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Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: A Frontier Christmas
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C
HAPTER
T
WO
Chugwater, Wyoming
When Duff MacCallister rode into town, he was curious at the number of people gathered in the street in front of Fiddlers' Green Saloon. Dismounting, he tied off his horse Sky, then called out to Fred Matthews.
“What's going on, Fred? Why all the people?”
“There's a man standing in front of the apothecary, holding a gun to Damon White's head. He's demanding that a thousand dollars be brought to him within an hour, or he's goin' to kill our druggist.”
“At the apothecary, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Marshal Craig?”
“He has gone to Cheyenne. He left Johnny Baldwin in charge.”
Duff pulled his pistol and stepped out into the street.
“Duff, where are you going?”
“Well, we cannae be losing our druggist now, can we? And I'm afraid that Mr. Baldwin is too old to have to deal with something like this. I'll be going to talk to the gentlemen who's holding Mr. White. I'll be asking him, nicely, to abandon this project.”
“With a gun in your hand?”
“Aye. 'Tis no secret, Fred, that I'm not one of those men who has the talent to quickly extract my firearm. If any shooting is to be done, I'd best have the gun in my hand before it starts.”
“I would try and talk you out of it, but I can see that you have already made up your mind.”
“Aye, 'tis something I feel I must do.”
Holding his pistol down by his side, Duff started toward the apothecary at the far end of the street. As he got closer, he could hear the gunman shouting.
“Bring me the money! One thousand dollars! Bring me the money or this man dies! One thousand dollars!”
All the stores immediately around the apothecary had emptied. No one was on the street close to the gunman and Damon White.
“Bring me the money!” The gunman continued to shout from the wooden porch that extended from the front of the drugstore. He was about to shout something again, when he saw Duff walking toward him. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“The name is MacCallister, lad. Duff MacCallister. I'm here because 'tis needin' a bit of cough syrup I am, so I'd be grateful if you'd let the druggist go.”
The gunman kept the gun pointed at White's head. “That'll cost you a thousand dollars.”
“A thousand dollars, you say.” Duff shook his head. “
Och
, isn't that a mite dear, for a wee bit of cough syrup?”
“No. I mean, I'm not going to let this man go until I get a thousand dollars.”
“From who?”
“What?”
“Who is it that you expect to give you a thousand dollars?”
“I don't care. Are you dumb? Can't you see I'm holding a gun to this man's head?”
“Aye, that I can see.” Duff continued walking until he was at the bottom step.
“You've come far enough. Stop, right there, right now!” the gunman called down to Duff.
“I'll nae be doing that. I told you, 'tis a bit of cough syrup I'm needing.”
“If you don't stop right where you are, I'm going to shoot this man.”
Duff raised his pistol and pointed it straight at the gunman's head. He was so close that they were separated by less than ten feet. “If you shoot him, I'll shoot you.”
“Don't you understand? I'm going to shoot him, if you don't drop that gun!”
“Oh, I'm nae goin' to drop the gun, lad. I'll be needing it, you see, so I can shoot you after you shoot Mr. White.” Duff pulled the hammer back and the pistol made a deadly, double clicking sound as the sear was engaged.
For a long moment the two men stood there, a macabre tableau, Duff holding his pistol pointed directly at the gunman, while the gunman held his pistol to Damon White's head.
The gunman began to sweat, even though the weather was cold. The pupils of his eyes grew large.
“Tell me, lad, don't you think 'tis a bit cold out here?” Duff asked.
The gunman didn't reply.
“If you drop the gun, I can take you down to the jailhouse. I know that they keep the jail warm. Deputy Baldwin is an old man, and old men get cold awfully easily. You could be lying on a bunk in the cell, warm and waiting for your supper.
“Or, we can just carry this out, and you'll wind up in a place a lot warmer than the jail. I'm sure you know what I mean.”
The gunman began to shake, then he took the gun away from the druggist's head and pointed it toward the porch. Damon White moved away quickly.
