A Texas Hill Country Christmas by William W. Johnstone Page B

moments, all of them had been cut down.
    As the shooting died away, Matt looked down at the boy and asked, “Are you all right, son?”
    The boy swallowed hard and nodded.
    â€œYeah, I . . . I think so, mister,” he said. “I figured I was a goner for sure, though, when that Injun grabbed me.”
    â€œWhat were you doing?”
    â€œTryin’ to get a squirrel for my ma’s stew pot.” The boy swallowed again. “That blasted squirrel was dang near the death of me.”
    Matt chuckled and got to his feet. He reloaded the Colt, pouched the iron, and then reached down to give the youngster a hand. While he was doing that, Major Macmillan, Sergeant Houlihan, and Private Brenham came over to them.
    â€œLooks like we got here just in time, Matt,” Macmillan said.
    â€œYeah, another couple of minutes would’ve been too late, Major,” Matt agreed. “Those varmints were about to overrun us.”
    Macmillan nodded toward Brenham and said, “You can thank the private for that. He rode hard to find us, and then pushed us to get back here as fast as we could.”
    Matt smiled at the Southerner and said, “I’m obliged to you, Taw, and so is . . .” He looked over at the boy and asked, “What’s your name, son?”
    â€œTommy Chadwick, sir. That ranch down yonder belongs to my pa.”
    â€œI’m Matt Jensen,” Matt introduced himself. “This is Major Macmillan.”
    â€œSon,” Macmillan said as he nodded. “We’d better get down there and make sure the rest of your family came through this fracas all right.”
    â€œI hope they did,” Tommy said. “They ought to be fine if they all got in the house quick enough. Pa built it sturdy. He said we might have to fight off Injuns now and then. Never had no trouble until now, though.”
    Macmillan turned to Houlihan and said, “Sergeant, check on the enemy and see if there are any captives to deal with.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Houlihan said. Matt caught the glint in the man’s eyes. He was pretty sure Houlihan would report that all the renegades were dead, even if he had to help some of them along into the next world.
    Houlihan wasn’t likely to forget what had happened at those other ranches, either.
    Matt, Macmillan, and Tommy walked down the slope toward the double cabin. The doors opened before they got there. A stout woman with graying brown hair rushed out and cried, “Tommy!”, then hurried to meet them and threw her arms around the boy in a hug.
    â€œAw, Ma!” Tommy said. Now that the danger was over he was embarrassed by such a show of affection, as any boy his age would have been.
    A middle-aged man who was probably Tommy’s father trailed the woman. He had a bloody rag wrapped around his hand as a bandage, indicating that he was the one who had reached out to close the shutter on the window.
    He was followed by a pair of boys in their late teens, a girl about fifteen, and a girl a little younger than Tommy. Matt saw smears of powder smoke grime on the faces of the older boys and the older girl and knew they had taken part in the fighting. Youngsters sometimes had to grow up quickly out here on the frontier.
    The man patted Tommy awkwardly on the shoulder, then turned to Matt and the major. As he stuck out his hand, he said, “I’m John Chadwick. I reckon my boy owes his life to you fellas. Probably the rest of us do, too. I’m obliged to you more than I could ever say.”
    â€œWe’re here to protect the settlers from renegades,” Macmillan said as he shook hands with Chadwick. “I’m Major Patrick Macmillan, in command of this patrol from Fort Griffin. This is our scout, Matt Jensen.”
    Chadwick clasped Matt’s hand and said, “I think I’ve heard of you, Mr. Jensen. Sure was our good fortune that you came along today.”
    â€œI’m glad we did,” Matt said.