A Frontier Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  “Joe, lift your end about an inch,” Doolin directed.

  Joe complied.

  “About another inch.”

  Again the banner was moved.

  “No, that’s too much. Come back down.”

  “Well, make up your mind, Hodge. We ain’t exactly buildin’ a house here, you know. All we’re doin’ is hangin’ a sign,” Mike said.

  “Yes, but we may as well do it right,” Doolin insisted. “All right, you’ve got it now. Put in the tacks.”

  As the two men secured the sign, Doolin turned away, then saw Poindexter standing there. “Hello, Doc, what can I do for you?”

  “I just left the mortuary,”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Walters. Damn. He must ’a been dead for two or three days. I ain’t never seen a body that had a neck all swolled up like that.”

  “Had he complained about not feeling well?”

  “A couple days ago he asked for an extra blanket, said he was cold, but hell, that wasn’t nothin’. This time of year lots of folks want extra blankets. He did say that his throat was sore. I asked ’im if he wanted me to call a doctor, but he said he didn’t want one. I should ’a called you anyhow, I reckon. But I never figured he’d up and die on us like that.”

  “Tom Welch said he didn’t have any family here.”

  “None that nobody knows anything about. He just got here last week.”

  “Why was he in Rawhide Buttes, do you know?”

  “I think he come here to entertain the kids in school,” the hotel clerk said.

  “And did he?”

  “That I can’t tell you. You’ll have to ask Miss Foley.”

  “Yes, Mr. Walters was here,” the teacher said.

  “What was he like?” Dr. Poindexter asked.

  “Well, I found him to be quite a nice man. He even asked me out, but of course, I told him that wouldn’t be possible,” Miss Foley said, smiling as she reached up to touch her hair. “He was very entertaining, though I think he would have been even more so, if had had been able to sing.”

  “He didn’t sing?”

  “No, he said he was having trouble with his voice. You could tell just by listening to him. His voice was rather hoarse, though it carried well enough that he was able to keep the children entertained with his stories. Oh, and such marvelous stories they were, too. He told one about a Chris, the Christmas Bird who would eat flowers, then turn the color of the flowers he consumed. And he illustrated it by drawing pictures on the blackboard with colored chalk. The children were very entertained.”

  Keeping his voice matter-of-fact, the doctor inquired, “Were Danny Lester and Laura Hastings present for his performance?”

  “They were both here. As I recall, there were no children absent on that day, although both Danny and Laura have been absent since that day. I do hope Laura is back in time for our Christmas pageant. Oh. Even though you have no children in school, you are invited. The entire town is invited to see the children perform. They have been working so hard to prepare for it.

  “How are you feeling, Miss Foley?”

  “What do you mean, how am I feeling?”

  “I mean, have you had any spells of dizziness? Is your throat sore?” Dr. Poindexter reached out to put the back of his hand on Miss Foley’s forehead. “Have you had any fever?”

  “No, I feel just fine. Why are you asking?”

  “I’m asking because you were exposed to Mr. Walters.”

  “What about Mr. Walters? Has he taken ill?” she wondered.

  “I’m afraid he has died,” Dr. Poindexter replied.

  “Died? Oh, heavens!” Miss Foley gasped, putting her hand to her chest. “Oh, how tragic. The children enjoyed him so.”

  “I’m sure they did.”

  “Dr. Poindexter, do you think I might be taken ill?”

  “From Mr. Walters? Probably not, you were exposed to him long enough ago that if you were going to be ill, the symptoms would be presenting by now.”

  “Oh. Well, that is good to know. The children have been working so hard on their play, I would hate to be the cause of it not being done.”

  Dr. Poindexter started to tell her that there would be no play, regardless of whether she was ill or not, but he decided against it. “Yes, well, I thank you very much for the information, Miss Foley.”

  “You’re quite welcome, though I’m sorry it had to do with such a sad bit of news. Do tell Mrs. Poindexter hello, for me, won’t you?”

  “Yes, thank you, I will.”

