“I have fifty cents in change,” Duff said.
“Yes, sir, don’t you worry, I wasn’t goin’ to forget that.”
From the Guthrie Lumber and Building Supply, they went to the Chugwater Mercantile, a large store that had a sign out front boasting that they sold “GOODS FOR ALL MANKIND.”
“You’re the fella that played the music for Annie’s funeral, aren’t you?” Fred Matthews, the proprietor said.
“Aye.”
“That was some kind of pretty, real mournful, like it should be for a funeral. That instrument you used, a bagpipe?”
“Bagpipes, though often we just call it pipes.”
“Yes, sir, well, I’ve heard of them things, but this is the first time I ever actually heard one played. Has kind of a strange sound to it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s real pretty, but it is kind of strange sounding.”
“I agree that the music the pipes make is quite unique.”
“Unique. Yes, sir, I reckon that’s what I’d call it, too. Unique.”
Here, Duff bought the things he would need to furnish the house. He bought a potbellied wood-burning iron stove that would serve both for warmth and as a cookstove. He bought an iron skillet, two pots, a coffeepot, a water bucket and a dipper, and two plates, two cups, and two sets of flatware. He also bought a washbasin, a small table, two chairs to go with the table, and a rocking chair and footstool. Finally, he bought a Winchester .44-40 lever action repeating rifle, six boxes of .44-40 cartridges, a double-barreled Greener shotgun, and six boxes of twelve-gauge shotgun shells.
“Would you be for having any .47-caliber ammunition?” Duff asked.
Fred Matthews stroked his chin for a moment. “Mister, I not only don’t have any of that, I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of .47 caliber. Don’t know as they make such a thing.”
Duff pulled a round from one of the bullet loops on his belt and showed it to Matthews. “This is a .47-caliber bullet,” he said.
“What sort of gun would use such a bullet?” Matthews asked.
Duff pulled his pistol and showed it to him. “This is an Enfield Mark 1,” he said. “I’m told that it is the weapon of choice for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
“Is it now? The Royal Canadian Mounted Police? Well, in that case, I expect I’ll be able to find some. I don’t have it now, but I will put some on order for you.”
“You have my gratitude, sir.”
“How do you plan to get everything out to your place?” Matthews asked.
“Tomorrow Mr. Guthrie will be taking all the building supplies I need out to my place. He has agreed to let me ship additional purchases on one of his wagons.”
“Fine, I’ll see R.W. and get it all set up with him.”
“I’ll be taking the rifle and the shotgun with me,” Duff said.
“Of course.”
While Duff was busy making his purchases at the mercantile, Falcon had been over at the general store, buying food they would need over the next several days. He came out of the store with two large cloth bags that he draped over his horse, just forward of Lightning’s saddle.
“Did you get everything all taken care of?” Falcon asked.
“Everything will be delivered tomorrow,” Duff said.
“Well, then all we have to do is ride out there and wait for it.”
They had ridden for at least two miles before Falcon brought it up. “Are you going to do it?” he asked.
“Am I going to do what?”
“I think you know what I’m talking about. I just want to know if you are going to do it.”
“You are talking about the mine, aren’t you? The gold mine.”
“Yes, I’m talking about the gold mine. Are you going to check it out?”
“I thought I might.”
Falcon laughed out loud. “Well, I must say, you would have disappointed me if you had said otherwise.”
“Do you think there is anything there?” Duff asked.
“Now I don’t know what you are talking about,” Falcon replied. “By anything there, are you talking about ghosts? Or are you talking about gold?”
“I’m talking about the gold.”
“What about the ghosts?”
“Let them get their own gold,” Duff said.
Falcon laughed.
They made the ride from town in just over half an hour. Then, after taking care of the horses and the supplies they brought with them, they used the cabin plans Guthrie had given them and began laying out the outline where the house would be. They did that by use of the engineering stakes and string Duff had also purchased at Guthrie’s Building Supply.
By sundown, the cabin was well laid out, including the place where the porch would be. They cooked bacon over an open fire and had that with a can of beans for their supper. By then it was too late to check out the mine, and Duff didn’t want to go to the mine the next day either, because he didn’t want to take a chance on being gone when his supplies and building materials were delivered.
It had been a tiring day, and Duff was asleep within minutes of stretching out on his bedroll. Falcon was asleep just as quickly, and added to the sounds of the night creatures were the soft snores of the two sleeping men.
Chapter Twenty-two
Cheyenne
The Bucket of Blood Saloon was the least attractive of all of Cheyenne’s saloons. The bar consisted of nothing but boards stretched across two upright and empty beer barrels. It served only two types of drink, beer and a local whiskey that got its color and taste from rusty nails. The women who worked there were on the bottom rung of their profession, tired and scarred by rough treatment and dissipation.
The Bucket of Blood drew habitual drunks and the denizens of the town, and it was here that Malcolm and the men who were with him had gathered. They came because it was cheap and also because nine men traveling together would garner less attention here than they would in one of the more socially acceptable saloons. Malcolm was ill at ease here. He found the bad whiskey, unsightly interior, and scarred women to be off-putting.
“How much money do you have?” Pettigrew asked Malcolm. The men were gathered around two tables in the back of the Bucket Of Blood saloon.
The question not only surprised Malcolm, he was a little frightened by it.
“Why do you ask?”
“You’re spendin’ a lot of money for train tickets and the like. The reason I ask is I know how we can pick up some more money.”
“How?” Moran asked.
“By goin’ to where the money is.”
“Pettigrew, you ain’t makin’ no sense a’tall,” Carter Hill said. “What do you mean, by goin’ to where the money is?”
“Well think about it, Hill. Where do folks keep their money?”
“A bank,” McKenna said. “You’re talkin’ about holdin’ up a bank, ain’t you?”
“Finally figured it out, did you? Yeah, I’m talkin’ about holdin’ up a bank. As long as we’ve got this many people together, it would be an easy thing to rob a bank.”
“We haven’t gathered together to rob a bank,” Malcolm said.
“I know what we have come together for,” Pettigrew said. “I’m just saying that it would be a shame not to take advantage of us all bein’ together like this.”
“Pettigrew is right,” Johnny Hill said. “With this many men, there couldn’t no bank in the country stop us from just walkin’ in and cleanin’ it out.”
“I am an officer of the law,” Malcolm said. “How can you expect me to go along with something like this?”
“You ain’t a officer of the law in this country,” McKenna said.
“And unless I misunderstood you, you are plannin’ on killin’ this here Duff MacCallister fella when you find him,” Carter Hill said. “That will be against the law.”
“Here’s the thing, Malcolm. We’re goin’ to hold up this bank and you can be with us and share in the money, or you can stay out of it and don’t get anythin’ at all,” Pettigrew said.