A Rocky Mountain Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  Dr. Grant nodded and shepherded his wife, whose face reflected her fear, and the three children to the relative safety of the rocks.

  “Silas,” Nugent called quietly from the box.

  Cambridge looked up from the harness.

  “Get over here on this side. Keep the team between you and the trees.”

  Cambridge, reading the seriousness in Nugent’s voice, didn’t waste time asking for clarification. He moved to the other side of the team as two men on horseback stepped out of the trees, their faces covered with hoods, their guns drawn.

  “All right!” one called out as they approached the coach. “You know what this is. Put your hands up. Which one of you is the driver?”

  “I am,” Nugent answered before Cambridge could speak. Both men had their hands raised.

  “Ha! Got your shotgun guard tending to your team, huh? Well, I reckon you’re the boss and you can do that.”

  “I reckon so,” Nugent replied.

  “Call your passengers out.”

  “We ain’t carryin’ any passengers.”

  “What do you mean you aren’t carrying any passengers? What kind of stagecoach makes a trip with no passengers?”

  “A coach that carries only money and mail,” Nugent disclosed.

  “Good enough answer. All right. I want you to reach down and bring up the strongbox, then throw it down to us.”

  “I’ll have to put my hands down to get to the box.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Nugent lowered his hands, then reached down toward his feet where the double-barrel shotgun lay. “Silas, where’d you put that box?”

  “Don’t you be giving them that box! Don’t you dare give them that box!” Cambridge kept on shouting at the top of his voice, drawing the attention of both armed robbers.

  That was exactly what Nugent wanted. The noise covered the cock of the shotgun and when he came up from the floor he fired off one barrel, then the other, and both would-be robbers were blasted out of their saddles.

  Nugent jumped down from the driver’s box and hurried over to them. “Doc! You’d better come take a look at these two.”

  “I want to see, too!” Joey shouted, running from behind the rocks.

  “Joey! You get back here!” Mrs. Grant called.

  The boy skidded to a stop and turned around. “Oh, Mama, why can’t I see them? I’ve never seen anyone who was killed before.”

  “You just stay here,” Mrs. Grant ordered.

  Dr. Grant hurried over to the men and bent down to put his fingers on their necks to find the carotid pulse, though he could tell by looking at the massive wounds in their chests it wasn’t necessary. When he didn’t find a pulse in either, his suspicion was confirmed. “They’re both dead.”

  Cambridge squatted down beside the two men and pulled their hoods off.

  “I’ll be damned! This is Sheriff Farrell from Bent County!”

  “The sheriff? The sheriff was robbin’ us?” Nugent sputtered in disbelief.

  “Yes. That’s sure some surprise, ain’t it?”

  “Maybe not as big a surprise as you might think,” Dr. Grant replied.

  “Why, what do you mean?”

  “Back in Pueblo, a rancher there by the name of Luke Shardeen shot one of Ferrell’s deputies. He made the claim the sheriff and his deputy had tried to rob him. Looks like he was telling the truth.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  On board the train

  As the sun got lower that evening, the temperature in the car dropped again. Matt shivered, wondering how those who had no coat would get through the night. He looked down at the aisle for a second, and his eyes followed it all the way to the back of the car. He smiled. “Luke. I’ve got an idea.”

  Luke, who had been sitting with Jenny, came over to him. “I hope it’s a good one.”

  Matt chuckled. “Yeah, so do I.” He took out his penknife, opened it, then walked up to the front of the aisle and squatted down. He made a slice across the aisle carpet and pulled up the end.

  “Help me pull up this carpet. We can make serapes out of it.”

  “Yes!” Luke said. “Yes, that is a good idea!

  Bailey saw Matt and Luke pulling up the carpet. “Here! What are you doing? You can’t do that! That carpet belongs to the Denver and Pacific!”

  “We’ll give it back when we are through with it,” Matt said as he and Luke continued to pull up the carpet. When it was fully taken up, he cut it into long sections, then cut a hole in the middle of each section for a head to stick through.

