Blaze! The Christmas Journey

by Stephen Mertz

  There could be a posse after them, horse thieving being a capital offense, and so they rode hard, spurring and whipping the horses. Upon reflection, Les figured this maltreatment was no doubt what caused the horses to turn tail and bolt back in the direction of the town when the Waddells stepped from the stirrups to answer nature's call after two hours of hard riding.

  That's when it started snowing. It got real bad, real fast.

  Les and his little brother had trekked on foot through the storm. It didn't take long for Skid to start whining the way he always did when things didn't go right.

  "We're gonna die, Les! I just know it. Lord have mercy, we're gonna freeze to death out here like a couple of Eskimos!"

  "Shut up and keep walking," Les had instructed over over and over again.

  It didn't do any good. Skid was a born whiner. He was also physically weak. Before long, once the snow started to drift, he started to stumble and trip. Les would grab the kid's coat collar every time he saw Skid's knees start to buckle, shoving Skid from behind to keep him moving.

  Les started to wonder if Skid was going to make it. If it came to a choice between hefting Skid over his shoulder and risking losing track of the saddle bags in the snow, or leaving his brother to perish while he, Les, continued on with the saddle bags...well, he knew what his choice would be. The hell with his promise to Ma on her deathbed. The kid had it coming. He'd be better off without the twerp.

  It was well after nightfall when they sighted the cabin.

  Skid was all for charging headlong down and bursting in. "We'll make 'em feed us!" Skid's teeth chattered so badly with his shivering, Les could hardly understand what he was saying. Something like: "An' if they don't want to feed us, we'll kill 'em! At least we'll b-b-be warm."

  Les used his hold on Skid's collar to yank the kid back, halting his progress. Snow blanketed boulders that loomed low on a natural incline that ascended away from the cabin. There Les found a shelf of rock that provided scant but welcomed shelter. He never once let go of the saddle bags.

  "'Course we're goin' down there, squirrel-head. But we ain't rushing into anything that might get us killed."

  Les hated to admit it but he too was shivering down to his very core. He'd never seen a sight as beautiful as those golden squares of light from the cabin windows. Maybe for once in his life his baby brother was right and they should—

  The door of the cabin had drawn inward.

  Light from inside revealed elderly women seated at a wooden table, and the lone man in the doorway who surveyed the night before promptly closing the door.

  Les couldn't be sure, since the fella had been standing in front of the light and thus his face had remained in darkness, but there was a vague familiarity about his manner and posture.

  Skid said, "Ain't that—?

  "Shut up. Don't matter who it is."

  "But if it is him, she'll be with him."

  Les said, "Mebbe. Looked from here to be a passel of old women and one feller. Who knows, maybe he lost his woman in the storm. Shoot. We can't seem to lose that guy!"

  "Les, I'm c-c-cold."

  "We'll give 'em time to settle in. Then we'll close in easy-like."

  "I just hope we d-d-don't freeze to death first."

  Les said, "Shut up, k-k-kid."

  He figured if he was going to die tonight, it wouldn't be slow death, freezing from the cold. There was only one man down there with a pack of unsuspecting females. But if that man was J.D. Blaze then, Christmas Eve or not, there would be violence and death tonight.

  Chapter 24

  J.D.'s eyes snapped open.

  He'd fallen asleep in the chair!

  In light that filtered in through the archway from the outer room, he saw Kate stretched out upon the bed next to his chair. She slept soundly on her side, her back to the archway.

  He suppressed the surge of anger that coursed through him directed at himself. It couldn't have been for more than a minute or so but, dammit, he had drifted off. Shirked his duty. The hell with that! He would chastise himself later. That is if Kate didn't do it for him.

  Voices from beyond the archway had awakened him. The brusque, gruff voices of men. He rose to his feet, unleathering both six-guns. He stepped into the archway. He observed the tableau before him.

  The male voices belonged to Lester and Skid Waddell. The brothers wore heavy coats dusted with snow, as were the eyebrows that adorned their ruddy features.

  Vonnie, May, and Mrs. Mitchell sat at the wooden table, right where he had last seen them before he and Kate turned in for the night. Opposite them stood Joyce, busying herself at the stove.

