MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy Read online

  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.

  “I’ve never held up a bank before. I wouldn’t have any idea how one would go about doing such a thing.”

  “Hell, there ain’t nothin’ to it,” Pettigrew said. “All we got to do is keep a few men posted outside while the rest of us go inside and tell the teller to empty the safe.”

  Malcolm drummed his fingers on the top of the table for a moment. “How much money is one likely to get in such a thing?”

  “In a town like this, if we didn’t come away with ten thousand dollars I’d be some surprised,” Pettigrew said.

  “Ten thousand dollars?”

  “At least.”

  “If we hold up the bank, we will have to make a rapid exit from town, will we not?”

  Pettigrew chuckled. “Only if you don’t want to get strung up,” he said.

  “All right, I’ll go along with it on one condition. We came here to find MacCallister. If we are required to make a hasty exit, we are not likely to find out anything about him. I think we should make sufficient inquiries to satisfy our quest before we engage in anything like robbing a bank.”

  “That ain’t goin’ to be no problem,” Pettigrew said. “We’re goin’ to have to check out the bank first anyway. Goin’ into a bank to hold it up before you know what you are gettin’ yourself into ain’t that smart of a move anyhow.”

  “Ten thousand dollars,” Malcolm said. He smiled. “All right, gentlemen, you may consider me a participant in this endeavor.”

  Chugwater Valley

  It was early afternoon by the time the two wagons arrived at the place Duff had chosen to build his cabin. As there were two men on each wagon, it did not take long for Duff, Falcon, and the four freight men to unload all the material. Less than an hour after they arrived, all the lumber, tools, and furnishings were lying on the ground near the staked-out area for the cabin, and the wagons, empty now, were heading back to Chugwater.

  Both Falcon and Duff had done building before, so they worked well together, getting the floor down. After the floor was down, they placed the support posts at the four corners, then additional posts between the corners until, finally, they had the basic part of the house framed up. By that time it was dark, so they spent one more night under the stars, though they promised each other that by the next night they would be inside.

  The next morning they had the roof trusses up by mid morning, and two of the walls closed in by noon.

  “Here’s an idea,” Duff posed. “The floor is down. Let’s move all this stuff in now and finish building around it.”

  “Good idea,” Falcon replied. “Where do you want the stove? We’ll need to know so we know where to vent the chimney through.”

  “Right here, right in the middle,” Duff said. “I believe this to be the most efficient location for providing heat this winter.”

  “You are probably right,” Falcon said.

  The stove was very heavy, but both Duff and Falcon were strong men and as all the walls had not been erected, they did not have too much difficulty in getting the stove in position.

  Once everything was inside, they resumed work on building the cabin. As they had promised each other, they spent the night inside, throwing their bedrolls out on the floor. They were finished with everything but the porch. The next morning, they added the porch.

  “Now, Duff, you have a ranch,” Falcon said as the two men sat on the front porch, eating a meal of bacon and fry-bread (Falcon showed Duff how to make it), and drinking coffee. “What are you going to name it?”

  “I have been giving that some thought,” Duff said. “I think I will call it Sky Meadow.”

  “An outstanding name,” Falcon said. “Yes, I think it fits the place.”

  “However, it is my understanding that in order to be a rancher one must have livestock,” Duff said. “And as you may have noticed”—Duff took in the wide expanse of his property with a sweep of his hand—“I have no livestock.”

  “Ahh, what do you want a bunch of cows for anyway? They are ignorant brutes and they just tie you down,” Falcon said.

  Duff laughed. “Perhaps you have a point. But one can scarcely be a rancher without livestock. How am I to acquire the cattle I shall need?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I can lend you enough money to get started,” Falcon said. “You can pay me back when you can.”

  “You have already been too generous with your time, Falcon. I have no intention of making a demand on your finances as well.”

  “Cousin, I don’t want you to take this wrong because it isn’t that you are not trustworthy,” Falcon said, “but I don’t think you are going to find a bank that will lend you the money. If you are indeed going to start ranching you will, as you have pointed out, need cattle, and in order to buy cattle you will need money. Where else will you get it, if not from me?”

  “Good question. However, there may be a solution, if . . .” Duff paused in mid-sentence, held up his finger and smiled at Falcon.

  “If there is gold in the mine,” Falcon said, completing the sentence for him. “You do know that it is highly unlikely that there is really anything there. It is probably all just a story and we’ll just be wasting our time.”

