A Frontier Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  Uva, Wyoming

  Nearly everyone in town had turned out to greet Gib Crabtree and cheer him on. A fresh team waited for him, but to the surprise of all, he didn’t go to the livery stable, stopping instead in front of the marshal’s office.

  “Why are you stopping here, Deputy?” Marshal Wiggins asked, stepping out of his office. “The fresh team is down at the livery.”

  “I’ve been robbed, Marshal,” Crabtree said, setting the brake on the buggy and climbing down.

  “Robbed? Someone robbed you? Why, how much did they get?”

  “They got everything. They took the medicine. All of it.”

  “Who did it? Where did it happen?”

  “It was at Blue Elder and Cherry Creeks,” Crabtree said. “Two men done it. I don’t have an idea in hell who they was, but they called each other Jesse, an’ somethin’ like Peebob.”

  “Peebob? Could it have been T. Bob?”

  “T. Bob. Yes.” Crabtree nodded.

  “I’ll be damned. It was Jesse and T. Bob Cave, and I’ll tell you now, no two sorrier outlaws have ever lived. But why would they want the medicine?”

  “For money,” Crabtree replied. “They want twenty thousand dollars, then they said they’ll give the medicine back.”

  “From who?”

  “They want it from the folks in Rawhide Buttes. That’s where the sickness is.”

  “Rawhide ain’t got many more people than we do. I don’t know if they even have that much money.”

  “Well, whether they do or not, they need to be told about it,” Crabtree said. “Where’s the telegraph office?”

  “It’s just down to the corner, on this same side of the street,” Marshal Wiggins said, pointing.

  “I’d better get the message off.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Rawhide Buttes

  Dr. Poindexter was standing at the back of the church with Jenny, Sally, and Reverend Sharkey. They were all enjoying a cup of coffee Sharkey had made a few minutes earlier.

  At the moment, twenty-three patients were laid out on the pews of the church, including Meagan Parker and Cora Ensor. Three more had died and had been taken by Tom Welch to the mortuary.

  “I think the ones we have right now are stable,” Dr. Poindexter said. “If we can keep their throats cleaned out, I believe they’ll be able to hold on until the medicine gets here.”

  “How long will that be?” Sally asked.

  “I’m told that it could be here before four o’clock. By the way, Mrs. Jensen, if you ever decided you would like to, I believe you would make a wonderful nurse.”

  Sally smiled. “I appreciate the compliment. But I’ve been watching your wife. I’m afraid that I don’t have the skill, the patience, or the compassion to be a nurse.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve been watching you. You are doing a great job.”

  At that moment, Howard McGill came into the church and walked over to them. He had a worried expression on his face.

  “What is it, Howard?” Dr. Poindexter asked. “Do we have more patients?”

  “No, I’m afraid it’s much worse than that, Doc. I just got this telegram from Deputy Crabtree. He sent it from Uva.”

  “Crabtree? Isn’t he the one who is bringing the medicine?”

  “Yes, sir, only he doesn’t have it anymore.”

  “What?” Dr. Poindexter asked, speaking the word so loudly that it reverberated throughout the church. “What do you mean, he doesn’t have it? Don’t tell me he lost it, somehow!”

  “Maybe you better read this.”

  “Read it aloud, George,” Jenny suggested.

  Poindexter read it through silently, then he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He handed it to Reverend Sharkey. “You read it, Reverend,” he said quietly.

  Sharkey cleared his throat, then read aloud. “‘Jesse and T. Bob Cave took medicine from me. They demand twenty thousand dollars be paid before they release it. Crabtree.’”

  “Twenty thousand dollars?” Jenny Poindexter exclaimed. “Are they crazy? I doubt there’s that much money in the entire town!”

  “What kind of evil person would do something like that?” Howard McGill asked.

  “Mr. McGill, I agree with you.” Reverend Sharkey said. “It does take someone incredibly evil to do something like this, and the Cave brothers have already shown, by their earlier perfidious actions, to be a perfect fit for that mold.”

