from the train with her. Then, with a broad smile, she started toward the one who had called out to her. The child, with his arms spread wide, ran to the man to be scooped up in his arms.
The man who had stepped down from the train now stood on the depot platform for a long moment, looking around as if not quite sure what to do next. Behind him the train seemed something alive, the relief valve releasing steam in great, breathing puffs, the water in the boiler gurgling, the overheated axle terminals and wheel bearings snapping and popping as they cooled. Falcon knew then, without a doubt, that this would be Duff MacCallister.
Duff saw a big man coming toward him. There was a slight resemblance to Andrew, though the man coming toward him was much taller and more muscular. In fact, the man in size and body proportion was almost a mirror image of Duff himself.
“You would be—” he started to say, but he was interrupted.
“Duff MacCallister?”
“Aye, Falcon, I am Duff MacCallister.”
Falcon and Duff extended their hands at the same time. The grip was firm and friendly.
“Help! Someone help me, that man took my reticule!”
The shout came from an old woman who was about to board the train. Looking toward her, Duff and Falcon could see a man clutching the woman’s purse as he ran toward his horse.
“Excuse me, sir,” Duff said, grabbing a polished cane from someone nearby. The man wasn’t using the cane as an aid to walking, but as an affectation to his suit, vest, tie, and bowler hat.
“Here, what do you mean?” the man sputtered angrily.
Duff threw the cane at the running thief, aiming it at his legs. The cane hit the man between his legs while he was in full stride, and it had the effect of tripping him. He fell clumsily to the ground, losing his grip on the woman’s purse.
Duff ran to him and, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, jerked him to his feet. Falcon was right behind Duff, and he picked up the purse, then returned it to the woman who had lost it.
“Thank you, sir,” the woman said.
Falcon smiled. “I’m not the one you should be thanking,” he said. “There’s your hero.” He pointed to Duff.
With his right hand, Duff was holding his thumb and forefinger tight against the back of the would-be thief’s neck. In his left hand, he was holding the cane he had “borrowed.”
“Your cane, sir,” he said to the well-dressed man who had, involuntarily, made the contribution. “I appreciate the loan.”
“I didn’t exactly loan it to you,” the man said. He chuckled. “But I must say you gave us all a show with it.”
“I assume there is a constabulary in this town,” Duff said to Falcon as he came up to him.
“We have a sheriff, Amos Cody,” Falcon said. “Come, we’ll pay him a visit.”
“Leggo my neck,” the would-be thief said. “You’re hurtin’ me.”
“You can let go if you want to,” Falcon said. “He won’t go away.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if he tries to run away, I will shoot him,” Falcon said easily.
Sheriff Amos Cody was sitting at his desk looking through a pile of wanted posters when Falcon, Duff, and Duff’s prisoner came in.
“Stand there and don’t ye be movin’ without the sheriff’s permission,” Duff said.
The young sheriff looked up. “What have we here?” he said. Then, seeing Falcon, he nodded. “Good mornin’, Mr. MacCallister.”
“And how would ye be knowin’ m’name?” Duff asked.
Falcon chuckled. “You aren’t the only MacCallister in the room, Duff.”
“Aye, ’twas foolish o’ me to respond. I’ll be for beggin’ your pardon, Sheriff.”
Still smiling, Falcon saw the confused expression on the sheriff’s face, so he made the introduction.
“Sheriff, this would be Duff MacCallister. He is my cousin, and he is from Scotland.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Sheriff Cody said. “And what have we here?”
“I don’t know the black heart’s name, but ’tis a thief he is. He stole a lady’s purse,” Duff said.
“Oh, I know his name all right,” Sheriff Cody said. “Hello, Stripland. Welcome to MacCallister.”
“My name ain’t Stripland. I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Really? Well now, that’s funny, because I just saw a dodger with your likeness on it.” Sheriff Cody shuffled through the pile of wanted posters until he found the one he was looking for. He held it up and looked at the woodcut on the poster, then compared it to the thief Duff had brought in. “Here it is,” he said. “George Stripland. It seems that you robbed a stagecoach last month. And here you stole a woman’s purse. That’s quite a comedown for you, isn’t it? From robbing stagecoaches to stealing a woman’s purse?”
“I didn’t hurt nobody,” Stripland said. “I’m hungry. I was just tryin’ to get enough money to get me somethin’ to eat.”
“Don’t worry. We feed you well in here,” Sheriff Cody said. “Ain’t that right, Dillard?”
An old, bald, and toothless man was standing behind the bars in one of the four cells at the back of the room.
