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Authors: William W. Johnstone

A Rocky Mountain Christmas (21 page)

BOOK: A Rocky Mountain Christmas
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C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-
SEVEN
“If you ask me, Morris has done got hisself kilt, just as sure as a gun is iron.” Kelly sat in the dining car with Santelli and Compton. “Otherwise, he’d be back here by now.”
“More ’n likely,” Santelli agreed.
“What if they come into this car after us?”
“They tried it once before, remember?” Santelli pointed out. “I don’t think they’re likely to try it again. The only way they can get into the car is through that door, and they can only come through the door one at a time.
“You know what?” Compton interjected. “We’re goin’ to run out of coal pretty soon. We won’t have enough to cook our food or heat the car.”
“No problem, just go into the next car and take whatever coal they have,” Santelli suggested.
“Yeah, good idea.” Compton stepped out onto the vestibule, pulled his pistol, then moved on into the car immediately behind the diner. Except for the bodies of the three men who had attempted to take back the diner, the car was completely empty.
Compton checked the stove and saw that the coal scuttle was empty. Walking through that car he looked into the next one, and it was empty as well, and was also missing a coal scuttle. As soon as he stepped onto the vestibule leading to the last car he heard laughter.
He frowned. Laughter? What did they have to laugh about?
Then he smelled the aroma of something being cooked. What could they be cooking?
Compton hurried back to the diner.
“Where’s the coal?” Santelli growled out as soon as Compton entered.
“There ain’t no coal in either of the next three cars,” Compton answered. “There ain’t no people there, either.”
“What do you mean, there aren’t any people? What happened to them?”
“They’ve all moved into the last car. And I figure they must’ve took their coal with them.”
“Damn.”
“And I’ll tell you somethin’ else. They’re cookin’ somethin’.”
“What do you mean, they are cooking something? What have they got to cook?”
“I don’t know, but I could smell it as soon as I got to the door. And the way they are laughing, you’d think they’re having a party.”
“Well, why don’t we just go stop their party?” Kelly suggested.
“You really want to do that?” Santelli asked. “Morris ain’t come back. Besides, Matt Jensen is with them.”
“Are we not going to do anything?” Kelly asked in a huff.
“Why? Whatever food they have, it can’t be much. And they have a lot of people to feed. We’ve got all the food we can eat for two weeks if necessary. As long as nobody does something foolish, things are fine just as they are.”
 
 
Becky was the first person to be fed, and because it was a clear broth she was able to take it. She didn’t take a full cup, but she took a little, and Matt was sure it would be good for her.
Timmy was offered the next cup. “I think my sisters and Barbara should get it before me and Steven. They’re girls.”
“Good for you, Timmy,” Matt said with a smile. “And you are right, they should be next.”
After the children took the cup, it went to the women, then to the men. When Troy started to drink it, Senator Daniels protested. “Are those colored men going to drink from the same cup as we?”
“Do you see any other cup?” Matt asked impatiently.
“That isn’t right,” Senator Daniels said adamantly. “I mean having a colored man drink from the same cup as whites.” He shook his head. “No, sir, I won’t share a cup with a colored person.”
“All right, Senator Daniels, have it your way,” Matt said.
Troy hadn’t taken a swallow yet, and upon hearing Matt’s comment, he looked up questioningly.
“What are you waiting on, Troy? Go ahead.”
“Wait a minute!” Senator Daniels exclaimed. “I thought you said to have it my own way.”
“I did say that,” Matt replied calmly. “You said you won’t share a cup with a colored person, so I’m not going to ask you take any of the soup. Which is fine, it’ll just mean more for the rest of us.”
“What? That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s up to you, Daniels,” Matt maintained, specifically omitting the title. “You can either share the cup with Troy, Julius, Pete, and the rest of us, or you can choose not to take the cup at all. Which will it be?”
“I’ll, uh, I’ll take the cup,” Senator Daniels muttered.
“Yeah, I rather thought you might.”
 
