A Rocky Mountain Christmas

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

December 21

The night had been long and cold, and Matt welcomed the sun. Bringing a little warmth with it had somewhat brightened his spirits. But it also ushered in another day without food. As Matt pondered the situation, he knew it was least ten more miles to the bottom of the pass and on in to Big Rock. Even if he could get through the mountain of snow, he couldn’t attempt it without a coat. If he took his coat away from the little girl, she might die. His thoughts had come full circle, leaving him without a plan to improve the circumstances.

Troy had had a deck of cards in his pocket when he brought Santelli’s message to Bailey. He’d started a card game the men, including Senator Daniels, had participated in at one time or another. The card game helped to pass the time. Facing another day with no food, another game was started while Jenny and Millie were engaged in conversation.

“My mother came to America from England. When the ship was halfway across the ocean it started taking on water. Fortunately, an empty cattle steamer was passing close by, and my mother’s ship signaled they were in distress.”

Jenny smiled. “And the captain of the cattle ship told the Pomona to launch the lifeboats and get as many women and children across as they could.”

“The Pomona! Yes, that was the ship my mother was on! How do you know that?”

“My father was first officer on the Western Trader, the cattle ship that encountered the Pomona that day. I know the story, but only from my father’s side. Please, do tell. I would like to hear the story from the other side.”

Millie nodded and continued the story. “After all the women and children crossed, they sent across the older men, then finally the younger men and all the crew. All made it across safely, not one person was lost.

“The next day they could see the ship hanging at a list and within a few hours it went down. When my mother abandoned the Pomona, the only thing they let her take was a small handbag with thimble and scissors, a little money, and a few handkerchiefs. That was all she had when she first set foot in this country.”

“What a wonderful story,” Jenny said. “And what a wonderful testimony to your mother’s courage. You must be very proud of her.”

“I am. And you should see her with Becky. Why, my mother thinks the sun rises and sets on this little girl. It would be awful if . . . if . . .” Millie’s eyes pooled with tears.

Jenny reached out to take her hand. “I have a feeling Becky is going to be all right.”

Wetmore, Colorado

Dewey Ferrell, Sheriff of Bent County, was in Custer County. He wasn’t wearing a badge, and he was carrying a hood, ready to cover his face when necessary. Ferrell and Jeb Clayton were at the top of a long grade, waiting for the stagecoach. They could see the coach below them, still some distance away.

“He’ll have to stop when he reaches the top of the grade, to give the horses a blow,” Ferrell said. “That’s when we’ll hit them.”

“How much money do you think he’ll be carryin’?” Clayton asked.

“Judge Briggs said three thousand dollars would be in the strongbox.”

Clayton smiled. “This is goin’ to be a fine Christmas.”

They could hear the driver’s whistle and the occasional pop of his whip as the coach lumbered up the long grade.

“How much longer you plannin’ on bein’ the sheriff?” Clayton asked.

“What do you want to know for? You plannin’ on runnin’ against me?”

“No, I was just wonderin’ is all.”

“I got no plans on not bein’ the sheriff. Things is workin’ out just real good for me.”

“Yeah.” Clayton chuckled. “This has been real good for me, too. Only thing is, we got to be careful about how we spend our money, or folks is goin’ to start wonderin’ how we can do it on forty dollars a month. Well, forty for you. Thirty for me.”

“No problem,” Ferrell said. “We just need to go someplace like Denver, maybe even San Francisco, to spend it. That way, nobody will be the wiser.”

On board the coach, Silas Cambridge took out a twist of tobacco and took a bite of it. He offered some to his shotgun guard, Jake Nugent.

“Thank you, no. I never took up the habit.” Nugent broke down his double-barrel shotgun, checked the loads, then snapped it closed.

“You see somethin’?” Cambridge asked.

“Nothin’ in particular. But the horses will be winded when we get to the top of this climb, and if someone is plannin’ on hittin’ us, that’s more ’n likely where it’ll be.” Nugent set the shotgun down by his feet and pulled out his revolver to check it, too.

Dr. Grant, his wife, and three children were inside the coach, wrapped up in buffalo robes against the bitter cold of the Colorado winter season. They were going to Yorkville, in Fremont County, to spend Christmas with Mrs. Grant’s parents.

“Mama, will Grandma and Grandpa have Christmas presents for us?” Joey asked.

“I expect they will,” Mrs. Grant said. “But don’t you be asking for anything when we get there.”

“I won’t. But I wonder what it will be.”

