A Big Sky Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  “Looks like we caused you some trouble after all,” Jamie said to Haseltine.

  The ranch foreman shook his head. “No, that’s been buildin’ up for a while. I just got tired of that hombre’s blusterin’ around all the time. Maybe he’s right and I was lookin’ for an excuse to tell him to rattle his hocks.”

  “Is he fast on the draw?” Jake asked.

  “Fast enough to have killed three men in fair fights,” Haseltine answered. “Fast enough to get a swelled head and make a blasted nuisance of himself.” He changed the subject. “You need any help gettin’ through our range, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “You don’t have any of it fenced off, do you?”

  Haseltine made a face like he had just bitten into a rotten apple. “You won’t find any fences within five hundred miles of here, Mr. MacCallister. And that’s just the way we like it in these parts.”

  You’d better enjoy it while you can, Jamie thought, because it won’t last. “Then I reckon we’ll be fine. Obliged for the offer, though. We might cut out one of these steers and butcher it, if you’ll tell me what price your boss would want for it.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Haseltine said. “We can spare one of the critters. And the boss’ll back me up on that.”

  Jamie nodded again. “Obliged.” He lifted a hand in a wave of farewell as the cowboys rode on.

  “Tough-looking bunch,” Bodie commented.

  “Texas cowboys,” Jamie said. “They’re tough, all right. Let’s take Haseltine up on his offer and cut out one of these steers.”

  “Steaks tonight!” Jake said with a grin.

  The fresh meat lifted the spirits of the immigrants, even though longhorns tended to be a little tough and stringy. The wagons had been on the trail for a long time, and sometimes it seemed like Montana was still as far off as it had been when they started.

  Jamie knew they had made good progress, but there was still a long way to go.

  He was standing beside Moses’s wagon that evening, sipping from a cup of coffee, when he heard hoofbeats approaching the circle of wagons. He set the cup on the lowered tailgate and turned toward the sound.

  The horse came to a stop, and as Jamie walked toward the gap between two of the wagons, a tall, lean figure appeared in it. The cowboy called Doss stepped into the glow from several nearby campfires. When he spotted Jamie coming toward him, he stiffened and his hands curled into claws poised above the black butts of the Colts holstered on his hips, ready to hook and draw.

  “There you are!” he called. “They tell me you’re one of the big he-wolf gunfighters, MacCallister! Well, I’m here to call you out!”

  And with that, his hands streaked for the revolvers.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  There were too many people around. A group of women stood a few yards behind Jamie, talking. Off to his right several kids were chasing each other around, and one of the big yellow mutts that accompanied the wagon train ran after them, barking. It was a peaceful scene. A stray bullet could alter it suddenly, tragically, and irrevocably.

  There was no time to do anything except kill the troublemaker.

  Faster than the eye could follow, Jamie’s big hands swept down and back up. Even though Doss had already cleared leather before Jamie started his draw, the man never got a shot off. Jamie’s Colts crashed, the two shots coming so close together they sounded like one.

  The pair of .44 slugs punched into Doss’s chest and drove him backward. The back of his calves struck a lowered wagon tongue, and he flipped over it. His guns finally roared as his fingers contracted in death spasms, the shots going harmlessly into the heavens. Doss thudded onto his back and his arms fell out loosely to the sides.

  He didn’t move again. One of Jamie’s bullets had ripped through a lung. The other had pulped his heart. He was already dead when he hit the ground.

  The chatter that had filled the camp a couple seconds earlier stopped short, leaving a stunned silence. As the echoes of the shots rolled away, the silence was broken by shouted questions and running footsteps.

  Jamie holstered the left-hand Colt and began reloading the expended chamber in the other revolver. Bodie Cantrell, Hector Gilworth, and Jess Neville came pounding up to him with their own guns out and ready.

  Bodie asked, “Jamie, are you all right? What happened?”

  Jamie leaned his head toward the fallen gunman, whose legs were still visible hanging over the wagon tongue. “That fella Doss came looking for me, I guess he figured he’d add to his reputation by killing me.” Jamie paused. “It didn’t work out for him.”

