A Big Sky Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  Hendricks paced back and forth on the still-muddy ground next to his wagon as they talked. “I suppose you’re right. You’re a lot more experienced at this sort of thing than I am. But I was hoping we could make it through to Montana without encountering any savages.”

  “We might yet,” Jamie said, although he knew how unlikely that was.

  “What about the ground?” Hendricks asked. “Do you think it’ll be dry enough tomorrow that we can get started again and only lose one day?”

  “Maybe. As long as it doesn’t start raining again tonight.”

  Luck held. The weather remained clear, cold, and dry overnight, and the next morning Jamie swung up into Sundown’s saddle and rode around the camp, checking the ground. He had waited until the sun was up so he could take a good look at the landscape, and he was satisfied with what he saw.

  “We’ll have to avoid any low spots that might be muddier,” he reported to Hendricks, “but I think if we’re careful we can get these wagons rolling again.”

  Hendricks heaved a sigh of relief. “I’ll pass the word. We’ll be ready to leave as soon as possible.”

  Spirits were higher as the immigrants prepared to break camp. They had been able to build fires, cook food, and boil coffee, and even though the air was still cold, not having rain pouring down put people in a better mood. They worked enthusiastically as they got the wagons ready to roll again.

  Soon the line of canvas-covered vehicles stretched across the prairie again, rolling slowly to the northwest. Jamie sent out the scouts and took the point himself. Bodie Cantrell rode with him.

  “The river’s up,” Jamie mused after a while. He nodded toward the line of scrubby, bare-limbed trees that marked the course of the stream, about half a mile west of the wagon train’s route. “I can hear it.”

  “Is that a problem?” Bodie asked.

  “Not necessarily. We won’t be crossing it for a good while yet, so it’ll have time to go down. But the fact that it’s running like it is means that the smaller streams feeding into it are up, too, and we might come upon one of them and need to get across it.”

  Jamie’s words proved to be prophetic. That afternoon, he and Bodie came to a creek that cut directly across the path of the wagon train. They reined in to study the fast-flowing stream, which was about sixty feet wide, filling the depression through which it ran.

  “Normally that creek wouldn’t be more than eight or ten feet wide and maybe a foot deep,” Jamie said.

  “How deep is it now?” Bodie asked.

  “Hard to say. Four or five feet, more than likely.”

  “Will we have to wait for it to go down?”

  Jamie rubbed his grizzled jaw as he frowned in thought. “That might be the smartest thing to do, but to tell you the truth, I’d rather keep moving.”

  He decided to tell Bodie what he and Hector and Jess had seen the day before. “I’ve got a hunch there’s a band of Pawnee in the area, and I’d just as soon move on out, in case they consider this their hunting ground and figure we’re interlopers.”

  “You think they’ll attack us?”

  “They’ll be less likely to if they can see that we don’t intend to stay and cause them any trouble.”

  Bodie looked around. “You reckon they’re watching us now?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit. Come on. Let’s see if we can swim our horses across that creek. If we can, the wagons ought to be able to make it.”

  Sundown and Bodie’s horse swam across the creek without any trouble. Jamie could tell that the water was deep enough to float the wagons. The current was fast, but the oxen and mules would be able to handle it.

  The wagons were catching up, and Jamie and Bodie rode back to tell Captain Hendricks what lay ahead. Then Jamie went along the line of wagons, explaining to the immigrants how they would ford the creek.

  “We’ll take the women and children across on horseback,” Jamie told his scouts when he had gathered them around him. “That’ll be less weight for the wagons, and it’ll be safer for them, too. I think the wagons can make it without any problems, but if any of them get into trouble, I don’t want a bunch of kids who maybe can’t swim getting dumped in the creek.”

  Jake grinned at Bodie. “I bet I know which of the ladies you’ll be ferryin’ across, Bodie.”

  “I’ll do whatever I’m told,” Bodie said stiffly.

  Jamie jerked a thumb toward the Bingham wagon. “Go ahead and get Miss McCoy, Bodie. Nobody’s going to stop you.”

