Pony Express Christmas

by Sigmund Brouwer

  “This here’s Reb,” the man said. “I’m Kentucky. Pleased to make acquaintance.”

  “Jeremiah,” Jeremiah said. “Jeremiah Sparling.”

  With a gentleness that Jeremiah found touching from such a fierce-looking man, Kentucky set his brother on the ground.

  Kentucky dusted away some snow off the ground near the fire and rolled out a blanket. He lifted his brother and set him on the blanket, then placed the other blanket over top.

  Reb’s eyes fluttered open briefly, then shut again. The firelight showed beads of sweat across his forehead. His body shook beneath the blanket.

  “Looks like the fever’s got him real bad,” Jeremiah said. “My father was a doctor. I know some about fevers. This man needs something to drink. Water. Tea. Anything that’ll replace the sweat he’s losing. And we’ll need to keep him warm.”

  Jeremiah struggled to his feet. He shook snow off his blanket and set the blanket on the box.

  Jeremiah leaned on his crutch as he spoke to the big man. “I’ve got some supplies in the wagon. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, you’re welcome to share the beans I’ve got on the fire.”

  “Much obliged,” Kentucky said. “You’re a good man.”

  “Anybody would do it,” Jeremiah said. “Think nothing of it.”

  “Well, now,” Kentucky said, tipping his hat to Jeremiah, “I’ll tend to the horses.” Again, the big man disappeared quietly into the snow.

  As Jeremiah moved to the wagon, he remembered his recent promise to the Pony Express man. “Comes the day I can help you or anyone else, I’ll return the favor.”

  Looked like the Lord had granted him the opportunity already. On the eve of Christmas no less.

  Jeremiah smiled.

  Never let it be said, he thought, that the Lord did not know how to time events properly.

  Chapter 11

  Grace was at the stove again, removing the browned biscuits, when she heard a dog barking above the wind.

  For a heart-stopping moment of hope, she thought it might be Jeremiah and Noah finally returned. But she heard no voices to calm the dog or to confirm her hope.

  She glanced across the short distance of the cabin to where the boys had fallen asleep on their corn-shuck mattress. None stirred.

  Grace gathered her courage and went to the far wall where a rifle hung, loaded and ready for intruders. She took it down.

  She wondered if she should light a lantern and decided against it. If the intruder had bad intentions—if indeed there was an intruder—the lantern would only serve to give a target.

  Grace hesitated and listened again.

  Yes, above the wind, she did hear a noise. Directly outside.

  Still no welcome shout from her husband or son.

  She grabbed her coat and threw it on. A final glance at her boys. They were asleep.

  Grace pushed open the tiny door of the cabin.

  Great flakes of snow swirled into the dim light given by the candles. Beyond that, she saw nothing.

  But again, a sound reached her.

  She was able to identify it.

  The snorting of a horse.

  She wanted to shout into the wind and snow, but that would wake the boys.

  She shut the door behind her, clutching the rifle.

  Instantly, her face grew wet from snow that melted on her skin. She blinked against the flakes that collected on her eyelashes.

  The snorting of the horse came from behind her. Cautiously, she began walking farther into the night, away from the safety of the cabin.

  As she circled to the side, a dark figure loomed tall in front of her, and she bit back a scream.

  Chapter 12

  The fierce wind down the eastern slopes of the mountains ceased. With the death of the wind, the temperature seemed to be less harsh. While the snow lessened, however, it did not stop completely and drifted down in eerie silence.

  Occasionally in the West, as storms die on the night of a full moon, the light of the moon reflects off the snow, so that a white glow fills the night.

  This was one of those nights.

  The trees were sentinels on each side of the trail that Grady followed, marking his path clearly. He and the boy on the horse appeared like ghostly figures walking on a ghostly night.

  “Ever been out on a night like tonight?” Grady asked the boy, not looking back as he spoke.

  “No, sir,” the boy said.

