The Christmas Trespassers

by Andrew J. Fenady

“Deek.” Bart nodded toward the door. “Maybe somebody heard that.”

  “Like who?”

  “Posse, maybe.”

  “On Christmas night? And them with the money. There ain’t no posse, Bart. Ain’t nobody here but us and the chickens.”

  * * *

  “Austin!” Peg had bolted upright first, then Austin and Davy. “Did you hear?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It came from his house.”

  Austin nodded.

  “You think we ought to go down there, Austin?”

  “What for?”

  “He could be drinking again. Maybe the gun went off. Maybe he’s hurt.”

  “You know he’ll turn us in if he gets the chance.”

  “I know.”

  “And you still want to go down there?”

  “Austin, that’s the same gun that saved Davy.”

  * * *

  “All right, mister.” Deek pointed the gun at Shad Parker’s chest. “It’s one thing to be crippled . . . something else to be dead.”

  “I’m already dead.”

  “I’m in no mood for riddles. Where’s it hid?”

  “You can look all night. You won’t . . .”

  “I ain’t got all night. Now, where?!”

  Austin, Peg, and Davy had scrambled down the hillside and were making their way across the dark yard.

  “I’m . . . I’m scared,” Davy muttered.

  “You should’ve stayed up there like I told you,” Austin said.

  “I’d be scareder.”

  “Look,” Peg pointed, “the door’s open.”

  “I’ll look in the window,” Austin said. “You two stay here.”

  But before Davy stopped walking he fell over a tin tub.

  “Somebody’s out there!” Bart reacted to the noise.

  “Keep him covered.” Deek went to one side of the window and looked out. “Damn! It’s them kids. Musta been in the barn.”

  The three children stood in the yard, looking toward the open door, waiting to see if the man would appear.

  A man did appear, but not the man they had expected. Deek stepped halfway out, keeping the gun in his hand hidden.

  “Hey, kids! Come on in here.” He beckoned in a friendly voice. “It’s all right. Come on in. Your friend had a little accident.”

  “You,” Bart pointed the gun at Shad and whispered, “don’t say nothin’. Not a word. Just stand still.”

  Deek Keeshaw smiled and continued to conceal the gun as the three children came to the door.

  “Come on in, kids. Like I said, your friend had a little accident. Been hurt a little but we’re takin’ care of him.”

  Shad’s leg bled from the bullet hole in his thigh. Bart stood to the side so the children couldn’t see his gun yet. But it was pointed at Shad’s heart.

  As the three entered the room Deek slammed the door shut behind them and no longer concealed his gun.

  “All right, kids. Welcome to the party,” Deek said.

  “Yeah, welcome.” Bart grinned.

  “Mister.” Peg looked at blood on Shad’s leg. “What happened?”

  “I told you,” Deek said. “He had a little accident. And he’s liable to have another one. Fatal.”

  “What you doing down here?” Shad asked Austin.

  “We ran away.”

  “I mean down here!”

  “We thought maybe . . .” Austin paused. “. . . may be you was hurt. Maybe you needed help.”

  Shad Parker blinked and breathed a deep breath in a pretense that he was affected only by the pain in his leg.

  “Now, ain’t that touchin’!?” Deek said, then nodded.

  “You’re right about one thing, kids, your friend does need help. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re here. You see, he’s being stubborn. Won’t tell us where his money’s hid. Now, maybe you can reason with him.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Bart agreed. “That’s a good idea, Deek. “You kids wouldn’t want nothin’ worse to happen to your friend, now, would you?”

  “All we want is the money,” Deek said. “You tell him to give us the money and we’ll ride off and leave you all to have a merry Christmas. Otherwise . . .” Deek slowly raised the gun upward, directly at Shad Parker’s head.

  “Please, mister,” Peg pleaded to Shad, “tell him where it is!”

  Shad Parker closed his eyes and gritted, fighting at the weakness creeping deeper into his body and brain.

  Deek came a step closer with the gun pointing at Shad Parker’s temple. Davy sobbed and turned his head away, into Peg, as she put both arms around him.

