A Wild West Christmas Read online

  Buffalo didn't know what Ella had been doing there. She could have been anything from a seamstress to a soiled dove. What mattered was that she'd been willing to marry Andre Villard and come with him to this valley on the western slopes of the Cascades, where they'd had a son and lived in relative peace and prosperity for a number of years, before Andre came down with the fever that killed him.

  "He's buried up the hill," Tom said of his father, "along with my little brother and sister who didn't make it."

  The boy said it matter-of-factly, and when Buffalo glanced at Ella he didn't see any particular reaction on her face. Life on the frontier was full of tragedies. People either learned to live with that pain, or it would eat them up from the inside out.

  "Ma and me tried to keep on raisin' horses like my pa did," Tom went on, "but we ain't done so good at it. They're all gone now, so we just farm a little."

  "What happened to the horses?" Buffalo asked.

  "They wandered off," Ella said before Tom could answer. "They'll do that."

  Yeah, they would, thought Buffalo, but something about her hurried answer made him think there might be more to it than that.

  He set that aside to think about later and asked, "Injuns ever bother you?"

  "The Indians around here are peaceful," Ella said. "We don't have any trouble with them."

  Tom said, "All we got to worry about is skookums, like I thought you were, Mr. Newcomb. Sometimes we hear 'em howlin' up in the mountains, and they come around now and then and spook all the animals. They killed some cows over at the Rainey place."

  "We don't know that that's true, Tom," Ella said. "It could have been wolves that attacked Mr. Rainey's stock."

  Tom shook his head and said, "No, it was skookums. They got it in for him 'cause he sends his men out to hunt 'em. They've killed two or three skookums."

  "They've shot at things they said were skookums. But no one has ever found any bodies or any proof at all that such creatures exist, now have they?"

  "What about the footprint I saw in our garden?" Tom asked.

  Ella frowned but didn't say anything.

  "Whatever made that print had a bigger foot than even Mr. Newcomb here," Tom went on. "It couldn't have been a regular man. You believe in skookums, don't you, Mr. Newcomb?"

  Buffalo scratched at his beard and said, "Well, I've heard plenty o' stories about the varmints, Tom. Don't reckon I've ever seen one with my own eyes, though, or even any tracks they might've made. So you're ahead of me on that score."

  "The Injuns talk about 'em. They've been here in these parts longer'n anybody else. Longer even than the Injuns."

  "So I hear," Buffalo said with a nod.

  "That's quite enough talk about skookums," Ella said. "Tom, it's time to wash up for supper."

  The boy didn't argue. Nobody in his right mind would argue when it came to eating his ma's food, thought Buffalo.

  Ella was good at making do with what she had, which in this case was salt pork, beans, and some corn she had put up the previous summer, along with biscuits and molasses and buttermilk. As he ate, Buffalo started to worry that he was putting too big a dent in their provisions. If he wasn't careful, he might wind up eating 'em out of house and home, he told himself. Maybe before he moved on, he could do some hunting and see to it that they had enough meat to last for a while.

  They were just finishing up the meal when hoofbeats sounded. Two or three horses came to a stop outside the cabin, Buffalo judged. Ella's head lifted, and her nostrils flared slightly as she drew in a deep breath.

  "You expectin' company?" Buffalo asked quietly. He had his Colt and his Winchester if this turned out to be trouble.

  Ella shook her head and said, "No, but I'm sure it's just one of the neighbors come to call." She stood up and went to the door. Buffalo thought she ought to be more careful, but she opened it without waiting to see who the visitors were.

  Maybe she really knew and just didn't want to say, he thought.

  "Hello, Mr. Rainey," she said as she stood in the doorway.

  From the side of his mouth, Buffalo asked Tom, "Who's that?"

  "Jed Rainey," the boy replied, equally quietly. "He's our neighbor. Got the biggest ranch in these parts."

  "And he sends his men out to hunt skookums."

  "Yeah." Tom's mouth twisted. "And he comes to see Ma. I don't like him much."

  Things went on between grown-ups that kids didn't understand, but Buffalo had also found that youngsters usually had pretty solid instincts. If Tom didn't like Jed Rainey, there might be a good reason for it.

