Kansas City, Missouri
The Kansas City Cattle Exchange was busy this morning, with telephones ringing, the ticker-tape machine clacking, and a man reading the latest quotes, then calling them out loudly to another who was posting them on the blackboard.
Hodge Denman took a telegram from his desk drawer and looked at it again. It was dated six days ago.
HAVE ENCOUNTERED UNEXPECTED DIFFICULTY. WILL BE DELAYED. DUFF MACCALLISTER.
Denman knew exactly what the difficulty was. He had been robbed.
Just as they had worked out a code for Denman to let Kingsley know what day to expect MacCallister to arrive in Fremont, they had also worked out a code whereby Kingsley could let Denman know when the job was done.
Denman had heard nothing from Kingsley, but he had intercepted MacCallister’s telegram to Jay Montgomery; therefore, he knew that Kingsley had stolen the money.
That was six days ago. Kingsley had plenty of time to get back to Kansas City and make the split. If he was going to. But so far, Kingsley had not even let Denman know that he had succeeded. And Denman was now convinced that Kingsley had no intention of ever coming back to split the money. All his plans for getting out of debt, or of having enough money to run away and start over, were for naught. The entire thing was about to come down on his head.
On the other side of the banister that separated the bull pen from the rest of the Cattle Exchange office, Jay Montgomery was perusing all the latest transactions. He saw that he was still holding and feeding five hundred head of Black Angus cattle that were consigned to Mr. Duff MacCallister of Wyoming Territory. He saw, also, that Hodge Denman was in charge of that operation, so he stepped into the pandemonium of the bull pen and walked over to Denman’s desk.
“Mr. Montgomery?” Denman said, surprised to see his boss standing right in front of him.
Montgomery dropped some papers onto Den-man’s desk. “What do you know about this transaction?” he asked.
Seeing MacCallister’s name at the head of the page, Denman knew immediately what Montgomery was talking about.
“Yes, I’ve been putting off talking to you about this,” Denman said.
“Putting it off? Why?”
“Well, sir, it is beginning to look to me like MacCallister isn’t going to show up.”
“Show up? What do you mean, show up? Had we not agreed to ship his cattle to him upon receipt of a bank draft for the necessary amount?”
Denman hesitated for a moment. He had been the one who changed the details of the sale, insisting that MacCallister show up with cash in hand and make his own arrangements to take the cattle back. He nearly let it slip with Montgomery that he had changed things.
“Uh, yes, sir, that was the arrangement. He was to send the bank draft. But as of this morning’s mail, no bank draft, nor have we heard a word from him,” Denman lied. “I am beginning to think that the whole thing may have been a ruse of some sort.”
“A ruse? What do you mean, a ruse? Why would he do something like that? What would be in it for him?”
“Who knows why people do such things?” Denman replied. “Perhaps he just wanted to make himself feel important. I’m sure he is nothing but a cowboy somewhere with grandiose ideas.”
“No,” Montgomery replied. “He is legitimate, all right. I received a letter from Mr. Woodson of the American Aberdeen Angus Association about MacCallister. Woodson did some research on him and said that he owns a great deal of improved land, is very well respected, and very serious about introducing Black Angus into Wyoming.”
“Good,” Denman said. “I would hate to think we had been duped by someone. But we still have the problem of him not having claimed or paid for the cattle, and it is costing us every day we keep and feed them.”
Montgomery stroked his chin. “Yes, that is true. They are not only costing us to feed them, they are occupying pen space that we could use for other cattle. This is most distressing.”
“Would you like for me to redistribute the herd and sell the cattle as best I can?”
“Where is your business sense?” Montgomery asked.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“As of today’s market, the price of Angus is down two dollars per head. That means the MacCallister contract is worth one thousand dollars more than we could get by unloading the herd today. It is to our advantage to hold the cattle for him. That is, if he actually goes through with the contract. On the other hand, if we don’t hear from him within two weeks, then the cost of keeping them will eat up the difference in market price and we will be forced to sell.”
“Yes, sir.”
Montgomery started toward the railing that separated the two areas, then turned back toward Denman.
“But you let me know the moment we hear from him.”
“The moment we hear from him, I will, Mr. Montgomery,” Denman said.
Two more weeks, Denman thought. Interesting that he would say two more weeks. Two more weeks was just about how long he had before the rest of the world would come crashing down on him.
Chugwater
There were no customers in the Ladies’ Emporium at the moment, so Meghan was using the time to unpack the three boxes of material that had come in on special order this morning. She had just taken the last bolt of gingham out when the telegrapher, Mr. Murchison, stepped into her store.
“Yes, Mr. Murchison, what can I do for you?” she asked, greeting him with a smile. But when she saw he was holding a telegram in his hand, she gasped in fear.
“Oh! What is it?” she asked, her voice breaking. Murchison, seeing that he had frightened her, held his hand out. “I don’t know, it may be nothing,” he said quickly. “But, it’s something I thought you might want to know.”
“What? What is it?”
