A Rocky Mountain Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

“Fred, no. Don’t do it.”

  “I’m goin’ to do it,” Fred said, picking up a knife, then getting a loaf of bread out of the breadbox.

  Kelly saw Fred cutting off a piece of bread and shouted, “Hey!”

  “What is it?” Santelli asked.

  Kelly pointed to Fred. “That guy is stealing our food!”

  “You, put that back!” Santelli ordered.

  “It’s only a bit of bread. Please, we ain’t had nothin’ to eat for two days,” Fred begged.

  “Throw him out of the car,” Santelli said easily.

  “No, sir! I don’ have no coat!”

  “You should have thought of that before you started stealin’ food.” Santelli nodded at the other three, and they grabbed the porter and dragged him toward the door. He put up a fight until Kelly hit him hard on the head with the butt of his gun.

  “Fred!” Pete shouted as his friend went limp.

  Morris nodded to Pete. “Get the door open. We’ll drag him out.”

  “No, sir, don’t take ’im out there now. He’ll mos’ like freeze to death out there without no coat, and him bein’ knocked out an’ all.”

  “He shouldn’t have been stealin’ bread,” Compton justified.

  “For the Lord’s sake, mister, what kind of people would do somethin’ like that?” Pete asked.

  “If you’re so worried about him, go join him,” Santelli said.

  “No, sir, I—”

  Santelli pointed his pistol at Pete. “I said, go join him.”

  Compton and Morris walked over to Pete. “Are you going to go on your own? Or do we need to send you out the same way we did your friend?”

  “No need to hit me. I’ll go, I’ll go,” Pete conceded. He walked over to the door, looked back at the evil smiles on the gunmen’s faces, opened the door, and stepped out into the snow.

  Finding Fred, he grabbed him by the legs and dragged him through the snow, far away from the dining car and the eyes of the four gunman. “Fred! Fred!”

  Pete leaned down to examine his friend more closely. Fred’s eyes were open and he wasn’t reacting in any way to the snow on his eyeballs. Pete put his ear to Fred’s chest, but couldn’t hear a heartbeat. “Fred!” he called again.

  But Fred couldn’t hear him, because Fred was dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Pueblo

  City Undertaker Joe Ponder walked into the sheriff’s office as John McKenzie was pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Sheriff, I just got a couple bodies in I think will interest you. You might want to come take a look at them before I get them ready to send back to Bent County.”

  “All right, Joe.” McKenzie poured the coffee back into the blue metal coffeepot, put on his coat, and trudged through the cold to the mortuary.

  “Murder victims?” McKenzie asked as they walked.

  “No, sir, not exactly. Leastwise, I don’t think so. According to Nugent, he killed both of them while they were trying to hold up the stage yesterday. The driver backs him up.”

  They entered the mortuary, where two bodies lay covered by shrouds.

  McKenzie nodded to the bodies. “Who are they, do you know?”

  “Yes, sir, I know both of them. That’s why I come to get you. I think you’re goin’ to be mighty interested when you see who they are.” Ponder pulled the shrouds back. The massive wounds in the chests were the first thing Sheriff McKenzie saw. Then he looked up at their faces. The faces were without color or any animation, but he recognized them at once.

  “It’s Sheriff Ferrell!”

  “Yes, and the other fella is his new deputy. His last name is Clayton, but I don’t know his first name.”

  “And you say Nugent killed them while they were holding up the stagecoach?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s what Jake Nugent and Silas Cambridge both say.”

  “Damn. You know what that means? It means Luke Shardeen was more ’n likely telling the truth. I’ll tell Mr. Murchison. He’ll for sure want to file an appeal. And I’ll send a telegram to the Sheriff of Eagle County, telling him to have Proxmire bring Luke back for the new trial.”

  “After you see what I found, you may not be able to hold a new trial here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s likely we won’t have a judge who can hold the trial.”

  “What are you talking about, Joe?”

  “Well, sir, I found somethin’ in Ferrell’s pocket you might want to see.”

  “What is it?

