Chapter 45: The Pinkertons Come Calling
The next day, Davey and Mac returned to Valentine, to Donal’s base of operations.
“Mac, this’ll be your room from now on,” Davey said, assigning him the second-floor guest bedroom.
Back at camp, the brothers had always shared a tent, but times had changed—and so had their living conditions.
“Oh, a real bed! This sure beats sleeping out in the dirt,” Mac said with a grin.
“I feel like I’ve joined high society. Maybe I ought to buy a suit—start acting like a proper gentleman.”
“Damn, are we finally living the dream we always talked about?”
Davey didn’t bother responding. He still needed to check on the speakeasy.
Compared to Davey, Mac was far more popular among Donal and his men.
They all feared Davey—deeply. Even though he always carried a calm, polite smile and dressed in simple cowboy clothes like the rest of them, something about him felt… different.
It wasn’t anything he said or did—it was just there, an air that made it clear he wasn’t from their world.
Mac, on the other hand—loud, crude, and fond of swearing—felt like one of their own.
It wouldn’t take long before he was drinking and joking with them like family.
Just as Davey was about to leave, Donal came rushing over, visibly shaken.
“Mr. Callander—outside… they’re here. The Pinkertons. They’re asking to see you.”
In the West, no one took the Pinkerton Detective Agency lightly. Their name alone sent a chill down the spine of every outlaw in America.
From the highest offices in government to the poorest drifter, everyone knew the Pinkertons—and most wanted nothing to do with them.
Donal was clever in small ways, but he was still just a minor figure in Valentine, surviving by knowing a few useful secrets.
And now, with the Pinkertons showing up at his doorstep, he was terrified.
“Donal, relax,” Davey said calmly. “No need to panic.”
“Show our guests to the parlor. Brew them some coffee. Tell them I’ll be down shortly.”
Hearing Davey’s steady tone, Donal slowly regained his composure and went downstairs.
Davey wasn’t trying to play the gentleman—he simply needed a few minutes to change.
He pulled out his fine suit from before. As much as he hated to admit it, appearances could matter a great deal.
...
Downstairs, two men waited on the sofa—Pinkerton Senior Agent Andrew Milton and his partner, Agent Edgar Ross.
Their reputations preceded them.
They sat quietly, while Donal and his men—Mac included—stood nearby, all of them tense and uneasy.
Mac kept glancing up toward the stairs, wondering what was taking Davey so long.
Donal, meanwhile, couldn’t help thinking, Did Mr. Callander run off?
Milton hadn’t even finished half a cup of coffee, but for the men waiting there, it felt like an eternity.
Then, at last, the sound of footsteps echoed down the staircase.
Everyone exhaled in relief, turning instinctively toward the stairs.
Davey descended slowly into view—wearing a sharp, perfectly tailored suit, a fashionable tall hat, and polished shoes gleaming in the light. A refined walking cane rested in his right hand.
Everything about him—his posture, his composure, his refined elegance—seemed completely out of place in this rough frontier town.
If he’d claimed to be a nobleman from Europe, no one would have doubted it.
His sharp, intelligent gaze fell on Milton and Ross.
“My apologies, Mr. Milton, Mr. Ross, for keeping you waiting,” Davey said smoothly. “I hope you’ll forgive my tardiness.”
It was a confident opening—a preemptive move.
Milton and Ross both showed visible surprise.
This was clearly their first meeting, yet Davey had greeted them by name without a moment’s hesitation.
As a seasoned investigator, Milton immediately realized one thing: this man knew more about them than they’d expected.
Still, Milton wasn’t about to be intimidated. “Mr. Callander,” he said dryly, “had I not read your file, I might have mistaken you for a civilized gentleman—rather than a ruthless criminal.”
Davey didn’t rise to the bait. He walked over, sat down across from them, and gestured to his men.
“Mac, Donal—take the others outside for a break,” he said evenly. “I need to speak with these two gentlemen privately.”
Mac and Donal were only too eager to leave, and the rest of the men followed.
Donal cast one last nervous glance at the agents, then bowed slightly. “As you wish, Mr. Callander.”
Once the room was empty, Davey turned his attention back to Milton.
“Such an abrupt and unannounced visit—hardly the most civilized behavior, wouldn’t you say?”
“Perhaps I should ask Sheriff Malloy just how many Pinkerton agents have come through Valentine lately.”
“In New Hanover, you two should understand something—the Pinkerton name doesn’t carry the same authority it used to.”
“Oh, maybe I should write to a few friends in the unions. They’ve always taken a rather… personal interest in the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”
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