A Lone Star Christmas

CHAPTER NINE

Cheyenne, Wyoming, November 1

Duff and Smoke Jensen met in Cheyenne at the Cheyenne Club. Established in 1880 by twelve Wyoming cattlemen, the Cheyenne Club was the place to be for cattlemen from all over Wyoming. At the moment, Duff and Smoke were in one of the club’s parlors, enjoying their cigars and drinks, bourbon for Smoke and Scotch for Duff. They were speaking about the letter Duff had received from Benjamin Conyers.

“I met Conyers once,” Smoke said.

“Does he measure up to his request?” Duff asked. “What I mean is, do you think he has sufficient funds to pay twenty dollars a head for twenty-five hundred cows? That’s fifty thousand dollars.”

“It’s funny you would ask if he measured up, because measuring is what he does very well.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He is called Big Ben and they call him that for a reason. He stands six feet seven, and weighs in at over 300 pounds.”

“Oh, my, that is quite large, isn’t it?”

“And don’t worry about whether or not he is good for the money. He is one of the most successful cattlemen in Texas. He could buy a herd ten times as large and not strain his resources.”

“Good,” Duff replied. “I would hate to go to all this trouble, and then not be paid.”

“You can come up with what? Fifteen hundred head?” Smoke asked.

“That’s about it. I am hoping you could come up with the rest.”

“I thought that might be the case. Yes, I can come up with another thousand. That will meet his demand.”

“The question now, is how do we get them there?”

“I would suggest that you ship your cattle by train to Denver. I will meet you there with my cattle, and then we’ll ship the entire herd by train, or trains in this case, to Dodge City. Once we get to Dodge, we’ll have to drive the critters on down to Live Oaks.”

“What do you think? About four trains?” Duff asked.

“Let’s see, twenty to a car, it would take 125 cars. That would be just over thirty-one cars per train, plus a Pullman car. Yes, four would do it.”

“Four trains, but only two of us,” Duff said.

“That’s no problem,” Smoke said. “I know I can get Matt to go with one of the trains. By the way, I hope you don’t have any problem with Sally going with us. She’s been saying she wanted to take a trip somewhere for Christmas.” Smoke laughed out loud. “I’ll bet this isn’t exactly what she was planning on, though.”

“Of course I dinnae have any objections to the fair Sally coming with us. She is not only good company, I’ve nae doubt but that she can be helpful.”

“As for the fourth train, I’ll bet you could get Falcon, if you asked,” Smoke suggested.

“I’ll send him a telegram,” Duff said. “Thank you, that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, I do get good ideas every now and then.”

MacCallister, Colorado, November 3

Falcon MacCallister had received the telegram this morning, but had not yet shared it with anyone. At the moment Falcon, his brothers Jamie, Ian, Morgan, and Matthew, were out at the old MacCallister homestead. Falcon’s sisters, Joleen and Kathleen, were there as well. Even the twins, Andrew and Rosanna, were here, and that was rare, for they only managed to show up for family functions about once every five years. Andrew and Rosanna were both famous thespians, their work as well-known in Europe as it was in the United States.

The MacCallister clan was gathering for a family reunion, though, except for Andrew and Rosanna, they didn’t have far to go when they held such a gathering. Here, in the MacCallister Valley of Colorado, they were busy ranching, farming, raising kids and grandkids. By now, half of the people in the Valley were MacCallisters. To be precise, there were one hundred and three MacCallisters in MacCallister Valley who were direct descendants of Jamie and Katie MacCallister, who had been barely of age when they settled here considerably more than half a century before.

They had just had their dinner and walked out front to have a moment over the graves of their parents, Jamie and Kate.

“We should have waited to have this reunion at Thanksgiving or Christmas,” Ian said.

“Why?” Morgan asked. “This way we get to feast now, and again at Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Leave it to Morgan to think of food,” Kathleen said.

“Well, for my part, it’s good that we had it today. I won’t be here for Thanksgiving, and probably won’t be here for Christmas either. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow? Falcon, what is so important that you can’t even stay for a family reunion?” Morgan asked. “You know what Pa and Ma always said. Nothing is more important than family.”

“This is family,” Falcon said. “And it is important.”

“How can it be family, when every last one of us are here?” Joleen asked. “Even Andrew and Rosanna.”

“I’m talking about Duff MacCallister,” Falcon said. “He is our cousin.”

“He can’t be that close of a cousin,” Kathleen said. “I’ve never even met the man.”

