Duck the Halls with Holly, a laramie fanfic

Duck the Halls with Holly

Jantallian

Goreu pleser ar nos galan,

Tŷ a thân a theulu diddan,

Calon lân a chwrw melyn,

Pennill mwyn a llais y delyn.

The best pleasure on New Year's Eve,

is house and fire and a pleasant family,

a pure heart and brown ale,

a gentle song and the voice of the harp.

Original version of 'Deck the Halls' by Talhaiarn

Deck the halls with boughs of holly

Napoleon the duck was in a sulk! Ever since he had decided to adopt this human family and his own particular pet, he had had a perfect right to perch wherever he wanted in the Sherman Ranch house. Well, almost a perfect right, provided Jonesy didn't spot him.

Now – disaster!

Ever single available ledge, shelf and rail was covered in decorative, but extremely prickly, holly. It was an insult to the ranch's resident Anas Platyrhynchos! At least there was none on the backs of the rocking chairs, but these made at best an uneasy perch.

Napoleon did not like feeling uneasy. And the holly was not the only reason for his perturbation. The humans seemed to have gone collectively mad! They were hoarding mysterious items and hiding them from each other in the most unlikely places. Napoleon could have rooted out all the items quite easily in protest at this ridiculous behavior. Humans were not squirrels! But they seemed to take inordinate pleasure in the activity and he hesitated to spoil their fun, especially after he overheard Andy and Mike plotting in the barn, including the comment: "Jess is gonna love this!"

It naturally made a difference if his pet was going to be pleased at the end of all this needless activity! Napoleon just wished it involved something less prickly. He viewed with resignation the sight of Andy fussing by the piano as he placed yet more holly over the picture standing on it. The picture was of his mother, Mary.

The door swung open, admitting a blast of cold air and Napoleon's particular pet.

Jess Harper tossed his hat onto the pegs by the door without looking. He was lucky, Napoleon reflected, that these were not draped with infernal prickles as well!

"Hey, Jess, does this look right?" Andy carefully placed next to the picture a candle he and Mike had spent some time wrapping round with red and green ribbon in order to make it more festive.

The Texan ambled over and surveyed the piano decorations with folded arms and his head on one side.

"Yeah – looks fine, so long as Jonesy don't get too carried away with hittin' the ivories, of course!"

"Good!" Andy stepped back and swept a critical gaze round the room. His brow wrinkled in thought. "Whose turn is it to give the Friendship Log this year?"

"The Travers," Jess said promptly. "When we go out to fetch in the firewood we cut and stacked from that fallen ash tree we'll take them a share and pick it up at the same time." He grinned wickedly and added, "I'm sure you and I and Mike can manage fine. Your big brother can see to the stages."

"Yeah," Mike piped up from the kitchen, adding in tragic tones: "If Slim and Sally start moonin' about we'll never get anything home in time!"

"You want him in a bad mood with Jess all Christmas?" Andy inquired sagely.

"With me? Why me?" Jess's voice and expression were totally innocent, as usual when he was guilty, if only by intention.

"Yeah, you! If you're gonna start flirting with Sally just to get him riled up!" Andy was rapidly maturing and had worked out that his elders had a brotherly rivalry when it came to women.

"Going to," Jess corrected, for all the world like Slim. "And I'm not."

"Huh! You're just as bad with –"

"Weren't you two goin' to cut us some mistletoe?" Jess interrupted, deeming that quite enough had been said about his love-life.

It was an unfortunate choice as both the boys proceeded to rag him unmercifully about the purpose of the said mistletoe. In the end, Jess was forced to confess, "It ain't for my benefit. She's over in France this Christmas."

"I bet!" Andy prophesied darkly.

"Git!" Jess gave him a light smack across the head. "And git that mistletoe, the pair of y'."

Andy and Mike were only too willing to get out of the house and began scuffling into their jackets, hats and boots.

"Oh, and take Napoleon with y', will you?" Jess added. "I think he's fed up with bein' stuck indoors."

Fed up with all the holly, that was for sure!

# = # = #

'Tis the season to be jolly

Silent night. Starlit night.

The ranch house and outbuildings were draped with a fleecy blanket of snow and decorated with exquisite frost patterns and delicate icicles. Trees and fences were silhouetted against the pure whiteness, their limbs and bars outlined with an edging of silver. Not a breath of wind disturbed the smooth surface. The tracks across the yard and down the road to Laramie were like dark arrows pointing out the safest path.

The road was still easily passable and it was down the road that a worried Napoleon was gazing from his perch at the hatch in the loft of the barn. He had a warm, comfy nest which he had scuffed together from the loose straw, having totally refused to come into the house when he was called. He was pretty sure Jonesy didn't really want him inside and Jess was not there to stand up for him. This was the root cause of his worry.

Slim and Jess had ridden into Laramie to celebrate the season with the Overland Stage Line manager and sundry of the drivers and crew who were in town for Christmas. The relay station books were all in order and there was no reason to be concerned that the service they were providing was anything other than excellent – as indeed it should be, watched over by a critical and vocal duck.

But maybe not all the passengers appreciated being shepherded by a duck? In which case perhaps he should be employing his escorting skills on the two strays in Laramie?

It was too late now. Slim and Jess had gone into town and they should have been back hours ago! Jonesy had shooed Mike off to bed, then engaged in the usual verbal wrangling which resulted in Andy doing the same, and had finally gone to his own well-earned sleep. The house was locked up for the night and there was no sign whatsoever of the two young men who should be safely inside it.

It was some time since Napoleon had been in Laramie and the visit had resulted in a confrontation, a shootout and certain parties getting drunk in the saloon. He feared the worst!

The starlit night continued silently. The moon rose and flooded the yard with light almost as bright as day. The air remained still. Tranquility bathed the whole place. Everything was peaceful except the worried duck.

Napoleon did not let his beady eyes flicker for a moment. They were glued to the bend in the road beyond the ranch-house, where he knew the returning cowboys would first come into sight. In the normal course of events, Napoleon would have been sitting on one of the fence posts alongside the road, waiting for Jess to appear – but even he had more sense in winter.

They'd just better hurry up. It was way past midnight already.

