A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE: Forty-Sixth in a Series of Jess Williams Westerns (A Jess Williams Western Book 46) Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author and/or publisher. They are solely the imagination of the author and/or publisher and the imagination of events that may or may not possibly happen.

  Copyright© 2015 by Robert J. Thomas

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, or stored into or introduced into any electronic or mechanical method without the written permission of the author and/or publisher. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the written permission of the author and/or publisher is illegal and punishable by law.

  A Jess Williams Novel.

  Westerns. Revenge. Violence. Action. Adventure.

  ISBN# 978-1-940108-33-9 E-Book

  AMAZON AISN# B0199BD3Z4 (AMAZON ASSIGNED E-BOOK NUMBER)

  A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

  A Jess Williams Western

  Forty-Sixth in the Series

  By Robert J. Thomas

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jess left the town of Dundee behind him, turning in the saddle several times to look back at it until it disappeared. He knew that he would return there to visit whenever he could. For now, he was on his way to his hometown of Black Creek, Kansas, to visit for Christmas. He looked forward to seeing all his friends there, but he wasn’t looking forward to the cold. He hated it.

  He was headed for Rasher, Texas, where he hoped to find Harvey Spence who was wanted dead or alive for murder and was worth three thousand dollars. The fact that Rasher was on the way to Black Creek helped in his decision to hunt him. Jess had picked up a light jacket at a crossroads trading post to help keep the chill out of his bones, but he knew when he rode farther north, he’d have to get a heavier one.

  He sat atop his horse and scanned the town of Rasher from a half mile away through his spyglass. Nothing particular stood out. It was just another small town like so many others scattered around the huge state of Texas. He put the spyglass away and headed for town. He pulled his Winchester out and placed it across his legs as he rode along the dusty street.

  Somewhere he heard a dog barking and someone yelling at it to stop. He rode past a general store that had two pine trees leaning against the front wall. He remembered how his father would let him help cut down a pine tree for their house at Christmas. His mother would tie bows and wrap ribbons around it. She also tied candy sticks to the tree and let him and his sister, Samantha, each have one at night. And by Christmas Eve, there was always one gift around the tree for each of them. He especially remembered the last Christmas he’d spent with his family. His gift had been the hand-carved wooden pistol his father had made for him despite his mother’s strenuous objections.

  His thoughts were broken by a single gunshot followed by a loud yelp that sounded like it came from the dog that had been barking. He reined Gray to a quick stop and looked in the direction of the shot as he slipped his hammer strap off. The wind pushed a tumbleweed along the boardwalk in front of the saloon where the shot had come from. He slid from his horse, knowing that Gray and Sharps would stay wherever he left them.

  He made his way to the batwing doors and looked inside. He shoved through them after pushing his jacket behind his pistol. It caught on the handle of his bowie knife, holding it in place. The saloon reeked of spilled beer and whiskey. Cigar and cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air and flames in the round stove in the middle of the place popped and danced behind the dirty glass door. A couple of men were engaged in a poker game and two stood at the bar drinking and eating what looked like stew. All four men stopped and watched him walk to the stove and warm his hands, all the while keeping an eye on all of them.

  “What was that single gunshot for?” asked Jess as he strolled past the stove after noticing the men playing poker didn’t have any guns on them.

  The men at the bar, however, both wore six shooters haphazardly around their waists. A barkeep stood behind the bar, with a towel draped over his shoulder and an attitude on his unshaven face. Jess looked over the one man at the bar. He was stout and clean shaven and he seemed bothered for some reason. The other was a slim, tall, lanky young man with a handlebar moustache and a goatee that was wet with whatever he was eating. Jess walked up to the bar and looked at them as he put his rifle on the bar.

  “Does anybody in this place have ears that work?” queried Jess. The man with the goatee swiveled his head toward him as he stepped back from the bar.

  “I can hear just fine,” he said, chewing with his mouth full and a drop of gravy trickling down the corner of his mouth. He slicked his tongue out and slurped it.

  “Then what was that gunshot for?” Jess asked again. The other man turned his head and looked past Jess to the floor where a few drops of blood were being soaked up by the old wood.

  “He shot Blacky,” the man said in a most disgruntled voice.

  “Who is Blacky?”

  “An old dog who keeps beggin’ and barkin’ till you give him something to eat,” replied the man with the goatee.

  “He’s just an old hungry dog,” argued the clean shaven man.

  “Then why don’t you buy him a bowl of stew and feed him if you’re so dang worried about it?” asked the man with the goatee.

  “I ain’t got money to buy food for myself.”

  “Then shut yer yap,” carped the man with the goatee. The barkeep moved over to where Jess was standing.

  “Mister, do you want something?” he asked.

  “A good whiskey and a bowl of that stew,” he said as he placed a five-dollar gold coin on the bar.

  The barkeep poured the whiskey and went into the back room to get the stew. Jess followed the drops of blood out to the back door of the saloon. The screen was missing from the door. He opened it and heard moaning coming from under the back porch. He stepped off it and leaned over to see a large black dog with some gray hair around his snout. The dog lifted his head and looked at him through fearful eyes before lying back down with his head on his two front paws.

