“Meagan is there. I will go.”
“Mr. MacCallister, how do we know we can trust Turley?” Emerson asked. “Remember what happened to Kirk and Keegan.”
“Turley speaks the truth,” Wang said of Turley.
“Yeah, he sounds good. But how do we know?” Emerson repeated.
“He speaks the truth,” Wang said again.
“If you’re going into town, I’m going to go with you,” Turley said. “You’re worried about Miss Parker, ’n I’m worried about Mary Ellen.”
“Yeah, I’ll come with you, too,” Emerson said, his declaration followed by Percy’s own intention to go.
“’Tis good of you lads to volunteer,” Duff said. “But I’ll need only Elmer and Wang.”
“But that will be only three of you, and there are nine of them,” Turley said. He counted them off on his fingers. “There’s Houser, Harris, Malcolm, Dobbins, Jaco, Wix, Pete, Hawke, and Evans. By the way, I learned that Harris is actually a man named Shamrock. Have you ever heard of him?”
“I cannae say as I have.”
“Yeah, well, people don’t change their names unless they’re on the dodge. And I haven’t liked that son of a bitch since the first time I ever seen ’im.”
“Boss, that’s a lot of men for just the three of you to go up agin,” Emerson said.
“Go and work on your house,” Duff said. “They will be needing these things.” He pointed to the wagon.
“All right, if you’re sure you don’t want us.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Before they were close enough to be seen from town, Wang and Elmer left the main road so they could circle around and approach town from the opposite side. That left Duff as the only one, and he rode into town leisurely, as if making a normal visit. Dismounting in front of Meagan’s Dress Emporium, he tied off his horse and saw in the mirror that was just inside the front window, somebody on the roof of Hart’s Bakery, the building just across the street. The man on the roof was aiming his pistol at Duff, thinking that he had an easy shot.
Duff drew his pistol, whirled, and fired. The man on the roof grabbed his stomach, then pitched forward and fell, heavily, to the boardwalk in front of the bakery.
From just up the street Duff heard another shot and, looking toward the sound, saw someone go down. The shooter was Elmer, who smiled and waved at Duff, then stepped in between two buildings.
Catching a motion out of the corner of his eye, Duff saw Wang, racing along the roofs of the town, leaping from building to building.
“MacCallister!” someone shouted, and three men stepped out into the street, all three with guns already drawn.
Even before the shooting began, one of the men went down, making a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood from around the throwing star in his neck. Duff shot the other two.
Duff started down the street toward the three bodies, when he heard someone behind him call his name.
“MacCallister!”
Turning, he saw someone coming out of Meagan’s shop. Meagan was in front of him, and he was holding his pistol to her head.
“Drop your gun,” the man called.
“Why should I do that?” Duff replied.
“Are you a fool? Can’t you see I have a gun pointed to this woman’s head? I heard that she’s your woman. Is that true?”
“Aye, ’tis true. Meagan is my woman.”
“I ain’t goin’ to ask you again to drop your gun.”
Jaco was the deputy holding Meagan, and he was positioned in such a way that only about two inches of his head was exposed. But two inches was all Duff needed, and in a very swift and smooth action, Duff raised his pistol and fired. The bullet hit Jaco above the eye, killing him before he was even aware of Duff’s action.
“Duff, in the livery!” Meagan shouted, even as Jaco was going down, but her warning wasn’t necessary, for Evans, the deputy who was aiming a rifle at Duff from the loft of the livery, dropped his rifle and fell, mortally wounded by a shot from Elmer.
* * *
“Son of a bitch!” Shamrock said, looking through the front window of the sheriff’s office. “All of ’em! MacCallister has kilt ever’ damn one of ’em! Me ’n you’s all that’s left.”
“Then the odds are just about right,” Houser said with a confident smile. Houser loosened the pistol in his holster, then opened the door and stepped outside.
“Captain MacCallister,” he called.
“Mr. Houser,” Duff replied.
“It would appear that I have no deputies left, yet the issue remains. You are wanted for murder and rustling, so it is now incumbent upon me to bring you to justice.”
“I suppose it makes nae difference to you, that I am innocent of the charges on the poster,” Duff replied.
“Most astute of you, sir, you are right. That you are innocent of these charges makes no difference at all. I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you.”
“Are you that sure of yourself, Mr. Houser? It could be that you may be the one getting killed.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure. And, by the way, for your edification, sir, before I assumed the alias dictus of Brad Houser, I was known as Wynton Miller. Perhaps that name means something to you.”
“’Tis nae a name that is familiar to me,” Duff replied.
Duff’s declaration that he was unfamiliar with the name came as somewhat of a surprise to Houser.
“Well, it has been a while since I was known as such, and you, being a relatively recent immigrant, may not have heard of it. But, in some circles, I say with apologies for my pride, it does elicit a begrudging respect and, dare I say it, fear.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Duff said.
“You have been busy this morning. So before we proceed any further, I feel it incumbent upon me to inquire if it is necessary for you to recharge your weapon. Have you sufficient bullets to engage?”
“I have
