Massacre at Powder River

“Do me a favor, Lad, and drop me a line when you get your herd established. I have been keeping track of where all the Black Angus have been started. ’Tis a thing I do for the Scottish Breeders Association.”

“I’ll be happy to,” Duff said.

Chugwater, Wyoming Territory

When Meghan Parker checked her mail she was surprised, and pleased, to find a letter from Duff MacCallister. Excitedly, she started to open it; then, just before opening the flap, she hesitated.

What if it was a letter telling her that he was not coming back? What if he was writing to tell her that he was going to stay in Scotland?

No, surely he wouldn’t do that. He has a ranch here. He has made friends here.

But, he is from Scotland. And though Meghan didn’t know all the particulars, she did know that he had been in love there, and that the love, for some reason, was unrequited.

Of course, she was just being silly thinking about all this, anyway. In the past year, Duff had made no overtures beyond being just friendly to her. He had even come to a few of the dances and had danced with her. But even then, he had been somewhat reticent, refusing to occupy too much of her time because the single men so outnumbered the single women that she was always very much in demand at the dances.

Still, it did seem that he went out of his way to speak to her, or to find some reason to see her on his infrequent visits to town.

Was this a letter of good-bye?

There was only one way to find out, and that was to open it. Closing her eyes and breathing a little prayer of petition, Meghan opened the envelope, and withdrew the letter. The writing was bold, and neat, but she would have expected no less from him.

Dear Miss Parker—

Even as I pen the words upon the page of this missive, I am gazing out over the moors, lochs, and highlands of my beautiful Scotland, and I find myself wondering why I ever left its shores.

Meghan dropped the letter down and held it to her breast, afraid to read any further. Was he about to tell her that he wasn’t coming back to America?

Then I think of the beauty of my ranch, Sky Meadow, and the joy of the friends I have made since I came there, and I know that America is truly my new home.

Again, Meghan dropped the letter to her chest, but this time, not in fear, but in joy.

“Yes!” she said aloud.

Looking around then to make certain that no one was observing her odd behavior, she continued to read the letter.

I will be back within one month of your receipt of this letter. My visit here has been both personal and for business, and I now know the next step I am going to take with my ranch. I hope your memory of me has been kept green in my absence.

Yours Truly,

Duff MacCallister

The last time Duff crossed the Atlantic from Scotland, he had done so as a crewman onboard the Hiawatha, a three-masted, square-rigged sail ship. This time, he was a paying passenger on the HMS Adriatic, a steamship that had already set a record in crossing. The trip was fast and pleasant, with good weather and good food. When he put in to New York, he visited with Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister, the famous brother-and-sister team of stage players who were his cousins.

“You simply must tell me about your ranch,” Rosanna said. They were having dinner at Delmonico’s. Duff’s train was due to leave Grand Central Station at eleven that same evening.

“Truly, it is a beautiful place,” Duff said. “It sets between timbered hills that stretch down to the rolling green plain below, through which the Bear and Little Bear creeks run, shining like strands of polished silver.”

“Oh, it sounds lovely,” Rosanna said. “I should love to visit it some day.”

“And I would love to have you as my guest,” Duff replied.

“How many head of cattle are you running?” Andrew asked.

“Counting my milk cows,” Duff said, pausing for a moment, then added, “two.”

“Two? You have two cows on the entire ranch? Well, are you raising sheep?”

“Sheep? Oh, heavens no,” Duff said, laughing. “I’ve taken enough teasing from the others for having no cattle. But I wanted to get the ranch exactly right before I introduced cattle, and also, ’tis a certain breed of cattle that I want. A breed that is not now in Wyoming.”

“What breed would that be?” Andrew asked.

“Black Angus.”

Duff explained what he considered to be the plus side of raising Black Angus, adding that he had raised the breed back in Scotland.

“And you will be the first to introduce them to Wyoming?” Andrew asked.

“Aye, as far as I know, I will be.”

Andrew smiled and put his hand on Duff’s shoulder. “Then you will be making history, cousin,” he said.

Andrew and Rosanna went to the train station with Duff and waited with him until it was time for his train. With a final wave good-bye, Duff passed through the door that read TO TRAINS. Out under the train shed, he could smell the smoke and the steam, and feel the rumble of the heavy trains in his stomach as he walked toward track number eight. Then he walked down the narrow concrete path that separated the train on track number eight from the train on track number nine. Half an hour later, the train pulled out of the station and began its overnight run to Chicago.

Chicago, Illinois

In Chicago, Duff looked up the address of the American Aberdeen Angus Association, and after a few preliminary questions was directed to a man named Eli Woodson.

“Yes, sir, Mr. MacCallister, we are absolutely encouraging the expansion of Angus cattle in America,” Eli Woodson said, when Duff told him what he had planned. “And you say that you have been around them before?”