  The carpet made four serapes. He put his on first to demonstrate how to use it, then he gave one each to Luke, Julius and Troy. After a bit of good-natured teasing about how they looked, Matt walked over to the seat where the little girl was lying with her head on her mother’s lap. “How is Becky doing?”

  “Oh, Mr. Jensen,” Millie apologized. “I’m so sorry you have to wear that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s keeping me warm now. I just hope your daughter doesn’t get too cold.”

  “I think that, with your coat, she is warm enough,” Millie said. “In a way, I’m almost thankful she isn’t feeling well. She has no appetite, so she isn’t suffering from hunger the way the rest of us are.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be too much longer before they send a relief train after us.” Matt didn’t believe that at all, but he thought it would be better to give her some hope.

  “Yes. I’m sure you are right.”

  Conductor Bailey was also without an overcoat, so he maintained a position nearest the stove. With what heat the stove was putting out, Matt was reasonably sure he would be able to pass the night in relative comfort.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Sugarloaf Ranch

  That evening, Smoke, Duff, and Sally sat in the keeping room, drinking coffee, looking out at the snow-covered ground, and basking in the warmth of the fireplace.

  “Tell me, Duff, how did you fare during the great die-up?” Smoke asked. The question referred to the winter of 1887–88, when an enormous blizzard resulted in the death of almost half the cattle in the Northwest.

  “I’ve got a natural shelter on my place, and I had enough hay stored, so for the most part I came through it without too much difficulty. But some of the English ranchers didn’t fare so well. It completely broke Moreton Frewen. How did you do?”

  “I had been through a few killing blizzards before, so I was ready for it as well.” Smoke pointed toward the barn. “I’ve got enough hay laid by now that if this condition lasts, I’ll be able to feed my stock.”

  “That’s smart of you.” Duff took a swallow of his coffee and was quiet for a moment as he recalled that winter.

  “On the day after the storm, I rode out with a neighboring rancher to cut his fences so his cattle could drift on to shelter. We found hundreds of them frozen to death and others whose tails had cracked and broken off like icicles. Och, I don’t think I’d ever seen a sadder sight, or heard a more heartrending sound than the moaning of cattle freezing to death. With the ice and snow so deep, they couldn’t get to food, so many died of starvation. All we could do was to cut the fences and let any still alive drift, for if they stayed in place, they would have died, too. Later, when the snow was gone, you could ride for miles and not get away from the sickening sight of dead cows.”

  “Heavens,” Sally said with a shiver. “It’s nearly Christmas. Can’t we talk about something more pleasant? Duff, tell us about Christmas in Scotland.”

  “Oh ’twas a fine time we had in Scotland. I remember that m’ mither used to make a Black Bun cake.”

  “What is it? Maybe I could make one,” Sally said.

  “Na, for you have to prepare for it, gather a lot of fruit. The cake is filled with fruit of all kind, almonds, spices, and”—Duff smiled—“being as we are Scottish, it had to have plenty of whisky.” He gathered the tips of his fingers, then opened them up. “Sure ’n ’twas quite a delight to eat.”

&nbs
p; “What other traditions did you have? Other than food,” Sally asked.

  “We had the Oidche Choinnle, which means the Night of Candles,” Duff explained. “We put candles in every window to light the way for the Holy Family on Christmas Eve.

  “Ah, but there was one custom that’s for the rancher,” he added.

  “You have a Christmas custom just for the rancher?” Smoke asked.

  “Aye. ’Tis called the Christmas Bull. A cloud in the shape of a bull crosses the sky early on Christmas morning. If the bull is going east, ’twill be a good year. If it is going west, ’twill be a bad year.”

  “Christmas morning, we’ll have to remember to look for the bull in the sky,” Smoke said.

  “If we’ll even be able to see the sky on Christmas morning,” Sally mumbled.

  “Aye, that’s the question,” Duff agreed. “For ’tis been an evil sky for some days now.”

