A Frontier Christmas (18 page)

Even the Cottonwood Saloon was ready for Christmas. Six green, red-bowed wreaths were placed over all of the
O
s in the saloon's name, which was painted across the false front.

It was pleasantly warm inside the saloon as Smoke and Matt stepped up to the bar.

“What'll it be, gents?” the bartender asked.

“A whiskey for warmth, and a beer for taste,” Smoke said.

“I'll have the same,” Matt added.

“What do you mean, no?” asked a man's loud, gruff voice. “Look, sister, you ain't nothin' special. I'm not askin' you to go upstairs with me, I'm tellin' you to. You don't have no choice as to whether to say yes or no. If I decide to take you upstairs with me, you'll damn well go.”

“You may think so, but I still have the right to say who I will and who I will not do business with.”

“Carol, do you have a problem there?” the bartender asked.

“It's not anything I can't handle, Nate, thanks,” Carol said resolutely. She looked back at the man who was harassing her. “I told you no, and that's the end of it.”

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the man slapped Carol in the face, hitting her so hard she fell to the floor with blood streaming from her nose and mouth.

“Conroy, get out of my saloon, now!” Nate bent over, but a pistol suddenly appeared in Conroy's hand.

“Uh-uh,” Conroy said. “You bring that scattergun up from under the bar, now. And you'd better be holding it by the end of the barrel, or I'll shoot you dead where you stand.”

“Conroy, you got no right doin' this,” said one of the other customers.

“You want some of this?” Conroy asked.

“No, but . . .”

“Then stay out of it. Nate, let me see that scattergun now.

Carefully, Nate picked up the double-barreled shotgun, holding it as Conroy had suggested, by the muzzle end, and lay it on the top of the bar.

Conroy holstered his pistol, reached over to retrieve the gun, broke it down, and extracted the two shells from the breech. Then, leaning the empty gun against the bar, he turned his attention back to Carol, who was still lying on the floor. “Get up. Get up and come upstairs with me. I ain't goin' to ask you again.”

“Good. I'm glad you aren't going to ask her again,” Matt said. Pulling out a clean handkerchief, he handed it to Carol, then helped her up.

“What's it to you?” Conroy asked.

“Since the young lady doesn't want to go with you, I thought perhaps she would go upstairs with me,” Matt said.

Carol looked at the man who had come to her assistance. Her face was creased with a smile of recognition. “Hello, Matt. It's been a long time. When was it?”

“Almost a year ago,” Matt said.

“I'd be happy to go upstairs with you.”

“Well, now.” Conroy smiled, but there was no humor in his smile. “What are you trying to do, make me jealous?”

“Go away, Conroy.” Carol dabbed at her nose, then pulled the handkerchief away to examine the blood. “Even saloon girls can make a choice and I choose him.”

“Nate, do you have a clean towel back there?” Matt asked.

“Y-yes, sir, I do,” Nate said, stuttering in his nervousness.

“Hand it to me, would you?”

Conroy put his hand on his pistol. “There better be nothin' but a cloth in your hand when it comes back up.”

Nate pulled a clean white cloth from under the bar and handed it to Matt. Matt poured whiskey on it, then handed it to Carol. “Hold this on the cut on your lip,” he suggested.

“Mister, you're just gettin' a little too personal with my girl,” Conroy said.

“I'm not your girl, Conroy, and I never have been,” Carol said.

“Are you goin' to stand there and say you ain't never took me up to your room?”

“One time,” Carol said. “And I got a black eye for no reason. I don't have to do anything with someone who would do that, and I won't.”

“You like to hit women, do you?” Matt asked.

“What's it to you?”

“Anyone who would hit a woman isn't much of a man.”

“You know what, mister? I've had about a belly full of you. I see that you are wearing a gun. How about we settle this now?”

“You're wanting to draw on me, are you?” Matt asked.

Again, Conroy smiled a tight, cruel, and confident, smile. “Yeah, I am.”

The others in the saloon moved to get out of the way, but Smoke very pointedly stepped up behind Matt and, reaching down for the whiskey bottle, poured himself another shot.

“Mister, are you crazy?” Conroy asked. “What are you doing standing right in the way, like that? Can't you see that me 'n him is about to start shootin' here?”

