"God rest you merry, gentlemen,
let nothing you dismay …"
LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY
Jantallian
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Christmastide is not the time for quarrelling. And, to give them their due, Slim Sherman and Jess Harper did their best to keep it to their usual level of familiar bickering. But the circumstances were trying – especially when they found themselves struggling up to their necks in a snowdrift, with an overturned wagon below them and the two draft horses they had had to cut loose making a bolt for the warmth and comfort of home. Add to this the fact that Jess had gone paddling in a swollen river in direct contravention of Slim's specific orders. And, over and above his blatant recklessness, mix in their failure to retrieve the town's medical man who was now well and truly marooned for the festival. Season this lot with the close proximity of a couple of smelly sheep - the prospects were not looking good for a merry Christmas. Oh, and then there was the little matter of the warning:
"Make sure the wild man don't get you!"
At least the priest had escaped. Or at any rate, gone on his way, if not exactly rejoicing.
Now they were crouching round a smoky fire in a dilapidated hovel. Jess was huddled in his underwear beneath an extremely smelly bearskin rug – or maybe it was better just to imagine that it was still a bear-skin. Slim was stirring what he hoped was soup in a dented, blackened pot over the fire – but it probably wasn't. The sheep, getting warmer by the fire than the humans, smelt as bad as the rug – no, scratch that - they smelt indefinably worse!
The old man sitting on the bed was either crazy or drunk or possibly both. He might be wheezing and coughing too, but there was no sign of wavering in the ancient shotgun he had trained on them.
"This thing stinks!" Jess grumbled hoarsely as he hitched the rug around his shoulders. It probably had fleas too, but he was stubbornly ignoring this possibility. Sometimes it paid to be stubborn.
"You want to freeze to death right now?" Slim demanded testily. He was conscious that if Jess got pneumonia not only was the doctor stuck behind a sizable avalanche, but would it ruin Christmas too.
"It'd be better than bein' filled full of lead!" Jess pointed out. He eyed the old man with distrust and got an equally suspicious glare back. "How'n hell did we end up acceptin' his hospitality?"
Slim said nothing. He just looked meaningfully at the shotgun.
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Somewhere in the snow-bound wastes, a woman and child set out on their journey.
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They had ended up in this parlous state through their own seasonal goodwill. Tidings which were far from good had arrived in Laramie. A messenger from the isolated settlement of Spurcreek, a couple of hours up into the mountains above Laramie, brought news that it was running out of essential supplies. He'd headed straight for the Sheriff's office, knowing that Mort Cory was the best man to organise help, only to find Mort himself out of action. Fortunately Slim and Jess were there as well. Undismayed by the prospect of a hard winter journey, they had volunteered to take a wagon-load up to the settlement before heading home with their own provisions. As the doctor happened to be tending a confinement (also very seasonal) in the same place and the Reverend William Fitzwilliam had been blessing this out-flung congregation in advance of the actual day, it seemed logical to offer the two gentlemen a lift back safely to the town.
Excellent intentions! It was a pity that nature was pitiless and took no account of seasonal goodwill. They got the wagon-load almost all the way to the settlement, only to find the normally small Spur River had turned into a raging winter flood. The ford was impassable with the heavy wagon, but there was a sturdy rope and plank one-horse bridge. Refusing to be dismayed by this set-back, they began laboriously to lug the barrels, boxes and bags of much needed supplies over the swirling torrent.
The settlers had been on the look-out for their arrival and were soon man-handling the goods in a human chain, across the bridge and up the narrow pass which led to their homes. It was during the course of this activity that some helpful person took thought to warn Slim and Jess about the strange habits of their nearest human neighbour: human, but scarcely civilised, apparently. At the time, it seemed more like an elaborate leg-pull than another cause for dismay and so was firmly pushed to the back of their minds while the swift transit of the goods was at the forefront.
