ever be friends, but I think we should at least make an effort to get on with each other.”
“You think that, do you? Well, you know what I think? I think you should go back to Scotland.”
“I’ve no plans to go back to Scotland.”
“You ain’t goin’ to like it here,” Roy said. “You’re goin’ to find a lot more people like me, who don’t cotton to strangers. Especially strangers who come from some foreign country.”
“I appreciate your concern, Roy, I really do, but I fully intend to stay here,” Duff said. He took another swallow of his beer, but he didn’t take his eyes off Roy.
“I see you’re wearin’ a gun. Are you very fast with it?” Roy asked.
“I cannot answer that question with certainty, as I have never had to make a rapid extraction of my pistol. So if you are asking if I would be very proficient in that particular act, I think I would have to say that, in all probability, I am not.”
“Mister, I don’t even know what the hell you are talking about,” Roy said. “Why don’t you talk in plain English?”
“He says he ain’t very good,” Billy Ray said.
“Ain’t very good, huh?” A humorless smile spread across Roy’s lips. Roy stood up, stepped away from the table, and let his arms hang loosely by his sides. That was when Duff saw that Roy was not only wearing a pistol, he was wearing it low, as Falcon had instructed him to do.
“Well, Mister, you’re goin’ to have to get good just real fast, ’cause I’m callin’ you out,” he said.
“Now I must confess that it is I who am confused. I have no idea what calling me out means.”
“It means I’m goin’ to give you a chance to draw your pistol ag’in me. Me’n you’s goin’ to settle this little disagreement we got.”
“I have no desire to engage you in a gunfight,” Duff said.
“What if I put a bullet in that bag of pipes you got there? Would that give you a desire to draw?”
“Oh, I don’t think I would like that very much,” Duff said.
“Well, that’s what I’m a’ goin’ to do,” Roy said. “I’m goin’ to put a bullet right through that bag of pipes, and then I’m a’ goin’ to put a bullet right through you.”
As Roy’s hand dipped toward the pistol in his holster, Duff threw the beer mug at him, hitting him in the nose.
With a cry of pain, Roy interrupted his draw and put his hands to his nose, which was now bleeding.
“You son of a bitch! You bloodied my nose!” Roy shouted in anger. Once more his hand dipped toward his pistol, but as he started his draw this time, Duff, who immediately after tossing his beer mug had drawn his own pistol, pulled the trigger, putting a bullet through Roy’s hand.
“Ayiieee!” Roy shouted, jerking his hand back. “I thought you said you wasn’t good.”
“I said I could not draw quickly, I did not say that I could not shoot,” Duff said. “I am, in fact, considered to be a rather superior marksman with a handgun.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you!” Falcon called loudly. “Drop it!”
Looking toward Falcon, who had just come back in, Duff saw that he was holding a gun in his hand. He also saw that Billy Ray had drawn his own pistol. At Falcon’s call, Billy Ray dropped his pistol to the floor.
“That’s more like it,” Falcon said. “Piano player?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sorry about this, I was very much enjoying your piano music. But I’m going to have to borrow your piano for a while.”
“Borrow my piano? Whatever do you mean?”
“Open up the back.”
With a look of confusion on his face, the piano player did exactly as Falcon asked.
“Now my friend and I came in here for a nice, quiet drink. It’s too late for it to be quiet, but we can still have the drink. Only, I don’t want to worry about any of the rest of you getting the idea that you might want to shoot one of us. So, this is what I want you to do. All of you, bring your pistols up here and drop them into the back of the piano.”
“What? Are you crazy? I ain’t goin’ to do that!” one of the other men in the saloon said.
“You have three choices, my friend,” Falcon said. “You can either bring your pistol up here and drop it in the back of the piano like I asked you to, or you can walk out of here right now.”
“That’s only two choices,” Billy Ray said. “What’s the third choice?”
“The third choice is I’ll kill you where you stand,” Falcon said, coldly.
“Damn, Billy Ray, I think he means that,” one of the others said.
Grumbling, every customer in the saloon, one by one, walked up to the piano and dropped his pistol into the back.
“Hey, I can’t play the piano now!” the piano player complained. “How’m I going to make my tips?”
Falcon pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “This ought to cover your tips for the rest of the day.”
“Gee, Mister. Thanks,” the piano player said.
Chapter Eighteen
Cheyenne
Duff’s room overlooked the street from the top floor of the Inter-Ocean hotel, a three-story brick building on Central Avenue. Though still fully dressed, Duff lay in bed, using the bedside lantern to provide enough illumination for him to read in his guidebook about the area he was going to homestead.
These plains have an average width of forty miles, and are one hundred miles in length. They comprise an area of over two and a half million acres and are regarded as one of the richest grazing areas in the country.
When Duff thought of the vast distances he had encountered here in America and compared it with Scotland, he couldn’t help but be amazed. He had left behind two hundred acres and that was considered a very large holding. With a mere stroke of his pen, he would now control twenty-six hundred acres, with access to another ten thousand acres. The sheer size of it boggled his brain.
When someone knocked on his door, Duff put the book down on the bedside table, then walked over to the door. Opening it, he saw Falcon standing in the hall.
“No,” Falcon said, shaking his head. “Don’t ever do that.”
“Don’t ever do what?”
“Don’t ever open the door like that,” Falcon said. “Always ask through the closed door who it is. Never stand behind the door while you are inquiring, and open it only partially until you are satisfied with whoever is on the other side.”