Authors: William W. Johnstone,J. A. Johnstone

Tags: #Fiction, #Westerns

A Big Sky Christmas (26 page)

BOOK: A Big Sky Christmas

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C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-THREE

Jamie twisted his head to look down and behind them and saw that several of the Blackfoot warriors had run back into the camp and were pointing rifles at them. Jamie couldn't let go of the rope to grab his guns and put up a fight. He and Alexander would plummet to the ground if he did.

Bodie appeared at the rimrock and shouted at Jamie, “Keep climbing!” Then the revolver in his hand spouted flame as he opened fire on the Indians, spraying the clearing with lead.

That scattered the Blackfeet momentarily, but Jamie knew it wouldn't take long for them to regroup. He redoubled his efforts, grunting with the strain as his thickly corded muscles hauled him and the boy up the rope.

More slugs from below began to pepper the cliff around them. Jamie felt rock splinters sting his cheeks and hands. He called to Alexander, “Hang on tight, son!”

Bodie's gun ran dry. Jamie knew there wouldn't be time for his young friend to reload. Still clinging to the rope with his left hand, he let go with his right and reached down to pluck the .44 on that side from its holster. “Catch!” he yelled as he tossed the Colt the seven or eight feet to the rim.

Bodie dropped his gun beside him and grabbed Jamie's by the barrel, fumbling with it for a second before he secured it. He reversed it, pointed it down into the canyon, and started shooting again.

Jamie heaved, reached higher, heaved again. They were almost at the top. Another second or two . . .

He felt the heat of a bullet as it whipped past his ear. The slug hit the cliff and sprayed grit in his eyes, blinding him momentarily. He clenched his jaw and kept climbing.

He reached up for the rim, only to have a strong hand close around his wrist. Bodie hollered, “Keep coming! I've got you!”

“Grab the boy!” Jamie gasped out.

“Come on, Alexander!”

A second later, Alexander's weight lifted from Jamie's back.

“I've got him!” Bodie exclaimed as he fell back from the rim, taking Alexander with him.

At that instant, a bullet clipped Jamie on top of the left shoulder. The impact was enough to make his arm go numb. His grip on the rope slipped, and at the same time his toes slid off the tiny foothold where they had found purchase. He yelled as all his weight dangled from the grip of his right hand on the rope.

At that moment, Jamie Ian MacCallister's almost superhuman strength was all that saved him. He hung there with bullets screaming around him and smacking into the cliff for what seemed like an eternity.

In reality, it was only a couple heartbeats before he forced his left arm to work again and grabbed the rope with that hand. He hauled himself up another foot, then Bodie caught hold of the buckskin shirt. Jamie dug his toes against the rock as Bodie lifted him through the air and he rolled over the edge of the rimrock.

His pulse hammered inside his head like a gang of railroad workers driving spikes as he lay there on his back trying to catch his breath. A couple feet away, Bodie knelt and fired down at the Blackfeet, ducking occasionally as one of their bullets came too close to his head.

Jamie rolled onto his side and lifted his head. In the moonlight, he saw Alexander and Abigail watching him worriedly. He grinned at them. “I'm all right, kids. We'd better get out of here.”

Bodie threw one final shot at the Indians, then retreated from the edge. “That sounds like a good idea to me.” He handed Jamie's gun back to him. “Sorry it's empty.”

“I'm not. I hope you hit some of 'em.”

The four of them hurried down the slope as fast as they could, heading for the spot where Jamie and Bodie had left their horses. Within minutes they were mounted, with Abigail riding in front of Bodie and Alexander in front of Jamie, as they circled back toward the rest of the rescue party.

Jamie was counting on Hector and the other men to keep the Blackfeet bottled up in that canyon. The Indian ponies could only get in and out of the camp by one route, up that zigzag trail. As long as the men from the wagon train kept raking the top of that ridge with rifle fire, it ought to keep the Blackfeet from getting out.

Once Jamie, Bodie, and the Bradford kids rejoined the others, they would all have to make a run for it back to the wagon train. Jamie didn't think a war party of less than three dozen would dare to attack the entire group of immigrants. The Blackfeet would be angry because somebody had stolen their prisoners from them, but more than likely they would cut their losses and head on back to their home.

That's how Jamie hoped it would play out, anyway. With Indians, it was impossible to predict with absolute certainty what they would do.

As they galloped through the night, Bodie called over to Jamie, “How bad were you hit?”

Feeling had returned to Jamie's left arm. The wound on top of his shoulder throbbed, but he was able to move his arm and roll that shoulder without any trouble other than a twinge of pain. “Just nicked me. It's nothing.”

If the Blackfoot who had fired that shot had gotten it off a couple seconds earlier, the bullet probably would have hit Alexander in the head. It had been that close a call. Just thinking about it made Jamie go a little cold in the belly.

They could no longer hear gunshots over the pounding hoofbeats of Sundown and Bodie's mount, but Jamie hoped the fighting was still going on. If not, the four of them might be riding right into trouble.