  Hector took a lantern from one of the settlers who had come to investigate the shooting and carried it over to shine its light on the dead man. “It sure didn’t. Looks like you drilled him dead center twice, Jamie.”

  “And the man already had his guns out before Jamie drew,” Moses added, having joined the group, too. “I saw the whole thing. It was amazing.”

  Jamie leathered the right-hand gun and set about replacing the spent cartridge in the other weapon. He turned his head to listen as he picked up the sound of more horses coming toward the wagon train. “I don’t know if Doss had any friends, but just in case he did, all these kids and womenfolks ought to get inside where it’s safer.”

  Moses and several of the men hurried to spread the word and hustle the women and children into cover. Jamie, Bodie, Hector, and Jess moved to get ready for whoever was galloping toward the wagons. Jake Lucas, Clete Mahaffey, and Dave Pearsoll hurried up as well, and Jamie waved them into position around one of the wagons. They were a formidable group and if the night riders were looking for a fight, they would get it.

  Instead, the hoofbeats stopped, and a man’s voice called, “Hello, the camp! Hold your fire! We’re friends!”

  Jamie grunted as he recognized the voice. “That’s Jim Haseltine, the Slash M ramrod.” He raised his voice. “Come on in, Haseltine, unless you’re hunting trouble!”

  “No trouble,” Haseltine replied. The man walked his horse forward into the light, trailed by several more members of Owen Murdock’s crew. “In fact, we came to warn you. That varmint Doss may come looking for you, Mr. MacCallister. There’s a trading post a few miles west of here, and Doss was there earlier tonight gettin’ liquored up. He was bragging about how he was gonna find you and kill you, and to warm up for it he shot one of my men who tried to talk some sense into his head.”

  “Kill him?” Jamie asked curtly.

  “No, thank the Lord. Just wounded him.”

  “Well, Doss won’t shoot anybody else.” Jamie holstered his guns and pointed. “You want to bury him, or should we take care of the chore?”

  Haseltine swung down from his saddle, walked over to where Doss’s body lay, and looked down at it. He let out a low whistle of admiration. “He’s got his guns in his hands. I hate to admit it, but he was mighty fast. I guess he ran up against somebody faster, though.”

  “There’s always somebody faster,” Jamie said. “About planting him . . . ?”

  “We’ll do it. Shoot, we owe you that much. He was always causing trouble. I’m sorry he came here and caused more.”

  “Not your fault,” Jamie said with a shrug.

  “Maybe not, but I hope the rest of your time on the Slash M is a mite more peaceful.”

  A short time later, the Texas cowboys rode off, taking Doss’s body with them, draped over the saddle of his horse. The commotion caused by the gunfight settled down quickly. The immigrants knew that come morning, Jamie would have them up before first light, getting ready to push on toward their destination.

  A chilly rain started a couple days later. There was no wind, so it came straight down from a leaden sky, steady but not hard enough to turn the landscape into a quagmire. The wagons were able to continue their journey, although the rain made everyone cold, wet, and miserable.

  The sickness started a couple days after that.

  Some of the immigrants had been sick at times, but none seriousl
y. As the rain continued to fall, fever raged through the train with little warning. So many people were ill, Jamie knew there was no choice but to stop until the outbreak ran its course.

  Around the clock, the sound of the constant drizzle was punctuated by coughing, wheezing, and gagging from half the wagons. Those fortunate enough not to catch the sickness stayed well away from those who had fallen ill . . . with a few notable exceptions.

  Moses Danzig seemed to be everywhere at once, doing whatever he could to comfort the afflicted and nurse them back to health. As he explained to Jamie, “For a while back in Poland, when I was younger, I thought I might become a doctor. I even had a little medical training before I accepted the calling to attend rabbinical school. Unfortunately, there’s not much even a real doctor could do for these poor people. I just keep them as comfortable as I can and try to help them let their own bodies fight the sickness.”

  A lot of the time, Savannah McCoy was at Moses’s side, helping him despite Bodie’s objections. Bodie just wanted her to be safe and not come down with the fever herself, so he urged her to avoid those who were sick.

