“I’m told that you are as well known as Hickock was, and that you are as good with a pistol.”
Falcon chuckled. “Andrew tell you that, did he?”
“Aye, but he was only the first,” Duff replied. “I heard from many others as well.”
“You are new to America and new to the West,” Falcon said. “You don’t want to believe everything you hear. People in the West—I don’t know, maybe it’s because we tend to be a little isolated from the rest of the world—but people tend to exaggerate.”
“I’ve no way of knowing if all I have heard of you is true,” Duff replied. “But, cousin, I have heard of you.”
Falcon smiled. “Then do me a favor, and believe only the good things you have heard.”
Duff chuckled and nodded. “Aye, that I can do.”
“Now, Duff, what’s your story? What brings you out here?”
Chapter Thirteen
Rab Malcolm and Clyde Shaw stood on the brick platform of the Union Pacific Railroad Depot. The platform was filled with people, arriving and departing passengers, as well as the townspeople who were here to greet arriving passengers or to see off departing family or friends.
“Well, we are here in Colorado,” Shaw said. “Now what?”
“I suggest we locate the nearest pub. It has always been my experience that one can find out much information in a pub.”
“What is a pub?”
“I’m sorry,” Malcolm said. “I believe you would call it a saloon.”
“A saloon? Yeah, now you are talking my language,” Shaw said as a broad smile spread across his face.
“What do you mean I am talking your language? ’Tis English, isn’t it? That’s what I’ve been speaking all the while.”
“No, I just mean . . . never mind. Let’s go find us a saloon.”
The first saloon they came to was Aces and Eights, and it identified itself by a hand of cards showing black aces and eights, and a red nine of diamonds. It also had its name painted in red, outlined with gold, as well as a large, cut-out beer mug depicting a full mug of beer with a high, foamy head.
Inside the saloon, behind the bar, was a glass-enclosed box on the wall. Inside the box was the same hand of cards depicted outside the building, black aces and eights, and a nine of diamonds. The center card, the nine of diamonds, had a bullet hole in it, and underneath was a professionally painted sign.
ACTUAL HAND OF CARDS
WILD BILL HICKOK
“Is that real?” Shaw asked, pointing to the hand.
“Indeed it is, sir,” the bartender answered. He was wearing a low-crown bowler hat, a striped shirt with detachable collar, and with the sleeves held up by garters. He had a full, handlebar moustache. “Our proprietor bought it from the owner of the Number Ten Saloon in Deadwood.”
“Well, I’ll be.”
“What will it be, gents?” the bartender asked, as he smoothed his moustache.
“Whiskey, neat,” Malcolm said.
“I’ll have one as well.”
The bartender served them. Malcolm tossed his whiskey down, then turned his back to the bar and called out loud.
“Gentlemen, I am Rab Malcolm, deputy sheriff of county Argyllshire in Scotland. I am in pursuit of a felon by the name of MacCallister and would greatly appreciate any information anyone might give me.”
“Mister, you wouldn’t be talkin’ about Falcon MacCallister, would you now?” one of the saloon patrons asked.
“Aye, ’tis possible that the man I seek would be with Falcon MacCallister, being as the two men are cousins.”
“Mister, from what I’ve he’erd tell of him, Falcon MacCallister is as good a man as God ever put on this here earth. Even iffen I know’d whereat you could find him, I don’t think I would let you know.”
“That was a waste of time,” Malcolm said, grumbling as they left the saloon.
“Yeah, well, I reckon you are a real smart man. I mean, bein’ as you are a foreigner and all, but you sure didn’t go ’bout that right,” Shaw said.
“You have a better way of securing information than asking for it?”
“Well, no, you got to ask for it,” Shaw said. “It’s just that you ain’t goin’ to get nowhere askin’ the way you was.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know how you do it in Scotland, but here you don’t just shout it out like that. You have to kind of sneak up on it.”
“Sneak up on it?”
