A Jensen Family Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  “He’s slowing down!” Doc yelled excitedly. “I don’t think he wants to follow us onto the ranch!”

  “He ain’t completely loco, then,” Preacher said. “But that means you ain’t out of the woods, neither. If that fella wants you dead bad enough, he’s liable to make another try.”

  “I won’t be a bit surprised if he does,” Doc said. But Preacher heard the man heave a sigh of relief. For now, Doc Monday was probably safe, and once they reached the ranch, Smoke was bound to have some ideas on how to make sure that state of affairs continued.

  And Preacher wanted some answers, too. He recalled Ace and Chance telling him about how the man who’d raised them was a drifting gambler, and how they had drifted along with him for most of their lives.

  Preacher wanted to know why some outlaw named Bill Malkin suddenly wanted Doc Monday dead.

  CHAPTER 30

  The Sugarloaf

  Still angry over the ambush carried out on Pearlie and Cal the day before, Smoke had spent most of the day riding his range. Under the best of circumstances, he wasn’t a man given to sitting still. When he had a burr under his saddle like this, he had to be up and moving around, searching for a way to put an end to the trouble.

  Since the whole mess was in the hands of his lawyers right now, he couldn’t do that, but he could check the higher pastures and make sure all the cattle had been brought down to more hospitable sections before winter set in with a vengeance.

  Satisfied that everything had been taken care of properly—which was no surprise since Pearlie was a top-notch foreman—Smoke rode slowly back toward the ranch headquarters. The hours he’d spent in the saddle had eased his tension . . . but only a little.

  He sat up straighter and frowned as he thought he heard the faint popping of gunfire in the distance. The shots, if that was what they were, sounded like they might be coming from the road that led west from Big Rock. There were only a few of the sounds, and then, as the echoes faded, silence reigned again. It probably didn’t amount to anything, Smoke told himself.

  But he nudged his horse into a faster gait, anyway, as he headed for the ranch house.

  When he and Pearlie had gone back into town the day before to tell Monte Carson what had happened and confront Don Juan Sebastian Aguilar about the ambush, they had stopped at the store and picked up the last of the supplies Sally needed for her Christmas baking and decorating. Everybody was sticking close to home today . . . except for Smoke himself.

  Pearlie and Cal had both suggested that they ride along with him, but Smoke had turned down those offers. He knew he wouldn’t be very good company today, and he sure as hell didn’t need any babysitters.

  Here and there, slanting rays of wan, chilly sunlight darted through openings in the clouds. Smoke was still about two miles from headquarters when one of those pale rays touched the top of a rocky knob a couple of hundred yards farther along the faint trail he was following. Smoke saw the sunlight reflect from something up there.

  Honed by years of keeping him alive, his reflexes and instincts took over instantly. Smoke bent forward in the saddle and hauled the horse hard to the right. The crack of a rifle shot and the flat whap of a bullet passing close by his head came to his ears at the same time. He saw powder smoke spurt from the rocks on the knob as he kicked the horse into a run.

  He angled to the right, away from the knob, which sat to the left of the trail. More shots came from the rocks. At least two riflemen were hidden up there, thought Smoke. He had no doubt they were Aguilar’s men. Obviously, the don’s hired guns liked to bushwhack their intended victims.

  Smoke didn’t plan on being anybody’s victim, though. The horse was running flat out and hadn’t broken stride. Smoke saw bullets kicking up dust to his left. They were tracking closer, and he knew the would-be killers would have the range in a matter of seconds.

  What he did next might strike some people as foolhardy, but he knew it was his best chance. He yanked the horse back to the left, seemingly riding directly into the storm of bullets searching for them. But Smoke’s hunch was right, and the next volley sailed past him and struck to the right. He had caused the ambushers to overcorrect in their aim.

  A clump of trees loomed ahead of him. He guided the horse into them and weaved back and forth among the trunks. The horse was sure-footed as well as strong and managed well at the quick, sharp turns. Smoke continued bending forward in the saddle so no low-hanging branches would sweep him off the horse’s back. He heard bullets whipping through the branches and thudding into tree trunks, but the ambushers were firing blind now, and none of the shots came near him.

