A Big Sky Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  Jess Neville said, “That ain’t good, is it? Them Injuns bein’ Blackfeet, I mean. From what I hear tell, they hate white folks more than any of the other tribes in these parts.”

  “That’s true,” Jamie admitted, “but chances are, if they were going to hurt those kids, they’d have done it before now. We just need to get them out of that camp.”

  “How are we going to do that?” Bodie asked. “It sounds like there’s no way in there that wouldn’t be suicide.”

  “There’s no good way,” Jamie explained. “But I think a couple men could work their way around to the cliff above that shale slope and drop down into the canyon from there. The rest of our bunch can cause a distraction that’ll keep those Blackfeet busy while the two hombres grab the kids.”

  Bodie shook his head. “No offense, Jamie, but how do they get back out?”

  Jamie rubbed his chin and frowned, realizing that he hadn’t gotten that far in his thinking. After a moment he said, “We’ll have to take ropes with us and tie ’em at the top of the cliff. That’ll help us get down, and the kids can hang on to us while we use the ropes to climb out.”

  “Us?” Bodie repeated with a faint smile.

  “I was thinking you might want to come with me.”

  Bradford said, “I’ll do it. They’re my children.”

  “That they are,” Jamie agreed, “but how are you at using a gun, Reverend? There’s a chance whoever goes into that camp will have to fight their way out.”

  “I’ve never believed in violence,” Bradford said stiffly.

  “And I believe in using whatever does the job best. Bodie’s coming with me. Unless you don’t want to, son.”

  “Try and stop me. Savannah’s tearing herself up over this. She’ll never forgive herself if we don’t get those kids back safe and sound.”

  Bradford started to bluster something, but Jamie stopped him with a hard look. He figured the preacher was about to say something else bad about Savannah, then Bodie would take offense, and they didn’t need that complication.

  “What do you want the rest of us to do, Jamie?” Hector asked. “How do we provide that distraction you were talking about?”

  “Well, there’s only one way to do it as far as I can see. You fellas are about to get your feet wet when it comes to Indian fighting.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  With a faint glow still in the western sky, Jamie and Bodie started out. They circled wide to come at the canyon from the west.

  Hector and the other men were dug in behind rocks and trees on the other side of the ridge, waiting for the two rescuers to get into position. Hector owned a railroad watch that had been left to him by his father, and when exactly an hour had gone by, he and the other men would charge the ridge, yelling and shooting, before turning around and dashing back to their defensive positions.

  The outbreak of gunfire would be the signal for Jamie and Bodie to make their move.

  As darkness gathered, Bodie asked, “How are we going to find our way to the top of that cliff you mentioned?”

  “I took a pretty good look at it a while ago,” Jamie replied. “Studied the lay of the land while there was still some light in the sky. I’ll be able to get us there.”

  “When it comes to surviving out here, is there anything you can’t do, Jamie?”

  A grin stretched across the big frontiersman’s rugged face. “There’s bound to be, but since I’m still alive I reckon I’ve figured it out pretty well so far.” He led them unerringly to the foot of a ridge where they dismounted.

  “That canyon where the Blackfeet are camped ought to be just on the other side,” Jamie said quietly. “Get the rope off your horse and let’s go.”

  The slope on that side of the ridge was too steep for horses, but Jamie and Bodie were able to negotiate it on foot, carrying the ropes with them. As they climbed, Jamie sniffed the air and smelled smoke from the Blackfoot campfire. His instincts had been reliable yet again.

  When they reached the top of the narrow ridge, the two men crawled forward until they could look down into the canyon. The campfire still burned, and in its flickering orange light they saw some members of the war party still moving around. Others slept. Jamie spotted the two children, dozing as they huddled against the same log where he had seen them sitting earlier. He touched Bodie’s shoulder and pointed them out to the young man, who nodded.

  Moving quickly and silently, they knotted one end of the ropes around the trunks of pine trees that grew atop the ridge. When that was done, they stretched out on the ground again, and Jamie whispered, “Now we wait. Shouldn’t be long.”

