A Big Sky Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  Harrison nodded and left the room.

  By the time Harrison returned to the mansion, Kane was dressed and waiting downstairs in his study. He had been pacing back and forth angrily, but he forced himself to regain his composure when Jenkins announced that Harrison was there and had brought Cyrus O’Hanlon with him as ordered. Kane gave the butler a curt nod to indicate that he was ready for them.

  Harrison gave O’Hanlon a little shove as they came into the study, making the actor stumble. O’Hanlon caught himself before he fell. Drawing himself up straighter, he glared at Kane. “The authorities will hear about you having me kidnapped like this, Mr. Kane.”

  “Kidnapped?” Kane repeated. He smiled coolly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I asked Mr. Harrison to request that you honor me by visiting my home, and that’s all that happened, Mr. O’Hanlon.”

  “You know good and well that’s not true,” O’Hanlon blustered. “This bruiser of yours practically dragged me bodily out of the hotel. My wife witnessed the incident, and so did other members of my troupe.”

  “We’ve had this discussion before,” Kane chided. “As far as the law is concerned, my version of events is what actually happened, not the fantasies of some wild-eyed actor. Now . . .” His voice hardened. “Where is Miss McCoy?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Kane leaned over and picked up the note from Savannah that he had brought down with him from the sitting room. “You arranged for her note to be delivered to me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Please. You look after her. You must know where she’s hiding.” Kane tossed the paper back onto the desk. “I don’t believe for one second that she’s left town. You’ve just got her stashed away somewhere, that’s all.”

  Stubbornly, O’Hanlon shook his head. “She left the troupe,” he insisted. “I hated to see her go, but you made it impossible for her to do anything else, you . . . you . . .”

  Harrison’s big hand came down heavily on O’Hanlon’s shoulder as the actor sputtered, searching for a suitable epithet.

  “I’ll find her,” Kane said confidently. “I’ll involve the law if I have to. The police can scour the entire city for her. Or you can save us all a great deal of trouble by telling me where she is.”

  “I can’t tell you because I don’t know. And if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you!”

  Kane looked at him for a second, then sighed and nodded to Eli Harrison.

  The big man kicked O’Hanlon in the back of the right knee. O’Hanlon cried out in pain and toppled to the side as his right leg collapsed under him. Harrison kicked him again as he fell, digging the toe of his boot into O’Hanlon’s shoulder blade. O’Hanlon lay on the floor, writhing and making little noises as he tried to keep from crying.

  “I’ll ask you again,” Kane said. “Where is Miss McCoy?”

  “G-go to hell!” O’Hanlon spat out between clenched teeth.

  “You’ll regret that you didn’t cooperate with me, O’Hanlon,” Kane warned.

  “I already regret that I ever saw your damned face!”

  Kane nodded to Harrison again.

  By the time the big man finished, O’Hanlon had passed out. There wasn’t a mark on his face to indicate that he’d been beaten, but Kane wouldn’t have worried if there had been. No one was going to believe the actor’s story.

  Harrison stood over the unconscious O’Hanlon and frowned. In his rumbling voice, he said, “I’m startin’ to think that he’s tellin’ the truth, boss. If he knew where the girl was, he’d have spilled it by now.”

  “I believe you may be right.” Kane picked up the note again. “But if she’s abandoned the troupe and left Kansas City, where could she have gone?”

  Jenkins cleared his throat again. The butler had been standing to one side during the brutal beating, his unlined face as imperturbable as ever. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I have a thought.”

  Kane turned to face him. “You’re a smart man, Jenkins. What is it?”

  “Miss McCoy has been traveling with this troupe of actors and entertainers, which means she’s accustomed to having a group of people around her. I have my doubts that she would set out all alone from a strange place. Didn’t your men report that they pursued Miss McCoy and that unknown cowboy to a place where a wagon train was camped? A wagon train that, I believe, departed from Kansas City this morning?”

  “That’s right.” Kane closed his eyes for a second and made a face. “Of course! She went with the wagon train!”

  “That would be my guess, sir.”

