A Big Sky Christmas (30 page)

Jamie, Preacher, and Smoke heard the shooting before they came in sight of the wagon train. The immigrants had had a little warning, because they'd been able to pull the wagons into a loose circle. They were defending that stronghold from at least fifty Blackfoot warriors who were galloping their ponies around and around the circle.

Jamie drew rein and lifted his rifle. “Let's see if we can pick some of them off and even the odds a little.”

Three Winchesters cracked as the frontiersmen opened fire. With all the shooting already going on, the Blackfeet didn't notice right away that some of the bullets were coming from a different direction. That gave the three men a chance to do some real damage before they were discovered.

Jamie fired, saw a warrior throw up his arms and pitch to the ground from his pony's back as the .44-40 slug bored through him. By the time that Blackfoot hit the ground, Jamie had worked the repeater's lever and shifted his aim. The Winchester blasted again, and another of the attackers fell.

The shots from Preacher and Smoke were just as deadly. Nearly a dozen members of the war party died before the Blackfeet realized what was going on. Shrieking in outrage, a group of them peeled off and charged toward the three men.

“Time for us to light a shuck,” Preacher drawled as he slid his rifle back in its saddle boot.

“I want to get back to the wagons,” Jamie said. “Let's take them by surprise and plow right through them.”

“Sounds good to me.” Smoke pulled both Colts from their holsters.

Preacher did likewise.

Jamie filled his hands with his .44s and dug his boot heels into Sundown's flanks. The big stallion leaped forward.

It was a mad, outrageous maneuver, filled with gun thunder, swirling clouds of powder smoke, pounding hoofbeats, and the constant whine of bullets slashing through the air around them. The three men never broke off in their advance, smashing into the group of Blackfeet and scattering them. The hail of lead from six revolvers shredded through the warriors, and several of those who escaped being ventilated were knocked from their ponies and trampled.

As Jamie's Colts ran dry, a mounted Blackfoot with his face painted dashed in from the side and thrust a lance at him. Jamie twisted away from the deadly weapon and as the warrior came within arm's length, Jamie reversed his left-hand Colt and crashed the butt into the man's forehead, crushing it and driving bone splinters into the man's brain. He grabbed the lance away from the dying warrior.

Preacher and Smoke were slowed down by hand-to-hand battles, but they broke through and galloped toward the wagons. Jamie was right behind them. As he charged past another of the Blackfeet, he threw the lance like a spear. His massive strength put so much power behind the throw that it tore all the way through the man's torso and stood out a foot on the other side.

The wagon train's defenders saw them coming and intensified their fire, giving cover to the three men. One after another they leaped their horses over a wagon tongue and into the circle.

As they piled off their horses and ran to join the defenders, Bodie, who was a couple wagons over, called to them, “You got back just in time!”

“Durn right we did!” Preacher responded. “We was about to miss all the fun!”

If it was “fun” the old mountain man wanted, he got plenty of it for the next few hours. With their initial charge beaten back and their numbers cut into by the unexpected attack by Jamie, Preacher, and Smoke, the Blackfeet settled down to a waiting game, continually circling the wagons just out of easy rifle range. From time to time, some of them would dash in and concentrate heavy fire on one part of the wagon train, then pull back sharply as the immigrants mounted a stronger defense at that position. Then, mere moments later, the Indians would attack somewhere else.

The Blackfeet suffered losses with each foray, but so did the immigrants. Several men were killed, and a dozen more were wounded.

During the afternoon, Jamie was able to talk to Bodie and tell him about finding the bodies of Jake Lucas, Clete Mahaffey, and Dave Pearsoll.

Bodie sighed and shook his head solemnly. “I know that they nearly got all of us killed and that Jake never could be trusted after all, but there was a time when I considered him a friend, Jamie. I don't think he was all bad. He was just too weak where money was concerned.”

“Most folks have their weak spots. You've just got to learn how to keep from breaking at those spots.”

