A Wild West Christmas

by Livia J. Washburn

  Rainey confirmed that by adding, "Get to it while I take the woman and the boy back to the ranch."

  Buffalo lifted his head. His hat had fallen off when he was knocked down, and his hair had tumbled into his eyes. But he could make out the dark bulk of a buckboard with a couple of horses hitched to it, along with three saddle mounts.

  So Rainey had brought three men with him. Well, that ought to be interesting, thought Buffalo.

  Rainey jerked open the cabin door. "I've come for you, Ella!" he said drunkenly. "You're going to be my wife, the way you were meant to be!"

  Inside the cabin, Ella cried out in fear.

  One of Rainey's ranch hands said, "If we've got to stomp this fella, we better get at it."

  Buffalo turned his head to look up, bared his teeth in a snarl, and said, "Too late."

  His head was spinning from the two clouts he had taken, and he felt blood leaking from the wound in his shoulder, but the anger that fueled him more than made up for those things. He surged up from the ground and swung an arm in a backhanded blow that caught one of the punchers across the chest and threw him backward a good ten feet. The cowboy slammed into a tree and bounced off.

  Another man was holding a rifle. Instead of firing it, he tried to drive the stock against Buffalo's head. Buffalo's hand flashed up and caught the weapon in mid-air, stopping it inches away. A powerful wrench of his arm tore the rifle from the man's grasp. Buffalo slung it away in the darkness.

  The third man leaped on Buffalo's back. He wrapped his arms around Buffalo's neck and yelled, "I got him, Cory! I'll hang on to him while you–"

  Whatever he had in mind for Cory to do, he didn't get a chance to finish the suggestion. Buffalo reached up and took hold of the man's arms. He pried them loose and let go of one of them while he held on to the other and used it to swing the man like a kid might swing a rag doll by the arm. The cowboy screeched in pain. The cry was cut off as he smashed into his companion. Both men went down, sprawling limp and senseless on the ground.

  That just left Rainey, Buffalo thought as he turned toward the cabin.

  They appeared in the doorway, Rainey with Ella struggling in his arms as he dragged her out, Tom running around them striking futilely at the rancher. Rainey must have gotten tired of it, because he took one hand off Ella and lashed out with it. The back of his hand hit Tom in the side of the head and knocked him down.

  Ella screamed again, but this time more in anger than in fear. She thrashed around, and she had one arm loose now and the fingers hooked and dragged her nails down Rainey's face like claws. He reacted with a bellow and a shove that sent Ella into the door jamb. She lost her footing and fell.

  "Rainey," Buffalo said.

  Rainey's head jerked toward him. The rancher took a sudden step to the side as his eyes widened. "Skookum!" he shouted. "My God! Skookum!"

  Buffalo supposed that's what he looked like, lumbering through the snow toward Rainey. Rainey thought so, anyway. He reached under his coat and his hand came out with a gun in it, a revolver that roared and spouted flame.

  Not even the rage that filled him was enough to make Buffalo charge right into a handful of .45 slugs. He hit the ground as the bullets tore through the air above him. Snow kicked up in his face.

  Rainey's gun clicked on an empty chamber. He whirled around and ran, shouting, "Skookum! Skookum!"

  The varmint was so drunk he would probably run smack-dab into a tree and bash his brains out, Buffalo thought as he hauled himself to his feet. They could hope, anyway. He hurried over to Ella and tried to help her up.

  "Tommy," she said, loosening herself from Buffalo’s hold. "See if Tommy's all right."

  Buffalo picked up the boy, who was shaking his head and blinking his eyes. His vision seemed to clear. He looked up at Buffalo, and this time he didn't mistake him for a monster. Instead he said, "Mr. Newcomb?"

  "You'll be all right, son," Buffalo told him. He turned his head to look at Ella, who had gotten to her feet. "He's just a mite shaken up, is all."

  "Buffalo..." she said, looking past him.

  He set Tom on the ground beside her and turned to see that Rainey's three punchers were up again, hanging back as if they weren't sure what to do next. Rainey was off up the slope somewhere, still yelling.

  Suddenly his yell turned into a scream of pure terror, and another sound blended with it, a guttural howl that was like nothing Buffalo had ever heard before. It sure wasn't human, and it didn't sound like any animal he had ever encountered.

