A Frontier Christmas (16 page)

Duff rode along with the Jensens as far as Chugwater. “Just stay on this road. Once you cross the Platte River, you can follow Rawhide Runnel on in to the settlement.”

“What's a runnel?” Matt asked.

“'Tis naught but a watercourse, a small stream.”

“You mean a creek?” Matt asked.

“Aye, a creek.”

“Well, why didn't you say so?”

Sally laughed. “Duff, I love the way you use the language.”

He grinned at her. “You'll not forget to tell Meagan that I'll be up in a couple more days?”

“I will personally tell her,” Sally said.

“Come on. We'll never get there if we don't start,” Smoke said, urging the other two on.

Duff watched them ride away, then headed for Fiddlers' Green.

Tying Sky off at the hitching rail in front, he went inside. The saloon was comfortably warm, heated by the stove that sat on an iron pad in the middle of the floor. He saw two people sitting at the table nearest the piano . . . a young cowboy whose face Duff recognized, but whose name he couldn't recall, and Molly, the only bar girl who was working.

“Hello, Duff. Good to see you,” Biff greeted from behind the bar as a big man stepped into the saloon.

“Hello, Biff.”

“Have Smoke and Matt returned from Fort Russell yet?”

“Aye, but they've left again, this time to go to Rawhide Buttes.”

At the corner table, a different conversation was going on.

“Did you hear that?” Depro asked. “The bartender called him Duff. Ain't that what Dingo said was MacCallister's first name?”

“That's it, all right,” Adler said.

“What do we do now?” Pollard asked.

“For now, we'll just keep an eye on him.”

At the bar, Duff removed his coat and gloves.

“I'll have a—”

“As if I didn't know what you would have.” Biff laughed. He was already pouring scotch into a glass.

“Hello, Mr. MacCallister,” the young bar girl greeted him.

Duff smiled, and held his glass out toward the two. “Biff, how about a bit o' the creature for Molly and the young lad who is occupying her time?”

“Why, thank you, Mr. MacCallister,” the cowboy said.

“Be ye findin' work, lad?”

“No, sir. None to speak of, what with it being winter. A little part-time here 'n there, is all.”

“What's your name?”

“It's Nicholson, sir. Bob Nicholson.”

“Well, Mr. Nicholson, 'tis not good that a man be without employment during the Christmas season. If ye be of a mind to, come out to Sky Meadow with me, and I'll present you to m' foreman, Mr. Gleason. I believe we can accommodate a willing worker. You are a willing worker, are you not?”

“Yes, sir! I'm a very willing worker,” Nicholson said. “And thank you, sir! Thank you very much!”

“I don't care what anyone says, Duff, I think you're a good man,” Biff said as he poured drinks for Molly and Nicholson.

“I thank ye kindly for your endorsement,” Duff said.

“Mr. MacCallister, uh, the truth is, I don't have a horse,” Nicholson said.

“Well, that doesn't matter all that much. After we leave here, we'll stop by Merrill's Livery and rent one for you to ride out to the ranch. Once you're there, Elmer will fix you up with a mount, 'n ye can bring the rented animal back.”

Nicholson flashed a big smile. “That's just real decent of you, Mr. MacCallister.”

“It's just common sense, lad,” Duff replied. “I can't have someone workin' for me if he dinnae have a horse, now can I?”

“No, sir, I reckon not,” Nicholson said.

Adler slapped the table. “That's it.”

“What's it?” Morris asked, confused by Adler's comment.

“They're goin' to the livery stable to get a horse. That's where we'll wait for 'im.”

“We ain't goin' to call 'em out or anythin' are we?” Pollard asked. “The reason I ask is, I don't think fifty dollars is enough to actually have to face someone down.”

“No, we ain't goin' to call the sumbitch out. We're just goin' to shoot 'im,” Adler said.

Adler and the other three men walked down the street to the livery stable. A cold wind was blowing and it had begun to snow. When they stepped into the livery stable they were out of the wind, but not out of the cold. An odor hung in the air.

“Damn, it stinks in here,” Pollard said. “Ain't nobody ever heard of mucking out the stalls?”

“He prob'ly thinks it's too cold. That's why he's all cooped up in the office there, sittin' by the stove,” Adler said.

“What are we goin' to do about him?” Morris asked.

“We ain't goin' to do nothin'. Hell, he don't even know we're here. Come on. Let's climb up into the loft and get us a place to wait.”

“Adler, there's goin' to be two of 'em,” Pollard said. “What'll we do about that?”

“If the other fella starts runnin' when the shootin' starts, we won't do nothin' about it. But if he sticks around, we'll shoot him, too.”

“We ain't gettin' paid to kill him,” Pollard said.

Adler giggled. “We'll throw him in as a bonus.”

When they reached the loft, they saw that the gable door was closed.

“Get the door open,” Adler said.

“Soon as we open it that cold wind is goin' to start blowin' snow in on us,” Morris said.

“You know any other way we're goin' to be able to shoot 'im if we don't open the door?

“No, I'm just sayin' is all.”

 

 

In Fiddlers' Green, Duff turned down a second scotch, choosing a cup of coffee instead.

“Mr. MacCallister, what have you heard from Miss Parker?” Molly asked. “Do you know when she'll be back?”

“Before Christmas, I'm told,” Duff said.

“Well, I for one will be glad when she returns. I want to buy a new dress for myself for Christmas.”

