Everyone in town heard the pipes being played, from R. W. Guthrie, to Fred Matthews, to Megan Parker, the beautiful young dressmaker who, as she was disembarking from the coach, had noticed Duff on the first day he came to town. She knew that he was the one playing the pipes, because she had heard him play them at the funeral of one of the bar girls.
At first she felt a little thrill at hearing the pipes being played. But when she saw armed men running everyone off the street, she felt a great sense of apprehension and knew, somehow, that Duff MacCallister, the handsome young Scot, was the center of all this, and was in danger.
She stood to one side of the big window in front of her shop and leaned over to peek outside. The street was absolutely quiet, except for the sound of the pipes.
Then the pipes fell silent.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Duff let the air out of the bag with one, long, lingering, dying tone. He hooked the pipes on the pommel of his saddle and rode the remaining quarter mile into town. In contrast to the way the town was on Duff’s previous visit, this time the street was absolutely empty. He stopped at the south end of Bowie Street, dismounted, and tied Sky off at a hitching rail. Then, as he walked down the middle of the street, he saw Rab Malcolm step out of Fiddler’s Green.
“’Twas nice of you to play me a tune before you came in,” Malcolm said.
“Pity the man who hears the pipes and is nae a Scotsman,” Duff said. “Or who be Scot, but is evil of heart.”
Malcolm chuckled. “And would that be me?”
“Aye,” Duff replied.
“Where is your cousin? The one they call Falcon.”
“He has gone,” Duff said. “He stayed long enough to help me build my house, then he went back home.”
“Och, and you’ve built a house, have you? ’Tis too bad you won’t live long enough to enjoy it.”
“How is this to be?” Duff asked. “Are we to face each other down in the street?”
Malcolm laughed out loud. “Sure’n I think ye may have been reading one of the sensational novels about the American West. Nae, we won’t be facing each other down in the street. Well, that’s nae entirely true, is it? Ye see, lad, I’ll be facing you down, but there won’t be anything you can do about it.”
Megan was watching from the window of her dress emporium and she saw, right in front of her store, two men lying on the ground behind a watering trough, one at one end, and one at the other. She knew that they were there to ambush Duff, and she wanted desperately to call out to him. But she knew that if she did, they would more than likely shoot her and her customer. She had to do something to let Duff know, but what? How could she warn him?
Duff saw Malcolm turn and give a signal to someone. Another man came out of the saloon, holding a bar girl in front of him. It was Peggy, one of the bar girls who worked in the saloon.
“Recognize this woman? I’m told that she is a friend of the whore for whom you played the pipes at her funeral. Really, MacCallister, you actually debased our national instrument by playing a dirge at the funeral of a whore? Be ye without shame? That is enough to cost you your commission in the Black Watch.”
“I’ve resigned my commission,” Duff said.
“Aye, I daresay you have.”
Lucy appeared at the bat-wing doors of the saloon. “Peggy!” she called.
Malcolm turned toward the saloon and pointed at Lucy. “Get back inside!” he called.
“Please, let Peggy go!”
“Back inside,” Malcolm ordered.
“Let the woman go,” Duff said.
“Sure, I’ll let the woman go,” Malcolm said. He walked back to the saloon, but just before he stepped inside, he turned back to the man who was holding Peggy. “Let her go, Pettigrew.”
Pettigrew let Peggy go and she stood there for a moment, looking around as if unable to believe she had been released.
“Peggy, get off the street,” Duff called. “Go into the mercantile.”
As Peggy started across the street toward the mercantile store, Pettigrew and Malcolm went back into the saloon. Duff didn’t like the way this felt. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He drew his pistol and started running toward Peggy.
“Peggy, get down!” he shouted.
Startled by Duff’s sudden shout, Peggy stopped in the middle of the street and looked at him with an expression of confusion on her face. At that moment Pettigrew stepped back out of the saloon and fired.
“No!” Duff shouted, and he saw blood and brain matter fly from Peggy’s head as she fell facedown into the dirt.
Duff fired at Pettigrew and saw the look of shock on Pettigrew’s face when the bullet hit him. Duff ran back across the street toward the nearest watering trough and leaped over it, even as the bullets began whining around him.
Megan saw the two men behind the watering trough cock their pistols and start to move toward the edge. If Duff had no idea they were there, they would have the advantage over him. Dare she call out to him?
Then, she got an idea, and she hurried to the back of her shop.
“What is it?” Mrs. Finley asked from behind a trunk. “What is going on out there?”
“Stay down, Mrs. Finley. Just stay down and you’ll be all right,” Megan said. She unscrewed the knobs that held the dressing mirror on the frame. Then carrying it to the front, she turned it on its side so that it had a lengthwise projection. Holding it in the window, she prayed that Duff would see it.
Once he was safely behind the watering trough, Duff slithered on his stomach to the edge, then peered around it. He looked first toward the saloon to see if Malcolm was going to make another appearance, but the saloon was quiet. Then, looking across the street, he saw a woman in the window of the dress shop. It was Megan, the same pretty woman he had seen step down from the stagecoach the first day he rode into town, and had actually met for the first time at Annie’s funeral. At first, he wondered what she was doing there, then he saw exactly what she was doing.
Megan was holding a mirror, and looking in the mirror Duff could see the reflection of two men lying on the ground behind the watering trough that was directly across the street from him. He watched as one started moving toward the end of the trough in order to take a look. Duff aimed his pistol at the edge of the trough and waited.
“MacCallister!” Malcolm called from the darkness of the saloon. “Maybe you do have the right idea. Why don’t you come back out into the street, and I will as well. We can face each other down, just as your cousin does. Oh, yes, I know all about your cousin. I have read of him in a dime novel. He must be a most courageous man. What do you say? Just you and I, alone in the street.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” Duff called back.
“Believe what?”
“That it would just be the two of us.”
Malcolm laughed. “You think that because I have friends with me, that I may take unfair advantage of you, MacCallister? Alas, that is probably true. Tell me, what does it feel like to know that you won’t live long enough to see the sun set tonight?”
All the while Malcolm was talking, Duff was keeping one eye on the mirror and the other on the corner of the watering trough. Then his vigil was rewarded. Duff saw the brim of a hat appear, and he cocked his pistol, aimed, took a breath, and let half of it out. When he saw the man’s eye appear, Duff touched the trigger. Looking in the mirror he saw the man’s face fall into the dirt, and the gun slip from his hand.
“Carter! Carter!” the man at the end of the trough shouted. Suddenly he stood up. “You son of a bitch! You killed my brother!” He started running across the street, firing wildly. Duff shot one time, and the man running toward him pitched forward in the street.