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Authors: William W. Johnstone

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“That was nothing,” Blanton said. “You should have been here for the shooting contest.”

“I expect Mr. MacCallister won.”

“Oh, yes.”

Blanton went on to describe in some detail the shooting contest.

“Tell me, Mr. Hanson, what made you decide to leave England and come to America to raise cattle?”

“You will think me foolish.”

“Now, how could I ever think that an English gentleman like you would be foolish?”

Hanson laughed. “You are aware, I'm sure, of the novels of the American West, the dime novels. I'm sure the stories are all fiction, but some of them have stirred my imagination. One character I have found particularly intriguing is Smoke Jensen. I know he doesn't exist butâ”

“He most certainly does exist,” Blanton said.

“Really? How fascinating. At any rate, such stories stirred my interest, so I wrote up a prospectus for a cattle ranch in Texas, put up as much money as I had, and secured the necessary investment for the rest I needed to bring that to fruition. And, that done, here I am.”

“Well, sir, you have started in the right place. All evidence points to the Angus cattle as being the most productive, and I can vouch for the fact that you are doing business, not only with the most knowledgeable of the breed, but also one of the most honest and sincere men in the business.”

“I am not surprised to hear such accolades about Duff MacCallister,” Hanson replied.

“Well, Mr. Hanson, I thank you very much for consenting to the interview. And Duff, thank you for bringing him by.”

“I always want to stay on the good side of the press,” Duff said.

“Well, where to now?” Hanson asked when he stepped back out into the street with Duff and Sally.

“Would you care to come out to the ranch and examine the cattle you'll be buying?” Duff asked.

“I would be delighted to. Have you a carriage of some sort? I have no means of transportation.”

“You do ride, don't you?”

“Yes, I ride.”

“Then there is no problem. We'll stop by the stable and rent a horse for you.”

“I'm going as well,” Megan said. “Just give me time to put a closed sign on the door.”

Chapter Fifteen

Sky Meadow Ranch

“Oh, what a beautiful estate,” Hanson said when they crested a little rise in the road, and the ranch came into view. “I hope, one day, to make Regency as beautiful and as attractive.”

As they rode down the long road that led to the ranch, a rabbit jumped up from the dusty grass alongside, then bounded quickly ahead of them, its long strides kicking up little clumps of dirt before it left the road and disappeared into the bushes.

A welcoming gate arched over the road, bearing in wrought iron the words
Sky Meadow
. Beyond the gate was a spreading, two-story house, its mansard roof bracketed by chimneys. The porch stretched all the way across the front of the house. This was what the cowboys called the “Big House.”

Set between the Big House and the bunkhouse was the ranch office, a small wood frame building painted red. The bunkhouse was a long, low structure, which was also painted red. A smaller, but quite functional house was behind the bunkhouse. It was where Elmer lived. Indoor plumbing had been installed in all the living structures, which meant no outhouses.

In addition to the living quarters, a barn, a granary, a machine shed, and a smokehouse were on the property.

A large paddock around the barn enclosed at least two dozen horses, all belonging to Duff, and used by the cowboys in operating the ranch.

They were met by Elmer just as they reached the house.

“What would be the cow to bull ratio?” Hanson asked.

Elmer answered the question. “Twenty bulls, three hundred and eighty heifers, along with two hundred one-year-old steers. The steers will put on weight and increase their value, and also, help to keep the bulls calm.”

“Would you like ride out and see the cattle?” Duff asked.

“Oh, yes. I would very much like to see them.”

Duff, Megan, Hanson, and Elmer rode out to the east pasture to take a look at some of the cattle. Their black coats shining in the sun, they moved around quietly nibbling at the grass and drinking from Big Creek.

“I say, they are magnificent looking!” Hanson said enthusiastically.

After a ride through the herd, moving close enough so that all the animals could be checked for soundness, Hanson announced that he was ready to close the deal.

They returned to the office, where Duff made out a bill of sale.

We, Duff MacCallister and Megan Parker, owners of the Black Angus cattle raised on Sky Meadow Ranch in Laramie County, Wyoming, do by these presents, transfer ownership of 600 head of mixed cattle to Cal Hanson, the purchaser.