  Ella stepped back to let the man into the cabin. He moved into the doorway, taking off his hat as he did so. Rainey was a man in his thirties with a shock of sandy hair, the sort of gent that a lot of women would find attractive. He was dressed like a working rancher, nothing really that fancy about his clothes or his hat, but he carried himself with a self-confidence that bordered on arrogance.

  Buffalo didn't like him, either.

  "Hello, Ella," Rainey said. "You're looking as – "

  Buffalo figured the man had been about to say "beautiful as ever", but Rainey stopped short at the sight of him sitting at the table with Tom. The surprised pause lasted just a second, though, before Rainey went on, "Well, who's this?"

  "This is Mr. Newcomb," Ella said. "He was injured in an accident near here, so he's staying with us while he recovers."

  "I shot him," Tom said. "Thought he was a skookum."

  Rainey grunted and said, "I can see why." He lifted a hand. "My apologies, Mr. Newcomb. That was rude of me, especially since we've just met."

  "Don't worry about it," Buffalo said. "I know I'm pretty big and hairy and mean-lookin'."

  "Not at all," Rainey said. "It's just that I have a bit of a grudge against the beasts. They've raided my herd more than once." He looked over at Ella. "I'm fairly certain they're to blame for your horses disappearing, too. You and Tommy really shouldn't–"

  "We don't need to talk about this now, Jed," Ella said, interrupting him.

  He looked annoyed for a second, but then he shrugged and said, "You're right." He came over to the table and held out his hand. "I'm Jedediah Rainey."

  "Buffalo Newcomb." Buffalo's big, thick-fingered hand practically swallowed up the other man's hand in its grip.

  "That's an unusual name."

  Tom said, "It's because he's as big as a buffalo. Or a skookum."

  "Yes. Are you going to be around here long, Mr. Newcomb?"

  "What business is that of yours?" Buffalo asked.

  Rainey's eyes narrowed, but he kept his voice level and pleasant as he said, "I just thought that if you are, I ought to warn my men that you're around. You see, they have standing orders to shoot any big, hairy creature they see. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

  Before Buffalo could say anything, Rainey turned away dismissively and said to Ella, "I came to wish you and Tom a Merry Christmas and invite you to spend the holiday at my ranch."

  "I don't think we could do that," Ella replied with a shake of her head. "I'm not sure it would be proper."

  "It would be if we were engaged to be married."

  Well, that was plain enough, Buffalo thought, and it came as no surprise to him, either. As soon as Rainey came into the room, Buffalo had been able to tell from the look in the man's eyes that he wanted Ella Villard.

  Rainey struck him as the sort of man who usually got what he wanted, too, no matter what it took.

  Ella's mouth tightened. She said, "I'm sorry, Jed. We've talked about this. I've no interest in marrying again."

  "The boy could use a father–"

  "I had a pa," Tom said. "He died."

  "Ella–" Rainey began again.

  She gave a little shake of her head. It was emphatic enough to make him stop arguing.

  "All right," he said, forcing a smile back onto his face. Buffalo saw anger in his eyes. "I'll settle for wishing you a Merry Christmas, then. We'll talk again after the holida
y."

  "You're always welcome, Jed," she told him. "But my answer won't change."

  Rainey jerked his head in a curt nod. He turned back toward the door, putting on his hat as he did so. Buffalo stopped him by saying, "Rainey."

  The rancher looked back at him without a trace of friendliness in his gaze. "What is it?"

  "A couple of men rode up with you."

  "That's right. Two of my hands. No one rides alone these days. Not since the skookum have gotten more daring."

  "Yeah, I wondered about that," Buffalo said. "And I never answered your question earlier. I figure I'll be around here for a while."

  "Well, then...you'd better be careful no one mistakes you for something you're not."

  With that, Rainey went out into the night and closed the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

  ****

  Ella was quiet and withdrawn the rest of the evening. If Tom had noticed all the undercurrents going on while Rainey was there, he didn't show any sign of it.