“Just him,” Smoke said.

“What?”

“You said ‘me and him.' Of course, I know that you meant to say, ‘he and I,' as in the two of you. But it won't be the two of you, it'll just be him. You won't even get your shot off.”

“All right. Get your fool ass kilt. It's your own doin',” Conroy said.

Conroy didn't call his move. He made a lightning draw, but by the time his pistol had cleared the holster, Matt's gun was already in his hand, and a little finger of flame erupted from the end of the barrel.

Matt's bullet hit Conroy in the middle of his chest, and he died with an expression of shock and disbelief on his face.

Conroy wasn't the only one shocked. People in town had seen him in action before, and were convinced that it was unlikely he would ever encounter anyone who could beat him in a fair draw. And it could be said that this wasn't even a fair draw. Conroy had gone for his gun without a word of warning.

It didn't take longer than five minutes for Marshal Worley to come pushing through the front door with pistol in hand. Seeing Conroy lying on the floor, the marshal lowered his pistol. “I'll be damned. I see Conroy finally ran into someone faster 'n he was. Was it a fair fight?”

Everyone began to talk and shout at once.

“Hold it, hold it! How 'm I supposed to understand you if you're all talkin' at the same time?” He looked toward Carol, and saw her bruised and bloodied face. “I got a feelin' you're involved in this.”

“Only as an innocent bystander,” Matt said.

“Who are you?” Marshal Worley asked.

“I'm the one who killed Conroy.”

Worley smirked. “I sort of figured that. I mean, what's your name?”

“Jensen. Matt Jensen.”

“I'll be damned. I've heard of you, Mr. Jensen. Would you like to tell me what happened?”

“He drew on me, and I shot him,” Matt said.

“There has to be more to it than that.”

“Conroy started beating up on Carol,” Nate said. “When Mr. Jensen here stepped in, real nice like, Conroy started on him. Next thing you know, without so much as a how do you do, Conroy went for his gun. Lightning fast he was, and I figured he was about to put another notch on his gun handle. But Mr. Jensen was even faster. Conroy never got off so much as one shot.”

“Is that pretty much what all of you say?” Marshal Worley asked the others.

“Yeah,” half a dozen responded.

Worley put his pistol away, took off his hat, and ran his hand through his hair. He looked back at Carol. “You all right, girl?”

“Yes, I'm fine, thank you.”

“There ain't goin' to be no charges,” Worley said. “Conroy needed killin', and that's all there is to it.”

“Drinks are on the house, boys!” Nate shouted, and there was a rush to the bar.

Carol took a step toward Matt. “Thank you. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along.”

“I'm glad I happened to be here,” Matt said. “Oh, let me introduce my friend. Smoke, this is Carol . . . I don't know her last name.”

“Oh honey, girls like me don't have last names, you know that,” Carol said with a smile.

“Carol, this is Smoke Jensen.”

“Is he your brother?”

Smoke chuckled. “Thanks for not asking if I'm his father.”

“In a manner of speaking, he is my brother.” It was a strange way of responding to Carol's question, but Matt offered no further explanation, nor did she pursue the subject.

 

 

“Open your mouth,” Dr. Poindexter said.

Barney Sadler complied. He was the first adult Dr. Poindexter had seen with the disease.

Using a tongue depressor, the doctor examined Sadler's throat, and saw that it was covered with white mucus. It was presenting itself exactly like diphtheria. “When did you first notice the symptoms?”

“The what?” Sadler replied, his voice weak and raspy.

“When did you first start getting sick?”

“About five days ago.”

“Have you been around any schoolchildren?”

“No, I ain't been around no schoolkids or any other kind of kids. I don't have no kids. Hell, Doc, you know that.”

“Have you been around anyone who has been around schoolkids?”

“Why do you keep asking that question? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Please answer my questions, Mr. Sadler. Believe me, they are important.”

“Well, like I said I ain't been around . . . no, wait. I helped Rufus McCoy build some things that's goin' to be used at school. Seems they're plannin' on havin' a play, and Rufus wanted me to help him build a manger and a stable and such. He's around kids all the time, seein' as he works as a janitor and handyman at the school.”