Duff didn't move. “Drop the gun, lad. Drop it, and this whole business will be over.”
“You're crazy,” the gunman said. “Walking up on me like that. You're crazy.”
“Aye, so I've been told.”
The man was still holding the pistol in his hand, though the barrel was pointing straight down.
“I'll nae be telling you again to drop the gun.”
The gunman opened his hand, and the gun fell to the porch with a loud thump.
“Mr. White, you have a telephone in your establishment, I believe?” Duff asked.
“Y-yes,” White said, relief from fear visible on his face.
“Would ye be so kind as to call the marshal's office 'n ask Deputy Baldwin if he would come collect his prisoner?”
“I'd be glad to. And the cough medicine is on the house.”
Duff smiled. “'Tis a funny thing. I no longer feel the need for the elixir.”
 
 
When Duff returned to where he had left his horse, several people applauded him.
“Come into the saloon, Duff, and I'll buy you a drink,” someone said.
“I thank you for the offer, Mr. Miller, but I must step into this shop for a few moments,” Duff replied, nodding toward the building next door to the saloon. A sign on the front of the building read M
EAGAN'S
D
RESS
E
MPORIUM
.
A bell on the door jingled as Duff stepped inside.
“I'll be with you in a moment,” a woman's voice called from the back of the room.
Stepping toward the sound of the voice, Duff saw Meagan Parker on her knees, pinning up the skirt on a dress being worn by Martha Guthrie, wife of the mayor of Chugwater.
“Mrs. Guthrie, 'tis a beautiful picture you make in that dress. You'll be warming R.W.'s heart, and that's for sure.
Martha, who was a short and rather rotund woman, blushed and giggled at the compliment. “Oh, do you think so?”
“That's exactly what I've been telling her,” Meagan said, standing up.
“I'm buying the dress for a Christmas party we'll be giving John, his wife, and our grandchildren,” Martha said. “They're coming to town for Christmas.”
“Oh, and what a joyous event that will be. I'll have to stop by to say hello,” Duff replied.
“Please do.”
“All right, Mrs. Guthrie, if you'll go back there and take off the dress, I'll have it finished for you in plenty of time,” Meagan said.
“Thank you, dear.” Martha took one more look at herself in the mirror. “You do such beautiful work.”
Meagan waited until Martha disappeared into the back room, then she kissed Duff. “What brings you here, today?”
“Smoke, Sally, and Matt will be coming to Sky Meadow. I want you to come out for dinner Wednesday night while they are here.”
“I'd be glad to.” Meagan frowned. “Didn't I see several people gathered in front of the Fiddlers' a few minutes ago? What was that all about, do you know?”
“Aye, 'twas a small disturbance down at the apothecary is all. 'Tis over now.”
She examined Duff with a quizzical smile. “Why is it that I think it might have been more than that, and that you had something to do with it?”
“Because you are a woman with a very suspicious heart,” Duff said.
“You are aware, are you not, Duff, that there is to be a dance on Christmas Eve?”
“And are you asking me to the dance?” Duff replied with a teasing smile.
“No, you are supposed to ask me.”
“Oh. Well then, lass, would you be so kind as to attend the dance with me?”
“Let me think about it,” Meagan replied. Then, with a wide smile she continued. “All right, I suppose I can.” She was about to kiss Duff again, but at that moment, Martha Guthrie reappeared.
“I left the dress on the table,” she said. “How soon will it be ready? I also want to wear it for R.W.'s Christmas dinner for the businessmen of the town.”
“Oh, you can pick it up tomorrow,” Meagan said.
“Wonderful. Thank you. Mr. MacCallister, please do drop by when John and his family are in town. I know they would love to see you.”
“I'll do that,” Duff promised.
As soon as Martha left, Duff turned back to Meagan. “I believe you were about to kiss me?”
“I will, but then you must go. I have work to do and, for some reason, I find you distracting.”
They kissed again, then Duff turned to leave. “I'll see you at dinner when Smoke and the others arrive.”