“I expect Duff will be just as glad to see her return as you,” Biff said. “Isn't that right, Duff?”

“I've nae intention of waiting till the lass returns,” Duff said. “I'll be goin' to Rawhide Buttes myself in a couple days.”

“Tell her that the missus and I say hello,” Biff said.

At that moment, Marshal Craig stepped into the saloon. Closing the door behind him, he stood just inside for a moment as he shivered then began brushing away the snow. “Brr, it's colder 'n hell out there.”

Molly laughed. “Doesn't seem to me like it would have to be very cold to be colder than hell. At least, not from what I've heard of the place.”

Marshal Craig laughed as well. “You may have a point there.” He stepped up to the bar. “Biff, do you suppose I could have a cup of coffee with a bit o' sweetener, if you get my drift?”

“I think I can accommodate you,” Biff replied.

“I just got some new Wanted posters in,” Craig said. “There was a bank robbery up in Sweetwater a few days ago.”

“A bank robbery, you say?” Biff replied as he poured a little whiskey into the marshal's cup of coffee.

“Yes, well, actually, it was more like an attempted bank robbery. Turns out that as they were leaving, one of the bank robbers was shot and killed. He was the one carrying the money, so the other two didn't get away with anything.”

“Anyone else killed?” Duff asked.

“Yeah, two more, I'm afraid. Both innocent citizens of the town,” the marshal replied.

“Och, 'tis a shame at any time when such perfidious behavior can take the lives of the innocent, but especially at this time of year. There'll be some sad Christmases with their families, I'm thinking.”

“I'm thinking so as well,” Marshal Craig said. “And get this, Duff. Guess who the bank robbers were?”

“I wouldn't know where to start guessing.”

“Yeah, you would, if you thought about it. It was Jesse and T. Bob Cave. A couple people recognized them.”

“I'll be. Would it be one of them who was killed?”

“No such luck. They both got away. It was a man named Wally Jacobs who was killed.”

Duff frowned. “I don't believe I've heard of him.”

“No reason you should have. I don't think he ever quite got around to makin' a name for himself.”

“So Jesse and T. Bob got away, did they? It would be a foine Christmas if those two blaggards would wind up being caught in the next few days.”

“It would be at that,” Craig agreed.

“How is R.W. getting along, Marshal?” Biff asked. “I haven't seen much of him since the funeral.”

“It's a sad time for him and Nora. You know what he's been doing? He's been spending a lot of time just starin' at that horse he bought for his grandson. It's a pitiful thing to see.”

“Aye, I can understand. I'm more than just a bit familiar with grief.” Duff finished his drink, then looked over at Nicholson. “Lad, would ye be up to tellin' Molly good-bye now, so you can come out to the ranch with me?”

“Yes, sir!” Nicholson said happily.

“Damn. It's so cold layin' here in this open door like this that I can't hardly feel my fingers,” Morris said.

“Blow on 'em,” Pollard suggested.

“Blow on 'em? What the hell is that supposed to do?”

“Quiet, here they come,” Adler said.

“I wish we'da brought our rifles along,” Morris said. “If we had rifles, we could shoot 'em both from here.”

“It woulda looked a little suspicious with four of us walkin' down the middle of the street carryin' rifles, wouldn't it?” Adler asked.

 

 

“That's rather strange,” Duff said.

“What's rather strange?”

“The door to the loft of the livery stable is open. Walt normally keeps that door closed to keep out as much of the cold air as possible.”

“Maybe he's cleaning out the loft,” Nicholson suggested.

“I suppose that's possible,” Duff agreed, then saw a sudden flash of light in the hayloft and knew he was seeing a muzzle flash even before he heard the gun report and the singing whine of a bullet frying the air between the two of them.

“Get down!” he ordered.

“Mr. MacCallister, I don't have a gun!”

“Get over there behind the corner!” Duff shouted, even as he was pulling his pistol and moving to his left.

At least three more shots were fired and all three bullets hit the ground, then ricocheted away with a loud whine.

Duff didn't know if there were four shooters, or one shooter who shot multiple times. That question was answered when he saw simultaneous muzzle flashes. He couldn't actually see his assailants as they were in the dark shadows of the loft, but fired twice into the dark maw, just to keep their heads down until he could improve his position.

He ran to the watering trough closest to the livery stable, then dived behind it. Two more shots were fired from the loft, and both hit the watering trough.
Thock thock.

Duff looked back across the street, and satisfied himself that Nicholson was in no immediate danger. When he looked back toward the livery, he saw Walt Merrill standing there, drawn from his office by the gunshots.

“Walt, get back!” Duff shouted, waving toward him.

Walt looked at him in curiosity, but made no effort to move.

Duff fired at the ground close to Walt, startling him. “Get back!” he shouted again, waving and pointing toward Walt's office.

Finally, Walt understood what Duff was shouting about and turned and ran back inside, slamming the door to the little room behind him.

Another shot came from the loft, and Duff was ready. Aiming just to the right of where the flame pattern had appeared, he squeezed the trigger.

A body tumbled through the open loft door, hitting hard and raising dust where it fell onto the street below.

“Damn it!” a voice shouted from within the livery. “He got Pollard!”

Duff could hear the water gurgling through the bullet holes in the water trough, even as he got up and ran toward the door of the livery. He shot two more times to keep the assailants back. When he reached the big, open, double doors, he ran on through to the inside.

“Where'd he go? Morris, do you see him?” the voice cried.

“I think he come inside.”