“Thank you for the information.”

“I still don't know why it's so all-fired important about whether or not I been around anyone who's been around schoolkids.”

Poindexter picked up a rubber-ball atomizer. “I'm going to spray this into your throat now, and it's going to burn.”

“Wait a minute. Didn't I tell you my throat was already hurtin'? Why do you want to do somethin' that's goin' to make it hurt even more?

“I'm sorry, Mr. Sadler. It has to be done.”

 

 

Sally stood with her hands on her hips as she looked around Cora's store. “Yes,” she said, nodding her head. “Yes, that's what we'll do.”

“What's what we'll do? What are you talking about?” At the moment, Cora was putting a dress on a mannequin.

“I have an idea,” Sally said. “I think we should do a special display for Christmas.”

“Well, that's what we are doing, isn't it? I mean all the dresses we are displaying are for Christmas. Though, in truth, any dress in the store can be bought for Christmas.”

“No, I'm thinking more than that. I mean, let's do something artistic, something that will make people smile, something that will have them telling others about it so that they will want to come in to see it as well.”

“Oh, I see what you are saying,” Cora said. “You want to put up a Christmas tree.”

“No,” Meagan said, shaking her head. “I think Sally has something else in mind.

“A Christmas tree, yes, but let's not stop there.”

“Oh, you mean like bunting and greenery and such?” Cora looked around the inside of her store. “I suppose we can, but with all the colorful dresses and bolts of cloth that we have in here, wouldn't a few more ribbons just get lost?”

“How good are you at drawing?” Sally asked.

“I suppose it depends on what I need to draw.”

“Faces.”

“Faces?”

“On paper bags,” Sally said. “We're going to draw lots of faces on lots of paper bags.”

“Whose faces are we going to draw?”

“Nobody's in particular. Just faces of women and children. Then we are going to fill the sacks so that they look like people's heads, and we're going to give them hair made of yarn.”

Cora laughed. “I don't have an idea in the world what you are thinking about, but I already like it.”

“You'll like it even more once we get it finished,” Sally promised.

“Whatever it is,” Cora replied.

“I think I know what you are talking about when you want to do a display,” Meagan said. “And Sally is right, Cora, you will like it even more once we are finished.”

“I don't have any choice, Jenny,” Dr. Poindexter said after he sent Sadler back home with instructions not to leave his house, and not to come into contact with anyone. “I'm going to have to apply a city-wide quarantine. This whole town is in danger and I'm going to shut it down.”

“Can you do that?”

“If you mean do I have the authority, to tell the truth, I don't know whether I have the authority to do something like that or not. But I'm going to assume that I do. I don't see as I have any other option.”

Leaving his office, Dr. Poindexter walked down the street to the jail. He stood out in front of the building for a moment, watching as the scaffold was being torn down. Because the scaffold had been used not to execute the two men who killed the Guthrie family but to display the bodies of the deputy sheriff and the circuit judge, the town had declared that it should be removed as quickly as possible.

Dr. Poindexter dreaded what he was going to have to do, but it was something that he knew had to be done. Squaring his shoulders with determination, he pushed open the door and stepped into Mark Worley's office.

The marshal was sitting at his desk, filling out forms. He looked up. “If you're here about Conroy, he won't need you,” Marshal Worley said.

“Conroy?”

“Bud Conroy. He just got himself shot over in the Cottonwood. But he was dead by the time I got there, so there's no need for a doctor. Who called you, anyway?”

“Nobody called me. I don't know anything about anyone getting shot.”

“You don't? Well then, what brings you here?”

“Marshal, are you aware of the corpse that Tom Welch got from the Rocky Mountain Hotel?”

“Yeah, I seen him. Damndest looking corpse I ever saw. That's why I told Tom to have you take a look at him.”

“I saw him. We've got trouble, Marshal. We've got major trouble.”

“We've got trouble? What do you mean? Are you fixin' to tell me that you think the fella was murdered? I mean, I admit it looked a little strange, the way his neck was all swollen up like it was. But I didn't think he'd been murdered.”

“It wasn't murder. It would be better if it had been murder. That way, the rest of the town wouldn't be affected.”