  Bodie smiled somewhat sheepishly and turned his horse to fetch Savannah.

  Lamar Hendricks had his wagon poised at the edge of the stream. As Jamie moved his horse up alongside the vehicle, Hendricks said, “I’m ready to give this a try, Mr. MacCallister.”

  “Let the team do the work for you,” Jamie told him. “Just keep ’em moving as steady and straight across as you can. The current will push you downstream some, but not enough to worry about.”

  Hendricks nodded. He used the whip on the rumps of the stolid oxen and got them moving. They plodded forward into the creek, obviously a little reluctant to fight the current, but as it took hold of them they began to swim and pulled the wagon into the deeper water. Hendricks perched on the seat looking nervous as the vehicle began to float.

  Sundown, with Jamie in the saddle, swam alongside the wagon. Jamie had his lasso ready to throw if the wagon happened to capsize. He figured he could drop a loop over Hendricks and haul him out if necessary.

  Hendricks made it to the other side of the rain-swollen stream without any problems. The wagon rolled up the shallow bank and came to a stop as he hauled back on the team’s reins. He looked over at Jamie and sleeved sweat off his face, even though the day was still chilly. “I never did like boats, and that’s what it felt like I was on when the wagon started floating. I prefer solid ground.”

  “You did fine,” Jamie told him with a grin. He turned his horse, took off his hat, and waved it over his head to signal the folks waiting on the other side. “Come on over, one wagon at a time!”

  The crossing proceeded without incident for an hour, with the men guiding the floating wagons across while the scouts ferried the women and children on horseback.

  Then one of the women refused to leave her husband to take their wagon across. Hector swam his horse across the flooded creek to report on the situation to Jamie and Hendricks.

  “The lady’s name is Hamilton,” Hector said after he passed along the news. “She’s being mighty stubborn about it.”

  “That’s Alice Hamilton,” Hendricks said. “She and her husband R.G. were married just a couple days before we left Kansas City.”

  Jamie nodded. “I remember. You folks were celebrating the wedding the night I met you.”

  “That’s right. I suppose Alice doesn’t want to leave R.G.’s side because they’re newlyweds.”

  Hector looked uncomfortable as he said, “I can take her off the wagon seat and bring her on horseback whether she wants to come or not, but I don’t know how her husband will feel about that, Jamie.”

  “I don’t reckon we want to go that far. Tell her she can stay with the wagon, but it’s her choice.”

  Hector nodded, wheeled his horse, and urged the animal back into the water.

  The Hamilton wagon was the second in line. Jamie watched as Hector conveyed the message to the young, recently married couple. Alice Hamilton clutched her husband’s arm, clearly not intending to leave his side. She couldn’t weigh very much, Jamie thought, so it shouldn’t really make any difference whether she rode across on the wagon.

  A short time later, R.G. Hamilton urged his team of mules into the creek. They swam strongly toward the center of the stream.

  The wagon hadn’t reached the mid-point, when Jamie noticed that something was wrong. It was riding lower in the water than the others, and he felt a surge of alarm when he saw that it was starting to tilt. The cracks between the boards in these vehicles were supposed to be sealed with pitch to k
eep water out, but it was possible the Hamilton wagon had sprung a leak.

  Jamie cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “Hector!” When the burly scout turned to look at him, Jamie waved a hand toward the wagon, urgently gesturing for Hector to get out there and see what he could do to help. As soon as he had done that, Jamie heeled Sundown into motion and entered the creek from the north side of the stream.

  R.G. could feel the wagon tipping underneath him. So could his wife, who grabbed his arm even harder. He lashed the mules in an attempt to get them to go faster, so the wagon might get across the creek before it capsized, but it was taking on water too quickly for that.