At long last, there was a distant sound in the stillness. It was the rhythmic hoof-beats of two horses who were doing their darnedest to keep an even pace and avoid any slips and slides which might result in an untimely dismount for their riders. Napoleon was good friends with Traveller and Alamo and would have recognized their advent anywhere.

Presently the horses came into view round the bend. They were walking sedately, almost as if they were choosing the route and the speed rather than their riders. Their riders were loose in the saddle, maybe swaying even.

Could it be that they were also attempting to sing? Indeed at least one of them was, but the melody and, mercifully, the volume were muted! The words, however, were easily distinguishable in the still air.

" … how happy around the watch fire's light,

to chat the long hours away, my boy,

And talk of the hours to come,

Or better still, and a purer joy,

to think of our far-off home."

Napoleon would have frowned if ducks' eyebrows had been designed for this. As it was, he just focused his beady glare even more intently on the approaching couple. The horses continued to behave with decorum and common sense. The riders, on the other hand, were knee to knee and leaning companionably against each other in defiance of gravity – or maybe in an effort to resist its pull earthwards.

Alamo and Traveller came to a sensible halt outside the barn. Their riders slid off in a less sensible heap.

"Ssshhh!"

"Hush yourself! You were the one singing!"

"Just help me with this door, willya? Y'know how it always … squeaks."

"Groans."

"What?"

"It doesn't squeak, it …. groans."

"You'll be groanin' if y' don't give me a hand."

"Haven't you had 'nough fighting for one night?"

"Fightin'? I just gave Brett a little tap on the chin!"

"And knocked him out cold!"

"He was insultin' the girls."

"Oh, yeah ... I remember. The ones draped all over you."

"So - y' just … jealous!"

"Me? Don't you mean Brett?"

"Quit stallin' and help me lift this door open!"

"And aren't you worried about someone else getting jealous?"

Napoleon's pet gave a deep chuckle. "She's got more sense!"

"Can't see how choosing you is any kind of sense."

"Insults ain't gonna get the horses into this barn." Sure enough there was an impatient snort and stamping of hooves on the hard-packed snow. Jess added more or less under his breath, "Besides, we like a good fight … every now and then."

"Huh!" Slim was still trying to work out the volatile nature of his friend's relationship with a certain young lady who was, right now, a whole continent and an ocean away from him.

"C'm on!" Jess had finally got the barn door open on his own.

"Ssshhh!"

"Hush, y'self!"

Napoleon contemplated flying down and giving them both a good peck to sober them up, but thought the better of it. The two cowboys were following their normal routine, albeit very slowly and with a mixture of muffled chuckles, curses and the occasional hiccup. At least Jess did not attempt to enliven the process with further singing.

At last, the faithful horses were finally settled for the night. Their riders were leaning against the loft ladder, clearly ready to turn in too.

"Got to ... get to bed … quietly!"

"Speak f'y'self! You ain't gotta … climb int' th' top bunk."

"Yeah." Slim considered his partner's dilemma for several minutes, then advised, "You could always sleep ... on the floor."

"Ain't sleepin' on the floor. Nor on the couch. Not if y' want me t' move that timber tomorrow."

"Today."

"Yeah. Today. Ain't worth goin' to bed. I'm just gonna shake out m' bedroll."

"Yeah." Another long pause. "It'll be just as warm in the loft."

Napoleon held his breath as two inebriate men, encumbered by their bedrolls, ascended the ladder. Really! You'd think humans would have more sense! They needed a sobering reminder of the perils of alcohol!

Thus it was that some hours later, when the partners emerged bleary-eyed from the barn into the early morning sunshine, a small duck-aided avalanche of freezing cold snow landed right on their aching heads.

"A-a-a-arrrr-ggg -hh!"

So much for being quiet.

# = # = #

See the blazing Yule before us

The mighty mallard was distinctly unpopular. Or rather, he was decidedly unpopular with Slim. This was something of a reversal, as Slim was usually quite tolerant of Napoleon's attempts to run the ranch his way. His change of heart was occasioned by the enormous and delighted attention showered on the duck by the female members of the Travers family.

Napoleon had stowed away in the log wagon when Jess, Andy and Mike had sneaked out of the yard without telling Slim they were leaving. Slim was busy finishing off some work in the smithy and creating sufficient noise to cover the sound of the hooves and wagon-wheels. The other three had decided to get on with the log-collecting without, as Mike put it bluntly, "a whole lot of soppy talk and hand-holdin'!"

It was not until they began to load up with the ash logs they had cut and stacked beside the track earlier in the month that Napoleon decided ducks could fly for a reason and there were certain times when it was definitely of benefit to do so. Those times included having logs piled up all around you and getting covered with bark and sawdust – which was the state of the three humans.

So the wagon approached the Travers' homestead with a flashing herald circling above it, resembling nothing so much as a small but very gaudy angel. The duck-angel was an instant success, cooed over and petted by both women and girls. So much so that when Slim arrived on horseback, considerably put-out already at being left behind, none of them took much notice of him.

"You might have told me you were leaving!" Slim muttered at Jess.

The Texan raised an eyebrow and grinned innocently. "We just figured you wouldn't want to visit here covered with wood-dust and moss," he explained, brushing some of the said debris off his jacket.

"And you can get home much quicker than we can, so you won't have to leave so soon," Andy told his brother with a knowing smirk.

Slim huffed a dismissive breath. He'd be lucky to get any attention from Sally with that darn'd duck stealing the limelight. And, of course, with Jess basking in the reflected glory thereof. Sure enough, Sally detached herself from the group around the fire, beckoned to Jess and the two of them slipped out onto the porch.

Sally came back in quite quickly, much to Slim's relief. His natural good manners had prevented him grinding his teeth audibly however much he was tempted, even if Jess was not really trying to cut him out. But after their drunken conversation about jealousy, he was surprised how painfully it could rear its ugly head. This despite the fact that he knew in his heart Jess would not pay inappropriate attention to a young lady who was already spoken for … the trouble was, Slim hadn't spoken. And what with families and fire-logs and feathered competition, it sure didn't look as if he was going to get a chance to any time soon!

Napoleon too noticed the absence of his pet. At once he gave a peremptory quack and jumped down off the fender, where he had been holding court. He fluttered over to the door and tapped a webbed foot impatiently until someone opened it for him. Opening doors with his claws was not always possible, more was the pity.

