Read A Lone Star Christmas Online

Authors: William W. Johnstone

A Lone Star Christmas (30 page)

BOOK: A Lone Star Christmas
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“You know them?”
“They are shepherds,” Rebecca said. “This one is Gaston.” Rebecca did not tell the others how she knew them, that these were the same shepherds that the Rocking H had come across during the summer drive up to Dodge City.
“The woman with child, she is about to give birth, yes?” Gaston asked.
“Yes,” Sally said.
“Gaston, do you know somewhere we can go to get her out of the cold and the snow?” Rebecca asked.
“Yes, I know a barn that is not far,” Gaston said.
“How far?”
“Not far. Maybe one mile.”
“Oh,” Rebecca said. “In this snow, there is no way Maria could walk a mile. I don't know that she could even do it if there was no snow.”
“The mules,” Sally said. “We'll put her on one of the mules.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “That is a good idea.”
Working quickly, they disconnected one of the two mules that, while out of harness, had been tied to the wagon. There was no saddle for it, but Gaston and one of the other shepherds lifted Maria and sat her on the mule so that both legs were on one side. Maria grabbed onto the mule's mane with one hand, and held Rebecca's hand with the other. Sally walked on the opposite side of the mule to help keep her on, and with two of the three shepherds walking in front to break a path through the snow, Gaston led the mule through the falling snow.
It took them at least forty-five minutes to reach the barn. There was so much snow piled up outside that it took another five minutes to get enough of the snow moved away to enable them to open the door. Inside, they found a stall with straw. Gaston built a fire on the floor of the barn, just outside the stall. There was a hole in the roof, and that plus the open door provided enough of a draft for the smoke to rise.
 
As Smoke, Matt, and Falcon continued their pursuit of the would-be cattle rustlers, the snowfall stopped, and the clouds rolled away. Oddly, within moments the sky was alive with sparkling stars. A moon that was nearly full, except for a tiny sliver along the left side, bounced its bright light off the new-fallen snow so that, in dramatic contrast to the total lack of visibility earlier, they could now see for great distances. Red and the five riders with him were now quite visible to Smoke, Matt, and Falcon.
 
“We ain't goin' to get away from 'em!” Red said. “We're goin' to have to fight 'em! Over there, up on them rocks!”
Snaking their rifles from their saddle-sheaths, the six outlaws rode over to the rocky hill that Red had pointed out; then, stepping from their saddles, started a laborious climb up the hill, slipping and sliding as they did so.
 
“Smoke!” Matt shouted, pointing.
“I see them,” Smoke said.
“Once they get into those rocks, they're going to have cover,” Matt said.
“We'll just have to shoot straighter,” Falcon quipped.
The three men dismounted, then, as the outlaws had done previously, they pulled their rifles from the saddle-sheaths and levered rounds into the chambers. Bending over at the waist, Smoke, Matt, and Falcon began moving toward the little rock-strewn hill.
“Shoot 'em, shoot 'em!” Red shouted, even as he pulled the trigger on his Henry, and a little flame of fire spit out from the muzzle.
The others with Red began shooting as well, but they had the same disadvantage most marksmen have when shooting up or down at a target. The bullet's flight path depends on the horizontal range to the plane of the target, not the line of sight up or down a hill. In order to hit the target a shooter must aim lower than normal to achieve the desired point of impact.
Smoke knew this, because he had been taught by Preacher. Matt knew it, because he had been taught by Smoke. Falcon knew it, because he had been taught by his father, Jamie Ian MacCallister. But the outlaws did not know this, and though they had the security of the rocks as cover, they would have to raise up to present themselves any time they fired.
Rifles barked, flame-patterns flared, and the bullets fired by the outlaws whizzed by ineffectively, whereas every round fired by Smoke, Matt, and Falcon found its mark. In less than two minutes of fierce engagement, all of the outlaws had come tumbling down the hillside, dead or fatally wounded. Smoke and the others closed in on the fallen rustlers, finding them as black forms in the white snow. Five of them were spread out, lifeless on the ground, but one was still alive, and he was sitting up, holding his hands over a bleeding wound in his stomach.
“Which one of you is Smoke Jensen?” he asked, his voice strained with pain and weakened from loss of blood.
“I am Smoke Jensen.”
“I thought it was supposed to be third time is the charm. This is the third time I've gone up ag'in you, and you've won ever' time.”
“I don't know you,” Smoke said.
“The name is Red Coleman.”
“You are the one who tried to hold up the cattle train,” Smoke said.
“Yeah, and the train before that,” Red said. “Oh, my gut hurts.” Red looked down at himself, moved his hands away from the wound and saw the blood, there cupped, spill into the snow. I reckon I'm a goner, ain't I?”
“I reckon so,” Smoke said. Smoke turned and walked back toward his horse.
“Wait a minute, you're walkin' away just like that? Where are you goin'?”
“To get my cows back,” Smoke said. He mounted his horse.
“You're just goin' to leave me out here to die?”
“Yeah, I am,” Smoke said. “He started out after the others, who had already gone in pursuit of the herd.”
“You can't leave me here like this you son of a bitch! Come back here! Come back here, do you hear me? Bastard! Bas ...”
 