  “How are we goin’ to raise twenty thousand dollars?” McGill asked. “I think Mrs. Poindexter is right. I don’t think there’s that much money in the whole town.”

  “I don’t know, but we’re goin’ to have to try,” Dr. Poindexter said. “I just have no idea where to start.”

  “Why not start at the bank with Joel Montgomery?” Reverend Sharkey asked.

  “Smoke and I can come up with five thousand dollars,” Sally said. “But it’s in the bank in Colorado.”

  “Come with me, Mrs. Jensen,” Dr. Poindexter said. “We’ll see Mr. Montgomery together.”

  “No,” Reverend Sharkey said. “You’re needed here, George. I’ll go see him.”

  “Reverend, tell him I can come up with five thousand,” Meagan said in a hoarse voice, having overheard the conversation. “It’s in the bank at Chugwater.”

  “Reverend, it would be better to get Smoke to go with you,” Sally said. “Smoke can be very persuasive.”

  “I’ll get Marshal Worley to go with us as well,”

  Smoke was leaning against the hitching rail to which his horse, Seven, was tied when he saw Marshal Worley and Reverend Sharkey coming toward him. At first, he thought nothing of it, then he remembered that the church had been turned into a hospital, and that Sally was working there. For a moment, he felt some anxiousness, wondering if Sally had come down with the disease.

  “Sally?” he asked as the two men approached him.

  It was a part of his profession that Reverend Sharkey was a very insightful man, and he perceived Smoke’s apprehension at once. “Mrs. Jensen is working very hard, and has been quite a blessing to us all,” Reverend Sharkey said quickly, putting Smoke’s fear at ease. “She has gotten into the scheme of things very quickly. I don’t know what we would do without her.”

  “That’s Sally all right,” Smoke said with a proud smile. “Give her any situation where she thinks she would be more of a help than a hindrance and she will pitch in.”

  “The reason we are here, Mr. Jensen, is because she wanted me to ask you to go to the bank with us.”

  “Go to the bank?” Smoke’s concern was replaced with curiosity.

  “Perhaps you should read this telegram we received,” Marshal Worley suggested.

  Smoke read the telegram, then shook his head. “Duff told me about Jesse and T. Bob Cave. They are the ones who murdered the Guthrie family, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. And my deputy and Judge Kirkpatrick,” Marshal Worley said.

  “Sometimes the evil of man knows no boundaries,” Reverend Sharkey added.

  “So, you are wanting to go to the bank to raise money to pay the extortion money, right?” Smoke asked.

  “At this point, I don’t see that we have any choice,” Reverend Sharkey said. “Your wife has generously pledged five thousand, and so has Meagan Parker. That leaves only ten thousand dollars to raise. I’m sure that Joel Montgomery can help us raise it.

  “Joel Montgomery?”

  “He’s our banker.”

  “All right,” Smoke said. “I’ll go talk to the banker with you.”

  Joel Montgomery was quite tall, silver-haired, and very dignified-looking. He read the telegram then stroked his chin. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Do we have enough money in this town?” Marshal Worley asked.

  “This bank has total assets of ninety-six thousand, seven hundred and fifty-four dollars. But that money belongs to the depositors. I can authorize loans to qualified borrowers, and indeed it is the interest received from such lo
ans that allows the bank to stay in business. But even if we turned everything over to them, there is no guarantee that we would get the medicine.”

  “We have to try, don’t we, Joel?” Reverend Sharkey said.

  “You have to raise only half of it,” Smoke said. “Between Miss Parker and my wife and I, we have pledged ten thousand dollars.”

  Montgomery shook his head. “No, the bank would still have to raise all the money. Most money transactions from bank to bank are by wire as a promissory on the actual species transfer. As long as that ten thousand dollars remains in other banks, it will do nothing to increase the availability of funds here.”

  “Well, what are we going to do about it, Joel?” Reverend Sharkey asked. “We have to have that medicine. According to Dr. Poindexter, nothing he has done is curative. All he has been able to do is deal with the symptoms on a temporary basis. If we don’t get that medicine, an awful lot of people are going to die.”