“We share a great-great-great-great grandfather,” Rosanna said. “Grandfather Falcon MacCallister from the Highlands of Scotland.”

“Great, great, great, great grandfather? What is that, fifth cousin?” Jamie asked.

“Technically, I suppose he is, but it feels much closer than that,” Andrew said. “Duff MacCallister is a wonderful man.”

“How do you two know him?”

“We were the first ones to meet him,” Rosanna said. “We met him in Scotland. Then later, when he came to America, he worked with us in New York for a while. And if Falcon feels that Duff needs him, I don’t think we should erect any impediments.”

“Erect any impediments,” Jolene said with a little chuckle. “Spoken like a true child of the theater,” she added, affecting a strong British accent as she teased Rosanna. Then she added in a normal tone of voice. “By all means, Falcon, if you feel that it is important for you to go to the aid of our cousin, Duff, go with our blessings.”

“Thanks,” Falcon said.

Santa Clara, Colorado, November 5

Matt Jensen had just finished eating his supper, and was leaving the restaurant to go back to the hotel where he had taken a more or less permanent room, when he heard someone call out to him.

“Jensen, look out!”

Concurrent with the shouted warning, Matt felt a blow to the side of his head. Someone had stepped out of the shadows of the narrow space between the restaurant and the leather goods store next door. He saw stars, but even as he was being hit he was reacting to the shout, and that kept him from being knocked down.

When his attacker swung at him a second time, Matt was able to parry the blow; then, with his fists up, he moved quickly out into the middle of the street. He didn’t know if there was more than one person hiding in the dark, and he didn’t want to take a chance. In the middle of the dirt street, lit by gas streetlamps, he was able to see the man who had attacked him. He was a big man, well over six feet tall with large arms and ham-sized fists. He was an exceptionally ugly man, with a heavy brow ridge and a protruding lower lip. Matt had never seen him before.

“Mister,” the man said with a low growl. “You kilt my brother, so now I’m aimin’ to take you apart with my bare hands.”

This was a change. Most of the men who came after Matt, either for revenge or to settle some personal score, or even to make a name for themselves, came after him with a gun. But this was a big man, and whether it would be a welcome change or not was yet to be seen.

Almost as soon as the fight started, a crowd was gathered around.

“Who’s that big man Jensen is fighting with?” someone asked.

“I don’t have no idea,” another answered.

Matt and the big man dodged and weaved around for a bit, both trying to take the measure of the other, neither of them throwing a punch.

“Who was your brother?” Matt asked. “The one you say I killed.”

“Damn, Mister, have you kilt so many you can’t keep up with ’em?” the big man asked.

“I’ve killed a few,” Matt said.

“His name was Shelton. Lucas Shelton,” the big man said.

“I remember him,” Matt said.

“What did you kill him for?”

“He was trying to kill me. I didn’t have any choice.”

“Yeah, you did. You could’a let him kill you.”

“Funny, but I didn’t consider that an option,” Matt replied.

Shelton swung wildly at Matt, but Matt dodged it easily, then counterpunched with a quick, slashing left to Shelton’s face. It was a good, well-hit blow, one that would have dropped the average man, but Shelton just shook it off.

“Damn, did you see that?” one of the spectators asked. “That blow would have pole-axed a steer, but that big sum’bitch acted like he didn’t even feel it.”

“Five dollars says Jensen gets whupped,” someone said.

“I don’t know. I’ve seen Jensen fight before. I’m going with him.”

With an angry roar, Shelton rushed Matt again, and Matt stepped aside, avoiding him like a matador sidestepping a charging bull. And, like a charging bull, Shelton slammed into a hitching rail, smashing through it as if it were kindling. He turned and faced Matt again.

There was no more kibbitzing in the crowd now. They grew quiet as they watched the fight, studying it to see whether quickness and agility could overcome brute strength and power.

Shelton swung again, and again Matt avoided the blow. Matt counterpunched and, as before, scored well. But, as before, Shelton merely laughed it off. Matt learned quickly that he could hit Shelton anytime he wanted, and though individually the punches seemed ineffective, Matt saw that there was a cumulative effect to his efforts. Both of Shelton’s eyes began to puff up, and there was a nasty cut on his lower protruding lip that started blood flowing down the big man’s chin.

Then Matt caught the big man in the nose with a hard right, and he knew that he had broken it. The nose, like the cut lip, began to bleed profusely, and torrents of blood began to flow. Matt looked for another chance to strike his nose, but Shelton started protecting it, and he couldn’t get through.

