A Frontier Christmas by William W. Johnstone

there’s Curly Latham. How did I miss him? I’d better go speak to him.” R.W. left to greet the town barber, who was quite bald.
    Russell Craig stepped through the doorway and chuckled. “Ha! If there’s any way to milk another two votes, R.W. will find it. I’m telling you the truth. If he ever decides to run for governor, why, I believe he would win.”
    â€œBut has he nae been a good mayor? Or have I been made prejudiced by the fact that he is my good friend?” Duff asked.
    â€œNo, don’t get me wrong,” Craig said. “I think he’s been a great mayor. I can say this because, bein’ as I am the city marshal, I’ve had to work with him quite a lot of times, and he’s always given me whatever I needed to get the job done.”
    The mayor returned to the doorway, and as more guests arrived, Duff, Meagan, Biff, and Rose moved on and took their seats at one of the tables. After a few moments, Marshal Craig joined them.
    â€œWho’s protecting the town, Marshal?” Biff teased.
    â€œNot to worry, my friends. It’s in good hands with my deputies.”
    As the diners enjoyed the meal, the room was alive with the sounds of dozens of conversations, laughter, and the clink of silverware on china. Duff happened to look up toward the door and saw Titus Gilmore, the telegrapher. The expression on his face was grim.
    Duff frowned. “That doesn’t look good.”
    â€œOh, Duff,” Meagan said, putting her hand on his arm. “He looks like he is bringing bad news to someone.”
    They watched as Gilmore started toward R.W., then, as if having second thoughts, he changed direction, and walked toward their table.
    â€œMarshal Craig, maybe you’d better handle this.” Gilmore handed the message to him.
    Craig nodded. “All right, Titus. Thank you.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I’m awfully sorry.” Turning, Gilmore left quickly.
    â€œThat was strange,” Marshal Craig said. “I said thank you, and he said he was sorry.”
    Craig opened the message and read it. “Oh, damn.” Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, damn.”
    â€œWhat is it, Marshal?” Duff asked.
    Craig’s only response to the question was to hold out the telegram. Duff took it with some trepidation.

    TO MAYOR RW GUTHRIE STOP SON JOHN AND FAMILY MURDERED STOP BODIES AT RAWHIDE BUTTES MORTUARY STOP AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS STOP MARSHAL WORLEY

    â€œDuff?” Meagan asked.
    As had been Marshal Craig’s response, Duff said nothing, but handed the message to Meagan.
    â€œGod in heaven, how awful!” Meagan said after reading the telegram. Almost instantaneously, her eyes welled with tears.
    â€œI don’t blame Titus for leaving this with me to deliver,” Craig said. “I don’t think I ever more fully understood the term, ‘let this cup pass from me’ as much as I do at this very moment.”
    â€œI’ll come with you, if you’d like,” Duff offered.
    Craig shook his head. “No. I appreciate the offer, Duff, but this is something I have to do by myself.”
    â€œMarshal, you might want to take him outside before you tell him,” Duff said. “I think he might need a little privacy for such news.”
    â€œYes,” Craig agreed. “Good idea, I’ll do that.”
    Duff watched as Marshal Craig walked over to the mayor’s table. He was talking to someone, and laughed just as Craig approached. The expression on his face changed from a smile to one of concerned curiosity when he excused himself from the others, then followed Craig toward the door.
    â€œWhat’s up?” asked someone at a nearby table. “Why did the marshal take the mayor outside?”
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    A buzz of concerned, but quiet conversation moved through the room.
    A moment later, Marshal Craig came back into the room. He took Mrs.