Once he was outside, Napoleon spotted Jess instantly. He was leaning against the wagon, with a sheet of paper in his hand which he appeared to be reading carefully. Occasionally he gave an amused chuckle and once or twice there was a distinct growl of irritation accompanied by the word "siempre!" and, towards the end, he could be heard to mutter under his breath: "Está sano y salvo donde sea que estás, poco precipitado!"

Napoleon perched on the shaft of the wagon and regarded his pet with sympathy. Jess did not easily reveal his deepest emotions, but just in those few moments it was evident that he was intensely moved.

Presently, however, he shook his head, folded the letter and stowed it in the breast pocket of his shirt, lifted his hat and settled it firmly over his eyes. Eyes which Napoleon could see were glittering in the intermittent sunlight of the winter afternoon.

Just at that moment the door of the house opened and a positive multitude of small and medium sized Travers' kids plus Andy and Mike spilled out and raced over the yard into the barn. There was the sound of happy laughter and mixed instructions, then they emerged carrying a huge log of apple-wood on their shoulders. It had become a tradition that the Sherman and Travers families took turns to provide each other with the central and vital symbol of warmth and festivity, the Yule Log, or as it had become known to both families, the Friendship Log.

Many hands had already unloaded a share of the ash logs, so as soon the big log was safely stowed in the wagon Jess and the boys jumped aboard, with Napoleon doing his hovering angel imitation overhead. The younger members of the Travers clan formed an excitedly waving escort on either side of it. On the porch of the house, Dan Travers stood with his arm round his wife, Martha, watching affectionately the exuberance of the young people. A little behind them, Slim stood with Sally, united at least for a moment in the power of seasonal tradition.

Sally turned to Slim, her eyes sparkling with fun and excitement: "I love the idea that the same fire blazes on your hearth at the same time as it does on ours!"

As if the fire of that sharing had kindled an answering flame in her spirit, a glowing warmth lit Sally's whole face and body with sudden beauty and Slim was momentarily stunned into silence.

Then he smiled and reminded her, "But your mistletoe grows better than ours does."

"In that case, I'll make a special effort to bring some to your party."

"Make sure it's duck-proof," Slim warned her with a grin. "Napoleon made short work of the last lot. I guess he just doesn't understand Christmas decorations!"

# = # = #

Strike the harp and join the chorus

Napoleon was frankly jealous! And not a little annoyed. Jess was, on the whole, indulgent towards his little feathered friend, but on one thing he was adamant – Napoleon was not allowed to frolic in hot soapy water. It was a constant battle to keep the duck out of the kitchen sink, where he seemed to think he had priority bathing rights. The combined wrath and vigilance of Jonesy and Jess was only just able to keep the determined mallard at bay.

Now Napoleon was forced to watch his pet wallowing happily in a full bath of sudsy water in front of a roaring fire – and to put up with him singing happily as he did so.

Jess was indeed happy. Allocation of hot bath-water was always a matter of (heated) negotiation in the household. With only one bath and a protracted process of generating enough hot water, the question of who went first and who went last always gave rise to much debate.

To start with, it depended on who had to share the used bath water with whom. On this criterion, this time, they were all agreed Mike was the grubbiest, but he argued persuasively that he was also the smallest.

"If it comes to dirt, Jess is bigger'n me, so he's gonna to put a lot more in the water!"

Jess restrained himself admirably from making any protestations against this judgement. He had his own ideas about what the eventual outcome should be.

"Besides, Mike's the youngest – he should go last," Andy pointed out.

"No, he should go first," Jonesy insisted firmly, "or it'll be past his bedtime before we're all finished!"

"But you're the oldest," Slim spoke up for his old friend and ruler of all things domestic at the ranch. "Surely you should have the privilege of the clean water?"

Jonesy glared at him. "If you think I'm gonna get int' a bath in the middle of winter, with m' back playin' up, y've gotta 'nother think comin'!" he told them all firmly. "A good wash'll do me fine!"

"And you're next eldest," Andy put in, addressing his brother with a grin. "We all know how you wash every morning, so your water should be fine for Mike and all his dirt! Then I guess I should get first go at the next lot, 'cos Jess is a lot dustier than me and he don't mind sharin' with me."

"Doesn't mind sharing," Slim corrected automatically and absently. "Are you OK with that plan?" He cocked an interrogative eyebrow in a brotherly fashion at his partner.

Jess shrugged. He kept a straight face. He was perfectly happy to be the last bather – it meant that no-one would be disturbing his peaceful soak and he could relish the quiet and cozy warmth in front of the night-time fire.

Quiet was probably a bit of a misnomer.

Jess augmented his bath-time enjoyment by happily caroling away to himself in a pleasant bass baritone, as he reveled in the warmth of both water and fire.

"Fill the mead-cup, drain the barrel,

Troll the ancient Christmas carol … !"

Alcohol? Seriously? Up to the neck in hot water? Napoleon fluttered up to perch precariously on the edge of the tin bath. Much though he approved of his pet's right to relish whatever hot water came his way, even a trusty mallard had to draw the line somewhere.

"See the flowing bowl before us, strike the harp and join the chorus!"

The line was drawn right here! There was no need for drinking to add volume to the chorus – his pet was already making quite enough noise for a choir or two. Slim had already hurled a boot bathwards, narrowly missing Napoleon, and with it far from brotherly instructions to "shut up – everyone else is trying to sleep!" This had not the slightest effect. Jess was supremely happy up to his ears in soapy bubbles.

Napoleon flapped his wings wildly, dangling his feet over the bath and aiming to splash at least some of the soapy water into his pet's mouth and remind him to keep it shut.

"You ain't comin' in!" Jess stopped singing to admonish the duck. "Y' know the house rules. Ducks and soap don't mix!"

The mallard responded with an irritable quack.

"Anyone'd think y' don't like me singin'?" Jess sighed and fished around in the water for the soap.

Napoleon jumped off the bath rim and landed next to the soap, which was reposing in a saucer on the floor.

"Thanks, little fella!"

