A Big Sky Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  Jamie’s instincts told him that the Indians were gone. They’d had their brutal sport with the three luckless outlaws and then moved on.

  The question was, where had they gone?

  Once Jamie got a closer look at the bodies, he was convinced that they were Lucas, Mahaffey, and Pearsoll. The gruesome sight didn’t particularly bother him; he had seen plenty of violent death in his time.

  What worried him were the tracks of the unshod ponies they found around the mutilated corpses. He gestured toward the hoofprints. “Looks like there were forty or fifty Blackfeet. That’s more than we left alive in that battle.”

  “The ones who got away met up with some of their pards,” Preacher suggested.

  “And then what?” Smoke asked.

  Jamie rode in a big circle and found tracks moving away from the place where the three outlaws had been killed. He pointed them out to his two companions. “It looks to me like they angled off on a course that’ll cross the path of the wagon train.”

  “Chances are that was what they was after all along,” Preacher said. “They’re mad about gettin’ whipped before, and they’re goin’ after the whole wagon train this time. They just happened to run across these three varmints along the way and took advantage of the chance to kill ’em.”

  “Come on,” Jamie said as he wheeled Sundown. “We’d better get back there as fast as we can.”

  A grim hunch filled him as he rode, a hunch that said they might already be too late.

  Bodie rode out in front of the wagons with Audie and Nighthawk. He enjoyed talking to the little mountain man, who seemed to know something about almost everything. No matter what the subject was, Audie could converse on it. Bodie didn’t always fully understand what the former professor was saying, but it was interesting, anyway.

  “And that’s why I believe it’s imminently possible that life may exist on other planets in our solar system,” Audie said. “If we can ever develop telescopes powerful enough to study them more closely, we may see the evidence of great civilizations with our own eyes. Don’t you agree, Nighthawk?”

  “Ummm,” said the Crow warrior.

  “Yes, but you like to argue just on general principles, my friend. You’ll see, one of these days. The evidence will prove me correct, as it always does.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” Bodie said. “You’re saying there are people like us on other planets?”

  “Well . . . not necessarily like us. Different conditions might produce different sorts of life. But they could still be self-aware and highly intelligent. More intelligent than we are, perhaps.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” Bodie mused. “I’m not sure I’d want to meet a man from another planet.”

  “I would,” Audie said. “I would consider it a great privilege and honor, not to mention the most scientifically intriguing encounter of our age or any other.”

  “Ummm,” Nighthawk said.

  Audie turned to frown at his friend. “What do you mean, we have bigger prob—Oh, Lord. Bodie, look at that.”

  The three men reined in. Bodie’s breath seemed to freeze in his throat as he saw the dozens of mounted figures on a rise to their left. Even at that distance, his keen eyes could make out the feathers in their hair.

  “Blackfeet,” Audie said. “We need to get back to the wagons—now!”

  The three men wheeled their horses and kicked them into a gallop. As they raced back toward the wagons, Nighthawk pointed to a group of Indians closing in from the other direction.

  “Make some racket!” Bodie yelled. “We’ve got to warn the train!”

  They pulled their guns and started firing into the air. Bodie was confident that Hector Gilworth would hear the shots and order the immigrants to stop and pull the wagons into a defensive circle.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the pursuit and saw puffs of smoke as the Indians opened fire on them. At that range, shooting from the back of their ponies, the likelihood of any of those bullets finding their targets was extremely small, but Bodie couldn’t rule out pure bad luck, though. His muscles were tense as he halfway anticipated the shock of a slug hitting him.

  The wagons came into sight. He felt a surge of relief when he saw that they were already forming into a circle, just as he’d hoped. The Blackfoot war party was a large one, but the men of the wagon train had some experience at fighting Indians. They would give the Blackfeet a hot reception.

  In fact, shots had already begun to crackle from between the parked wagons by the time Bodie, Audie, and Nighthawk reached the train. They leaped their horses through one of the gaps as gunfire and shrill war whoops filled the air and lead tore through the canvas covers on some of the wagons. Hector Gilworth ran along the line of wagons, bellowing, “Everybody keep your head down!”

