A Big Sky Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  “Scoutin’ on the plains is pretty dangerous for somebody who’s inexperienced.”

  “Setting out for Montana at this time of year is pretty dangerous for everybody involved,” Jamie pointed out. “They all seem bound and determined to do it, though.”

  They left the hotel and turned back toward the main business district. Jamie figured they would have a look in the Bella Royale first. It was early in the day, but there might be somebody already in there who’d be interested in a scouting job.

  As they passed the variety theater, he glanced at two young men who were looking at the posters for the show that was starting that night. They were dressed like cowboys, which meant they probably had experience with long days in the saddle, and he thought about asking them if they’d like to sign on with the wagon train.

  They turned away before he could say anything, though, and he didn’t go after them. There was bound to be somebody else in Kansas City who wanted to go to Montana.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Now that the gang was in Kansas City, Bodie thought Edwin Swint would go ahead and divide up the loot from the train robbery, as he had said he would. But Swint seemed to be in no hurry to do so.

  The money, in the form of twenty dollar gold pieces, had been packed in a chest in the express car. He had split the loot between five sets of saddlebags so it could be carried away. All those saddlebags were safely cached in Swint’s hotel room, and a couple men guarded them around the clock, everybody in the gang taking a turn at that duty.

  The night before, Swint had kicked the guards out of the room when he came back to the hotel from the Bella Royale with one of the soiled doves who worked there. He’d told the guards to stay right outside in the hall, just to make sure nobody bothered him and his lady friend . . . and the money.

  Bodie heard about that from his friend Three-Finger Jake Lucas, who’d heard the story from one of the guards Swint had booted out of the room. The two young men were sitting at a table in a nearby café over a late breakfast.

  Jake sipped his coffee. “I’m startin’ to wonder if the boss plans to double-cross us and just keep all that loot for himself. Otherwise why don’t he go ahead and divvy it up like he promised he would?”

  “I guess he’s got his reasons,” Bodie said.

  Jake grunted skeptically. “Yeah, like bein’ a dang crook. Think about who you’re talkin’ about, Bodie. A man like Eldon Swint can’t be trusted.” Jake’s eyes narrowed in thought. “If a man was smart, he might try to get his hands on those double eagles himself and not wait for somebody to just hand him his share.”

  Bodie frowned and put down his coffee cup. “You’d better not be thinking what it sounds like, Jake. Swint would kill anybody who tried that. We’ve talked about things like this before.”

  “Yeah, and I haven’t changed my way of thinkin’ about it, either.” An easy grin flashed across Jake’s face. “But shoot, don’t worry about it. I’m just talkin’, is all. I’d never go against a pard.” He paused. “The thing of it is, Eldon ain’t really a pard. He’s the boss.”

  Bodie changed the subject. “Are you going to that show tonight?”

  “To see some singin’ and dancin’ girls? You bet I am! We’ve been out on the trail long enough I’m ready for some entertainment.”

  They had stopped by the theater on their way to the café. The place was closed, but Bodie and Jake had stood on the boardwalk in front of the building, looking at the posters tacked up next to the ticket window. The posters had drawings of the members of the troupe on them, and Bodie had been particularly intrigued by one of them, a young woman with a mass of dark, curly hair.

  Miss Savannah McCoy, her name was, according to the poster.

  He didn’t know which parts she played in the show, but he was looking forward to finding out. Thinking about her and the performance they were going to watch that night made him forget all about the fortune in double eagles for the time being.

  Even though she had been a member of the troupe for more than a year, Savannah still got nervous before each performance. The butterflies, as Cyrus called them, weren’t as bad as they had been starting out, but they were still potent enough to force her to stand backstage with one hand pressed to her stomach while she made herself take deep breaths. She closed her eyes and imagined how the night’s performance would go, letting it all play out inside her head.

  Perfectly, of course.

  After awhile, the routine began to calm her. She was ready.

  When Dollie bustled past and smiled at her, Savannah was able to return that smile and mean it.

  “I just snuck a glance at the crowd,” Dollie said. “Looks like we’re going to have a full house.”

  “That’s good,” Savannah said.

  “You bet it is. We need to do well here.”

  Savannah thought she heard a trace of worry in the older woman’s voice. The troupe hadn’t been doing as well financially in recent months. Quite a few of the performances in various cities hadn’t sold out, and it seemed like the expenses of traveling and staying on the road just kept going up. She didn’t think the troupe was in any real danger of folding, but that unwelcome possibility lurked in the back of her head, anyway. If that ever happened, she didn’t know what she would do.

  She had a little money saved up; she could always return to her home in Georgia. But if she did that, it would mean admitting defeat. Worse, there was the chance that her father wouldn’t allow her to come home. For all she knew, William Thorpe might have disowned her. She hadn’t had any contact with him in more than a year.

  With a little shake of her head, Savannah put all that out of her thoughts. Concentrate on the thing that was at hand, she told herself, and that was tonight’s show. That was the only thing she could do anything about at the moment.

  A minute later, Cyrus parted the curtain and walked out on stage to loud applause, dressed in his Shakespearean costume. He swept his plumed hat off his head and gave the audience his usual welcoming spiel, then launched into Hamlet’s famous “To be or not to be” speech.