In response for this transfer of ownership, we hereto affix our signatures, acknowledging the receipt of fourteen thousand two hundred dollars and zero cents ($14,200.00).

“Here you are, Mr. Hanson. You are now the owner of six hundred head of the finest cattle in America.”

“Thank you. By the by, since we have done business, and you have, in fact, saved my life, do you not think you could call me
Cal
? And might I not call you
Duff
?”

“Aye, 'tis.” Duff chuckled. “A Scotsman and an Englishman on first-name basis. Who knows? It could lead to a rapprochement between our two homelands.”

“Indeed it could,” Hanson replied. “Tell me, Duff, how will we get my cattle home?”

“We will drive the herd from here to Cheyenne. There we will ship them to Texas by rail.”

“Will we be able to get all six hundred on a single train?”

“No, it'll take two trains. You can go with the first shipment; I'll come with the second.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Business concluded, Duff, Hanson, and Megan were standing out on the porch of the office building when Duff saw someone coming toward them. “Ah, here comes Wang Chow.”

Wang paused when he was about ten feet away, put his hands in a prayer position, and nodded his head.

“Cal, this is my cook, my valet, and my friend Wang Chow.”

“A Chinaman,” Hanson said. “I have often heard the virtues of Chinamen extolled, but I never expected to find one in the middle of the American West.”

“Actually, there are several men and women from China all over the West,” Duff said. “Thousands of them came to work on the railroad, and when the railroad was completed, they stayed to take on other jobs.”

“And Mr. Wang found you,” Hanson said.

“No, you are wrong, sir,” Wang said. “Mr. MacCallister found me.”

“Oh, I see. You went looking, specifically, for a Chinaman.”

“I wasn't looking for anyone in particular. But when I encountered Wang, the situation was such that I couldn't just walk away.”

“I was about to be hanged, and Mr. MacCallister saved me,” Wang said.

“What? You were about to be hanged?”

Quickly, Duff told the story of how he had happened upon a lynching in progress.

“Ah, yes, lynching. Terrible thing, that.”

“Wang, tell me, my friend, how long until lunch? I'm starved.”

“Wang, you must get some food into this poor man,” Megan said with a laugh. “Why, he practically starved himself at breakfast. He had only eight pancakes, four eggs, and no more than six or seven pieces of bacon.”

“Aye, but that was four hours ago,” Duff said.

“The meal has been prepared, Mister MacCallister.”

“Good, let's go eat. As it so happens, Cal, the Chinese can do marvelous things with beef, and I have asked Wang Chow to prepare something special.”

“If the beef is as good as it was at the reception given by Mr. Montgomery, I shall gladly sacrifice another of my animals,” Hanson said.

Duff chuckled. “No need, Cal. To show you what a fine fellow I can be, I want you to know that this beef is from one of my own cows.”

“Then I shall enjoy it all the more,” Hanson insisted.

After dinner, Wang put on a show of knife throwing, successfully sticking the knife into various targets, not only from a considerable distance, but from many different body positions. He threw knives from under his legs, with his back to the target, and over his shoulder. He did it while leaping, and once, even as he turned a flip in midair.

“Oh, my, that is most impressive,” Hanson said, amazed by the demonstration. “How did you come by such skills?”

“From Master Tse,” Wang replied.

“And who, might I ask, is Master Tse?”

“I will clean the table now, Mr. MacCallister.”

“Thank you, Wang, for the great dinner and the entertaining show.”

Wang put his hands together and dipped his head as in a partial bow, then returned to the dining room.

“Your Mr. Wang seems to be a most unusual man. And quite accomplished,” Hanson said.

Duff smiled. “You don't have any idea how unusual or how accomplished he is.”

“I'm sure I don't. I noticed that the inscrutable Mr. Wang didn't answer my question when I asked about Master Tse.”

“No, he didn't.”

“Do you know who this mysterious Master Tse is?”

“Wang has never told me, and I've never asked. I'm sure he has a reason for being inscrutable.”

“Quite so. Tell me, my good man, how soon will we be leaving for Texas?”

“It will take a week or so to get the cattle gathered up,” Duff said.

“I'll be leaving for Texas tomorrow,” Megan said.

“Tomorrow?”

