A Texas Hill Country Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  “I don’t believe this wagon is going anywhere, Mr. Barrett,” she replied in a despairing tone. “I’m afraid Charlie and I are just going to have to leave it here.” She sighed. “I should have paid more attention to where I was going and stayed on the drier parts of the road.”

  Seth put a weary smile on his face and said, “The Lord tells us to persevere. I’m prepared to take Him at His word . . . at least a few more times before I give up.”

  Charlie leaned over, put his hands on his knees and puffed for breath. He looked up and said, “No offense, Preacher, but I don’t reckon even the Good Lord His own self could get this danged ol’ wagon outta the mud.”

  “Charlie,” his mother scolded. “That’s no way to talk to Mr. Barrett. You shouldn’t be doubting the Lord, either.”

  “I just know how sticky this stuff is,” Charlie muttered.

  Charlie was right about that, thought Seth. The rain had turned all the roads in these parts into gumbo. It wasn’t raining now, but it had poured again earlier in the day and a thick overcast still covered the sky. Even if it didn’t rain any more for a while, it would take days, maybe even weeks, for the ground to dry out.

  Seth didn’t figure that would happen anytime soon. The clouds were still ominous as they roiled and scudded through the sky overhead.

  While he took a break from trying to free the wagon, he put his gaze on something a lot more appealing than the threatening sky.

  Delta Kennedy’s lovely face.

  It was heart-shaped, framed by thick wings of dark brown hair that escaped from under the bonnet she wore. She had a small beauty mark on her right cheek and a tiny scar on her upper lip that just made her attractiveness distinctive rather than distracting from it. Her eyes, Seth happened to know, were a rich brown and could kindle a warm glow inside a man just by looking at him.

  He knew that because he had experienced just such a glow more than once while talking to Mrs. Kennedy. On such occasions, just being near her had a tendency to make him a little tongue-tied. That was a definite drawback for a man who had always considered himself to be a little on the glib side.

  Today she wasn’t making quite as strong an impression on him because of the circumstances. He was concentrating on getting her wagon out of the mud, instead of thinking about how pretty she was. There was nothing flirtatious about her attitude, either. Naturally, she was worried about this dilemma. The wagon was loaded with supplies she had bought at Mr. Truesdale’s crossroads store, and she had to get them back to her farm somehow.

  Seth’s saddle mount was standing nearby, reins dangling. He had been riding back to the Enchanted Rock Baptist Church, where he was the pastor, after visiting one of the congregation who was ill, when he spotted the stranded wagon. He would have stopped to help no matter who the wagon belonged to, since he liked to think of himself as a Good Samaritan, but he recognized the wagon’s passengers right away and that made him even more eager to be of assistance.

  “All right, Charlie,” Seth said as he clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Are you ready to try again?”

  “Any time you are, Mr. Barrett,” Charlie affirmed.

  “Mrs. Kennedy, if you’ll take hold of the harness and urge the team forward while we push . . .”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “If we don’t get it loose this time, I’ll tie my horse to the wagon as well and see if that will help.”

  Seth and Charlie bent to the task, but before they could heave against the stubborn wagon, Seth heard riders coming along the road toward them. Horses’ hooves splashed loudly in the puddles. Seth looked over his shoulder and saw four men approaching. He straightened up as he recognized the barrel-chested rider in the lead.

  Felix Dugan reined his horse to a stop about twenty feet behind the wagon. The burly rancher was older than Seth, around forty. His face was round and sported what seemed to be a permanent sunburn year ’round. A mustache like a graying brush adorned his upper lip. His jaw was like a slab of Hill Country granite.

  As a preacher, Seth was supposed to like everybody, but he didn’t like Felix Dugan. The man had a hard, ruthless arrogance about him. His ranch was the largest in the area, and he tended to run roughshod over his neighbors anytime they clashed with him. Naturally enough, the men who rode for him weren’t any better. They smirked at Seth’s mud-splattered clothes.

  Even if Dugan had been a prince among men, though, Seth wouldn’t have liked him for one simple reason.

  Dugan was sweet on Delta Kennedy.