 
 
Elmer Gleason, Duff's foreman, had a most interesting background. He had been a guerilla with Quantrill during the war; had ridden some with Jesse and Frank James after the war; had lived with the Indians for a while, taking an Indian wife; and had gone to sea as an able-bodied seaman, sailing all over the Pacific.
In a way, one could say that Duff had inherited him with the ranch, because when Duff came to develop the land he had filed upon, Elmer was already there.
“They say the place is hainted,” R.W. Guthrie had told Duff when he'd first arrived in the territory. He was talking about Little Horse Mine, a worked-out and abandoned gold mine that was on the land Duff had just taken title to.
“Course, I ain't sayin' that I believe in haints, mind you. But that is what they say. Some say it wasn't the Spanish, but injuns, that first found the gold, and they was all kilt off by white men who wanted the gold for themselves. What happened was, after the injuns was all kilt, they became ghosts, and now they haint the mine and kill any white man who comes around tryin' to find the gold. Now, mind, I don't believe none of that. I'm just tellin' you what folks say about it.”
As it turned out, the haint Guthrie was speaking of was Elmer Gleason.
Elmer had located a new vein of gold in the mine, and unable to capitalize on it, was living a hand-to-mouth existence in the mine, unshaved and dressed only in skins.
Duff discovered him in the mine, which was on the property Duff had just filed upon. Everything Elmer had taken from it actually belonged to Duff, giving him every right to drive Elmer off, but he didn't. He offered Elmer a one-half partnership in the mine. That partnership had paid off handsomely for both of them.
Elmer had been with Duff from the beginning and was now Duff's foreman and closest friend.
Duff's half of the proceeds from the mine had built Sky Meadow into one of the most productive ranches in Wyoming. His operation was large enough to employ fourteen men.
When Duff returned to the ranch, Elmer was talking to the three other cowboys who had been with him for a very long time. Al Woodward, Case Goodrich, and Brax Walker not only worked for him, but were extremely loyal and top hands, occupying positions of responsibility.
“Get the men out to bust up the ice so's the cows can get to water,” Elmer was telling them. “And you'd better send a couple men out to check if any of the beeves have wandered off.”
The three men nodded in acquiescence, spoke to Duff a minute, then left to attend to their duties.
“Anything interesting happen in town?” Elmer asked.
“I invited Meagan to come to dinner when Smoke and the others are here.”
“Uh-huh. And you talked some feller outta shootin' Damon White, too, is what I heered.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I sent Dooley into town to get some things, and he told me about it when he got back.”
“There wasn't much to it,” Duff said. “Are you goin' to ask your friend Vi to come to dinner?”
“You mean you don't mind?”
“Why should I mind?”
Elmer smiled. “Well, then, if you don't mind, I'll ride on into town and take care of that.”
Duff nodded, then rode on to the barn to get his horse out of the cold.
C
HAPTER
T
HREE
Cheyenne, Wyoming
The train had arrived at six o'clock in the morning and the engine sat on the tracks with the boiler making bubbling sounds as the fireman kept up the steam pressure. Smoke, Sally, and Matt stood in the predawn darkness illuminated by the electric lamps that sprouted in profusion all around the depot platform.
The door of the special stock car that Smoke had leased for the trip was opened and a ramp was placed against it. Three horses were led out. As they saw Smoke and the others, they nodded in recognition and apparent relief that they were back among familiar people.
“How long is it going to take us to get there?” Sally asked.
“Five easy hours,” Smoke replied. “We'll find someplace to have breakfast, and we won't leave until around nine. That should put us there by two o'clock this afternoon.”
Rawhide Buttes, Wyoming
Eighth grade was as high as the school went in Rawhide Buttes. Students who wished to attend high school had to go by boat, seven miles up the Platte River to Hartville. Ralph Walters had given his show at the firemen's benefit, and followed that by performing for all eight grades of the Rawhide Buttes School.
“I apologize for my voice,” Walters said to Miss Pauline Foley after the performance.