With the cows no longer moving, but standing merely as one black mass against the snow and with the snow fall stopped, Tom was no longer disoriented. He could see Duff, Clay, and Dalton on the opposite side of the herd from him.
“Where are the others?” Tom asked when he rode up to them.
“Smoke, Matt, and Falcon went after the outlaws,” Clay said. “Dusty is dead.”
“Dusty is dead? Oh,” Tom said. “Oh, I hate that.”
 
When Smoke, Matt, and Falcon returned, they found the cattle standing in place. Clay, Duff, Dalton, and Tom were all together.
“The outlaws?” Clay asked.
“We won't be having any more trouble with them,” Falcon said. “Good to see you, Tom, I was afraid we might have lost you as well as Duff.”
“I was on the other side of the herd,” Tom said.
“The cattle aren't going anywhere,” Clay said, “at least, not for the rest of the night. But some of us need to get back to the camp. I don't feel good about leaving the women there alone.”
“How far do you think we've come?” Dalton asked.
“Four, maybe five miles,” Clay answered.
“Clay, why don't you, Smoke, and maybe Tom, go back to check on the women?” Falcon suggested. “Like you said, these cows aren't going to go anywhere tonight. Duff, Dalton, and I can bring them back in tomorrow morning.”
“Good idea,” Clay said. “Smoke, Tom, let's go back. That is, if we can find our way back.”
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE
At first, they couldn't even see the wagon when they approached what had been the camp. Then Smoke pointed to a hillock of snow to which a mule was attached. As they drew closer they saw that it was, indeed, a wagon, though the snow completely covered the wheels and the wagon seat. Only the arched canvas protruded from the snow, but the canvas was white so that upon first sight, even it appeared to be snow.
A single mule stood beside it, only the top of its body and its head and neck clear of the snow. As the men approached, the mule turned toward them and began to bray, complaining bitterly about the cold.
“Where are the women?” Clay asked, anxiously. “Maria?” he shouted. “Maria?” he called again.
“One of the mules is gone,” Smoke said. “Maybe they went off looking for shelter.”
“The baby,” Clay said. “I'm worried about the baby.”
“The baby? What baby?” Smoke asked.
“Maria is pregnant,” Tom said.
“Wait a minute, how did you know that?” Clay asked. “She has been keeping it covered up.”
“I don't mean this as a criticism, Clay, but what is she doing here if she is pregnant?” Smoke asked.
“She didn't want to stay home alone. The baby isn't due until February,” Clay said.
“She's much further along than that,” Tom said. “I'd say she is due within another week or two at the latest.”
“Oh my God! She may be having the baby somewhere right now! We've got to find her! Smoke, I've heard that you are the best tracker there is. Please, find them,” Clay begged.
“The snow,” Smoke said, shrugging his shoulders. “It has everything covered up, I don't know. It would only be a guess.”
At that moment they saw a rider approaching the camp, and Clay, thinking he might be another thief, fired at him, but the rider made no attempt to dodge the bullet. Instead, he kept coming as if nothing had happened.
Clay started to shoot again, but Smoke held out his hand.
“Hold it, Clay,” Smoke said. “I don't think he is any danger to us.”
When the rider got close enough they saw that he was a black man wearing a white buffalo robe.
“Are you gentlemen looking for three ladies?” he asked.
“Yes,” Clay replied quickly. He had started to put his pistol away, but hearing the rider mention the three women, he became suspicious and held the gun in his hand for a while longer. “Do you know where they are?”
“I know where they are. If you will follow me, I can lead you to them.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Balthazar. Follow me. You are needed.”
“Is something wrong?” Clay asked anxiously.
“You are needed,” Balthazar said again.
Balthazar lead them on, his horse easily breaking a path through the snow so that the others could follow. After no more than fifteen minutes they saw a column of white smoke and rising, glowing, red sparks making a beacon against the dark sky, leading them on until they reached a partially collapsed barn. Three men came out of the barn to meet them.
“Are there women here?” Clay asked.
