A Big Sky Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  “Well . . . if that’s what all of you want . . . I don’t reckon it’s my place to say no.”

  “I’m sure everyone in the group will pitch in to help if need be.” Moses paused. “Did you happen to ask Bodie what he thought about this idea?”

  “It’s not Bodie’s decision to make,” Savannah replied. “It’s mine.”

  “Sounds to me like it’s settled, then.” Jamie looked at Alexander and Abigail. “You two have been mighty brave all through this. Miss Savannah’s going to need you to keep on being brave. Reckon you can do that?”

  Alexander nodded. He used the back of his hand to wipe away a stray tear. “This is all our fault. If we hadn’t wandered off and let those Indians grab us, our pa would still be alive.”

  Jamie shook his head. “There are too many things going on in the world to say something like that for sure. Too many turning points where everything could turn out different. Might as well blame me for not keeping a closer eye on your pa, so that he couldn’t step out there in the open where the Blackfeet could get a shot at him. Things happen, and I reckon we just have to tell ourselves that there’s a reason for the way they do, and then we go on from there.”

  “That’s right,” Moses said. “On to your new homes in Eagle Valley. When do you think we’ll get there, Jamie?”

  “By Christmas, like I’ve been saying all along.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  When the wagon train had left Kansas City, Jamie had worried that he might not have enough scouts. With the addition of Preacher, Smoke Jensen, Audie, and Nighthawk, he almost had too many.

  On the other hand, he also had four more first-class fighting men to help out in case of trouble. He knew from experience that Preacher, Audie, and Nighthawk were hell on wheels in a ruckus, and it didn’t take much time to realize that Smoke Jensen might well be the deadliest of them all.

  During one of the wagon train’s midday halts a few days after the rescue of the Bradford children, Preacher urged Smoke to get in a little practice with his guns. The old mountain man pointed out a fallen aspen about fifty feet away. “See if you can pick off some of them branches that are stickin’ up.”

  Jamie was close by and heard what Preacher said. He looked at the fallen tree and saw that the branches weren’t much more than twigs maybe half an inch wide. They were barely visible. Jamie figured he could have hit those branches with a rifle, if he’d had time to draw a bead on them.

  Smoke swept out one of his .44s and started firing in less than the blink of an eye. He didn’t shoot from the hip, but rather thrust the gun out at the end of his arm, taking no more than a split second to aim before the Colt began to roar.

  He triggered off five shots. Even with having to cock the single-action Colt each time, the reports sounded so close together they formed one continuous peal of gun-thunder. To Jamie’s amazement, five of the aspen branches leaped into the air as Smoke’s bullets smashed through them.

  Moses had wandered up in time to witness the display. He let out a shrill whistle of admiration and awe. “I never saw such shooting!”

  “Taught the younker everything he knows,” Preacher said with a proud grin.

  Smoke smiled faintly as he reloaded the expended chambers.

  Preacher shrugged. “Of course, the boy had some natural talent to begin with.”

  Moses said, “Mr. Preacher, do you think you could teach me to shoot?”

  “Hold on a minute,” Jamie told him. “Moses, you never said anything to me about wanting to learn how to shoot.”

  “Well, it just seems so foreign to me. But the longer we stay out here on the frontier, the more it seems like maybe it’s something I should learn how to do.”

  “Why, sure, I’d be glad to give you a few leetle pointers,” Preacher said. “Don’t go to thinkin’ you’ll ever be as good with a hogleg as Smoke is, though. To that boy, usin’ a gun is just as natural as breathin’.”

  “I just want to be able to protect people who need to be protected,” Moses said.

  “That there’s an honorable goal. There’s a heap of bad folks in this world, and it falls to them who have good hearts to stand up to those varmints and do what’s right. You got a gun?”

  “Well . . . no.”

  Drawn by the shooting, Bodie walked up in time to hear most of the conversation. He grinned and unbuckled his gun belt. “You can borrow mine, Moses.”