  When he emerged from the trees, he was even with the knob where the bushwhackers were hidden. It stood about 150 yards to his left. He pulled the horse to a stop and jerked his Winchester from its saddle sheath.

  “Steady now, boy,” he said calmly to his mount.

  All the horses Smoke rode on a regular basis were accustomed to the sound of gunfire. This one didn’t shy as Smoke cranked five rounds from the rifle as fast as he could work the lever, spraying the bullets among the rocks where he had seen powder smoke earlier. He had no way of knowing if he hit any of the bushwhackers, but he figured he had them diving for cover once those slugs started bouncing around up there.

  Without waiting to see what happened, he turned and rode quickly back into the trees. This time he swung down from the saddle and let the horse go, knowing that it wouldn’t wander far with trailing reins. He leaned against one of the pines, felt the trunk’s rough bark through his coat, and peered around it at the knob. He held the Winchester at his shoulder, ready to squeeze off another round if he caught even a glimpse of one of the bushwhackers.

  When that glimpse came, it was accompanied by drumming hoofbeats. A rider emerged from behind the knob, galloping directly away from it. He was too far away for Smoke to recognize him or make out any details.

  He drew a bead on the horseman and fired twice, but the horse kept going and didn’t break stride. The man was crouched low in the saddle and didn’t show any signs of being hit, either. Smoke was one of the best rifle shots on the frontier, in addition to being blindingly fast and deadly accurate with a Colt, but hitting a running target at that range, one moving away at an angle, was almost impossible. Smoke didn’t waste another bullet as the rider dwindled from sight.

  As he lowered the Winchester, he heard more hoofbeats. These came from a different direction and were even fainter. That would be the second bushwhacker, he thought. They had split up and fled, probably realizing that their ambush had failed once Smoke reached the shelter of the trees. They weren’t going to be able to root him out of there, and although they could have sat up there and poured lead into the pines all day, any shot that found its target would be pure luck.

  And all that racket would have drawn the attention of the Sugarloaf’s crew, as well, probably sooner rather than later. The bushwhackers didn’t want to deal with a bunch of angry, fast-shooting cowboys, so they had cut their losses and gotten out of there.

  Smoke hadn’t liked Don Juan Sebastian Aguilar to start with. The fact that the men working for the don preferred ambushing their targets just made him even less fond of Aguilar, if that was possible. Attempted bushwhackings two days in a row were just too damned much to stomach.

  Filled with fury, he was about to swing back up into the saddle when he realized he could be falling for a trick. There could have been three would-be killers hidden on that knob. It was possible two of them had lit a shuck in order to try to draw him out so the third man could take potshots at him. Smoke mounted his horse, but instead of riding out into the open, he moved slowly and carefully back through the trees. He wanted to come out at a different spot from where they might be expecting him.

  He had the Winchester ready as he nudged the horse out of the trees. Keen eyes scanned the top of the knob and then checked the area around it. Nothing moved anywhere. Smoke kept the horse moving and guided it with his knees. He didn’t re
lax, even though no shots rang out and he didn’t see anything to warn him of another bushwhack attempt.

  Taking several minutes to do it, he circled the knob. He knew every foot of ground on the Sugarloaf and was aware that the knob’s slope on the other side was gentler. Horses would have a hard time getting up it, but a man could climb it with no problem. For that reason, he figured the ambushers had left their mounts tied at the knob’s base on that side.

  Sure enough, Smoke had no trouble finding the large area of snow that the horses had disturbed while they were waiting for their riders. The numerous tracks were muddled enough that he couldn’t be completely sure only two horses had been tied here, but he believed that to be the case. He also saw the marks in the snow on the back side of the knob where the bushwhackers had slid down in a hurry.

  That wasn’t all. Smoke saw bright red splashes here and there, standing out in sharp contrast to the white snow. That was blood, he knew, and it meant that at least one of the slugs he had flung up there among the rocks had found its target. It was impossible to say just how badly the man had been hurt, but judging by the amount of blood Smoke saw, the wound had to be more than just a scratch.

