Day of Reckoning Page 17

  “Uncle John?” the clerk replied.

  “I suppose I should say Governor Hoyt, but he has been Uncle John to me for a long time. Please be a good man and tell him that I’m here, would you? I think he would be very upset with you if you don’t.”

  The clerk studied Meagan for a long moment, then he lifted his finger. “I will tell him, miss. But if this is some ploy, I will have you escorted out of the capitol building.”

  “Oh, I assure you, mister”—she paused to read the nameplate on his desk—“Fitzhugh, that the governor will thank you.”

  “Wait here,” Fitzhugh said.

  When the clerk stepped into the governor’s private office, Duff looked at her in surprise.

  “Lass, I’ve never heard you say that you know the governor. ’Tis hoping I am that there be some substance behind your words.”

  Meagan laughed. “Duff, don’t you know that a woman always has to keep some secrets?” She glanced over at Ina Claire. “Keep that in mind, Ina Claire. You’re a beautiful young lady and the time will come, and soon, when you’ll have men paying attention to you.”

  While they were waiting, Duff picked up a newspaper that was in the chair beside him and began reading from the Cheyenne Defender.

  STAGECOACH ROBBERY

  On two days previous, the Cummins City stagecoach was held up. The driver, Adam Drake, and his shotgun guard, Ray Carter, were both killed in the robbery. The robbers, seven of them, stole the mailbag, thinking, perhaps, that the bag would contain sufficient money to make their effort worthwhile.

  However, this newspaper has received information from the express company, which states that there was no money transfer on the day of the robbery. Mr. Drake and Mr. Carter were both killed for naught, as the robbers left the event unrewarded for their evil deeds.

  It was one of the passengers, a Mr. George Jeffries of New York, New York, who drove the coach from the point where it was robbed on into Cummins City. Mr. Jeffries also gave a description of the apparent leader of seven robbers, describing him as a big man, over six feet tall, with a deformed nose and ear. It should be noted that such a description is a perfect fit for Clay Callahan, who so recently escaped from the Cheyenne jail, leaving two dead innocent victims behind.

  “Look at this,” Duff said, showing the newspaper to Meagan and Ina Claire.

  “That’s them!” Ina Claire said excitedly. “Oh, but this says there were seven men who robbed the stagecoach. It was only four men who killed Mama and Papa.”

  “Aye, but the description does fit Callahan, so ’tis obvious they have found three more men to join them. And this is how we’re going to find them,” Duff said. “Men such as these can never stop their evil deeds. It’s like putting a bell on a cat . . . we’ll be able to follow them by their transgressions.”

  The door to the governor’s office opened, and Fitzhugh appeared with a stern expression on his face.

  “Uh-oh,” Ina Claire said quietly.

  Fitzhugh stepped aside, and a man with a full head of white hair and a sweeping mustache appeared in the door behind him. In contrast to the clerk’s stark visage, the governor wore a broad smile.

  “Meagan!” he said, opening his arms and coming toward her.

  “Hello, Uncle John.” They embraced.

  “Come in, child, do come in!” he invited. “Bring your friends with you.”

  Meagan looked at Duff and Ina Claire, both of whom were wearing expressions of surprise if not total shock.

  “What do you hear from your father?”

  “He and Mama are doing well,” Meagan said.

  “When next you write to them, please give them my best,” Governor Hoyt said. Then, to Duff, he added, “This young lady’s father, Caleb Parker, is the best friend I ever had, and the brother I never had.”

  “Then you and the governor are nae actually . . .” Duff started, directing his question to Meagan.

  “Related? No. But the governor and my father were so often together that, long ago, I began calling him uncle.”

  “And at my urging, I hasten to add,” Governor Hoyt said. “Now, Meagan, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? And why would a beautiful woman like you dress in such a manner?”

  The governor took in Meagan’s attire with a sweep of his hand.

  “This is my very good friend, Duff MacCallister,” Meagan said. “He owns a rather substantial ranch up by Chugwater. I’m going to let him tell you why we have come to see you.”

  “Mr. MacCallister, I do believe I have heard of you, sir,” the governor said with an extended hand.