After some vigorous application of the soap and flannel Jess eventually rid himself of the remains of the wood-dust and bark. He poured a final jug of water over his head and grabbed the corner of one of the towels on the clotheshorse, which was keeping the draft off him, to dry his face. Then he picked up the kettle of hot water he had prudently put to keep warm on the hearth, topped up the bath and lay back with a contented groan.

There was a lot to be said for having the last bath in the household! And, thanks to Jonesy's good offices, he didn't even have to wash his clothes at the same time.

Napoleon regarded him with avian envy, watered down somewhat by gratitude that he had stopped singing and therefore the only flying things in the room would be ducks not boots.

Jess closed his eyes and sighed and smiled blissfully.

Peace. Perfect peace.

# = # = #

Don we now our gay apparel

"Napoleon!"

Peace was definitely not reigning at this precise moment. The household was dressing for church on Christmas Eve, since Pastor Nicholson had a far-flung circuit and could not be with them on Christmas Day itself.

"You disobedient duck!"

Some degree of wrath from Jess was, Napoleon figured, inevitable. This was bound to be the result of nesting overnight in Jess's shirt-drawer, even if it was with the commendable motive of defending him from the incursion of invasive saints of the present-delivering variety. The duck had therefore taken the precaution this morning of roosting on the roof, in the warmth and shelter of the chimney, until the storm of Jess's ire abated. Some time.

Meanwhile in the bunk-room, Jess was viewing the havoc wreaked in his shirt drawer, and Slim was inquiring sardonically: "What gave you the impression ducks were amenable to obedience?"

It took Jess a couple of minutes to process 'amenable'. Then he glared at Slim and snapped: "That duck and I have an understanding!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

Unwilling to argue so close to Christmas Day, Slim instead grinned affectionately. "OK. I'm sure you have the situation under control."

Jess's head ducked sideways and that little half smile twisted his lips. "I'm glad y're sure, 'cause right now I ain't sure of anything except I need a clean shirt and there ain't no way I'm gonna find one now!"

Andy and Mike, who had been observing the unfolding of the situation with much amusement, now exchanged a meaningful look.

"Don't worry, Jess – you're gonna love this!"

Mike disappeared at a gallop, rummaged under the Christmas tree and came back with a parcel. Andy watched his actions with an anticipatory grin.

"Here!"

"It's a bit early but you need it now!"

The two youngsters watched, between trepidation and hilarity, as Jess carefully untied the ribbon and let the wrapping paper fall open.

Inside was a shirt.

A bright blue shirt.

A blue shirt with brown spots.

Brown spots which, on closer inspection, proved to be tiny brown and green ducks.

There was an infinitesimal pause. Then Jess held the shirt up against himself. A grin lit up his face.

"Thanks, fellas!"

"Miss Eli made it for you."

"And she patterned it on one of your old ones, so it's gonna be a perfect fit!"

"Going to," Slim corrected automatically.

"And I'm gonna wear it with pride tomorrow," Jess assured them with a grin. "But I guess it ain't gonna be quite to Parson Nicholson's taste."

"Sure ain't!" Jonesy put in, taking part in the crisis for the first time. "If y' gonna come, y' gonna come respectable – or not at all!"

Jess might possibly have preferred a quiet snooze to the effort of riding in to Laramie in order to sit through one of Parson Nicholson's 'short' festive sermons. On the other hand, he would enjoy singing the carols and hearing the old, old story read again.

"Here!" Slim had pulled out one of his own drawers and fished out a white shirt. He held it out to Jess with an encouraging smile.

"Thanks – I guess this is the answer if I roll up the sleeves and tie m' tie extra tight." Jess carefully arranged the Christmas shirt on a hanger and hung it from the end of his bunk before donning Slim's offering. It swamped him to some extent, but was eminently respectable.

Presently the party left the ranch house, Slim and Jess mounted their horses, the boys scrambled up to join Jonesy on the wagon and the cavalcade rolled off down the road in the direction of Laramie and the peace of the Christmas message. It would be several hours before they returned.

Napoleon flew down from the roof.

Peace on earth and goodwill to all men – and ducks.

Probably.

# = # = #

Troll the ancient Yule tide carol

Tranquil notes flowed from Jonesy's fingertips as he sat at the piano in the fire-lit room. They had put out the lamps and had only one or two candles and the flames still flickering above the last embers of the logs to light them to bed. As he improvised quietly, following the melodies in his heart and memory, Jonesy was hoping the music would calm down the two excited youngsters who, tonight of all nights, were even more than usually resistant to the notion of sleep.

Slim had been reading to them some of the legends surrounding Christmas Eve and the stories had seized their imagination, particularly Mike's. Nothing like the mighty dread of the shepherds! Jonesy remarked to himself with an inward grin. If a host of angels did appear, Andy'd probably ask to go travelling the universe with them and Mike would want to know how their wings held them up and what you polished halos with!

The music and the gentle rumble of Slim's voice had certainly had a soporific effect on the duck, anyway. Napoleon was correctly ensconced in his box stuffed with a couple of Jess's old (unwashed) shirts under the window – they'd discovered he liked to be able to keep a beady eye on the yard, even if he was inside the house. 'Bout time that creature had a proper duck hut and some females to keep him company! Jonesy muttered silently, not for the first time. It was winter, however, and Jonesy's heart was a kindly one.

His heart was, deep down, a sad one too, despite the festivities. The first falls of snow always affected him as he remembered the terrible winter of Matt Sherman's death and how he had striven to support and comfort Mary and a much younger Andy in their grief. Jonesy looked up at the portrait above him on the piano – at the holly decking it and the candle decorated with such care by the boys. Mary would have loved the extended family of young men who now belonged in the ranch-house, for Jess and Mike filled in the very best way those empty places of her sons who had not survived. Jonesy had lived through so many family moments. His had been a long, almost a life-time, friendship with Matt and Mary and they had shared Christmas together in very many different ways and places.

As he remembered the good times as well as the sad ones, Jonesy let the melody under his fingers develop into a medley of familiar carols and the golden shower of sound floated up towards the roof, snagged on the smoke escaping from the chimney and slide like silk thread through the cracks in the doors and the windows to gladden the silent night. Maybe the angels far above even caught the echo of it.