  “I slipped it back in his pocket so you could see where it came from. Seth Campbell was with me, and he’ll back me up that it came from Ferrell’s pocket.”

  “Are you going to tell me? Or are you just going to keep gabbing?”

  “I don’t have to tell you. I’ll show you.” Ponder reached into Ferrell’s shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. There was blood on the paper, but it didn’t prevent the message from being read.

  Stagecoach from Wetmore to Yorkville will be carrying

  three thousand dollars in cash. After you do the

  job, I shall expect one thousand as my cut.

  Briggs

  “Ha!” McKenzie slapped the note against his open palm. “We’ve got ’im! I’ve thought all along that damn so-and-so was crooked.”

  On board the Red Cliff Special

  Julius was standing near the stove when he heard something at the back door of the car. Looking around he saw someone looking in through the window. “It’s Pete!” Julius scurried to the back door and jerked it open.

  Pete was covered with snow and shaking uncontrollably. Julius pulled him inside and he and Troy knocked the snow off him. Julius pulled his serape off and draped it over Pete.

  “Come on up closer to the stove,” Julius invited, pulling him toward the front. “It’s not puttin’ out much heat, but it’ll help some.”

  “Pete, where’s Fred?” Troy asked.

  “He’s outside,” Pete said, barely able to speak. “He’s lyin’ in the snow alongside the car.”

  “We can’t leave him out there,” Bailey said. “He’ll freeze to death.”

  “He’s already dead,” Pete said bluntly. “Those men kilt him ’cause he tried to break off a piece of bread for me ’n him.”

  Julius, who had given up his serape, began to shiver. Troy took his off and gave it to him. “Here, Julius, you wear this for a while, then when I get too cold, give it back, and we’ll swap it back and forth.”

  “You can do that, or we’ll make another one,” Matt suggested.

  “How are we going to make another one? There ain’t no carpet left,” Troy said.

  Matt smiled. “Not in this car.”

  Matt and Troy went into the next car. There were eight people in this car, a man, two woman, and five children. The body of Deputy Proxmire was slumped in a window seat.

  “What do you want?” the man asked anxiously.

  “We want to take up the carpet so we can make some more serapes, like this.” Matt indicated the one he was wearing. “We have some people in our car without coats.”

  “All right,” the man answered.

  Matt looked at the firebox and saw there was even less coal than remained in his car. “It looks like you don’t have much coal left.”

  “No, sir, we don’t.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “The name is Webb, Edward Webb. This is my wife Clara.”

  “My name is Timmy,” said a boy about nine. Two younger girls sat next to him, but neither of them spoke.

  “The two shy ones are Emma and Molly,” Webb said.

  “My name is Jensen—”

  “Yes, sir. You are Matt Jensen,” Timmy interrupted. “I’ve read about you.”

  “Have you now?” Matt asked with a smile. “Well, Timmy, I’m glad you are reading, but don’t believe everything you read about me. Those are mostly made-up stories.”

  “I know,” Timmy said. “But they wouldn’t make them up about you if som
e of it wasn’t true.”

  “Maybe,” Matt granted.

  He turned to the other woman. A girl and a boy sat in the facing seat. “And you, Mrs. . . . ?”

  “My name is Anita Lewis. This is my daughter Barbara, she’s eleven, and my son Steven.”

  “I’m nine, just like Timmy,” Steven explained.

  “Except I’m a month older,” Timmy said quickly.

  “Mr. Webb, Mrs. Lewis, I think you should take your families and the rest of the coal back into our car. We’ll be able to consolidate the coal and make it last longer for all of us.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Webb said.

  “All right,” Anita agreed.

  “Mr. Jensen, do you think we will be stuck here through Christmas?” Barbara asked.

  “I don’t know.” Matt smiled, trying to put a good face on the situation. “But if we are, we’ll just make the best of it. Why, we can have our own Christmas party.”

  “How can you have a party without food?” Steven asked.

  “We’ll just figure out a way,” Matt said.