  “Now, you got one minute,” Deek snarled. “Then I’ll blow your head off . . . right in front of them . . . starting now.”

  Shad Parker’s eyes looked directly at the barrel of the gun. He stood straighter, no longer seeming to suffer from the effects of the wound, letting the seconds slip by.

  “Tell him, mister,” Austin implored.

  “Please.” Tears came out of Peg’s eyes. “Please tell him.”

  “Forty seconds,” Deek said, and waited.

  “Tell him!” This time Austin shouted.

  “Oh, he will.” Deek cocked the gun. “He will. Because every living thing wants to go on living. It’s the law of nature. Thirty seconds.”

  “I got nothing to live for.”

  “Sure, you have,” Deek spoke evenly. “Everybody’s got something. Me, I got Bart. And you . . .” he looked from Shad Parker to the children, then back, “. . . you got ten seconds.”

  Bart took another drink from the bottle. Shad Parker did not move, nor speak.

  “Seven seconds,” Deek said, then . . . “five.”

  “Mister,” Austin begged.

  “Four.”

  Peg turned her face away.

  “Three.”

  There was no doubt. Deek was going to squeeze the trigger.

  “Two . . . one.”

  Peg screamed. Austin sprang at Deek. His gun fired, shattering a window. Shad swung at Bart, caught him on the side of the head, dropping him cold.

  Deek got control of the clawing Austin and slung him against the wall. He swung the gun toward Shad again, but Shad had lifted a chair and crashed it across Deek’s face. As Deek collapsed, dropping the gun on the floor, Shad fell on top of him, grabbed the gun, and wheeled around.

  “Get clear of them,” he said to the three children. Slowly, and with what could have been a grimace, or a smile, he got to his feet and moved toward a chair.

  Austin, Peg, and Davy came away from the two fallen men and stood behind Shad Parker as he eased into the chair.

  “Now . . . Austin, can you ride a horse?”

  Austin nodded.

  “Good. Get on one of their horses. Ride into town and fetch the sheriff.”

  Austin nodded again.

  “And see if you can find a doctor.”

  The boy smiled, opened the door, and ran out.

  “Peggy.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Get me something to wrap around this leg.” With the gun he pointed toward a drawer. “There’s some towels in there.”

  Peg nodded and hurried toward it.

  Davy was staring at the blood on Shad Parker’s leg. Then he looked up at the man’s face.

  “Are you gonna die?” Davy asked, and waited a moment for the answer.

  “Hell, no.”

  Chapter 35

  On Christmas morning many of the citizens of Gilead were at the church services singing hymns, with Martha Groves at the organ, and then listening to a sermon by the reverend. But not all of the citizens.

  Amos Bush stood in front of his bank watching a crew of workmen boarding up the front window. Bush had taken the money recovered by Sheriff Hinge home last night and left it there in a second, smaller safe up in his room. And there most of the money would stay until he could order a new strongbox from Chicago. The Keeshaw brothers nearly got away with a stack of one hundred hundred-dollar bills, a st
ack of one hundred fifty-dollar bills, a stack of one hundred twenty-dollar bills, a stack of one hundred ten-dollar bills, and a stack of one hundred five-dollar bills. Eighteen thousand, five hundred dollars. But they didn’t. One of them was dead. The other two occupied cells in the sheriff’s office next door.

  Inside his office Sheriff Hinge, drinking from a mug of coffee, sat in his chair by the rolltop. Also in the room, with coffee cups, Deputy Homer Keeler, Kathy Lewis, and Rosalind DuPree.

  “Well, Homer.” Hinge took another swallow. “I wouldn’t be surprised if in the next batch of dodgers you find the ugly faces of the brothers Keeshaw. If so, that’ll be your responsibility . . . and your reward.”

  “How so, Sheriff?”

  “I’m resigning. Leaving town.” He smiled at Rosalind DuPree.

  “When?” the surprised deputy asked.

  “Pretty soon.”

