“Pig Iron, you got no call to be saying something like that,” one of the other patrons said.
Duff saw the hurt reflected in Lucy’s eyes and, without saying another word, he stepped over to the table of the man who had made the rude comment.
“’Tis thinking, I am, that you’ll be wanting to apologize to the lady for that intemperate remark,” Duff said.
“Ha! You want me to apologize to a whore? In a pig’s eye, I will.”
“Then I’ll be asking you, with all due respect, to move to another table,” Duff said.
By now all conversation in the saloon stopped as everyone looked over to see the confrontation between Duff and the man called Pig Iron.
Pig Iron stood up and smiled at Duff. It was not a smile of humor.
“I heard you tell the bartender that you was goin’ to be movin’ here, so you may as well learn now to mind your manners around ole Pig Iron.”
Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Pig Iron took a swing at Duff, but Duff ducked under it easily. Then, with the extended fingers of his left hand, he jabbed hard at a point in the upper abdomen just below where the ribs separated. It had the effect of knocking the breath out of Pig Iron, and with a wheezing
“Don’t worry, friend, you will regain your breath,” Duff said. “Sure and I could follow that up with a blow that would render you unconscious. But I think you are uncomfortable enough as it is, and I’ve nae wish to make enemies so quickly in my chosen place of abode. So let us just agree that this episode is over. Do I have your agreement on that?”
Pig Iron was still struggling for breath, and because it was impossible for him to actually talk, he nodded.
“Good. Next time we meet, may I suggest a more convivial exchange?”
Pig Iron nodded again, and Duff returned to the table.
“Damn,” Falcon said with a big smile. “You’ll have to show me that trick sometime.”
“Nothing to it,” Duff said. He put his fingers on Falcon’s solar plexus and made a slight jab. The jab was very gentle, but was enough to show Falcon what a hard jab would do.
“I’ll have to remember that,” Falcon said.
Pig Iron got up and left the saloon as Biff Johnson was bringing a drink for Lucy, even though the girl hadn’t ordered.
“He must know your brand,” Duff said as he paid for the drink.
“That’s not hard. One glass of tea is pretty much like any other glass of tea,” Lucy said with unaccustomed candidness. She picked it up and held it toward Falcon and Duff in a toast. The two men laughed and touched their beers to her glass.
“Well, ’tis an honest lass ye be about me paying whiskey prices for your tea,” Duff said.
“Honey, if everything we drank really was whiskey, we’d all be drunk before mid-afternoon,” Lucy explained.
“Get down!” Falcon suddenly shouted and reacting quickly and without question, Duff dived from his chair onto Lucy, knocking her down and falling on top of her. By the time they reached the floor, he heard the roar of a gunshot, not a pistol, something bigger.
Falcon fired back as Pig Iron pulled the trigger on the second barrel of his twelve-gauge shotgun. Duff saw Pig Iron grab his chest, then fall back. Looking over toward Falcon, he saw a smoking pistol in Falcon’s hand.
“Annie! Oh, my God! Annie!” a woman screamed.
Duff rolled off Lucy and looked over at the table near the back of the room. One of the bar girls was lying on her back, her chest red with blood. Everyone in the room ran to her, but they saw as soon as they arrived that there was nothing they could do.
Lucy began crying quietly.
“I’m sorry, lass, I’m truly sorry,” Duff said softly.
Lucy turned and leaned into him, and he held her as she cried on his shoulder. He pulled her more tightly to him, realizing that it was the first time he had held a woman, any woman, in his arms since his Skye had been killed.
Chapter Twenty-one
Pig Iron was taken back to the Davis Ranch where he worked, and there he was buried. Annie, whose real name turned out to be Matilda Ann Gilbert, was buried in the town cemetery at Chug-water. The entire town turned out for the funeral and for the burial. Biff Johnson, upon learning that Duff not only had bagpipes, but could play them, asked if he would play “Amazing Grace.” Duff agreed to play it, and when he showed up at the cemetery, he was wearing the kilt of the Black Watch, complete with the
The townspeople gathered around the open grave as the Reverend E. D. Sweeny of the Chug-water Church of God’s Glory gave the final prayer.
“Our Lord and Savior who is ever mindful of all our sins knows that we all fall short. And it might be said of our sister, Matilda Ann Gilbert, that she fell further than most, but those who knew Matilda Ann know that if she was sinful of the flesh, she was saintly of heart. We know that it is Your way to be forgiving, oh Lord, and we ask You to be forgiving of your daughter and to receive Matilda Ann into your bosom. Amen.”
Reverend Sweeny nodded at Duff and he inflated the bag. The first sound was from the drones. Then, fingering the chanter, Duff began playing the haunting tune, the steady hum of the drones providing a mournful sound to