Everything was going splendidly until a careless moment and the slip of a foot sent a whole case of food tumbling into the river. Jess was at the far end of the bridge and reacted instantly. Slim knew him so well that even before Jess had moved a muscle, he yelled: "Jess! Don't! It's too …"
Too late. Not for the first time.
Slim watched grimly as Jess waded into the icy, but fortunately not too deep, waters. He grabbed the slowly rotating crate and heaved and wrestled it back to the bank. Result? One distinctly wet Jess, although the heavy leather of his chaps and coat protected the rest of his clothes to some extent. And, of course, one crate more of essential goods to bring the comfort and joy of Christmas to everyone in the little community.
From the far bank, Slim glared at his partner. His heart was thumping erratically. Minus Alamo, he didn't even have his trusty rope to lasso Jess with and so every muscle was screwed to screaming-point in preparation for plunging in to rescue him. Really, there were times when Jess's recklessness tried his patience beyond belief! Slim paused here to consider his own attitude to the needs of the settlers. Ok, he would have done the same but that didn't let Jess off for risking getting drowned and scaring him to death in the process!
After Jess had squelched back to the Laramie side of the bridge, Slim uncharacteristically gave vent to his feelings, which resulted in a blistering three minutes of retribution descending on Jess's defiant head. It somewhat undermined their pleasure in the success of their mission.
So they stood together at the far end of the bridge - in mutually aggravated silence rather than seasonal true love and brotherhood - watching the last of the settlers staggering up the pass with the supplies they needed. All they had to do now was to collect the priest and the doctor and high-tail it for home and their own Christmas preparations.
It was fortunate that they were on the right side of the river and that the Reverend William Fitzwilliam, always one to supervise the activities of his flock, had joined them. As the last figure disappeared over the top of the pass, there was a prolonged rumbling roar. Only a few minutes after, snow thundered down into the narrow defile, obliterating both the tracks of the settlers and the track to their settlement. As snow-dust showered down on them, the bridge shook and rattled and the horses pulling the wagon snorted and shifted restlessly.
"Alas," the Reverend Fitzwilliam observed in sepulchral tones, "I fear our good medical man will not be joining us."
"No kiddin'?" Jess muttered under his breath as he brushed the snow off his already wet coat and hat.
Slim kicked him hard on the ankle. The Reverend Fitzwilliam was of uncertain temper and provoking him might just make their Christmas rather less pleasant than they anticipated. He cleared his throat and said tactfully and truthfully, "We must just pray that they all made it safely back to the valley. But you're right, Reverend, no-one is going to get out of there without a lot of digging. We need to get going for Laramie and bring back some help."
So much for a warm welcome in the saloon and rolling into your own blessed bunk just ahead of the dawn! Jess thought to himself. Trust Slim to put everyone else first, regardless of the cost! But he knew in his heart he would have said exactly the same – well, maybe not exactly those words, but he'd have made the same response. And wasn't Slim's unselfishness one of the things Jess most admired about him?
The Reverend had brought his own horse over the bridge with him and insisted on riding it, despite the extra time this cost when they had periodically to stop and dig out the snow balled in its hooves. The draft horses fared better, as Smudge, the haulage driver and their owner, had taken the sensible precaution of packing their hooves with oil-sludge before they set out. It didn't make the pristine surface of the snow any prettier, but it was reasonably effective. In the event, however, the Reverend's decision to ride was the saving of them all.
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The woman stopped and lifted the child onto her back. The snow was deep in the gullies.
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Disaster struck, as it so often does, in a totally unexpected manner. It had begun to snow heavily. Visibility fell rapidly to a few yards. With the snowfall, the temperature seemed to have risen appreciably, but Slim was conscious of Jess dripping steadily – and probably miserably, although he would never admit it – next to him. It was fortunate that he was not entirely soaked, but nonetheless the weather could change again at any moment and Jess could literally freeze to death in a frighteningly short time. Slim turned his head and glowered silently at his partner.