  Having returned to the office, Dr. Poindexter went straight to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a drink that filled half a water glass.

  Jenny looked up from what she was doing. “George! What are you doing, drinking in the middle of the day?”

  He did not take the glass from his lips until he had drunk the entire thing. Then he wiped his mouth with back of his hand. “I have found where it started, Jenny. I know where the cases of diphtheria are coming from.”

  “Where did it start?”

  “It was brought here by man named Ralph Walters.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not a name I recognize.”

  “You wouldn’t. He just came to town a few days ago. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “He was here to entertain the children at school. He already had the disease when he arrived.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Dr. Poindexter’s heart was heavy. “At the mortuary. He’s dead, but before he died, he exposed every child in town. And those children have exposed their parents, and those parents may have exposed others.” Dr. Poindexter

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. God help me, I don’t know.”

  “Doc! Dr. Poindexter!” someone shouted from outside.

  Jenny stepped up to the window. “It’s Mr. Sinclair. He’s carrying Helen.”

  The doctor walked over to open the door as Sinclair came rushing in, holding a little girl in his arms.

  “Doc, it’s my daughter! She’s stopped breathin’! Do something! Please, do something!”

  Dr. Poindexter could tell by looking at the little girl’s face that there was nothing he could do. She had already died.

  Sky Meadow Ranch

  Ahead of him, Duff could see the snowcapped, purple mountains. To the observer, it was a Christmas scene as could be portrayed by Currier and Ives, a lone rider on a horse, leaving a trail in the snow behind him. The house before him had gleaming windows and displayed a green wreath with a red bow. From the chimney, a curl of white smoke climbed into a bright, blue sky.

  After stabling Sky, Duff walked to the house, stomping the snow off his boots on the back porch before he went inside. He could smell the aroma of cinnamon and sugar and knew that Mrs. Sterling was doing everything she could to make Christmas a gala event. Stepping into the kitchen, he saw Mrs. Sterling wasn’t working alone, for Sally was just as busy.

  “Where are Smoke and Matt?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “They’ve gone out to find a Christmas tree,” Sally said.

  “Tree? Why do we need a tree? We already have a Christmas wreath hanging in the front window.”

  “Don’t be such a Scrooge,” Sally said. “You need more than a wreath. You also need a tree.”

  Stomping noises came from the back door and they rushed from the kitchen. Smoke and Matt had brought the tree into the house. Mrs. Sterling suggested that it should be placed in the parlor, and the men set it up there.

  She and Sally returned to the kitchen to put it to rights and soon joined the men in the parlor. Decorations had been pulled out and they began decorating the tree.

  “I wish Meagan could be here helping us,” Sally said. “I’m looking forward to seeing her again. But, this close to Christmas, I’m sure she is very busy with her dress emporium, getting ready for the holidays.”

  “She is busy, but not with her shop,” Du
ff said. “She went back to Rawhide Buttes to help a friend get her store ready for Christmas.”

  “That’s very nice of her. She will be back before Christmas, though, won’t she?”

  “She plans to be.”

  “There’s a dance Christmas Eve,” Elmer said. “You had better believe that Miss Parker won’t be missing that.”

  “A dance on Christmas Eve? How nice,” Sally said. “Is everyone invited?”

  “I really don’t know,” Duff said. “But you are invited. Whether ’tis an open dance or nae, the three of ye will be m’ guests.”

  The next morning dawned clear. Duff stood at the window in the front parlor, drinking a cup of coffee as he looked out over the field of snow glistening brightly in the morning sun.

  “Good morning,” Smoke said, coming into the room behind him.

  “Have you got coffee?” Duff asked.

  “Just poured myself a cup.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Matt spent the night in the bunkhouse, and hasn’t come in yet. Sally is in the kitchen with Mrs. Sterling.”

  Duff frowned. “Why did Matt stay in the bunkhouse?”

  “He was playing cards with Al, Case, and Brax last night. He said he didn’t want to come in late and wake everyone up.”

  “Here he comes now,” Duff said, looking out the window again.