  It wasn’t. Within ten minutes, gunfire suddenly roared in the distance. Jamie saw muzzle flashes from the opposite ridge and knew the Blackfoot sentries posted up there were returning the fire. In the camp, the rest of the war party grabbed rifles and began charging up the twisting path to the top of the ridge.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  They dropped the ropes over the cliff and swung out onto them, walking down the cliff backwards. It wasn’t that far. When they reached the shale, they let go, left the ropes hanging there, and slid down the rest of the way to the canyon floor.

  Jamie drew his Bowie knife as he ran toward the log where the children were lying, wide awake because of the yelling and shooting. He had warned Bodie against using their guns unless they absolutely had to, since that might alert the Blackfeet that something was going on behind them.

  With a grace and agility unusual in a man of his size and age, Jamie vaulted over the log and dropped to one knee next to Alexander and Abigail. Abigail opened her mouth to scream. From her perspective, all she could see was a dark, giant figure looming over her.

  Jamie put his free hand over her mouth. “Hush, Abby. It’s me, Mr. MacCallister. Mr. Cantrell is with me. We’re going to get you and Alexander out of here.”

  He started sawing through the tough strips of rawhide with which they were bound while Bodie crouched next to the log and kept a lookout. Jamie had Abigail loose when Bodie suddenly hissed, “Somebody’s coming!”

  Jamie looked up just as a couple Blackfoot warriors charged into the firelight. The leader of the war party had sent them back to keep an eye on the prisoners. It was a smart move, but it had occurred to the fellow too late.

  Spotting the two white men trying to free the captives, the warriors skidded to a halt and tried to raise their rifles. Firelight winked from the blade of Jamie’s knife as it flashed across the clearing to bury nearly a foot of cold steel in the chest of one of the Blackfeet. The man gasped, stumbled, and dropped his rifle without firing it. He crumpled to the ground.

  Less than half a second later, Jamie’s left-hand Colt roared. The bullet ripped through the second warrior’s throat and bored through the lower part of his brain. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

  Bodie had drawn his gun but hadn’t had a chance to shoot. Jamie’s blinding speed had seen to that.

  Jamie pouched the iron. “Get my knife.”

  It had taken only one pistol shot to dispose of the second warrior, and neither Blackfoot had gotten off a shot. He hoped the single shot had gone unnoticed by the other Indians, since they were busy trading lead with the rest of the rescue party and things were pretty noisy.

  Bodie ran to the fallen warriors, pulled the knife from the chest of the one Jamie had killed with it, and hurried back to hand the blood-smeared blade to the big frontiersman.

  While he was cutting Alexander loose, Jamie told Abigail, “You go with Mr. Cantrell now, honey. You’ll have to put your arms around him and hang on tight to him while he climbs up a rope. Can you do that?”

  “I’d rather you take me, Mr. MacCallister,” the little girl said.

  “I’m busy with your brother. Mr. Cantrell will take good care of you. You just do everything he tells you, and don’t be scared, all right?”

  “I . . . I’ll try.”

  “Good girl. Go on, now.”

  Bodie s
cooped Abigail up in his arms and ran for the cliff. It wouldn’t be easy getting back up that loose shale while carrying the girl, but he’d manage.

  A moment later, the last of the rawhide thongs fell away from Alexander’s ankles. “You don’t have to carry me, Mr. MacCallister. I can run.”

  “Mighty fast?”

  “Mighty fast!”

  Jamie grinned in the darkness. “Come on, then.”

  They hurried to the cliff. Through the moonlight, Jamie could see Bodie climbing the rope with Abigail clinging to his back, her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

  “I can climb the rope, too,” Alexander said.

  “I expect you can, but it might be faster if you got on my back, like your sister did with Mr. Cantrell. Reckon you can do that?”

  “Sure.”

  Alexander clambered onto Jamie’s back as the big man knelt, then Jamie started up the slope. It took every bit of balance he had not to slip back down the shale. The climb seemed to take a long time, but finally he was able to reach up and grasp the rope. That steadied him the rest of the way and allowed him to go a little faster. He reached the bottom of the cliff, planted a booted foot against the rock, and started that part of the climb. It was the hardest part of the climb, taking a lot of muscle power to lift a man of Jamie’s size. Alexander’s weight added to the burden.