  Bodie threw himself out of the saddle, dragging his Winchester from its sheath, and looked around frantically for Savannah. He spotted the wagon she had been driving and ran toward it, but before he could get there he heard Jess Neville shout, “Bodie! Over here! Those red devils are chargin’!”

  Bodie swung around and saw a large group of Blackfeet thundering toward a gap in the circle. If they broke through and got inside, it would be bloody chaos. Bodie sprang to join Jess and several other men in defending the opening. He brought the rifle to his shoulder and began firing as fast as he could work the lever. Clouds of powder smoke rolled around him, stinging his eyes and nose, and the constant roar of shots deafened him.

  The savages wouldn’t get through, he vowed to himself. They would never reach Savannah or any of the other women and children. He would stop them.

  Or die trying.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Jamie, Preacher, and Smoke heard the shooting before they came in sight of the wagon train. The immigrants had had a little warning, because they’d been able to pull the wagons into a loose circle. They were defending that stronghold from at least fifty Blackfoot warriors who were galloping their ponies around and around the circle.

  Jamie drew rein and lifted his rifle. “Let’s see if we can pick some of them off and even the odds a little.”

  Three Winchesters cracked as the frontiersmen opened fire. With all the shooting already going on, the Blackfeet didn’t notice right away that some of the bullets were coming from a different direction. That gave the three men a chance to do some real damage before they were discovered.

  Jamie fired, saw a warrior throw up his arms and pitch to the ground from his pony’s back as the .44-40 slug bored through him. By the time that Blackfoot hit the ground, Jamie had worked the repeater’s lever and shifted his aim. The Winchester blasted again, and another of the attackers fell.

  The shots from Preacher and Smoke were just as deadly. Nearly a dozen members of the war party died before the Blackfeet realized what was going on. Shrieking in outrage, a group of them peeled off and charged toward the three men.

  “Time for us to light a shuck,” Preacher drawled as he slid his rifle back in its saddle boot.

  “I want to get back to the wagons,” Jamie said. “Let’s take them by surprise and plow right through them.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Smoke pulled both Colts from their holsters.

  Preacher did likewise.

  Jamie filled his hands with his .44s and dug his boot heels into Sundown’s flanks. The big stallion leaped forward.

  It was a mad, outrageous maneuver, filled with gun thunder, swirling clouds of powder smoke, pounding hoofbeats, and the constant whine of bullets slashing through the air around them. The three men never broke off in their advance, smashing into the group of Blackfeet and scattering them. The hail of lead from six revolvers shredded through the warriors, and several of those who escaped being ventilated were knocked from their ponies and trampled.

  As Jamie’s Colts ran dry, a mounted Blackfoot with his face painted dashed in from the side and thrust a lance at him. Jamie twisted away from the deadly weapon and as the warrior came within arm’s length,
Jamie reversed his left-hand Colt and crashed the butt into the man’s forehead, crushing it and driving bone splinters into the man’s brain. He grabbed the lance away from the dying warrior.

  Preacher and Smoke were slowed down by hand-to-hand battles, but they broke through and galloped toward the wagons. Jamie was right behind them. As he charged past another of the Blackfeet, he threw the lance like a spear. His massive strength put so much power behind the throw that it tore all the way through the man’s torso and stood out a foot on the other side.

  The wagon train’s defenders saw them coming and intensified their fire, giving cover to the three men. One after another they leaped their horses over a wagon tongue and into the circle.

  As they piled off their horses and ran to join the defenders, Bodie, who was a couple wagons over, called to them, “You got back just in time!”

  “Durn right we did!” Preacher responded. “We was about to miss all the fun!”