  Lester had the pair of saddle bags slung over his left shoulder, anchored there with his left hand. His right hand remained on the door handle, confirming J.D.'s impression that they had just now entered the cabin.

  Skid stood between Joyce, at the stove, and Lester at the door. At the appearance of J.D., Skid paused in the act of snarling something at the women. He was waving a gun at them. Wildness flamed in his eyes.

  J.D. wanted to plant a slug through the little weasel's chest right then and there but he held his fire because Joyce was positioned close to Skid. He knew how to place his rounds but when guns started going off...well, Joyce's close proximity to the kid ruled out opening fire at this precise moment. But every moment inevitably becomes the next moment. The world can change in a moment...

  J.D. holstered his gun.

  He said, "Ladies, if I'd known you were expecting company, I wouldn't have turned in before they showed up. Downright rude of me."

  Skid Waddell giggled, that was the only word for it. He widened the arc of the pistol he waved to include J.D.

  "Well well well," he crowed. "Lookee here, Lester. We're not only going to get ourselves warm eats, we're going to take down Mr. J.D. Blaze himself for dessert!"

  J.D. said in a quiet, steady voice, "Howdy, Skid. Howdy, Les. You boys are a mite off your range, ain't you?"

  Lester wore the uncertain displeasure of a man caught in a bad circumstance not of his choosing.

  "Reckon I could say the same about you, but here we are." Les gulped hard. "Skid, stand down. The man has holstered his guns. That means we can still walk out of here."

  J.D. said, "We'll see what it means."

  Skid said, "Don't tell me what to do, Les. Don't tell me that no more. I'm sick of it, y'hear me? Sick of it!"

  J.D. said, "Skid, it's time to listen to your big brother."

  J.D. told himself, Just get him away from Joyce. Egg him on if you have to.

  Skid laughed a crazy laugh. His eyes danced.

  "I ain't listening to nobody. I was just telling these old crones that they're gonna feed us or we're going to blow 'em away." He barked over his shoulder, "Where's them vittles, woman?"

  Joyce replied in her naturally soft, shy way, spooning stew from a cast iron skillet into an earthen bowl.

  "I'm doing the best I can."

  Vonnie was assessing the Waddells with a severe frown. "You boys are really misbehaving, do you know that? Your mother would be ashamed of you."

  May nodded. "Threatening us when we would gladly share with you what is ours."

  Mrs. Mitchell said, half to herself, "Don't you know it's Christmas?"

  J.D. was so occupied paying attention to Skid that he gave a small start when Kate appeared next to him in the archway with cat-like silence. She aimed her six-gun aimed straight at Skid's forehead.

  Kate said, "It doesn't matter what this moron knows. Drop the gun, sonny. I don't want to mess up these nice ladies' cabin with your useless brains but I will if you make me. Drop it or you're dead."

  At first, J.D. winced at her lack of concern over the close proximity of Joyce to Skid. But you could see the wheels clicking behind Skid's crazy eyes. He was gauging the odds. He tensed, about to lunge closer to his brother, away from the stove where he'd have more mobility. The kid was about to snap and make a move, thanks to Kate. It would take him away from Joyc
e. Skid had lost what little sense he had, driven crazy by the snowstorm. It wouldn't be a nice sight in front of these helpless little old ladies, gunning down the kid, but there seemed no other way.

  Behind Skid, Joyce quietly and slowly stepped away from the stove. She clasped the handle of the heavy, stew-filled cast iron skillet in both hands. She swung the skillet around hard and fast, a determined set to her normally placid expression. With unerring accuracy she sprayed Skid with hot stew and delivered the bottom of the frying pan to the side of his head with a resounding clunk!

  Skid's eyes rolled back in their sockets. His gun dropped to the floor. He fell first to his knees like a man in prayer, and then pitched face forward like a felled tree. After his face hit the floor, he did not move.

  Joyce stared down at the sprawled form at her feet.

  She said, "Don't you dare threaten my sisters."

  Vonnie gave a hoot. "A knockout, sis!"