  A widower for quite a few years, Dugan had been heard to express his admiration for Delta on more than one occasion and voiced the opinion that she would make a fine wife for some man. He left no doubt that he was talking about himself.

  Now Dugan took off his hat, forced a smile onto his normally dour face, and greeted Delta by saying, “Good day to you, Mrs. Kennedy. You appear to have a bit of trouble on your hands.”

  He didn’t say anything to Seth. In fact, he acted like Seth wasn’t even there.

  “My wagon is stuck,” Delta said unnecessarily.

  “Well, we’ll take care of that right away,” Dugan said. “Won’t we, boys?”

  The ranch hands riding with him grinned and nodded. One man said, “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Mr. Barrett is helping us—” Delta began.

  “Preacher,” Dugan said curtly, acknowledging Seth’s presence for the first time. “You’ll never get that wagon out of the mud that way.”

  Seth thought the rancher probably was right, which certainly didn’t improve matters. But stubbornly, he said, “Charlie and I don’t need any help.”

  “I reckon we do,” the boy piped up. “This ol’ wagon’s a whole heap stuck.”

  “Get out of the way,” Dugan snapped at Seth. “Boys.”

  The ranch hands rode around Seth. A couple of them dismounted and tied ropes to the wagon while the third man went to the head of the team and said, “Let me have ’em, ma’am.” Delta relinquished her hold on the harness and moved aside.

  The two cowboys tied the other ends of the ropes to their saddle horns. One man was on each side of the vehicle. They moved their horses forward until the ropes were taut. They pulled steadily while the man leading the mules urged them on.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” Dugan called. He swung down from the saddle and slogged through the mud to the back of the wagon.

  “Step back, Charlie,” Seth told the boy. He wasn’t going to let Dugan do this alone.

  “I don’t need any help, preacher,” Dugan said with a sneer.

  “Neither did I, but you insisted anyway,” Seth shot back. He bent over and braced his shoulder against the wagon as he set his feet. Dugan did likewise. Both of them heaved against the weight and the grip that the mud had on the wheels.

  Slowly but surely, the wagon began to move. Just an inch or two at first, then another and another and then with a loud squelching sound, the mud let go of the wheels and the wagon jolted forward.

  The sudden movement threw Seth off-balance and made him stumble. He caught himself before he fell.

  Felix Dugan wasn’t as fortunate. His feet slipped out from under him, and he sprawled face-first in the mud, landing with a wet slapping sound.

  A laugh burst from Seth’s throat. He couldn’t stop it. That pompous windbag wallowing around in the mud like a hog was the funniest thing he had seen in a long time. Charlie joined in the laughter, too, until his mother said his name sharply to silence him.

  The three ranch hands kept the wagon moving until it reached a stretch of road that wasn’t so muddy. Then the man who had been leading the team let go of the harness and hurried back to where Seth was standing. A few feet away, Dugan sputtered and spit as he tried to push himself up out of the mud.

  The cowboy grated, “Think it’s funny, do you?” as he snatched his coiled lasso off the loop where it was attached to his saddle. He crowded the horse toward Seth and slashed at him with the rope.

  S
eth darted out of the way, reached up, and caught hold of the man’s arm. Taken by surprise, the cowboy couldn’t stay in the saddle as Seth heaved on him. He let out a startled yell, turned over in the air, and splashed down into the mud.

  He got up faster than his boss had managed to, and as he came to his feet, rage twisted his features and he clawed at the gun on his hip.

  Delta cried, “Charlie, get away from there!” as she ran toward her son.

  Seth crouched as instinct made his hand move toward his hip. There was nothing there for him to grab, though.

  Dugan had made it to his knees. He yelled, “Andrews! Hold it!”

  The cowboy stopped with his revolver half clear of the holster. He shook with anger and the urge to complete the draw. He said, “Boss, this varmint needs to be taught a lesson! He needs to know he can’t laugh at his betters like that!”

  “I agree,” Dugan said as he finished clambering to his feet. “But I’ll be the one to teach him!”