  Kane flipped a hand at O’Hanlon and told Harrison, “Take him out and dump him somewhere. If anyone ever asks, he was fine when he left here after our visit. Thieves must have attacked him on his way back to the hotel.”

  “It’ll look more realistic if he doesn’t have any money left on him,” Harrison pointed out.

  “Fine, fine, I don’t care about that. Just put together a group of men and get after that wagon train. Stop it and search it.” A thought occurred to Kane and put a smile on his face. “Not right away, though. Let it get several days away from here.” He laughed. “That way Miss McCoy will believe that she’s gotten away from me. How delicious it will be when she’s dragged back here.”

  Harrison nodded slowly. “There’s just one problem we might have with that, boss.”

  “I pay you very well to take care of problems,” Kane snapped. “What are you talking about?”

  “From what I’ve heard, a fella named MacCallister took over as wagon master for that bunch of pilgrims. He’s supposed to be a pretty tough gent. A real ring-tailed roarer.”

  “Mr. Harrison . . . did you ever see a man who was tougher than a bullet from a gun?”

  “Well, no, sir, I haven’t.”

  “There’s your answer, then,” Kane said. “No problem at all. If this fellow MacCallister or anybody else gets in your way, just kill him.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  As Jamie expected that it would, life on the trail soon settled into a routine. He had the immigrants up early every morning, and they broke camp and the wagons rolled when the sky was still gray. Other than short breaks to rest the teams, he kept them moving all day.

  Unfortunately, the sun slipped below the horizon a little earlier each day, cutting down the time that they could travel.

  Late every afternoon, the wagons pulled off the trail and formed a big circle next to the river. He and some of the scouts stood guard while the livestock was watered and then driven into the circle.

  The train had come far enough from Kansas City that the land was sparsely settled with a few isolated ranches in the area. Jamie didn’t think there was any real danger from Indians yet, but it never hurt to be careful.

  And outlaws, of course, could strike anywhere.

  Once everyone had eaten supper, they turned in for the night, tired from the long day on the trail. There was no big center campfire where the immigrants gathered to play music, sing, and dance the way they had done back in Kansas City. They didn’t have the energy for diversions like that anymore. The hard pace that Jamie established saw to that.

  He set up guard shifts at night, drawing on volunteers from the wagon train along with his scouts. Moses Danzig was always willing to pitch in and do whatever was needed. He wouldn’t be much good in a fight, Jamie knew, but he could stay alert and give the alarm in case of trouble as well as anybody else.

  So far Lucas, Mahaffey, and Pearsoll had worked out fairly well. Mahaffey and Pearsoll weren’t very friendly with the immigrants and the other scouts and kept to themselves most of the time. But they didn’t cause any trouble and they did what Jamie told them without any arguments.

  Jake Lucas, on the other hand, seldom stopped talking and always had a friendly word for everybody. He flirted with all the teenage girls whose families were part of the group and even with some of the married women, which Jamie thought might lead to problems sooner or later. He asked B
odie to have a word with his friend about it.

  Bodie agreed to do so, but he added, “Jake doesn’t mean anything by the way he acts. That’s just how he is. He’s friendly with everybody.”

  “Get too friendly with a married woman and punches can get thrown,” Jamie cautioned. “That’s if you’re lucky. If you’re not, guns go off.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Bodie promised.

  Lamar Hendricks and Jamie had gotten together and studied the map that Jeb Ralston had drawn before they left. The route Ralston had laid out turned northwest away from the Kansas River, followed the Oregon Trail for a good long ways, then cut almost due north, crossing the Platte and continuing to skirt the Rocky Mountains to the east as they headed for Montana.

  Once they were there the wagons would turn west again, travel through the foothills and on into Eagle Valley. It was a route without any extremely rugged terrain to cross, just plains and rolling hills, which meant the wagons could move fairly fast over it.

  Jamie planned to follow that route. Ralston might have been a braggart and a bully, and reckless to boot, but he had sketched out a decent trail for the immigrants he was supposed to lead.