  “How you doing, boy?” The dog made a guttural sound, but didn’t move. He kept staring at Jess, moving his brown eyes back and forth as if he didn’t want to look him directly in the eyes. Jess reached into his back pocket, pulled out a piece of jerky and took a bite of it. He held it out to the dog.

  “Come on, this might be a little tough, but it’s good,” he told the dog.

  Blacky lifted his head and sniffed the air. He crawled on his legs until his head was just out from under the porch. He whimpered a little and sniffed the air some more, but Jess could tell the dog was afraid to take the jerky from him. Jess threw it down on the ground in front of him. He crawled a little farther out from the porch, picked up the jerky, stuck it between his paws and began to gnaw on it. Jess could see the bloodstain on the back of the dog’s neck where the bullet had cut a groove in the flesh. He stood up and walked back into the saloon to where his whiskey and bowl of stew sat on the bar. He looked at the barkeep and smiled as he pulled out the wanted poster on Harvey Spence. He showed it to him and the barkeep shook his head.

  “He came through here yesterday right after some old man and a kid rode though with a wagon full o
f wooden toys,” he explained. “The old man tried to sell some goods to the townsfolk, but no one here has any extra money to spare.”

  “What kind of toys?” asked Jess, his interest piqued.

  “Handmade stuff like wooden wagons, a few sleds and some corn husk dolls for little girls,” replied the barkeep. “A lot of hand-carved stuff shaped like animals. Some were painted and some weren’t. I gotta say, he had some pretty nice stuff.” Jess took a sip of his whiskey and spat it out on the floor.

  “I told you good whiskey, not this rotgut,” he complained to the barkeep.

  “I didn’t pour you any rotgut,” the barkeep said defensively. The clean-shaven man grunted.

  “He switched the glasses,” he said as he nodded to the man in the goatee.

  Jess slowly walked to the man, who started to put his hand on the butt of his revolver, but was stopped when he found himself looking down the barrel of Jess’s cocked pistol that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. The man slowly raised his hands, his fingers trembling now after seeing how fast Jess had drawn it.

  “Ah, take it easy, Mister. I wasn’t going to draw on you, I was just being cautious,” he said in a broken voice.

  “I ain’t like the dog. You pull a gun on me, I shoot back,” Jess warned him. “Now give my good whiskey to this other man here.” He slid the glass down the bar in front of the clean-shaven man.

  “Thanks. Mister,” he said as he took a sip of it. Jess’s pistol disappeared as quickly as it had appeared and he turned to see the dog sitting at the end of the bar, watching him. He walked over to him and bent down to look at the wound.

  “I’m gonna pour some whiskey on that; but if you bite me, I’ll bite you right back. Do we have an understanding?” he asked, wondering why he was talking to a dog.

  He took the good bottle and poured some on Blacky’s neck. The dog whimpered and moaned, but he didn’t attempt to bite Jess. He wiped it off gently with a bar towel. He stood back up and looked at the barkeep. “What meat did you use in the stew?” he asked.

  “I got a chunk of horsemeat from the livery owner.”

  “Cut me off a large piece and bring it here.”

  “It ain’t exactly free, you know.”

  “And I ain’t asking for any change from that five-dollar gold piece.”

  “Okay then,” he said as he went in back and returned with a large piece of the raw meat. He handed it to Jess, who leaned down to let Blacky smell it. He carefully took it in his mouth and ran outside.

  “Well, someone has money to spend,” muttered the man with the goatee. Jess ignored him, ate his stew and sipped his whiskey. The clean-shaven man watched him eating and Jess heard the man’s stomach rumble. He looked at the barkeep and smiled.

  “Bring him a bowl of stew and put it on my tab,” Jess told him.

  “Thanks, Mister,” he said. “This must be my lucky day.” Jess nodded at him and finished his stew. He picked up his rifle and walked out to find Blacky sitting on the boardwalk by his two horses.

  “Good luck to you, old timer,” he told Blacky as he climbed up on Gray and nudged him into a slow walk out of town.

  Blacky kept walking along the boardwalk, watching him. When the boardwalk ended, he jumped down and walked alongside Sharps, who kept looking at the dog. Jess reined his horses to a halt and turned to Blacky, who immediately sat down.

  “You can’t come with us. You’ll never keep up with my horses,” Jess told him. He barked twice and Sharps snorted and shook his head at him.

  “You go on back.” Jess started his horses again and the dog kept walking alongside Sharps. Jess stopped and looked down at the dog, who was sitting with his tongue out and his tail wagging.

  “Look, you stubborn old cur, I can’t have you following me around. Now get on back to town,” he told him sternly. “Someone must own you.” Blacky barked twice and Jess shook his head. He started his horses again and the dog kept walking alongside Sharps. Jess let out a long sigh as he looked at him.