  He clenched his big hands into rock-hard fists, let out a bellow like a maddened bull, and charged toward Seth.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dugan’s men shouted encouragement to their boss. Seth tried to dart out of the way of the attack, but the mud sucking at his boots slowed him. Normally he would have been quicker on his feet than the lumbering, heavyset rancher, but the weather conditions took away that advantage.

  Seth was able to move enough that the looping punch Dugan aimed at his jaw clipped him on the shoulder instead. Even though it was a glancing blow, it packed enough power to stagger him. He caught himself and jabbed a swift left at Dugan’s face. It landed on the man’s nose with a satisfying pop and rocked Dugan’s head back.

  Dugan was about to learn that just because Seth was a man of God, that didn’t mean he was a pushover in a fight.

  Delta had grabbed Charlie and pulled him away from the battle. She held on to him and called to the two men, “Please stop! Don’t do this!”

  Dugan was too angry to pay any attention to her, and Seth was determined to defend himself. If Dugan wanted a fight, Seth would give him one.

  Grunting with the effort, Dugan swung wild, roundhouse punches at Seth, who managed to avoid them despite being slowed down by the mud. The burly rancher had no technique at all, Seth noted. Either Dugan was used to winning his fights by sheer power, or else his opponents held back because he was a wealthy, influential man.

  Seth didn’t care how much money Dugan had or about his standing in the community. The old wild streak had welled up inside him when he was attacked, and as Dugan flailed away at him, he began to take pleasure in the way he blocked the punches or weaved aside from them, then stepped in to pepper Dugan with hard lefts and rights of his own.

  The thud of fists against flesh and bone felt good, mighty good.

  Dugan’s nose was swollen and blood leaked from it. His mouth was puffy, too, and one of his eyes had started to turn black. Seth didn’t waste time and energy pounding away at Dugan’s torso, sheathed as it was in thick slabs of muscle. Instead he turned his efforts to the rancher’s face and steadily, methodically, chopped it into something resembling raw meat.

  One of the cowboys shouted a curse and said, “He’s handin’ the boss a lickin’! We gotta do somethin’ about this!”

  Another agreed eagerly and profanely with that sentiment.

  Andrews, the man Seth had jerked off his horse and thrown in the mud, held his companions back.

  “Mr. Dugan said to let him handle this,” Andrews pointed out grimly. “That’s what we got to do.” He paused, then added, “But if he goes down, we’ll hand that preacher man a thrashin’ he’ll never forget!”

  Seth heard that and knew he faced bigger odds than just Dugan. Chances were, this confrontation would end with him taking a whipping from the cowhands, but he didn’t care. In the time he had been in this part of the country, he had seen how Dugan had most folks cowed, and it was past due for somebody to stand up to him.

  Dugan was halfway out on his feet by now. He was still throwing punches, but they were even slower and more clumsy than they had been at first. He didn’t come close to making contact with Seth, who was punching him at will. Finally, with a bit of a shock, Seth realized that both of Dugan’s eyes were swollen nearly closed. The rancher probably couldn’t even see him anymore and was striking out blindly, unable to defend himself.

  Suddenly, a wave of shame washed through Seth. This wasn’t the sort of man he was, or at least the sort he was trying to be. He lowered his fists and stepped back.

  “That’s enough, Dugan,” he said. He was breathing hard. The air rasped a little in his throat. “We don’t need to fight anymore.”

  “Come on!” Dugan mumbled. “Come on, you blasted coward!” His speech was thick because of his puffy, bloody lips.

  “No. It’s over.”

  Dugan roared furiously and somehow found the strength for one more charge. Seth didn’t hit him this time. He just stepped out of the way. Dugan lost his balance and fell, plowing the mud with his face again.

  “That’s it,” Andrews barked. “Get him!”

  The three cowboys had just started toward Seth when a loud boom froze them in their tracks.

  It wasn’t thunder, although there had been some of that with the storms over the past few weeks. This blast came from a shotgun. Delta Kennedy held it in her hands with the twin barrels pointed toward the overcast sky. She lowered the weapon and said in a ragged voice, “That’s enough! No more fighting!”