  Several days out of Kansas City, they camped where the Blue River flowed into the Kansas from the northwest. It was where the Oregon Trail turned away from the larger stream.

  That evening Jamie called his scouts together. “We haven’t had much to worry about so far, but from here to the Platte we’ll have to be a mite more watchful for trouble. Wagon trains have been taking this trail for a long time, so the Indians are used to seeing them, but you never know when some band will take it into their heads to get proddy.” He paused to emphasize the next point. “The important thing is that if we do run into any Cheyenne, Arapaho, or Pawnee, everybody needs to stay calm until we see what they’ve got in mind. That goes for us as well as the pilgrims. No shooting unless I say so. More blood’s been spilled because of itchy trigger fingers than any other reason.”

  The men nodded their agreement, even the normally taciturn Mahaffey and Pearsoll.

  “Get a good night’s sleep,” Jamie added. “We’ll all be in the saddle early tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “And where are you off to, my friend?” Moses asked as Bodie stood up from their supper fire after they finished eating. “As if I didn’t know.”

  “I’ve hardly gotten a glimpse of Savannah—I mean, Miss McCoy—since we left Kansas City. And I sure haven’t gotten a chance to talk to her. I want to see how she’s doing.”

  “Do I need to come with you to serve as a chaperone?” Moses asked with a grin.

  “I just want to talk to her,” Bodie said, slightly irritated. “I don’t plan to do any sparking with her, or anything else that’d need a chaperone.” He paused. “Besides, I reckon Mr. and Mrs. Bingham will be right there.”

  “I don’t know, maybe you could convince her to go for a walk with you around the camp. I’m just saying . . .”

  Bodie waved a hand at his friend, clapped his hat on his head, and went to look for the Bingham wagon. He wasn’t exactly sure where in the big circle it was parked.

  He was walking past the area where the saddle mounts were picketed when he heard a murmur of voices. Something about the sound struck him as secretive, so he circled around the horses to see what was going on.

  Several figures stood in the deep shadows next to a wagon. They seemed familiar to Bodie, and as he came closer he recognized Jake Lucas, Clete Mahaffey, and Dave Pearsoll. They were having an animated discussion, but Pearsoll noticed Bodie coming and said something curt to the others, who immediately fell silent.

  Jake turned to greet Bodie. “What’s up? Is MacCallister lookin’ for us?”

  “No, not as far as I know,” Bodie replied. “What are you fellas doing?”

  “Oh, nothin’ that amounts to anything,” Jake said with a laugh. “This ’tarnal idjit here”—he jerked a thumb at Mahaffey—“is tryin’ to claim that he saw a panther today while he was scoutin’. I told him we’re a heck of a long way from anywhere that a panther would be. Likely you just saw a coyote, Clete.”

  “Or a prairie dog,” Pearsoll added in an uncharacteristic display of dry humor.

  “You lunkheads are both wrong,” Mahaffey snapped. “I know what I saw.”

  “Where are you headed, Bodie?” Jake asked.

  “I, uh, thought I’d go see how Miss McCoy is doing,” Bodie admitted.

  Jake grinned. “At least we know now why you left the gang back yonder in Kansas City.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” Bodie said as he quickly glanced around to see if anyone was within earshot. “That part of my life is over.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s the same way with all of us, pard. Although I wonder sometimes if you can ever leave behind who you really are.”

  “Sure you can,” Bodie said. He hoped that was true, anyway.

  He said so long to the three men and moved on toward the Bingham wagon. As he did, he wondered about the conversation they had been having. Even though he hadn’t been able to make out any of the words, it had sounded to him as if they were arguing.

  But somehow he wasn’t convinced that they had been arguing about panthers.

  Thoughts of Savannah crowded back into his mind and made him forget about the encounter with Jake and the other two former outlaws. When he reached the Bingham wagon, Savannah and Mrs. Bingham were cleaning up after supper. The cooking fire had burned down to a small blaze, but it gave off enough light for Bodie to see how pretty Savannah was, even with her face flushed slightly from washing dishes in an iron pot of hot water.

