MacCallister Kingdom Come (4 page)

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Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: MacCallister Kingdom Come
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“It was very sweet of you to host a dinner for my sister and her family.”
“Sure 'n twas glad I was to do it, lass. Your sister is nearly as pretty as you are, 'n Jason is a fine man.” Duff chuckled. “And Timmy is a fine young lad as well, though he should have more manners than to beat his elders in chess.”
“Timmy is a very smart boy.” Megan smiled. “Who knows, he might be president of the United States, someday.”
“And if he is, will he be forgetting the friends he made here in Wyoming?”
“
Och,
but 'tis more than a friend I am, Duff MacCallister. 'Tis the aunt of the president I'll be.”
“
Och
?
Och
?” Duff said, laughing as he spoke the words. “Sure now Megan Parker, 'tis mocking the brogue you can do, but there could be heather flowers in your hair, 'n ye would still
nae
be Scots lass, would ye?”
“Maybe not, but you have taught me to love the pipes, and I promised Melissa that you'd play for us before they go back. Now would be the best time.”
“All right. You talked me into it.”
Megan laughed. “I didn't have to talk much. You're always ready to play the pipes, with but the slightest suggestion that you do so.”
“Aye, lass, but 'tis my mission, don't you see?”
“Your mission?”
“Aye. 'Tis honor bound I am, to teach the rest of the world to enjoy the music of the pipes.”
“Duff . . . and in your kilts?”
Chapter Five
A short while later, Duff came into the parlor wearing his kilts and carrying the bagpipes. The kilt of the Black Watch was a plaid of dark green and blue. The tunic was blue with brass buttons, a gold braided loop over his left shoulder, and the Victoria Cross pinned to his chest. The uniform was completed with a black cockade, and the
sgian dubh
, a small, ceremonial knife stuck down in one of his knee-high socks.
“Megan.” Melissa then leaned closer to say something to her sister, speaking so quietly that nobody could hear her.
Duff saw her asking the question, and from the humorous expression on both sisters' faces, knew what it was.
“Would ye be wantin' Megan to check for herself if 'tis true what they say about the wearin' o' kilts?” he asked in a jocular voice.
Melissa gasped, then blushed as the others laughed. By Duff's comment, and Melissa's reaction, they all knew she had just asked if men wore anything under their kilts.
Duff played “Scotland the Brave” and as he did so, Timmy, with a broad smile, marched around the room.
Duff finished playing the pipes to polite applause, then Wang Chow came into the room bearing a platter of Nian Gao coconut rolls. Everyone, especially Timmy, enjoyed them.
After the rolls and coffee, Jason, Melissa, Timmy, and Megan returned to town in one four-passenger trap. Biff, Rose, and Vi followed them in another. Duff and Elmer stood out on the front porch to tell them good-bye and to watch them drive away.
“It was a fine evenin', Duff,” Elmer said. “As fine as I've enjoyed in a long time.”
“Aye, 'twas that,” Duff agreed. “And due in no small part to Wang Chow. What was that he served us tonight?”
“
Tian suan rou
,” Elmer said. “Sweet-and-sour pork.”
“I never knew I could like Chinese food so much.”
The Drew farm, southeast New Mexico Territory
Mickey Drew held his head under the spout and worked the pump handle as cold, deep-well water cascaded over him. The water washed away the dirt and sweat from an afternoon of hard work in the field. Although he was only fifteen, he did a man's work around the place, and he swelled with pride when his father bragged on him to the neighbors.
He reached for the towel he had draped across the split-rail fence, but drew his hand back, empty, when he couldn't find it. He heard a girl's giggle.
“What are you lookin' for?” the girl asked.
“Jean Marie,” he said angrily. “What are you doing? Give me that towel.”
“What towel?” she asked.
Mickey rubbed the water out of his eyes and saw her holding the towel behind her back. She was smiling at him.
“What towel? That towel.” He pointed to the towel she was holding.
