A Rocky Mountain Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  Don took the shovel for his turn at digging. Then he turned back toward Beans with a smile on his face. “Whoa, I just thought of something. We’re digging in the wrong direction!” He pointed down. “We need to dig down to the ground.”

  “Why? What good would that do us? That would just put us under more snow, wouldn’t it?”

  “Not if we get under the train. We’ll dig down to the ground, then crawl under the train all the way to the back.”

  “What if the whole train is under snow?” Beans questioned.

  “We’ll just pray that it isn’t.”

  For most of the day, one stove had kept the front part of the car bearable, if not comfortable. But by nightfall it became much colder in the car, so cold that sheets of ice covered the inside of the windows. The situation was made worse by having to use as little coal as possible, in order to save fuel.

  “The irony,” Bailey pointed out, “is that there is enough fuel in the tender to keep every stove on the train going until summer.”

  “You can’t get to it,” Troy said, shaking his head. “The engine, tender, and the baggage car are all under a pile of snow as high as a mountain.”

  “We’ve got to do something, or it’s going to get very, very cold in here.”

  Suddenly the back door opened and two men blew in. As Luke had been earlier, they were covered with snow.

  “Don! Beans!” Bailey shouted excitedly. He went to the two men and embraced them happily.

  “Who are these people?” Senator Daniels demanded.

  “The engineer and the fireman,” Troy explained. “Praise be the Lord, they ain’t dead!”

  Moving quickly to the stove, Don told the others about the man who had attempted to stop the train and how shooting the gun had brought the avalanche down. Matt reported the current predicament, how four armed men were holding the entire train hostage by occupying the dining car and commandeering the only food.

  “Who are these men anyway?” Don asked. “Why did they stop the train?”

  Luke explained it had all been planned as a means to free Michael Santelli.

  “But it backfired on them,” Bailey added.

  “Actually, it backfired on all of us.” Luke muttered glumly.

  Buena Vista

  Deckert stroked his chin as he read the telegram from the station agent in Big Rock.

  TRAIN FROM BUENA VISTA NOT ARRIVED STOP

  FOURTEEN HOURS OVERDUE STOP PHIL WILSON

  STOP STATION AGENT BIG ROCK.

  “Where do you think the train is?” Ticket Agent Garrison asked.

  “Like as not it’s stranded at the top of the pass.”

  “If they can’t get through goin’ forward, why don’t they come back here and wait it out?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they can’t go either way.” Deckert drummed his fingers on the desk.

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  “If we haven’t heard anything by tomorrow morning, we’ll send a relief train up after them.”

  “Good idea,” Garrison said.

  “I shouldn’t have let them go.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mr. Deckert. The conductor makes the decision as to whether or not to go . . . doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, and Mr. Bailey seemed hell-bent to go.”

  “Then it’s not your fault.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

  “What about the people here in town? People who have relatives and such on the train?” Garrison asked. “When are you going to tell them?”

  “I reckon I’ll tell anyone who comes to ask about it. And no doubt it’ll be in the newspaper soon enough.”

  “I’m sure glad I’m not up there.” Garrison shook his head. “They might be there all the way through Christmas. I’d sure hate to spend Christmas stuck on the top of the pass.”

  “Ah, it won’t be all that bad,” Deckert pointed out. “They’ll be warm enough, I reckon. I mean if they had to, there’s enough coal in the tender to keep all the heating stoves going until next summer. And food enough for a week or two.”

  On board the train

  Luke and Jenny were sitting together, as much for warmth as anything else. Suddenly, Luke stood up. “I’ll be right back. I’m going into the next car for a moment.”

  “Luke, must you? What if those men are there? They tried to kill you, remember?”

  “You heard the porter. They’re in the diner. I’m sure they haven’t come back into the train. When I jumped from the train, I left my coat up there. I’m going after it.”

  “All right, but please be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Luke glanced over toward Matt. He was sitting in a seat with his arms folded, staring at the stove as if by sheer willpower he could cause it to generate more heat. His coat was still spread over Becky.

  Luke squatted down beside him. “I left my coat in the other car. I’m going after it. If Deputy Proxmire’s coat is still there, I’ll bring it back for you. I warn you, though, it may have some blood on it.”

  “A little blood won’t matter,” Matt said. “And thanks, I would appreciate that.”

  Luke left by the front door, crossed the vestibule, then stepped into the other car. He counted eight people in the car, and didn’t see either coat. “Hey. Did any of you see the two coats that were left here?”

  “That other fella, the one who was a prisoner with you?”

  “You mean Santelli?”

  “Yes. He come back and got both of them.”

  Luke noticed both stoves were still burning. “If I were you, I’d stop feeding this stove and just keep one of them going. That way your fuel will last longer.”

  “Good idea. What about food? Have you folks got any food back there?”

  “None,” Luke said.

  “If them fellas don’t let us have anything from the diner, we’re goin’ to get powerfully hungry,” the passenger said.

  Luke smiled and rubbed his stomach. “I’m already hungry.”

  “Yeah, I am, too.”

  “Ain’t no need in worryin’ about food,” one of the others said. “We’re likely to freeze to death before we starve to death.”