  “Hello, Bodie,” she said brightly. “How are you?”

  “Fine. How about you?”

  “Oh . . . all right, I suppose.”

  He realized how stilted and uncomfortable this exchange was, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to relax around her. “I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to you since we left Kansas City.”

  “I know. Mr. MacCallister must keep you really busy with your scouting duties.”

  “He does. He’s not overbearing about it, though. He just wants to keep the wagon train safe.”

  Leticia Bingham came up beside Savannah. “Goodness, you two need to start talking to each other like actual human beings. Savannah, let me finish up here. You go visit with Mr. Cantrell.”

  “Are you sure?” Savannah asked. “Because I really don’t mind—”

  “Go,” Mrs. Bingham said again. “Sit on the wagon tongue. It’s a nice night, just a little chilly. If you sit close, you won’t be too cold.”

  The thought of sitting close to Savannah made Bodie’s pulse race a little faster. He was grateful to Mrs. Bingham for suggesting it.

  “All right.” Savannah dried her hands on the apron she wore, then walked with Bodie to the front of the wagon. They sat down.

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on our back trail,” Bodie said. “You know, just in case Kane sends anybody after us.”

  “After me, you mean. He probably doesn’t have any idea who you are. You haven’t seen anyone following the wagon train, have you?”

  “Not so far. And it’s been several days. I think if they were back there, they would have caught up by now.”

  “I hope that means my note worked and that Kane has given up on finding me,” Savannah said. “But I don’t want to talk about him anymore, Bodie.”

  “I don’t blame you. I don’t want to talk about the no-good scoundrel, either.” He grinned. “How do you like traveling with the wagon train?”

  She smiled back at him. “Well, it’s not like I never traveled by wagon before. The troupe travels from city to city in wagons, so I’m used to riding in one. Although Mr. MacCallister certainly has us covering more ground quicker than Cyrus ever did.”

  Bodie chuckled. “Jamie MacCallister isn’t one to let grass grow under his feet, that’s for sure.”

  “You sound like you admire hi
m.”

  “I’ve never met anybody else quite like him. The places he’s been, the things he’s seen and done . . . I could listen to him talk about them all day. I find myself thinking . . . a fella could do a lot worse for himself than trying to be like Jamie Ian MacCallister.”

  Savannah’s voice was quiet as she said, “I think you’re doing fine just being Bodie Cantrell.”

  “It’s nice of you to say so, but—”

  She silenced him by leaning closer to him and kissing him.

  That took him by surprise. He wouldn’t have thought she would be so daring with the Binghams only a few yards away. But he certainly didn’t pull back from her, instead lifting a hand to rest it lightly on her shoulder as he enjoyed the sweet warmth of her lips on his.

  “I told Moses we wouldn’t need a chaperone,” he whispered when she finally broke the kiss after a long, delicious moment.

  “We don’t.” Savannah stood up. “I’ll be turning in now, Mr. Cantrell. I’ll say good night.”

  “Good night to you, too, Miss McCoy,” he replied, his voice thick in his throat.

  He stood there while she went to the rear of the wagon and climbed in. If he was going to tell the truth, he had been thinking about Savannah and wishing he could kiss her ever since they’d left Kansas City. Now that he had . . .

  Now that he had, he realized as a grin broke across his face, he was ready to do it again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “Forget about sharin’ the loot with Cantrell,” Clete Mahaffey said as the three former outlaws resumed their conversation once Bodie had walked off toward the Binghams’ wagon. “That fool doesn’t care about money, anyway. The only thing he can think about now is the girl.”

  “She’s worth thinkin’ about,” Jake said. “She’s a mighty pretty gal.”

  Dave Pearsoll grunted and declared, “A big pile of double eagles is prettier. That’s what we’ve got, and I agree with Clete. I ain’t inclined to share ’em with Cantrell. He didn’t do anything to earn a share.”

  “He was with us when we took them off that train,” Jake pointed out. “Shoot, he helped Eldon and the others take over the depot and make sure the train stopped. We wouldn’t have that pile of double eagles if they hadn’t done that.”