MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy: The Killing Read Online Free PDF

two knew each other because, on Duff’s frequent visits to Cheyenne, he always boarded Sky there. Duff swung down from the saddle and handed the reins to Donnie, who began talking soothingly to Sky as he led him into the barn.
    Kansas
     
    Earlier that same morning, a stagecoach left Turkville, Kansas, bound for Haye City, which was the nearest railroad connection. There were no other coaches and few wagons or other conveyances on the road. It was hot and dusty, and only those whose business, whether professional or personal, was important enough to get them out into the dust and the heat, ventured to make the trip.
    There were four passengers in the coach, and though it was designed to carry nine, the fact that there were only four made the trip somewhat more bearable, if not comfortable. One was Dooley Long, a gambler who was headed to the nearest railroad depot with the intention of taking the cars to what he hoped would be more profitable pickings in San Francisco. Mildred Luke, a pretty, ruby-cheeked, blue-eyed, young auburn-haired girl, was only seventeen, but was put on the coach by her father, the sheriff of Dawson County, for a visit with her grandparents who lived in Plumb Creek. Dr. Philip Rosen and his wife intended to take the train east to Chicago to attend a medical convention there.
    Though it would get hot later in the day, it wasn’t so bad now, for the morning air was dry and relatively cool. A stream of cold, clear water ran swiftly by the roadside, and earlier the coach had stopped to fill a water barrel. There might be some hardships brought about by the travel, but thirst would not be one of them, for the stream would accompany them for the rest of the way into Plumb Creek.
    Up on the box, Sam Schaeffer, the driver, and Vernon Westbrook, the shotgun guard, kept their eyes peeled for any danger they might encounter. The passengers were occupied with their own thoughts or engaged in light and sporadic conversation, and thus unaware of the stage driver and his shotgun guard, who were scanning the road and the adjacent trees and brush on the watch for would-be robbers.
    “I could not help but notice that your mother and father came to see you off back at the stage depot,” Dr. Rosen said to Mildred. “Are you going a long distance?”
    “No, sir,” Mildred answered brightly. “I’m just going to spend a few days in Plumb Creek with my grandmother and grandfather.”
    “Oh, that sounds nice,” Mrs. Rosen said. “I do hope you have a very good time.”
    At noon, the stage stopped at the Armada way station, where the passengers and stage crew had their lunch. Then, after a lunch of bacon, fried potatoes and biscuits, the coach rolled out of Armada in a cloud of dust, to the rattle of harness and the drum of hoofbeats.
    “I don’t like this part of the trip,” Mrs. Rosen said, shortly after they left Armada. “This is where Crack Kingsley held up the stage last month.”
    “He didn’t kill anyone, did he?” the gambler asked.
    “No,” Dr. Rosen replied. “But he well could have. You never know with someone like Crack Kingsley. He served five years in the penitentiary, but he didn’t learn anything. He’s still riding the outlaw trail. But I reckon that all started during the war. He was an irregular then, robbing, burning, and killing without compunction.”
    “Which side was he on?” the gambler asked.
    “He rode with Doc Jennison, so you might say he was a Union man, but from what I’ve heard, the Jayhawkers were no better than the Bushwhackers who rode for the South,” Dr. Rosen said.
    Dr. Rosen’s observation had everyone in the stage on edge, and they looked out the windows as vigilantly as did the driver and guard. Up ahead by the side of the road was a single, rather large rock, ideally positioned to shelter a road agent, should one wish to take advantage. Schaeffer was well aware of this part of the trip, for that very rock had hidden Kingsley last month. Schaeffer cracked