“Now you're losin' me, Doc. How is the rest of the town affected by findin' that fella dead in his hotel room? Especially if he wasn't murdered.”

“The rest of the town is affected because I have to ask you to put the entire town on quarantine. I don't want anybody to be able to come in, and I don't want you to let anyone leave.”

“What?” Marshal Worley shouted. “Doc, what the hell are you talking about? Why would you want to close down the town like that?”

“Diphtheria, Marshal. I've treated three cases, and young Helen Sinclair has died with the disease.”

“Where did this diphtheria come from?” Worley asked. “How did it get started in our town?”

“It started with Ralph Walters, the corpse that came from the hotel. Evidently he was a traveling entertainer of some sort. He exposed the children in school, and they are exposing everyone else. It's going to spread, and it's going to spread fast. The best we can do is keep it contained.”

“Oh, Lord. If it come from him, the kids in school wasn't the only ones that he was around. He done a show for the firemen's benefit. There must have been forty or fifty that was there. I was there.” Worley took a quick breath. “Damn! Does that mean I have it?”

“How long ago was the show?”

“It was a little over a week ago.”

“Then the chances are you don't have it. You would have been showing symptoms, by now.”

“Well, isn't there something you can do about it? I mean, yeah, you say shut down the whole town, but what about the ones that's already got it?”

“I've sent to Cheyenne for an antitoxin serum. It depends on whether they have any, and if so, if they have enough that they can send some to us.”

“How soon do you need the town shut down?”

“Right away. Oh, and Marshal, here comes the hard part. We're going to have to close any place where people gather. That means school, saloons, and stores.”

“We can't do that, Doc. It's Christmas! I know for a fact the school has a play planned. The merchants have all made special plans for the Christmas season, and the people will want to be buying Christmas presents and the like. And the saloons? Why, if we close the saloons, there will likely be a riot in the streets. Hell, you know that as well as anyone!”

“Marshal, we don't have any choice. We have to act, and we have to act fast. I just pray that it's not already too late. The sad truth is, if we don't close all these places, we are going to start having a lot of bodies to bury. Now which would you rather have? Would you rather have a few disgruntled people? Or would you rather have people start dying on you?”

Marshal Worley sighed, and ran his hand through his hair. “Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, I'm afraid it really is that bad. Like you said, it's Christmas. Do you think I would come here to suggest this if I didn't think it absolutely necessary?”

“You do realize, don't you, that it's going to take an army of deputies to get this done?”

“I know it is going to be a difficult task.”

“That's easy for you to say, Doc. All you have to do is tell me to do it. I'm the one that has to get it done.”

“True. But it isn't easy to treat diphtheria patients, either, and I expect they'll be piling up on me pretty soon.”

“Oh,” Marshal Worley said. “Damn, Doc, you're right. I had no business bellyachin' about how hard it's goin' to be for me. Neither me nor any of my deputies will have it as hard as you. I'm sorry I mouthed off like that.”

“No apology needed, Marshal. Just do what you can to help me keep this under control.”

“You got it,” Marshal Worley said. “I guess I'd better start rounding them up. Oh, what about the church? Are you saying I have to close the church as well?”

Dr. Poindexter stroked his cheek for a moment before he replied. “We're probably going to need the church.”

“That's what I was thinking. I expect a lot of people will be wanting to come to church to pray.”

“Yes, that, too,” Dr. Poindexter said, though he didn't expand on his rather strange answer.

 

 

Cora and Meagan soon saw what Sally had in mind when they started drawing faces on the paper sacks. Clothing the dress forms, they stuffed the long sleeves of the dresses so that they became arms, then placed the paper sack heads on them. The result was several lifelike figures, both adult and child, gathered around a well-decorated Christmas tree.

“Oh, it looks as if they are having a Christmas party!” Cora said.

“I just know this is the most beautiful Christmas display in the whole town,” Meagan replied as she added another gaily wrapped package under the tree.

“It is all because of you,” Cora said to Sally.

“Nonsense. We did it together,” Sally said.

“This is going to be the best Christmas I have ever had,” Cora said, her voice bubbling over with enthusiasm. “I haven't been this excited about Christmas since I was a little girl.”