  After the Webb and Lewis families left, with Mr. Webb carrying the scuttle of coal, Matt and Troy took up the carpet, then they returned to the rear car.

  “That was a good idea, inviting them—and their coal—to our car,” Luke said.

  “Well, I would have just invited the coal, but I didn’t think they would go along with that,” Matt said. Webb stared at Matt for a moment, then when he realized Matt was only teasing, he laughed out loud.

  It was good to hear laughter.

  “Mr. Jensen, do you suppose there’s more coal in the other car?” Troy asked.

  “There may be,” Matt said. “And good for you for thinking about it. We’ll also cut up that carpet and make more serapes. We can’t do anything about food, but at least we won’t freeze to death.”

  Pueblo

  Prosecutor Lloyd Gilmore was on the telephone in his office, talking to the governor. “Yes, Governor. Yes, I’m absolutely sure of it. Yes, sir, the sheriff and defense attorney are here with me now. Thank you, Governor. I will tell them. Yes sir. We will take care of it.”

  Gilmore listened for a moment, then looked over at Sheriff McKenzie.

  “The governor wants to know if we have heard anything else about the stranded train.”

  “Nothing from the train itself, but I believe they are putting together a rescue train to go up and relieve them,” McKenzie said.

  Gilmore repeated the information to the governor, then hung up the phone. “There won’t be any need for another trial for Luke Shardeen, Tom. I am dropping all charges.”

  “Thank you, Lloyd,” Murchison said. “I’ve known Luke Shardeen ever since he came here, and I know he is a good man. You are doing the right thing.”

  “What are we going to do about Briggs?” Sheriff McKenzie asked.

  “It has already been done,” Gilmore said. “Governor Waite has just removed him from office. He wants you to inform him.”

  McKenzie agreed. “That is something I will do with great pleasure.”

  “May I come as well, Sheriff?” Murchison asked. “I very much want to see this.”

  “Sure, come along if you want to.”

  Accompanied by Gilmore and Murchison, Sheriff McKenzie walked to the courthouse. Inside, they climbed the stairs to the second floor, and stepped into the judge’s outer office, where they were greeted by Arnold Rittenhouse, the judge’s secretary.

  “Gentlemen,” Rittenhouse said. “Do you have an appointment with His Honor?”

  “No appointment is necessary for what I’m about to do,” Sheriff McKenzie declared. “And there is nothing honorable about him.”

  “I don’t understand.” The expression on the secretary’s face reflected his confusion.

  “Just stay out of the way and watch. You’ll understand soon enough.” McKenzie started toward the door to the judge’s chambers.

  “No, Sheriff, you can’t go in there!” Rittenhouse shouted.

  McKenzie jerked the door open and walked in.

  “Here, what is the meaning of this?” Judge Briggs shouted, holding his pants up with one hand, while a young woman from the Colorado Social Club was busy trying to rearrange her clothes.

  “You’d better leave, miss,” Sheriff McKenzie said.

  “What? Who are you to tell her to leave? If anyone is going to leave it will be you and this . . . this entourage you have with you.” Briggs pointed at McKenzie with his free hand. “Get out! Get out of here at once, or by damn I will hold you in contempt of court!”

  “I already hold you in contempt, you sorry excuse for a man,” McKenzie said angrily. “Amon Briggs, you have been removed from the bench by order of the Governor of the state of Colorado. And you are also under arrest for stagecoach robbery.”

  “Stagecoach robbery! Are you out of your mind?”

  “Tell him, Mr. Gilmore,” Sheriff McKenzie said.

  “Mr. Briggs—”

  “You will address me as Your Honor or Judge Briggs,” Briggs continued angrily.

  “You are lucky I’m even addressing you as mister. You have been removed from the bench, Mr. Briggs, and I am filing charges with the Attorney General of the State, charging you with collusion with Dewey Ferrell and Jebediah Clayton for the attempted robbery of the Wetmore to Yorkville stagecoach.”

  “What do you mean attempted robbery?”

  “It means they tried to rob it, but were killed,” Sheriff McKenzie answered.