  Buffalo had insisted on sleeping on the floor the previous night. He wasn't going to take Ella's bed away from her. She had argued with him, but he wouldn't be budged. So she had made up a pallet for him near the fireplace. That was where he slept again tonight.

  The lamps were all out, and the fire had burned down so that it gave off only a faint red glow. That was enough for Buffalo to see, though, when his instincts roused him from a light sleep sometime during the night. He'd always been a light sleeper. If he hadn't been, he would have been dead a dozen times over before now.

  He saw Ella push aside the blanket that set her sleeping area apart from the rest of the cabin and cross the room quietly toward him.

  A woman sneaking around at night like this usually had either murder or romance on her mind, he thought, and since neither of those things were likely here, that just left the desire to talk. So he sat up, evidently startling her a bit. She stopped short, clutched the robe she wore a little tighter around her, and whispered, "Mr. Newcomb? I'm sorry to disturb you–"

  "No need to apologize, ma'am." He tried to keep his voice down to a low rumble so he wouldn't wake Tom, up in the loft.

  "I...I haven't been able to sleep. I feel like I ought to explain to you–"

  "You don't owe me any explanations, ma'am."

  "I think I do," she said as she came closer again. "Since you seem to have found yourself involved in my trouble."

  "By ‘trouble’ you mean Jed Rainey."

  She sat down on the stone hearth, which had cooled now. "He waited a few months after... after Andre passed away, but since then, he's been a very persistent suitor."

  "Ma'am–"

  "Why don't you call me Ella?"

  Buffalo shrugged. "Is there any chance that this fella Rainey might've had anything to do with your husband dyin', Ella?"

  "No chance at all. Andre died of a fever. But Mr. Rainey was quick to try to take advantage of that tragedy."

  "So he ain't a murderer, just a skunk."

  "And a horse thief," Ella said.

  Buffalo sat up straighter. "You think he's behind those horses of yours disappearin'?"

  "I do," she said. "I believe he thought that if he could make things difficult enough for Tom and me, then I would have no choice but to turn to him."

  "You got any proof of that?"

  "No, not really. But he said something about the horses being gone before I ever mentioned it to him. It was a slip of the tongue, but enough to convince me."

  Buffalo grunted. "Me, too. You ought to go to the law. And I ain't normally one for sayin' that, since me and the law ain't always got along so good."

  She smiled and said, "You may not have always been on the side of the law, Mr. Newcomb, but I have to believe you were always on the side of what was right."

  "I dunno... Anyway, what're you gonna do about that snake?"

  "What can I do? Jed Rainey is a rich man, a powerful man. And if I married him, he could give Tom a better life."

  "I ain't so sure Tom would see it that way."

  "Maybe not, but Tom's a boy. It's not his decision to make."

  "No, ma'am, and it ain't mine, either," Buffalo said. "So why are you tellin' me this?"

  "So you'll understand when I say that tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and you're welcome to stay here until after Christmas. But then I think it would be best for you to go."

  "That'll leave you at Rainey's mercy."

  "No," she said. "It'll leave me to accept his proposal." She looked around. "I just want to have one last Christmas with Tom in this place. It may not look like much, but it's our home, Mr. Newcomb. You can understand that."

  "Yes'm," Buffalo said, although in truth, it had been so long since he'd had what anybody would call a real home that he wasn't sure if he understood or not.

  ****

  Buffalo felt even better the next day. When Ella changed the bandage on his wounded shoulder, she said, "Lands' sake, this is healing so fast. I've never seen anything like it, Mr. Newcomb."

  "Good clean livin', that's what does it," Buffalo said with a grin.

  He was pretty sure he could have saddled up and moved on that day, but it was Christmas Eve and Ella had asked him to stay until after Christmas. He didn't see that it would do any harm.

  The sky was a leaden gray that morning, and sure enough, by afternoon snowflakes began to spit down, gradually thickening until the ground started to turn white again.

  "This is the sort of night when the skookum roams," Tom said as he went about his evening chores, which consisted of seeing that the mule and the milk cow had plenty of grain and water. Buffalo had come outside with him, a little tired of sitting around in the cabin no matter how pleasant it was.

