"What's in the wagon?" Cobb asked. "Gold? Loot from a string of hold-ups?"
"Not hardly. It's just supplies, and...and toys."
"Toys?" The exclamation was shocked out of Cobb.
"Yeah." Edmunds ran his fingers through his tangled white beard. "You see, there are some kids at Antelope Springs and at the ranches thereabouts, and they always come in to the tradin' post at this time of year."
"Because it's..."
"Yeah. Christmas."
Cobb frowned and started counting up the days in his head. The old-timer was right. It was Christmas Eve. The holiday was one that Cobb never paid much mind to. He wasn't a particularly religious man, he had no family, and he spent his time chasing down bad men and trying not to get killed by them. Holidays like Christmas just didn't mean much in his world.
But he supposed it was important to kids, and to grown-ups who had kids. He said, "So you're tryin' to give those youngsters and their folks a good Christmas."
"That's it," Edmunds said. "That's plumb exactly what I'm doin'."
"Uh-huh." Cobb wasn't sure he believed the old man's story, but he supposed it could be true. Sort of a far-fetched thing for an old owlhoot to be doing, though.
"I know what you're thinkin'," Edmunds said.
"I doubt that."
"No, I do," he insisted. "You think I'm lyin'. Come over here and I'll show you."
Cobb glanced out across the plains in front of the rocks. He couldn't see the pursuers anymore, but he figured they were still out there somewhere.
He left his horse where it was standing and darted across the few yards of open space between boulders. As he did so, something whined past his head, and at the same moment a distant crack sounded. The bullet that had narrowly missed him splashed against the rock formation behind them.
Yeah, the men were still out there somewhere, all right.
"Nearly got you, didn't they?" Edmunds said.
"You don't have to sound so tickled by it," Cobb said. "I'm the one who's holdin' 'em off."
"Yeah, well, if you hadn't slowed me down, I'd have made it to the springs ahead of 'em."
"Just show me what's in the wagon."
Edmunds pulled back a corner of the canvas. It was too dark to see much behind the rocks, so Cobb fished a lucifer from his pocket and snapped it to life. The match's glow revealed what some of the odd-looking things underneath the canvas really were.
A sled. A rocking horse. A doll's house. And stacked around them were the sort of crates that usually held supplies. Some of the crates were open. Cobb saw bags of sugar and flour and salt and beans.
"The provisions are for the little ones' folks," Edmunds said. "You may not know it, but it's been a bad year out here on the Staked Plains. Ever'body's strugglin' just to get by. Ain't nothin' left over for frivolities."
"Bad year everywhere for folks who raise cattle," Cobb muttered.
"Amen to that. So you see, I'm just tryin' to help some folks have a good Christmas. Ain't nothin' wrong with that, is there?"
Cobb shook his head and said, "No, I reckon not." His eyes narrowed. "So why would a gang of outlaws want a load of supplies and some toys?"
"Because of a no-good varmint name of Bob Deegan. He ramrods the bunch. He's the one who stole a chest full of loot and cached it somewheres, then turned around and blamed it on me. Deegan figures when they catch up to me and kill me, the rest of the boys will think I hid the loot somewhere and it's lost. Then he can sneak off and get it whenever he's good and ready."
"I dunno," Cobb said. "Seems pretty complicated to me."
"That's Deegan for you. He's a twisty son of a gun."
Darkness was settling in quickly now. Guns began to bang out on the plains, but the outlaws were firing blindly. Some of the bullets thudded into the rocks while others whined off into the night. Those ricochets were really the only thing Cobb and Edmunds had to worry about. The boulders gave them good cover.
"Tell me how to get to Antelope Springs," Cobb said after a while.
"I'll show you once we get outta here."
"No," Cobb said. "We ain't leavin' together. I'm goin' first to draw those fellas off."
"You can't do that," Edmunds protested.
Cobb snorted and said, "You worried about me gettin' holes shot in my hide, old man?"
"Not so's you'd notice. I'm sayin' they won't fall for it. They'll be able to tell there's just one hoss leavin'."
"That's why I'm takin' a couple of the mules with me. You got eight of 'em. You can spare a couple and still get to the springs."