Not long afterwards, the adults made their way to bed too. There was a lot to do on Christmas Day, for they had decided to give a party in honor of the peace which currently reigned in their part of the territory. The house fell silent too.

Almost silent.

Presently the door of the back bedroom eased open and Andy peered cautiously round it.

"They've gone," he whispered over his shoulder. "But we can't use either of the doors – they'll hear the bolts go."

"Window!" Mike hissed behind him.

Their actions had of course alerted the guard-duck. Napoleon was intrigued and glided silently over to the bedroom door, which now stood slightly ajar. He was just in time to see the boys tiptoe silently across the room, boots in hand. They were both fully dressed in what looked like several layers of clothing. Andy eased the window open and carefully unbolted the shutters.

"I'm still not sure this is such a good idea, Mike," he muttered.

"Please, Andy! It's our only chance!"

"This year," Andy added, with the air of one pointing out the obvious.

"Please!" Mike put all his not inconsiderable powers of charm and persuasion into the word.

"It's just a story."

"Pl-e-e-a-se!"

"OK. But be quiet!"

With that the two of them pulled on their boots, clambered over the windowsill and dropped into the snow piled below it.

Napoleon flew across the room and perched on the sill himself.

The boys were crossing the yard in the direction of the barn.

All was still, silent and shining. Once again the ranch house and outbuildings were clad in garments of purest snow embroidered intricately with frost and icicles. Trees and fences were charcoal lines etched across the silver landscape. Not a breath of wind disturbed the starlit air.

"We can't just walk in through the door," Andy was objecting with the conviction of one who has just seen the flaws in what seemed like a good plan. "They'll know we're there."

"This way." Mike had a much more elaborate plan in his head. He led the way over to the hoist and lowered the rope until they could reach it. They'd both shinned up it often enough to be able to gain the loft without any difficulty. "C'm on! Quick!"

A glance at the starry heavens above and the rising moon told them both that it was nearly time.

Napoleon had followed them out and was concealed below the eaves of the house. As soon as the boys had disappeared into the loft, he glided silently after them and flew in through the hatch.

To give them their due, neither of the boys yelled out in surprise. They were used to bats and half expecting them, although not one this big! When they had recovered from the shock, they both dropped face down in the straw and wriggled their way soundlessly over to the opening where the ladder went. They had a perfect view of the scene in the barn below.

At first all seemed completely normal. It took a few seconds to realize that the horses on the west side of the barn had turned around in their stalls, their heads towards the aisle.

All the horses in the barn were facing in the same direction. Their heads were lifted and their ears pricked as if they sensed something in the far distance, over the horizon. They were perfectly still.

The goats, in their big stall along the west wall, were crowded against the eastern rail. One or two of them had reared up, their hooves resting on the bars, their wild, clever eyes fixed on something in the starlit world beyond the barn.

Mungo, the big ginger yard cat, sat bolt upright in the middle of the aisle, his normally restless tail wrapped tight around his paws.

In the fenced off area at the far end of the barn were a couple cows and their new calves. The mothers were lying down, resting, but had raised their heads too, looking in the same direction as all the other animals. One of the little calves was kneeling in the straw.

A dark shadow glided silently over the watching boys and floated soundless as a fleck of soot to land on Traveller's back. The horse did not move a muscle. But then, he was used to Napoleon. The duck settled, became motionless too.

Andy and Mike held their breath in wonder.

Time seemed to stand still. The barn was filled with a radiance beyond the moon and starlight.

In unspoken agreement, Andy and Mike inched carefully back the way they had come. Not a word passed their lips as they slid down the rope and scampered back across the yard and climbed in through the bedroom window. Without any discussion, they left the window open until Napoleon drifted in on starlit wings.

They asked no questions.

After all, ducks tell no tales. Not even about legends.

# = # = #

Follow me in merry measure

Christmas Day dawned and the Travers were the first arrivals, which was predictable as Martha and Sally had volunteered to contribute extra food and help Jonesy with the cooking. Sally had also, as she promised, provided a mistletoe wreath, which Andy and Mike, who considered themselves in charge of decorations, promptly took possession of. Slim heaved a thwarted sight. Fortunately Dan had brought a barrel of cider, of which several samples had to be taken in order to ascertain whether the journey down the mountain track had shaken it up too much.

The Travers had only just begun their share of the work when Smudge the teamster arrived with his two mighty horses. They were always welcome guests. The animals were ushered into the barn, where stalls had been prepared, and Smudge was escorted into the house.

Smudge was closely followed by Walt Haber, the owner of the Livery Stables, who rode in with his four grown-up sons.

Then a totally unscheduled stage arrived, pulling up with a flourish which only Mose could achieve. Packed inside and out were sundry drivers, guards and assorted members of their families. Slim and Jess rushed to help settle the team, on the grounds that the crews should not be working on a holiday, while Andy and Mike was dispatched to the kitchen to warn the cooks the party was well under way and to help dispense coffee and mince pies.

Scarcely had they done so when a grand carriage drew up, bearing the banker, Mr. Mullholland, and his formidable wife (now, thank goodness, a fan of Jess Harper) and along with them the redoubtable Miss Eli, the town dressmaker and seamstress. She, being even more of a fan of Jess, made sure she gave him several Christmas hugs and complimented him teasingly on his handsome new shirt.

While Jess was trying to extract himself from the embrace of enthusiastic, if slightly less than youthful, ladies, a more modest equipage drew up, and in it were Frank Kramer, the proprietor of the General Store, Joe Staines, the postmaster and Xiang Hong, the chef and owner of the café, together with his wife and daughter. They were shyly unsure that they had really been invited, but the door of the Sherman ranch house was open wide to all this Christmas Day.

'All' was rapidly becoming a reality!

Slim and Jess scarcely had time to welcome one set of arrivals before another wagon-load or bunch of riders would arrive. They met on the porch in a momentary lull and exchanged slightly dazed grins.

"How many people did we invite the other night?"

"No idea. Last thing I remember was Mr Frazier openin' that bottle of brandy."

"Yeah! In the saloon!"

And as if Slim's words has conjured them up, Freddie the barman drove cheerfully into the yard, the back of his buckboard packed with girls in their best finery, like a huge bouquet of exotic blooms.

"I guess that answers y' question," Jess said.