 
By the time they settled for the night, the coyote had been fully consumed. Nobody had a full stomach, but neither was hunger gnawing at them as much as it had the day before.
“Matt, I think we should post a watch tonight,” Luke suggested as they sat in the darkened car. “Like we have onboard ship. There are enough of us that it won’t require anyone to stay awake for too long.”
Matt agreed. “Since we have all the coal now, I could see our friends in the dining car getting a little anxious, perhaps even anxious enough to try something. We’ll post the watch.”
Big Rock
Bob Ward had left Hannah’s and started his evening in Longmont’s, but he got loud and abusive and the owner had invited him to leave. Ward didn’t want any trouble that might cause him to wind up in jail, so he’d moved on to the Brown Dirt Cowboy Saloon. He had to be in Big Rock when the train arrived, assuming it would arrive eventually.
He’d spent too much money at Hannah’s. With barely enough to sustain himself over the next few days, he was trying to solve that problem by playing cards, but had not been successful in Longmont’s, and was even less successful in the Brown Dirt Cowboy. “Well, you fellas have just about cleaned me out,” he said jovially as he got up from the table.
“Don’t feel like you are the only one, mister. This seems to have been Corey Calhoun’s day.” The player pointed to the winner, a cowboy who was temporarily out of work because of the season.
Smiling, Calhoun raked the pile of money toward him. “There must be near a hunnert dollars here. Why, this’ll be enough to tide me over till spring roundup.”
Ward tipped his hat. “Gentleman.” He moved away from the table, but didn’t go far.
“Some folks have it and some don’t, Calhoun,” one of the players griped.
“You got that right. I got the skill,” Calhoun bragged.
“Ha! I was talking about luck,” the player said. “I’ve never seen a worse player with better luck than you.”
The others laughed.
“Oh yeah? Well, I’ll tell you—” Calhoun paused in mid-sentence. “You’re right. It was just dumb luck. But as my old pa used to say, it’s better to be lucky than good. I probably should quit while I’m ahead. I’ll put this money away, and when I come in here to play tomorrow, I’ll bring no more ’n what I started with today.”
“The way it’s been snowing, what makes you think you’ll even be able to make it to the saloon tomorrow?” one of the other players asked. “For that matter, we may all have a hard time gettin’ home tonight.”
“Yeah, well, at least we are down here,” Calhoun said. “Think of all those poor folks trapped in a train up on top of the pass.”
“Where are you sleeping tonight, Corey? You goin’ to use some of your winnin’s to get a hotel room?”
“No way am I goin’ to waste this money on a hotel room. I’ll sleep tonight the same place I sleep ever’ night when I’m not out on the range,” Calhoun replied.
“Yeah, that’s sort of what I thought. You don’t have a place, so you’ll go over to the livery and bed down in an empty stall, won’t you?”
“Mr. Vickery, he don’t mind it. And there’s plenty of clean straw to sort of burrow down into.”
“How ’bout one more hand before you leave, Corey?” one of the other players asked.
“One more, but that’s all,” Calhoun agreed.
 
 
From his place near the wall, Ward heard every word and smiled. It was going to be just too easy.
He hurried through the cold, dark night, his feet making crunching sounds as he walked through the snow. Reaching the livery stable, he stood in the shadows outside for a long moment, making certain he hadn’t been seen. Then he stepped into the barn.
It was almost as cold inside as it was outside. The only difference was the walls blocked the wind. The air reeked of horseflesh and horse apples. He moved into a dark corner and waited.
Calhoun was singing when he came into the stable.
“O bury me not on the lone prairie.
These words came low and mournfully
From the pallid lips of the youth who lay
On his dying bed at the close of day.”
He moseyed over to one of the stalls. “Hey, Horse, what do you think?” I won a lot of money tonight and tomorrow, I’m goin’ to buy you some oats to go along with the hay you been eatin’. What do you think of that?”
The horse whickered and stuck his head over the gate. Calhoun rubbed the horse behind his ears. “Yeah, I thought you’d like that.”
Ward was sneaking up on Calhoun’s back, walking as quietly as he could, but he stepped on a twig and it snapped.
“What?” Calhoun said, turning toward the sound.
Hiding a knife in his hand, low and by his side, Ward made an underhand jab toward Calhoun, holding the blade sideways so it would slip in easily between his ribs. The knife penetrated Calhoun’s heart, and he went down without another sound.
Ward found the money in Calhoun’s coat pocket, then quickly crossed the street and entered the Ace High Saloon, where he stayed just long enough to establish an alibi. After a couple drinks and a little flirtatious banter with the bar girls, he walked down to the Rocky Mountain Hotel, where he took a room.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-
EIGHT
On board the Red Cliff Special—December 23
They had selected the time of their duty by lot, and had decided whoever was on duty would stand, not sit, at the door, looking out through the door window. That way nobody would fall asleep while on watch, and since they were only doing one hour at a time, it didn’t seem too harsh a duty.
Luke had the watch from one until two in the morning, but couldn’t help taking frequent glances toward Jenny. Often, he caught her looking at him. For the first few times he caught her, she would smile in embarrassment at being caught. But after a few times, the embarrassment was gone, and they looked at each other openly and unashamedly.
He recalled a conversation he’d had with his sea captain.
“You aren’t married, are you, Mr. Shardeen?” Captain Cutter asked once, when the
Pacific Clipper
was anchored off Hong Kong.
“No, sir.”
“You are a smart man not to be married. No sailor should be married, for ’tis no life for a woman to always be waiting for her man to come home to her.”
“But you are married, aren’t you, Captain?”
“Aye, and ’twas the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
Because of that conversation, and because he believed the captain was right, the thought of marriage had never before crossed Luke’s mind.
But he wasn’t a seaman any longer. He was a rancher with land and a house. What better could he offer a wife, than her own home? Working the land, there would be no long separations. He could get married. They could have children . . . a boy would be nice. He could start him in ranching when he was . . .
Shaking his head, Luke abruptly turned his thoughts in a different direction. He was going to jail for four years. There were very few voyages where a seaman would be absent for four long years. If he couldn’t subject a woman to being married to a seaman, what made him think he could subject her to being married to someone who was in jail?
He clenched his jaw and turned away from Jenny. Thinking was getting him nowhere.
 