  Matt and Elmer were coming toward the house, leaving behind a track of black holes made by their footfalls in the white snow.

  A moment later, the two men began stamping their feet on the front porch, so as not to track snow into the house.

  “They’ll be wanting coffee.” Duff walked back into the dining room to pour a second cup for himself and one for Elmer. Smoke followed him and poured a cup for Matt. When the two men came in, they were greeted with hot coffee.

  “Thank you,” Elmer said, accepting the cup, then taking a swallow. “I tell you what, it might have faired off, but it sure as hell didn’t get no warmer. I hate cold weather. I truly do.”

  “Elmer, you’ve been all over the world,” Duff said. “I’m sure that in your travels you’ve been to places that don’t get cold.”

  “Pago Pago. It never gets cold there. And the women wear no tops,” he added with a broad smile.

  Duff raised his mug in the manner of a salute. “There you go. Why didn’t you stay there?”

  “The only way I could ’a stayed was iffen I had jumped ship,” Elmer said. “The island is too small for a person to hide out for long. I’ve always thought I might like to go back someday, though. You know what? Once you ’n Miss Parker get married, you ought to take a trip there. That would be a real nice place for you to go to.”

  “Be ye nae so quick to get me married, Elmer,” Duff said. “I told you last night, dinnae ye be rushing me.

  Elmer laughed. “Yeah, I know you keep puttin’ it off. But you ain’t foolin’ no one, Duff MacCallister. You ’n Miss Parker will be gettin’ married before you know it.”

  “We’ll see. Listen, how about having someone hitch up the sleigh for me? I told Smoke and Matt I’d take them into town this morning.”

  “Will you be visiting our friend Biff at Fiddlers’ Green?”

  “Aye, ’twould be the only decent thing to do. Sure ’n Biff would be upset if we didn’t call on him now, wouldn’t he?”

  “We?”

  “I expect you’ll be goin’ along as well.”

  Elmer grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “You’ll be seeing Mrs. Winslow?”

  “I never pass up the opportunity to have a piece of pie.”

  “A piece of pie. Right,” Duff said with a broad smile.

  Vi Winslow was a widow. She and Elmer Gleason had been “keeping company,” as Meagan described it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Chugwater

  The sleigh glided smoothly and swiftly through the snow, and the trip into town had been accomplished rather quickly. Duff took care of some business at the Chugwater Bank and Trust, then they stopped by Vi’s Pies for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie.

  “When will Meagan get back from Rawhide Buttes, have you heard?” Vi asked Duff.

  “’Tis my understanding she’ll be back a few days before Christmas.”

  “Good, then she’ll be here in plenty of time for the dance,” Vi said.

  “What dance?” Elmer asked innocently.

  “What dance?” Vi reached out and pulled the piece of pie away from him. “Elmer Gleason, if you don’t know about the Christmas dance, you can just find yourself another place to have pie.”

  Duff, Smoke, and Matt looked at each other and grinned.

  “Oh, that dance,” Elmer said. “Sure I know about that dance, for haven’t I asked you to go with me?”

  “You have not.”

  “Then I’ll be askin’ you now.”

  Vi smiled and slid the pie back to him. “Why, I would be happy to go with you, Mr. Gleason.”

  Leaving Vi’s Pies, the four men walked down the street to Fiddlers’ Green.

  “Hello, Duff, Elmer. Good to see that you could make it out on a day like today,” Biff Johnson said by way of greeting.

  “It’s a good day for sleighing,” Elmer replied.

  “Biff, I’ll be wanting ye to say hello to m’ friends Smoke ’n Matt Jensen,” Duff said.

  “Any friend of Duff MacCallister is a friend of mine. Brothers, be you?” Biff asked.

  “Of a sort,” Smoke replied

  Suddenly, Biff got a knowing look on his face and put his hand to his forehead. “Glory be! Smoke and Matt Jensen? Sure ’n I’ve heard of the two of you. Why, you two men are famous. And here you are in my saloon.”

