No, she was sure he had not, for how could he? There was no light in her room and she was standing in absolute darkness. Nevertheless, Duff had glanced up toward her room and waved. Meagan smiled when she realized that he, like her, had wanted one last look . . . even if he saw nothing.
She crawled back into bed, sure she could still feel the warmth of his presence.
Meagan hadn’t always lived in the American west. She had arrived in Chugwater less than two years before Duff, having come from Washington, D.C., where her father had been an administrative aide to Senator John Daniel of Virginia. Senator Daniel had been seriously wounded during the Civil War, crippling him, so Meagan’s father took on many of the senator’s duties.
Senator Daniel had never been married.
“He would make a good husband for you, Meagan,” her father had said. “Think of it, you could be the wife of a United States senator.”
Meagan had shaken her head. “Papa, he is forty-three years old, and I am but twenty-two.”
“You wouldn’t have to make dresses for the society women of Washington. You would be one of them.”
“I enjoy making dresses, Papa. I’m very good at it, and it pleases me to see women wearing what I have designed.”
“Senator Daniel is a wonderful man.”
“He is a good man, I will concede that. But I don’t love him.”
Burt Parker had been increasingly more and more insistent that Meagan marry Senator Daniel, until one day Meagan left her father a note.
Dear Papa,
Please don’t be upset that I’ve decided to go off on my own. If I were a man, I would say I am going to seek my fortune, and you would have no trouble with it. I know that such things are not ordinarily done by women, but as you have told me many times yourself, I am not an ordinary woman.
I love you, Papa, and I will write to you when I am all settled.
Your loving daughter,
Meagan
Taking the one thousand dollars she had saved, Meagan had boarded a train. She’d had no particular destination in mind, but while waiting in the station, she bought a book called The Williams Pacific Tourist Guide Across the Continent. It was from that book that she learned about the community of Chugwater.
The Chugwater Valley is 100 miles long. It has been for many years a favorite locality for wintering stock, not only on account of the excellence of the grass and water, but also from the fact that the climate is mild throughout the winter.
In order to get to Chugwater, she would have to leave the train in Cheyenne, then go by coach. When she read about Cheyenne, she almost had second thoughts about her plans.
In such places as North Platte, Julesburg, and Cheyenne, there are gamblers, thieves, prostitutes, murderers—bad men and women of every calling and description under the heavens and from almost every nationality on the globe. When they can prey upon no one else, they prey upon each other. The worst that has ever been written of these characters does not depict the whole truth—they are, in many cases, outlaws from the East who have fled to escape the consequences of crimes committed there. Armed to the very teeth, they often shoot first and speak second.
Meagan had wasted no time in Cheyenne, but went immediately on to Chugwater, where she bought a building for two hundred and fifty dollars, bought material and equipment for another hundred dollars, and started her dressmaking business. She had been so involved with getting her business started that she had no time for men, nor did she meet anyone who interested her until she met Duff MacCallister.
She just wished that she knew, for sure, what future she might have with him.
CHAPTER FOUR
As Duff rode back home, he couldn’t get Skye McGregor out of his mind. Or at least, her voice. Had he actually heard her speak to him?
Yes, he had heard it . . . but that may well have been a trick of his mind. The real question was not whether he heard it, but whether she had actually spoken to him. No, that was impossible. Skye had been dead for four years, and not once in that four years had he ever heard her voice before.
“Skye, would you say something to me now, lass?” he asked softly.
There was no response.
“Sure ’n I dinnae think you would be for saying anything to me. So why did you back in the stable? ’Tis marrying Meagan you want, is it?”
Would it be a betrayal of Skye’s memory for him to marry Meagan?
That was it, he realized. Almost from the moment he had met Meagan, he had compared her to Skye. He knew what caused him to think he had heard Skye’s voice. It was because he was trying to reconcile his love for Skye with his feelings for Meagan.