  That was all the boy said. He didn’t seem much interested in conversation, so Grady didn’t push. He was accustomed to long days by himself anyway and didn’t need talk to keep him occupied.

  Grady lost himself in thought as he led the horse along the trail. It dipped and rose, crossing the creek with regularity.

  Grady guessed it was close to seven o’clock. If he reached the cabin by eight o’clock, then turned immediately back, he might reach the wagon by ten o’clock. From there, in this light, if Jeremiah was safely settled at the fire and if the wind did not pick up again, he could ride directly to the Weyburn ranch. At most, he might be six hours late.

  Forgivable, Grady thought. There had been the odd time or two that Express riders were delayed. Maybe then, Grady decided, he wouldn’t lose his job. He could plead that it was Christmas Eve, after all, certainly not a night to abandon a man and a boy in a storm.

  Thinking about all of this, Grady’s spirits improved.

  Inside his coat he had a small bottle of New York perfume wrapped in a silk scarf and ready to give to Lucy Weyburn. Not that he could buy her heart, but he had taken the effort to find out what perfume she liked and had ordered it in the fall.

  Grady pictured her wide, warm smile as she opened the gift. He imagined her throwing her arms around him as she hugged him in delight.

  Maybe, Grady thought, this Christmas would be fine after all.

  Less than a minute of assuring himself of this, Grady led the horse yet again across the creek.

  Because it was night, and because so much snow had fallen, and because the snow still filled the air, he could not see that downstream a beaver dam had pooled the water here. Furthermore, the snow had covered the thin layer of ice on top of this pool.

  Grady stepped forward to cross the creek and fell through the ice.

  Chapter 13

  “Need some help?” Kentucky hollered from where he was squatted in front of the fire warming his hands.

  “No, sir,” Jeremiah said. “This snow’s making it difficult for me to see what I’m doing.”

  Jeremiah stood awkwardly at the side of the wagon. He’d glanced at the horses belonging to the men and now made sure to continue loudly enough for Kentucky to hear him. “Why don’t you go ahead and get a start on those beans. There’s plenty more and I’m digging for them right now, along with another pot and some tea for your brother.”

  Kentucky didn’t waste any time getting started on the beans. He hadn’t eaten in a day and a half, and that had been the last of their buffalo jerky. He hadn’t eaten anything warm in near a week, not since they’d been on the run with the army horses.

  “Hey, brother, save some for me.” This came from Reb, who had revived in the heat of the fire. “Those beans smell good.”

  Jeremiah made plenty of noise as he dug through his supplies. He wished his rifle were down among the contents of the wagon instead of up on the buckboard, where both of these men would notice if he limped over to get it. Maybe Jeremiah was imagining things—it was a habit of his—but these two strangers rode horses with army brands, and they sure didn’t look military. Plus, there was the fact that the front of the man’s coat had been so dirty, like he’d been lying on his belly. Watching Jeremiah from up top the bank? Jeremiah wasn’t about to accuse them of anything, but he wished he weren’t crippled and that he carried a pistol. Especially with the promise he’d made to the Pony Express rider about guarding those mailbags.

  Jeremiah took so long bent over and moving supplies around in the wagon that the big man shouted aga
in.

  “Hey, pards! Need help?”

  “Just done now,” Jeremiah said. And he was.

  Jeremiah finally retrieved a pot and scooped snow into it before hobbling back over to the fire.

  “This ought to get your blood going again,” Jeremiah said to Reb. “I’ll brew some tea and add plenty of sugar.”

  “Thanks,” Reb croaked. “You’re a good man.”

  Kentucky frowned. He didn’t want Reb to get feeling too grateful. There was a job to be done tonight.

  In that same second, out there alone in the dark away from the cabin farther than she’d intended to venture, Grace recognized the figure as a horse. Without a saddle.

  She ran back to the cabin and found her lantern, then returned to where the horse waited patiently for some hay.