Miss Foley, the principal of the school, was in her early fifties, about the same age as Walters, and unmarried because the school board required that of its teachers. She reached up to touch her hair and primped a bit. “Why, you have a beautiful voice. The huskiness just added to it. How much longer will you be in town?”
“I don't have another show to do until the seventeenth, and that's in La Bonte,” Walters said. “Because I'm feeling a bit under the weather, I may stay here in the hotel and rest for a bit.”
“The school board will be having a dinner for the teachers and the parents of all the children on Monday, the eighth. Because the children so enjoyed your visit, I would like to invite you to come as my . . . that is, as guest of the school.”
“I appreciate the invitation, Miss Foley . . .”
“Pauline.”
“Pauline,” Walters repeated. “If I get to feeling any better, I certainly will come.”
Leaving the school, he walked four blocks to the Rocky Mountain Hotel, then went up to his room and laid down on the bed. He was feverish, he had a sore throat, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult for him to breathe. He wondered if he should see a doctor.
Sky Meadow Ranch, Wyoming
There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and the parlor of Duff's house was filled with convivial people. Duff was hosting not only Smoke, Sally, and Matt, but he had invited Meagan Parker, Biff and Rose Johnson, Fred and Bonnie Matthews, and R.W. and Martha Guthrie. Elmer was at the dinner as well, and he had invited Violet Winslow. Known mostly as Vi, she owned Vi's Pies.
“Oh, you should see the beautiful dress Meagan made for me,” Martha said to Sally.
“She wanted to wear it tonight,” R.W. said, “but I said no. She's going to wear it for the first time at my dinner.”
“And that's where you should wear it first,” Meagan said.
“Oh, pooh. You're no help,” Martha said with a chuckle.
R.W. turned to Smoke. “Mr. Jensen, how long will the three of you be here?”
“We'll be here for Christmas.”
“Good! Then you must come to the Christmas dinner I'm giving for the town. It will be next Wednesday.”
“I appreciate the offer, Mayor, but we'll be in Fort Russell then,” Smoke replied.
“Oh? I thought you were going to spend Christmas with Duff.”
“We have to take care of some business at Fort Russell first, but we'll be back here in time to celebrate a Scottish Christmas.” Smoke looked over at Duff. “Just how do the Scots celebrate Christmas, anyway?”
“'Tis pretty much like the Christmases you celebrate, I'm thinking. But we'll be having Scottish dishes, such as Twelfth Night Cake,” Duff replied.
“And what would be a Twelfth Night Cake?” Matt asked.
“I can tell you,” Meagan said. “I got the recipe from a book, and Vi and I made one for practice. It is a very rich fruitcake, almost solid with fruit, almonds, and spices. The ingredients are bound together with plenty of whiskey, then all that is put into a cake tin lined with a rich short pastry and baked.”
“It sounds . . . interesting. Sally, maybe you can make some bear claws to sort of go along with it,” Matt suggested.
“Nonsense,” Sally said. “I'm not going to invade Mrs. Sterling's kitchen.”
“I'm sure she would welcome you, Sally,” Duff said. “She has no problem with Meagan making the Twelfth Night Cake. Besides, I've had some of your bear claws, and I think they would make a most welcome Christmas addition.”
“When are you going to Fort Russell?” Meagan asked.
“We have to be there next Monday,” Smoke replied.
“Good. Just so you don't leave before Friday evening. Duff will be playing his pipes in the Christmas concert on that night, and I know he wants to show off for you.” Meagan smiled.
“That's not the case, Meagan,” Duff complained.
“And weren't you for telling me just the other day that you were thinking that not neither Smoke, nor Sally, nor Matt had ever heard you play, and you'd like to play for them? Or was it a bit tipsy you were, when you were saying such?” Meagan's question almost perfectly imitated Duff's Scottish brogue.
“Sure lass, 'n would you be funnin' with m' accent now?” Duff replied.
The others laughed at their banter.
“We hadn't planned to leave before Saturday anyway, and I would be most pleased to hear you play the bagpipe,” Matt said.