  Luke returned to the rear car and told Matt the coats were gone. “I’m sorry. It looks as if you and I are going to get pretty cold tonight.”

  Matt nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  Luke returned to his seat beside Jenny, and Matt joined the engineer and the fireman close to the stove, fighting the urge to feed more coal into it.

  “You know,” Don said. “In a way, I’m almost glad this happened.”

  “What?” Beans asked, surprised by the comment. “What do you mean, you are glad this happened?”

  Don chuckled. “I didn’t say I was glad, I said I was almost glad.”

  “Why?”

  “Tell me, Beans, when we are up there in the engine, driving the train, do you ever think about the people we are hauling around the country?”

  “Think about them?”

  “Yeah, you know, wonder about them.”

  “I don’t know as I have thought about them,” Beans said. “Mostly the only thing I think about is keeping the steam up.”

  “Well, I think about things like that, too, but I’m always wondering about who is back here, and where they are going. Are we taking some soldier boy home to see his mama and daddy for the first time since he left home? Maybe some young woman is going to meet the man who’s going to be her husband.”

  “Or maybe some folks goin’ to see their grandbaby for the first time,” Beans suggested.

  Don smiled. “See, you do wonder about the people we carry.”

  “I reckon I do. It’s just not somethin’ I think about very much.”

  “So, here we are sittin’ back here with ’em,” Don said. “I’ve been drivin’ a train for over twenty years, and this is the first time I’ve ever got to actually meet any of them.”

  “So, what do you think, Mr.
Stevenson?” Matt asked. “I mean now that you have met some of the people.”

  “Some of ’em I like”—Don glanced over toward Senator Daniels—“and some of ’em, I don’t like.”

  “But the little girl is sweet,” Beans said. “Bless her heart, I hope she gets better.”

  “I’m surprised they haven’t sent a rescue train after us,” Don continued. “Come six o’clock tomorrow morning, we’ll be twenty-four-hours overdue.”

  “Ha! What do you bet Doodle will be the engineer?” Beans asked.

  “Oh, yeah, Doodle would love to be the one to come to the rescue. And to tell the truth, I’d love to see him pulling up behind us right now, for all that it’ll give him a head bigger ’n a watermelon.”

  Abner Purvis couldn’t sleep. He could hear the conversation going on by the stove, but that wasn’t what was keeping him awake.

  Purvis had told Matt he was going back home to the family farm just outside Red Cliff. What he hadn’t told Matt was that his parents may not even let him back into the house. He had not written to his father to tell him he was coming back, because he was afraid his father would tell him he wasn’t welcome.

  Purvis had left home two years ago, to the great disappointment of his father, who had wanted and had planned for him to take a greater role in running the farm.

  “Abner, someday, this will be yours, and your mother and I will live out the rest of our lives quietly and comfortably,” his father had told him.

  “If someday the farm is to be mine, how about just giving me enough money to get started on my own somewhere else? You can give my part of the farm to Aaron. He is more suited to it than I am, anyway.”

  Purvis’s father had been very disappointed, but he borrowed a thousand dollars against the farm and gave it to Abner to go out into the world and make his mark.

  Purvis invested the entire one thousand dollars in a gold mine claim, a claim that proved to be worthless. When all of his money was gone, he went through a series of jobs—mucking out stalls in a livery, emptying spittoons and mopping the floors of saloons, and tending pigs for a butcher.

  Not once during the two years he was gone had Purvis ever written to his parents. They had no idea where he was, or if he was still alive. The longer he went without contacting them, the more difficult it became to reach out to them.

  It was while he was tending pigs that he came to his senses. He had made a huge mistake in leaving the farm and the future his father had worked so hard to give him. He decided to go back home, confess to his father that he had been a fool, no longer worthy to be called his son, and beg to be allowed to return.

  “I know that I have forfeited my right to any inheritance,” he would say. “I ask only to be allowed to return and work as one of your hired hands.”

  Would his father take him back? That was the question keeping Purvis awake.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  December 21

  The night had been long and cold, and Matt welcomed the sun. Bringing a little warmth with it had somewhat brightened his spirits. But it also ushered in another day without food. As Matt pondered the situation, he knew it was least ten more miles to the bottom of the pass and on in to Big Rock. Even if he could get through the mountain of snow, he couldn’t attempt it without a coat. If he took his coat away from the little girl, she might die. His thoughts had come full circle, leaving him without a plan to improve the circumstances.

  Troy had had a deck of cards in his pocket when he brought Santelli’s message to Bailey. He’d started a card game the men, including Senator Daniels, had participated in at one time or another. The card game helped to pass the time. Facing another day with no food, another game was started while Jenny and Millie were engaged in conversation.

  “My mother came to America from England. When the ship was halfway across the ocean it started taking on water. Fortunately, an empty cattle steamer was passing close by, and my mother’s ship signaled they were in distress.”

  Jenny smiled. “And the captain of the cattle ship told the Pomona to launch the lifeboats and get as many women and children across as they could.”

  “The Pomona! Yes, that was the ship my mother was on! How do you know that?”