"I guess it does. But no repeating the other night. No punching!"

"Who's goin' to be insultin' people on Christmas Day?"

"True. You'd better hope there's no draping, either!"

"I guess I'll survive if there is."

"With Mrs Mulholland around? You're hopeful!"

The hope of peace and goodwill was abounding among the guests and everyone was getting into the Christmas spirit. The most poignant instance of this came with the advent, from the deserted town in the hills above, of Ben Parkinson and his son, Lee, bringing with them a brace of pheasants to add to the feast. Slim's heart really rejoiced at this gesture of reconciliation and he made haste to welcome them in.

Only one guest was missing.

A while later the partners stood again on the porch, listening to the sounds of merriment within and grabbing a quiet beer together before plunging back into the fray. When hooves pounded on the road and a horse came loping round the bend, they slapped each other on the back with sighs of relief.

Moments later they were slapping the rider on the back too.

"Mort! Come on in. We've been waiting for you."

Mort Cory's tired face broke into an affectionate grin as he tilted his head to listen to the sounds of merriment from inside the house. "Really?"

"Yeah. Now you're here, we can stop holding Jess off the food!"

"What, me?" Innocence and indignation vied for dominance in the Texan's voice. "Me and everyone else, you mean!"

Slim and Mort shook their heads solemnly in disbelief.

"Heck! Come on in and we can get started!" Jess grabbed Mort by one arm and Slim seized the other and together they almost lifted him towards the door.

"Hey, put me down!" His feet hit the floor again but he stumbled.

There was an indignant squawk.

Mort looked down and burst out laughing. "Only in this household could you fall over a duck in the doorway at Christmas!"

# = # = #

While I tell of Yuletide treasure

Napoleon had retreated once more to the hayloft. The house was impossible! Impossibly warm. Impossibly cheerful. Impossibly packed.

There was scarcely room for a human to get a clear foot of space to stand on, let alone a duck! It was obvious that the humans were enjoying themselves enormously, especially those of the male sex who were packed impossibly close to their opposites. No-one seemed to mind the crush or the noise or to be paying the slightest attention to where they were putting their feet.

It was definitely much more peaceful and a great deal safer in the barn.

Ducks do not, reputedly, have extensive memories, so Napoleon must have been something of an exception as he recalled the snow-shower he had given Slim and Jess the other morning. He emitted a distinct chuckle at the thought. Then he settled down for a quick snooze, all the while keeping an avian ear open for the sound of the house door – his pet would be wanting a cigarette soon and although Napoleon disapproved strongly of the habit (one of the few things on which he agreed with Jonesy) it meant he could have some time with Jess without getting jostled and deafened.

So it was that only the duck heard the swift approach of a buggy along the snow-carpeted road. Napoleon snapped into full alert and peered curiously out of the hatch.

The buggy was travelling so fast it seemed it would pass the ranch and disappear into the hoary distance like a phantom. Contrary to expectation, however, it came to an abrupt halt.

A woman jumped down. She turned and reached into the shelter of the hood. She lifted down a small figure. A child. Perhaps six or so years old. She gave the child a hug, then turned it towards the lighted house, with an encouraging pat on the back.

"Safely home at last, dear! Go on in quickly. Tell your folks we couldn't stop to meet them. We have to catch the train in Laramie tonight!"

So saying, she climbed back into the buggy which immediately raced off in the direction of the town.

The child stood quite still in the middle of the yard.

Napoleon considered from his eminent overview in the hayloft. The child made no move towards the house. The woman had obviously expected that the child would run joyfully in to join its family celebrations. But Napoleon knew full well there was no such child in the household and family of the Sherman Ranch.

Nonetheless, duck though he was, he had no doubt the child would be taken in and welcomed. It was just that the child did not seem to want to approach the lighted house and the goodwill and warmth spilling from its windows. Perhaps, like Napoleon, the child found it all too much?

He spread his wings and glided softly down, making sure to take a wide circle so that the child could see him clearly and would not be frightened.

Quack! A soft quack. Encouraging. Welcoming.

The child looked down at the bright bird, its colorful feathers standing out boldly against the trampled white of the snow.

Quack? The duck's head tilted slightly as if it were asking a question and its bright black eyes twinkled gently.

The child smiled. A small smile, a shy smile, but one of acceptance, of trust even.

Napoleon walked slowly over to the barn, turning once or twice to make sure the child was following. He led her into the sweet hay-scented warmth. The horses shifted, offering similarly gentle snorts and wickers of greeting. The child was obviously used to animals and unafraid, and petted the goats and the new calves as well as the horses before plumping down into the deep straw of an empty stall.

There was a sudden surprised 'meow!' Mungo, the ginger yard cat, shot to the surface and glared at them all. Intimidating though Mungo's glare was, it did not last long. The child stretched out a hand to stroke and, amazingly, Mungo did not bury his fangs in it. Instead his tail waved gently and he rubbed himself against the outstretched fingers. It was not long before child, exhausted by a long journey, and cat, always willing to snooze, curled up peacefully together in the straw.

Napoleon nodded approvingly. For once that darn'd cat had got the message! Napoleon spread his wings and resumed his lofty observation post.

His vigil was rewarded some time later. The front door of the house opened and his pet came out. Jess strolled across the yard, rolling a cigarette as he came. He fetched up leaning on the corral fence, where he struck a match and lit up. He inhaled peacefully.

Not for long.

Somehow Napoleon had to get Jess into the barn. And there was one sure-fire way to do that. The emphasis being on 'fire'. The mallard took wing once more, swooped over Jess's head and snatched the lighted cigarette from his fingers.

Holding the offending object carefully in his beak, Napoleon landed several feet nearer the barn, just out of arm's reach.

Jess naturally made a grab at him.

Napoleon took off and landed still closer to the barn.

"Come here, you pest!" Jess admonished him, making another lunge.

Napoleon moved even closer to the barn door.

"Are you mad, duck? Gimme that cigarette!" Jess now sounded seriously concerned, as indeed he might.

Napoleon fluttered the last few feet into the open door.

Jess made an almighty leap.

The duck shot into the air and flicked the cigarette expertly into the water trough. It wasn't an ideal choice for disposal, but it did at least avoid the risk of fire.