  “Sure ’n ’tis my pleasure to be making the acquaintance o’ an honorable gentleman such as yerself, Governor,” Duff replied.

  “A Scotsman are you?”

  “Aye, ’tis Scottish he be, from the wee bairn he was to the foine mon who before ye stands today,” Meagan said, perfectly mimicking Duff’s accent.

  Governor Hoyt laughed. “I’d say your friendship is more than casual,” he said. “You sure didn’t grow up with that accent.”

  “The lass enjoys a bit o’ fun with m’ brogue I fear,” Duff said. He smiled. “But mimicry be the sincerest form of flattery, I’ve always heard.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard the same thing. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “Governor, would you be for remembering some days past, when two brigands b’ the name of Clay Callahan and Zeke Manning escaped from jail, here in Cheyenne?”

  “Indeed I do, sir, indeed I do. I remember, also, that they were to have gone to the gallows on the very next day. I remember this, because I had turned down the petition for a commutation of their sentence. They not only escaped, they left behind them a couple of their foul deeds, the murders of the jailer and Mordecai Luscombe, who was to have been their hangman. The poor fellow wound up being hanged by his own rope.”

  “Two men it was that helped them, Governor.” Duff glanced toward Ina Claire. “Tell the governor who they were.”

  “Their names were Dooley Cooper and Pogue Morris,” Ina Claire said.

  “Cooper and Morris? And tell me, young lady, how would you be knowing that they were the ones who helped Callahan and Manning?”

  “I know, because while they were on their way to Cheyenne, Cooper and Morris took a meal at my parents’ house.” Ina Claire paused in mid-sentence, during which time tears began to stream down her face. “And I know because when Dooley Cooper and Pogue Morris came back to . . . to kill my parents, Callahan and Manning were with them.”

  “Oh,” Governor Hoyt said quietly. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s why we’re here, Governor,” Duff said. “We are going after the brigands who murdered Ina Claire’s family. And we want you to commission us as special law officers with jurisdiction all over the territory.”

  “I don’t know. I’d have to get legislative approval to finance such a thing.”

  Duff waved his hand. “I’m sorry, Governor. I should have been more clear. You dinnae need to seek approval for compensation, for ’tis nae money I’m asking for. What we seek now is only the authority the commission will give us.”

  “All right, I see no problem in appointing you a special officer answerable only to the governor.”

  “Us,” Meagan said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We’re asking for us, Uncle John. We want commissions for all three of us,” Meagan said.

  “Oh, well now, I don’t know about that,” the governor said.

  “Governor, the ladies will be traveling with me,” Duff said. “There may be times when having the authority of the law will be beneficial to them.”

  Governor Hoyt stroked his mustache. “Meagan, girl, if something were to happen to you, how would I ever explain my role in it to your father?”

  “Uncle John, you heard what Duff said. We are going with him, with or without the authority of the law. I just feel that we would be better served if we did have your authorization.”

  The
governor let out a long sigh. “All right,” he said. “I’ll have the commissioning documents drawn up and filed. You can pick them up tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Uncle John!” Meagan said, giving the governor a big hug.

  * * *

  “What will we do until tomorrow?” Meagan asked after they left the capitol building.

  “We’ll just wander around town, keeping our eyes and our ears open,” Duff said. “We might hear something that will be of some value.”

  “Where would we have to go to overhear something like that?”

  “A saloon,” Duff said.

  “A saloon?”

  “I suppose we could get a couple of rooms at the hotel and you and Ina Claire could wait there.”

  “No, in for a penny, in for a pound,” Meagan said. “Ina Claire and I will go with you.”

  “Meagan, I—”

  “Duff, you can’t be worrying about protecting our virtue. My goodness, the way we are dressed now, the average person would think we have no virtue to protect. If we are going to be partners in this adventure, we are going to be full partners. Besides, I’ve been to Fiddler’s Green, often as your guest I might add.”