  Alice screamed as the wagon suddenly rolled to the side. The water caught the canvas cover and pulled it over. Both Hamiltons were thrown off the wagon seat and disappeared into the muddy, fast-moving water.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Jamie jabbed his heels into Sundown’s flanks and sent the big stallion churning through the creek toward the overturned wagon. Hector was coming from the other direction. So were Bodie and Jake, having heard shouts of alarm from some of the immigrants when the Hamilton wagon rolled over.

  Jamie’s keen eyes searched the water for any sign of R.G. or Alice popping back to the surface. Even flooded, the creek wasn’t really that deep, but it was deep enough for a person to drown in it, especially if he or she was disoriented or had hit their head and was stunned.

  Alice Hamilton had bright red hair, so she was easy to spot when she broke the surface. The current was carrying her swiftly downstream. Jamie angled after her.

  With Sundown’s powerful legs stroking through the water, Jamie caught up with the young woman in a matter of moments. He leaned down from the saddle and reached for her as she flailed wildly in panic.

  His hand wrapped around her wrist and he hauled upward, lifting her from the stream almost effortlessly as if she had been a child’s toy. Hysterical with fear, she grabbed him, winding her arms around his neck and hanging on in sheer desperation.

  “Take it easy,” Jamie told her. “You’re all right, Miz Hamilton. Just settle down. I’ll take you to shore.”

  His firm, steady voice seemed to penetrate her shocked brain. She still clung to him, but not quite as urgently. She began to shiver from being dunked in the cold water.

  Jamie knew she would need to get out of the wet clothes as soon as possible. Some of the women could wrap her in blankets and set her down next to a big fire. That would thaw her out in a hurry.

  “R.G.,” she said. “Where’s R.G.?”

  Jamie glanced over his shoulder as he urged Sundown toward the northern bank. Several of the scouts were looking around, but it appeared they hadn’t found R.G. Hamilton yet.

  “Don’t worry, some of the other fellas are helping him.” Jamie kept her turned so she couldn’t see the search going on in the middle of the flooded stream. It wouldn’t do any good to worry the young woman when her husband might come thrashing out of the creek at any moment.

  Leticia Bingham and Savannah were waiting on the bank when Jamie got there, along with Alice’s mother, who was almost as distraught as her daughter. Leticia reached up. “Let us have her, Mr. MacCallister. We’ll take care of her.”

  “That’s exactly what I planned to do, ladies,” Jamie said as he gently lowered Alice into their waiting hands. As the women hustled her away, he turned his horse and plunged back into the flooded creek. “Any luck?” he called to the scouts as he swam Sundown out to join them.

  Bodie shook his head. “There’s no sign of him so far, Mr. MacCallister. He’s got to be around here somewhere, though.”

  Jamie had a bad feeling. If R.G. had been knocked unconscious when he fell from the wagon, he could have drowned in as little as a minute or two. Several minutes had passed since the accident, and the situation was beginning to look bleak.

  “Hey, over here!”

  The shout came from Jess Neville. He was about fifty yards downstream, where the roots of one of the scrubby trees on the bank extended out into the water. Something was caught in those roots. Grim lines formed on Jamie’s rugged, weathered face.

  The men on horseback headed in that direction. So did some of the immigrants on the northern bank who had heard Jess’s shout. They all got there about the same time.

  As soon as Jamie saw R.G. Hamilton’s pale face and the wide, sightlessly staring eyes, he knew the young man was dead. The water had washed away the blood, but a large gash was still visible on his forehead. Obviously he had struck it on something when he fell, just as Jamie feared, and that had doomed him.

  Jamie didn’t think he had said more than a dozen words to the young man during the journey, but he felt sorry for what had happened, anyway.

  He had known before they ever left Kansas City that not everyone in the wagon train would make it safely to Montana. Trouble along the way was inevitable, and so were losses.

  But Hamilton was the first to die, and that was painful.

  Jess Neville looked at Jamie. “What do we do, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “Work him out of those roots,” Jamie said flatly. “Hector, give him a hand.” To the other scouts, he added, “The rest of you get back to work. We’ve still got wagons to bring safely across this creek.”