  The crowd listened politely, but as she waited behind the curtain Savannah could hear them growing slightly restless toward the end. She knew that some of the men in the audience had come mostly for the singing and dancing, and to look at her and the other female members of the troupe.

  Cyrus concluded the famous passage and said, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, a beautiful rendition of one of your favorite melodies by our lovely songbird of the South, Miss Savannah McCoy!”

  Savannah stepped through the curtains and out onto the stage. She smiled as she walked forward, letting her eyes sweep over the audience. As she began to sing Stephen Foster’s “Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair,” her gaze settled on a man about four rows back, in the middle of the theater.

  She had learned that her performances were always better when she pretended to be singing directly to a member of the audience. It was largely a matter of luck who that person happened to be. As long as they were in a good place, that was all Savannah cared about.

  The person on the receiving end of her song happened to be a young man who looked a few years older than her, with dark hair and a hard-planed face. He was dressed like a cowboy, as was the young man who sat beside him. The other man was more handsome, but there was something compelling about the man Savannah had selected.

  Singing to him was no trouble at all.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I swear, she’s lookin’ right at you.” Three-Finger Jake dug an enthusiastic elbow into Bodie’s ribs. “She must be sweet on you!”

  “I don’t even know the girl,” Bodie protested. “I mean, I know she’s Miss Savannah McCoy, but that’s all.”

  “That’s what the fella said when he introduced her.”

  “I would have known it anyway. I would have recognized her from her picture on the poster.”

  It was true. The artist had done a good job of capturing Savannah McCoy’s likeness. If anything,
she was even prettier in person than she was on the poster, although before he saw her Bodie wouldn’t have thought that was possible.

  She sang beautifully, too. Cyrus O’Hanlon had been right to describe her as a songbird. Savannah was lovely and talented, and if Bodie hadn’t known better, he might have said that he was smitten with her.

  But that was loco, of course. He could tell just by looking at her that she was a real lady, despite the immoral reputation that actresses and entertainers sometimes had. She wouldn’t ever have anything to do with a lawless ruffian like him. For all he knew, she might already be married to one of the other members of the troupe.

  Just sit back and enjoy the show, he told himself, and stop thinking about things that could never be.

  The show was certainly enjoyable. After Savannah’s song, a couple jugglers came out and entertained the crowd for several minutes while the curtains were closed behind them. Bodie heard people moving around back there and figured they were getting ready for something else.

  He was right. When the jugglers finished and the curtains were pulled back, several fellows with what looked like bed sheets wrapped around them were standing on steps with white-painted columns at the top. One of them stood a little apart from the others and started talking, but as he did so, several of his companions took out knives and began to sneak up behind him with evil expressions on their faces.

  “What the Sam Hill!” Jake exclaimed. “They’re gonna stab that hombre like they was red Injuns!” He reached for the gun on his hip. “I’ll stop ’em!”

  Bodie’s hand shot out and closed around Jake’s wrist before Jake could draw the revolver. “Hold on!” Bodie whispered. “I think it’s all part of the show.”

  Not everybody in the audience figured that out as quickly as he did. Several men shouted warnings, which the sheet-wrapped figures on stage ignored. A nervous tingle ran through Bodie’s brain. What if he was wrong? What if they were about to commit cold-blooded murder right there on the stage?

  That was loco, of course, and a moment later he saw proof of that as the men with knives pretended to stab the fellow who was spouting words. They didn’t even do a very good job of pretending, but it was enough to make the audience hoot and holler in enthusiasm. The supposed victim of the assault staggered around and made a real production of dying.

  Once he had slumped onto the steps and wasn’t moving anymore—except for a twitch every now and then that Bodie could see—Cyrus O’Hanlon came out again, dressed in a sheet like the others, and started making another long speech about burying Caesar. Bodie couldn’t follow all of what O’Hanlon said, but the whole thing was stirring, no doubt about that.

  O’Hanlon finally shut up and the curtains closed again. An older but still attractive woman came out and sang a song. She was good, Bodie thought, but not as good as Savannah. Then she danced with a young man while another man with a walrus mustache played a piano at the edge of the stage. She was pretty light on her feet, despite her hefty build.

  After that, everything started to run together a little for Bodie. There were more dramatic scenes, more singing, more dancing, even some acrobats, one of whom was a gal in a scandalously scanty costume that exposed her knees. But he was waiting to see Savannah McCoy again, and when she didn’t appear he began to get a little impatient.

  Cyrus O’Hanlon came out in that silly hat with the feather on it again. “Finally, ladies and gentlemen, to conclude our performance tonight we are proud to present one of the most famous scenes in the illustrious history of the theater . . . the balcony scene from the great tragedy Romeo and Juliet, as written by Mr. William Shakespeare. It will be performed by yours truly and Miss Savannah McCoy.”

  Bodie sat up straighter in his seat and thought that it was about time.

  Jake elbowed him again. “She’s the only one you like, ain’t she?”

  “Shhh,” Bodie said. “They’re about to start.”