  One of the cowboys gulped and said, "Good Lord! Is that..."

  He couldn't bring himself to finish. One of the other men said in a weak voice, "It...it sure sounded like it."

  Rainey's screams stopped. The howl went on for a few seconds longer, then trailed away as if whatever was making it was moving off, going higher into the mountains.

  "Don't look so surprised," Buffalo told the three punchers. "The drunken fool was callin' it."

  ****

  They found Rainey's torn-up remains about five hundred yards from the cabin. The snow was badly messed up around the body, but by the light of the torch one of the cowboys carried, Buffalo saw one vaguely human-shaped footprint, bigger than any human foot had ever been. He knew the three punchers saw it, too, but as if by common agreement, nobody said anything about it. In fact, one of the men brushed it away with his own foot, seemingly by accident, and said, "Wolves. That's what it was got the boss. A pack of wolves."

  "Yeah," Buffalo said. "Wolves."

  "You know," one of the other cowboys said, "we never wanted to come over here with him, Newcomb. It ain't right what he tried to do. But we ride for the brand, you know?"

  Buffalo nodded. "I expect whoever takes over Rainey's ranch will make sure Miz Villard's horses are returned and she’s left alone from here on out?"

  "I reckon you can count on that," the man said, and the other two punchers nodded emphatically.

  ****

  By morning the snowstorm had moved on. Buffalo saddled his horse and got ready to do the same.

  Wrapped in a thick coat, Ella came out to the shed.

  "You don't have to leave, you know," she said. "There's a place here for you, Buffalo. I...I can't think of a better Christmas present for me."

  "You're just gettin' carried away with the spirit of the season," Buffalo told her. "Trust me, it don't take long for me to wear out my welcome. That's why I'm always on the drift. I ain't the most sociable cuss that ever was."

  "You never thought about...settling down?"

  He shook his head. "Not so's you'd notice."

  Ella sighed and said, "I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"

  "No, ma'am, you're not."

  "But you'll say goodbye to Tom before you leave?"

  "Sure."

  It was a painful parting, but Buffalo rode away a while later, and as he did, he glanced up at the mountainside where Jed Rainey had died. His death was a pretty grim Christmas present, Buffalo reflected, but if he had lived, things would have just gotten worse for Ella and Tom. Rainey was a bad sort, especially when he was crossed. He had run up against something bigger than him, though...literally.

  "Wherever and whatever you are, old son...I still ain't as ugly as you."

  He was smart enough not to look back at the cabin as he rode away.

  About the Author

  Livia J. WASHBURN recently won a Peacemaker Award for her story, Charlie’s Pie. She also writes best selling cozy mysteries. She received the Private Eye Writers of America award and the American Mystery award for her first Lucas Hallam mystery, Wild Night, about an old cowboy in the 1920’s. She has been writing both mystery and western novels and short stories for almost 30 years, and has been happily married to author James Reasoner for even longer. Her website can be found at www.liviawashburn.com.

  More by Livia J. Washburn

  Charlie’s Pie

  Winner of the 4th annual Peacemaker award for best short western fiction.

 
Lauralee Brannam just wants to bake her son's favorite pie for his birthday, which happens to fall on Christmas Eve. But then a wounded stranger shows up on her Texas ranch, and his fateful visit leads to violence, tragedy, and redemption in this stirring Western tale.

  Guarding Her Heart

  Julia Courtland was on her way west to marry a man she had never met. Henry Everett, the marshal of Flat Rock, Texas, was the grandson of her uncle's best friend. It seemed like a good match for both of them, and the wedding was scheduled to take place on Valentine's Day.

  Grant Stafford thought the young woman who got on the stagecoach at Buffalo Springs was the prettiest thing he had seen in a long time. She wasn't too friendly, mind you, but she was sure easy on the eyes. Not that Grant had time to worry much about such things. He was the shotgun guard on this run, but more than that, he was an undercover Texas Ranger on the trail of the vicious outlaw gang responsible for a string of stagecoach robberies.

  Fate threw Julia Courtland and Grant Stafford together on a cold February day in West Texas, but it also threw deadly obstacles in their path. A runaway team, a terrible crash, and bullets flying through the air threaten to steal not only their lives but also any chance they have for happiness. If they're going to survive, they will have to learn to trust each other . . . and maybe steal their hearts back from fate.