“Whatever it is, you will thank them for it.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

The coach reached the top of the long grade, then it stopped. “Folks,” Cambridge called down. “We’re goin’ to spend a few minutes here so the horses can rest up a bit. If you’d like, you can get out and walk around a bit.”

“Mama, I want to go to the bathroom,” Joey said.

“All right, as soon as we get out, you can go find a rock or a tree.”

The entire family got out of the coach and the driver hopped down to check the harness on his team. Only Nugent stayed where he was, sitting up on the driver’s box.

Joey hurried into the trees, then he saw two men tying off their horses. Forgetting the reason he was there, he started toward them to say hello.

“What about the passengers?” one of the men said. “Are we going to rob them, too?”

The other man chuckled. “Why not? As long as we are robbin’ the stage, we may as well get the whole hog.”

Turning, Joey ran back to the coach, straight to his father. “Papa! Papa!” he said breathlessly. “There’s two men in the woods, and they are going to rob us!”

“Whoa now, Joey,” Dr. Grant caught him. “You aren’t letting your imagination get away from you, are you?”

“No, Papa! I heard them. They said they were going to rob the stage and the passengers.”

Nugent heard Joey and looked down toward the doctor and the others. “Dr. Grant, are you armed?”

“No, sir, I am not.”

Nugent pulled his pistol, handed it down, and pointed to an outcropping of stones away from the trees. “Take your family over there behind those rocks and stay down. If anything goes wrong, use the gun.”

“I’m not skilled with firearms,” Dr. Grant advised.

“You don’t have to be skilled. Just point it and pull the trigger. But let’s hope you don’t have to do that. Now, get over there fast before the robbers come up.”

Dr. Grant nodded and shepherded his wife, whose face reflected her fear, and the three children to the relative safety of the rocks.

“Silas,” Nugent called quietly from the box.

Cambridge looked up from the harness.

“Get over here on this side. Keep the team between you and the trees.”

Cambridge, reading the seriousness in Nugent’s voice, didn’t waste time asking for clarification. He moved to the other side of the team as two men on horseback stepped out of the trees, their faces covered with hoods, their guns drawn.

“All right!” one called out as they approached the coach. “You know what this is. Put your hands up. Which one of you is the driver?”

“I am,” Nugent answered before Cambridge could speak. Both men had their hands raised.

“Ha! Got your shotgun guard tending to your team, huh? Well, I reckon you’re the boss and you can do that.”

“I reckon so,” Nugent replied.

“Call your passengers out.”

“We ain’t carryin’ any passengers.”

“What do you mean you aren’t carrying any passengers? What kind of stagecoach makes a trip with no passengers?”

“A coach that carries only money and mail,” Nugent disclosed.

“Good enough answer. All right. I want you to reach down and bring up the strongbox, then throw it down to us.”

“I’ll have to put my hands down to get to the box.”

“Go ahead.”

Nugent lowered his hands, then reached down toward his feet where the double-barrel shotgun lay. “Silas, where’d you put that box?”

“Don’t you be giving them that box! Don’t you dare give them that box!” Cambridge kept on shouting at the top of his voice, drawing the attention of both armed robbers.

That was exactly what Nugent wanted. The noise covered the cock of the shotgun and when he came up from the floor he fired off one barrel, then the other, and both would-be robbers were blasted out of their saddles.

Nugent jumped down from the driver’s box and hurried over to them. “Doc! You’d better come take a look at these two.”

“I want to see, too!” Joey shouted, running from behind the rocks.

“Joey! You get back here!” Mrs. Grant called.

The boy skidded to a stop and turned around. “Oh, Mama, why can’t I see them? I’ve never seen anyone who was killed before.”

“You just stay here,” Mrs. Grant ordered.

Dr. Grant hurried over to the men and bent down to put his fingers on their necks to find the carotid pulse, though he could tell by looking at the massive wounds in their chests it wasn’t necessary. When he didn’t find a pulse in either, his suspicion was confirmed. “They’re both dead.”

Cambridge squatted down beside the two men and pulled their hoods off.

“I’ll be damned! This is Sheriff Farrell from Bent County!”

“The sheriff? The sheriff was robbin’ us?” Nugent sputtered in disbelief.

“Yes. That’s sure some surprise, ain’t it?”

“Maybe not as big a surprise as you might think,” Dr. Grant replied.

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Back in Pueblo, a rancher there by the name of Luke Shardeen shot one of Ferrell’s deputies. He made the claim the sheriff and his deputy had tried to rob him. Looks like he was telling the truth.”