Chapter Sixteen
Duff and Elmer had not ridden into town, but had driven a buckboard. They were talking animatedly about the events of the night as they drove back home, but about two miles from Sky Meadow, they saw an orange glow in the dark sky ahead.
“What’s that?” Elmer asked.
“It looks like a fire at home,” Duff replied.
“Hyah!” Elmer shouted, snapping the reins and urging the team into a gallop.
As they got closer to the ranch they could see flames in the sky, and closer still, they saw that the barn was on fire.
“Sure ’n what would make the barn catch fire?” Duff asked. “We left no lanterns or such.”
The team ran all-out for the last two miles, and Elmer applied the brake and pulled them to a halt as they slid to a stop in the front yard. By now, the barn was totally involved, the fire was leaping high into the air, and they could feel the heat.
It was too late to do anything about the fire or even to help the animals, the two milk cows, and Sky. Fortunately, Elmer’s horse, Rebel, was one of the two that were pulling the buckboard.
There was no sound except for the pop, snap, and roar of the fire.
“Sky,” Duff said, shaking his head.
They heard a horse whinny, and looking around, saw Sky standing near the house, his eyes shining in the light of the fire.
“Sky!” Duff said, leaping down from the buckboard and running to him. Sky lowered his head and let Duff pet him. “I thought I had lost you.”
Sky pulled away from Duff and trotted over to the fence, then he turned back toward Duff, whinnied again, and began bobbing his head.
“What do you think he’s found over there?” Elmer asked, climbing down from the buckboard. He and Duff started toward Sky but saw, even before they got there, what Sky was trying to show them. There was the body of a man lying on the ground. The man’s fingers were clutched around the handle of a kerosene can.
“I’ll be damned,” Elmer said. “This must be the son of a bitch who burned the barn. What’s he doing here?”
“Look at the side of his head,” Duff said. “I think Sky must have killed him.”
“Well good for you, Sky,” Elmer said. He leaned down for a closer look. “Wait a minute. I know this galoot.”
“You do? Who is it?”
“His name is Clete Wilson. You heard the story they told about the fella that braced me in Fiddler’s Green?”
“Yes.”
Elmer pointed to the body. “This is him. He must’ve found out that I lived out here and figured burnin’ your barn would get him even with me. I’m sorry, Duff. Looks like I brought this one to you.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about,” Duff said. “You had nothing to do with it.”
“What do you want me to do with him?”
“Take him into town tomorrow, I suppose. Take him to Constable Ferrell’s office, I expect he will know what to do next.”
“All right,” Elmer said.
“Poor Tillie and Sable,” Duff said, speaking of the two milk cows. “They were such gentle creatures. It’s a shame they had to die like this.”
By the next morning, there was nothing left of the barn but a pile of blackened boards and rubble. Fortunately, the tack house was separate from the barn, so the saddles and tack were unharmed by the fire. Duff had also withdrawn the money earlier, and it was safe in an attaché case in the house.
Duff and Elmer poked around in the residue of the barn to see if anything could be salvaged. They found the charred remains of the two milk cows, and though there wasn’t much left to bury, they buried them over in the corner of the corral where they liked to stand and look out toward Bear Creek.
It was late morning by the time Duff was ready to leave for Cheyenne. Elmer had loaded Wilson’s body onto the back of the buckboard and covered it with a tarpaulin. After an exchange of good-byes, the two men left at the same time, going in opposite directions.
Because Duff got away from Sky Meadow late, he didn’t reach Cheyenne until it was already past normal business hours at the J.C. Abney Livery Stable. Only the night crew was there, two teenage boys, neither of whom Duff knew. One was white and one was an Indian. Both of them came out front to meet him.
“Wantin’ to board your horse, Mister?” the white boy asked.
“Aye. And for some time, at least a week. Maybe longer. Where’s Donnie?”
“He don’t work nights. You know Donnie?”
“I do, I’ve boarded here before.”
“Then you know that it’ll be fifty cents a night, and that Mr. Abney, he likes to have the money in advance.”
“Suppose I pay you for four weeks. That would be fourteen dollars.”
“What if you come back before that?”
“I would imagine you are going to write me a receipt,” Duff said. “I’ll simply show the receipt and get the money back.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think of that. Hawk, you want to take the man’s horse and put it up?”
Duff reached up to remove the suitcase and briefcase he had attached to the horse as the Indian led the animal away.
“What’s your name?” the boy who was making out the receipt asked.
“Duff MacCallister.”
The boy looked up in awe. “Wait a minute! You the one that made that shot here a while back, ain’t you? The one what kilt Tyler Camden. Folks is still talkin’ about that.”
“I suppose I am,” Duff said.
“Well, sir, it’s a good thing you done it, ’cause iffen you hadn’t done it, one day I would’ve.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sir. Camden was a no-account,” the boy said. “My sister, she, uh, works, down at the Eagle Saloon. She don’t do the kind of work that most folks would consider decent, if you know what I mean, but that don’t give nobody the right to beat her up, and that’s just what Camden done. And my sister, she wan’t the only one he beat up. He beat up a lot of girls for no reason at all.”
The boy finished the receipt and gave it to Duff.
“I’m just real proud to have met you, Mr. MacCallister. And don’t you worry none about your horse. Me ’n Hawk and Donnie, why, we’ll just take real good care of it.”