“I’m not supposed to do this, but I’m going to share a couple of telegrams with you, seeing as I think you might have a special interest,” Murchison said. “This first one was from Duff to Elmer Gleason. It came in last week.” He handed the telegram to Meghan.
ELMER. HAVE RUN INTO A BIT OF A PROBLEM. PUT SKY ON THE TRAIN, SEND HIM TO ME IN FREMONT, NEBRASKA. DUFF.
“Well, sir, Elmer didn’t just put Sky on the train; he took him.”
“Have you heard anything else from either of them?” Meghan asked.
“Not from either of them, but I did get this telegram today from a Mr. Jay Montgomery of the Kansas City Cattle Exchange. Only thing is, it was sent to Duff, but Duff isn’t here.” He showed the second telegram to Meghan.
MR. MACCALLISTER. AS PER YOUR INSTRUCTIONS, I HAVE ASSEMBLED A HERD OF FOUR HUNDRED EIGHTY HEIFERS AND TWENTY BULLS OF THE BLACK ANGUS BREED. WE EXPECTED YOU HERE ONE WEEK PREVIOUS. IF YOU ARE NOT HERE TO TAKE DELIVERY OF THE CATTLE WITHIN TWO WEEKS, I WILL BE FORCED TO SELL OFF THE HERD AS BEST I CAN. THE ORIGINAL FIFTEEN THOUSAND, EIGHT HUNDRED TWELVE DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS, PLUS TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS PER WEEK FOR FEEDING AND HANDLING. PLEASE REPLY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. JAY MONTGOMERY.
“I’m not sure what to do, Miss Parker. I mean, he wants a reply, but Duff isn’t here.”
“Don’t do anything for the moment,” Meghan said. “I mean, since you can’t deliver the telegram to him, there’s nothing you can do, is there?”
“No ma’am, I don’t reckon there is. But I know you and Mr. MacCallister are friends, so I thought you might like to know.”
“You were right, it is something I would like to know. And, Mr. Murchison, I thank you very much for bringing this to my attention.”
“You’re welcome. I should probably get back to my office now.”
Meghan thought about the two telegrams for the rest of the day and far into the night. Around midnight, she got an idea. It took her another couple of hours to decide whether the idea was good or bad. She also had to consider whether or Duff would agree with the idea.
She finally decided that Duff wasn’t here to offer any agreement or disagreement. She was going to have to make up her own mind, and that is exactly what she did. Then, the next morning, she left the little CLOSED sign on the window of her front door, and instead of opening her shop, walked down the street to speak to Fred Matthews.
“Miss Parker,” Matthews said, surprised to see her. “What brings you here?”
“Mr. Matthews, I need to raise some money,” Meghan said.
“Well, Miss Parker, you have a very good business going, I’m sure the bank will lend you some money on it. Do you owe anything on your building?”
“No.”
“Then you shouldn’t have any trouble raising money. How much do you need?”
“I need sixteen thousand dollars.”
“Sixteen thousand?” Matthews gasped. “Miss Parker, there is no way you are going to be able to borrow that much money on your store.”
“I know. That’s why I have come up with an idea that involves you, Mr. Guthrie, and Mr. Johnson. If I could get four thousand dollars from each of you, that would be twelve thousand, and I can come up with four thousand on my own.”
“What do you want the money for?”
Meghan showed Matthews the telegram that had been meant for Duff.
Matthews read it, then looked up.
“Where is Duff? Why didn’t he show up?”
Meghan showed him the telegram that Duff had sent to Elmer.
“I don’t know what the ‘bit of a problem’ is, but I can’t let Duff lose that herd. He has worked all year to get things ready. I can’t let him lose it.”
“Meghan, and if we are talking this kind of money between us I think I should be able to call you by your given name, do you realize what you are asking? You are asking me—and I suppose you will be asking R.W. and Biff—to loan you four thousand dollars when you have no collateral you can pledge, and you won’t even tell us what it is for?”
“But you will have collateral,” Meghan said. “The herd will be collateral.”
Matthews drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment, then he laughed. “I’ll give you this. Nobody can say that you don’t have brass. All right, I’ve known you for a while. And I know you to be not only a smart businessperson, but a good one as well. I’ll lend you the money.”
“Thank you,” Meghan said. “Now I have another request of you.”
Matthews shook his head in disbelief and smiled. “You’ve just hit me up for four thousand dollars and you have another request? All right, let’s hear it.”
“I want you to go with me when I talk to Mr. Guthrie and Mr. Johnson,” Meghan said. “I want you to help me talk them into going along with this.”
“Why not?” Matthews said. “They say that a fool likes company.”
One hour later Meghan walked down to the bank.
“Hello, Miss Parker,” the teller greeted. “Here to make a deposit? Or a withdrawal?”
“Neither,” Meghan said. “I would like to speak with Mr. Dempster if I could.”
“Certainly, he is back in his office. Just knock on the door,” the teller said.
Scott Dempster welcomed Meghan with a smile, then invited her to have a seat across from his desk.
“Now, Miss Parker, what can I do for you?”
“I need sixteen thousand dollars,” she said.
