A Jensen Family Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  “The same last name doesn’t mean we’re family, no matter what Sally and Smoke keep saying,” Ace said.

  “You should listen to them,” Doc said firmly. “I understand that Smoke and Luke’s other brother, Matt, is adopted, and yet they consider him every bit as much a member of the family as any of the rest of them. So you and Chance should certainly—” Doc stopped and shook his head. “Nope, I’ve said all I have to say.”

  That puzzled Ace, but Doc wouldn’t do anything else except chat about Christmas and the brothers’ plans for the coming year, which, as usual, were pretty vague. When you spent your days drifting from adventure to adventure, worrying too much about the future didn’t really make sense.

  Smoke and Sally were talking to Monte Carson and several other of Big Rock’s leading citizens when the buzz of happy conversation in the hall suddenly fell off. Smoke looked around and saw that Aguilar and Mariana had just entered the hall, followed by Hinton and several more hard-bitten men who were part of Aguilar’s gun crew.

  “You reckon he’s looking to make trouble?” asked Monte under his breath.

  “More than likely, Doña Mariana insisted that they come,” Smoke said. “She’s been trying mighty hard to see to it that they fit in here.”

  “She has,” Sally agreed. “I’m a little sorry that it’s not going to come to anything for her. She can’t help it that her husband is going to lose out on that phony claim of his.”

  Smoke chuckled and said, “You sound pretty sure of that.”

  “I am,” Sally declared. “Nobody’s getting their hands on the Sugarloaf.”

  That determination didn’t surprise Smoke one bit. It was one of the reasons he had fallen in love with Sally in the first place.

  The noise level in the room went up again as the reaction to the Aguilars’ arrival wore off. Most of the cowboys were gathered around the table where bowls of apple cider had been placed. It wasn’t hard cider, and it wasn’t supposed to be spiked, but a few dollops of Who-Hit-John always found their way into the mix from flasks that the punchers smuggled in, and Monte Carson always looked the other way about that. Not so the good women of the town, so the cowboys had to be careful and not let themselves get caught sweetening the cider, or else they’d get a tongue-lashing and maybe wind up kicked out of the social. They were willing to run the risk, though.

  Smoke had noticed a number of unfamiliar faces in the crowd this year. Some of them might be Aguilar’s men, he supposed, but others were simply newcomers to the valley. Ranch hands came and went, and so did others who moved in to try farming in the area, although it was more suited to raising cattle. Few people in the world were more stubbornly determined than farmers. Smoke knew that from being raised on a farm himself, back in the Missouri Ozarks.

  As he thought about that, he missed his father, Emmett, long dead now, murdered by evil men, who had had justice delivered to them by Smoke, in the form of hot lead. Although the pain of the loss had eased over time, it had never gone away entirely and likely never would. Smoke hoped his father was looking down on them now, pleased with what the Jensen family had become.

  * * *

  Chairs were lined up along the walls, and after a while, Doc Monday went over to one of them and sat down. He got tired easily these days, and the stiffness and pain in his neck and shoulders were worse when he stood up for too long. He leaned back in the chair and rested the back of his head against the wall, grateful for its support.

  He smiled as he watched Ace and Chance talking to a couple of young women from Big Rock. Chance was flirting shamelessly, of course; the youngster really had an eye for the ladies. Ace was more reserved, but he seemed to be enjoying the conversation, too.

  A man sat down on the chair next to Doc, who glanced over at him and saw only a stranger carrying his coat over his arm. The man was middle aged, with a rugged face that showed the deep tan of someone who had spent much of his life outdoors. He still had his hat on, but it was pushed back to reveal gray hair.

  “Howdy,” the man said. “You’re the one they call Doc Monday, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right,” replied Doc. He supposed the man was just trying to be friendly.

  His next words seemed to confirm that, as the man said, “My name’s Thackery. Lane Thackery. That mean anything to you?”

  The question surprised Doc, who said, “No, I don’t believe so. Should it?”

  “I thought maybe your pard Bill Malkin might have mentioned it.”