  “All right, but you’ll have to catch up to us later,” he told him. “Besides, if you stayed back there, you might end up in that stew pot before long.” Blacky barked twice and kept walking.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jess followed the tracks left by a wagon and two horses. The wagon wasn’t of interest to him; it was the single set of hoof prints left by a rider that was obviously following the same trail as the wagon. The wind was blowing, kicking up dust in the air, reducing his visibility. He kept looking up from the tracks every few minutes and then he saw the outline of two people walking through the dust. He slid his Winchester out and slowed his horses to a fast walk, keeping the rifle ready. As he got closer to them, they heard him and turned around.

  Standing in front of him was a tall, lanky old man with a snow white head of hair that grew down to a bushy moustache and long beard. The man wore a tattered old duster. Standing next to him was a young boy of maybe fourteen. He wore a jacket with holes in it, along with some boots that looked like they’d seen better days. The man and the boy both raised their hands and had fearful looks on their faces.

  “You can put your hands down. I mean you no harm.”

  “We’ve already been robbed today,” blurted the old man. “We ain’t got nothin’ left.”

  “I’m not here to rob you,” he said as he put the rifle away and removed the wanted poster on Harvey Spence. He showed it to the man. “Is this the man who robbed you?”

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Maybe an hour or so.” Jess put the wanted poster back into his pocket and smiled at the two of them.

  “You know how to ride a horse, old man?”

  “I ain’t forgot how and my name is Woodson, Woodson Duling. And this boy is my grandson, Jacob.”

  “Well Woodson, my name is Jess Williams. You and the boy climb up on my packhorse, Sharps, and we’ll get you your wagon back.”

  “How’d you know we had a wagon?”

  “From the tracks on the ground and the fact that the barkeep back in town told me you left before Spence came through,” explained Jess. “He’s wanted dead or alive for murder, so robbing an old man and a young boy just comes natural to a man like that.”

  “You ain’t gonna kill him, are you?” queried Jacob.

  “That was my thinking, yeah.” Jacob lowered his head and shook it.

  “I don’t think that’s right, killing another person,” he muttered.

  “Maybe you should tell that to Harvey Spence before I put the last bullet into him.”

  “I don’t think you should shoot him,” lectured Jacob as they heard some barking. Jess turned in the saddle to see Blacky running toward them. He rushed up to Jacob, jumped up on him and began licking his face.

  “I think he likes you,” Jess told Jacob, who rubbed Blacky’s ears.

  “Is this your dog?” asked Jacob.

  “Not really. One of the men in the saloon back in town shot him. Not too bad though. He’ll heal. I fed him and I guess he’s waiting on another free meal.”

  Blacky finally sat down and looked up at Jess, his tail wagging. Jacob saw the bloodstain on the dog’s neck and frowned. He pulled a corn dodger out of his pocket and fed it to the dog, who devoured it in seconds.

  “Jacob, we don’t have much to eat ourselves. Don’t be feeding that dog your food,” cautioned Woodson.

  “But we’re supposed to share with others,” he said defensively.

  “Don’t worry, I have plenty of food in my saddlebags and besides, he ate about two pounds of meat not long ago,” Jess told them. “Now do you want a ride or not?”

  “What about the dog?” questioned Jacob.

  “He found me this time, so I’m sure he’ll find us again,” replied Jess. “Now climb up in the saddle and let’s get your wagon back.” Woodson climbed up on Sharps and hauled Jacob up behind him.

  “You hang on to Woodson because these horses are fast,” Jess cautioned Jacob.
/>   Jess nudged Gray into a moderate gallop at first and then pushed him a little harder. They rode for about fifteen minutes before he brought his horses to a quick halt. Woodson was surprised by the sudden stop and fell against Sharps’ neck.

  “Give a man a warning when you’re gonna do that,” griped Woodson.

  “Sorry,” muttered Jess as he saw the faint outline of a covered wagon up ahead through the swirling dust. “I see your wagon. I think we should ride way around it and let him come to us.”

  “Do you do this all the time?” asked Woodson.

  “Yeah, it’s what I do for a living. Now hang on and let’s go to the right and ride around him.” Jess turned his horses to the right and pushed them until they were running at a fast pace.

  It took them a while to get around and back to the trail they had been on. Jess climbed out of the saddle, leaving the horses about fifty feet off the trail. He pulled his Winchester out, racked a shell into it and smiled up at the two on Sharps.

  “These horses are ground reined and will stay here. You two should stay here and let me handle Spence,” he explained.

  “Al. right,” agreed Woodson.

  “I don’t want you to kill him,” announced Jacob. Woodson turned in the saddle to him.

  “You let the man do his job,” he told him firmly.

  Jess walked out to the main trail and stood there waiting. He waited about a half hour before he heard the creaking of the wagon and the clomping of the horses pulling it. The wind was blowing a little less now. Jess removed his hammer strap and pushed his jacket back behind his pistol. He raised the rifle and thumbed the hammer back, watching the wagon come into view through the dust. He saw Spence sitting in the front seat. When Spence looked up and saw the outline of a man standing in the middle of the trail pointing a rifle at him, he reacted out of instinct. He grabbed his rifle, but dropped it on the floor as a slug ripped through his left arm. He squealed in pain as Jess moved purposefully toward him after racking another shell into his rifle, pointing it directly at Spence, who looked down at his pistol.