  If it was “fun” the old mountain man wanted, he got plenty of it for the next few hours. With their initial charge beaten back and their numbers cut into by the unexpected attack by Jamie, Preacher, and Smoke, the Blackfeet settled down to a waiting game, continually circling the wagons just out of easy rifle range. From time to time, some of them would dash in and concentrate heavy fire on one part of the wagon train, then pull back sharply as the immigrants mounted a stronger defense at that position. Then, mere moments later, the Indians would attack somewhere else.

  The Blackfeet suffered losses with each foray, but so did the immigrants. Several men were killed, and a dozen more were wounded.

  During the afternoon, Jamie was able to talk to Bodie and tell him about finding the bodies of Jake Lucas, Clete Mahaffey, and Dave Pearsoll.

  Bodie sighed and shook his head solemnly. “I know that they nearly got all of us killed and that Jake never could be trusted after all, but there was a time when I considered him a friend, Jamie. I don’t think he was all bad. He was just too weak where money was concerned.”

  “Most folks have their weak spots. You’ve just got to learn how to keep from breaking at those spots.”

  “I suppose. I’m sorry for what happened to Jake, anyway.” Bodie’s voice hardened. “But if I’d had the chance, I might have shot him myself.”

  “Reckon I know the feeling.”

  Moses kept busy bringing water and ammunition to the defenders. At one point in the afternoon as he handed a box of cartridges to Jamie, he said, “I wish now I’d been able to learn how to shoot. I feel like I’m useless.”

  “Not hardly.” Jamie hefted the box of ammunition. “I didn’t have to go fetch this myself. I was able to keep fighting.”

  “Remember what Preacher said when he was trying to teach me? Maybe I should volunteer to fight on the side of the Blackfeet. Then they’d be wiped out for sure!”

  Jamie laughed. “You stay right where you are, Moses. We need you to send up a few prayers for us.”

  “I can do that,” Moses said. “In fact, I have been for several hours now!”

  A short time later, during a lull in the fighting, Preacher came over to Jamie. “What do you reckon the chances are they’ll give up once the sun goes down?”

  Jamie glanced at the sky where the thickening clouds meant that it would get dark earlier than usual. “I got my doubts.” Something caught his eye, and he pointed it out to Preacher. “Even more so now.”

  “Dadgum it!” Preacher exclaimed as he looked at the column of gray smoke that was starting to thicken and climb into the equally leaden sky. “You don’t think they’ve started a prairie fire, do you?”

  “No. I think they’ve started more than one,” Jamie replied grimly as he pointed out several more clouds of smoke in different directions. “They’re putting a ring of fire around us, Preacher. If they can’t kill us one way, they’ll do it another.”

  “We got to get movin’. If we just sit here whilst them blazes join up with each other and completely surround us, we’ll never get out. All that grass is dry as tinder this time of year.”

  “I know,” Jamie said with a nod. “But if we start to hitch up the teams, the Blackfeet will come charging in while we’re busy with that and overrun us.”

  Preacher’s eyes narrowed. “Not if some of us keep the varmints busy.”

  “You mean take the fight to them again?” Jamie pondered the idea for a second, then nodded. “The ones who do that probably won’t stand a chance, but the wagons might be able to get away. I seem to recall there’s a little river a mile or two from here. If the wagons can get on the other side of it before the fire pins them in, those folks could make it.”

  “Well, I’m goin’, that’s for durn sure,” Preacher declared.

  “So am I,” added Smoke, who had come up in time to hear the two older men formulating the plan.

  “We’ll need seven or eight other men,” Jamie said, “all of them volunteers.” He sighed. “I’ll spread the word.”

  Everybody had seen the smoke and was worried about it. Within a few minutes, Jamie had put together a force of volunteers who would attack the Blackfeet and keep them occupied while the wagons made a dash for the river.

  It wasn’t a surprise that Bodie was one of the volunteers. Savannah clung to him for a long moment, sobbing, but she didn’t beg him not to go.

  Bodie was relieved by that. She had Alexander and Abigail to think of, and anything that gave the children a better chance of getting through this ordeal alive had to be done.