  “Hang on tight,” Jamie grated.

  “Don’t worry,” Alexander said. “I won’t let go.”

  Jamie tipped his head back to watch the top of the cliff come closer. Bodie and Abigail reached the rimrock and vanished over it. Jamie was relieved they were safe. In a matter of moments, he and Alexander would be, too.

  Below them, a shot suddenly blasted, and a bullet smacked into the rock face less than a yard away from them.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Jamie twisted his head to look down and behind them and saw that several of the Blackfoot warriors had run back into the camp and were pointing rifles at them. Jamie couldn’t let go of the rope to grab his guns and put up a fight. He and Alexander would plummet to the ground if he did.

  Bodie appeared at the rimrock and shouted at Jamie, “Keep climbing!” Then the revolver in his hand spouted flame as he opened fire on the Indians, spraying the clearing with lead.

  That scattered the Blackfeet momentarily, but Jamie knew it wouldn’t take long for them to regroup. He redoubled his efforts, grunting with the strain as his thickly corded muscles hauled him and the boy up the rope.

  More slugs from below began to pepper the cliff around them. Jamie felt rock splinters sting his cheeks and hands. He called to Alexander, “Hang on tight, son!”

  Bodie’s gun ran dry. Jamie knew there wouldn’t be time for his young friend to reload. Still clinging to the rope with his left hand, he let go with his right and reached down to pluck the .44 on that side from its holster. “Catch!” he yelled as he tossed the Colt the seven or eight feet to the rim.

  Bodie dropped his gun beside him and grabbed Jamie’s by the barrel, fumbling with it for a second before he secured it. He reversed it, pointed it down into the canyon, and started shooting again.

  Jamie heaved, reached higher, heaved again. They were almost at the top. Another second or two . . .

  He felt the heat of a bullet as it whipped past his ear. The slug hit the cliff and sprayed grit in his eyes, blinding him momentarily. He clenched his jaw and kept climbing.

  He reached up for the rim, only to have a strong hand close around his wrist. Bodie hollered, “Keep coming! I’ve got you!”

  “Grab the boy!” Jamie gasped out.

  “Come on, Alexander!”

  A second later, Alexander’s weight lifted from Jamie’s back.

  “I’ve got him!” Bodie exclaimed as he fell back from the rim, taking Alexander with him.

  At that instant, a bullet clipped Jamie on top of the left shoulder. The impact was enough to make his arm go numb. His grip on the rope slipped, and at the same time his toes slid off the tiny foothold where they had found purchase. He yelled as all his weight dangled from the grip of his right hand on the rope.

  At that moment, Jamie Ian MacCallister’s almost superhuman strength was all that saved him. He hung there with bullets screaming around him and smacking into the cliff for what seemed like an eternity.

  In reality, it was only a couple heartbeats before he forced his left arm to work again and grabbed the rope with that hand. He hauled himself up another foot, then Bodie caught hold of the buckskin shirt. Jamie dug his toes against the rock as Bodie lifted him through the air and he rolled over the edge of the rimrock.

  His pulse hammered inside his head like a gang of railroad workers driving spikes as he lay there on his back trying to catch his breath. A couple feet away, Bodie knelt and fired down at the Blackfeet, ducking occasionally as one of their bullets came too close to his head.

  Jamie rolled onto his side and lifted his head. In the moonlight, he saw Alexander and Abigail watching him worriedly. He grinned at them. “I’m all right, kids. We’d better get out of here.”

  Bodie threw one final shot at the Indians, then retreated from the edge. “That sounds like a good idea to me.” He handed Jamie’s gun back to him. “Sorry it’s empty.”

  “I’m not. I hope you hit some of ’em.”

  The four of them hurried down the slope as fast as they could, heading for the spot where Jamie and Bodie had left their horses. Within minutes they were mounted, with Abigail riding in front of Bodie and Alexander in front of Jamie, as they circled back toward the rest of the rescue party.