  “Where will Matt be Christmas morning?” Sally wondered. “With us? Or will he still be on that train?”

  “Either way, he will be all right,” Smoke said. “He’s on a train, after all, not stranded in the mountains. It may not be his most pleasant Christmas, but at least he will be warm, and well fed.”

  Big Rock

  Inside Hannah’s, Bob Ward stood at a window, looking out into the dark. He had been there for one night and two days, virtually the only customer because the weather had kept others away. So far his stay had cost him nine dollars, but he had been provided with food and a warm bed.

  The bed had come with companionship, Midge the first day and Dora the first night. At the moment, he was in Annie’s room.

  “Honey, if you’re goin’ to be stayin’ tonight, it’s goin’ to cost you another three dollars.”

  “All right. But bring me up something to eat, would you?”

  Annie smiled. “I will, honey. You can count on me.”

  Ward had no intention of spending another night there, but he led Annie to believe that, so he could get another meal. As soon as he ate, he would tell her he was broke, and ask her if she could extend him credit. He knew she wouldn’t, and would kick him out, which was what he wanted.

  He drummed his fingers on the windowsill and wondered if the rescue of his brother had gone as planned. They weren’t all that close, but Ward knew without Santelli, he would never be able to find the money.

  On board the train

  During the long, dark night, Luke and Jenny found a way to deal with the cold. Jenny took off her coat, and opening it up, spread it across the two of them like a blanket. Luke did the same thing with his “serape,” and the two snuggled together. The arrangement kept them warm, but Jenny knew some of the warmth was coming from within, her reaction to feeling Luke’s body pressed up so closely against her own.

  Why was she feeling this way? She had just met him the night before. She knew he had a ranch outside Pueblo, and had heard about his trial from some of the “guests” who had visited the Colorado Social Club. For the most part, people had spoken well of him. And to a man, they said the verdict was a miscarriage of justice.

  As she sat there, warm in his arms, she allowed herself the fantasy of thinking what it might have been like if she had met him earlier. Would he have courted her?

  She expanded the fantasy, picturing them having dinner together in a fine restaurant, or going to a concert or show together in the Pueblo Theater. They would take walks together in the summertime, and—

  Cold reality set in. She had been working at a whorehouse, and though it was the dream of every woman who was on the line to have a “prince” come to her rescue, marry her, and take her out of “the life,” it rarely happened. Jenny wasn’t naive enough to think it would have happened to her, even if she had met him earlier.

  For his part, Luke was lost in his own reflections. He smiled as he recalled how he had gone to the Social Club for the purpose of meeting Jenny. At the last minute he had backed out. And then he was convicted of something he didn’t do. Santelli made a break, the train got stranded by an avalanche, and in the middle of the night, he was sitting close to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He smiled as he realized he may be the only one on the train who was actually enjoying the current situation.

  Luke put his arm around her, ostensibly for warmth, and he pulled her very close to him.

  Jenny wasn’t sure when it happened, but the embrace grew beyond one of warmth and comfort. She was aware of his muscular body against hers, and she leaned into him, enjoying the contact. They stayed that way for a long moment, then Luke turned toward her. She could see his eyes shining in the soft light of the dimmed lanterns.

  Jenny wasn’t surprised when he kissed her, but she was surprised by her reaction to it. She felt a tingling in her lips that spread throughout her body, warming her blood. When they parted, she reached up to touch her lips and held her fingers there for a long moment.

  Luke backed away a bit. “I’m sorry. I had no right to do that.”

  “I’m not sorry,” Jenny said, surprising herself with her boldness in word and deed, for she leaned into him, lifting her head toward his.

  Luke kissed her again, deepening the kiss as he pulled her more tightly against him. Then, gently, he tugged her head back to break the kiss. She stared up at him with eyes filled with wonder, and as deep as her soul. Her lips were still parted from the kiss, and her cheeks flushed.