She pulled the towel from behind her back. “Oh, you mean this towel? Why didn't you say so? I wasn't sure what towel you talking about.” She passed the towel over to him.
Mickey took the towel and began drying his face. “You're not funny, Jean Marie. Unlike you, I've been working hard in the field all day. What have you done?”
“Nothing much. I just made some cornbread for supper is all.”
“Big deal.”
“And a cherry pie,” she added.
Mickey pulled the towel down and looked at her. “You made a cherry pie?”
“Yes, and I did it just for you. Mama wanted to do an apple pie, but I reminded her that you liked cherry pie better.”
“Just for me, huh?”
“Yes, just for you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because you're my big brother, that's why.”
“No, that's not the only reason. You want something.”
“What makes you think I want something?”
“This is your brother you're talking to, Jean Marie. Remember? Now, what do you want?”
Jean Marie grinned. “Well, there is one thing.”
“I thought so. What is it?”
“I want you to talk to Papa for me.”
“Talk to Papa? What about?”
“About the barn dance in town Saturday night.”
“What about it? He already said I could take you with me.”
“I don't want to go to the dance with you.”
“You don't? What do you mean, you don't? I thought you were wanting to go to the dance,” Mickey said. “Girl, you need to make up your mind, one way or the other.”
“I do want to go to the dance. I just don't want to go with
you
. I mean, how do you think it is going to look to all my friends if my own brother takes me to the dance? They'll think nobody but my brother wants anything to do with me.”
“You do want to go to the dance?”
“Yes.”
“Well, tell me this, Jean Marie. How do you plan to get there, if I don't take you?”
Jean Marie smiled. “With Danny Dunnigan.”
“You want to go to the dance with Danny Dunnigan?”
“Yes, but Papa won't let me go with Danny. He says I'm too young to go to the dance with anyone but a member of my own family.”
“You are too young,” Mickey said easily.
“Too young? I'm only one year younger than you are, Mickey Drew.”
“That don't make no difference. You're a girl. It's different with girls.”
“I'm not a girl. I'm a woman . . . near 'bout.” Jean Marie leaned against the split-rail fence and thrust her hip out, proudly displaying the developing curves of her young body. “Mickey, please tell Papa to let me go to the dance with Danny. Papa will listen to you.”
“Not about something like this, he won't. Come on. Let's go have supper. You made the cornbread and the pie, did you?”
“Yes. Mickey, please talk to Papa.”
“Maybe if we all three went together,” Mickey suggested. “That way it would look to your friends like you were going with Danny, and I was just tagging along. And to Papa it would look like Danny was just tagging along with us.”
“Oh, Mickey! You think so?” Jean Marie said excitedly. She threw her arms around his neck. “You are the best brother in the whole world!”
“I can't be that much, if you don't want to go with just me,” Mickey said, laughing.”
As the two walked back up the path to the house, they saw two horses tied to the fence in front.
“Who's visiting?” Mickey asked.
“I don't know. There wasn't anyone here when I left the house.”
Mickey pushed the door open, then came to a complete halt, his eyes wide with confusion.
Two strange men were in the kitchen, and both were holding guns in their hand. Marvin Drew was lying on the floor with blood pooling beside his head. Mickey didn't know whether his father was dead or unconscious. His mother was standing to one side, her face contorted by confusion, fear, and grief.
“Mama?” Jean Marie asked, barely able to get the word out.
“Who are you?” Mickey asked angrily. “What are you doing here?”
Neither of the men replied. The one with swarthy skin and dark eyes turned his gun toward Mickey and pulled the trigger. When the bullet struck him, Mickey felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach by a mule. He fell facedown onto the floor.
“Mickey!” Jean Marie screamed.
“Murderers!” Mickey's mother yelled.
“Which one of these two women do you want, Jaco?” one of the men asked.
“Hell, Putt, it don't make that much difference to me. They's two of them, 'n two of us. I reckon we can just start out on one, then trade. That way, we can have 'em both.”