“Och, mon. 'Tis nae the bagpipe, 'tis the
pipes
,” Duff said.
“All right, the pipes, then. I'll be glad to hear you play them.”
“I would love to hear you play them as well,” Sally said.
“Before you folks get all excited about this, let me ask you something. Have any of you ever heard the pipes?” Elmer asked.
“No, I can't say that I have. What do they sound like?” Smoke asked.
“You ain't never heard such caterwaulin'. 'Bout the closest thing I can get to tellin' you what it sounds like, is the cryin' a heifer makes when she gets her legs all hung up in barbed wire.”
“Oh?” Duff said, lifting his eyebrow as he stared at Elmer.
“Oh, but it's a real purty caterwaulin',” Elmer said quickly, trying to cover the damage.
Again the others laughed, and they were still laughing as Jarvis Sterling stepped into the parlor. He was a recent émigré from England, and Duff had hired him as his “gentleman's gentleman.” Jarvis's wife Angela was Duff's cook. Together, Mr. and Mrs. Sterling ran the house for him.
“Captain MacCallister, Mrs. Sterling wishes me to announce that dinner can now be served to you and your guests.”
“Thank you, Jarvis. Meagan?” Duff asked, offering his arm.
Meagan hooked her arm through his, and they led the others into the dining room, where the table was set with gleaming china, sparkling silver, and glistening crystal, all reflecting the light of the overhead chandelier that hung suspended over the middle of a table that was long enough to seat all of them comfortably.
 
 
Two days later, much of the town of Chugwater had turned out for the Christmas concert, with music furnished by the First Church of Chugwater choir, the Volunteer Fire Department Band, and Duff MacCallister, whose name was listed on the program as Captain of the 42nd Foot, Third Battalion of the Royal Highland Regiment of Scots.
The choir sang “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing,” “The First Noël,” and “What Child Is This?” Then Duff stepped in front of the audience. He was wearing the kilt of the Black Watch, complete with a
sgian dubh
, or ceremonial knife, tucked into the right kilt stocking, with only the pommel visible. He was also wearing the Victoria Cross, Great Britain's highest award for bravery. He played “I Know a Rose-tree Springing.”
After a few numbers from the Volunteer Fire Department Band, the concert ended with performers and audience singing “Silent Night.”
“Oh, it was all so beautiful,” Sally said after the concert ended. “And Duff, you were magnificent.”
“Why, thank you, Sally. Elmer, if you would see to these good folk, I'll take Meagan home 'n change out of m' kilts.”
Smoke started to say, “That's all right, Duff, we can wait while you—”
“Smoke, we'll be going home now,” Sally interrupted.
“But there's no need to put him out like—”
“Smoke?” Again, he was interrupted. By a single word and a glare. “Smoke?”
“Oh, uh, yes,” Smoke said, finally understanding. “Yes, uh, thank you. We'll just go on home with Elmer.”
“It was nice of them to give us a little time alone,” Meagan said as they walked from the theater to her apartment, which was located over her store, Meagan's Dress Emporium. Duff had left his horse in the stable behind the store.
“Aye, after Sally nearly beat him over the head,” Duff said.
Meagan laughed. “True, she is most perceptive.”
“And 'tis glad I'll be to be out of m' kilts. 'Tis getting a bit chilly.”
“Especially considering what you are wearing beneath your kilts, eh, Duff?” Meagan asked with a knowing smile.
“Sure lass, 'n what makes you think you know what's underneath m' kilts?”
“I peeked,” she said with a chuckle.
“Did ye now?”
“Aye, 'n 'twas a wondrous thing to behold.” Again, she mimicked Duff's accent.
“I dinnae ken about a wee lass that would take a peek under a man's kilts.”
“We can talk about it after,” Meagan said.
“After what?”
“After,” Meagan repeated with a sly smile.
 
 
A couple hours later, with a smiling Meagan in bed upstairs in her darkened apartment, Duff stepped into the stable behind her store to saddle his horse for the ride back to his ranch. He was feeling his way through the dark when he heard a voice.