Pulpit Rock, Colorado
Max Dingo and two other men waited at Pulpit Rock on the stagecoach road between Glen Rock and La Bonte. Dingo, who was their leader, had long, stringy hair hanging down to his shoulders, and a full, unkempt beard. At the moment, he was relieving himself.
“Hey, Dingo, I see the coach comin’,” Nitwit Mitt called. His real name was Nat Mitchell, but long ago he had picked up the moniker Nitwit Mitt and accepted the sobriquet without comment.
“All right, boys, let’s get ready,” Dingo said, buttoning up his trousers.
“How much money you think they’re carryin’ on that coach?” the third man, Wally Jacobs, asked.
“We won’t know till we stop it and find out, will we?” Dingo replied. “Get mounted.”
The six-horse team moved at an easy lope, and the wheels of the stage kicked up a billowing trail of dust, a goodly amount of which managed to find its way into the passenger compartment. Otis Boyd, his wife Liz, and their two children, Harry and Kathy, were the only passengers in the coach. Kathy, who was no older than six, began coughing.
Liz Boyd took a handkerchief from her handbag, held it under the spigot of the water barrel, and wet it. She wrung it out so that it wasn’t dripping, then handed it to the little girl. “Here, honey, this will help. Hold it over your mouth and nose. The damp cloth will filter out some of the dust.”
Kathy took the handkerchief and did as her mother suggested.
Suddenly there was the sound of gunfire outside, and the coach rumbled to an unscheduled halt.
“What is it?” Liz asked in fear. “Otis, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Otis answered, looking out the window. “It could be nothing, maybe just someone signaling the driver to stop so they can catch a ride.”
They heard loud angry voices outside, but couldn’t understand what was being said.
Suddenly, a rider appeared just outside the stage. He was wearing a handkerchief tied across the bottom half of his face. “You folks in the coach,” he shouted in a loud, gruff voice. “Come on out of there!”
“Oh, Otis!” Liz said in a frightened voice.
Cautiously, Otis opened the door and stepped out onto the ground. He turned and helped his wife down, then the two children.
Liz looked up toward the driver and saw that he was tending to the shotgun guard, whose head was tilted back. His eyes were closed, his face was ashen, and the front of his shirt was soaked with blood.
“Otis, that man has been shot!” Liz cried.
“That he has, lady,” one of the two riders said. Both men had the bottom half of their faces covered. “I shot ’im.” He held up a canvas bag. “I shot ’im for this here money pouch. And now, I’ll be troublin’ you folks for whatever money you have.”
“What makes you think we’ve got any money?” Otis asked.
“You’re takin’ a trip, ain’t ya? Folks don’t go on a trip, especially what with takin’ their whole family with ’em, without havin’ some money. Now, you can give it to me yourself, or I’ll kill you an’ take it off your body. Which is it to be?” The man cocked his pistol and pointed it at Otis.
“Otis, give it to him!” Millie insisted.
“It’s all we have to live on until we get settled in my new job,” Otis pointed out.
“We’ll get by until you
are paid. Give him the money!”
“You better listen to your wife, mister.”
With a reluctant sigh, Otis took his billfold out and handed it over.
“Come on, Dingo, we got the pouch and the dude’s poke. Let’s get out of here.”
“Dingo?” Otis asked. “Would that be Max Dingo? I’ve heard of you.”
The outlaw sighed and pulled his handkerchief down. “Nitwit, you got one hell of a big mouth, you know that? And you, Mister, you know too damn much.” He cocked his pistol.
Thinking he had no other chance, Otis swung out at the outlaw, knocking him down by the surprise of his action. Emboldened by his initial success, he reached down to grab Dingo to administer another blow. From his position on the ground, Dingo raised his pistol and fired. Otis backed away, clutching his stomach. He looked over at his wife with a surprised expression on his face.
“Liz?” he said in a small voice.
“No!” she screamed. “No!” She rushed to her husband, who had fallen to the ground.