  As if that statement wasn’t surprising enough, Doc felt a sudden pressure against his side. Thackery had just jabbed a hard, round object against his ribs. Doc caught his breath.

  “Yeah, that’s a gun barrel,” Thackery said quietly, with an apparently friendly half-smile still on his face. “Nobody can see it with my coat draped over my arm like this. If you don’t want it to go off, you won’t raise a ruckus.”

  Doc’s pulse pounded hard. After a moment, he got control of his shock and was able to say, “I don’t know what you want, but you’re all wrong about Bill Malkin being my friend.”

  “That’s not what he said, and he was just about to die, so I don’t reckon he’d lie about a thing like that. That son of a bitch and I were partners for a long time, and I don’t appreciate being double-crossed.”

  “You were part of his gang,” Doc breathed. “I remember seeing your name now, in that newspaper article. You’re one of the men who held up that train . . .”

  “And stole fifty thousand dollars, which we never got our share of. Well, it’s all mine now, because you’re going to tell me where it is.”

  Doc thought about that, and as he did, he began to laugh.

  “What’s so damned funny?” Thackery grated.

  “You think I know where Malkin hid that loot? You’re wrong about everything! He wanted to kill me so I couldn’t tell anybody who he really was. He never would have shared that secret with me.”

  Thackery didn’t look convinced, but some doubt had entered his eyes. He said, “You’re lying because you want all that money for yourself.”

  “Money’s not all that important to me anymore, Thackery,” Doc said. “And to tell you the truth, that gun doesn’t scare me much, either. A man gets to be my age, with his health the way mine is, he doesn’t give a damn about such things.”

  Thackery hesitated but then said, “I don’t believe a word of it. You’ll talk, once we get you out of here. I’ll see to that. I know ways of making anybody talk.”

  Malkin had threatened him with torture, too. Doc knew now, as he had known then, that he couldn’t withstand much of it. But he wasn’t going to allow things to go that far.

  “You might as well put the gun away and get out of here,” he said, “because I’m about to stand up and call my friends for help—”

  “If you do that, those two boys you care so much about will be dead a second later,” Thackery cut in. At Doc’s surprised glance, he went on, “Yeah, I know about those Jensen boys. I asked around about you when my men and I drifted into town earlier, and I found out how you raised them like your own sons. I’ve got men watching them right now. All I have to do is give the signal, and they’ll put bullets in those kids’ brains before they ever know what’s happening. Is that what you want, Doc?”

  Doc felt his whole body trembling now, from a combination of his physical condition and the fear for Ace and Chance’s safety that welled up inside him.

  “Leave them out of it,” he said. “They don’t know anything about Bill Malkin’s money.”

  “My money,” Thackery said. “Nothing has to happen to those kids. All you have to do is come with me and tell me what I want to know.”

  He could do only the first part of that, Doc realized. He couldn’t tell Thackery where the loot was hidden, because he honestly had no idea. But if he made the outlaw believe that he had such knowledge . . . if he cooperated now . . . Ace and Chance would be safe.

  “All right,” he said. “If you’ll promise that
Ace and Chance won’t be hurt—”

  “You have my word on that. I don’t have any interest in those two.”

  Doc put his hands on his knees and said, “I’ll come with you, then.”

  Thackery was bound to be disappointed, and Doc felt certain he would die before the night was over, but none of that mattered. Only the boys . . .

  The gun went away from his side. Thackery stood up at the same time Doc did. The outlaw said, “Don’t get any ideas, just because I’m not holding a gun on you anymore. I can still snuff out those two little bastards’ lives with a nod if you force my hand.”

  “Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.”

  “Come on, then.” Thackery started toward a side door that led out of the town hall. He had a hand on Doc’s arm, guiding him.

  As Doc moved toward the door, he wondered if Thackery was lying about the men with orders to kill Ace and Chance. It could all be a bluff. Thackery might be the only enemy here.

  But he couldn’t afford to risk that, Doc decided. He’d been a gambler all his life, but he wasn’t going to gamble with the lives that meant more to him than anything else in the world. Those stakes were just too high.