  “But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Well, sir, Kathy and I . . . that is, I thought, well, I was hoping . . . Elwood, I’d be honored if you’d stand up for me. Be my best man.”

  The office door swung open, and Amos Bush stepped inside and closed it behind him.

  “Good morning.” He smiled an expansive smile.

  “Ah, Miss DuPree, good morning, and Miss Lewis. Miss DuPree, I’m told you’re going to be leaving us. Is that true?”

  “Yes, it’s true.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that but may I wish you Godspeed.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bush.”

  “Not at all.” He turned his attention toward Hinge. “And, Sheriff, I want to thank you also. As a token of my appreciation, I’ve drawn up this draught,” he removed an envelope from inside his coat pocket, “for one thousand dollars, redeemable at my bank, or any other bank, after the Christmas holiday, of course. I trust that that will be satisfactory, sir.”

  “It will and I thank you, Mr. Bush.” Hinge reached out and accepted the envelope without rising.

  “Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get home to Mrs. Bush. She wasn’t feeling well at all this morning. Not at all. Well, good day.” He smiled even more expansively as he was leaving. “And merry Christmas, everybody.”

  Nobody replied.

  “That son of a bitch, pardon me, ladies,” Homer said after the door closed. “Elwood, how much do you suppose was in that bag you handed him?”

  “Over fifteen thousand, easy.” The sheriff smiled.

  “And you’re supposed to get fifteen percent of that for recovering it, aren’t you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, what about it?”

  “Forget it, Homer.”

  “That fella owns just about everything in town worth owning. Why, he’s the richest and luckiest . . .”

  “I said, forget it, Homer. Things have a way of working out.” He rose and went to Rosalind DuPree. “Don’t they?”

  She smiled.

  “Now, about that wedding.” Hinge turned back to Homer and Kathy. “When’s it come off?”

  “New Year’s Day, right, Kathy?’

  “Yes.”

  “Will you stay and do it, Sheriff? I mean, be my best man.”

  “On one condition.”

  “Sure, anything. What is it?”

  “That you will, too.”

  “I will, too . . . what?”

  “Be my best man. We’ll make it a double wedding. If that’s all right with the both of you . . . and you, too . . . Miss DuPree.”

  “I think,” Rosalind DuPree took the sheriff’s hand, “that would be . . . splendid.”

  Chapter 36

  The man on the mule came to a stop not far from the NO TRESPASSING sign.

  He had passed the place many times before. Never before had he seen anyone there except the man who owned the property. This time it was different, and so was the man who owned the property.

  Shad Parker stood, supported by a pair of crutches, in the middle of the yard. But he was not alone. A boy chopped firewood. An even younger boy, holding a small, carved Christmas tree, stood close to the man on crutches. A girl, wearing a kitchen apron over her dress, stepped out of the cabin door.

  “Good morning,” Shad Parker said to the man on the mule.

  “It is a good morning,” the man answered. He looked at the children. “A very good morning.” The man glanced at the NO TRESPASSING sign then back to Shad Parker. “Well, sir. See you again. And . . . merry Christmas.”

  Shad Parker nodded. Then the man rode east.

  “We’ll need some eggs to go with that bacon.” Peg took a step forward, wiping her hands with the apron.

  “Well,” Shad’s head motioned toward the chicken coop, “go get ’em.”

  She smiled and walked across the yard past Shad Parker, Davy, and Austin, who looked up from his chore.

  “Set that log on its end,” Shad said to Austin. “Be easier to split.”

  Austin took the advice. Davy came a little closer. He shifted the small, carved Christmas tree from his left hand to his right.

  “Are we gonna live here?”

  Austin and Peg paused to hear the answer.

  “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

  Austin split the piece of wood with one blow. Peg continued toward the chicken coop.

  “What can I do?” Davy asked.

  “Feed the chickens.”

  Davy nodded and started to walk away. He hesitated and then turned back. He looked at the man on crutches.

  “Is it gonna be the same as if you was our daddy?”

  “No,” Shad Parker answered. “It won’t be the same.” Then added, “But it’ll be . . . something. And, Davy . . .”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Happy New Year.”