  Duff thought of the White Horse Pub in Dunoon, owned by Ian McGregor. The White Horse had an island bar, Jacobean-style ceiling, beautiful stained glass windows, and etched mirrors. Despite its elegant décor and clientele of nobles, it was primarily a place for drinking and most who came behaved with decorum, enjoying the ambience and convivial conversation with friends. McGregor’s daughter, Skye, had worked in the pub. He thought about her now, and realized that if he had no problem with Skye being a regular part of the White Horse Pub, then he had no right to be critical of Meagan if she chose to visit a saloon. And as she stated, Meagan was often a patron of Fiddler’s Green, and what was it, if not a saloon?

  “All right,” he said. “You can come if you feel you must.”

  Meagan laughed.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “You don’t understand, do you? I wasn’t asking for your permission, I was merely providing you with the information that Ina Claire and I would be with you.”

  Duff laughed. “And ’tis glad I would be for the company.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Office of J. P. Sharpies, sheriff of Cheyenne

  “Sheriff, I just got this telegram from Deputy Burns out in Howell,” Phil Barkett, the telegrapher, said, stepping in to the sheriff’s office. “I figured I should bring it to you right away.”

  “What is it about?”

  “It’s about a murder, Sheriff. Some outlaws robbed Art Whitworth’s store and shot him dead.”

  Sheriff Sharpies read the telegram.

  TO SHERIFF SHARPIES CHEYENNE FROM

  DEPUTY BURNS HOWELL STATION STOP

  SEVEN MEN HELD UP WHITWORTH

  STORE KILLED WHITWORTH STOP

  NAMES SUPPLIED BY MRS WHITWORTH

  ARE MANNING CALLAHAN COOPER AND

  PARDEEN STOP THOSE NAMES SUGGEST

  THAT THE SEVEN MEN MIGHT BE

  CALLAHAN MANNING COOPER MORRIS

  PARDEEN BATES AND DONNER STOP

  Sheriff Sharpies wondered if Mrs. Whitworth had actually given Burns all the names, or if she had only given him a few names, and Burns, extrapolating, put the rest of them together. Burns was a former Texas Ranger and a very intelligent man. Sharpies had used him before when he wanted some detective work done.

  Though Burns didn’t point it out in the telegram, Sharpies was able to do a little deduction on his own. Like Callahan and Manning, Pardeen, Bates, and Donner had managed to escape from jail shortly before they were to go to the gallows. That was three men, added to Callahan, Manning, Cooper, and Morris, who were already known to be riding together. Seven men robbed the stagecoach, killing the driver and the shotgun guard. The description of one of the men matched that of Clay Callahan.

  Seven men also robbed the Whitworth General Store, killing Art Whitworth. Callahan was also with that group. It took little deduction now to know that it was the same seven men who had robbed the stagecoach, and now all the names were known.

  “Good job, Thurman,” Sheriff Sharpies said quietly, as a broad smile spread across his lips.

  Then, as he thought of how he came by the names, the smile faded. Art Whitworth, a good man, was killed by these outlaws. Sharpies vowed he would do all he could to see to it that they paid for their evil deed.

  * * *

  Even as the sheriff was contemplating the information he had just received, Duff, Meagan, and Ina Claire were walking toward the Rendezvous. Duff knew from his previous visits that this was Cheyenne’s finest drinking establishment.

  It had been Duff’s observation that the Westerners, whose society he had joined, were a gregarious lot. They didn’t like to drink alone; they preferred the company of friends, and even strangers. They congregated in saloons where conversation flowed. The customers ranged from prospectors to gamblers, cowboys, stockmen, coal miners, railroaders, drummers, lawmen, honest workmen, and, of course, occasional desperadoes.

  The interior of the Rendezvous was a long, low room, illuminated only by the sunshine that spilled in through front windows. There were several men standing along the bar, many with their feet propped up on the brass rail. Chairs and tables were scattered along the walls, as well as in the center of the room, and the place was filled with customers smoking, playing poker, and engaged in loud and animated conversation. Painted women moved from table to table like bees darting from flower to flower.

  Four men abandoned a table just as Duff, Meagan, and Ina Claire arrived.

  “There,” Duff said, pointing to the empty table. “Sit there and I’ll get our drinks.”