“It makes me anxious to get back home,” Meagan said. “Thanks to Sally's idea, I'll do the same thing in my store.”

“Oh! How unthinking of me!” Cora said. “Here, I've taken all your time to help me get ready, at the expense of your own store.”

Meagan smiled. “Not to worry, Cora. Your store is just getting started. You need something like this to attract attention. My store has been going for a few years. I don't need to introduce anyone to it. They already know that it is there. And it won't take me too long to decorate it, once I get back home.

A tinkling bell on the front door announced a visitor, and with smiles on their faces, they turned to welcome the caller, or, in this case, callers. It was Smoke and Matt.

“It looks like we came to the right place,” Smoke said.

Sally introduced Smoke and Matt to Cora.

“This looks interesting,” Smoke said, pointing to the display the three women were putting together.

“Well, it's all thanks to Sally,” Cora said. “She came up with the idea. I can hardly wait until members of the Downtown Merchants Association see it. They will be pea green with envy.”

Another man came into the store then.

“My,” Cora said. “I don't believe I've ever had this many men in my store at the same time. Welcome, Deputy Collins. Are you looking for a Christmas present for a lady friend?”

“No ma'am. I wish I was. I hate to do this to you, Miss Ensor,” Collins said with a troubled expression. “But I ain't got no choice. We're havin' to do it to ever' business in town.”

“Do what?” Cora asked, the expression on her face mirroring her confusion at the strange comment.

Collins handed her a sheet of paper. “I'm sorry,” he said again.

Cora frowned. “What? You can't close my business! What are you talking about?”

“What is it?” Meagan asked.

“Look at this!” Cora handed Meagan the piece of paper.

“What?” Meagan asked with a gasp as she read the paper. She looked up at the man who had delivered it. “You can't close Cora's business. It's nearly Christmas!”

“It ain't just Miss Ensor's business, ma'am. Ever' business in town is being closed,” Collins said.

“Wait a minute,” Smoke said. “According to this, we can't even go back home.”

“It ain't me,” the deputy said. “All I'm doin' is helpin' to spread the word. From what I understand, it's Doc Poindexter doin' it.”

“Surely the doctor can't do this by himself. He is being backed by the marshal, is he not?” Cora asked.

“Well, yes, ma'am, I reckon his is, seein' as it was the marshal what give me these here papers to pass out to all the stores and such.”

“Is the marshal in his office now?” Meagan asked.

“Yes, ma'am, he is.”

Meagan folded up the sheet of paper that had the announcement. “We'll just see about this. I can't stay here over Christmas. I have to get back home.”

“Yes, ma'am, but even if you decide to go, I don't know how you're goin' to get it done. There won't be no stagecoaches or even freight wagons runnin'. And the marshal plans to have a deputy posted on all the roads, stoppin' anyone from comin' in, and keepin' ever' one that's in the town now from leavin'.”

Meagan, accompanied by Sally, Smoke, and Matt, stepped into the marshal's office a few minutes later.

Marshal Worley had the cylinder out of his pistol and was using a rod to poke a small cloth wad through the barrel. He looked toward Smoke and Matt. “Are you two here about the shootin' in the saloon? I told you, there wouldn't be any charges. Ever' one there says it was self-defense.”

“What shooting?” Sally asked, looking toward Smoke. “Were you involved in a shooting?”

“It wasn't Smoke, Sally. I was the one,” Matt said.

“And neither of you were going to mention it?”

“I was going to tell you about it later,” Smoke said. “To tell you the truth, a dress shop didn't seem the place to discuss it. Especially as you were all sort of excited about the Christmas decorations.”

“I guess you're right,” Sally agreed.

“If you ain't here about the shootin', why are you here?”

“This is why we are here,” Meagan said, showing the marshal the paper Collins had delivered to Cora Ensor. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Just like it says, Miss Parker. The whole town is under quarantine.”

“But why would you do such a thing? Do you have any idea how much money all the businesses have invested in getting ready for Christmas? You can't just shut the town down like this! Don't you understand that some of the businesses could wind up going bankrupt?”

“You'll have to go plead your case with the doc,” Marshal Worley said.