A Rocky Mountain Christmas

“I reckon I do. It’s just not somethin’ I think about very much.”

“So, here we are sittin’ back here with ’em,” Don said. “I’ve been drivin’ a train for over twenty years, and this is the first time I’ve ever got to actually meet any of them.”

“So, what do you think, Mr. Stevenson?” Matt asked. “I mean now that you have met some of the people.”

“Some of ’em I like”—Don glanced over toward Senator Daniels—“and some of ’em, I don’t like.”

“But the little girl is sweet,” Beans said. “Bless her heart, I hope she gets better.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t sent a rescue train after us,” Don continued. “Come six o’clock tomorrow morning, we’ll be twenty-four-hours overdue.”

“Ha! What do you bet Doodle will be the engineer?” Beans asked.

“Oh, yeah, Doodle would love to be the one to come to the rescue. And to tell the truth, I’d love to see him pulling up behind us right now, for all that it’ll give him a head bigger ’n a watermelon.”

Abner Purvis couldn’t sleep. He could hear the conversation going on by the stove, but that wasn’t what was keeping him awake.

Purvis had told Matt he was going back home to the family farm just outside Red Cliff. What he hadn’t told Matt was that his parents may not even let him back into the house. He had not written to his father to tell him he was coming back, because he was afraid his father would tell him he wasn’t welcome.

Purvis had left home two years ago, to the great disappointment of his father, who had wanted and had planned for him to take a greater role in running the farm.

“Abner, someday, this will be yours, and your mother and I will live out the rest of our lives quietly and comfortably,” his father had told him.

“If someday the farm is to be mine, how about just giving me enough money to get started on my own somewhere else? You can give my part of the farm to Aaron. He is more suited to it than I am, anyway.”

Purvis’s father had been very disappointed, but he borrowed a thousand dollars against the farm and gave it to Abner to go out into the world and make his mark.

Purvis invested the entire one thousand dollars in a gold mine claim, a claim that proved to be worthless. When all of his money was gone, he went through a series of jobs—mucking out stalls in a livery, emptying spittoons and mopping the floors of saloons, and tending pigs for a butcher.

Not once during the two years he was gone had Purvis ever written to his parents. They had no idea where he was, or if he was still alive. The longer he went without contacting them, the more difficult it became to reach out to them.

It was while he was tending pigs that he came to his senses. He had made a huge mistake in leaving the farm and the future his father had worked so hard to give him. He decided to go back home, confess to his father that he had been a fool, no longer worthy to be called his son, and beg to be allowed to return.

“I know that I have forfeited my right to any inheritance,” he would say. “I ask only to be allowed to return and work as one of your hired hands.”

Would his father take him back? That was the question keeping Purvis awake.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

December 21

The night had been long and cold, and Matt welcomed the sun. Bringing a little warmth with it had somewhat brightened his spirits. But it also ushered in another day without food. As Matt pondered the situation, he knew it was least ten more miles to the bottom of the pass and on in to Big Rock. Even if he could get through the mountain of snow, he couldn’t attempt it without a coat. If he took his coat away from the little girl, she might die. His thoughts had come full circle, leaving him without a plan to improve the circumstances.

Troy had had a deck of cards in his pocket when he brought Santelli’s message to Bailey. He’d started a card game the men, including Senator Daniels, had participated in at one time or another. The card game helped to pass the time. Facing another day with no food, another game was started while Jenny and Millie were engaged in conversation.

“My mother came to America from England. When the ship was halfway across the ocean it started taking on water. Fortunately, an empty cattle steamer was passing close by, and my mother’s ship signaled they were in distress.”

Jenny smiled. “And the captain of the cattle ship told the Pomona to launch the lifeboats and get as many women and children across as they could.”

“The Pomona! Yes, that was the ship my mother was on! How do you know that?”

“My father was first officer on the Western Trader, the cattle ship that encountered the Pomona that day. I know the story, but only from my father’s side. Please, do tell. I would like to hear the story from the other side.”

Millie nodded and continued the story. “After all the women and children crossed, they sent across the older men, then finally the younger men and all the crew. All made it across safely, not one person was lost.

“The next day they could see the ship hanging at a list and within a few hours it went down. When my mother abandoned the Pomona, the only thing they let her take was a small handbag with thimble and scissors, a little money, and a few handkerchiefs. That was all she had when she first set foot in this country.”

“What a wonderful story,” Jenny said. “And what a wonderful testimony to your mother’s courage. You must be very proud of her.”

“I am. And you should see her with Becky. Why, my mother thinks the sun rises and sets on this little girl. It would be awful if . . . if . . .” Millie’s eyes pooled with tears.

Jenny reached out to take her hand. “I have a feeling Becky is going to be all right.”

Wetmore, Colorado

Dewey Ferrell, Sheriff of Bent County, was in Custer County. He wasn’t wearing a badge, and he was carrying a hood, ready to cover his face when necessary. Ferrell and Jeb Clayton were at the top of a long grade, waiting for the stagecoach. They could see the coach below them, still some distance away.

“He’ll have to stop when he reaches the top of the grade, to give the horses a blow,” Ferrell said. “That’s when we’ll hit them.”

“How much money do you think he’ll be carryin’?” Clayton asked.

“Judge Briggs said three thousand dollars would be in the strongbox.”

Clayton smiled. “This is goin’ to be a fine Christmas.”

They could hear the driver’s whistle and the occasional pop of his whip as the coach lumbered up the long grade.

“How much longer you plannin’ on bein’ the sheriff?” Clayton asked.

“What do you want to know for? You plannin’ on runnin’ against me?”

“No, I was just wonderin’ is all.”

“I got no plans on not bein’ the sheriff. Things is workin’ out just real good for me.”

“Yeah.” Clayton chuckled. “This has been real good for me, too. Only thing is, we got to be careful about how we spend our money, or folks is goin’ to start wonderin’ how we can do it on forty dollars a month. Well, forty for you. Thirty for me.”

“No problem,” Ferrell said. “We just need to go someplace like Denver, maybe even San Francisco, to spend