see her over there in the corner, so like as not, that room is empty.”
“Thanks.”
The room the bartender had suggested appeared empty, but Duff couldn’t be sure until he turned on the light, a single incandescent bulb that hung down from the long cord. He saw that it was, indeed, empty. With the light provided by the electric bulb, Duff made a closer examination of the room.
The room had one high-sprung, cast-iron bed, a chest, and a small table with a pitcher and basin. On the wall was a neatly lettered sign that read: “WE EXPECT OUR GUESTS TO BEHAVE AS GENTLEMEN.” Duff placed a chair under the doorknob to act as a lock. Then he opened the window and saw that his room looked out over the street.
It was a busy night. In addition to the clanging bells and puffing steam of arriving and departing locomotives, he could hear the voices of scores of animated conversations spilling through the open windows and doors of the town’s buildings. Leaving the window open to catch the evening breeze, Duff turned out the light and climbed into bed, gratified to find that it was actually quite comfortable.
Within moments, Duff was asleep, and again he dreamed.
When Duff awakened the next morning, he opened his sea bag and looked at the clothes he had, those he had bought in New York, those he had bought in Kansas City, and the uniform of the Black Watch that Andrew and Rosanna had given him. He thought it strange that twice, during this trip, he had dreamed of his time in the army. Perhaps it was because he knew that he had this uniform with him, the last vestige of his life before America.
Selecting the clothes he would wear for this last part of his trip, he got dressed, packed the rest away, then left the saloon for the walk to the depot. When he arrived, the train for MacCallister was sitting on the track, ready to go.
Chapter Twelve
“A beer, barkeep, if ye dinnae mind,” Rab Malcolm said. He had come into the Occidental saloon while the train was stopped long enough to allow the passengers to take their meal.
There was a big, bearded man standing at the far end of the bar, and when he heard Malcolm give his order, he looked around quickly.
“Hey, you!” he called. “Where are you from?”
Malcolm picked up the beer, took a swallow, then wiped some of the foam off his lips before he turned to face the man who called out to him.
“I am from Donuun, though it be none of your concern,” he said.
“Would that be Scotland?”
There was a strong overtone of belligerence in the questioner’s voice, and though Malcolm recognized it, he had no idea why. He took another swallow of his beer before he replied.
“Aye, I’m from Scotland.”
“What the hell? Are we being overtook with people from Scotland? You’re the second one to come through here in the last week.”
“The other Scot—would he be a big man with broad shoulders, light-colored hair, blue eyes?”
“Yes, that’s what the bastard looked like, all right.”
“I take it you dinnae make friends with him?”
“Friends? If I ever see the son of a bitch again, I’ll shoot him on sight.”
“Barkeep,” Malcolm said. “Would you be for servin’ my new friend another drink?”
Malcolm slapped a coin on the bar. The bartender picked it up, then poured another whiskey for the big, bearded man.
“Why did you do that? And why did you call me your friend? I don’t even know you.”
“The name is Rab Malcolm,” Malcolm replied. “And in Scotland we have a saying. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The man you have developed such a dislike for is Duff MacCallister. Duff MacCallister is my enemy. Did you mean it, when you said you would shoot him on sight?”
“Damn right, I meant it. Uh, that is, unless you are the law.”
Malcolm smiled. “As it so happens, I am the law. And as it also so happens, Duff MacCallister is wanted by the law. So you would not be incurring trouble on my behalf if you were to shoot him.”
“Well, that’s good to know.”
“What is your name, friend?”