“I suppose. I'm sorry for what happened to Jake, anyway.” Bodie's voice hardened. “But if I'd had the chance, I might have shot him myself.”

“Reckon I know the feeling.”

Moses kept busy bringing water and ammunition to the defenders. At one point in the afternoon as he handed a box of cartridges to Jamie, he said, “I wish now I'd been able to learn how to shoot. I feel like I'm useless.”

“Not hardly.” Jamie hefted the box of ammunition. “I didn't have to go fetch this myself. I was able to keep fighting.”

“Remember what Preacher said when he was trying to teach me? Maybe I should volunteer to fight on the side of the Blackfeet. Then they'd be wiped out for sure!”

Jamie laughed. “You stay right where you are, Moses. We need you to send up a few prayers for us.”

“I can do that,” Moses said. “In fact, I have been for several hours now!”

A short time later, during a lull in the fighting, Preacher came over to Jamie. “What do you reckon the chances are they'll give up once the sun goes down?”

Jamie glanced at the sky where the thickening clouds meant that it would get dark earlier than usual. “I got my doubts.” Something caught his eye, and he pointed it out to Preacher. “Even more so now.”

“Dadgum it!” Preacher exclaimed as he looked at the column of gray smoke that was starting to thicken and climb into the equally leaden sky. “You don't think they've started a prairie fire, do you?”

“No. I think they've started more than one,” Jamie replied grimly as he pointed out several more clouds of smoke in different directions. “They're putting a ring of fire around us, Preacher. If they can't kill us one way, they'll do it another.”

“We got to get movin'. If we just sit here whilst them blazes join up with each other and completely surround us, we'll never get out. All that grass is dry as tinder this time of year.”

“I know,” Jamie said with a nod. “But if we start to hitch up the teams, the Blackfeet will come charging in while we're busy with that and overrun us.”

Preacher's eyes narrowed. “Not if some of us keep the varmints busy.”

“You mean take the fight to them again?” Jamie pondered the idea for a second, then nodded. “The ones who do that probably won't stand a chance, but the wagons might be able to get away. I seem to recall there's a little river a mile or two from here. If the wagons can get on the other side of it before the fire pins them in, those folks could make it.”

“Well, I'm goin', that's for durn sure,” Preacher declared.

“So am I,” added Smoke, who had come up in time to hear the two older men formulating the plan.

“We'll need seven or eight other men,” Jamie said, “all of them volunteers.” He sighed. “I'll spread the word.”

Everybody had seen the smoke and was worried about it. Within a few minutes, Jamie had put together a force of volunteers who would attack the Blackfeet and keep them occupied while the wagons made a dash for the river.

It wasn't a surprise that Bodie was one of the volunteers. Savannah clung to him for a long moment, sobbing, but she didn't beg him not to go.

Bodie was relieved by that. She had Alexander and Abigail to think of, and anything that gave the children a better chance of getting through this ordeal alive had to be done.

Hector and Jess were going along, too, as was Captain Lamar Hendricks. “These people elected me to lead them. I don't know of any better way to do it than to do whatever I can to see that they get where they're going.”

“I wasn't too sure about you starting out, Cap'n,” Jamie said. “I reckon you'll do, though. Yes, sir, you'll do.”

Half a dozen more men joined the group. They were all mounted and ready to charge out of the circle. Edward Bingham had been put in charge of getting the teams hitched up and leading the race to the river. He shook hands with Jamie. “Buy us some time, Mr. MacCallister. We'll do the rest.”

“Never doubted it,” Jamie said.

They were just about ready to launch the counterattack when Moses appeared, also mounted on a saddle horse and carrying a rifle.

“Blast it, Moses!” Bodie exclaimed. “You shouldn't be doing this.”

“We're causing a distraction, right? Keeping the Indians busy? I can give them something to shoot at. Don't worry, I won't shoot any of you by accident.” Moses grinned. “This rifle isn't even loaded!”

Jamie moved Sundown over next to Moses's horse. “You've been a mighty good friend to all of us, and I appreciate what you're trying to do here. You ready, Moses?”