  “Exactly. Shall we go have a look?”

  Falcon chuckled. “Yeah, but we had better take a lantern,” Falcon said. “You don’t have to go very far down into one of those things before it gets so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face.”

  “A lantern and a pickaxe,” Duff said.

  “Aye, sure’n ’twould be a shame to go into the mine with nae a pickaxe,” Falcon said, mimicking Duff’s accent.

  “You’d better stick
to American English,” Duff said, laughing. “And ’tis a shame, too. Our mutual grandfather would be rolling in his grave now to hear how his descendants have brutalized the mother tongue.”

  It took half an hour to find the mine entrance because it was shielded by an outgrowth of sagebrush. But when they did find the opening, they were gratified to see that it was tall enough and wide enough to allow both of them to enter while fully erect. Both men were carrying full canteens. In addition, Duff was carrying a lantern and a pick. They got no more than one hundred feet into the mine before it became dark enough that it was necessary to light the lantern.

  The lantern threw out a wide bubble of golden light that reflected back from the walls and showed a long, black tunnel before them. The two men walked for several minutes, then Duff called for them to stop.

  “What is it?” Falcon asked.

  Duff walked over to the wall and held up the lantern. Something in the wall glittered back in the light.

  “I’m going to pick here for a while and see what turns up,” Duff said.

  Setting the lantern down, Duff began using the pickaxe on the wall. Each time he struck, large chunks of shale would tumble down from the wall. As he continued to strike at the wall, the tailings piled up on the floor of the mine, and Falcon got on his knees to sift through them, looking for any sign of color.

  “Have you found anything?” Duff asked.

  “No, not yet. Wait, there might be something here. . . .”

  Duff turned to look at Falcon and when he did he saw a frightening apparition behind him. A two-legged creature covered with hair and with wild eyes was holding a large rock in both hands, about to bring it crashing down on Falcon’s head.

  “Look out!” Duff yelled and, reacting quickly, Falcon leaped to one side as, with a loud scream, the creature brought the rock down.

  Thanks to Duff’s warning the rock missed Falcon, but the creature lifted it over his head again, and with gleaming red eyes came toward Duff. Duff used the head of the pickaxe to knock the rock out of the creature’s hands. With another bloodcurdling scream, the creature turned and ran, disappearing into the dark tunnel of the mine as if able to see in the dark.

  “Are you all right?” Duff asked.

  “Yes,” Falcon said, standing up and brushing himself off.

  “What on earth was that?” Duff asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe Mr. Guthrie’s haint?” Falcon replied.

  “’Twas no ghost, for it was something physical.”

  “A bear, maybe?”

  “I don’t know about American bears, but I’ve never seen a bear in Europe that could use his hands like this one did.”

  “Whatever it was, I think we know what happened to the men who were killed here,” Falcon said.

  “Aye, that’s for certain,” Duff replied.

  “Are you going to continue to look for gold?”

  “Sure’n you aren’t thinking I’m going to be frightened off by a ghost, are you? Especially since it isn’t a ghost.”

  “If we are going to continue to work in here, I have an idea,” Falcon said.

  “What?”

  “We have some string and engineering stakes left over from building the house. We can bring them here. . . .”

  “Aye, and stretch a tripwire across the passage to give us warning when the beast returns,” Duff said. “’Tis good thinking, cousin. We’ve already shown that, whatever or whoever it is, it can be fought off. We need only to be alerted to its presence.”

  Cheyenne

  When Malcolm stepped into the land clerk’s office, he saw a wall that was covered with a huge map of Laramie County, Wyoming. Beneath the map were several cabinets, filled with drawers. 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, what can I do you for?” the land clerk asked, chuckling at his whimsical transposing of the words.

  “My name is Rab Malcolm. I was told by my kinsman that he would be filing on some land here in Wyoming, and it is my hope that you would have a record of such.”

  “Well, if he filed here I will have a record,” the land clerk replied. “I keep a very tidy office and can tell you the name of everyone who has filed for land in Laramie Country for the last six years. What would be the name?”

  “MacCallister. Duff MacCallister.”

  “Ah, yes, I should have known by your accent. You sound just like him. And you are in luck, he did indeed file here a short time ago.”

  The clerk walked back to the long row of cabinets, opened one of the long drawers, and pulled it out.

  “MacCallister,” he said, speaking to himself. “Hmm, Kelly, Kilmer, Logan, Lynch, Mabry—here it is. MacCallister.”