  Jamie was counting on Hector and the other men to keep the Blackfeet bottled up in that canyon. The Indian ponies could only get in and out of the camp by one route, up that zigzag trail. As long as the men from the wagon train kept raking the top of that ridge with rifle fire, it ought to keep the Blackfeet from getting out.

  Once Jamie, Bodie, and the Bradford kids rejoined the others, they would all have to make a run for it back to the wagon train. Jamie didn’t think a war party of less than three dozen would dare to attack the entire group of immigrants. The Blackfeet would be angry because somebody had stolen their prisoners from them, but more than likely they would cut their losses and head on back to their home.

  That’s how Jamie hoped it would play out, anyway. With Indians, it was impossible to predict with absolute certainty what they would do.

  As they galloped through the night, Bodie called over to Jamie, “How bad were you hit?”

  Feeling had returned to Jamie’s left arm. The wound on top of his shoulder throbbed, but he was able to move his arm and roll that shoulder without any trouble other than a twinge of pain. “Just nicked me. It’s nothing.”

  If the Blackfoot who had fired that shot had gotten it off a couple seconds earlier, the bullet probably would have hit Alexander in the head. It had been that close a call. Just thinking about it made Jamie go a little cold in the belly.

  They could no longer hear gunshots over the pounding hoofbeats of Sundown and Bodie’s mount, but Jamie hoped the fighting was still going on. If not, the four of them might be riding right into trouble.

  Finally, the moonlight revealed a saddle between two hills, one of the landmarks he remembered, and as they rode through it he saw the glow from muzzle flashes in the trees up ahead.

  “Who’s that?” a voice challenged in the darkness. “Sing out!”

  “MacCallister!” Jamie replied. “I’ve got Cantrell and the kids with me.”

  “Thank the Lord!”

  That was Bradford’s voice, prompting Alexander to exclaim, “Pa!”

  As Jamie reined in, he scrambled down from the stallion’s back and ran toward his father. Abigail was right behind him. Bradford stepped forward and gathered them up in his arms.

  The preacher was an unlikable son of a gun, thought Jamie, but he loved his kids and they returned the feeling. He had to give the man credit for that.

  “Hector, where are
you?” Jamie called.

  “Right here,” Hector responded as he stepped out of the shadows under some trees. “Are all of you all right?”

  “Good enough,” Jamie said. “Get the men on their horses. We’re lighting a shuck back to the wagon train.”

  “What about the Blackfeet?”

  “When they realize nobody’s taking potshots at them anymore, they’re liable to come boiling out of there and chase after us. It’ll be a race back to the wagon train, but I think we’ll have enough of a lead to beat them there, and once we do, they’ll give up and turn back.”

  Hector hurried to carry out Jamie’s orders, moving through the trees and rocks where the rescuers were forted up. “Back to your horses! Mount up, mount up!”

  The men swung into their saddles.

  Jamie rode over to Bradford. “Better let Bodie and me take the kids again, Reverend. Our horses can handle the extra weight, and you’re not used to riding double, or in this case, triple.”

  “I can take care of my own children,” Bradford snapped. But then common sense prevailed and he relented. “You two go with Mr. MacCallister and Mr. Cantrell.”

  “I want to stay with you,” Abigail wailed.

  “Hush now, and do as I say!”

  That sharply voiced command got the children to obey. Jamie reached down, grasped Alexander’s hands, and pulled the boy up in front of him again. He wheeled Sundown around as the line of men formed and started to leave the shelter of the trees.

  They had just emerged into the open when muzzle flame split the darkness, coming from in front of them. Bullets raked through the rescue party, drawing pained shouts and sending two of the men toppling from their saddles.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “Fall back!” Jamie bellowed as he hauled hard on the reins. “Back into the trees! Take cover!”

  Bullets whined around them as the men hastily retreated. Over the sound of the shots, Jamie heard strident whoops from the unexpected attackers. He knew none of the Blackfeet in the canyon could have gotten in front of them, so that left only one other explanation.