So far, except for the opening blow, not one of Shelton’s great swinging blows had landed. Then, Shelton managed to connect with a right which struck Matt on the shoulder. Matt felt as if he had been hit by a club, and he could feel it all through his arm. That single blow had the possibility of ending the fight, for though Matt held his left up, it was for show only. He was, in effect, fighting this big man with only one arm.

Then, when Shelton threw another whistling blow at him, Matt avoided it, counterpunching with a solid right, straight at Shelton’s Adam’s apple. It had the effect Matt wanted, and the big man grabbed his neck with both hands, then sunk to his knees, gasping for air.

Matt stepped up to him.

“You won’t suffocate, but you are going to think that you will, because it is going to swell a lot more and it’s going to be even harder to breathe than it is now,” he said. “My advice to you is to go lie down somewhere with your head somewhat lower than your neck. Be still for a while. It will take you a few days, but you will recover.”

Shelton looked up at Matt and tried to speak, but the only thing to come from his throat was a squeaking rattle.

Matt held up his hand and moved his finger back and forth. “Oh, and don’t try to talk, it’ll just make matters worse,” he said.

As Matt walked away from the kneeling man, listening to the banter of the onlookers as they exchanged the money they had bet on the fight, someone called out to Matt.

“Mr. Jensen, I have a telegram for you.”

Matt recognized the telegrapher and walked over toward him.

“I didn’t want to bother you during the fight,” the small, bespectacled man said as he handed the message to Matt.

“I appreciate that, I guess,” Matt said. He gave the telegrapher a half-dollar.

“Thank you, sir,” the little man said. “Will you be wanting to reply?”

“Depends on the message,” Matt said. He opened the envelope and read the message under the light of a streetlamp.

NEED YOUR HELP FOR A CATTLE DRIVE. CAN YOU COME? SMOKE.

Matt followed the telegrapher back to the Western Union Office.

YES. I WILL COME TOMORROW. MATT

Chugwater, November 6

Three men; Emerson, Pigg, and Jenks, were sitting together at a table in Fiddler’s Green.

“That’s him over there, standin’ at the bar talkin’ to the bartender. His name is Duff MacCallister,” Emerson said. Emerson was a particularly ugly man with a drooping eyelid and a mouth full of bad teeth.

“He’s a big bastard,” Pigg said. Pigg and Jenks were only marginally less ugly than Emerson. Pigg had a beard, not one that he groomed, but one that seemed to have trapped within its unkempt bristles food from his last several meals. Jenks had a long, hooked nose and dark, beady eyes.

“That don’t matter. We ain’t goin’ to rassle him,” Emerson said. “We’re just goin’ to have him tell us where at his gold mine is.”

“And you’re sure he has a gold mine?”

“That’s what ever’ one says. It ain’t supposed to be a very big one, but it’s big enough that he’s built himself one of the best ranches in Wyoming,” Emerson said.

“I hope your plan works,” Jenks said.

“Don’t worry, it will work,” Emerson said resolutely. “Come on, let’s go see the lady.”

Meghan Parker wasn’t all that surprised whenever a man would happen to come into her dress shop. That was because from time to time someone would want to buy a dress for his wife, and he would want it to be a surprise, so he would have Meghan help him. But this time it was three men who came in, and that was unusual. Also, there was something about the three that made her feel a bit uneasy.

Her fear was justified when all three of them pulled guns and pointed them at her.

“Is it true what they say about you?”

“I’m not sure. What do they say about me?”

“They say that you are Duff MacCallister’s woman.” The man doing the talking had the ugliest teeth Meghan had ever seen; a few were broken so that they were jagged-looking. All of them varied in color from yellow to black.

“Mr. MacCallister is a friend of mine, yes,” Meghan said.

“Uh, huh. Well answer me this, Missy. Is he friend enough that more’n likely he wouldn’t want to see something happen to you?”

“Mr. MacCallister wouldn’t want to see something happen to any innocent person.”

“That’s good enough for me. Pigg, go on down there to the saloon and tell MacCallister he’d best come out into the street.”

“What is all this about?” Meghan asked.

“Gold, Missy. This is about gold,” the one with the bad teeth said. “Now, you come with us.”

“I can’t leave my store,” Meghan said.

“Ha! You don’t be worryin’ none about your store.”

“Where are we going?”

“Not far. Just out into the street. Pigg, you go get MacCallister like I told you. Jenks, when we get out there, you run ever’one off the street so there ain’t no one out there but us.”

Biff Johnson had just said something funny and Duff was laughing when Pigg went back into the saloon, this time holding a pistol in his hand.