  May laughed heartily. "Honey, you take the cake when it comes to surprises."

  They and Mrs. Mitchell hurried to embrace Joyce from either side. Joyce dropped the skillet, appearing satisfied but somewhat stunned by her own action.

  Kate shifted her aim to the man with the saddle bags.

  J.D. said, "Well, what's it going to be, Les?"

  Les stared down at Skid.

  "Dang. You done killed my baby brother."

  Kate used a boot toe to roll the kid over onto his back. Subdued snoring and a stream of saliva dribbled from Skid's slack jaw.

  Kate said, "You and your brother both deserve boot hill but I reckon this ain't your time."

  "You're letting us live? You're letting us go?"

  J.D. gave a short laugh. "That's a good one, Les. There's a reward on both of you boys."

  Les's expression sank in defeat. He hefted the saddle bags.

  "Reckon you want these back."

  "Reckon we do. And no tricks."

  Les hesitated.

  Kate said, along the extended arm that pointed a six-gun at Les, "Do it, mister. That money you stole is going back to the people it belongs to whether you're dead or alive."

  Les sighed mightily. He flung the saddle bags onto the floor at their feet.

  J.D. nodded. "Now that's more like it. We're tying you jaspers up for delivery to the law tomorrow in Lordsburg. Kate, please go fetch us the rope from the barn."

  Kate never took her aim off Lester's forehead.

  She said, "It's cold out there. You do it."

  Chapter 25

  They were up before dawn.

  Vonnie was the first to rise. She began by getting coffee going on the stove. Soon the aroma was wafting through the cabin. She then went about chirping that it was time for everyone "get up and meet greet Christmas morning."

  J.D. thought of a line sergeant rousing the troops from their bunks in the AM darkness or a field general marshalling his resources for that last big push.

  The others awakened slowly but surely amidst much yawning, and soon they were seated around the table. They wished each other a Merry Christmas without much enthusiasm. They sipped their coffee, chewing on jerky for breakfast, preparing for the final leg of their journey.

  Kate always awoke bright-eyed and ready to go. J.D., less so. She therefore kept hot-topping his coffee. This helped clear the cobwebs out of his mind.

  Joyce had returned to her soft spoken manner while May appeared clear-eyed and ready to go. She and Kate maintained a running conversation of pleasant small talk across the table about the weather and about places they both knew. Mrs. Mitchell sat mostly silent except for the briefest amenities. While she did not interact with anyone, at least she did not appear despondent as she had the day before. With this journey almost at an end, the moment of truth loomed regarding the fate of her son. She seemed resigned stoically to whatever lay ahead.

  J.D. thought that if anyone deserved a good break for Christmas, it was Mrs. Mitchell.

  They pretended the Waddells weren't present except for May, who did send dirty looks at the brothers but said nothing. Joyce never once glanced in their direction. The brothers were not given coffee, J.D. having determined that a pair of groggy, fuzzy-brained owlhoots would be a lot easier to manage than a revived pair, calculating ways to escape.

  The outlaws had spent the night securely tied up, back-to-back, in a corner. They each appeared far worse for the wear. Skid had regained consciousness during the night, but only barely. He was dazed and confused. The starch had been taken out of him. He could be heard muttering to Les. His brother told him to shut up. Les may have grabbed some sleep overnight but you couldn't tell. He looked almost as bad as Skid.

  A gray dawn brought a cold, clear, blue sky day.

  J.D. went about hitching up the team of oxen. He brought the Conestoga wagon around to the front of the cabin, where they loaded up.

  The sisters conducted themselves like a unit, which is exactly what they were after all their Christmas journeys together over the years. They and Mrs. Mitchell huddled toward the front of the covered wagon's bed. Kate sat with her back to them, separating them from the Waddells. Neither of the brothers could take their eyes from the muzzle of her drawn six-gun. The look in Kate's narrowed eyes told them that she'd just as soon kill them as look at them. This was enough to dissuade movement and conversation.

  It had been something of a task, getting the brothers into the wagon. While Kate kept them covered in the cabin, J.D. had untied them so they could walk out and board under their own steam. They were now positioned at the rear of the wagon, again bound back-to-back.