"You think a horse and two mules will sound like eight mules and a wagon?"
"Snow like this muffles sounds," Cobb said. "They won't be able to tell exactly how many animals are lightin' a shuck out of here, but they'll know it's more than just one. Anyway, you got a better idea?"
"No, I don't reckon I do," Edmunds admitted. "All right, I'll unhitch the leaders, and we'll rig a harness so you can lead 'em. It's worth a try."
"So tell me how to get where we're goin'," Cobb said again.
According to Edmunds, Antelope Springs was three miles west of this rock formation. Normally, Cobb could steer by the stars just fine, but not on a night like this. He would have to rely on his sense of direction, which fortunately was pretty good, honed as it had been by years of chasing lawbreakers, and the few landmarks Edmunds told him about.
What he really needed was a beacon of some sort, but he didn't figure one was going to sprout on the nose of a mule.
"Better give me five or ten minutes to draw them off," Cobb said when he was ready to make a run for it. "Then light out for the springs as fast as you can. I'll meet you there."
"You better," Edmunds said. "I want them mules back."
Cobb swung up into the saddle. He had hold of the rope that was attached to the mules. The shooting had stopped, but his instincts told him the outlaws were still out there, maybe even creeping closer to the boulders at this very minute.
He rode slowly out from behind the rocks. When he was clear, he dug his heels into the dun's flanks and sent the horse leaping ahead. The rope tightened, then the mules pounded after him. He hoped the swift rataplan of hoofbeats would sound enough like the whole team.
It must have, because he heard shouts of alarm and then more shots rang out. Horses galloped after him, their hooves thudding against the snow-covered ground. Cobb leaned forward and urged the dun on.
He knew his horse was fast and could outrun the pursuit. Eventually the men who were chasing him would realize that he was moving faster than a wagon could have and would figure out that they'd been tricked. But by then Edmunds would have slipped away, and even if they doubled back they would have a hard time finding him in the darkness.
Cobb smiled tightly as the wind whipped snow in his face. He was confident he would make it to Antelope Springs.
The question now was whether the old-timer would show up.
****
The yellow glow of lamplight guided Cobb into the town, if you could call it that. The handful of houses were little more than rough cabins. The only building of any size was the combination trading post and saloon. It was the one that was lit up, with every window shining.
A number of horses, buggies, buckboards, and even a couple of covered wagons were at the hitch racks in front of the trading post. Looked like everybody within fifty miles was in Antelope Springs tonight, Cobb thought as he found a spot and tied up the dun and the two mules. Edmunds was right. All the people in these parts had come to town for the holiday.
Snow was still falling thickly as Cobb climbed the steps to the building's porch. He heard singing coming from inside. When he opened the door, the sound washed out over him like the heat from the several pot-bellied stoves scattered around the big room.
This was the saloon part, but tonight the tables and chairs had been moved aside to make an open area in the center of the room. Trees were scarce out here on the Staked Plains, but somebody had found
a scrubby little juniper, cut it down, and brought it in to set it up in the middle of the saloon. It was decorated with bits of colorful ribbon. People were gathered in front of it singing Christmas carols while a red-faced little fella with a handlebar mustache stood beside the tree and waved his arms around like an orchestra conductor.
The singing faltered a little but didn't stop as Cobb came in. Several people glanced over their shoulders at the newcomer. A few of them looked apprehensive.
Cobb could understand that. Without his badge pinned to his coat to show he was a lawman, he looked like a big, ugly, dangerous hardcase. He tried to smile, but he doubted if that really helped much.
Quite a variety of folks filled the room, Cobb saw. The tall, skinny fella in an apron was probably the bartender. The man next to him with phenomenally muscled arms had to be the local blacksmith. A couple of women who wore shawls over rather scandalous dresses and had the remnants of wiped-off paint on their faces likely worked here in the saloon. Two men in work shoes, corduroy trousers, and woolen shirts had the look of freighters. Another in a threadbare suit and a string tie struck Cobb as being a clerk of some sort, or maybe a lawyer. Those citizens were mixed in with half a dozen cowboys and four or five ranching families, each with several kids.