“MacCallister!” he called. “We’ve got your woman out in the middle of the street. If you don’t want to see her kilt, best you get on out there.”

It was very shortly after Pigg summoned Duff that Duff’s cousin, Falcon MacCallister, rode into Chugwater in answer to Duff’s call for help. Falcon realized at once that something unusual was happening because it was mid-morning, and First Street, a street that should have been busy with commerce, was nearly deserted. He did see people, but they were standing behind the corners of buildings, or looking cautiously through doors and windows at the few people who were on the street. One, he noticed, was Duff. Duff was standing alone, facing three men who were fanned out across the street in front of him. The man in the middle had a beautiful young woman in front of him, and he was holding a gun to her head.

Falcon didn’t know any of the three men, but he did recognize the young woman. It was Meghan Parker, the young woman who owned a dress shop and was a one-quarter partner in Duff’s ranch. Whether that partnership would ever become anything more, Falcon didn’t know, but he was pretty sure it would. That is, he was sure it would, if this situation could be resolved successfully.

Falcon dismounted, then walked on up the street, staying on the boardwalk very close to the building fronts. Because of his caution, no one noticed him until he had drawn even with Duff. Not until then did he walk out into the street to stand alongside his cousin.

“Hello, Duff,” Falcon said. “How soon do you want to get started?”

“Good day to you, Falcon. I thought we might get underway on Saturday. That would put us in Cheyenne by Monday the tenth.”

“Good idea.”

Duff called out to Meghan. “Meghan, you remember Falcon, don’t you? He is going to help me take our cows to Texas.”

“You take good care of those cows, Falcon,” Meghan said. “One quarter of them are mine.” Unlike most people who would be in her situation right now, amazingly, Meghan’s voice showed no fear.

“I’ll take good care of them,” Falcon promised.

“What the hell are you people gabbing about?” the man behind Meghan shouted. “Don’t you understand what’s going on here?”

“Do you mind?” Falcon said. “We’ll get to you later. Right now, I’m talking to my friends here.”

“Yeah, well I was here first,” the man behind Meghan said. “And I’m telling you to just back off and let us finish our business.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just stay here.”

“All right, but when the shootin’ starts, we ain’t goin’ to be worryin’ none about whether or not you are in the way.”

“Oh, that’s all right, I quite understand,” Falcon said.

“Now, seein’ as this feller sort of interrupted us, I’ll say it again, real plain, so that you understand. I’m told you have a gold mine, so here is what we are goin’ to do. You are goin’ to show me an’ my friends where that gold mine is. ‘Cause if you don’t, I’m goin’ to shoot this here woman. Do you understand that?”

“Oh, I know what you said,” Duff replied. “But I don’t think you have thought this through.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Well think about it, Mr. Emerson. That is your name, isn’t it? I think I heard one of your friends call you that. If you shoot Miss Parker, you will nae longer have a bargaining position,” Duff said.

“Miss Parker?” Meghan said. “Duff MacCallister, you mean as close as we are, that you can’t call me by my first name?”

“Aye lass, and it is for sure that I can,” Duff said. “I just dinnae want to be intimate in front of these men.”

“Oh,” Meghan said, smiling. “That’s real sweet of you.”

“What in the hell is wrong with you people?” Emerson asked, the exasperation in his voice increasing. “Are you crazy?”

“Not at all,” Duff said. “I’m just pointing out to you the conundrum you have gotten yourself in. It’s rather like a dog that sticks its head through a hole in a fence, then can’t pull it back out. You see, Miss Parker is valuable to you only as long as she is alive. If you kill her, she is of no value to you whatever.”

“Mister, I don’t know what the hell you are talking about. Now I’m goin’ to ask you again. Are you goin’ to lead us to the mine or what?”

“Nae, I don’t think that I will,” Duff said.

“Duff, it’s looks to me like you’re dealing with someone who is too ignorant to understand,” Falcon said. “It looks to me like the only solution now is for us to just kill all three of them.”

“I think you are right,” Duff said. “And while I am an accomplished marksman, I am not fast.” As Duff was speaking, he was drawing his pistol, very slowly and deliberately. “So if you would be so kind as to help me out with the other two, I’ll be for putting a bullet through the eye of that unpleasant gentlemen with the bad teeth.”

“I’ll be glad to help out,” Falcon said.

Duff raised his pistol and aimed.

Despite the peril she was in at the moment, Meghan almost smiled. She recalled the shooting exhibition back in July when Duff had shot the miniature apple off her head. And she knew, now, that Duff had the situation well under control.