  "It's Christmas Eve," Buffalo said. "Don't you reckon the skookum is at home with his family, like everybody else?"

  Tom cast an apprehensive glance toward the mountains, which loomed darkly over the cabin in the fading light. "How would a skookum know it's Christmas Eve?" he asked.

  Buffalo didn't have an answer for that question.

  When they went inside, the smell coming from the stew pot on the stove was delicious. Ella had picked some red berries from a bush, strung them together, and hung them up above the fireplace, giving the room a festive air.

  If she went through with her plan, by next Christmas she and Tom would be living in Jed Rainey's ranch house, Buffalo mused. That was her decision to make and none of his business. He just hoped she wound up thinking it was the right decision.

  Either way, he'd be long gone by then, off to no telling where.

  Before they ate, Ella set a small package on the table and said, "This is for you, Tom. Merry Christmas."

  "A present?" he said, his eyes widening. "Aw, Ma, you... I...I don't have anything for you."

  "It's all right," she told him. "I saw it at the trading post and wanted you to have it."

  Brown paper was wrapped around the package. Tom tore it off, revealing a small box of licorice sticks. His eyes lit up with happiness at the sight.

  "Ma, I love these!"

  "I know," Ella said with a smile. "Mr. Newcomb, I'm afraid I don't have anything for you. I didn't know you'd be here for Christmas the last time I was in the settlement."

  "Don't you worry about it, ma'am," he said. "Gettin' to spend time with you and Tom here is just about the best Christmas present an old reprobate like me could get, I reckon."

  "That's very sweet of you. Let me get the bowls for the stew–"

  She stopped short as Buffalo's horse neighed in the shed that butted up against the rear of the cabin. Steel-shod hooves thudded against the log walls as the animal kicked in fear. The cow let out a frantic moo.

  "Somethin's out there!" Tom said. "The skookum!"

  "No," Ella said. "Tom, there's no such thing–"

  "There is! And it's after our mule and our cow and Mr. Newcomb's horse!" Tom headed for the door, moving fast. "I'll get it!"

  He had just grabbed
the barrel of his rifle where it leaned against the wall when Buffalo's hand came down on his shoulder.

  "Hold on there, young'un," Buffalo said. "Maybe there's such a thing as a skookum and maybe there ain't, but I know good and well there's wolves in these parts, and that's probably what's out there." He fetched his Winchester from the corner where his sleeping pallet was spread out. "I'll go take a look."

  "Please be careful, Mr. Newcomb," Ella told him. "You're probably still weak from that wound–"

  "I'll be fine," he said. Even if he wasn't quite at full strength, he was confident that he was a match for anything he might run into out there, especially with the rifle in his hands. There weren't many critters that could stand up to half a dozen .44-40 rounds.

  He shrugged into the buffalo hide coat and crammed his old hat down on his tangled mass of dark hair. He pointed a finger at Tom and said, "You stay in here with your ma. Don't try to slip out after me."

  Ella stepped up and rested a hand on her son's shoulder to make sure of that.

  Buffalo opened the door and stepped outside, quickly pulling it closed behind him. Full night had fallen, and with the snowstorm going on, it was a dark one. He couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction as he started around the corner of the cabin toward the shed.

  With no warning, something crashed into his head, staggering him. Something else slammed into his wounded shoulder and made pain explode through his body. For a second, he thought Tom had been right after all—and that he had run smack-dab into an angry skookum.

  Then he was driven to his knees by another blow to the head, and somebody kicked him in the back. A man laughed. That was no skookum.

  "Teach this saddle tramp a lesson, boys. Give him a good beating, put him on his horse, and send him on his way."

  "A man's liable to freeze to death on a night like this, boss," another voice said. "Especially a man who's beat up and hurt."

  "I don't care about that," Jed Rainey said. "Jus' do what I told you."

  Rainey's voice had a slight slur to it, and Buffalo caught a faint whiff of whiskey. Rainey was drunk. He'd probably been sitting in his ranch house guzzling rotgut and brooding because he couldn't get what he wanted on Christmas Eve.

  What he wanted was Ella Villard. And he had come to take her, whether she wanted to go with him or not.