  When she held the light up to the animal, it confirmed her worst fears. It was their horse. No Jeremiah. No Noah.

  She shouted into the drifting snow, knowing while she shouted that it was futile.

  Their horse had once been harnessed to the wagon. Now it was not. Somewhere, out there in the storm, Jeremiah and Noah were alone.

  Her poor foolish and romantic husband. This was what his dream of the West had come to. She dared not wonder if they were alive or dead.

  Chapter 14

  “Ma?”

  Caleb had woken as Grace came back in the cabin. He was on his elbows, blinking away his grogginess.

  “Hush, now,” she said softly, moving to the bed. “You just sleep.”

  She leaned over and kissed his forehead. The other two had not stirred. She loved watching the innocence of her boys’ faces as they slept.

  “When’s Pa and Noah coming home?”

  “Hush, now,” she repeated just as softly. “Sleep and dream some sweet dreams for your ma.”

  Grace kissed his forehead again and gently pressed him back on the bed between his brothers. She pulled up the disturbed blanket and covered the three of them again.

  She watched as she waited for Caleb’s breathing to become long and regular.

  Her heart ached as she gazed at her three boys.

  If they were still in Chicago, they’d be able to go to school. She wouldn’t have to worry about bears and cougars. Jeremiah would have his job as a teacher, and there wouldn’t be evenings when the pots were scraped clean of food and the boys still asking for more. She’d have dresses and fine gloves and some nice hats. There’d be church services and friends to chat with, and there would be no spiders crawling in her bedsheets and no smoke to burn her eyes when it filled the cabin and . . .

  And if only God hadn’t done this to her.

  In that moment, Grace realized how angry her thoughts had become.

  She took a deep breath and admonished herself. A good wife and a good Christian did not get angry at God.

  With a heavy sigh, Grace moved away from the bed and walked to the window. She couldn’t see anything but snow, of course, but she did not know where else to look.

  Should she go into the night and look for them? Maybe they were just a mile down the trail. Maybe just two. What if all they needed was the light of the lantern to get them home? What if they froze to death out there, and she discovered they had made it almost as far as the doorstep to the cabin? She’d never forgive herself.

  No, she told herself firmly. She’d have just as much a chance of getting lost herself as finding them. She could just as easily freeze to death herself. It wasn’t her own life she cared about nearly as much as her boys.

  Terrible as it might be to lose her husband and oldest son, how much more terrible would it be if she died too, leaving the three young boys with no family?

  A more horrible thought hit her. What if she got lost and froze to death and the three boys here died because no one came looking for them? That thought drove away any other notions about going into the storm to look for Jeremiah and Noah.

  She sat down and buried her head in her hands. She felt her body shake. For so long she had tried to be so strong. Now the weight of all her fears fell on her hard, as if the burden she’d been carrying for so long had suddenly become unbearable with these new fears.

  Oh, God, she thought. Oh, God. Like a little girl again, she wept. In her brokenness, she found herself praying again, praying with her heart, not just her words.

  Lord, Grace prayed, please be with them. Please give me the strength to be a good mother and a better wife.

  She opened her eyes and saw the Christmas tree.

  She closed her eyes again.

  Lord, she prayed, thank you for sending your Son into this world. Thank you for the hope that I have in life and death because of it.

  Hardly knowing she had begun, Grace began to sing softly.

  “Silent night, holy night . . .”

  Chapter 15

  As Grady plunged down into the shock of icy water, he clutched on to the reins of his horse. A yell of surprise left his throat.

  The horse smelled the water and the danger it represented. Grady’s scream of fear galvanized it to scramble backward. Grady kept firm hold of the reins and let the horse pull him out of the water, marshaling himself to push free from the greasy mud and sediment of the creek bottom.

  Just like that, it was over. In less than several heartbeats, he’d broken through ice, half submerged, and then struggled out again.

  The horse reared in continued panic, throwing Noah off the saddle.