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “We found a note in Ferrell’s pocket—a note from you, Briggs—telling him the coach would be carrying three thousand dollars, and demanding one third of the money,” McKenzie advised.

  The expression of anger and defiance on Brigg’s face faded, quickly changing to one of fear.

  “Stick out your hands, Briggs,” McKenzie said. “I’m going to cuff you.

  “No, please,” Briggs pleaded. “Don’t parade me in handcuffs in front of the people! I’ll lose all their respect.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Briggs,” Gilmore said. “What makes you think anyone respects you now?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Buena Vista

  Everyone in town had heard that the train was trapped at the top of the pass. About a hundred people were in the depot, most out of concern and curiosity. Those who had relatives and loved ones on the train had the greatest concern. Although they knew Deckert had no more information than they did, being at the depot made them feel closer to the people on the train.

  The Chaffee County Times had put out a special edition extra, and they sold more copies than ever before.

  Red Cliff Special Trapped in Pass

  Word has reached this newspaper that the Red Cliff Special, which left the Buena Vista Depot at nine o’clock post meridiem two days previous, is now sitting at the top, or near the top of Trout Creek Pass. It is the normal procedure for a train unable to proceed farther through the pass to retrace its path and return to the station last departed. That the train in question has not done so is a disquieting indication it is probably entrapped.

  There are forty people on board the train, not excepting the crew of engineer, fireman, four porters, and the conductor. State Senator Jarred Daniels, his wife, and daughter are said to be among the passengers. So too is Deputy Sheriff Braxton Proxmire with two prisoners, the infamous Michael Santelli and Luke Shardeen, a local rancher.

  That Shardeen is aboard is an irony, for while he was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to four years confinement, the charges against him have been dropped. Though Shardeen did kill Deputy Gates, his defense was that Gates and Sheriff Ferrell attempted to rob him. Sheriff Ferrell was subsequently killed while he was in the act of robbing a stagecoach. That incident has provided sufficient veracity to Shardeen’s defense claim to warrant the dropping of all charges.

  Hodge Deckert, the Buena Vista stationmaster, says a rescue train has been assembled and wi
ll leave today.

  An engine, a tender, and two passenger cars sat on the tracks ready to rescue the passengers stuck at the summit. The weather was fair, though it was exceptionally cold. By the time Deckert was ready to dispatch the rescue train, considerably over half those who had come to bear witness to the rescue effort had given up and returned home.

  Although railroad personnel were confident the special had enough food, the rescue train was carrying food, anyway. In addition, they rightly figured fuel for the heating stoves would just about be exhausted, so they were also carrying a lot of blankets. Additional fuel for the heating stoves was not taken as the passengers would be returning on the rescue train.

  The Buena Vista Fire Company band played as the rescue train got ready to leave. Finally, with salutes from the locomotive whistle and waves from the train crew, the throttle was opened and, amid chugs and great puffs of gleaming white steam, the engine got under way.

  The departing whistle of the train was heard in every house and business establishment in the entire town. Those who had given up waiting breathed a prayer of petition that the train would get through and all on board would be returned safely.

  Deckert watched the train leave, then he went back into the depot and walked over to the telegraph operator. “Send a telegram to Big Rock. Tell them the rescue train just got under way.”

  “I can’t go directly to Big Rock. I have to go around.”

  “Send it however you have to do it, but just do it,” Deckert ordered.

  Big Rock

  The telegraph instrument at the railroad depot began clacking. The telegrapher responded, then smiled as he began writing the message on his work pad. When he was finished, he signed off and took the message to the station agent. “Mr. Wilson, this just came in.”

  BV RESCUE TRAIN TO REACH STRANDED TRAIN

  NOON STOP WILL UPDATE STOP DECKERT AGENT BV

  Phil read the article then nodded. “This is good to know. I’m not really worried about those people up there; they have enough food to have a comfortable wait until they are rescued. But they are bound to be more comfortable and less apprehensive if they are back in Buena Vista, even though that may not be where they want to spend Christmas.”