  The clerk pulled the card out and looked at it. “Yes, he applied for Section 280417.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “I’m sorry. I just gave you the map coordinates and for sure it would mean little to you if you didn’t have a map. If you would step back here, I’ll show you where it is.”

  “Thank you,” Malcolm said as he pushed through the little swinging half-door that stretched between two sections of the counter and walked back to the map.

  “It’s about fifty miles north of here, at this point, where Bear and Little Bear Creek join. Do you see?”

  “Aye, and would ye be for having a smaller map available that I could use?”

  “Are you filing for land? Because we provide maps, free gratis, for anyone who is applying for land.”

  “I’ll not be applying for land,” Malcolm said.

  “In that case, I’ll have to charge you fifteen cents for the map.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  New York—Castle Garden Immigration

  The steamship Neckar was built by Caird & Co, Greenock, Scotland, for the White Star Lines, and was launched on the 11th of October 1873. It displaced 3,122 tons; had a straight bow, 1 funnel, 2 masts; iron construction, and screw propulsion. The service speed was 16 knots, and the ship had accommodations for 144 passengers in first class, 68 in second class, and 502 in steerage. Angus Somerled, who was no longer the sheriff of Argyll-shire County, took his passage in second class, which lacked some of the amenities of first class, but was far superior to steerage, wherein the passengers were loaded like cattle.

  After two weeks in transit, the Neckar was met by two tugboats that nudged the big ship into anchorage at an island off the southwest tip of Manhattan Island. His first view of the United States was a huge round building, so large that nothing could be seen beyond it. This was Castle Garden, and as he followed the other passengers down the gangplank, he saw that the roped-off walkway led all the passengers through a great double door over which hung the sign: UNITED STATES IMMIGRATION.

  Once inside, to Somerled’s annoyance, there was an area marked specifically for first-class passengers. The remaining area had a sign that said: SECOND CLASS AND STEERAGE.

  Somerled greatly resented being herded in with all the steerage passengers, many of whom had not bathed for the two weeks onboard the ship and now smelled of vomit and body odor. No doubt the vermin were coming to America, certain that they would find fame and fortune in the new country. Somerled wanted to tell them that if they were paupers in Europe, they would be paupers in America.

  A small boy, clutching the hand of his mother, whose face was drawn and tired from two weeks in steerage, was looking at Somerled.

  “Boy, what are you staring at?” Somerled barked in a voice that was more severe than normal because of his frustration over being processed with the unwashed minions of steerage.

  Tears sprang to the boy’s eyes and he turned toward his mother, wrapping his arms around her leg and burying his face in her gray, shapeless dress.

  “Sir, I’m sure he meant no harm. He is just a young child.”

  “Teach him some manners,” Somerled said, roughl
y.

  A moment later, Somerled was in customs and his luggage was being gone through. The customs officer saw a pistol, and looked up at Somerled.

  “I don’t know what you have read, sir, but not all Americans are Wild West cowboys. And most of those who do own guns do not carry them.”

  “I’ve no intention of carryin’ the weapon,” Somerled said, though his response was a lie. He had every intention of carrying his pistol.

  The customs officer nodded, then searched through the rest of the luggage to make certain Somerled was not bringing anything into the country that might violate customs or require a tax. After customs, the immigrants were sent to various areas for processing, depending upon their language.

  Somerled stood in line at the ENGLISH ONLY counter until he reached the front.

  “Your name?”

  “Somerled. Angus Somerled.”

  “John, this one is for you. Another Irishman,” the clerk called to one of the other men.

  “I’ll have you know, sir, that I am not Irish,” Somerled said with as much dignity as he could muster. “I am Scot.”

  “Irish, Scot, it is all the same to me,” the clerk said. “I handle only people from England. Mr. Patterson will take care of you.”

  Somerled moved over to the next space, where a man wearing a green visor looked up at him.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Scotland, Donuun in Argyllshire.”

  “Were you gainfully employed while you were in Scotland?”

  “Aye, and was a man of respect, too.”

  “What was your occupation there?”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “We can’t have people in our country who are unable to take care of themselves. We have to know that you can find gainful employment.”

  “I was the sheriff.”

  “Ah. Well, we have a lot of Irish in the police force. I suppose you could get a job there.”

  “I don’t intend to stay here. I am in pursuit of a criminal who fled to the United States.”