 
Jenny watched Luke turn away from her.
What is he thinking?
she wondered.
Does he think that because I worked at the social club I am a loose woman? Am I but a temporary diversion for him?
Life had been a good teacher to Jenny, and she had learned well. She had developed an intuition that she trusted, and it was telling her Luke’s feelings for her were genuine. She concluded the answer to those questions was no.
But what about her feelings for him? She had made a mistake once, succumbing to foolish infatuation. Was she experiencing the same thing? They had known each other for only three days. Love couldn’t develop in three days . . . could it?
She knew Luke was going to jail, the result of an unjust verdict. She was certain his impending jail time was weighing heavily on his mind . . . so heavily it would undoubtedly cause him to put aside any feelings he might have for her.
Giving thought to the comment he had made about the Samoans, and how there is no difference in the heart of a flower that lives but a single day and the heart of a tree that lives for a thousand years, she decided that was exactly how she would look at their current situation. If but a few days, or even a few hours remained for them she would fill what was left with love for Luke Shardeen.
 
 
The morning dawned bright and sunny, heating the car inside. But there was little chance another opportunity for food would present itself as the coyote had done.
Abner Purvis went back to talk to Matt. “Me, Jones, Turner, and Simpson have come up with a plan.”
“What is your plan?”
“We’re goin’ to walk out of here.”
“Which way are you going?” Matt asked. “The snow in front is three hundred feet high.”
“That’s why we are going to go back to Buena Vista. If we can get through, we’ll get a rescue train back up here.”
“Mr. Purvis, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind but that there has already been a rescue attempt. If they could have gotten through, they would be here by now. That tells me that the way behind us is as blocked as the way before us.”
“That may be, but we been talkin’ about it, and we don’t plan to stay here ’n starve to death. Besides which we had a little somethin’ to eat yesterday, so we ain’t goin’ to be any stronger than we are right now.”
“You might have a point there,” Matt agreed. “But you aren’t going to get anywhere without snow shoes.”
“We can try,” Purvis said.
“When do you plan to leave?”
“The sooner the better. If we leave now we might be over the worst part of it while there is still light.”
It took Purvis and the other three men about five minutes to get ready, then everyone in the car wished them luck. With hopeful hearts they watched through the back window as the men attempted to go over the wall of snow piled up behind the train.
Their attempts to climb the snow met with utter failure. They got a few feet up the side, only to slide back down again, or the very act of climbing itself pulled down large slides of snow. They kept at it for half an hour without the slightest bit of success. Finally, breathing hard and tired of bringing frigid air into their lungs, they had no recourse but to give up and return to the train.
“I’m sorry,” Purvis said as he and the other three men huddled around the stove. They were so cold and exhausted Matt had thrown in a few extra lumps of coal for more heat. He feared they might contract pneumonia.
“We tried, but we couldn’t get over the snow,” Jones explained, then sipped from the cup Matt was passing between the men. He had heated snow in the same chamber pot used to make the soup the day before, and though it was nothing but warm water, it made them feel better to drink it.
“What do we do now?” Bailey asked.
“We’ll just have to wait and see what develops.” Matt looked over toward Millie and Becky. “How is she doing this morning?”
“Not well,” Millie said, choking back a sob. “Not well at all. She’s not even conscious anymore. I’m—I’m afraid she might be dying.”
Matt took some warm water over to them, making certain the water wasn’t too hot. “Bathe her face in this,” he offered. “It won’t help with the illness, but if she can feel it, it might make her feel a little better.
“Bless you.” Millie tore some of the hem off her skirt and using it as a washcloth, bathed Becky’s face gently with the warm water.