It all added up to a good-sized group, some of whom wouldn't normally associate with each other. But they had come together on Christmas to sing carols and celebrate together, and Cobb supposed that was a good thing.
He didn't know the words to the song, so he moved over to the bar and leaned an elbow on it as he took off his battered old hat with his other hand and used it to slap some of the snow from his jacket. The white flakes were melting quickly.
When the song was over, the gent with the handlebar mustache who'd been leading the group said, "All right, folks. We'll sing some more in a while. Right now Harry's gonna bring out the punch. Ain't that right, Harry?"
The skinny bartender nodded. "Yes, sir, Mr. Tuttle."
One of the ranch wives, washed out and care-worn like all her breed, said, "It doesn't have any alcohol in it, does it, Mr. Tuttle?"
"I assure you, Mrs. Harmon, it does not," Tuttle said. "You and your children can feel free to imbibe."
"All right, then," the woman said with a nod.
The people scattered to the tables. The room filled with talk and laughter. A few of the men still looked warily at Cobb, as if they worried that he might have brought trouble with him on this Christmas Eve.
Tuttle came over to the bar and said to the Ranger, "Good evening, sir. Welcome to Antelope Springs. I'm Simon Tuttle, the proprietor of this establishment and mayor of the town."
"Town don't hardly seem big enough for a mayor," Cobb said.
"We're a growing community," Tuttle insisted. "You didn't mention your name..."
"It's Cobb."
"Looking for a place to get out of the storm? It's not a fit night for traveling, and, well, it's Christmas Eve. No man should be alone on Christmas Eve."
Cobb wasn't so sure about that, but he wasn't going to waste time arguing. He asked, "Got any beer?"
"Of course we do, but the bar's closed tonight. In observance of the holiday, you know."
Cobb sighed. "Reckon I'll have some of that punch, then," he said as Harry the bartender set a large crystal bowl full of red liquid on the bar. He started filling glasses as Cobb went on, "You folks go all out, don't you?"
"It's a hard life out here, Mr. Cobb. I think people deserve one day a year when they can come together and forget all that. Just enjoy each other's company, drink some punch, sing some songs–"
"Get presents?"
"Presents?" Tuttle repeated with a puzzled frown. "I don't reckon there'll be any presents this year."
"You might be wrong about that. Once Pop Edmunds gets here–"
"Who?"
"Pop Edmunds. Old fella with a long white beard. Don't you know him?"
"Never heard of the man," Tuttle said.
That was downright odd, thought Cobb. Edmunds had acted like he knew the people of Antelope Springs. Why would anybody bring a wagonload of supplies to a bunch of strangers?
Cobb didn't have time to ponder the question, because at that moment the door of the saloon opened again, letting in a gust of wind and a swirl of snow.
It let in men with guns, too.
Cobb jerked away from the bar and reached for his Colt, but at the same time the saloon's rear door flew open and a man called, "Touch it and I'll blow a hole in you, mister!"
From the tone of voice, Cobb knew it wasn't a bluff. He looked that direction and saw a man with a grizzled beard pointing a Sharps at him. The rifle's muzzle looked as big around as the barrel of a cannon.
There were a lot of angry shouts and questions as men continued to crowd into the saloon from both doors. A couple of the cowboys who had come to town for Christmas made the hotheaded mistake of reaching for their guns. For their trouble, they were pistol-whipped to the floor and lay there bleeding. Some of the younger kids started to cry.
A couple of the outlaws went around the room collecting guns while the others covered the prisoners. Cobb didn't want to hand over his Colt, but he did it because there were too many innocent folks in the room to risk starting a ruckus just yet.
He still had a sheathed Bowie at the small of his back. The sheepskin jacket covered the bone handle.
The man with the Sharps came over to Cobb and said, "I know you. You were with that old man earlier."
It hadn't taken much figuring for Cobb to realize these were the outlaws who'd been after Edmunds, the members of his former gang. He knew they hadn't followed him to Antelope Springs; he had given them the slip and there was no way they could have tracked him in the dark, snow-filled night. That meant they must have known about the settlement and decided this was where Edmunds was headed.