Jess responded by giving him a slightly chilly grin. "I'm fine!"
"And I'm going to murder you!" Slim responded automatically. "You ought at least to have kept back one of those blankets for yourself –"
The grin broadened into genuine amusement. "Can't believe it, Hard Rock! Y'actually suggestin' we steal something just because I got a bit wet?"
Slim ground his teeth. "Borrow!" he said shortly.
"That's definitely a first," Jess chuckled, mostly to stop his own teeth chattering in an unseemly manner. "You are really prepared to bend the rules because of something that happened to me? When it's entirely m'own fault?"
"I don't suppose it occurred to you," Slim snarled crossly, "firstly if you get pneumonia there's no doctor available – secondly if you get influenza you'll pass it on to the rest of us – thirdly if you freeze to death Andy's going to blame me – and fourthly it'll ruin Christmas!"
Jess leaned back in the seat and regarded him with amused affection. "Didn't know you were so sentimental! It's almost worth the wetting to see you gettin' so riled up …"
"If I didn't know you can't stand the cold," Slim retorted, "I'd reckon you did it deliberately just to see how far you can push me! Now shut up and take this!"
He loosed the reins momentarily in an endeavour to struggle out of his own winter coat in order to give it to Jess. This moment of well-intentioned inattention combined fatally with the fact that, while they had been arguing in a snow-storm, they had also driven off the main track back to Laramie. The combination of these factors led to catastrophe.
The horses pulling the wagon could have done it in their sleep; they really didn't need the supervision of any human. But the avalanche had upset them already, the diversion from the main track confused them and they were edgy and ready to spook at whatever might loom up out of the drifting curtain of snow. As Slim took his eyes momentarily off the track, something loomed with a vengeance.
"Halt! Now!" An old voice, cracked with agony and madness, rang out. A bizarre figure reared out of a massive snowdrift that completely blocked the road immediately ahead of them. It was brandishing an antique weapon.
It was also not the only thing to rear. The horses decided to put as much distance as they could between themselves and this eldritch apparition. Unfortunately they decided to bolt in opposite directions. The resulting forces acting on the wagon caused it to rock and sway violently. The surface of the trail was treacherous, with a steep drop to one side, down which the wagon, quaking and shuddering, proceeded to slip sideways. It weighed enough to drag the panicking horses with it.
The Reverend Fitzwilliam's horse screamed and turned on its haunches and galloped full tilt for Laramie. They should have been very grateful for this, but in the event were entirely preoccupied with their own fate.
The next few minutes were a nightmare of shattering wood and flailing hooves. Slim and Jess reacted as one, diving for the traces with drawn knives and slashing them as swiftly as they could, before the horses injured themselves and damaged the wagon even further. As the horses plunged free and bolted into the swirling snow, a trace snapped back, catching Slim a violent blow across the cheek. The wagon rocked equally violently and settled ponderously, pinning Jess face down in the snow under the front axle.
Slim surged out of the impeding drift and grabbed the front of the wagon. He heaved with all his strength. "Crawl, for heaven's sake, will you!"
Jess made a muffled choking sound but began to drag himself out of immediate danger. Or at least, that was what they both thought. Slim dropped the wagon, which tipped over even further until it was upside down with its weight partially propped up by the shafts. They both stood panting and shaking.
"You're bleedin'." Jess untied his bandana, which miraculously still seemed to be dry, and mopped the dripping blood from Slim's face. "Press this on it – hard!"
"I know what to do!" Slim snapped, sounding uncharacteristically ungrateful. The shock and exertion of the last few minutes had been profound. "What about your ribs?" He knew how often Jess had managed to get those stove in.
Jess cautiously drew a deep breath. "I'm –"
"Jess, if you say fine, I swear I'll put you back under that wagon!"
"Nothing's broken," Jess assured his partner hastily. "We should –"
Whatever he had been going to say was cut short by a blast of shotgun pellets over their heads. So much for being safe from immediate danger!