Dempster reacted in surprise. “Did you say sixteen thousand dollars?”
“Yes. Actually, I will probably need seventeen thousand dollars.”
“Miss Parker, I—I don’t know what to say. You are a very good customer and your store is very profitable. But there is no way I can lend you seventeen thousand dollars.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to borrow seventeen thousand. I said I needed seventeen thousand. I have three thousand dollars in the bank, and I want to borrow two thousand dollars against my store.”
“Oh, my,” Dempster said. “Well, yes, I suppose I can lend you two thousand against your store, but with that and what you have in the bank, you will still be short twelve thousand dollars.”
Meghan slid three bank drafts across Dempster’s desk, each one for four thousand dollars.
“This will make up the difference,” she said.
Dempster examined the bank drafts: one from Fred Matthews, one from R.W. Guthrie, and one from Biff Johnson.
“You convinced these men to loan you this money?”
“Yes. I take it that their bank drafts are good?”
“Oh, absolutely, all three of these gentlemen are more than good for their drafts. It’s just that ...” he let the sentence hang.
“It’s just that what?”
“Well, Miss Parker, this entire thing is extremely unusual,” Dempster said. “I mean, the fact that you have convinced three of our finest citizens to advance you so much money, and that you are contributing even more of your own funds. May I ask what this is for? It isn’t necessary that you tell me, you understand. It’s just a matter of curiosity.”
“I am helping a friend,” Meghan said, without any further explanation.
“She must be some friend.”
“He is,” Meghan said.
That evening Meghan worked late in her shop. It was quite a task, but she sewed one hundred and seventy one-hundred-dollar bills inside two petticoats.
The next morning, wearing the two petticoats, she bought a stagecoach ticket to Cheyenne.
Fred Matthews, R.W. Guthrie, and Biff Johnson came down to the stage depot to see her off. They were sitting in the far corner of the depot, away from the rest of the passengers, so they could talk without being overheard.
“Do you have the money?” Matthews asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Meghan smiled. “I’m a seamstress, remember?”
“I don’t understand.”
Meghan looked over toward the others in the depot, and then when she was sure she couldn’t be seen, she lifted the hem of her skirt, to show her petticoats. “In here,” she said.
Matthews laughed out loud. “What a marvelous way of hiding it,” he said.
The others laughed as well.
“Is the message he sent to Elmer, asking him to send his horse to him, the only thing anyone has heard from him?” Guthrie asked.
“Yes, as far as I know. Only, from what I understand, Elmer didn’t send Sky to him. Elmer took Sky to him.”
“I wonder what kind of trouble Duff ran into?” Matthews asked.
“I don’t know,” Biff said. “But you men know Duff as well as I do. And you know damn well that he can handle just about any trouble he runs into.”
“Yes, but if he can handle ‘just about’ any trouble he runs into, that means that from time to time there will be trouble he
can’t
handle,” Guthrie said.
“Damn, R.W., do you have to look at the negative side of everything?” Biff asked.
“I’m just trying to be practical, is all,” Guthrie replied.
“What do you think, Meghan? You haven’t spoken much,” Biff asked.
“I tend to agree with you, that there isn’t much that Duff can’t handle. But I know how badly he wants that herd, and if the telegram from the cattle exchange was sent to him here, that means they haven’t heard from him and they don’t know how to get ahold of him.”
“I hate to agree with R.W., but something like this can make a person worry and wonder,” Matthews said.
“All right, folks!” the depot manager called. “The stagecoach for Cheyenne is about to leave. If you’re plannin’ on goin’, you need to get onboard now.”
The coach was drawn up in front of the depot. It was a Concord coach, green with yellow wheels, black window trim, and red letters:
WYOMING OVERLAND COACH AND MAIL
The six horses, now in harness, stood patiently, waiting for the command to begin their toil.
“John, you and Willie got your slickers?” Guthrie called up to the driver and shotgun guard, who were already sitting up on the driver’s box. “Looks like it’s goin’ to rain.”
“Yeah, it does look like it, don’t it?” the driver called back down. “But we got ’em.”
Matthews helped Meghan climb into the coach. Once inside, she looked back out through the open window.
“Thank you again,” she said. “All of you.”
“If you find out anything, or you need anything, send us a telegram,” Biff said.
“I will,” Meghan promised.
“Hyah!” the driver shouted. He snapped the whip over the heads of the team, and it popped like a pistol shot. The team started at a brisk trot and the coach lurched ahead.
Meghan stuck her head out through the window and yelled back at the three men who had come to see her off.
“’Bye!” she called. “I’ll send you a telegram to let you know how things are working out!”
“’Bye,” Matthews called. “Be careful!”
The three men watched as the coach moved rapidly up Bowie Avenue until the avenue turned into the road leading to Cheyenne.
“What do you think?” Guthrie asked. “Have we just told our money good-bye?”
“I don’t think so,” Matthews said.
“Well, yeah, you would say that. You helped her raise it.”
“If Fred hadn’t helped her, I would have,” Biff said. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? We’ll all be part owners of a herd of Black Angus cattle.”