A Frontier Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  Stepping toward the sound of the voice, Duff saw Meagan Parker on her knees, pinning up the skirt on a dress being worn by Martha Guthrie, wife of the mayor of Chugwater.

  “Mrs. Guthrie, ’tis a beautiful picture you make in that dress. You’ll be warming R.W.’s heart, and that’s for sure.

  Martha, who was a short and rather rotund woman, blushed and giggled at the compliment. “Oh, do you think so?”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been telling her,” Meagan said, standing up.

  “I’m buying the dress for a Christmas party we’ll be giving John, his wife, and our grandchildren,” Martha said. “They’re coming to town for Christmas.”

  “Oh, and what a joyous event that will be. I’ll have to stop by to say hello,” Duff replied.

  “Please do.”

  “All right, Mrs. Guthrie, if you’ll go back there and take off the dress, I’ll have it finished for you in plenty of time,” Meagan said.

  “Thank you, dear.” Martha took one more look at herself in the mirror. “You do such beautiful work.”

  Meagan waited until Martha disappeared into the back room, then she kissed Duff. “What brings you here, today?”

  “Smoke, Sally, and Matt will be coming to Sky Meadow. I want you to come out for dinner Wednesday night while they are here.”

  “I’d be glad to.” Meagan frowned. “Didn’t I see several people gathered in front of the Fiddlers’ a few minutes ago? What was that all about, do you know?”

  “Aye, ’twas a small disturbance down at the apothecary is all. ’Tis over now.”

  She examined Duff with a quizzical smile. “Why is it that I think it might have been more than that, and that you had something to do with it?”

  “Because you are a woman with a very suspicious heart,” Duff said.

  “You are aware, are you not, Duff, that there is to be a dance on Christmas Eve?”

  “And are you asking me to the dance?” Duff replied with a teasing smile.

  “No, you are supposed to ask me.”

  “Oh. Well then, lass, would you be so kind as to attend the dance with me?”

  “Let me think about it,” Meagan replied. Then, with a wide smile she continued. “All right, I suppose I can.” She was about to kiss Duff again, but at that moment, Martha Guthrie reappeared.

  “I left the dress on the table,” she said. “How soon will it be ready? I also want to wear it for R.W.’s Christmas dinner for the businessmen of the town.”

  “Oh, you can pick it up tomorrow,” Meagan said.

  “Wonderful. Thank you. Mr. MacCallister, please do drop by when John and his family are in town. I know they would love to see you.”

  “I’ll do that,” Duff promised.

  As soon as Martha left, Duff turned back to Meagan. “I believe you were about to kiss me?”

  “I will, but then you must go. I have work to do and, for some reason, I find you distracting.”

  They kissed again, then Duff turned to leave. “I’ll see you at dinner when Smoke and the others arrive.”

  Elmer Gleason, Duff’s foreman, had a most interesting background. He had been a guerilla with Quantrill during the war; had ridden some with Jesse and Frank James after the war; had lived with the Indians for a while, taking an Indian wife; and had gone to sea as an able-bodied seaman, sailing all over the Pacific.

  In a way, one could say that Duff had inherited him with the ranch, because when Duff came to develop the land he had filed upon, Elmer was already there.

  “They say the place is hainted,” R.W. Guthrie had told Duff when he’d first arrived in the territory. He was talking about Little Horse Mine, a worked-out and abandoned gold mine that was on the land Duff had just taken title to.

  “Course, I ain’t sayin’ that I believe in haints, mind you. But that is what they say. Some say it wasn’t the Spanish, but injuns, that first found the gold, and they was all kilt off by white men who wanted the gold for themselves. What happened was, after the injuns was all kilt, they became ghosts, and now they haint the mine and kill any white man who comes around tryin’ to find the gold. Now, mind, I don’t believe none of that. I’m just tellin’ you what folks say about it.”

  As it turned out, the haint Guthrie was speaking of was Elmer Gleason.

  Elmer had located a new vein of gold in the mine, and unable to capitalize on it, was living a hand-to-mouth existence in the mine, unshaved and dressed only in skins.

