“Thank you, Rudy,” Duff said.
“Duff, I know how much you like lamb,” York said. “I got some in fresh today.”
“Great! ’Tis lamb chops I’ll be havin’, then.”
“And I, as well,” Meagan said.
“Good, two lamb chop dinners it shall be,” York said, leaving to see to their orders.
“Lamb chops? Did I hear you say that you want lamb chops? No self-respecting cattleman would ever eat lamb.” The speaker was a large man, bald, but with a full, and bushy, black beard. He was sitting at a table very near to the one where Duff and Meagan had been seated.
“Merlin Goodman, sure now, ’n the best o’ the mornin’ to ye,” Duff replied to the loudmouthed gentlemen who had made the derisive comment about lamb chops.
Goodman’s Mountain Shadows Ranch was one of the eight very large ranches in the Valley of the Chugwater, but it was considerably smaller than Sky Meadow.
“You can keep your greetin’. I want you to answer me,” Goodman said. “Do you, the largest cattleman in the valley, actually intend to sit here, in front of God and ever’ body else, ’n eat lamb?”
“I like lamb,” Duff said.
Goodman turned to address the other diners in the café. “Now, I ask you folks, what kind of man would eat lamb? Ever’ one knows that anybody who would eat lamb ain’t fittin’ to be around.”
“Why, Mr. Goodman,” Meagan said sweetly. “Didn’t the Lord Himself eat lamb?”
“Ha! She’s got you there, Merlin,” one of the other diners said.
“Give me m’ bill, York,” Goodman said in a blustering voice. “Maybe the Scotsman is goin’ to eat it, but I sure as hell don’t have to stay here ’n watch it. Pardon the language, ma’am,” he added quickly to Meagan.
“Merlin, ’n would that be meanin’ I’m to take you off the guest list for m’ lamb supper next Easter?” Duff called to him as he left the café in a huff. The others in the café laughed.
“I tell you the truth, Duff,” Bob Guthrie said. Guthrie owned the lumber and building supply company. “I probably like lamb as much as you do, but I’d never eat it out in public. Why, I’d more ’n likely lose half my customers if I did that.”
“We’ve nae such problems as this back in Scotland,” Duff said. “We have sheep and cattle raised right next to each other. Some farmers grow both and turn them out to graze in the same field. ’Tisn’t true what the ranchers believe about sheep destroying the grass.”
“I doubt we’ll ever see anything like that here,” Guthrie replied. “You folks enjoy your meal now,” he added as he stepped over to the counter to pay for his lunch.
During their lunch, Charley Blanton, editor of the Chugwater Defender, came into the café.
“Hello, Rudy,” Charley said. He held up a stack of papers. “Here’s today’s issue.”
“I hope you leave me enough today. We were sold out by two o’clock yesterday,” York replied as he took money from the cash box to pay for the papers that had been sold the previous day.
“If they’re selling that well, you might want to consider increasing your ad space,” Charley suggested.
Rudy chuckled. “That’s what I like about you, Charley. You’re always selling.”
Charley saw Duff and Meagan at a nearby table.
“Good morning to you, Duff, and to you, Miss Meagan,” Charley greeted.
“Hello, Charley,” Duff replied. “Tell me, lad, how goes the continuing fight of the free press for truth, justice, and dare I say it, Scotsman that I am, the American way?”
“It is good that you would make such an inquiry, my friend,” Charley replied. “With the newspaper as our mighty shield, we move forth with resolute valor and absolute determination!” Delivering his response in oratory fashion, Charley held up his finger to make a point.
“More honor to ye,” Duff said.
“Miss Meagan, if you would like, I can just give you your paper here and tell the boy not to drop one off at your dress shop. That way, you can have a look at your ad.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blanton, that would be nice.”
Charley took a paper from the stack he had set by the cash box and handed it to her.
Meagan separated the pages of the newspaper then leafed through the pages in search.
“Ah, this is what I was looking for,” Meagan said a moment later. She turned the newspaper around so that Duff could see the page she was speaking of. It featured an advertisement for her store.
LADIES’ APPAREL
FINEST garments made according to latest fashion
MEAGAN’S DRESS EMPORIUM
“I see nae need for ye to be advertising, lass, since you are the only dressmaking store in town,” Duff said.
“When you’re in business, it never hurts to toot your own horn,” Meagan replied with a broad smile. “And it also supports the local paper. You do agree with that, don’t you?”
“Aye, lass, that I can agree with.”
Chapter Nine
Newman, Texas
The tiny town of Newman, Texas, was on both sides of a single street. It had a general store, a drugstore, a leather goods store, a school, a church, and two saloons.
It had cost Sid Shamrock $2,000 to avoid going to jail in Elam and he had survived the last few weeks on the $100 he had gotten from Rosemary Woods. Now that money was almost gone, and he was here, in Newman, with barely enough money to buy drink and food for himself.
Glancing up toward the bar, Shamrock saw a man about five feet eight inches tall, with a narrow face, sunken cheeks, a nose rather like the beak of a hawk, and deep-set very dark eyes. This was someone who he knew, someone with whom he had once done a job.
Shamrock had very little money left, but what money he did have was worth investing in an idea he just had. This was someone he might be able to do business with.
Shamrock stepped up to the bar alongside the man, just as the bartender was pouring him