  “Oh . . . all right. Thanks.” Moses took the belt and rather awkwardly strapped it around his hips.

  “Hitch that belt up a mite,” Preacher told him. “Your holster’s too low. You want the gun butt about halfway betwixt your wrist and your elbow, so when you raise your arm your hand’ll hit it natural-like. Yeah, that’s right,” he went on as Moses adjusted the belt. “You saw that log Smoke was a-shootin’ at. Pull that hogleg and see if you can hit it.”

  Moses faced the log, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath. He made what he probably thought was a quick grab at the gun, although the move seemed painfully slow to Jamie’s eyes.

  The gun came clear of the holster, and Moses immediately exclaimed, “Whoa!” He grabbed it with his other hand to keep from dropping it. “It’s heavy!”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Preacher said. “It’s a dang good thing that log ain’t gonna be shootin’ back at you. Now burn some powder, son!”

  Moses pointed the revolver at the fallen tree. The barrel wobbled back and forth violently. He grunted as he tried to pull the trigger, but nothing happened.

  Bodie said, “You’ve got to cock it. Pull the hammer back until it locks into place. Then pull the trigger.”

  “Oh,” Moses said. “I didn’t notice Smoke doing that—”

  “That’s because he does it too fast for the eye to follow. But you can take your time, Moses.”

  “All right.” Moses looped his right thumb over the hammer and pulled it back. The effort caused the barrel to point upward.

  “Straighten it back down,” Preacher said.

  Still using both hands, Moses pointed the gun at the log. It was still pretty shaky. Seconds stretched out as Moses tried to get the barrel to stop jumping around enough that he could aim.

  “Any time now,” Preacher drawled.

  Moses jerked the trigger.

  The Colt boomed. The recoil forced the gun up, and Moses obviously wasn’t ready for it. He yelled as the revolver flew out of his hands.

  “Duck, boys!” Preacher shouted.

  Jamie stepped forward and caught the gun before it could fall to the ground.

  Moses had his hands clapped over his ears. “That was so loud. It sounds even louder when you’re holding the gun.”

  “Here you go,” Jamie said as he handed the weapon back to Moses. Quickly he pushed the barrel down toward the ground. “Don’t point it at me or anybody else. Not unless it’s somebody who needs shooting.”

  Moses squinted at the log. “Did I hit it?”

  “You didn’t even come close,” Preacher said. “Your bullet went ten or twelve feet over it, I reckon. Try again.”

  By now quite a crowd was gathering. Savannah, with Alexander and Abigail, was one of the spectators. She called, “You can do it, Moses!”

  “Yeah!” Alexander added.

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Moses said, “but I’m beginning to have my doubts.”

  “A man never knows until he tries,” Jamie said. “Sometimes he has to try a bunch of times.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Moses took a deep breath and aimed at the fallen aspen again.

  Fifteen minutes later, he had emptied the Colt, Bodie had reloaded it, and Moses had emptied it again. He had dropped the gun four times, nearly shot himself in the foot twice, and hadn’t hit the log even once.

  “Moses, ol’ son, I hate to tell you this,” Preacher drawled, “but you ain’t cut out to be a pistoleer. I reckon if you was to find yourself in a gunfight, you’d be more of a danger to them who was on your side instead of
the hombres you’re supposed to ventilate.”

  Moses sighed and nodded. “I think you’re right, Mr. Preacher.” He unbuckled the gun belt. “I need to be a good sport about it, though. Not everyone can be good at everything.”

  “That’s all right,” Bodie told him as he took the Colt back. “You just leave the shooting to the rest of us.”

  Moses brightened and suggested, “Maybe I could learn how to use a rifle. Or a shotgun.”

  Jamie felt a shiver of apprehension go through him at the thought of Moses Danzig with a scattergun in his hands. “Not today. Back to your wagons, folks. It’s time for us to be rolling again!”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  The wagon train turned west a couple days later. If Jamie had figured correctly—and he was pretty sure he had—Eagle Valley was right in front of them, about two weeks’ journey away.