"Come! Now!" The same voice which had ordered them to halt, in what seemed like a hundred years ago, issued a croaking command that the owner was obviously willing to back up with hot lead. Standing above them on the track was a tall man, his shaggy white hair and long beard blowing in the snow-laden wind, his eyes gleaming with the light of one possessed. He was shrouded in tattered rags and skins, but seemed impervious to the biting cold.
"With me! Now!"
Slim and Jess looked at each other. There are some invitations you just can't refuse. As they scrambled and struggled their way out of the drift and back on to the track, Jess murmured: "Thanks, Hard Rock!"
"For what?" Slim sounded surprised, which just demonstrated once again how deeply instinctive was his urge to protect the people he cared for.
"Gettin' me out. A night under that wagon'd be real cold!"
"Cold!" The old man heard them. "Come!" He was a man of few words, apparently, but he gestured unmistakably with the gun.
For a moment, they exchanged silently the idea of overcoming and disarming him, but equally silently and immediately the idea of fighting someone so old and obviously emaciated was discarded. Slim and Jess followed their threatening guide, their faces bowed against the cutting of the wind.
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The woman bowed her head and kept walking,
though the snow dragged against every step and her feet were bare.
Presently she set the child down again.
The snow was not so deep now that he could not walk in his bare feet also.
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The reluctant guests followed their guide a quarter of a mile uphill. It was a fairly steep climb and both the gradient and the icy surface made it hard going for the old man. He was limping quite badly, but with the fortitude of one who has done so for many years. Despite this, he did not pause until they came to shelter. There was a small cave, almost a scraping in the hillside, in front of which some kind of tent had been pitched, covering the entrance. The tent had been over-laid with branches and brush and on top of this a thick layer of snow had lodged. Had it not been for the footprints leading to it and a faint smell of wood-smoke, they would never have guessed it was there.
As they ducked under the low flap leading inside, the partners exchanged puzzled glances once more. They both recognised the heavy duty canvas of the tent that said 'army' unmistakably. The inside was as primitive as the outside and just as surprising.
The first thing which confronted them was a full dress cavalry uniform, complete with medals, hanging from a pole of the tent and eerily alive as it swung to and fro on the cords by which it was suspended. The sheep were pretty unmissable too, not only because of the smell but because they rushed up to greet the old man, lovingly rubbing around his legs. There was a good supply of wood, close to the entrance, and a fire burning low in a stone hearth at the mouth of the cave. Inside the cave itself, bracken had been heaped up to form a deep bed on which lay several malodorous furs.
The old man picked up a bear-skin and tossed it to Jess. "Strip!"
Jess caught the pelt automatically as he opened his mouth to say: "You're kiddin'!" but he never got the chance.
The old man leveled a steely gaze at him and ordered in the tones of one accustomed to absolute obedience: "Now!" Then he turned his gaze to the smouldering fire. "Fuel!" He looked at Slim commandingly and Slim automatically said: "Yes, sir!" and busied himself with the wood supply and getting the fire going into a good blaze.
When he had done so, he took the clothes which Jess had been wringing out in the doorway and hung them over the fire on the poles of the tent. The old man was watching them both closely and his gun never wavered for an instant, even when deep, racking coughs shook him. Apparently satisfied that they were going to obey his orders, he jerked his head towards the fire and said: "Cold. Sit!"
Jess folded up abruptly into a cross-legged position, which enabled him to get as close to the fire as possible, and hitched the stinking fur round him. Slim looked at him in surprise. He had expected at least a modicum of rebellion from Jess, whose resistance to direct orders almost went without saying. Now he sat still as he had been told, although he did push away the crowding sheep who had decided that he was another source of warmth.
The old man reached to a ledge in the wall of the cave and took down a big black cooking pot. He handed it to Slim, saying: "Boy Blue made food. Heat! Eat!"
He watched with an eagle eye as Slim once again obeyed. His gun never wavered.