“Yes. They are in the barn,” one of the three said.
“Who are you?” Smoke asked.
“My name is Gaston.”
“Clay Ramsey, go inside quickly. Your wife needs you,” Balthazar says.
Without stopping to wonder how Balthazar knew his name, or even how he knew that Maria was his wife, Clay hurried inside. In the light of the same fire that had sent up the beacon of sparks, he saw Maria lying on a bed of straw. Sally was on one side of her and Rebecca on the other, both holding her hands, and both with very worried looks on their faces. Maria's face was contorted with pain. The only good thing about the situation was that the small fire inside was keeping the stable warm.
“Maria! Are you all right?” Clay asked.
“She is going to have a baby, but she is having a very hard time,” Sally said. “The baby is trying to come out backwards.”
“A breech,” Tom said.
“The mother and her baby need your help, Doctor Whitman,” Balthazar said. He was looking directly at Tom.
The others looked first at Balthazar, then at Tom.
“Tom, why did he call you Doctor Whitman?” Clay asked.
“Because I am—that is, I used to be—a doctor.”
“You know what she needs, Doctor,” Balthazar said.
“No, I don't.”
“Yes, you know,” Balthazar said.
“All right, she needs a Caesarian. Are you happy now? She needs a Caesarian, but I can't do it,” Tom said. “In a stable? It is impossible.”
“Yes, you can. I know that you have the skill that is needed.”
“If you know that much about me, then you know what happened, why I can't do this,” Tom said.
“You are concerned, Dr. Whitman, because you lost your wife, Martha, and the child. But I say this to you. Have no fear, for you will do this thing, and it will be good.”
“No, I will not,” Tom said. “I cannot.”
“Tom, if you really are a doctor, you can't just turn your back on Maria when she needs you so,” Rebecca said.
“You don't understand, Rebecca. I'm not a doctor anymore,” Tom said. “Not since I killed my wife and child.”
“Tom, please, I beg of you,” Clay said. “If you can do something, you must help her!”
“Didn't you hear what I said, Clay? I can't do it! This requires a Caesarian, and I killed my wife and child trying to do a Caesarian. That is a very difficult and invasive operation that fails eighty-five percent of the time. And that is under the very best of conditions. If I were to try such a procedure here, in a barn, in unsterile conditions, and without the proper equipment, it would be little more than murder!”
“Try, Doctor, please try! For God's sake, you must help her!” Clay begged.
“Yes, Doctor,” Balthazar says. “For
God's
sake, you must help her.”
“I will assist you, Doctor,” Rebecca said.
Tom put his hands to his temples and pressed hard, as if by so doing he could make all this go away.
“Tom, you can do it,” Rebecca said. She put her fingers on his cheek. “I know you can do it.”
Tom lowered his hands and looked at Maria, who was now in great pain. The look on his face evolved through several expressions, from anger at being put in this position, to fear, to remorse, to resignation, and finally, to determination. And once his face showed his determination, he was overtaken by a calm demeanor. As of now, he was obviously in charge.
“I will need a knife,” Tom said. “A sharp knife.”
“Smoke, you have a knife,” Sally said.
“It's a Bowie knife,” Smoke said. “Hardly what you would call a surgical. instrument.”
“I've seen you skin many an animal with that knife,” Sally said. “You keep it as sharp as a razor.”
Smoke pulled the knife and showed it to Tom. “Will this do, Doctor?” he asked.
“It will have to do,” he said. “Take the blade over there and hold it in the fire for about a minute. I'm going to have to sew the wound closed afterward. Clay, do you still have that saddle needle you have for sewing up leather?”
“Yes, but the only thing I have for lacing are rawhide strips.”
“The last time I was in town, I picked up some spare guitar strings for Dusty and I never got around to giving them to him. They are gut strings and that will work perfectly. Rebecca, look in my saddle bags. The ‘E' string should work. That's the smallest string.”
“All right.”
“Oh, and you will also find half a bottle of Scotch there. Bring it as well. I'll need an antiseptic,” Tom added. He pulled his pistol, emptied all the cartridges, then handed it to Smoke. “Smoke, put the barrel in the fire, the barrel only. Leave the handle out so you can pick it up when I need it. I will need the barrel to be very hot.”