  “My father was first officer on the Western Trader, the cattle ship that encountered the Pomona that day. I know the story, but only from my father’s side. Please, do tell. I would like to hear the story from the other side.”

  Millie nodded and continued the story. “After all the women and children crossed, they sent across the older men, then finally the younger men and all the crew. All made it across safely, not one person was lost.

  “The next day they could see the ship hanging at a list and within a few hours it went down. When my mother abandoned the Pomona, the only thing they let her take was a small handbag with thimble and scissors, a little money, and a few handkerchiefs. That was all she had when she first set foot in this country.”

  “What a wonderful story,” Jenny said. “And what a wonderful testimony to your mother’s courage. You must be very proud of her.”

  “I am. And you should see her with Becky. Why, my mother thinks the sun rises and sets on this little girl. It would be awful if . . . if . . .” Millie’s eyes pooled with tears.

  Jenny reached out to take her hand. “I have a feeling Becky is going to be all right.”

  Wetmore, Colorado

  Dewey Ferrell, Sheriff of Bent County, was in Custer County. He wasn’t wearing a badge, and he was carrying a hood, ready to cover his face when necessary. Ferrell and Jeb Clayton were at the top of a long grade, waiting for the stagecoach. They could see the coach below them, still some distance away.

  “He’ll have to stop when he reaches the top of the grade, to give the horses a blow,” Ferrell said. “That’s when we’ll hit them.”

  “How much money do you think he’ll be carryin’?” Clayton asked.

  “Judge Briggs said three thousand dollars would be in the strongbox.”

  Clayton smiled. “This is goin’ to be a fine Christmas.”

  They could hear the driver’s whistle and the occasional pop of his whip as the coach lumbered up the long grade.

  “How much longer you plannin’ on bein’ the sheriff?” Clayton asked.

  “What do you want to know for? You plannin’ on runnin’ against me?”

  “No, I was just wonderin’ is all.”

  “I got no plans on not bein’ the sheriff. Things is workin’ out just real good for me.”

  “Yeah.” Clayton chuckled. “This has been real good for me, too. Only thing is, we got to be careful about how we spend our money, or folks is goin’ to start wonderin’ how we can do it on forty dollars a month. Well, forty for you. Thirty for me.”

  “No problem,” Ferrell said. “We just need to go someplace like Denver, maybe even San Francisco, to spend it. That way, nobody will be the wiser.”

  On board the coach, Silas Cambridge took out a twist of tobacco and took a bite of it. He offered some to his shotgun guard, Jake Nugent.

  “Thank you, no. I never took up the habit.” Nugent broke down his double-barrel shotgun, checked the loads, then snapped it closed.

  “You see somethin’?” Cambridge asked.

  “Nothin’ in particular. But the horses will be winded when we get to the top of this climb, and if someone is plannin’ on hittin’ us, that’s more ’n likely where it’ll be.” Nugent set the shotgun down by his feet and pulled out his revolver to check it, too.

  Dr. Grant, his wife, and three children were inside the coach, wrapped up in buffalo robes against the bitter cold of the Colorado winter season. They were going to Yorkville, in Fremont County, to spend Christmas with Mrs. Grant’s parents.

  “Mama, will Grandma and Grandpa have Christmas presents for us?” Joey asked.

  “I expect they will,” Mrs. Grant said. “But don’t you be asking for anything when we get there.”

  “I won’t. But I wonder what it will be.�
��

  “Whatever it is, you will thank them for it.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I will.”

  The coach reached the top of the long grade, then it stopped. “Folks,” Cambridge called down. “We’re goin’ to spend a few minutes here so the horses can rest up a bit. If you’d like, you can get out and walk around a bit.”

  “Mama, I want to go to the bathroom,” Joey said.

  “All right, as soon as we get out, you can go find a rock or a tree.”

  The entire family got out of the coach and the driver hopped down to check the harness on his team. Only Nugent stayed where he was, sitting up on the driver’s box.

  Joey hurried into the trees, then he saw two men tying off their horses. Forgetting the reason he was there, he started toward them to say hello.

  “What about the passengers?” one of the men said. “Are we going to rob them, too?”

  The other man chuckled. “Why not? As long as we are robbin’ the stage, we may as well get the whole hog.”

  Turning, Joey ran back to the coach, straight to his father. “Papa! Papa!” he said breathlessly. “There’s two men in the woods, and they are going to rob us!”

  “Whoa now, Joey,” Dr. Grant caught him. “You aren’t letting your imagination get away from you, are you?”

  “No, Papa! I heard them. They said they were going to rob the stage and the passengers.”

  Nugent heard Joey and looked down toward the doctor and the others. “Dr. Grant, are you armed?”

  “No, sir, I am not.”

  Nugent pulled his pistol, handed it down, and pointed to an outcropping of stones away from the trees. “Take your family over there behind those rocks and stay down. If anything goes wrong, use the gun.”

  “I’m not skilled with firearms,” Dr. Grant advised.

  “You don’t have to be skilled. Just point it and pull the trigger. But let’s hope you don’t have to do that. Now, get over there fast before the robbers come up.”