Moses swallowed hard and nodded. “I'm ready.”

“Good.” Jamie's arm shot out and he hit Moses in the jaw, a crashing, big-fisted blow that knocked the young rabbi out of the saddle and sent him sprawling on the ground, out cold. “Somebody put him in a wagon. I reckon he'll forgive me when this is all over.”

He turned to the other men, looped Sundown's reins around the saddle horn, and drew both revolvers. With a rebel yell, he sent the stallion lunging forward and led the attack as the men galloped toward the startled Blackfeet, guns blazing.

It was even more loco than the earlier dash through the war party ringed around the wagon train. They were outnumbered at least three to one.

But the Blackfeet weren't the same sort of fighters on horseback that, say, the Sioux or the Comanche were. More used to battling on foot, they didn't respond quite as quickly as they might have. The men from the wagon train were among them almost before the Blackfeet knew what was happening.

Not only that, but Jamie Ian MacCallister, the old mountain man called Preacher, and the young gunfighter named Smoke Jensen were veritable engines of destruction. The guns in their hands roared again and again, left, right, left, right, and each time flame spouted from the muzzle of a Colt, one of the warriors cried out and died as a bullet ripped through him.

Bodie, Hector, and Jess fought savagely, desperately, too. So did Captain Hendricks and all the other men. Seeing their fellow warriors being slaughtered, the rest of the Blackfeet closed in, surrounding the men from the wagon train. Jamie couldn't see the wagons anymore, but he hoped they were on the move.

Truthfully, he couldn't see much of anything because of all the smoke around him. Suddenly, he realized that it wasn't all powder smoke.

Like a runaway freight train, a wall of flames swept over the top of a hill and barreled down on the fighting men.

Some of the Blackfeet were too slow to get out of the way, and the fire engulfed their shrieking forms. The rest of the war party broke and ran. Their strategy had worked too well. The thick grass was so dry the flames had moved faster than they'd expected.

The smoke made the horses panicky. Jamie fought to control Sundown and hauled the big stallion around. He waved an empty gun at Preacher and Smoke and shouted, “Head for the river!” He spotted Bodie, Hector, and Jess and repeated the command to them, then rounded up the rest of the men from the wagon train. Some of them were wounded, but managed to stay in their saddles as they fled from the onrushing flames. Those who had been shot off their horses lay lifelessly on the prairie.

Jamie saw the wagons moving fast up ahead. The sky was filled with smoke, and the oxen and mules pulling the wagons were as frightened as the horses were. Every instinct they possessed told them to flee, and they were doing it rapidly.

Jamie galloped past the Bingham wagon in the lead and saw the line of trees that marked the course of the river. But he also saw fires closing in from both sides. His heart sank as he realized they weren't going to make it. The flames seemed to race toward each other with supernatural speed . . . and the gap he had counted on closed, forming a fiery, impenetrable wall.

Groaning, he hauled back on the reins. Despite everything they had done, the wagon train was completely surrounded by barriers of flame and smoke. Most of the flames were still half a mile or more away, but it wouldn't take long for them to continue their inexorable advance until that whole part of the country was burning, with the wagons and the immigrants right in the middle of the inferno.

The sky overhead was black as midnight from the smoke and the clouds, but the plains and the hills were lit up by the blazes so it looked like the landscape of hell. Jamie wheeled Sundown and saw that the wagons had come to a stop. So had the men who had attacked the Blackfeet. Everyone realized that they were trapped. There was no way out.

They had come so far only to meet a fiery death days before the holiest time of the year.

Jamie rode back to the wagons, not getting in any hurry. His eyes searched the landscape around him, what he could see between the clouds of smoke, anyway. He didn't see any sign of the Blackfeet. Any of them who had survived the battle had either been swallowed up by the fire or managed to find a way out, so they were on the other side of the flames and no longer a threat.