  “Maybe we can negotiate with them, explain that we just don’t have that much money readily available,” Montgomery suggested.

  “How are we going to negotiate with them?” Reverend Sharkey asked. “We don’t know where they are.”

  “They are going to have to get in touch with us again, in order to give us instructions on how to deliver the money,” Marshal Worley said. “Perhaps we can get a lead on them then.”

  “We don’t have to wait,” Smoke said.

  “What do you mean, we don’t have to wait?” Marshal Worley asked. “What else can we do?”

  “We can send a telegram to Duff MacCallister.”

  “Isn’t he the person who brought those men in the first time?”

  “He is indeed,” Marshal Worley said with a broad smile. “And Smoke Jensen is absolutely correct. If there is anyone on the outside who can help us right now, Duff MacCallister would be the one. Go ahead, Mr. Jensen. Get in touch with him.”

  “All right,” Smoke said.

  “I’ll come with you, just to let Howard know that this is official.”

  There was a sign on the front door of the Western Union office.

  CLOSED DUE TO QUARANTINE,

  BY ORDER OF MARSHAL WORLEY.

  Howard McGill, Telegrapher.

  Marshal Worley knocked on the front door, but there was no answer. He knocked louder.

  “Can’t you see the sign? We’re closed!” a voice called from within.

  “Howard, it’s the marshal!” Worley shouted. “Let me in!”

  Through the door window a moment later, they saw the telegrapher approaching. He pulled the door open, then stepped back to let the marshal and Smoke in. “Are we off quarantine?”

  “Not yet. But we need to send a telegram.”

  “It’s because of the one we got a while ago saying that the medicine has been stolen, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Marshal Worley said.

  “All right. What’s the message?”

  Smoke wrote the message and handed it to him. “This telegram is to go to Duff MacCallister at Sky Meadow Ranch in Chugwater, Wyoming.”

  “Mr. Jensen, am I mistaken in assuming that there might be a particular relationship between Mr. MacCallister and Miss Parker?” Reverend Sharkey asked.

  “No, you aren’t mistaken. The two are very close. Why do you ask?”

  “You might inform him that Miss Parker has been stricken with the disease. Such knowledge might spur him to greater effort.”

  “Meagan is sick? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? How bad is it?”

  “Dr. Poindexter seems to think that all his remaining patients are stable for the moment. Depending, of course, upon the timely arrival of the medicine.”

  “You’re right. Duff should be told,” Smoke said. “I’ll add it to the message, but only because he should know. That won’t be necessary to get him to help us.”

  Sky Meadow Ranch

  Duff knew from experience that winter feeding was the biggest source of financial loss in a ranch operation. It was often what would make or break the ranch as a business, so it required very careful management with an eye to absolutely no waste.

  He, Elmer, Woodward, Martin, Walker, and the new man Nicholson were riding on the range. Several patches of snow remained on the ground from the last snowfall, but the cover was thin enough that the animals could find their own graze if they were out of the shadows of the mountains.

  “We must push the creatures back to where the snow is thin enough that they can get to the graze,” Duff said as they found cattle standing in the shadows.

  The six men went about their task, herding the animals out of the shadows with shouts and by rushing toward them. It took a couple hours, but by the time the sun was low in the western horizon, a wide, white field was filled with thousands of black-coated cattle. Quickly, the cattle learned why they were there, and they began scraping and grazing.

  “This will keep them until we get another heavy snowfall,” Elmer said.

  “Aye, but from the looks of the sky, I expect that will be sooner than we want,” Duff said. “I’m thinking ’tis going to be a white Christmas, for sure. And to think that when I was a wee lad, the thought of a white Christmas always brought me joy.”

  “We’re sure close to Christmas now,” Elmer said. “I sure don’t want to miss the dance.”

  “Ha! You had better not miss it,” Woodward said. “If you do, you’ll be payin’ for your pies at Vi’s Pies just like the rest of us.”

  “You mean Mr. Gleason doesn’t pay for his pie?” asked Nicholson.