“What do you think you are going to do with that gun?” the man behind Meghan asked. “Don’t you see that I ...”

That was as far as he got because Duff pulled the trigger. The man behind Meghan fell to the ground with blood squirting from the eye that the bullet had penetrated. The other two men had been nearly mesmerized by the improbable event they were witnessing. They reacted at the sound of the gunshot, but it was too late. In a lightning draw, Falcon pulled his pistol and firing two shots so quickly that they sounded as one, he killed the other two.

Meghan stood her ground in the middle of the street, looking now at the bodies of the three men who had accosted her.

“Meghan, be ye harmed, lass?” Duff called to her. Even as he called out to her the citizens of the town who had been driven off the street by the unexpected showdown came running out.

“I’m all right,” Meghan said.

Duff hurried to her, and they embraced.

After the embrace, Meghan looked down at the body of the man who had been holding his pistol to her head. There was a black, bloody, and seeping hole where his left eye was. His right eye was still open, still registering the shock of what had happened to him.

“That was a perfectly horrid experience,” she said.

“You are sure you are all right?” Duff asked again.

“I’m a lot better now than I was a few minutes ago,” Meghan said. She shuddered. “You have no idea how bad his breath was.”

Duff looked surprised for a moment, then he started laughing and soon the whole town was laughing with him.

Biff Johnson came out into the street then, even as the rest of the town was gathering in morbid curiosity around the bodies of the three men Duff had shot.

“Hello, Falcon,” Biff said. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hello, Sergeant,” Falcon replied. The two men had met first when Falcon had joined Custer’s last campaign as a civilian scout. Biff had been a sergeant in D Troop under Benteen. They had gotten reacquainted when Falcon helped Duff locate the land that would become Sky Meadow Ranch.

“Come on over to Fiddler’s Green, I’ll buy,” Biff offered.

“Thanks, but I have to get back to my shop,” Meghan said. “Who knows? Something like this might be good for business.”

Live Oaks Ranch, November 6

Even though Maria had been pregnant for several months now, no one but her husband and her parents knew about it. Her pregnancy wasn’t obvious because of the bulky dresses she wore.

All through supper Clay had been looking at her, and now as they sat in their small sitting room, even though she was knitting, Maria was well aware that she was the subject of his continued scrutiny. Finally she put the knitting down and looked at him.

“Clay, have I suddenly turned green?”

“What?” Clay replied, confused by the strange question.

“Through supper and now, you have been staring at me. I thought perhaps I had turned green.”

Clay chuckled. “Can’t I stare at my beautiful wife if I want to?”

“Yes, but I think it is not because you think me beautiful,” Maria said. Though her English was flawless, there was still a slight, lilting accent to her words, an accent that Clay had always found appealing.

Clay sighed. “You are right,” he said. “I have been staring. I have to tell you something, and I have been trying to think of a way to tell you.”

“You wish to tell me that you will be going to Dodge City to drive the cattle down here that Senor Big Ben has bought. Yes?”

“Yes,” Clay replied, his face registering his surprise at her answer. “How did you know?”

“Clay, this is a big ranch with many tongues that are willing to speak,” she said. “I have known for many days that you would be going to Dodge City.”

“And you are all right with that?” Clay asked. “I mean, I know that you’re pregnant, and I hate to leave you, but I think it will be less than two months.”

“I am all right with it, because I am going with you,” Maria told him.

“What? Oh, no, I don’t know, Maria, I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” Clay said.

“Please, Clay,” Maria said. “I do not want to be here for so long during my time of pregnancy without you. You will need a cook, and you will need someone to drive the chuck wagon. I can drive the chuck wagon, and I can cook your meals. I have done this before.”

“Yes, but you weren’t pregnant then. Now, you are pregnant.”

“Other women have made difficult journeys while pregnant. Think of the women who gave birth on the wagon trains. Think of the women who have given birth on board ship. Think of the Blessed Virgin Mother of our Lord. Did she not make a long and difficult journey while she was with child? Besides, the baby will not come until after we have returned home. And, wouldn’t you rather sleep in the wagon with me, than on the ground with the cowboys?”

Clay laughed. “Somehow, you have managed to make sense of that,” he said. “All right, I’ll clear it with Big Ben, and if he says he has no problem with it, I’ll take you with me.”

“Oh, thank you!” Maria said, laughing happily. She threw her arms around his neck then squeezed herself so close to him that he could easily feel the baby she was carrying.