  Two more weeks for the good weather to hold, he mused as he rode in front of the wagon train. Would that be possible? Already winter had held off with its full force for longer than he had dared hope.

  Not that it wasn’t cold all the time. Every morning ice had to be broken off the top of the water buckets before the animals could drink. The sun shone most days, but its light was weak and watery and held only scant warmth. The temperature usually climbed above freezing, but not always. People lived in their coats now, not taking them off even at night when they crawled into their bedrolls.

  By the time they got where they were going, the whole lot of them would be pretty gamey, Jamie thought with a smile.

  Bodie came up alongside him and waved a hand at the grasslands surrounding them. “It’s mighty dry up here. Is there a drought going on?”

  “No. The cold’s killed all the grass, at least on top of the ground. The snows will come in and cover it up for several months, and then come spring when the snow melts, all that water will soak into the ground, down to the roots of the grass. That’s when it’ll start budding out again. Once these pilgrims get where they’re going, they can plant winter grass next fall if they want to, so they’ll have some graze for their livestock almost year-round. Anyway, as I recall, Eagle Valley has more and better vegetation to start with. The foothills get more rain in the spring and fall than the plains do.”

  Bodie squinted at the western horizon. “If Eagle Valley is in the foothills of the Rockies, like you said, Jamie, shouldn’t we be able to see the mountains by now?”

  “Be patient,” Jamie told him. “You’ll see ’em soon enough. When you do, it’ll seem like you’re never going to get there. They’ll sit there in front of us for days without looking like they’re getting any closer.”

  Jamie’s prediction proved to be true. A day later, the immigrants spotted what looked like low-lying white clouds in the distance. Jamie rode along the train to the Bradford wagon, which was being driven by Savannah, who had proven to be an adept hand at getting the oxen to move.

  Jamie pointed to the west and said to Alexander and Abigail, “See those white patches up in the sky, way off over yonder? That’s snow on top of the Rocky Mountains.”

  The children were impressed, and so was Savannah.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I never thought I’d see such a sight. When you spend your days in hotel rooms and your nights in a darkened theater, your idea of scenery is a painted backdrop. I like the real thing much better.”

  “You’ve changed a mite in the past couple months while we’ve been on the trail,” Jamie said.

  Savannah shook her head. “No. I’ve changed a lot. And all for the better, thanks to you, Mr. MacCallister.”

  “Not just thanks to me. A certain young fella had something to do with it, too.”

  Jamie couldn’t be sure if Savannah’s cheeks were red from the chilly wind . . . or if she was blushing a little, too. But she looked happy, and that was the main thing, he supposed, whatever the reason.

  Savannah had gotten Alexander and Abigail nested down in a veritable mountain of blankets and quilts when she heard a soft footstep outside the wagon. The children were asleep, so she moved to the back of the vehicle and whispered through the gap around the canvas flap, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s just me.”

  The voice was familiar, and it made warmth well up inside her. Not real, physical warmth, although that would have been more than welcome, but rather an emotional one that was quite comforting, anyway.

  She climbed over the tailgate and out of the wagon, her movements hampered somewhat by the thick layers of clothing she wore. Bodie reached up, took hold of her under her arms, and helped her to the ground.

  That made it easy for him to press her body against his as he hugged her. As many clothes as they both had on, there wasn’t anything sensual about the embrace, but Savannah found it very satisfying, anyway.

  And when he leaned down to kiss her . . . well, that was sensual, and it started her heart pounding harder as their lips clung together.

  “I’m sure glad you decided not to leave the wagon train and go back to acting,” he said quietly as they held each other and she rested her head against his chest.

  “I miss Cyrus and Dollie and everybody else in the troupe,” Savannah said. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. One day I’d like to see them all again. But I’ve made so many friends here on the wagon train . . . Moses and Hector and the Binghams . . . and you. I can’t imagine ever leaving now.” She paused. “When we get to Eagle Valley . . . you’re going to stay, aren’t you, Bodie?”