  “Yes, sir.” The little boy grinned and hurried toward his brother and sister.

  “Austin, look!” Peg pointed to the sky just above the cave on the hill.

  “I see it,” Austin said.

  “What is it?” Davy asked.

  “An eagle,” Peg said. “It’s an eagle.”

  Shad Parker started toward the cabin. He took a few steps, stopped, and looked back at Austin chopping wood, Peg and Davy by the chicken coop. He watched for a moment, then walked on, past the NO TRESPASSING sign. He spoke just above a whisper.

  “It’s time we all quit running away.”

  THE WISE OLD MAN OF THE WEST

  Back . . . and Forth

  To paraphrase Shakespeare’s Othello: “Soft, you, a word or two (maybe a mite more) about the Wise Old Man of the West.”

  The first effort was a short story entitled “The Wise Old Man of the West and The Fountain of Youth.”

  It was written as, what we used to call in the olden days of television, a “pilot” for a series of short stories, and published as a bonus addendum to the novel Black Noon.

  Well, it appears that quite a few people enjoyed reading it almost as much as I did writing it.

  Pinnacle Books received a passel of letters, and what nowadays is called e-mail, with a positive slant.

  So, here are three more to add to the collection about the dapper, mysterious stranger, a salient phantom of the night, who appears in unexpected places, tells unrecorded stories about a time and place that can never happen again.

  A wise old man, who knows more about the West than Frank and Jesse knew about banks and railroads.

  The Stranger Who Limped

  Blazing Guns of the Bible

  The Bravest Soldier

  —Andrew J. Fenady

  THE WISE OLD MAN OF THE WEST and THE STRANGER WHO LIMPED

  For

  JOHN CARRADINE

  We will never see

  his like again

  and of course

  for

  MARY FRANCES

  “It was a time to commemorate. For some to celebrate. For others to contemplate. Winners and losers. The war was over and we were the survivors. But winners or losers, we would never be the same.�
�

  So began the story of the Wise Old Man of the West and The Stranger Who Limped.

  * * *

  A warm, windless April night in Nevada, 1875, a decade after the cessation of hostilities . . . some called it the Civil War, others, the War for the Confederacy.

  The Wise Old Man appeared at the small camp of what might have been a separated section of a wagon train, but turned out to be something undeniably different.

  “Good evening, night walker,” the tallest, most notable member of the camp greeted him. “Are you alone?”

  “Not anymore,” the Wise Old Man replied as his glance scanned the eight members of the group, five men and three women of assorted ages and sizes.

  “Allow me to welcome you to the Crown Players Theatrical Company,” the tallest, most notable, man proceeded. “We are currently touring the Southwest in a modified, more modest production of Hamlet. We play mostly mining camps, rail camps, wagon trains, women’s clubs, and sometimes even on actual stages. No need to employ our proper names . . . They are hardly proper, or relevant. I am Hamlet.” He pointed, in order, to each of the cast. “Queen Gertrude, Horatio, Laertes, King Claudius, who also appears as the ghost, old Polonius, youthful Ophelia, and Miss Supernumerary, on the road to Saguaro to perform in a former saloon, now a theatrical house of questionable repute. And how shall we address you, squire?”

  The Wise Old Man looked up briefly at the sparkling sky, then toward the cast.

  “‘Stargazer’ will suffice.”

  “In all due modesty, we’re hardly stars, more like cinders, but with still a slight glow.”

  Through the glimmering light of the campfire, Hamlet appraised the aspect of the night walker; clear-eyed and clean-shaven except for a neatly trimmed military mustache, sartorially impeccable in his three-piece dark gray suit, holding a malacca walking stick in one hand and a curved meerschaum pipe near his mouth in the other.

  Polonius could not resist mouthing one of his quotations.

  “‘The apparel oft proclaims the man.’”

  “And what is your destination, Mr. Stargazer?” Hamlet inquired.

  “Here and there.”

  “Where from?”

  “There and here.”

  “Very good . . . and from your mien and manner, likely one of us, I presume.”