Jess gave a frustrated groan. "I was enjoyin' that! And I'm gonna have to clean out a freezing cold trough tomorrow!" There were some disadvantages to owning a duck of Napoleon's intelligence – although 'owning' was hardly a true description of their relationship.

Napoleon single-mindedly flapped and fluttered around Jess's head, even adding the odd peck at his ears, as he attempted to drive the young Texan into the barn.

"Opa?" a young voice called from within.

Jess put out an arm and Napoleon landed on it, before sidling up to perch in his favorite place on Jess's shoulder. Cautiously and gently, Jess walked into the barn.

The child was standing in the empty stall, her arms full of a loudly purring ginger cat. She had no idea of the consternation which this caused in the man slowly approaching her. She was used to the company of adults and had no fear of them, just a strong instinct for those who were trustworthy. Without moving or speaking, she ran her thoughtful gaze over the man.

She saw at once that he was too young. She did not have much experience of young people, but this could not possibly be the one she was seeking. The brightly coloured duck who had guided her into the barn was now perched on his shoulder. He must be a nice man, because the duck trusted him. The child decided to trust him too.

The young man came to a halt a couple of feet in front of her. The cat shifted in her arms, glared at the man and then wriggled free. It disappeared up the loft ladder with a scrabble of sharp claws.

The child was a little taken aback but was reassured when the duck let out another encouraging 'quack' which sounded for all the world as if it was chuckling. She smiled.

The young man smiled too. His smile was a little lop-sided and he had a gap between his front teeth which made him look even younger. He had thick, dark hair. His eyes were very bright blue and twinkling with welcome. They almost matched the blue shirt he was wearing. She saw the shirt was patterned with little tiny green and brown ducks. It didn't look like the kind of shirt a dangerous person would wear.

Steadying the duck on his shoulder with one hand, the young man crouched down on his heels so that his face was level with hers. He held out his other hand invitingly.

"Would you like some Christmas pudding?"

When she put her hand into his, he steered them both – and the duck – towards one of the doors of the house.

"We're goin' into the kitchen. It's quieter there and there's plenty of pudding keepin' warm."

Inside, the kitchen looked as if a great deal of cooking had been going on and a great deal of washing up was waiting to be done. The young man let go of her hand and lifted the duck down. He put it on the floor next to a big bowl of water, which the bird immediately jumped in.

"Napoleon!" There was a stern warning in the young man's otherwise deep and pleasant voice. "No splashin'!"

The child knelt down beside the duck and stroked its head to keep it calm. The young man looked at them both with another smile, then went over to the door leading to the interior of the house and called: "Jonesy! There's someone here needin' a helping of your special pudding."

Moments later a much older man joined them. He was not very tall, but there was a wiry strength and reliability about him. He was wearing a stiff collared shirt of the kind she had often seen, a fancy silk waistcoat which looked brand new and, over his trousers, a very battered apron which clearly wasn't. He walked with a limp.

Before she had time to think, she was seated on a little stool by the warmth of the stove with a big bowl of Christmas pudding and cream and a spoon in her hand. She was so hungry! She ate slowly, enjoying the taste of each mouthful, as she had been taught. By the time she had finished, more people had crowded into the kitchen – two boys much older than she was and another young man, tall and fair with a very kind face.

The younger of the boys sat down on the floor next to her, his back to the stove, to keep her company as she ate. This was new and strange. She had rarely met other children, but this one certainly looked friendly. When she had finished eating, he took the bowl from her and handed it carefully to the older boy.

As he did so, his hand brushed the stiff card pinned to her coat.

"Look!" he said softly. "She's got a label. Just like a present!"

"Can I look at it?" The first young man, the one with the bright eyes and the duck-shirt, was kneeling beside them.

She nodded.

He reached out with lean, brown hands and carefully unpinned the label. He looked at it. He rose slowly to his feet. He silently handed it to the second young man, the one with the kind face.

The fair young man read the label. He drew in a breath sharply. He seemed very surprised indeed.

"What's it sayin'?" the younger boy asked from the floor beside her.

"Saying," three voices corrected almost absently.

"Well, what does it?" The boy was not going to be put off.

The fair young man read the battered label aloud.

"Amanda

… Sherman

…. Wyoming"

"So she's comin' to the party!" The younger boy jumped to his feet and held out his hand. "Come on! There's music and food and games and all sorts of fun!"

Fun was not something of which the child had had a great deal of experience but she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. These people were kind people, she could sense this, even though they were all so very much taller than she was.

The two boys guided her towards the inner door and the three men followed, the first one pausing to pick up the duck and settle it on his shoulder once more. The door led into a much bigger room, decorated with lots of greenery with red berries and even a tree in one corner which was adorned with all sorts of hanging ornaments, many of them obviously hand-made.

The room was full of people, sitting, standing, leaning against the wall, eating, drinking, laughing, and talking at the tops of their voices.

It was overwhelming! She tried to back away but came up against the adults behind her. As if he sensed her fear, the old man suddenly called out: "Quiet, everyone! We got a new guest and she ain't used to so many folks all at once!"

The child looked up, her heart swelling with gratitude. She had someone who wanted to take care of her!

"Opa?"

Jonesy looked down at the little face upturned to him and the trusting hand thrust into his.

"Yeah." He bent down and, despite his back, lifted the child into his arms.

"Opa!" she said happily again, snuggling up against his shoulder.

In the hushed room Walt Haber told them softly. "It means 'grandpa'. She must come from a Dutch or German family - somewhere."

"Yeah, somewhere – but right now she belongs here!" Jonesy stated gruffly and, surrounding him in a tight group, the rest of the Sherman family nodded in absolute agreement.

# = # = #

Fast away the old year passes,

Hail the new, ye lads and lasses,

Heedless of the wind and weather

Sing we joyous, all together.

The weather worsened as the old year drew to an end. The wind whirled snow flurries round the house, rattled the window-panes and tried to blow the smoke back down the chimney. The normal routine resumed and, after the excitement of Christmas, they were proposing to turn of the year quietly. Outside work was hampered by ice and deeper drifts and the short hours of daylight. Stages came and went, the passengers only too delighted to be fortified with hot coffee and a good meal.