  Thackery opened the door, and the two of them slipped outside, into the shadows. The night of Christmas Eve had fallen over Big Rock.

  CHAPTER 42

  Whenever Chance started sweet-talking some local girl, Ace was always wary of the possibility that she might have a beau who would take offense and they would all wind up in a brawl. He didn’t want to abuse Smoke and Sally’s hospitality by having that happen, and for sure not on Christmas Eve!

  However, the two young ladies from Big Rock they were talking to had volunteered the information that they didn’t have sweethearts at the moment, so Ace supposed they were safe. And he had to admit, the one who seemed to be the most interested in him, whose name was Mary Lou, was sure pretty....

  But why in blazes was Doc sneaking out of the town hall with some hombre Ace had never seen before?

  The first thing Ace thought of was that Doc was going to play in a poker game somewhere. The lure of the pasteboards had always been difficult for Doc to resist.

  However, Doc’s face didn’t have any of the usual enthusiasm for the cards that it would normally possess in such circumstances. In fact, Doc looked strained and upset about something, Ace realized, and he couldn’t let that pass without trying to find out what was wrong.

  He touched Chance’s coat sleeve and said, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Where are you going?” Chance wanted to know. “We’re having a good time here.”

  “Yeah, I know. I won’t be gone long.”

  Chance looked annoyed, and the two girls appeared puzzled, but Ace didn’t linger to offer any explanations. He made his way through the crowd and out of the hall by the same door Doc and the stranger had used a minute earlier.

  The town hall was next to a vacant lot, and a grove of trees grew behind that open ground. Ace heard horses moving around and looked toward the trees. His keen eyes picked out large, dark shapes against the pale background of snow. Saddle leather creaked as men mounted up over there.

  “Doc?” Ace called. “Doc, where are you going?”

  “Ace, don’t—”

  The urgent cry, cut off so abruptly, made Ace stiffen in alarm. His hand darted toward the place where his gun was usually holstered, but too late, he remembered that everyone had taken off their gunbelts as they entered the hall for the social and had left the weapons on several shelves built just inside the doors for that purpose.

  He might be unarmed, but that didn’t mean Ace was going to stand by and do nothing while Doc was in obvious trouble. He paused only long enough to kick open the door he had just closed behind him. Then he yelled, “Chance!” and charged toward the trees.

  “Ace, no!” Doc cried, but it was too late. Several men leaped from the shadows under the trees and surrounded Ace. Hard fists swung at the young man.

  Ace’s momentum bowled over a couple of his attackers, and his own rocklike fists lashed out. A few of his punches went wild in the bad light, but most landed solidly.

  “Bryson! Eberle!” a man yelled harshly. “Get that damn kid!”

  Ace’s swift blows had cleared an area around him. He heard the scuff of a footstep behind him and started to turn, but before he was halfway around, from the corner of his eye he saw a gun barrel swinging toward his head. He tried to jerk out of the way but was too late. The gun crashed against his skull. His knees buckled, and he felt them hit the ground.

  He didn’t feel it when he landed face-first in the snow, though. He was already unconscious.

  * * *

  Chance loved the smiles on the girls’ faces, and the sound of their laughter when he said something witty was music to his ears. But Ace’s shout from outside made all that disappear. Chance knew from the sound of the cry that something was wrong. He turned and broke into a run toward the side door that had just flown open, the two young ladies totally forgotten behind him.

  He burst out into the night and spotted a number of men on horseback milling around under the trees behind the vacant lot beside the town hall. It was too dark for him to be able to tell anything about them, but since nothing else seemed to be going on out here, those riders had to be the reason for Ace’s shout of alarm.

  “Ace!” Chance yelled as he started toward the men and horses.

  “We only need one of them!” a man barked. Instantly, Colt flame bloomed in the darkness like crimson flowers. Chance dived forward as bullets whipped over him. He wished he had his Smith & Wesson, but he’d left it inside the hall, just like everybody else attending this Christmas Eve social.