  “I can’t do that, Bodie,” she told him. “These people . . . they took me in when I had nowhere else to go. They protected me, gave me a new home.” She smiled sadly. “Why do you think I haven’t gone back to the troupe? When we left Kansas City, I didn’t plan to stay with the wagon train all the way to Montana Territory, you know.”

  “I know,” he said softly as they stood under a canvas cover rigged at the back of the Bingham wagon and watched the rain fall.

  “I couldn’t leave. I waited until I thought enough time had passed that it might be safe, but by then . . . I just couldn’t. I love Edward and Leticia. They’re almost like a second set of parents to me. And I’ve made so many other good friends, like Moses and Mr. MacCallister and the Bradford twins. Alexander and Abigail had been spending a lot of time with me before this rain started, you know, even though they had to sneak away from their father to do it.”

  Bodie’s jaw tightened at the mention of Reverend Thomas Bradford. “Do you know what I heard that so-called preacher saying yesterday?”

  “I don’t have any idea,” Savannah replied. “I think he’s capable of saying almost anything.”

  “He said the rain, and folks falling sick from it, were because we’d offended God by harboring too many sinners among us.”

  “I’m sure that as an actress I’m one of those sinners he was talking about.”

  “That’s crazy!” Bodie exclaimed. “You’re about the best person I’ve ever known, Savannah. The way you and Moses have tried to take care of everybody—”

  “Reverend Bradford probably thinks that Moses being here is another reason the wagon train is being punished.”

  “Let him think whatever dang fool thing he wants. All I really care about is you taking care of yourself, Savannah. If anything happened to you . . . if you got sick and . . . and . . . I don’t know how I’d stand it.” Bodie reached out, drew her into his arms, and cradled her against him.

  She rested her head on his chest and sighed. The two of them clung to each other in the gloom as the rain continued to drizzle down.

  Four people—two children, a man, and a woman—died during the outbreak of fever. Considering the number of immigrants who had fallen ill, Jamie was surprised the death toll wasn’t higher. As he told Moses, “I figure it would have been a lot worse if not for what you and Savannah did.”

  “I just tried to help,” Moses replied with a shake of his head, “and so did a lot of other people. Not just Savannah. Bodie pitched in, and Hector and Jess and so many others. We’re past the worst of it now, I think. People are on the mend again. Another few days and we might be able to travel again. That is, if this blasted rain will ever stop.”

  The rain did stop. And the wagon train moved on, leaving four new graves behind it.

  Christmas was less than a month away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  It was a rare sunny day, and as a result slightly warmer, when the wagon train stopped next to a creek so the immigrants could fill the water barrels lashed to their wagons. The creek had some ice along its edges, but it wasn’t frozen over as it would be later on in the winter.

  All the scouts were out except Jake Lucas and Dave Pearsoll, who had been left behind to keep an eye on the wagons as the pilgrims went about their chores. Jake saw Savannah McCoy walking along the creek bank with the preacher’s kids and strolled after them. The youngsters were carrying buckets to help fill their father’s water barrels, and he supposed Savannah was watching out for them.

  They stopped at the edge of the creek, and when Savannah saw him coming, she smiled. “Hello, Jake.” The two of them were on friendly terms, even though Savannah had never been around Jake much when Bodie wasn’t there, too.

  He returned the smile and tugged on the brim of his hat. “Nice day, ain’t it?”

  “The nicest we’ve had lately,” she agreed. She watched with approval as Alexander and Abigail Bradford filled the wooden buckets in the stream and then started back toward the wagons with them.

  “Why don’t we walk down there where those trees are?” Jake suggested, pointing to some bare-limbed aspen that grew about fifty yards downstream.

  “Why would we do that?” Savannah asked with a slight frown of puzzlement.

  “I want to talk to you about Bodie.”

  Savannah’s frown deepened. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

  “No, not really. It’s just that, well, him and me have been friends for quite a while, and there’s something that’s worrying me a mite.”

  Savannah hesitated a moment more, but then she nodded. “All right. If it’s about Bodie.”