  Duff discovered him in the mine, which was on the property Duff had just filed upon. Everything Elmer had taken from it actually belonged to Duff, giving him every right to drive Elmer off, but he didn’t. He offered Elmer a one-half partnership in the mine. That partnership had paid off handsomely for both of them.

  Elmer had been with Duff from the beginning and was now Duff’s foreman and closest friend.

  Duff’s half of the proceeds from the mine had built Sky Meadow into one of the most productive ranches in Wyoming. His operation was large enough to employ fourteen men.

  When Duff returned to the ranch, Elmer was talking to the three other cowboys who had been with him for a very long time. Al Woodward, Case Goodrich, and Brax Walker not only worked for him, but were extremely loyal and top hands, occupying positions of responsibility.

  “Get the men out to bust up the ice so’s the cows can get to water,” Elmer was telling them. “And you’d better send a couple men out to check if any of the beeves have wandered off.”

  The three men nodded in acquiescence, spoke to Duff a minute, then left to attend to their duties.

  “Anything interesting happen in town?” Elmer asked.

  “I invited Meagan to come to dinner when Smoke and the others are here.”

  “Uh-huh. And you talked some feller outta shootin’ Damon White, too, is what I heered.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I sent Dooley into town to get some things, and he told me about it when he got back.”

  “There wasn’t much to it,” Duff said. “Are you goin’ to ask your friend Vi to come to dinner?”

  “You mean you don’t mind?”

  “Why should I mind?”

  Elmer smiled. “Well, then, if you don’t mind, I’ll ride on into town and take care of that.”

  Duff nodded, then rode on to the barn to get his horse out of the cold.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cheyenne, Wyoming

  The train had arrived at six o’clock in the morning and the engine sat on the tracks with the boiler making bubbling sounds as the fireman kept up the steam pressure. Smoke, Sally, and Matt stood in the predawn darkness illuminated by the electric lamps that sprouted in profusion all around the depot platform.

  The door of the special stock car that Smoke had leased for the trip was opened and a ramp was placed against it. Three horses were led out. As they saw Smoke and the others, they nodded in recognition and apparent relief that they were back among familiar people.

  “How long is it going to take us to get there?” Sally asked.

  “Five easy hours,” Smoke replied. “We’ll find someplace to have breakfast, and we won’t leave until around nine. That should put us there by two o’clock this afternoon.”

  Rawhide Buttes, Wyoming

  Eighth grade was as high as the school went in Rawhide Buttes. Students who wished to attend high school had to go by boat, seven miles up the Platte River to Hartville. Ralph Walters had given his show at the firemen’s benefit, and followed that by performing for all eight grades of the Rawhide Buttes School.

  “I apologize for my voice,” Walters said to Miss Pauline Foley after the performance.

  Miss Foley, the principal of the school, was in her early fifties, about the same age as Walters, and unmarried because the school board required that of its teachers. She reached up to touch her hair and primped a bit. “Why, you have a beautiful voice. The huskiness just added to it. How much longer will you be in town?”

  “I don’t have another s
how to do until the seventeenth, and that’s in La Bonte,” Walters said. “Because I’m feeling a bit under the weather, I may stay here in the hotel and rest for a bit.”

  “The school board will be having a dinner for the teachers and the parents of all the children on Monday, the eighth. Because the children so enjoyed your visit, I would like to invite you to come as my . . . that is, as guest of the school.”

  “I appreciate the invitation, Miss Foley . . .”

  “Pauline.”

  “Pauline,” Walters repeated. “If I get to feeling any better, I certainly will come.”

  Leaving the school, he walked four blocks to the Rocky Mountain Hotel, then went up to his room and laid down on the bed. He was feverish, he had a sore throat, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult for him to breathe. He wondered if he should see a doctor.

  Sky Meadow Ranch, Wyoming

  There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and the parlor of Duff’s house was filled with convivial people. Duff was hosting not only Smoke, Sally, and Matt, but he had invited Meagan Parker, Biff and Rose Johnson, Fred and Bonnie Matthews, and R.W. and Martha Guthrie. Elmer was at the dinner as well, and he had invited Violet Winslow. Known mostly as Vi, she owned Vi’s Pies.

