Free A Big Sky Christmas by William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone

the fire. The days were still pleasant some of the time but the nights were almost always cold. His breath fogged a little in front of his face as he held his hands out toward the fire’s heat.
    Jamie handed him a tin cup of Arbuckle’s. “That’ll warm you up.”
    Moses sipped the strong black brew gratefully.
    â€œOnce we’re on the trail, we’ll be moving by this time of the morning every day.” Jamie waved a big hand toward the arching gray vault of the eastern sky. “There’s enough light for the men handling the teams to see where they’re going. That’s all we really need.”
    â€œYou weren’t joking when you said that the days would be long ones, were you?”
    â€œNot one blasted bit. What do you usually do for meals?”
    â€œI, uh, prevail upon the generosity of some of my fellow pilgrims, and in return I provide them with some supplies. I’m afraid that I’m not much of a cook myself.”
    â€œWell, no need for you to do that anymore. I’ll fix us some flapjacks and fry up a mess of bacon.”
    â€œUh, Jamie . . . I don’t exactly eat bacon . . . You know, because of my religion . . .”
    Jamie vaguely recalled hearing something like that about the Hebrew religion. He wasn’t sure how anybody could live without eating bacon or salt jowl, but he supposed that was Moses’s business, not his. “We’ll just stick with the flapjacks, then, if they’re all right for you to eat.”
    â€œSure,” Moses said with a smile. “Actually, that sounds really good.”
    After they had finished breakfast, Moses offered to clean up.
    Jamie thanked him. “While you’re doing that I’ll go talk to Cap’n Hendricks. Point me to his wagon.”
    â€œOf course.” Moses told him how to find the captain’s wagon, and he began to walk around the big circle that formed the camp.
    He had passed about a dozen of the covered vehicles when a figure stepped out from behind one of them and confronted him. Jamie recognized the man Moses had identified as Reverend Bradford. He and the two children with him had disappeared by the time Moses had started introducing Jamie to the rest of the group the previous night.
    It appeared that Bradford was intent on meeting him. He planted his feet and stood with a stern expression on his face.
    Jamie could have moved him out of the way if necessary, but it would have taken a little work.
    â€œYou’re MacCallister,” the big man said bluntly. “The new wagon master and guide.”
    â€œThat’s right.” Jamie didn’t feel any instinctive liking for the reverend, but he was willing to wait and see what the man had to say, so long as Bradford didn’t waste too much of his time. He held out his hand to see if Bradford would shake.
    â€œYou’ve befriended the Israelite,” Bradford went on, ignoring Jamie’s hand and making the words sound like an accusation of some sort.
    â€œIf you’re talking about Moses, I believe he’s from Poland,” Jamie said as he lowered his hand. His eyes narrowed. It seemed that his initial dislike of Bradford had been right on the money.
    â€œI don’t care where he’s from, he’s a Hebrew, and someone like that has no place among decent, God-fearing folks like the ones with this wagon train.”
    â€œNow hold on a minute,” Jamie snapped. “He’s got a right to be here, same as anybody else—”
    Before Jamie could go on, rapid footsteps sounded behind him. He whirled around, instinct making his hand flash to the butts of the .44s holstered at his hips.

C HAPTER T WELVE
    He stopped before he made the draw, as two youngsters skidded to a halt in front of him. Their eyes widened at the sight of the big frontiersman looming over them in a slight crouch, clearly ready to jerk his Colts from leather and set those deadly smokepoles to