Finally, the moonlight revealed a saddle between two hills, one of the landmarks he remembered, and as they rode through it he saw the glow from muzzle flashes in the trees up ahead.

“Who's that?” a voice challenged in the darkness. “Sing out!”

“MacCallister!” Jamie replied. “I've got Cantrell and the kids with me.”

“Thank the Lord!”

That was Bradford's voice, prompting Alexander to exclaim, “Pa!”

As Jamie reined in, he scrambled down from the stallion's back and ran toward his father. Abigail was right behind him. Bradford stepped forward and gathered them up in his arms.

The preacher was an unlikable son of a gun, thought Jamie, but he loved his kids and they returned the feeling. He had to give the man credit for that.

“Hector, where are you?” Jamie called.

“Right here,” Hector responded as he stepped out of the shadows under some trees. “Are all of you all right?”

“Good enough,” Jamie said. “Get the men on their horses. We're lighting a shuck back to the wagon train.”

“What about the Blackfeet?”

“When they realize nobody's taking potshots at them anymore, they're liable to come boiling out of there and chase after us. It'll be a race back to the wagon train, but I think we'll have enough of a lead to beat them there, and once we do, they'll give up and turn back.”

Hector hurried to carry out Jamie's orders, moving through the trees and rocks where the rescuers were forted up. “Back to your horses! Mount up, mount up!”

The men swung into their saddles.

Jamie rode over to Bradford. “Better let Bodie and me take the kids again, Reverend. Our horses can handle the extra weight, and you're not used to riding double, or in this case, triple.”

“I can take care of my own children,” Bradford snapped. But then common sense prevailed and he relented. “You two go with Mr. MacCallister and Mr. Cantrell.”

“I want to stay with you,” Abigail wailed.

“Hush now, and do as I say!”

That sharply voiced command got the children to obey. Jamie reached down, grasped Alexander's hands, and pulled the boy up in front of him again. He wheeled Sundown around as the line of men formed and started to leave the shelter of the trees.

They had just emerged into the open when muzzle flame split the darkness, coming from in front of them. Bullets raked through the rescue party, drawing pained shouts and sending two of the men toppling from their saddles.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-FOUR

“Fall back!” Jamie bellowed as he hauled hard on the reins. “Back into the trees! Take cover!”

Bullets whined around them as the men hastily retreated. Over the sound of the shots, Jamie heard strident whoops from the unexpected attackers. He knew none of the Blackfeet in the canyon could have gotten in front of them, so that left only one other explanation.

The war party that had camped in the canyon was meeting another group of Blackfoot warriors, and the second bunch had shown up at just the wrong time.

Jamie and his companions, already outnumbered, were caught between the two forces.

Jamie swung Alexander to the ground and then flung himself out of the saddle, taking his Winchester with him. He told the boy to find his sister and make sure both of them stayed down as low as they could on the ground.

Taking cover behind a tree, Jamie brought the rifle to his shoulder, nestled his cheek against the smooth wood of the stock, and began firing at the muzzle flashes from the second group of Indians, cranking off the rounds as fast as he could work the Winchester's lever. More shots rang out as the other men began mounting a defense again.

Bodie Cantrell ran up and knelt behind a tree next to Jamie. “This is pretty bad, isn't it?”

“They've got us pinned down from both directions,” Jamie acknowledged. “These trees and rocks give us pretty good cover, so we ought to be able to hold them off for a while, but sooner or later we'll run out of bullets.”

“We can't count on any help from the wagon train, either. They don't have any way of knowing we're in trouble, so they won't send anybody after us.”

“I reckon not,” Jamie agreed grimly.

“If we hit the ones in front of us hard enough, could we bust through them?”

“Not without getting half our bunch killed, including those kids.”

“Who are they? What's going on here, anyway?”

“Pure bad luck,” Jamie said. “That's what's going on.” He went on to explain his theory that the first bunch of Blackfeet had planned to rendezvous in the canyon with another war party.

Bodie agreed that made sense.

The firing from both directions died away.

Jamie called softly, “Everybody keep your head down! They're trying to draw us out into the open, but we're staying put.”

Silence settled down over the rugged landscape.

Bodie said in a whisper, “Now we wait?”

“Now we wait,” Jamie agreed. But only until morning, he thought.

Some people thought Indians wouldn't fight at night. Obviously, that wasn't true. But they preferred to do their killing during the day, and Jamie figured that's what they had in mind. They would keep the rescue party pinned down until daylight, and once they could see what they were doing, the Blackfeet would attack from both directions at once and overwhelm the defenders in the trees.

When that time came, Jamie and his companions would sell their lives as dearly as possible. There was nothing else they could do.

The hours stretched out uncomfortably. Jamie heard a lot of frightened muttering from the men. Abigail cried for a while before drifting off into an exhausted sleep. Alexander let out a few sniffles, too, but he was trying to be brave.

Reverend Bradford crawled up to Jamie's position and said in a low, angry voice, “You've managed to get us all killed, MacCallister. We'll never get out of this alive.”

“I thought you were supposed to have faith, Reverend.”

“I have faith in the Lord. I have none in you.”