  The cabin was closed up, but not locked (Vonnie: "You never know when our place could save someone's life like it saved ours!"). J.D. worked the lines and they moved out into a winter wonderland that sparkled under the slanting rays of the rising sun.

  The consistency of the snow made for decent travel, crunching and yielding crisply beneath the hooves of the oxen and the big wheels of the prairie schooner. The miles and the hours rolled by, with the tedium lessened only by a growing collective anticipation the nearer they got to Lordsburg. They encountered no one on the trail this Christmas Day, passing only the occasional snowed-in homestead where smoke curled from a ranch house chimney.

  J.D. for some reason found himself visualizing in each of those ranch houses a cozy, secure, bountiful family exchanging their modest gifts, many of those gifts no doubt homemade; cherishing their togetherness in that special way the Christmas season inspires in folks. As for J.D., he knew this was one Christmas he would never forget.

  After they'd gone a considerable distance, Vonnie joined J.D. on the bench.

  "Mind if I take the lines?"

  J.D. handed her the reins with a grin.

  "Dissatisfied with me running your team?"

  She chuckled. "Land sakes no, son. It's just that I'm used to doing everything. I'm of an active nature, y'see. I like lookin' ahead over a critter's ears to see open road stretched out before me."

  Ninety minutes later, Vonnie sat up straight, squinting against the near-blinding whiteness of the snow.

  She said, "There's Lordsburg. It won't be long now."

  J.D. had to squint into the snowy distance before he could make out the cluster of structures that was so far off, it looked at first like a child's small toy set. In the wagon bed, May, Joyce and Mrs. Mitchell turned their faces to see. Kate remained facing the Waddells, her gun steady on them. No one said anything.

  It wasn't until they'd drawn abreast of the first block of false front buildings that J.D. noticed something unusual. There was not a soul in sight. Lordsburg appeared to be as deserted as a ghost town. The sound of the Conestoga's crunching wheels echoed loudly in the strange and complete silence.

  May said, "We're getting in a day later than we'd planned. Everyone's at the Christmas Day shindig."

  J.D. did not voice a troubling thought. Or everyone's gone to watch the hanging.

  Mrs. Mitchell abruptly shouted at the top of her lungs,
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  "There's the jail! Stop! My son! Lord have mercy! I need to find my son!"

  She elbowed her way between J.D. and Vonnie as J.D.'s boot worked the brake. She flung herself from the wagon before it came to a complete stop. She ran to the jail house and rushed inside.

  J.D. stepped down from the wagon. He spoke to Kate.

  "Time to turn the prisoners over to the law Then we can—"

  He was interrupted by Mrs. Mitchell's ragged, tortured scream from inside the jailhouse. The scream cut through the air like a slashing bayonet, so raw with anguish and torment that it hardly sounded human.

  Chapter 26

  Kate rushed into the jailhouse with J.D. right behind her.

  It was a standard lawman's office—desk, pot-bellied stove, rifle rack, wanted posters—with the cellblock in back clearly visible from the office. The jailhouse was unattended, as eerily empty and silent as the street outside.

  Mrs. Mitchell stood in the center of the office. Hands raised to her open mouth. Eyes glued to the three cells.

  The cell doors yawned open. The cells were empty.

  Mrs. Mitchell teetered back and forth. "They've executed my son! Oh my God, my beautiful baby. We're too late. They've murdered my baby!"

  Kate hurried to her. "Wait. Don't say that. It's too soon to know." She looked around. "Where is everybody?"

  J.D. read from a scrap of paper tacked to the door. "Says here the sheriff is at the Christmas shindig."

  Vonnie appeared in the doorway, May and Joyce peering in from behind her.

  Vonnie said, "Well, let's skedaddle over there right now. We'll find the sheriff."

  The Christmas Day celebration was within easy walking distance. The sisters briefly lagged behind, returning to the wagon for their contributions to the potluck dinner—three carefully stored baked pies that had made the journey undamaged. Ignoring the sullen glares from the tied-up Waddells, the sisters hurried along the boardwalk to catch up and their little group entered the town hall together.