Becky made no response.
“Mrs. Daniels, you have been sitting in that same position for ever so long,” Jenny said. “Why don’t you let me sit there and hold your little girl’s head in my lap while you get a little rest?”
“Oh, thank you, dear. That would be wonderful . . . if you are sure you don’t mind.”
“No ma’am. I don’t mind at all.” Jenny changed places with Millie, and put Becky’s head in her lap.
“I’m going to hold you for a while now, Becky, while your mama gets a little rest. I hope you don’t mind.” Jenny looked down and smiled at the girl but got no reaction. Concerned, she put her hand on the child’s forehead and found her burning with a very high fever.
Dear Lord,
Jenny prayed silently.
I haven’t always led the life I should, and I know I have no right to ask you for anything. But maybe since I’m not asking for anything for myself you will hear this prayer. Please, Lord, don’t let this innocent child die. It’s nearly Christmas. Please send her the Christmas gift of life. Amen.
“How many more days until Christmas?” Jenny heard Timmy ask.
“Christmas is in two days,” Timmy’s mother answered.
“I’ll be glad when it’s Christmas,” Timmy’s younger sister Molly said. “Won’t you be glad when it’s Christmas, Mama?”
“Yes, dear,” Clara replied quietly. “I’ll be glad when it’s Christmas.”
“Will we still be on this train at Christmas?” Timmy asked.
“I don’t know,” Clara answered.
“Can Santa Claus find us if we are still on the train?” Molly asked.
“If he can’t find us on the train, he will find us as soon as we get home.”
“This isn’t like Christmas,” Timmy declared. “We don’t have a Christmas tree. We don’t have any cookies. It’s nothing like Christmas.”
“Oh, but we have snow,” Jenny said. “And every Christmas should have snow. Think of all the boys and girls who live way down south and have no snow at all.”
Luke laughed. “You are quite a woman, Jenny, to find a bright side to the snow.”
“Well, without snow, how would Santa Claus land his sleigh?” Jenny asked. “His reindeer, Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid, Donner and Blitzen need snow.”
“How do you know the names of Santa Claus’s reindeer?” Steven asked.
“Why, from the poem ‘A Visit From St. Nicholas,’” Jenny said. “Have you never heard that poem?”
“No, ma’am, I ain’t never heard it,” Steven said.
“I’ve never heard it either,” Molly said.
“Why, that is such a wonderful poem for children. Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Steven nodded.
“Me, too,” Timmy said. “Do you know the poem?”
“Oh, yes, I know it. It was written by a man named Clement Moore for his children. Why don’t all of you gather round, and I’ll tell you the poem. And maybe Becky can hear it, too.”
“Becky is very sick,” Molly said somberly.
“Yes, dear, I know she is. But sometimes you can hear things, even when you are too sick to talk. I think Becky will be able to hear it. And I think she will feel better on Christmas Day.”
Timmy and his two sisters, as well as Barbara and Steven, gathered around Jenny and Becky. Seeing all the eager young faces made Jenny feel good, and she could almost believe she was teaching a class again.
Smiling, Jenny began to recite the poem.
“’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.”
“St. Nicholas? Who is that?” Timmy asked.
“That’s Santa Claus’s real name,” Barbara said. “Isn’t it, Mrs. McCoy?”
“Indeed it is,” Jenny said. Then she continued.
“The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.”
“St. Nick. That’s Santa Claus!” Steven exclaimed.
“That’s Santa Claus all right,” Jenny said. She continued reciting the poem.
“More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
‘Now Dasher! now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!’
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.”
Molly laughed. “That’s funny—Santa Claus coming down through a chimney. Why, what keeps him from getting burned in the fire?”
“That’s how Santa Claus gets into people’s houses. And he doesn’t get burned in the fire ’cause he’s magic,” Barbara said.
Jenny continued.
“He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself !
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
‘Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!’”
BOOK: A Rocky Mountain Christmas
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