  “Jenny, this is doing you a great disservice. I’m going to jail. This isn’t going anywhere. It can’t possibly go anywhere.”

  Jenny felt a ragged disconnect, having allowed herself to come this far, only to be pulled back. No, she wanted to shout. Not now, don’t stop. But she knew he was right. There could be no future between them.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he lowered his head so it rested on hers.

  “Jenny,” he said quietly. “Have you ever heard of the Samoans?”

  “The Samoans? No, I don’t think so. What are the Samoans?”

  “They are natives to some South Pacific Islands. They are a very interesting and friendly people, wonderfully athletic.”

  “You have been to islands in the South Pacific?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve been there many times. And among the Samoan culture, there is a saying that applies to us right now, that is, to you and me. The Samoans say there is no difference in the heart of a flower that lives but a single day, and the heart of a tree that lives for a thousand years.”

  “That’s a beautiful saying.”

  “Do you know what it means?”

  “Yes,” Jenny replied. “For us, it means we should live in the moment.”

  “Exactly.” Luke kissed her again. Opening his lips on hers, he pushed his tongue into her mouth.

  Involuntarily a moan of passion began in her throat. The kiss went on, longer than she had ever imagined such a thing could last, and her head grew so light she abandoned all thought save this pleasure. Realizing she was totally powerless before him, she made herself subservient to his will, totally surrendering to him.

  Then the kiss ended, and he pulled away from her. Only then did Jenny’s own willpower return, and she gave a silent prayer of thankfulness that Luke had been strong enough for both of them.

  December 22

  Santelli, Compton, Morris, and Kelly were enjoying a morning breakfast of bacon and eggs, still holed up in the dining car.

  “What are we going to do, Santelli?” Compton asked.

  “What do you mean, what are we goin’ to do? We’re sittin’ fine here. We’ve got all the food we can eat, we’re warm and cozy, and all we have to do is wait until some of the snow melts.”

  “This here is startin’ our third day,” Compton complained. “And we’re still sittin’ on this train. There’s so much snow piled up on the engine and tender that it ain’t likely to melt until August.”

  “It doesn’t have to get all the way melted, just enough for us to get out of here,” Santelli said. “In the meantime, we’ll
just enjoy our stay. Like I said, with just the four of us, we have enough food to last for a month, if need be.”

  “You know damn well the railroad people ain’t goin’ to leave us up here for a month,” Morris put it. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they come here tomorrow.”

  “How are they goin’ to get here?” Santelli asked.

  “Why, they’ll come up in another train, I reckon.”

  Santelli shook his head. “No, they won’t. I climbed up on top of the car to have a look around, remember? There’s damn near as much snow behind us as there is in front of us. Certainly enough to keep any rescue train from making it here for quite a while.”

  “So we’re trapped here.” Compton voiced what the rest were thinking.

  “No, we aren’t,” Santelli replied. “We”—he pointed to himself, then took in the others with a circle of his fingers—“are the trappers. The passengers are the trappees.”

  The others laughed at Santelli’s comment.

  “I wish that whore had come up here,” Morris said, rubbing himself. “Hell, if we had her up here, we could have us a fine time just waiting it out.”

  “She’ll come soon.” Santelli smirked.

  “How do you know?”

  Santelli cut open a biscuit and slid a piece of bacon between the two halves. “Because”—he took a bite—“she’s goin’ to get damn hungry.” He smiled as he chewed, and a few crumbs tumbled from his lips.

  “Look at them,” Fred whispered to Pete from the other side of the dining car. “Sittin’ there, eatin’ in front of us without so much as givin’ us a crumb.”

  “There’s no sense in ponderin’ over it, Fred. There ain’t nothin’ we can do about it.” Pete’s stomach grumbled. He and Fred had been forced to cook for Santelli and the others, but had been denied anything to eat.

  “Yeah, there is,” Fred declared.

  “What?”

  “I aim to cut me off a piece of that bread. I’ll get some for you, too.”