William Johnstone - Dead Before Sundown

“Your cows are trespassing on county property,” Malcolm said. “You could be fined for that, you know.”

“My cows were keeping the weeds down along the side of the county road,” Duff said. “I should charge the county a fee for that.”

“Making light of the offense does not alter anything,” Malcolm said. “I saw your cows on the road. That is a violation and you could be cited.”

“Cite me or ride away Rab Malcolm,” Duff said. “I’ll not be listening to your prattle.”

Malcolm removed his billy club from his belt and pointed it directly at Duff.

“With your wild carryin’ ons last night, ‘tis an enemy you have made of the sheriff,” Malcolm said. “And in this county, ‘tis not a smart thing to make the sheriff your enemy.”

“Sure ‘n the Somerleds and the MacCallisters have been enemies for two hundred years and more. I doubt that there is anything I could have done last night that would make it more so.”

“You will see,” Malcolm said. “The sheriff was very angry. I’ve never seen him more angry.”

“Be gone with ye, Malcolm. ‘Tis enough of your mouth I’ve listened to today.”

“See that your fence is mended, Duff MacCallister. I will not have commerce along this road disturbed by the likes of your cattle,” Malcolm said, just before he rode away.

Because the cattle frequently pushed through the fence at one point or another around his ranch, keeping them mended was an ongoing operation. Duff had long ago acquired the habit of carrying in his saddlebags the tools and wire he would need to perform the task. Dismounting and taking out his tools and wire, Duff’s horse stood by patiently for the fifteen minutes or so it took to make the repair.

Chapter 2

“I’ll not be playing the pipes at my own wedding,” Duff said that evening at the White Horse Pub. “For sure now, and how would that look? My bride would come marching in on the arms of her father, finely dressed in her bridal gown, looking beautiful, but there is no groom standing at the chancel waiting for her. ‘Where is the groom?’ people will say. ‘Poor girl, has the groom deserted her at the altar?’ But no, the groom is standing in the transept playing the pipes.”

Skye laughed. “No, I dinnae mean play the pipes at the wedding. But afterward, at the reception you could play the pipes. You play them so beautifully, ‘twould be a shame if ye dinnae play them.”

“A fine thing, Ian,” Duff said to Skye’s father behind the bar. “Your daughter wants me to work on my wedding day.”

“Duff MacCallister, for you, playing the pipes isn’t work. It is an act of love and you know it. Sure’n there’s no a man alive can make the pipes sing a more beautiful song than you.”

“So the two of you are doubling up on me, are you?” Duff said.

“And if we need another, there’s m’ mother,” Skye said. “For she would want to hear you play as well. Say you will, Duff. Please?”

Duff laughed. “Aye, I’ll play the pipes, for how can I turn you down?”

“Best you be careful, Duff, m’ boy, lest you let the lass know how much power she has over you.”

“Ian, do you think she doesn’t already know?” Duff asked. He put down his empty beer mug, then stood. “Best I get home,” he said. “Skye, would you be for stepping outside with me?”

“No need for that, Duff MacCallister,” Skye said. “The only reason you want me to step outside is so I will kiss you good night, and I can do that right here.”

“In front of everyone?”

Skye smiled, sweetly. “Aye, m’ love. In front of God, m’ father, and everyone else.”

Skye kissed him, and the others in the pub laughed, and applauded.

Before stopping by the White Horse Pub, Duff had picked up his mail. Not wanting to read it in the pub he waited until he got home and now, settled in a comfortable chair near a bright lantern, he looked through the mail.

Dear Cousin Duff:

My name is Andrew MacCallister, and yes, we are cousins, though I’m certain that you have never heard of me. I have heard of you only because I hired someone to research my family’s past with particular emphasis on any of my family that might remain in Scotland. That brought me to you.

You and I share a great-great-great-greatgrandfather, one Falcon MacCallister from the Highlands of Scotland. You might be interested to know that I have a brother named after him, and, I am pleased to say, Falcon has done the name proud.

My twin sister Rosanna and I are theatrical players, and on the fifth of April we shall be appearing at Campbell’s Music Saloon on Argyle Street in Glasgow. It would please us mightily if you could attend the performance as our guest.

Sincerely,

Andrew MacCallister

White Horse Pub

“I thank you for the invitation, Duff,” Skye said in response to Duff’s invitation for her to accompany him to the play. “But ‘tis thinking I am, that you should go by yourself, for they are your kinsmen.”

“And soon to be yours as well,” Duff said. “For when we are married, my kinsmen are your kinsmen.”

“Aye, but we aren’t married yet, so they are not my kinsmen now. And they dinnae invite me. They invited you.”

“That’s because they know nothing about you,” Duff said. “I will introduce you, then they will know you.”

“I think it would be better if I dinnae go,” Skye said. “Besides, after we are married, I will no longer work for my father, so I feel I should give him all the time I can.”

“If you won’t go, then I won’t either.”

“Duff Tavish MacCallister, how dare you do that to me!” Skye said. “Don’t saddle me with the responsibility of you not going.”

“I just meant …”

“I know what you meant,” Skye said, interrupting him. “Duff, you must go to the play. I would be very upset with you if you did not. Go, then come back and tell me all about it.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Duff said. “If you won’t go to meet my kinsmen, then I shall bring them here to meet you.”

Skye smiled. “Aye, now that I would like. I have read of them in the newspaper. They are quite famous in America, you know.”

“Are they?”

“Aye. ‘Twill be a grand thing to meet them, I am thinking.”

Campbell’s Music Saloon on Argyle Street, Glasgow—April 5

Duff MacCallister was a reserve captain in 42nd Foot, Third Battalion of the Royal Highland Regiment of Scots. As such, when he arrived at the theater he was wearing the kilt of the Black Watch, complete with a sgian dubh, or ceremonial knife, tucked into the right kilt stocking, with only the pommel visible. He was also wearing the Victoria Cross, Great Britain’s highest award for bravery.

He went inside the theater to the “will call” counter.

“The name is MacCallister. I am not certain, but I believe you may have a ticket for me.”

“Indeed I do, sir,” the clerk replied. “Just a moment, please.” The clerk called one of the ushers over. “Timothy, would you be for taking Captain MacCallister to the green room? Introduce him to the stage manager, Mr. Fitzhugh. He will know what to do.”

“Aye,” the usher said. “Come, Captain.”

Duff followed the usher down a side corridor to an area behind the stage.

“I heard Mr. Service call you MacCallister. Be ye a kinsman to Andrew and Rosanna MacCallister?”

“I am told that is so, though I confess that I have never met them,” Duff said.

“They are quite famous in theater,” Timothy said. “We are very lucky to have them come to Glasgow to perform.”

They came to a large room with chairs and sofas, as well as tea and biscuits.