During the day the little girl kept close to Jonesy, who found plenty of small tasks to keep her occupied happily at his side. In the evening, by the fire, she would draw pictures, play games with Mike and Andy or learn simple tunes on the piano from Jonesy. They had found a little folding bed in the loft and brought it down for her and shifted the bunks into the back bedroom to accommodate Andy and Mike so that there was more room for it. She seemed to accept life at the ranch and relay station placidly and showed a confidence and adaptability much beyond her years. Although she could speak English, she could tell them virtually nothing about her origins except that she had lived far away and made a long journey. This journey, they discovered, had been at least partly supervised by adults, but who they were or why they had simply abandoned the child was a complete mystery. They could only wait patiently while Mort Cory set in motion a train of inquiry in order to solve it.

News did not come until the very last day of the year. Around midday Mort's familiar figure rode into the yard on his trusty mount, Raguel. Once the horse had been settled in the barn, he joined them for the meal and afterwards they all sat round the table, eager to know what he had discovered.

"Amanda arrived here," the Sheriff reminded them, "because of a torn label which apparently said 'Sherman, Wyoming'. What it actually said, before it was damaged, was 'Amanda Sherman, travelling to Schumann the Tailors, Cheyenne, Wyoming.'"

"Ya – Schumann is my other Opa," Amanda nodded vigorously, at the same time seizing Jonesy's hand as if she were afraid he would vanish.

Jonesy patted her hand gently, unable to give any other reassurance until they had heard the whole story.

"So she really is a Sherman?" Slim's brow wrinkled as he puzzled to make out the connection between a strange branch of the family and his own.

"Well, yes and no," Mort told them. "Not exactly and not all the time."

"Could y' make that a bit clearer?" Jess voiced all their thoughts.

"As far as we can tell, Amanda was orphaned and brought up by her grandmother and other elderly Schumann relatives. When her grandmother died, she was taken into the care of a family called Sherman, on the east coast, and her name was changed because the two were so similar. No-one knows if this was a legal change or not, because the care was only temporary while they worked out how to send her to her grandmother's brother in Wyoming – the man Amanda calls her grandfather."

"Opa Schumann!" Amanda agreed, again nodding vigorously.

Mort smiled at her and continued: "She's a very brave and strong young lady because she traveled all the way from New York in the care of various friends and relatives of the Sherman family. Unfortunately, when she reached Cheyenne, things began to go wrong. The label had got torn, so the address she was being sent to was misinterpreted. Worse still, her grandfather had passed away some months before and because his name was missing no-one associated the child with him. She was found on the street outside the stage coach offices one evening and someone took her along to the Sheriff's Office, where she spent the night."

"Hard bed! Cold!" Amanda affirmed.

"You ain't never gonna have t'spend a night in a jail again!" Jonesy stated fiercely and the others murmured their fervent agreement.

Mort continued: "Anyway, by good luck, and I guess some hard work from her guardian angels, a young couple related to the Cheyenne sheriff were travelling north beyond Casper. They could have traveled by train, but because someone from the stage-crew told them about the Sherman Relay Station, they offered to drive north as far as Laramie instead and deliver Amanda to what everyone thought was her proper home."

"It is her proper home – now!" Mike exclaimed determinedly, voicing the hope which they all cherished. In the short time she had lived with them, Amanda had found a secure place in all their hearts and a very special relationship with her adopted grandpa, Jonesy.

"They must have been in a great hurry, heard the party and assumed that all would be well," Slim suggested. "But it didn't quite work out the way they planned."

"Too noisy!" Amanda told them. "Napoleon and me found quiet."

"Then he rounded me up," Jess grinned.

"And now here we are – no nearer knowin' whether she can stay or not." Jonesy's voice shook a little.

"Oh, I think she can!" Mort assured them, much to everyone's relief. "She has no relatives we can trace nor any legal record of an adopted family. You'll have to apply to the court for custody, as you did with Mike, but there doesn't seem to be any reason why you shouldn't be granted adoption rights, if that's what you all want."

Slim, Jess, Andy, Mike and Jonesy looked at each other and resolution flashed from one member of the family to another like warm lightning. Then they directed their attention to the child.

"We'd like that very much," Slim spoke for them all. "But it has to be Amanda's decision too."

"Would y' like to go on livin' here and bein' part of the Sherman family?" Jonesy asked the little girl gently.

The hand in his tightened and she replied softly, "You'd be my Opa Sherman?"

"Yes. I'll always be Opa for you."

A huge smile lit Amanda's face. Conscious of the importance of this occasion, she answered in her most polite and formal manner: "Yes. I would like very much to stay and live with you all." She jumped up and went to them each in turn, giving them a solemn and heart-felt hug.

A throaty chuckle of approval from the ranch's resident Anas Platyrhynchos set the seal of approval on the agreement of them all.

"And it's a good job y' stayin'," Jess told her. "Y've got Napoleon followin' you everywhere already and y' the only person who's ever been able to carry that cat!"

Their laughter filled the homely room with pure heartfelt pleasure that New Year's Eve, as Amanda tugged Jonesy over to the piano. "Play, Opa! Play!"

The piano rang out gently but surely, and their voices rose in a joyful chorus:

"Fast away the old year passes,

Hail the new, ye lads and lasses,

Heedless of the wind and weather

Sing we joyous, all together!"

Notes:

Proof of the Christmas Eve legend? "An honest countryman, living on the edge of St. Stephen's Down, near Launceston, Cornwall informed me, October 28th 1790, that he once, with some others, made trial of the truth of the above and watching several oxen in the stalls at the above time, at twelve midnight, they observed the two eldest oxen only fall on their knees, and as he expressed it, in the idiom of the country, make 'a cruel moan like Christian creatures.' '' John Brand in his 1849 Observations of popular antiquities of Great Britain. There is a theory that, for some time after the change to the Gregorian calendar, the young cattle knelt on 25th December, but the older ones still knelt on 6th January, the old Christmas Day.

Musical Notes:

Oliphant's English lyrics to Deck the Halls, inspired by a much older Welsh version, were published in 1862.

The Camp Fire Song, poetry by Chas. Lever Esq., music by Edward O. Eaton, published Augusta, 1864. (Library of Congress)