“Well, I'd be the last person to put myself on the same level as the Lord. I'm just a poor sinner trying to make his way in the world the same as anybody else. But I'll tell you the truth, Bradford. I did the best I knew how to do to help get those kids of yours back. Our luck ran out, that's all.”

“Our luck ran out when we agreed to let you lead us to Montana,” Bradford said bitterly.

Bodie said, “Why don't you just shut your mouth, Bradford? You're always telling other people how they've fallen short, but you're sure as hell not perfect yourself! Those two kids are scared of you, you know that? You're nothing but a damned hardheaded tyrant!”

Bradford started to get to his feet. “You can't talk that way to a man of Godâ”

Jamie reached over, put a hand on Bradford's shoulder, and shoved him back down. “Stay put, Reverend,” he said coldly. “I don't cotton to you, but for your kids' sake I don't want you getting a bullet in the head.”

“The Indians aren't shooting anymore. We don't even know they're still out there. Maybe they gave up and left.”

“They're out there, all right,” Jamie said. “Mark my words, Reverend. They're out there.”

However, everything was still quiet by morning. As dawn turned the sky gray and then golden light spread from the east, Jamie scanned the landscape in front of the trees. He didn't see anything . . . but he knew that didn't matter.

He wasn't the only one watching the broad valley between the rolling hills that represented their way out. With no warning, Reverend Bradford suddenly strode out into the open, holding his Bible in one hand and waving it in the air.

“They're gone!” he said loudly. “See for yourselves! The red devils have departed!” He turned to gaze in triumph at Jamie.

“Get down, you fool!”

“The Lord has delivered us fromâ”

At that instant, a rifle cracked. Jamie saw blood fly in the dawn light as a slug bored into the side of Bradford's head and exploded out the other side in a grisly pink shower. The preacher dropped limply, dead by the time he hit the ground.

Abigail screamed and tried to run to her father. Bodie grabbed her as she went by and rolled onto the ground with her as the Blackfeet opened up again. Bullets thudded into tree trunks and shredded through branches.

The barrage lasted only a moment before ending abruptly. Startled yells came from the war parties in both directions. Guns roared again, but the reports were the duller booms of revolvers. Hoofbeats hammered the ground. Men howled in pain.

The oddest thing was that with all that shooting going on, none of the bullets seemed to be directed toward the trees where Jamie and his friends were.

“What's going on out there?” Hector asked as he knelt behind a rock.

“Sounds like reinforcements showed up,” Jamie said.

“Reinforcements? From where?”

“I don't know . . . but I'm glad they're here!”

Stampeding ponies burst into view, along with Blackfoot warriors fleeing on foot to avoid being trampled. With targets out in the open like that, Jamie brought his Winchester up and took advantage of the opportunity. His deadly accurate shots took a toll as .44-40 rounds ripped through the warriors. Around him, the other men joined the battle again, too.

The Blackfeet were the ones caught in a crossfire, and they were smart enough to know that the best thing to do was get out while they could. Several of them grabbed stampeding ponies, hung on desperately to the manes, and swung up onto bare backs. They fled, shouting angrily. The ones who still could, followed that example.

“Must be a cavalry patrol came along and heard the shooting,” Bodie said as the gunfire tapered off again. The surviving Blackfeet from both war parties were taking off for the tall and uncut.

“Maybe,” Jamie said. “I reckon we'll find out pretty soon.”

“What about the preacher?” Bodie nodded toward the body of Bradford.

With a glance at the sobbing Alexander and Abigail, Jamie said quietly, “Leave him for now, until we're sure those war parties are gone.”

A few tense moments went by, then Bodie asked, “Who in the world is that?”

A man had stepped out into the open and was walking toward the trees, apparently as casual as if he were out for a Sunday stroll. He was tall and lean and clad in greasy buckskins. His hat was pushed back on thinning white hair, and he sported a grizzled beard. Despite his obvious age, he moved with the ease and vitality of a much younger man.

Another man appeared behind him, leading several horses. He was younger, clean shaven, with sandy hair and a very broad set of shoulders.

Jess Neville said, “We got a couple of hombres comin' in from this other side, too.”

Jamie looked around and saw an even more unusual pair approaching the line of trees and rocks. One was a thick-bodied Indian with long, graying hair. Beside him, hurrying to keep up, was a white man not even four feet tall, also dressed in buckskins.

“There's your so-called cavalry patrol,” Jamie told Bodie with a grin.

“Four men? That's all? How is that possible? Four men couldn't rout a whole Blackfoot war party, let alone two of 'em!”

“Depends on who they are. I don't know the young fella, but I'm acquainted with the other three, although it's been a long time since we crossed trails.”

Jamie stepped out of the trees and raised a hand in greeting to the skinny, grizzled old-timer.

The man squinted at him. “Well, if that don't beat all! Jamie Ian MacCallister his own self, still big as a mountain and twice as ugly!”

“How are you doing, Preacher?” Jamie grinned and extended his hand. “Long time no see!”

BOOK: A Big Sky Christmas

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