  The shotgun was aimed mostly at the three cowboys, but where Seth was he found himself staring down the barrels, too. He said, “Uh, Mrs. Kennedy, you might want to be careful—”

  “This gun won’t go off unless I want it to,” Delta snapped. “I’ve had to shoot enough rattlesnakes and run off enough coyotes to know what I’m doing. Now somebody roll Mr. Dugan over before he drowns in that mud.”

  Seth was the closest, so he bent down and grasped Dugan’s shoulder with both hands. He rolled the man onto his back. Dugan gasped for air. Seth wiped some of the mud away from his mouth and nose so he could breathe easier.

  “You’re gonna be sorry you jumped the boss like that, preacher man,” Andrews said coldly.

  “He went after me first,” Seth said as he straightened. “I just defended myself.”

  “And I’ll back up Mr. Barrett’s story to anyone who cares to ask,” Delta said. She frowned at Seth and added, “Although you didn’t have to defend yourself quite so . . . ruthlessly.”

  Seth understood what she meant, but a part of him disagreed with her. When a man was attacked, surviving was all that mattered. If that meant fighting back as hard and brutally as he could, then so be it.

  He tamped those impulses down and forced himself to nod.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I just got carried away.”

  “Carried away, nothin’!” Charlie exclaimed, wide-eyed with excitement. “You whipped him good!”

  “Charlie, get in the wagon,” Delta said.

  “Aw, Ma—”

  “In the wagon.”

  As Charlie obeyed, his mother went on to the cowboys, “You’d better pick up Mr. Dugan, get him on his horse, and take him home. He’ll need to be cleaned up and have any injuries attended to. I think his nose may be broken.”

  If it wasn’t, thought Seth, it wasn’t from lack of trying on his part.

  Delta finally lowered the shotgun as the three ranch hands went to help Dugan, but she didn’t put it back in the wagon where she had gotten it. Seth wasn’t surprised she had brought the weapon with her when she went to Truesdale’s store. The Hill Country was still wild enough that a person could run into trouble here and needed to be prepared.

  The men got Dugan on his feet and half-dragged, half-carried him over to the big black horse he had ridden up on. With much grunting and straining, they lifted him into the saddle. Dugan was still in a stupor, but when Andrews wrapped his hands around the saddle horn, he hung on and ke
pt from falling, although he still swayed some.

  The cowboys mounted up. Andrews took Dugan’s reins to lead the horse. He glared at Seth and said, “This ain’t over, preacher man.”

  “You know where to find me,” Seth said coolly.

  “Yeah. Hidin’ in that church.”

  “I’m a little surprised you know where it is. I haven’t seen you there.” Seth smiled faintly. “But I’ll come out anytime you want to talk to me.”

  “It ain’t talkin’ I got in mind.”

  Andrews jerked his horse to the side. He and his companions rode around the wagon and plodded on in the direction they had been going before the fight.

  Seth watched them until they had disappeared around a bend. Then he turned to Delta, who was putting the shotgun back into the wagon bed behind the seat.

  “I’m sorry about that—” he began.

  “You ought to be,” she interrupted him. “It was your fault.”

  “My fault?” Seth stared at her. Even though he liked her, he felt a flash of anger at the accusation she had leveled at him. “How in the world was it my fault? You saw the way he came after me. You told Andrews you’d say as much.”

  “I saw what happened, yes, but I also know it’s unlikely Mr. Dugan would have attacked you if you hadn’t laughed at him.”

  “You didn’t think it was funny when that stuffed shirt fell in the mud?”

  Delta didn’t say anything for a moment, then replied, “Maybe it was, but you had to know it would provoke him. A man like Mr. Dugan can’t stand to have his pride wounded.”

  “A man like Dugan needs to have some of the hot air let out of him now and then. That’s all I did.”

  Delta shook her head and said, “No. What you did was make an enemy. A bad enemy.”

  “Some say you can tell a lot about a man by the quality of his enemies. And I don’t believe in running scared from a bully. That’s all Felix Dugan is.”

  “I don’t have any interest in arguing with you, Mr. Barrett.” Delta started to climb to the wagon seat. Seth moved to take her arm and help her, but she pulled away before he could. As she settled herself and took up the reins, she went on, “You should be careful.”