“Yes,” Falcon said. He chuckled. “I guess I’ve changed a lot since that time we were together down on the Pecos.”
Billings saw Jimmy and Mrs. Ellis looking at him with challenging eyes.
“Uh, yes,” Billings mumbled. “Yes, I expect we have all changed.”
“Better get back in the coach, folks,” Sam said. “We aren’t making any time sitting here.”
The passengers reboarded, but for the rest of the trip, Billings, who had been so talkative earlier, now stared morosely out the window, unwilling to meet the gaze of anyone else in the coach.
As the coach approached the edge of town, they passed a welcoming sign.
WELCOME TO HIGBEE
Population 257.
But as the coach rolled further into town, the population number on the welcome sign was put into question by the number of people on the street. The boardwalks on both sides of the street were filled with pedestrians, and the street itself was active with traffic: wagons, buckboards, surreys, and horses. From Falcon’s perspective, it looked as if more than two hundred people were moving around. He suspected that the population figure on the sign was from a time before word got out of an impending railroad. Falcon had seen enough “End of Track” towns grow overnight from sleepy little settlements to booming communities, sometimes only to wither and die as the railroad crews moved onward. But if Garrison made this his headquarters, then the rapid growth of the town would be sustainable.
The coach stopped in front of a leather goods store that also bore a small, hand-painted sign that read, STAGECOACH DEPOT.
“Here we are, folks!” the driver called down. “The big city of Higbee.”
“Can I give you a hand?” Falcon asked Mrs. Ellis. “Carry your luggage somewhere?”
“Thank you, no,” Mrs. Ellis said. “My husband is here to meet me.” She nodded toward a man sitting in a buckboard. Even as she was speaking, the man climbed down from the buckboard and ambled over.
“Pa, this is Falcon MacCallister!” Jimmy said excitedly.
“And I’m Buffalo Bill,” Ellis said, picking up his wife’s suitcase and starting back toward the buckboard. Jimmy and his mother followed, and Jimmy looked back over his shoulder once, staring at Falcon as if trying to determine whether he really was Falcon MacCallister.
“Are you really Falcon MacCallister?” Billings asked in a tight voice.
“Why, Fred, you mean you don’t remember me?” Falcon teased.
“I’m sorry, Mr. MacCallister,” Billings said. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean nothin’ by all that. I was just spoofin’ the kid, is all.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Falcon said. “Kids have had lot worse done to them.”
“Yes, sir, they have,” Billings replied. “They truly have. I tell you what—seein’ as I been caught in a lie, I think I owe a penance. So the first thing I’m goin’ to do soon’s I get back to Denver, is donate to the orphanage.”
Falcon nodded. “I think that would be a good thing,” he said. Then he dropped the subject altogether.
Chapter Nine
After getting a room in the hotel, Falcon walked down to the office of the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas Railroad Company. When he pushed open the door, a little tinkling bell caused a young woman to look up.
“Yes, sir?” she said. “May I help you?”
“I’m Falcon MacCallister,” Falcon said.
“Yes, sir, Mr. MacCallister, what can I do for you?”
“You aren’t expecting me?”
The young woman looked confused. “Should I be?”
“Not necessarily you personally, but I believe Wade Garrison is. I received a letter from the general, asking me to come see him,” Falcon said.
“That would be my father, but I had no idea he had invited anyone to come stay with us.”
“It wasn’t exactly that kind of invitation,” Falcon replied with a smile. “So, you are Miss Garrison,” he said. “I heard the general had a daughter. I must say you are every bit as pretty as your reputation.”
Kathleen blushed. “Well, I, uh, appreciate that, Mr. MacCallister,” she said. “My father is down at Mr. Thompson’s freight office right now, but I expect he’ll be back very soon.”
As if on cue, the bell rang and a tall, ramrod-straight man with a full head of silver hair stepped through the door and into the room.
“Falcon! You old horse thief, you!” Wade Garrison said exuberantly. He stuck out his hand. “It is good to see you. Thanks for coming.”
Falcon smiled. “Well, General, you asked me to come. And after all these years, there’s still enough of the soldier in me to respond.”
Garrison chuckled. “Good, good, I was counting on just that,” he said. “So, I see you’ve met my daughter,