“Papa!” Harry cried.
Millie cushioned Otis’s head in her lap while he breathed his last gasps.
“Liz, I . . .” His voice drifted off, then he sighed and was still.
“My God!” Liz said, looking up at Dingo, who had regained his feet. “You’ve killed him!”
“Yeah, I did,” Dingo said coldly.
“You’ve got the money, Mr. Dingo,” the driver said. “Please, why don’t you just go now, and leave the rest of us alone?”
Dingo looked up at the driver, and the dead shotgun guard, then down at the body of Otis Boyd. He let the hammer down on his pistol, then slipped it into his holster. “Yeah. All right, we’ll go. You can call it my Christmas present to you.”
Laughing, he climbed onto his horse, which was being held by one of the other two men. “Merry Christmas!” he shouted back over his shoulder.
The driver, Liz, and her two children could hear the demonic laughter as the three men galloped away.
Guthrie Ranch, outside Rawhide Buttes
Suzie Guthrie was in the barn milking a cow when her younger brother Timmy came rushing in. Guess what? I know what I’m getting for Christmas.”
“How do you know?” Suzie asked.
“I know, because I heard Mama and Papa talkin’ about it. I’m getting a horse. Grandpa is going to give it to me when we go to Chugwater to see him and Grandma for Christmas. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“Then let it be,” Suzie said.
“How can it be a surprise if I already know what it is?”
“Well, don’t ruin Mama and Papa’s surprise by letting on that you know.”
Timmy laughed. “That’s funny. How can it be a surprise for them, if they already know?”
“It’s not a surprise for them, but they want to surprise you. So pretend that you don’t know.”
“That’s silly.”
“No, it isn’t silly. It’s just being nice.”
“I know what you’re getting, too. Do you want to know?”
“No, I don’t want to know.”
“Why not?”
Suzie sighed. “I can’t expect you to understand. You’re still a child.”
“I’m twelve years old, only two years younger than you,” Timmy said, resolutely.
“Women mature faster than boys.”
“You’re not a woman. You’re just a girl.”
Suzie smiled. “And you are my sweet brother.” She stood up from the milking stool, then reached down to get the milk pail. “Did you get the stalls mucked out?”
“Yes. I hate mucking stalls. They stink.”
Suzie laughed. “And here you’re wanting a horse? That means you’ll have one more stall to muck out.”
“That’s different. It’ll be my horse. I won’t mind it, then.”
“I’ll remember that when Papa tells you to get busy and you start complaining.”
“I’ll carry the milk,” Timmy said, reaching for the pail.
“Well, that’s very nice of you, little brother. Maybe you’re growing up after all.”
“Hey, where are you going, girl?” a man shouted from the bunkhouse. He had long, unkempt brown hair, and a beak-like nose between narrow, dark eyes.
“We’re goin’ to the house,” Timmy answered.
“Don’t answer him, Timmy,” Suzie said under her breath.
“Why not?”
“He’s . . . not a nice man.”
“That’s just Sunset. Why do you say that? What did he do?”
“Nothing. Nothing that I want to talk about. Just keep going until we reach the house. Don’t talk to him. Don’t even look at him.”
Sunset Moss shrugged, then stepped back into the house, joining the other two cowboys. All three were working through the winter for John Guthrie. The Cave brothers, Jesse and T. Bob, were engaged in an intense conversation. Both were redheaded, with red, blotchy skin.
“How much did you say?” T. Bob asked.
“A thousand dollars. He was paid in cash for them last cows he delivered, and he ain’t took none of it to the bank yet,” Jesse said.
“So what you’re sayin’ is, they’s a thousand dollars cash just lyin’ over there in that house.” T. Bob pointed toward the Guthrie family house.
“That’s right.”
“A thousand dollars. How about that? Say, how long would it take us to make that much money?”