  “Oh, you should see the beautiful dress Meagan made for me,” Martha said to Sally.

  “She wanted to wear it tonight,” R.W. said, “but I said no. She’s going to wear it for the first time at my dinner.”

  “And that’s where you should wear it first,” Meagan said.

  “Oh, pooh. You’re no help,” Martha said with a chuckle.

  R.W. turned to Smoke. “Mr. Jensen, how long will the three of you be here?”

  “We’ll be here for Christmas.”

  “Good! Then you must come to the Christmas dinner I’m giving for the town. It will be next Wednesday.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Mayor, but we’ll be in Fort Russell then,” Smoke replied.

  “Oh? I thought you were going to spend Christmas with Duff.”

  “We have to take care of some business at Fort Russell first, but we’ll be back here in time to celebrate a Scottish Christmas.” Smoke looked over at Duff. “Just how do the Scots celebrate Christmas, anyway?”

  “’Tis pretty much like the Christmases you celebrate, I’m thinking. But we’ll be having Scottish dishes, such as Twelfth Night Cake,” Duff replied.

  “And what would be a Twelfth Night Cake?” Matt asked.

  “I can tell you,” Meagan said. “I got the recipe from a book, and Vi and I made one for practice. It is a very rich fruitcake, almost solid with fruit, almonds, and spices. The ingredients are bound together with plenty of whiskey, then all that is put into a cake tin lined with a rich short pastry and baked.”

  “It sounds . . . interesting. Sally, maybe you can make some bear claws to sort of go along with it,” Matt suggested.

  “Nonsense,” Sally said. “I’m not going to invade Mrs. Sterling’s kitchen.”

  “I’m sure she would welcome you, Sally,” Duff said. “She has no problem with Meagan making the Twelfth Night Cake. Besides, I’ve had some of your bear claws, and I think they would make a most welcome Christmas addition.”

  “When are you going to Fort Russell?” Meagan asked.

  “We have to be there next Monday,” Smoke replied.

  “Good. Just so you don’t leave before Friday evening. Duff will be playing his pipes in the Christmas concert on that night, and I know he wants to show off for you.” Meagan smiled.

  “That’s not the case, Meagan,” Duff complained.

  “And weren’t you for telling me just the other day that you were thinking that not neither Smoke, nor Sally, nor Matt had ever heard you play, and you’d like to play for them? Or was it a bit tipsy you were, when you were saying such?” Meagan’s question almost perfectly imitated Duff’s Scottish brogue.

  “Sure lass, ’n would you be funnin’ with m’ accent now?” Duff replied.

  The others laughed at their banter.

  “We hadn’t planned to leave before Saturday anyway, and I would be most pleased to hear you play the bagpipe,” Matt said.

  “Och, mon. ’Tis nae the bagpipe, ’tis the pipes,” Duff said.

  “All right, the pipes, then. I’ll be glad to hear you play them.”

  “I would love to hear you play them as well,” Sally said.

  “Before you folks get all excited about this, let me ask you something. Have any of you ever heard the pipes?” Elmer asked.

  “No, I can’t say that I have. What do they sound like?” Smoke asked.

  “You ain’t never heard such caterwaulin’. ’Bout the closest thing I can get to tellin’ you what it sounds like, is the cryin’ a heifer makes when she gets her legs all hung up in barbed wire.”

  “Oh?” Duff said, lifting his eyebrow as he stared at Elmer.

  “Oh, but it’s a real purty caterwaulin’,” Elmer said quickly, trying to cover the damage.

  Again the others laughed, and they were still laughing as Jarvis Sterling stepped into the parlor. He was a recent émigré from England, and Duff had hired him as his “gentleman’s gentleman.” Jarvis’s wife Angela was Duff’s cook. Together, Mr. and Mrs. Sterling ran the house for him.

  “Captain MacCallister, Mrs. Sterling wishes me to announce that dinner can now be served to you and your guests.”

  “Thank you, Jarvis. Meagan?” Duff asked, offering his arm.