  “I’ve been talking to Captain Hendricks. I told him I want to claim a homestead, too. I’ve spent a lot of years on the drift, Savannah, ever since my folks died. I reckon it’s time that I settled down.”

  He wouldn’t have to find a homestead to claim, she thought. The one where Reverend Bradford had planned to settle with his children ought to be available. Savannah planned to see to it that Alexander and Abigail got what was coming to them, but they would need a grown-up to help them.

  Maybe a couple grown-ups . . . a couple . . . and two children . . .

  Well, that made a family, didn’t it?

  She didn’t allow herself to say any of those thoughts out loud. She didn’t want to rush Bodie or pressure him into anything. But he was a smart man, she told herself. He would figure it out soon enough. If the idea hadn’t occurred to him by the time the wagon train reached Eagle Valley, surely it would once they had been there a while.

  Moses had conducted Reverend Bradford’s funeral. Maybe he would be willing to perform a marriage ceremony, too.

  The two of them held each other for a time, talking quietly and kissing now and then. Even though the night was very cold, the time they spent together was a pleasant interlude.

  Finally Savannah said, “I need to get back in the wagon, I guess. If the weather was nicer—”

  “But it’s not,” Bodie said. “One of these days it will be again, though. When that day comes, we’ll spend a lot of time together and enjoy every minute of it.”

  “I can’t wait.” Savannah gave him another kiss and climbed into the wagon.

  Bodie’s heart was light as he walked back toward Moses’s wagon. He had come mighty close to asking Savannah to marry him, but he wanted to wait for a better time. For one thing, he wanted to see the look on her face when he asked her that all-important question, and the night was too dark for that.

  There would be plenty of chances to propose later, he told himself. Now that they had both decided to remain in Eagle Valley permanently, they had all the time in the world. That thought made him so happy he started whistling a tune. It wasn’t a real song, just an irrepressible expression of how he felt at the moment.

  It also served inadvertently to cover up the sound of a footstep behind him. He had no warning before something smashed into the back of his head, driving him to his knees.

  Pain exploded inside his skull, pain so intense that it blinded him momentarily. He tried to fight his way to his feet, but somebody kicked him in the back an
d knocked him facedown on the ground. Weight came down on him, a knee digging painfully into the small of his back and pinning him there. An icy-cold ring of metal pressed into his temple.

  He recognized it as the muzzle of a gun and stopped trying to struggle. He had no idea who had attacked him, but he sensed that his life was hanging by a slender thread. All that would be required to end it was a little pressure on the trigger. . . .

  “That’s better,” a man said in a harsh whisper.

  The voice was familiar, but Bodie couldn’t place it right away. The man bent over closer to him, close enough for Bodie to smell the whiskey on his breath.

  “Don’t give me any trouble,” the man went on, “and you might come out of this alive. But I wouldn’t count on that, you dirty, stinkin’ double-crosser.”

  Bodie knew the voice, knew who it was that had come out of the cold, dark night to wreck all his plans.

  Eldon Swint.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  The outlaw wrapped the fingers of his left hand around Bodie’s arm and hauled the young man to his feet, keeping the gun barrel pressed to Bodie’s head.

  Bodie tried to force his brain to work despite the throbbing in his skull and make some sense of what Swint had said. “Eldon, why are you doing this? I never double-crossed you! I told you I was leaving the gang. I even gave up my share of the loot.”

  Swint ground the gun barrel against Bodie’s temple, making him gasp in pain. “You pretended to give up your share! I’ll bet it was your idea for Lucas, Mahaffey, and Pearsoll to steal that whole pile of double eagles!”

  Bodie’s heart sank. Everything suddenly made sense. He knew why Jake and the other two had left the gang right after he did and had joined up with the wagon train.

  He had considered Jake his friend and didn’t like to think that he was capable of such treachery, but Bodie’s instincts told him it was true. Jake had been angling to get his hands on more than his fair share, right from the start. Clearly, he had come up with a way to do it.