  He dismounted, let the reins dangle again, and started up the slope, with the rifle held at a slant across his chest. The knob wasn’t very tall. It took him about a minute to climb to the top. When he got there, he was able to look down among the boulders just below the crest on the trail side. More blood had splattered here. He saw brass cartridge casings littering the ground, too.

  But no dead gun-wolf. Regardless of how bad the ambusher had been hit, he’d been able to get back down to the horses and ride off.

  It would be interesting to find out if any of Aguilar’s men were nursing a wound back in town, Smoke mused. But it probably wouldn’t do any good to try. Aguilar and Hinton would just lie about it.

  He searched the ground behind the rocks where the men had been hidden but didn’t find anything that would help him identify them. The cartridge casings were like thousands of others. He saw the butts of a couple of quirlies, but again, there was nothing distinctive about them.

  Knowing that he had reached a dead end here, Smoke went back down to his horse and resumed his ride toward the ranch headquarters.

  He still had that little matter of the other gunshots he had heard to investigate.

  * * *

  When he was a half mile from the ranch house, he saw two riders coming toward him and recognized them as Pearlie and Cal. As they came up to Smoke and reined in, Pearlie said, “One of the boys came a-foggin’ in and told us he’d heard shots from this direction. I knew you should’ve taken me and Cal with you, Smoke!”

  “I’m here and not sporting any bullet holes, aren’t I?” Smoke wanted to know.

  “Well, yeah, but are you tryin’ to claim you didn’t get mixed up in some sort of fracas?”

  Smoke chuckled and replied, “No, I wouldn’t say that.” He was actually in a better mood now, even though he was still angry at being bushwhacked. But the swift action had burned off some of the tension that had gripped him in such annoying fashion earlier in the day. “Aguilar’s men made another bushwhack try, but I was their target this time.”

  “Dadgum it!” A few stronger oaths followed Pearlie’s exclamation.

  Cal asked, “Did you get any of them, Smoke?”

  “Not this time. I wounded one of them, from the looks of the blood he left behind, but there were only two of them, and they both got away.” Quickly, he sketched in the details of the attack for his friends, then went on, “There’s no doubt in my mind that it was a couple of Aguilar’s men throwing lead at me.”

  “How much longer?” asked Pearlie. “How much longer are we gonna wait before we ride into Big Rock and have a showdown with that varmint? I reckon it’s the only thing he’s ever gonna understand!”

  “I feel the same way,” Smoke said, nodding slowly, “but I’ve promised Sally that I’ll try to handle things according to the law.”

  “When Tilden Franklin was makin’ life miserable for folks around here, the only law worth a hill o’ beans was what you and me and a bunch of other good hombres carried in our holsters!”

  “I don’t deny that, and Aguilar’s pushed me as far as I’m going to be pushed.” Smoke crossed his hands on the saddle horn and leaned forward, easing his muscles, if not his thoughts. “Christmas is only a few days away. I reckon that’s slowed everything down, legal-wise. I don’t want a war breaking out right when Sally has her heart set on a nice family celebration, but once Christmas is over, it’ll be time to settle things with Don Sebastian.”

  “Can’t come too soon to suit me,” grumbled Pearlie.

  “Although I am looking forward to all the good eating we’ll be doing over the next few days,” Cal added.

  Pearlie just gave him a disgusted look.

  Smoke said, “Just before those varmints started shooting at me, I thought I heard some other guns going off, over toward the road to Big Rock. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Pearlie said. “I got so mad when I heard about that ambush, I plumb forgot about the other business. You were right, Smoke. There was some shootin’ earlier, but nobody got hurt. We’d best get on back to the house, though, since visitors have showed up.”

  “Visitors?” Smoke repeated. “What visitors?”

  Pearlie turned his horse and said, “I promised I wouldn’t tell, although it ain’t gonna be that much of a surprise.”