"And you'd be Bob Deegan," Cobb guessed.
The man's bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. "How'd you know that?" he demanded.
"Your old pard Edmunds told me about you."
"My...Who? I don't know any Edmunds."
"The old-timer," Cobb said. "The one you were after. He said he used to ride with you." Might not hurt to try to drive a wedge into this bunch, he decided. "That's how he knew you stole that cache of loot and blamed it on him. Reckon you can't fool him."
"Mister, I don't have no more idea than a drunk prairie dog what you're talkin' about," Deegan said. "I never saw that old man before today, when he drove into our camp out of nowhere. I don't know how he got his paws on that chest of ours, but we aim to get it back or take it out of his hide...or both!"
Cobb was more confused than ever. First Tuttle claimed that he didn't know Edmunds, and now Deegan said the same thing. It didn't make any sense.
He could puzzle it out later, he told himself. For now he asked, "How do you plan to make him give it back when he gets here?"
"Oh, that'll be easy enough," Deegan said with a grin that was colder than the snow drifting outside. "We got a roomful of women and kids here. Bad things might happen to some of 'em if the old man don't give us what we want."
Cobb stiffened. He had run into hardcases like Deegan before. The man meant what he said. There wasn't an ounce of decency in him. All he cared about was recovering that loot.
What if Edmunds didn't even show up? He might change his mind, circle around Antelope Springs, and just keep going, disappearing forever in the snowy night. What would the outlaws do then?
It wouldn't be anything good, Cobb was sure of that. He didn't know if revealing that he was a Texas Ranger would make things better or worse, but he had to try something.
"Listen, Deegan," he said. "There's something you need to know–"
He didn't get a chance to go on, because just then something thudded on the roof, followed by a lot more racket up there. Everyone's eyes jerked upward, and Deegan exclaimed, "What the blazes–"
This might be the only opportunity he would have, Cobb thought.<
br />
His left hand shot out, clamped around the barrel of the Sharps, and wrenched it upward. At the same time, his big right fist rocketed into the middle of Deegan's face in a blow that pulped the boss outlaw's nose and drove him back halfway over the bar.
"Get 'em!" one of the cowboys yelled to his friends.
There were a dozen outlaws but twice that many men from Antelope Springs and the surrounding ranches. Several of them tackled the closest owlhoots and drove them to the sawdust-littered floor. The blacksmith, moving fast for such a big man, reached out with those arms like tree trunks and grabbed two of the outlaws by the neck. He rammed their heads together with a dull thud that left both men senseless. One of the outlaws was too close to the bar. Harry snatched up the punch bowl and smashed it over his head, drenching him with the red liquid and knocking him out.
The citizens couldn't move fast enough to keep all the outlaws from getting off a shot, though. One of the men triggered his revolver at Cobb. The slug sizzled past Cobb's ear and shattered a whiskey bottle on the backbar behind him. By that time, Cobb had reversed the Sharps he had taken from Deegan, and he fired it from the hip. The heavy caliber bullet struck the outlaw in the shoulder and practically tore his arm off. He went down howling in pain, out of the fight for good.
The Sharps was only a single-shot weapon, but as another outlaw tried to swing his gun around to bear on Cobb, the Ranger put the rifle to good use anyway. He drove the barrel into the man's belly, doubling him over, and then brought the stock up to slam it into the outlaw's jaw. This one collapsed, too, out cold.
A shotgun's roar made everybody freeze. Simon Tuttle had gotten his hands on a Greener somewhere, probably from under the bar, and the double-barreled weapon seemed to make him grow several inches. He pointed it at the outlaws and shouted, "Everybody get clear!"
The cowboys and the townspeople did so, scrambling to get out of the line of fire. Cobb could tell that some of the outlaws were thinking about shooting it out, but they abandoned the idea when he bent down and snatched up a fallen revolver. He and Tuttle covered them.
"Everybody who's still got a gun put it on the floor and kick it away," Cobb ordered. "Otherwise this is gonna be a mighty bloody Christmas Eve."
Powdersmoke Christmas Page 4