or more. The saloon has been doing a heck of a business ever since word of this got out.”
“Good, that should give us a large enough field to find some really good riders.”
Canfield led the three men down to the end of the street to show them what he had done to prepare for the event. A large arena had been marked off by use of ropes and poles, and, facing the arena were recently built bleachers. On the opposite side of the bleachers, stock pens had been built. In one set of pens were cattle to be used for roping, another pen held horses selected for their ability to throw their riders.
Several cowboys were already practicing for the event.
“Hey!” one of them shouted. “There’s Buffalo Bill!”
Upon being recognized, Cody was quickly surrounded by visitors who were here to see the show as well as many of the cowboys themselves.
Falcon and Ingraham stepped aside as Buffalo Bill Cody’s fans swarmed around him.
“How in the world is he able to put up with all that?” Falcon asked Ingraham.
Ingraham chuckled, and shook his head. “You don’t understand, do you, Falcon? Cody lives for that.”
“Better him than me,” Falcon said.
“It’s all a matter of business,” Canfield said. “The more people that recognize his name, the more people will come to one of the exhibitions. It’s a matter of promotion, and Mr. Cody is better at this than anyone I have ever known.”
They heard the sound of a train whistle.
“Here comes another train load,” Ingraham said. “By the time we get around to doing the show, I’ll bet the bleachers won’t be big enough to hold everyone.”
Livingston, Montana Territory, was a stop on the Northern Pacific transcontinental line. From there, Northern Pacific built a special track down to Cinnabar, which was located at the edge of Yellowstone Park. The trip was fifty-five miles long, and was covered in just under three hours. That was the train that Falcon and Ingraham heard arriving. What they could not know was that this train carried six passengers who were dedicated to one purpose, and that was to kill Falcon MacCallister, Buffalo Bill Cody, and Prentiss Ingraham.
Angus Ebersole, Clay Hawkins, Ike Peters, Jim Dewey, Billy Taylor, and their newest recruit, Ethan Slayton, stepped down from the very train Falcon and Ingraham heard arriving. Once out of the train, they waited on the depot platform as their horses were offloaded from the special stock car. Then they led them over to the cart on which baggage was being loaded.
“When our saddles come out, no need to put them on the cart,” Ebersole said to the station agent. “We’ll take them right here.”
“Are you boys here for the tryouts?” the station agent asked.
“Yeah, we thought we might give it a try,” Ebersole said.
“Well there’s a good bunch of cowboys here to try out,” the station agent said. “I know a bunch of ’em myself. So it sure ought to be a good show.”
“That’s what we was figurin’,” Ebersole said. “Is there any place here to keep our horses?”
“Not really. I mean, bein’ as we’re so small, we don’t have no livery here as such. But we do have a barn where they keep the horses for the stagecoaches that take the tourists on down into the park. It’s run by a fella named Dempsey. If you tell ’im that Deekus sent you, that’s my name, Deekus Smart, well, like as not he’ll let you keep your horses there till you’re ready for ’em.”
It wasn’t hard to find the stagecoach depot. It was right across the street from the railroad depot, and it had two coaches standing out front, the teams already in harness, ready to take tourists down into the park.
Leading their now-saddled horses across the street, Ebersole inquired of one of the drivers as to where to find Dempsey.
“That’s him over there,” the driver said, pointing to a heavyset man who was bald, but sported a bushy beard and equally bushy sideburns.
Ebersole and the others led their horses over to him.
“Would you be Mr. Dempsey?” Ebersole asked.
“I am. What can I do for you?” Dempsey replied.
“We just came in on the train, and Deekus Smart said that if we was to mention your name, you might put up our horses for us.”
“He said that, did he?”
“Yes.”
Dempsey cut off a chew of tobacco and stuck it in his mouth before he answered. “You know this ain’t no livery, don’t you? All the horses here are team horses for the stagecoaches.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“But, Deekus is right. From time to time I will put up a horse for someone.”
“Good. We’d like you to keep these for us. Not sure how long we’ll be here. Probably no more than today and tomorrow.”
“All right. That’ll be a dollar a day. Pay me for the first day now. If you stay any longer, come back and make the arrangements.”
“A dollar a day?” Ebersole replied. “Damn, that’s kind of steep, ain’t it, Mister? Liveries don’t normally charge more ’n a quarter a day. Some charges half a dollar a day, but I ain’t never run across none that charges a dollar a day.”
“Well, you don’t have to pay it,” Dempsey said. “You can always put your horses in a livery.”