  The curtains parted and went back. Some fake bushes had been placed around the stage to represent a garden of sorts, and to one side rose a wall with a window in it. Bodie edged forward in his seat as Savannah appeared in that window and leaned through it so the audience could get a good look at her.

  She was worth looking at, wearing a thin gown that was cut almost sinfully low in front. Bodie felt vaguely embarrassed for her having to wear such a getup, but at the same time he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was so attractive that just looking at her felt almost like a punch in the gut to him.

  Cyrus O’Hanlon strode onto the stage, wandered through the fake bushes toward the wall, and stopped to throw out an arm and bellow, “Hark! What light through yonder window breaks? ’Tis the east, and Juliet is the sun!”

  Savannah was as bright and pretty as the sun, that was for sure, Bodie thought. He could have sat there and watched her all night, but the scene was over all too quickly as far as he was concerned. The curtains swept across the stage again. Bodie sighed. He didn’t want the performance to be finished, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  The whole troupe came out for a curtain call as the audience cheered, whistled, and applauded, so he got to see Savannah again, if only for a moment.

  Finally, the audience began to file out of the theater.

  As they left, Jake said, “Now, ain’t you glad we came to Kansas City? If we hadn’t, you never would’ve seen that brown-haired gal. You were practically droolin’ over her all night like a dog with a big ol’ soup bone.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” Bodie said. “I think she’s pretty, but—”

  Jake’s snort interrupted him. “I reckon you’d marry her if you got the chance—which is a durned fool way to feel, if you ask me. You know what actresses are like. You might as well marry a—”

  Jake stopped short as Bodie stiffened. He had seen enough gunfights to recognize Bodie’s stance as that of a man who was ready to hook and draw.

  “Sorry,” Jake muttered quickly. “I reckon I was all wrong about Miss McCoy.”

  “I reckon you were,” Bodie snapped. He forced himself to relax. Jake Lucas was his only real friend in the gang, and he didn’t want to lose that friendship. He put a smile on his face, even though he was still a little irritated.

  As they reached the sidewalk in front of the theater, a very well-dressed man with dark blond hair under his black hat and a neatly trimmed mustache of the same shade bumped hard into Bodie’s shoulder. “Watch where you’re going, cowboy,” the man snapped as he brushed past.

  “Hey,” Jake said angrily. “You’re the one who ran into my pard, mister.”

  A couple of larger men in cheap suits were trailing the well-dressed gent. Bodie noticed them and realized they were probably bodyguards. Bulges under their coats told him they were carrying guns.

  The blond dandy glared at Jake and demanded, “What did you say, Tex?”

  “I’m not from Texas,” Jake shot back as he squared himself up for trouble.

  Bodie put a hand on his friend’s arm. “Let it go, Jake.”

  “But this galoot ran into you and then acted like it was your fault,” Jake protested.

  “It’s not worth causing a ruckus over.” Bodie steered Jake away from the dandy.

  The man gave them a sneering smile as they turned to leave. “That’s right. I’m an important man in this city. Trifle with me and you’ll regret it.”

  Jake looked back over his shoulder and said hotly, “Oh, yeah? Well, you’ll regret—”

  “Come on.” Bodie lowered his voice and added, “We don’t want the law talking to us, now do we?”

  “Oh,” Jake said in sudden understanding. “No, I reckon we don’t.”

  Bodie glanced back at the dandy. The man’s arrogant attitude rubbed him the wrong way. If it came down to a fight, Bodie figured he and Jake could have held their own against the bodyguards, whether with fists or guns.

  But that would have almost certainly landed them in trouble with the law, and they sure didn’t need that. If
they were arrested, somebody might figure out they were part of the gang that had held up the train in Kansas. At the very least, Eldon Swint might take it as an excuse to split their shares among the rest of the outlaws . . . or just keep that money for himself.

  Bodie wouldn’t forget the blond man’s face, though. Maybe one of these days their trails would cross again under different circumstances. If that ever happened, Bodie figured he would give Mr. High-and-Mighty a little lesson in manners. If that meant gunplay, then so be it.

  In the meantime, he told himself to forget about that hombre and think about Savannah. He just wished there was some way he could let her know how much he had enjoyed her performance.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Since there were only a few female members of the troupe, they used the same dressing room, with the exception of Dollie who shared a dressing room with Cyrus. Savannah was sitting at one of the tables in front of a mirror, removing the makeup she had worn as Juliet, when Cyrus knocked on the door and poked his head into the room.

  “Ah, ladies, you’re all decently attired,” he said.

  As usual, Savannah couldn’t tell if he was relieved or faintly disappointed by that.

  “Savannah, a word with you, my dear?”

  “Of course. Was there something wrong with my performance tonight?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “Not at all, not at all. Quite the contrary, in fact. There’s a gentleman out here who was in the audience. He wishes to convey his compliments to you in person.”

  Savannah frowned slightly. That was unusual but not unheard of. Sometimes members of the audience—usually middle-aged or even older men—came backstage and tried to approach the women in the troupe, probably because of the reputation that stubbornly clung to actresses.

  Cyrus fended them off most of the time, but now and then—when he judged that the would-be suitor had plenty of money and might be persuaded to make a donation to the troupe—he allowed them to talk to the women.