  “And a very nice saloon it is,” Smoke said graciously.

  “Would you boys be wanting a dram? Or do you think it’s a bit too early yet?” Biff asked.

  “Och, mon, tis already five p.m. at the White Horse pub in Donuun in Argyllshire,” Duff said, speaking of his hometown back in Scotland.

  “Then it is plenty late enough,” Biff replied, smiling as he poured scotch into a glass. “I know that Elmer will have a beer. What about you two?” He held the bottle up by way of questioning Smoke and Matt.

  “Beer will be fine,” Smoke answered for both of them.

  Before drawing the beers, Biff slid the glass across the bar to Duff, and Duff lifted it. “To all the lads who are waiting at Fiddlers’ Green,” he proposed.

  “No matter the color of the uniform,” Elmer added.

  Sidewinder Gorge

  Jesse, T. Bob, and Jacobs were standing at the bar—a few boards stretched between barrels—in what passed for a saloon. It served beer and whiskey, though the cost per drink was three times what it cost on the outside. When Jesse had complained about it, he was told that he and his brother were free to leave, but reminded that they couldn’t take the horses with them.

  “You boys seem to have made yourselves to home, eatin’ my food, stayin’ under my roof,” Dingo said. “And right now, you’re drinkin’ my beer.”

  “Yeah, well, I see that you’re keepin’ a careful tab on what we’re drinkin’,” Jesse said. “I expect you’ll be collectin’ your money as soon as we get some.”

  “You expect right. And that brings up a good point. Just when are you goin’ to do somethin’ to earn your keep?”

  “Like what?” Jesse asked.

  “Like findin’ some way to bring in some money.”

  “Do you have something in mind?” Jesse asked.

  “Rob a store, hold up a stagecoach. I don’t care what you do. But if you’re goin’ to stay here, you have to do somethin’. I didn’t take you to raise.”

  “Max, what about Duff MacCallister?” Nitwit Mitt asked.

  Jesse looked at Nitwit. “What about ’im?”

  “I understand he’s the one who hunted you boys down,” Dingo said.

  “Yeah, he’s the one done it, all right.” T. Bob put in his two cents’ worth.<
br />
  “Then I take it that you two don’t hold him in very high regard?”

  Jesse snorted. “You take it right.”

  “It could be that these here boys might be just the ones to take care of the job you been wantin’ done,” Nitwit pointed out to Dingo.

  The outlaw leader nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He took a few more minutes, then agreed. “Yeah, you might be right.”

  “We might be the ones to take care of what?” T. Bob asked.

  “Killin’ MacCallister,” Dingo said.

  “Wait a minute. That’s what you want? You want us to kill MacCallister?”

  “Is there somethin’ wrong with that? You would like to see him dead, wouldn’t you?”

  “You’re damn right there’s somethin’ wrong with that,” Jesse said. “We’d like to see him dead, but I sure as hell ain’t got no plans in mind to go after ’im.”

  “Why not?” Dingo asked. “If you are, you sure got my blessin’.”

  “Your blessin’ ain’t enough. Like the feller here said, me an’ T. Bob has already done tangled with him once, ’n I don’t aim to run across him again if I can help it.”

  “What if you was to get paid to take care of ’im?” Dingo asked. “Not only get paid, but if I let you keep the horses and stay here without havin’ to pay anything?”

  Jesse wasn’t sure about that offer. “Why do you want him kilt?”

  “I’m not the only one. A lot of people want him dead,” Dingo said.

  “Yeah, but there ain’t nobody else ever actually offered to pay someone to have him kilt. Leastwise, not as far as I know. Why do you want him kilt?”

  “Because he killed my brother, Johnny Taylor.”

  “Taylor? I thought your name was Dingo.”

  “We had different fathers. Ma just made up names for us, seein’ as neither one of us ever actual seen our old man. And truth to tell, I don’t think she even knew who it was that spawned either one of us, seein’ as she was a saloon gal and sometimes laid with half a dozen men a night.”