  “I want a beer,” Ina Claire said.

  “You’ll drink a sarsaparilla,” Duff said.

  “Duff, a beer will draw less attention,” Meagan said.

  Duff looked at Ina Claire for a moment, then nodded. “All right, a beer it is.”

  As Duff stepped up to the bar, Meagan and Ina Claire hurried to claim the table that had been vacated. As soon as they sat down, a woman approached them. Her eyes were darkly outlined, her cheeks heavily rouged, and her lips bright red with paint. The top of her dress was cut so low that her breasts were about to spill out.

  “Well now,” she said with a practiced smile. “If you two aren’t the most handsome critters in here. You’re a young one, ain’t you, honey?” she said to Ina Claire.

  “I’m old enough,” Ina Claire replied.

  The bar girl blinked a couple of times, then got a surprised expression on her face. She leaned back, then straightened up.

  “What the devil? You’re a girl!”

  “See there, Ina Claire, I told you we were girls,” Meagan said with a little laugh.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” the bar girl asked.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” Meagan asked.

  Duff came to the table then, carrying three beers. “Hello,” he said, greeting the bar girl with a smile.

  The bar girl returned the smile. “At least you are a man,” she said.

  “Aye, that I am,” Duff said. He took in Meagan and Ina Claire with a wave of his hand. “And as you can see, I’ve come to this place with m’ wife ’n sister-in-law, so we’ll nae be needin’ yer services. But I’ll be thanking you for coming over to offer your company.”

  Duff gave the woman a dollar. “And to show you my appreciation, here, buy yourself a drink for being so nice to the womenfolk while I was getting our beers.”

  The girl smiled at getting the dollar. “I thank you, sir.” She looked at Meagan and Ina Claire. “You two have a fine man here. But take some advice from Sadie. If you want to keep him, you need to change the way you’re dressed. Why, at first glance, nobody would even know that you aren’t a man. You should wear something more ladylike.”

  “Thank you, we will consider that,” Meagan replied.

  Meagan and Ina Cl
aire laughed as the bar girl walked away.

  “Have you ever had a beer before?” Duff asked as he set the mug in front of Ina Claire.

  “Not a whole beer. I’ve taken a few swallows from Papa’s glass, from time to time.”

  “Just take a few sips and when my glass is low enough, I’ll be for pouring some of your beer into my glass.”

  “Thank you,” Ina Claire said.

  * * *

  “Now, you take Callahan. Him ’n Manning was s’posed to hang, you know. They’d done built the gallows, but ole Callahan, he was too smart for ’em, ’n he ’n Manning escaped.”

  That bit of conversation came from a man who was sitting with three others at an adjacent table. He punctuated his sentence by spitting a tobacco quid toward a brass spittoon. At least half of it made its mark.

  “’N here’s the thing. The gallows wasn’t only built, when them two left town, hell they left the hangman hisself, ole’ Mordecai Luscombe, danglin’ from the same contraption he aimed to use for the execution of Callahan ’n Manning,” another man said.

  “You two ain’t tellin’ me nothin’ I don’t already know. Hell, I was plannin’ on watchin’ the hangin’, ’n when I come out into the street to get me a spot, why they was already twenty or thirty folks or so. They was all standin’ aroun’ just a-starin’ at the gallows, ’n I didn’t have no idea what they was all lookin’ at ’til I looked my own self ’n seen that hangman feller just a danglin’ there. That was a’fore the cut ’im down, you see.”

  “Wonder where them two boys is now?” a third asked.

  “Ain’t you read the story in the newspaper? They just held up the Cummins City stagecoach the other day.”

  “I didn’t read it. You mean they’s a story in the paper that says Callahan and Manning robbed a stagecoach?”

  “Well, it don’t say Manning, but it does say Callahan.”

  “How do they know it was Callahan?”

  “What do you mean, how do they know? Ain’t you never seen ’im? It ain’t somebody you might mistake for someone else. He’s a big man, ’n he was a prizefighter once, so his nose is kinda flat, ’n one o’ his ears is all scrunched up.”