“And would ye be for tellin' me why 'tis ye are waiting, Duff MacCallister? Sure, an' ye should be askin' the young lass to marry you.”
“
What?” Duff asked in shock, the hair rising on the back of his neck
The voice was that of a woman, and not just any woman. It sounded for all the world like the voice of Skye McGregor.
“Who said that? Where are you?” Duff struck a match, and in the wavering orange glow, examined the inside of the small stable. He saw nothing except his horse, Meagan's horse, and her buggy. There was nobody else there. He let the match burn until it reached his fingers, then quickly blew out the flame and licked the burn, which wasn't severe.
“Did you hear that, Sky?” Duff asked his horse. “Nae, and how could you have heard it, for 'twas in m' own mind the words were spoken.”
He led Sky out into the street in front of Meagan's place, mounted, then looked up at the window that he knew was to her bedroom. Though he couldn't see her, he had a very strong feeling that she was looking down at him and made a slight wave, then turned his horse and started out of town at a rapid trot, the hoofbeats echoing back from the dark, mostly empty buildings that lined First Street.
Up in her bedroom, Meagan was standing next to the window, looking down onto the street. She hadn't told him she would do so, but she wanted to see him one last time before he left. When she saw him wave toward her window, she gasped. Had he seen her?
No, she was sure he had not, for how could he? There was no light in her room and she was standing in absolute darkness. Nevertheless, Duff had glanced up toward her room and waved. Meagan smiled when she realized that he, like her, had wanted one last look . . . even if he saw nothing.
She crawled back into bed, sure she could still feel the warmth of his presence.
 
 
Meagan hadn't always lived in the American west. She had arrived in Chugwater less than two years before Duff, having come from Washington, D.C., where her father had been an administrative aide to Senator John Daniel of Virginia. Senator Daniel had been seriously wounded during the Civil War, crippling him, so Meagan's father took on many of the senator's duties.
Senator Daniel had never been married.
“He would make a good husband for you, Meagan,” her father had said. “Think of it, you could be the wife of a United States senator.”
Meagan had shaken her head. “Papa, he is forty-three years old, and I am but twenty-two.”
“You wouldn't have to make dresses for the society women of Washington. You would be one of them.”
“I enjoy making dresses, Papa. I'm very good at it, and it pleases me to see women wearing what I have designed.”
“Senator Daniel is a wonderful man.”
“He is a good man, I will concede that. But I don't love him.”
Burt Parker had been increasingly more and more insistent that Meagan marry Senator Daniel, until one day Meagan left her father a note.
Dear Papa,
Please don't be upset that I've decided to go off on my own. If I were a man, I would say I am going to seek my fortune, and you would have no trouble with it. I know that such things are not ordinarily done by women, but as you have told me many times yourself, I am not an ordinary woman.
I love you, Papa, and I will write to you when I am all settled.
      
Your loving daughter,
      
Meagan
Taking the one thousand dollars she had saved, Meagan had boarded a train. She'd had no particular destination in mind, but while waiting in the station, she bought a book called
The Williams Pacific Tourist Guide Across the Continent
. It was from that book that she learned about the community of Chugwater.
The Chugwater Valley is 100 miles long. It has been for many years a favorite locality for wintering stock, not only on account of the excellence of the grass and water, but also from the fact that the climate is mild throughout the winter.
In order to get to Chugwater, she would have to leave the train in Cheyenne, then go by coach. When she read about Cheyenne, she almost had second thoughts about her plans.
In such places as North Platte, Julesburg, and Cheyenne, there are gamblers, thieves, prostitutes, murderers—bad men and women of every calling and description under the heavens and from almost every nationality on the globe. When they can prey upon no one else, they prey upon each other. The worst that has ever been written of these characters does not depict the whole truth—they are, in many cases, outlaws from the East who have fled to escape the consequences of crimes committed there. Armed to the very teeth, they often shoot first and speak second.

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