  He couldn’t open fire, anyway, he realized, because he didn’t know where Ace was and couldn’t risk any shots. Those men, whoever they were, must have taken Ace prisoner.

  Hooves pounded the ground as the riders wheeled their mounts and galloped away, still throwing lead behind them. The shouts, followed by the burst of gunfire, had attracted plenty of attention, and others were spilling out of the town hall now, calling questions. Chance heard Smoke shout, “Ace! Chance! Where are you?”

  Chance scrambled to his feet and yelled, “Smoke, get everybody back insi—”

  Something slammed into his left arm and knocked him spinning. He wound up on his belly in the snow again. His arm was numb, which told him one of those parting shots had struck him. The numbness wouldn’t last long, and then his arm would hurt like blazes.

  Smoke dropped to a knee beside him, gun in hand. Chance supposed Smoke had grabbed the weapon before he hurried out here. Smoke thrust the Colt toward the riders, who were no longer visible, even though the hoofbeats of their horses could be heard. Chance managed to get his right hand up and closed it around the gun barrel.

  “Don’t . . . shoot,” he gasped. “I think they’ve got . . . Ace!”

  “How bad are you hit?” asked Smoke as he lowered the revolver.

  “Just nicked . . . my arm. I’ll be all right. You’d better . . . get after them.”

  “Why would somebody kidnap Ace?”

  “Dunno . . . but he came out here . . . like something was wrong . . . and then I . . . heard him yell . . .”

  Luke had joined Smoke, and he was armed, too. He put a hand on Chance’s uninjured shoulder and said, “Take it easy, son. We won’t let anything happen to your brother. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  The level of concern in Luke’s voice surprised Chance a little, even under the circumstances. He said, “Yeah, I’ll be . . . fine. Just go after them!”

  Then Smoke and Luke were gone, and Sally and some of the townspeople had taken their place. Chance felt hands on him, lifting him and helping him back into the town hall. He caught glimpses of Smoke, Luke, Preacher, and Monte Carson, all of them grim faced as they buckled on gunbelts.

  But there was no sign of Doc Monday anywhere in the hall, and Chance’s spirits sank as he wonder
ed if the kidnappers had taken Doc, too.

  * * *

  Doc couldn’t stop shaking. Lane Thackery demanded, “What the hell’s wrong with you?” The outlaw had Doc on the back of the horse with him, left arm clamped painfully taut around him to hold him in place.

  “If . . . if you hurt those boys, I’ll—”

  Thackery hit him on the side of the head with an open hand. The blow rocked Doc, but he couldn’t fall off the horse with Thackery holding him so tightly.

  “You won’t do a damned thing,” the outlaw said. “But if you don’t want to listen to the one you called Ace screaming in agony, you’ll tell me where to find that damned money!”

  Doc’s head sagged forward. After a moment, he said, “I . . . I’m sick. I’m going to pass out—”

  “You’d better not, and you’d better not up and die on us, either. Because if you’re dead, there’s no reason in hell to keep that boy alive.”

  Doc knew Thackery meant it. Thackery’s ridiculous assumption that Doc knew where the loot was hidden was the only thing keeping either of them alive.

  The group of riders, half a dozen or so, galloped through the night, with snow flying up from their horses’ hooves. Doc had no idea where they were going, other than away from Big Rock. Thackery was probably looking for a place where he could stop and carry out the torture he’d been threatening.

  That might not be easy, though. One of the other men raised his voice above the hoofbeats and said, “All that shooting’s liable to bring a posse after us, Lane! We need to hole up somewhere and get ready for a fight.”

  Another man added, “They’ll be able to follow our trail through the snow, even in the dark.”

  Thackery cursed bitterly and said, “Don’t you think I know that? We just need a few minutes . . .”

  A few minutes to force him to talk, thought Doc. That was what Thackery meant.

  “Up there on that hill,” Thackery exclaimed suddenly. He veered the horse carrying him and Doc toward the left. They came to a slope and began ascending it. The climb was steep enough that the horses had to struggle, especially the two mounts carrying double.