“If Duff is going to take a herd down to the same place where my sister lives, then I'm going down there as well. I'll be there to meet you when you arrive.”

“Well, I shall look forward to that,” Hanson said.

West Texas

Although the word had gone out about Jaco and Putt escaping from prison just before they were to be hanged, eastern New Mexico and western Texas were remote enough areas that the two men had been able to travel from small town to small town without fear of being recognized.

Sitting in the Red Dog Saloon, in Shumla, Texas, they were surprised when a woman approached their table and called them by name.

“Jaco and Putt. The last word I heard on you two boys was that you was both hung.”

It was hard to judge the age of the woman who spoke. She could have been anywhere from her mid-forties to the mid-fifties. Many years of being on the line had taken their toll. She was overweight, her hair was frizzy, and her skin was pockmarked. She was wearing a very low-cut dress with pillow-like breasts spilling over the top.

“Well, if it isn't our old friend, Sherazade,” Jaco said. “Are you still a saloon girl?”

“Not exactly,” she replied. “Now I'm sort of managin' the girls that work here at the Red Dog. What brings you here?”

“Nothin' in particular,” Jaco said. “We just happen to be here.”

“So the story wasn't true. You wasn't hung.”

Jaco smirked. “You see us, don't you?”

“Yeah, I see you all right. Are you goin' back in business?”

“We might be. Why do you ask?”

“I know a man that's lookin' to partner up with somebody.”

Jaco shook his head. “We ain't lookin' to take on no partners. But, if he would like to ride with us, I could see that, maybe. What's his name?”

“His name is Manny Dingo.”

“What kind of name is that?”

Sherazade shrugged. “I don't know. It's his name.”

“Good enough, I reckon. What do you know about 'im?”

“I know he shot a miner in California, then after that, he started sellin' his gun to the highest bidder. Don't know how many he kilt that way. He rode with Henry Plummer for a while. He's a good man. You won't go wrong by hirin' him on.”

“Is he in town?”

Sherazade smiled, then pointed up. “He's upstairs with one of my girls now. Do you want me to go up and get him?”

“No, I wouldn't want to interrupt a man while he's takin' care of business. When he comes back down, send him over to talk to me.”

“All right.”

It was no more than fifteen minutes later when Jaco saw Sherazade talking to some man who had just come down the stairs. She pointed toward Jaco and Putt, and the man came over to their table.

He stood there for a moment, running his fingers through his dark beard, his eyelids giving the illusion of being half-closed. He stared down at the two killers “I'm Manny Dingo.” He didn't offer his hand. “Sherazade said you wanted to talk to me.”

“That depends,” Jaco replied.

“Depends on what?”

“On whether or not you would be interested in what I have to offer.”

“I don't know whether I am or not. She didn't say nothin' 'bout no offer. She just said that she thought I might want to talk to you. What is it that you have to offer? 'Cause I tell you right now, I ain't interested in buyin' nothin'.”

“That's very good, because I have nothing to sell . . . 'ceptin' mayhaps a way for you to make some money.”

The expression on Dingo's face brightened. “You're offerin' a way to make money? How are you goin' to do that?”

“I'm puttin' together a gang. But not just any gang. I'm talkin' about a gang that will be strong enough to rob any coach, hold up any train, and take what we want from any bank.”

“That's pretty bold talk, ain't it?” Dingo asked.

“Ain't bold if you can pull it off. And I can pull it off.”

“Let's say that you do put together a gang that can do all that. Next thing you know, ever'one in the gang will have such a price on their heads that ever' bounty hunter in the whole West will come lookin' for us.”

“I've got that all figured out, too. Once I get it all put together, we'll have us a place that no law and no bounty hunter will dare come lookin' for us.”

“Where would that be?”

“I'll let you know when you need to know. What about it, Dingo? Are you with us?”

“Yeah,” Dingo said. “I'm with you. How many is in the gang?”

“There's three of us,” Jaco said. “Me, Putt, and you.”

“Three? I thought you said this here gang was strong enough to do anythin' we wanted to do.”

“It will be when I get it all put together.”

“Who else you goin' to put in it?”

“I'm not sure yet. But they'll all be good men. You can count on that.”