  “Well, I didn’t promise anything—” Cal began, but he fell silent at the look Pearlie gave him.

  “You two will drive a man loco,” Smoke muttered as they rode toward the ranch house. However, he was relieved to know that no one had been injured in the shooting he had heard earlier.

  They came in sight of the ranch headquarters a few minutes later. Smoke spotted a buggy parked in front of the house. He didn’t recognize it, but since most buggies looked alike, especially at a distance, that wasn’t surprising.

  As they came closer, he thought maybe it was one of the buggies Dicky Patterson rented out. That would indicate that whoever had driven it out here had arrived in Big Rock on the train.

  Smoke and Sally were expecting guests for Christmas, but Preacher, Luke, Ace, and Chance would all show up on horseback, more than likely. There were no guarantees of that, however, Smoke reminded himself.

  Then he decided to stop pondering the question, because in a few more minutes, he would know.

  As the three of them rode up to the barn, Pearlie said, “You go on in the house, Smoke. Cal and me will tend to your horse.”

  “I can take care of my own horse.”

  “We know you can, but I told Miss Sally that if we ran into you, I’d tell you to head right on in, and I don’t plan on breakin’ a promise to Miss Sally.”

  “Well, in that case . . .”

  Smoke handed over the reins and strode toward the house, the little bit of snow that was on the ground crunching under his boots.

  A mixture of warmth and wonderful smells washed over him as he went inside and closed the front door behind him. Something that smelled delicious was baking in the oven, and blended with it were the scents of pine from the decorated tree in the parlor and the spices that Sally had been using in her cooking for the past several days. Normally, Smoke would have paused to take a deep breath and appreciate all the fine aromas, but today he was eager to find out who the visitors were and what was going on here.

  He hung his hat on a hook, then stepped into the opening between the foyer and the parlor and stopped short when he saw the older couple sitting on a sofa opposite Sally. Another older man sat in a chair near the fireplace, holding a cup in both hands but unable to keep it from trembling a little.

  Smoke instantly recognized the man sitting on the sofa. He said, “Preacher!” and strode forward to greet his oldest friend in the world—other than his brother Luke, whom Smoke had believed to be dead for many years. Smoke an
d the old mountain man embraced, slapping each other on the back. Preacher seemed to be as hale and hearty as ever, despite his advanced age.

  That certainly wasn’t true of the other man, who was gray and gaunt, obviously either in poor health or under a lot of strain, or both.

  “Preacher, it’s good to see you again!” Smoke said. “I didn’t expect you to show up in a buggy, though. I reckon that’s because you have other company with you.”

  “That’s right,” Preacher said. He took advantage of that opening to continue, “Smoke, I want you to meet an old friend of mine . . . Mrs. Adelaide DuBois. You’ve heard me speak of ol’ Polecat DuBois, from the fur-trappin’ years. Adelaide’s his widow.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. DuBois,” Smoke said. Sally had stood up and come alongside him. He put his arm around her shoulders and went on, “Welcome to our home.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jensen,” Adelaide said. She had a cup, too, and Smoke could tell now that it had spiced apple cider in it. He could smell it. “I’m very glad to be here.”

  “And you’ve heard this fella’s name before, too,” Preacher continued as he turned toward the other man, who set his cup on a table with a slight rattle and then stood up to step forward and extend his hand. “He’s Ennis Monday, better known as Doc.”

  “Doc Monday?” Smoke said as he clasped the man’s thin, shaking hand. “Why, you’re—”

  “Ace and Chance’s friend,” Doc said.

  “More than that. You raised those boys!”

  Doc shrugged a little and said, “They probably raised me just as much. I had to grow up some when I took responsibility for them.”

  “Well, you’re mighty welcome here at the Sugarloaf. Ace and Chance may be showing up—”

  Sally said, “I already told Mr. Monday that I wrote to them and asked them to come for Christmas.”

  “And they wrote and told me about the invitation,” Doc said with a smile. “They were supposed to come and see me after they were here, but . . . I’m afraid I couldn’t wait.”