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

said, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, a beautiful rendition of one of your favorite melodies by our lovely songbird of the South, Miss Savannah McCoy!”
    Savannah stepped through the curtains and out onto the stage. She smiled as she walked forward, letting her eyes sweep over the audience. As she began to sing Stephen Foster’s “Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair,” her gaze settled on a man about four rows back, in the middle of the theater.
    She had learned that her performances were always better when she pretended to be singing directly to a member of the audience. It was largely a matter of luck who that person happened to be. As long as they were in a good place, that was all Savannah cared about.
    The person on the receiving end of her song happened to be a young man who looked a few years older than her, with dark hair and a hard-planed face. He was dressed like a cowboy, as was the young man who sat beside him. The other man was more handsome, but there was something compelling about the man Savannah had selected.
    Singing to him was no trouble at all.

C HAPTER S IXTEEN
    â€œI swear, she’s lookin’ right at you.” Three-Finger Jake dug an enthusiastic elbow into Bodie’s ribs. “She must be sweet on you!”
    â€œI don’t even know the girl,” Bodie protested. “I mean, I know she’s Miss Savannah McCoy, but that’s all.”
    â€œThat’s what the fella said when he introduced her.”
    â€œI would have known it anyway. I would have recognized her from her picture on the poster.”
    It was true. The artist had done a good job of capturing Savannah McCoy’s likeness. If anything, she was even prettier in person than she was on the poster, although before he saw her Bodie wouldn’t have thought that was possible.
    She sang beautifully, too. Cyrus O’Hanlon had been right to describe her as a songbird. Savannah was lovely and talented, and if Bodie hadn’t known better, he might have said that he was smitten with her.
    But that was loco, of course. He could tell just by looking at her that she was a real lady, despite the immoral reputation that actresses and entertainers sometimes had. She wouldn’t ever have anything to do with a lawless ruffian like him. For all he knew, she might already be married to one of the other members of the troupe.
    Just sit back and enjoy the show, he told himself, and stop thinking about things that could never be.
    The show was certainly enjoyable. After Savannah’s song, a couple jugglers came out and entertained the crowd for several minutes while the curtains were closed behind them. Bodie heard people moving around back there and figured they were getting ready for something else.
    He was right. When the jugglers finished and the curtains were pulled back, several fellows with what looked like bed sheets wrapped around them were standing on steps with white-painted columns at the top. One of them stood a little apart from the others and started talking, but as he did so, several of his companions took out knives and began to sneak up behind him with evil expressions on their faces.
    â€œWhat the Sam Hill!” Jake exclaimed. “They’re gonna stab that hombre like they was red Injuns!” He reached for the gun on his hip. “I’ll stop ’em!”
    Bodie’s hand shot out and closed around Jake’s wrist before Jake could draw the revolver. “Hold on!” Bodie whispered. “I think it’s all part of the show.”
    Not everybody in the audience figured that out as quickly as he did. Several men shouted warnings, which the sheet-wrapped figures on stage ignored. A nervous tingle ran through Bodie’s brain. What if he was wrong? What if they were about to commit cold-blooded murder right there on the stage?
    That was loco, of course, and a moment later he saw proof of that as the men with knives pretended to stab the fellow who was