Seeing quite a few people gathered beside the Bingham wagon, Jamie headed for them. He dismounted, and the crowd parted to reveal Jess Neville lying on the ground with his head pillowed on Savannah's lap. She was crying. Bodie and Hector knelt on either side of Jess. Burly, bearded Hector was bawling like a baby.

“D-don't worry about it,” Jess said in a weak voice.

Jamie hadn't noticed him being wounded before, but Jess's coat was pulled back and the shirt underneath it was sodden with blood.

Jess went on. “The way I look at it . . . I'm finally gonna get plenty of . . . rest now.”

Hector took his cousin's hand and held it tightly. He said in a voice choked with emotion, “That's right, Jess. You just rest. You . . . you've got it comin'.”

“Yeah . . . just a nice long . . . sleep . . .” Jess's eyes closed, and a final sigh came from him.

Bodie reached over and squeezed Hector's shoulder. “I'm sorry, Hector. He was a heck of a fine fella.”

Moses came up behind Hector. The young rabbi had a bruise forming on his jaw, courtesy of Jamie's fist earlier. He rested a hand on Hector's other shoulder. “He died trying to save us all. No man could ask for a more honorable end.”

“I reckon not,” Hector agreed with a heavy sigh. He lifted his head and looked around. “But it won't be long before all of us are crossing over the divide, will it?”

One of the men burst out, “I can't stand this! We're all going to burn to death! I won't let that happen to my wife and kids. Where's my gun? I . . . I'll end it for all of us!”

Jamie grabbed the man's arm and jerked him around. “No, you won't. Nobody's going to give up hope. Not yet.”

“But we're trapped,” someone else said. “The fire's all around us. We can't get away.”

“No, but look at the smoke,” Jamie insisted. He had just noticed something. “It's going almost straight up now. That means the wind isn't blowing as hard. If the wind's not blowing as hard, the fire won't move as fast.”

“So it gets here in fifteen minutes instead of five,” one of the men said bitterly. “What difference does that make?”

“That's ten more minutes to say good-bye,” Jamie said. And ten more minutes to hope for a miracle, he thought.

He was a pragmatic man, always had been. He looked at life as it was, not as he wished it could be. He had stared death in the face on many, many occasions. He knew that when his time was up, his days on earth were going to come to an end.

But he also knew that when that time came, he would lie down for his eternal rest next to his beloved Kate. They would be together again, never to be separated. He knew that with every fiber of his being—which meant that it couldn't be the end. It just couldn't.

Blamed if he could see any way out, though.

He stood there as the immigrants slowly dispersed, going back to their wagons to be with their families for what they believed would be their final minutes on earth. He saw Bodie huddling with Savannah, Alexander, and Abigail.

“You reckon this is the end of the trail?” Preacher asked from beside him.

Jamie looked over at the old mountain man and shook his head. “No. For some reason, I don't.”

“Neither do I,” said Smoke, who came up on Preacher's other side. “I've still got too much to do.”

Audie said, “We all know Preacher here is just too stubborn to die.”

“Ummm,” Nighthawk added.

They stood there together, five of the more formidable fighting men the West had ever known. Between them they had killed hundreds of badmen, had risked their lives to protect the innocent countless times, had seen things and done things that few other men ever had. Even though Smoke Jensen was still young, he was one of them as much as any man could be. It was bred into his blood. If Smoke survived, Jamie was sure he would go on to carve the most illustrious career of them all.

The flames crept closer.

“Dang, I'm sure glad we got to fight side by side again, you ol' hoss,” Preacher said.

“I am, too,” Jamie whispered.

Something touched his cheek.

He lifted his head. It wasn't an ember that had come swirling down from the sky to land on his rugged face. That would have been hot. The thing that had touched his cheek was . . . cold. Then he felt another and another.

Preacher said, “What in tarnation?”

Jamie looked up into the sky and saw more of the fat white flakes, heavy with moisture as they tumbled down from the heavens. Dozens, no, hundreds, thousands, millions, were falling almost straight down because there was no wind, already blanketing the ground.

A smile spread across his face. “It's snowing.”