After taking care of his horse, Duff walked back to the Inter Ocean Hotel to check in, and to leave his suitcase while he went to dinner. He thought about leaving his briefcase as well, but decided against it. After all, there was almost sixteen thousand dollars in his briefcase, not a sum of money to be taken lightly.
Because he was carrying the briefcase with him, he decided to have dinner in the Cheyenne Club, believing it to be more secure than a restaurant. He ordered a steak and baked potato, and was just finishing his meal when Warren and Converse came in, already in the midst of some conversation. Seeing him, they walked over to his table.
“Hello, Duff. Do you mind if we join you?”
“Not at all,” Duff said, standing and shaking hands with each of them as they joined him.
“What are you doing back in Cheyenne so soon?” Warren asked.
“I’m taking the train to Kansas City to pick up my cattle,” Duff said.
“You mean they won’t ship them to you?” Converse asked.
“In the letter, they said no.”
“That doesn’t sound like they want your business all that much,” Warren said. “In fact, it doesn’t sound like the KCCE at all. I bought my first Herefords from them, and they shipped them right to me, made all the arrangements themselves.”
“Well, you forget Francis, Duff is getting Black Angus. Maybe they are afraid some buffalo will get into the herd and take care of the bulls’ business,” Converse said.
Warren, and even Duff, laughed.
“Say, Duff, you haven’t run into a fella by the name of Gilbert Patten since you got into town, have you?” Converse asked.
“No, I can’t say as I have,” Duff replied, shaking his head. “Who is he?”
“He’s a man that wants to do for you, what Colonel Prentiss Ingraham has done for your cousin, Falcon,” Converse said. “He wants to write about you in one of his novels and make you famous.”
“He has read about your exploits, the events up in Chugwater last year, the more recent shows here, and on the road back to Chugwater,” Warren added.
“He’s here in the club, right now,” Converse said. “We can introduce you to him, if you would like.”
Duff shook his head. “No, thank you, I would rather not meet him.”
Warren chuckled, then held his hand out toward Converse, palm up. “What did I tell you?” he said. “You owe me fifty dollars.”
“Yeah, yeah, you were right, don’t rub it in,” Converse said. He removed five ten-dollar bills and counted them out into Warren’s hand.
“In case you are wondering what this is about, I bet Converse that you wouldn’t want anything to do with Patten,” he said.
“And I was sure you would,” Converse said.
“What made you think such a thing?” Duff asked.
“Why, everyone would like to be famous, wouldn’t they?”
“I don’t know about everyone else. But as for me, I will pass on that cup, thank you,” Duff said.
“Then, if you really don’t want to meet him, you’d best leave by the back door,” Warren said. “He’s sittin’ out front in the lobby right now, and sure as a gun is iron, if you walk through there, someone is goin’ to point you out to him.”
“Thanks,” Duff said and, gathering his briefcase, he stepped out through the back door.
It was dark now, and he was in the alley between the buildings, holding a briefcase that contained almost sixteen thousand dollars in cash. Such a thing would be intimidating for most people, but Duff didn’t give it a second thought as he walked toward the hotel.
A few minutes later, Duff was standing at the window of his room on the third floor of the Inter-Ocean Hotel, looking out at the traffic, both foot and carriage, on Sixteenth and Capitol below. There was no greater demonstration of the difference between Cheyenne and Chugwater than this, for by this time of evening in Chugwater the streets and sidewalks were totally empty, with the restaurant and Fiddler’s Green showing the only signs of life. Here, though it was past eight o’clock, the streets were teeming.
Duff held up the little piece of yellow ribbon Meghan had given him and, as he let the hair brush against the tip of his nose and inhaled the perfume, he thought of her. Could Meghan take the place of Skye McGregor?
No. Nobody could ever take Skye’s place.
But, could Meghan find her own place in Duff’s heart, a place that was at least equal to Skye’s?
It was too early for Duff to make that appraisal, but he was already willing to admit that the idea wasn’t beyond possibility.
Then, even as he considered it, he thought of what happened to Skye. He had been the one they were shooting at, not Skye, but Skye was the one they had killed. And, already here, he had shown a proclivity for finding himself in dangerous situations. He had been attacked on the trail going back home last week. If Meghan had been with him then, she could have been killed.
Then there was the burning of his barn, last night. Yes, Elmer said they were after him, but it didn’t matter. He had lost two cows in the fire, and it could just as easily have been his house that was burned. If Meghan had been in his house, she could have been killed. If another young woman died just because she loved him and he loved her, he didn’t know if he could live with it. Was he really willing to take that chance with Meghan?
Turning, he put the ribbon away, then turned off the lamp and crawled into bed. Before going to sleep, he thought about the trip tomorrow, and the arrangements he would have to make to bring his cattle back home. And at twenty-five cows per car, he would have to lease twenty cars, but he had already been in contact with both railroads and was assured that it would not be difficult to make such arrangements.
He also thought about Meghan. Would she want to give up her dress shop and come out to the ranch to live? Was he premature in even thinking such a thing? In fact, he had no idea what Meghan really thought of him.
Even though he was thinking about arrangements for shipping his cattle, and wondering where his relationship was going with Meghan, when he finally drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of Skye.
“Skye, would you step outside with me for a moment?” Duff asked.
“Ian, best you keep an eye on them,” one of the other customers said. “Else they’ll be outside sparking.”
Skye blushed prettily as the others laughed at the jibe. Duff took her hand in his and walked outside with her.
“Only four more weeks until we are wed,” Skye said when they were outside. “I can hardly wait.”