“All right,” Smoke said.
“Also, I'll need some hot water,” Tom said. We can use snow, but I don't know what to put it in.”
“I have a bucket,” one of the shepherds said.
“Good, that will work. Fill the bucket with clean snow and start heating water.”
“I'll need some rags for cleaning, and something to wrap the baby in when it is born.”
“A saddle blanket?” Tom asked.
“Yes, but that won't do for cleaning up the baby. And we'll need some kind of cloth between the baby's skin and the blanket.”
“How about petticoats?” Rebecca suggested. “All three of us are wearing petticoats.”
“I won't need Maria's. But I will need both of yours.”
Nodding, Rebecca and Sally got up, walked into the next stall where, with their action concealed by the wall of the stall, they removed their petticoats and brought them back.
“Rip them up into several strips,” Tom suggested, and the two women did so.
A moment later, Tom had everything he needed, and was ready to begin, and he stood there for a moment, looking at Maria, his face glowing gold in the warming fire. As Rebecca stared at him, she did not see hesitancy, fear, nor doubt. She saw a quiet summoning of resolve.
“Maria, I don't have anything for an anesthetic. I'm sorry, this is going to be very painful. But it has to be done.”
“It can't be more painful than it is now,” Maria replied through clenched teeth.
“I can help,” Balthazar said.
“How can you help?” Tom asked.
“I can help,” Balthazar said again, without further explanation. He put his hand on Maria's stomach, and closed his eyes for a moment. His lips moved as if he was speaking, but he wasn't speaking aloud. The others looked at Balthazar in confused curiosity.
“What are you doing?” Tom asked.
“Go ahead, Doctor,” Balthazar said. “She does not feel pain now.”
“He is right,” Maria said. “The pain has stopped.”
Tom picked up the knife, then positioned it just over where he was going to make the incision. He held it there for a moment, then he pulled the knife up and looked at Rebecca.
“I can't,” he said. “I can't do this. I can't kill Martha all over again.”
Rebecca put her hand on Tom's hand. “You can do it, Tom. I know you can,” she said. “I don't have the slightest doubt.”
“Clay,” Tom said. “You do understand the risk, do you not? You are putting a lot of trust in me, and I'm not sure I warrant that trust.”
“Tom, in the short time I've known you, I've never known anyone that I trusted more,” Clay said. Clay crossed himself and said a quick, silent prayer. The others waited, each of them saying their own prayers.
Tom nodded, then, using Smoke's knife, made the cut. Immediately, blood began to ooze out of the cut.
“Rebecca, pour some whiskey on the wound, and wipe away some of the blood,” Tom said. “Smoke, hand me my pistol.”
Rebecca did as instructed, and taking the pistol from Smoke, Tom used the hot barrel to cauterize the blood vessels and stop the bleeding. Then he continued with the cut, carving through the fat and muscle, and making an incision in the uterus.
All the while he was operating, Tom continued to look up at Maria's eyes for any sign of shock, such as a dazed or disoriented look. Amazingly, her eyes were clear and her demeanor calm.
Then, with everything opened up, he reached in to pull the baby out. It was a boy, and, cutting the umbilical cord, he slapped it on the backside.
The baby began to cry.
A broad smile spread across Tom's face. “Welcome to Texas, little fella,” he said. He handed the baby to Rebecca.
“If the water is warm enough, clean the baby, but hold back some of the cloth to put between the baby's skin and the saddle blanket.”
“All right,” Rebecca said.
“I've got the swaddling cloth ready,” Sally said.
Tom tied off the umbilical cord then he began sewing up the cuts: first the uterus, then the muscle tissue, and finally the skin. When he was finished, he looked up and saw Rebecca putting the baby, now clean and wrapped in the blanket, in Maria's arms. And while she should be in great pain and near shock, she was anything but. He saw on her face the most angelic smile he had ever seen.
“You did it, Doctor. I knew you could,” Clay said.
BOOK: A Lone Star Christmas
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