  “Roll!” Grady shouted at the boy. “Away from its feet!”

  The boy did as commanded.

  The boy’s movement, however, caused the horse to rear higher and snort in terror.

  Grady did not panic himself. He wrapped the rein harder around his fist and dodged the front feet of the horse as it came down again and again.

  If the horse went, so did Grady’s life and perhaps the boy’s. For a lost horse meant that Grady would not be able to get at a pouch on his saddle. And this pouch held the most important thing in Grady’s life at this moment.

  Matches.

  Grady yanked the reins hard, bringing the horse’s head down. He threw the glove off his free hand and jammed his thumb and forefinger into the horse’s nostrils. He squeezed hard and twisted the tender part of the horse’s nose. It was an old trick that Grady had learned while breaking horses; the intense pain of it could bring a horse down to its knees.

  Grady kept the horse still this way until it no longer struggled.

  Grady released the grip and kept the horse’s head low with the reins. He soothed it by rubbing its neck.

  “You all right, boy?” he asked, not looking over his shoulder to see where Noah had gone.

  “Yes, sir,” Noah said. The boy stood close behind him. “I didn’t land hard at all.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Grady said.

  That, at least, was one problem he did not need to address.

  Grady kept stroking the horse’s neck. When he was finally certain the horse had been calmed, he led it to a tree.

  Already Grady was shivering badly. His entire lower body was soaking wet. He’d heard of men dying from loss of heat like this. He needed to get another fire going—and quickly.

  The boy had followed him.

  “Noah,” Grady said. “What I need you to do is break small dried branch tips off these nearby pine trees. Get me as many pieces as you can, as quickly as you can.”

  Without a word, the boy darted into the trees.

  Grady tethered the horse to the tree, struggling against cold that seemed to reach the core of his body.

  He moved to the saddle. His hands shook as he fumbled with the straps of his pouch. It held several candles, jerked beef, and a tin tube with a screw cap to keep matches from water.

  Well away from the horse, Grady found a flat spot and kicked it free of snow.

  Already the boy had returned with the twigs.

  “Good,” Grady said. “Now get bigger branches.”

  Again, the boy disappeared without saying anything.


  Grady formed the twigs into a small pyramid; then he, too, went in search of branches. He arrived with an armful at the same time as the boy.

  Grady’s teeth chattered as he knelt beside the twigs. Around this small pyramid he built a larger pyramid of branches and then a larger one on top of that.

  He tried to strike a match but couldn’t.

  “Let me,” Noah said.

  Grady simply nodded.

  The boy knelt beside him, lit the match and then the candle from the match. He held the candle to the pine twigs in the center of the stacked branches. They snapped into flame. The smaller branches caught quickly, and then the larger branches above those.

  “Thanks,” Grady said, but he was speaking to no one. The boy had already gone away in search of more wood.

  The snow continued to fall.

  Chapter 16

  “If you don’t mind passing time during a long cold night,” Jeremiah said, “I can tell you about the laziest cowboy to ride the range. Works for the Bar X Bar, an outfit next valley over.”

  “I’d like that,” Reb said. “Might take my mind off what ails me so bad.”

  Kentucky merely grunted. His belly was full, and he already had it in his mind that he wanted to kill this greenhorn and get moving with the mailbags. The wind had stopped and if the snow stopped next, it’d be too easy to track them.

  Jeremiah poured another coffee and handed it to Kentucky.

  All right then, Kentucky told himself, it wouldn’t hurt to sit a little longer where it was warm.

  “Go on,” Kentucky said. “Tell us about this here lazy cowboy.”

  “I worked the roundup with the Bar X Bar last fall,” Jeremiah said. “This cowboy by the name of Big Jim had a troublesome habit of napping in the shade of the chuck wagon while the rest of us did the work.”

  Under his blanket, Reb propped himself up on one elbow. He coughed a few times, and his eyes were shiny in the firelight. He shivered some but gave Jeremiah his full attention.