“Well, we’re drawin’ twenty-one dollars and found, per month. At that rate, it would take near four years to make a thousand. But say you was to divide the thousand up into three hundred and thirty-three dollars for each of us, it would still take a year and a half,” Jesse said.
“Damn. Is that true?” Sunset asked.
“If Jesse says it’s true, it is,” T. Bob replied. “Jesse has always been good at cipherin’ ’n such.”
“I got the milk, Mama,” Timmy said, bringing the bucket into the house.
“Well, good for you, Timmy.”
Suzie smiled. “Yes, we can always count on Timmy to get the milk.”
“Suzie helped,” Timmy said.
“Well, that was nice of your sister, wasn’t it?” his mother said, smiling knowingly at Suzie. “Dinner’s on the table. You two wash up, and get ready.”
“Ah, Nora, they don’t need to wash up.”
“What? John, why would you say such a thing?” Nora asked in a shocked voice.
“Because those breaded pork chops smell awfully good. If the kids don’t wash up, they don’t eat, which means I can have theirs.”
“Yeah? Well you ain’t goin’ to get my pork chop, ’cause I plan to wash up,” Timmy said resolutely.
“You aren’t going to get mine,” Suzie corrected.
“And you ain’t goin’ to get hers neither,” Timmy added.
“Oh,” Suzie said with a shudder. “Mama, what am I going to do with him? He goes to school just like I do. Why is it that he hasn’t learned anything?”
“Oh honey. I reckon it just depends on what you need to learn,” John explained. “He can already ride and rope as well anyone working here. That’s the kind of thing that’s important to someone who is going to be a rancher.”
“You’re sure he’s going to be a rancher?” Nora asked.
“Of course I’m sure. Why else am I building this ranch, if not to have something to leave to him when I die?”
Nora shuddered. “Oh heavens. Let’s not talk about dying, not here, so close to Christmas.”
At that moment, the kitchen door opened, and Sunset Moss, Jesse, and T. Bob Cave came into the house. A blast of cold air came in with them.
John looked up in surprise. “Hello, boys. Don’t you believe in knocking before you push yourselves into someone’s house? I mean, that’s not very good manners now, is it?”
Jesse chuckled. “Is it manners you’re wantin’ Guthrie? Well, I’m afraid we’re all out of manners.”
“What kind of talk is that to
be saying to your employer?”
“Yeah, well, that’s just it, Guthrie. You see, we ain’t exactly workin’ for you no more. We’re quittin’. That’s what we come in here to tell you.”
“It’s a hell of a time to be quitting. Christmas is almost here. Have you boys thought this through?” John asked.
“Oh, yeah, we’ve thought it through, all right.”
“Well, you haven’t worked a whole month, but being that it’s this close to Christmas, I’ll give all three of you a full month’s pay.”
“Nah, that ain’t what we want,” Jesse said with a twisted smile.
“Well, what do you want?”
“We want that thousand dollars cash you got here,” Jesse said.
“What? Are you crazy?”
Jesse drew his gun and pointed at Timmy. “You got two choices. You can either give us that thousand dollars, or I’m goin’ to kill the boy.”
“John! Give them the money!” Nora cried in desperate fear.
“There’s no need for you three to come in here blustering like that,” John said. “Why don’t you let me just pay you off, and we’ll forget all about this.
“You mean you ain’t goin’ to give us the thousand dollars?” Jesse asked.
“No, I’m not going to give you a thousand dollars.”
Jesse pulled the trigger, the gun boomed, and Timmy, with a surprised look on his face, was driven back against the wall by the impact of the bullet.
Nora screamed. “Timmy!”
“Are you crazy?” John shouted in shock and anger.
“The girl’s next.” Jesse pointed toward Suzie.
“No, wait, wait! I’ll give you the money!”
“I thought you might.” Jesse smirked.
John started toward the cupboard.
“Just tell us where it is. I don’t want to take no chances of you comin’ up with a gun from somewhere.”
A Frontier Christmas Page 3