  One of the people who had come running along the bank, the wagon train captain looked pointedly at Jamie. “We’ll get started digging a grave. Reverend Bradford can conduct the service. He’s the one who performed the wedding.”

  It was almost dark before the last of the wagons rolled out of the water and onto the northern bank. Some of the time had been spent hooking up extra teams to the Hamilton wagon and dragging it out of the creek. The men set it upright and examined it for the leak that had caused the tragedy and any other damage. All the goods inside the vehicle had been soaked, of course. Some of them were salvageable, and those that weren’t would be discarded and done without.

  Jamie assumed that Alice Hamilton would continue the journey to Montana Territory along with her parents and her two younger brothers. There was really nothing else she could do. They couldn’t leave her out in the middle of nowhere by herself.

  The burial service took place by torchlight that evening. Alice, who had started whimpering and moaning and wailing when she was told of her husband’s death, hadn’t stopped. Her mother and several of the women, including Savannah, tried to comfort her as best they could, but she was inconsolable in her grief.

  Reverend Bradford droned on endlessly. Jamie tried to be respectful as he stood with the others, his hat in one hand and his head bowed, but he would have rather been almost anywhere else.

  When the service was finally over, the women led a weeping Alice away while several of the men began filling in the muddy grave where R.G. Hamilton’s blanket-shrouded body lay. Somebody had fashioned a marker to put up.

  It was a nice gesture, Jamie supposed, but ultimately meaningless. The elements would take that marker in a matter of months. It would fall and rot into the ground as if it had never been there. The mounded dirt would flatten out. And come spring, grass would poke up through that dirt, maybe a few wildflowers. By the next summer, no one would be able to tell there was a grave there.

  Maybe that was the way it ought to be. Man was on earth and then he moved on, sometimes after a long, full life, sometimes before it seemed like his days ought to be up. The answers to such things were beyond mortals, mused Jamie. They belonged only to the Man Above.

  Bodie came up to Jamie as the immigrants scattered from the grave site and went about their business. “What are we going to do now, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “You mean after we try to get some sleep?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tomorrow morning, when there’s enough light to see, these wagons are rolling north toward Montana again. What did you think we’d do, turn around and go back just because one hombre’s bad luck caught up to him?”

  “No, but—”

  “This is the first grave we’
ve had to dig since we left,” Jamie said. “I can promise you, it won’t be the last.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Gideon Kane sipped from the glass of champagne and watched the woman cross the room toward him.

  Her walk was a thing of sinuous grace. Her blue eyes were full of temptation, and her mane of blond hair draped over her bare shoulders, dipping toward the creamy swells of her breasts exposed by the scandalously low neckline of the gown she wore. She could get away with such an outfit because her family was rich. Her name was Deirdre Burton.

  Kane had taken her to his bed a couple times, and she had assumed that meant they would get married, creating a marital and a business relationship between their families. He had other ideas, however. He had quickly become bored with her that first night and given her another tumble later on just to make sure it hadn’t been just an off night for him.

  That experience only confirmed his first impression. The thought of spending the rest of his life with someone as bland and complacent as Deirdre Burton held no appeal for him at all. Good Lord, he told himself when he considered the idea, he’d have to take a new mistress every few weeks just to keep from dying of boredom.

  Savannah McCoy, now, she would be a different story, Kane thought as he took another drink of his champagne. Someone as fiery as she could keep him interested.

  She was an actress, after all. From one night to the next, she could be anyone he wanted her to be. . . .

  “You give the best parties, Gideon,” Deirdre said as she came up to him. Musicians played softly on the other side of the big ballroom. “I’d love to dance with you.”

  “Perhaps later,” he told her. “I have a lot on my mind right now. Business matters.”

  He had expected Eli Harrison to be back with Savannah by now. It had been more than a week since the wagon train had left Kansas City.

  Deirdre leaned closer to him and said in a throaty voice she thought was seductive, “I can take your mind off of business if you’d like, Gideon. I guarantee, you won’t be thinking of anything except—”