A Rocky Mountain Christmas

CHAPTER TWENTY-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.