  Meagan hooked her arm through his, and they led the others into the dining room, where the table was set with gleaming china, sparkling silver, and glistening crystal, all reflecting the light of the overhead chandelier that hung suspended over the middle of a table that was long enough to seat all of them comfortably.

  Two days later, much of the town of Chugwater had turned out for the Christmas concert, with music furnished by the First Church of Chugwater choir, the Volunteer Fire Department Band, and Duff MacCallister, whose name was listed on the program as Captain of the 42nd Foot, Third Battalion of the Royal Highland Regiment of Scots.

  The choir sang “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing,” “The First Noël,” and “What Child Is This?” Then Duff stepped in front of the audience. He was wearing the kilt of the Black Watch, complete with a sgian dubh, or ceremonial knife, tucked into the right kilt stocking, with only the pommel visible. He was also wearing the Victoria Cross, Great Britain’s highest award for bravery. He played “I Know a Rose-tree Springing.”

  After a few numbers from the Volunteer Fire Department Band, the concert ended with performers and audience singing “Silent Night.”

  “Oh, it was all so beautiful,” Sally said after the concert ended. “And Duff, you were magnificent.”

  “Why, thank you, Sally. Elmer, if you would see to these good folk, I’ll take Meagan home ’n change out of m’ kilts.”

  Smoke started to say, “That’s all right, Duff, we can wait while you—”

  “Smoke, we’ll be going home now,” Sally interrupted.

  “But there’s no need to put him out like—”

  “Smoke?” Again, he was interrupted. By a single word and a glare. “Smoke?”

  “Oh, uh, yes,” Smoke said, finally understanding. “Yes, uh, thank you. We’ll just go on home with Elmer.”

  “It was nice of them to give us a little time alone,” Meagan said as they walked from the theater to her apartment, which was located over her store, Meagan’s Dress Emporium. Duff had left his horse in the stable behind the store.

  “Aye, after Sally nearly beat him over the head,” Duff said.

  Meagan laughed. “True, she is most perceptive.”

  “And ’tis glad I’ll be to be out of m’ kilts. ’Tis getting a bit chilly.”

  “Especially considering what you are wearing beneath your kilts, eh, Duff?” Meagan asked with a knowing smile.

  “Sure lass, ’n what makes you think you know what’s underneath m’ kilts?”


  “I peeked,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Did ye now?”

  “Aye, ’n ’twas a wondrous thing to behold.” Again, she mimicked Duff’s accent.

  “I dinnae ken about a wee lass that would take a peek under a man’s kilts.”

  “We can talk about it after,” Meagan said.

  “After what?”

  “After,” Meagan repeated with a sly smile.

  A couple hours later, with a smiling Meagan in bed upstairs in her darkened apartment, Duff stepped into the stable behind her store to saddle his horse for the ride back to his ranch. He was feeling his way through the dark when he heard a voice.

  “And would ye be for tellin’ me why ’tis ye are waiting, Duff MacCallister? Sure, an’ ye should be askin’ the young lass to marry you.”

  “What?” Duff asked in shock, the hair rising on the back of his neck

  The voice was that of a woman, and not just any woman. It sounded for all the world like the voice of Skye McGregor.

  “Who said that? Where are you?” Duff struck a match, and in the wavering orange glow, examined the inside of the small stable. He saw nothing except his horse, Meagan’s horse, and her buggy. There was nobody else there. He let the match burn until it reached his fingers, then quickly blew out the flame and licked the burn, which wasn’t severe.

  “Did you hear that, Sky?” Duff asked his horse. “Nae, and how could you have heard it, for ’twas in m’ own mind the words were spoken.”

  He led Sky out into the street in front of Meagan’s place, mounted, then looked up at the window that he knew was to her bedroom. Though he couldn’t see her, he had a very strong feeling that she was looking down at him and made a slight wave, then turned his horse and started out of town at a rapid trot, the hoofbeats echoing back from the dark, mostly empty buildings that lined First Street.

  Up in her bedroom, Meagan was standing next to the window, looking down onto the street. She hadn’t told him she would do so, but she wanted to see him one last time before he left. When she saw him wave toward her window, she gasped. Had he seen her?