  The kids came back with their empty buckets. Savannah told them to keep carrying water to the reverend’s wagon, then she and Jake walked toward the trees.

  The trunks were close enough together that they formed a screen of sorts and provided a little privacy. When they stopped, Savannah turned to Jake. “Now, what’s this about Bodie? What are you worried about, Jake?”

  A grin stretched across his face. “I’m worried that he don’t know how to take proper care of a beautiful girl like you.”

  Before she could stop him, he had his arms around her, pulling her against him. His mouth came down on hers in an urgent, demanding kiss.

  Savannah stiffened and shoved her hands against his chest, but she couldn’t break away from him. Nor could she twist her lips away from his until he broke the kiss and pulled back slightly, grinning again.

  Her hand flashed up and cracked across his cheek. “How dare you!” she exclaimed. “You . . . you . . . I never—”

  “Maybe that’s your problem,” he cut in. His hands were tight on her arms. “Listen, Savannah, you can do a lot better than Bodie Cantrell. I can treat you right, and I’ve got a lot more money than he does.” He didn’t explain how he had come by that money. “Once we get to Montana, if you stick with me I’ll show you a better time than Bodie ever could.”

  “Let go of me, Mr. Lucas,” she said coldly. “If you don’t, I’ll scream, and the people at the wagons will hear me. Don’t think they won’t.”

  He knew she was right. He wasn’t ready to leave the wagon train just yet, so he released her arms, but he didn’t step back. He still crowded close to her, and with the icy stream right behind her, there was nowhere she could go.

  “Maybe I took you by surprise,” he said. “I’m sorry if I did. But I had to tell you how I feel. I had to show you—”

  “No, you didn’t,” she snapped. “You could have had the common decency to respect your friend . . . and me. From now on I want you to stay away from me, Mr. Lucas. Far away.”

  Jake’s face hardened. He asked harshly, “Are you sure about that?”

  “I’m positive. And if you don’t, I’ll tell Bodie—”

  “You don’t want to do that,” Jake told her in a hard, menacing tone. “I know Bodie. If
you tell him what happened here today, he’ll figure he’s got to come gunnin’ for me. And if he does, I’ll kill him. Simple as that. I’m faster than him, and if he draws on me, he’ll die.”

  He could see in her eyes that she knew he was telling the truth. Fear sprang up in them, fear for Bodie’s life.

  “If you don’t bother me again, I won’t say anything.”

  “We understand each other, then.”

  “We do,” Savannah said quietly.

  Jake stepped back to let her go past him. As she did, he told her, “You’re makin’ a mistake. I can do more for you than Bodie ever can.”

  She didn’t reply, didn’t even look around as she hurried back toward the wagons.

  Jake stood there glaring and muttering curses under his breath until a sudden footstep from among the trees made him turn quickly and reach for his gun.

  “Take it easy,” Dave Pearsoll said as he moved out into the open.

  “What are you doin’ skulkin’ around here?” Jake demanded. “We’re supposed to be keepin’ an eye on those pilgrims.”

  “You were sure enough keepin’ an eye on one of them,” Pearsoll said with a sly grin. “A really close eye, looked like to me.” His grin disappeared as he went on. “I reckon I understand now why we’re still with this blasted wagon train. We could’ve taken off for the tall and uncut weeks ago, once we were well clear of Kansas City, but no, you insisted that we ought to stay with ’em a little while longer, Jake. But it’s just one of them you’re interested in. The McCoy girl.”

  “That’s none of your business,” Jake snapped.

  “It is when you’re hangin’ on to my share of that money,” Pearsoll said. “You’re doin’ just like Swint, draggin’ your feet about divvyin’ up. What’s the idea, Jake? Are you hopin’ something will happen to Clete and me so you can keep all of the loot?”

  “That’s just loco,” Jake scoffed, although in truth such a prospect had entered his mind more than once. “I’m just still not convinced that Eldon won’t come after us. Hell, he could be on our trail right now. It makes more sense to stay where we’ve got friends who’ll back our play if it comes to a fight.”