The Stranger from Abilene

Chapter 39

The day was shading into evening when Angus McLean returned to Bighorn Point.

Moses Anderson dropped him off at the hotel where Clayton and Kelly still sat on the porch, content, for this day at least, to let the world go on without them.

To Clayton’s surprise, McLean staggered a little as he stepped down from the gig; then he saw the reason. Moses tilted back his head and drained the last drop from a whiskey bottle before tossing it into the street.

McLean looked at the black man and made a small, unsteady bow.

“A robbing Hindoo ye may be,” he said, “but you’re a bonnie lad and you’ve done me a great service this day.” The little Scotsman hiccupped. “If you’re ever in Edinburgh, pay me a visit and I’ll give ye the best my poor hoose has to offer.”

He turned and, with that stiff-kneed dignity possessed by only the truly drunk, negotiated the two steps to the porch.

“Well, Mr. McLean,” Kelly said, “do you own a ranch?”

“That I do, Constable,” McLean said. “The lassie drove a hard bargain and the land and cattle cost me a lot of silver, but the bargain was made and the deed was done and there’s an end to it.”

He waved a hand, unsteadying himself, and Kelly rose quickly and helped him remain on his feet.

“Thank ye, Constable. Thank ye kindly.” The Scotsman waved his hand again. “Yon black laddie is a robber through and through, but he knows the land and he knows cattle and he taught me much.”

McLean hiccupped again. “I mean, aboot the grass and the water and the coos. And another thing, he can stand his whiskey like a man. Like a Scotsman, if I’m no mistaken.”

Smiling, Kelly said. “Moses has been up the trail a few times. He knows cattle and grass.”

McLean nodded. “That he does. Benighted Hindoo he may be, but he’s a clever lad.”

“When will you move onto the Southwell Ranch, Mr. McLean?” Kelly said.

McLean reared back as though he’d been slapped. “Never, I say! My home is in Edinburgh in bonnie Scotland. No, laddie, this wilderness of dust and drought is not for Angus McLean.” He tapped the side of his nose with a long forefinger. “I’ll hire a manager. He’ll run the place for me.”

“Do you have one in mind?”

“No, not in mind. But my lawyers in Boston will find a likely lad. I’m sure of that.”

“There’s a likely lad right here, Mr. McLean. This is Mr. Cage Clayton and he owned his own ranch at one time. Now he’s looking for work.”

Before Clayton could object, Kelly said, “And he’s getting married soon.”

“Is that right?” McLean said. He looked at Clayton like a molting owl. “What happened to your own ranch?”

“Three years of drought and poor cattle prices,” Clayton said. “But I’m not looking for a job.”

“Do ye know coos and grass and water?”

“Yes, I do, and a lot more besides. But, as I told you, I don’t need a job.”

“And getting wed too.” McLean shook his head. “Ah, weel, you’re a fine young man and you look a person in the eye, and that’s all to the good. So, if you change your mind . . .”

“I won’t.”

McLean nodded. “It’s me for my bed. The drive out to the ranch and the bargaining has fair wore me out.” He lifted his hat. “Good night to ye both, gentlemen.”

After McLean was gone, Kelly said, “Marry Emma and take the ranch manager’s job. Settle down, Cage, and forget Lissome Terry.”

Clayton smiled. “Maybe I’d consider it if I thought for one moment that Terry’s forgotten me.”