  Hector and Jess were going along, too, as was Captain Lamar Hendricks. “These people elected me to lead them. I don’t know of any better way to do it than to do whatever I can to see that they get where they’re going.”

  “I wasn’t too sure about you starting out, Cap’n,” Jamie said. “I reckon you’ll do, though. Yes, sir, you’ll do.”

  Half a dozen more men joined the group. They were all mounted and ready to charge out of the circle. Edward Bingham had been put in charge of getting the teams hitched up and leading the race to the river. He shook hands with Jamie. “Buy us some time, Mr. MacCallister. We’ll do the rest.”

  “Never doubted it,” Jamie said.

  They were just about ready to launch the counterattack when Moses appeared, also mounted on a saddle horse and carrying a rifle.

  “Blast it, Moses!” Bodie exclaimed. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “We’re causing a distraction, right? Keeping the Indians busy? I can give them something to shoot at. Don’t worry, I won’t shoot any of you by accident.” Moses grinned. “This rifle isn’t even loaded!”

  Jamie moved Sundown over next to Moses’s horse. “You’ve been a mighty good friend to all of us, and I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. You ready, Moses?”

  Moses swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “Good.” Jamie’s arm shot out and he hit Moses in the jaw, a crashing, big-fisted blow that knocked the young rabbi out of the saddle and sent him sprawling on the ground, out cold. “Somebody put him in a wagon. I reckon he’ll forgive me when this is all over.”

  He turned to the other men, looped Sundown’s reins around the saddle horn, and drew both revolvers. With a rebel yell, he sent the stallion lunging forward and led the attack as the men galloped toward the startled Blackfeet, guns blazing.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  It was even more loco than the earlier dash through the war party ringed around the wagon train. They were outnumbered at least three to one.

  But the Blackfeet weren’t the same sort of fighters on horseback that, say, the Sioux or the Comanche were. More used to battling on foot, they didn’t respond quite as quickly as they might have. The men from the wagon train were among them almost before the Blackfeet knew what was happening.

  Not only that, but Jamie Ian MacCallister, the old mountain man called Preacher, and the young gunfighter named Smoke Jensen were veritable engines of destruction. The guns in their hands roared again and again, left,
right, left, right, and each time flame spouted from the muzzle of a Colt, one of the warriors cried out and died as a bullet ripped through him.

  Bodie, Hector, and Jess fought savagely, desperately, too. So did Captain Hendricks and all the other men. Seeing their fellow warriors being slaughtered, the rest of the Blackfeet closed in, surrounding the men from the wagon train. Jamie couldn’t see the wagons anymore, but he hoped they were on the move.

  Truthfully, he couldn’t see much of anything because of all the smoke around him. Suddenly, he realized that it wasn’t all powder smoke.

  Like a runaway freight train, a wall of flames swept over the top of a hill and barreled down on the fighting men.

  Some of the Blackfeet were too slow to get out of the way, and the fire engulfed their shrieking forms. The rest of the war party broke and ran. Their strategy had worked too well. The thick grass was so dry the flames had moved faster than they’d expected.

  The smoke made the horses panicky. Jamie fought to control Sundown and hauled the big stallion around. He waved an empty gun at Preacher and Smoke and shouted, “Head for the river!” He spotted Bodie, Hector, and Jess and repeated the command to them, then rounded up the rest of the men from the wagon train. Some of them were wounded, but managed to stay in their saddles as they fled from the onrushing flames. Those who had been shot off their horses lay lifelessly on the prairie.

  Jamie saw the wagons moving fast up ahead. The sky was filled with smoke, and the oxen and mules pulling the wagons were as frightened as the horses were. Every instinct they possessed told them to flee, and they were doing it rapidly.

  Jamie galloped past the Bingham wagon in the lead and saw the line of trees that marked the course of the river. But he also saw fires closing in from both sides. His heart sank as he realized they weren’t going to make it. The flames seemed to race toward each other with supernatural speed . . . and the gap he had counted on closed, forming a fiery, impenetrable wall.