  “Why do you think he’s took up with the lady in the first place?” Martin teased. “It’s just so he can get his pie free.”

  Walker turned his attention back to the direction they were headed. “Say, isn’t that one of the boys that delivers telegrams for Western Union?”

  “Aye,” Duff said.

  “I don’t like telegrams,” Elmer said. “They most always bring bad news.”

  “Maybe ’tis good news,” Duff suggested. “The antitoxin serum should be in Rawhide Buttes by now. Perhaps it’s a telegram from Meagan saying that the quarantine has been lifted, and she’ll be comin’ home in time for Christmas.”

  “Well, now,” Elmer said. “And wouldn’t that be a good Christmas present for you?”

  Duff put his horse Sky to a gallop, quickly closing the distance between himself and the telegram delivery boy.

  “Lad, I’m Duff MacCallister. Have you a telegram for me?” he asked, pulling up as he reached the young rider.

  “Yes, sir,” the boy said. “The lady in the house said you would be out here.”

  “I’ve no coins with me at the moment, but if you’ll ride back to the house with me—” Duff started to say.

  “There’s no need,” the boy interrupted. “The lady in the house gave me a quarter, sir.”

  Duff smiled. “I thought she probably had. ’Tis an honest lad you are for acknowledging it.” He took the telegram and as he read it, the smile left his face.

  MEAGAN STRICKEN BUT STABLE STOP CAVE BROTHERS STOLE MEDICINE FROM COURIER STOP DEMANDING TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR RELEASE STOP DO WHAT YOU CAN STOP SMOKE

  Rawhide Buttes

  Meagan didn’t know what awakened her. She lay on the front pew, fighting the dizziness and straining to breathe. She had a headache and a sore throat and felt disconnected from reality. It was dark in the church, the only light a small electric lamp that glowed in the narthex.

  She closed her eyes for a few moments, hoping to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. When she opened them again, a soft shimmering glow appeared between her and the ambo, and she wondered if another lamp had been turned on. As she stared at the glow, she realized it wasn’t just a light but a woman with long red hair and flashing blue eyes. The glow came from the gleaming white gown the woman was wearing.

  “Are you really there?” Meagan asked.

  “Aye, lass, ’tis really here I be, ’n ’tis a Blythe Yule an a Guid Hogmanay I would be
wishin’ to ye,” the woman said, speaking in a thick Scottish brogue.

  “Who are you?”

  “If ye be givin’ it some thought, Meagan, ye’ll ken my name, I’m thinkin’.”

  “No,” Meagan said. “It can’t be. It isn’t possible. I am seeing Skye McGregor, and yet, I know that I am not seeing you.”

  “Things seen are temporal. Things not seen are eternal.”

  “Can others see you?”

  “Nae, lass, ’tis nae for others that I am here.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I dinnae want ye to lose faith, Meagan. Duff will be here for ye, an’ all will be foine.”

  “Meagan? Meagan, do you need something?” Sally asked.

  Meagan saw Sally coming toward her, then, looking back toward the front of the church she saw only darkness. The glowing presence was gone.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need anything? You were talking.”

  “Was I? I must have been dreaming.” Was I dreaming?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Cheyenne

  Duff had come to Cheyenne to see Sheriff Martin, but learned that the sheriff was with Governor Barber. According to the ornate grandfather’s clock, he had been waiting in the reception area of the governor’s office for nearly half an hour. To help control his building anger, he studied the office.

  On one wall was a calendar with every day dutifully marked off. Above the month sheet was a full-color Currier and Ives print of two night trains racing out of Washington, DC, sparks flying from the stacks, and every window in every car shining brightly. It was a dramatic, if unrealistic representation. Just below the calendar was a radiator providing heat for the room, even as wisps of steam drifted up from the air vent, and a puddle of condensed water lay on the floor. To the right of the radiator was the door that led to Governor Barber’s private office.

  “Please,” Duff said to the bookish-looking man in an ill-fitting brown suit who was the governor’s private secretary. “My business with the sheriff is quite urgent.”