“Yeah,” Putt said with an almost insane giggle. “Yeah, that's a damn good idea.”
Mickey could hear the conversation, but there was nothing he could do about it. Try as he might, he was unable to move. Just before he passed out, he heard a scream. Whether it was from his mother or his sister, he didn't know.
Chaperito, New Mexico Territory
When Mickey came to he was lying in bed, with bandages wound completely around his stomach. Dr. Pinkstaff was standing alongside the bed, looking down at him.
“Where am I?” Mickey asked.
“You're in my office. You gave us quite a scare, Mickey. I didn't know if you were going to make it or not.”
“Mom, Dad, Jean Marie! Where are they?”
Dr. Pinkstaff reached out to touch his hand to Mickey's shoulder. He shook his head. “I'm sorry, son. They're—” he paused in mid-sentence.
“They're dead, aren't they? Those men killed them.”
“I'm afraid so. I'm sorry.”
“I know who it was that did it,” Mickey said. “I heard 'em talkin', and I heard 'em call each other by name.”
“Sheriff Baxter was hoping it would be something like that. He wanted to talk to you as soon as you woke up. I'll go get hm.”
Mickey lay in bed after the doctor left, replaying the event in his mind. He had, indeed, heard them call each other by name, or at least, by something. Whether or not that was their real names, he had no way of knowing.
“You're sure those are the names you heard?” Sheriff Baxter asked a few minutes later, after Mickey shared them with him. “Jaco and Putt?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, I know they're kind of dumb soundin', and I don't know if that's their real names, but that's what I heard 'em callin' each other.”
“Was one dark, almost Mexican or Indian lookin'? And was the other one an albino?”
“Yeah, one of 'em did look like a Mexican. The other one . . . what's an albino?”
“Someone that's so pale that his skin is almost white.”
“He had funny-lookin' eyes, too. Like they was pink, or somethin'.”
“Yes. The descriptions fit, and that's their names, all right. One is A. M. Jaco, and the other 'n is Blue Putt.”
“You know these men?” Mickey asked.
“I don't think there is a sheriff or city marshal in all of New Mexico who doesn't know them. Or at least, know of them. You were real smart, Mickey, by pretending to be dead. That not only kept you alive, it means we're going to get these outlaws for this.”
Mickey didn't tell him that he wasn't purposely pretending to be dead. He wanted to get up, wanted to do something to help his mother and sister. But though he had tried hard, he had been totally unable to move.
“Will they hang for killin' Ma, and Papa, and Jean Marie?”
“Oh, they'll hang all right,” the sheriff replied.
 
 
With the butt of his rifle resting on his hip, Sheriff Harold Baxter stood out on the front porch of his office, talking to a group of about twenty men. All were armed with various weapons from pistols to shotguns to rifles. “All right, you men raise up your hands,” he shouted.
The men did so.
“Do you swear to uphold the law, and to do what I tell you to do, and not to get drunk while you're part of the posse?”
“Damn, Harold, that's askin' an awful lot of Keith,” one of the men said, and the others laughed.
“This ain't no laughin' matter,” Sheriff Baxter said. “Now I'm goin' to ask you again. Do you swear to uphold the law, and to do what I tell you to do, so help you God? Say I do.”
“I do,” the men of the posse replied.
“Those of you that's got good ridin' horses, get mounted. If you ain't got a good horse, go down to Finley's Stable and pick one out. Better get a saddle too, if you need one. Tell Finley you're in the posse, and he'll charge it to the county.”
As the posse broke up to get their mounts, a man with white hair and a long white beard called out. “When you catch them that kilt the Drew family, don't bother to bring 'em back. Just hang 'em where you find 'em.” He'd been watching the swearing-in from the front porch of the feed store next door to the sheriff's office,
“Enough of that, Bowman,” Sheriff Baxter said, pointing toward the man. “When we find them, we're goin' to bring 'em back, 'n they're goin' to stand trial. Then we'll hang 'em.”
Those who were close enough to overhear the exchange laughed.

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