and it was a big and . . . he had no idea how far away he was from that tree or shelter.
A snowflake kissed the tip of his nose. Another cooled his cheek, dissolving as the heat of his hand brushed it away. Suddenly, a gust of wind swirled around him in a dervish of snowflakes, chilling him to the bone at the strangely beautiful sight of dancing white death.
“Better find the roan and save the beast from your stupidity,” he warned, his words now rushing visibly from his mouth as frosty wisps of air, “so you can do the same for yourself.”
Snow eddies rushed ahead of the whiskey wagon making its way down the rutted path that led from Old Mobeetie near the Oklahoma border toward the town of Kasota Springs. Already, snow piled in drifts against any barrier that opposed the growing force of the wind. Not that there were many in the long stretch of treeless prairie. The team of four oxen pulling the heavy load had slowed their steps considerably a couple of hours ago warning Anna Ross, their driver, that what she feared as possibility had become fact.
A blizzard had set in. The snow clouds from the north had rushed faster than she’d expected to belch white fury upon the Texas Panhandle. The poor ranchers had barely survived last winter’s storms, the worst in Texas history. Now the fear of more to come sent a chill of foreboding through Anna, making her wish she could take her hands off the reins long enough to put another blanket over her lap and tug the yellow slicker she wore a little more securely up behind her neck.
Jack had refused to stay beneath the blanket she’d thrown around them, insisting to cast his one-eyed attention at the poor beasts making their way home in a lumbering race alongside them.
All morning she and her dog had watched cattle drifting down the two hundred miles of fence that the XIT ranch had built a year earlier to guide their stock home in case they wandered too far from food. For hours, the drift fence ran parallel to the wagon’s path. If she hadn’t already suspected the brewing storm would be a mighty one, the movement of the cattle trying to reach safety was evidence enough to warn of the approaching danger.
“We should’ve taken the train,” she told the tiny goldenhaired dog sitting next to her on the driver’s seat, then called out encouragement to the oxen to keep pushing on. But if she had taken the train, she would have had to deal with all the fuss and bother with the people who were bringing in the new bell for the church steeple. And then there would be all those children on board headed for the orphanage. She just didn’t have it in her to see those sad little faces. It was hard anytime to see such need, but at Christmas, it broke her heart.
No, taking the wagon to Mobeetie to fetch her saloon’s supply of whiskey for the winter had been the right thing to do. She’d make it right. Come hell or a high-winded blizzard.
For friends, she had also picked up a list of merchandise meant to be used for the Christmas holiday. She couldn’t let them down. Her friends in Kasota Springs weren’t all that many, and disappointing them didn’t set well with her. Anna flicked the reins and set her jaw to the task, giving the dog a quick wink. “Got to get these presents home, don’t we, Jack? If Saint Nick can do it, so can we . . . huh, boy?”
Jack barked, making her laugh and easing some of the tension that gripped her. Jack might be all of five pounds, his head bigger than the rest of him, but he had the heart of a longhorn.
“You make one scrawny-looking reindeer, and I suppose with my red nose,” she wiggled her nose trying to keep it from feeling so numb, “I could probably lead the team in the night sky. Do you think Santa would go for that, boy?”
Jack barked again, this time louder and with more intensity. Suddenly it became a continuous yapping that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He sprang to all four feet, then sailed off the wagon
A snowflake kissed the tip of his nose. Another cooled his cheek, dissolving as the heat of his hand brushed it away. Suddenly, a gust of wind swirled around him in a dervish of snowflakes, chilling him to the bone at the strangely beautiful sight of dancing white death.
“Better find the roan and save the beast from your stupidity,” he warned, his words now rushing visibly from his mouth as frosty wisps of air, “so you can do the same for yourself.”
Snow eddies rushed ahead of the whiskey wagon making its way down the rutted path that led from Old Mobeetie near the Oklahoma border toward the town of Kasota Springs. Already, snow piled in drifts against any barrier that opposed the growing force of the wind. Not that there were many in the long stretch of treeless prairie. The team of four oxen pulling the heavy load had slowed their steps considerably a couple of hours ago warning Anna Ross, their driver, that what she feared as possibility had become fact.
A blizzard had set in. The snow clouds from the north had rushed faster than she’d expected to belch white fury upon the Texas Panhandle. The poor ranchers had barely survived last winter’s storms, the worst in Texas history. Now the fear of more to come sent a chill of foreboding through Anna, making her wish she could take her hands off the reins long enough to put another blanket over her lap and tug the yellow slicker she wore a little more securely up behind her neck.
Jack had refused to stay beneath the blanket she’d thrown around them, insisting to cast his one-eyed attention at the poor beasts making their way home in a lumbering race alongside them.
All morning she and her dog had watched cattle drifting down the two hundred miles of fence that the XIT ranch had built a year earlier to guide their stock home in case they wandered too far from food. For hours, the drift fence ran parallel to the wagon’s path. If she hadn’t already suspected the brewing storm would be a mighty one, the movement of the cattle trying to reach safety was evidence enough to warn of the approaching danger.
“We should’ve taken the train,” she told the tiny goldenhaired dog sitting next to her on the driver’s seat, then called out encouragement to the oxen to keep pushing on. But if she had taken the train, she would have had to deal with all the fuss and bother with the people who were bringing in the new bell for the church steeple. And then there would be all those children on board headed for the orphanage. She just didn’t have it in her to see those sad little faces. It was hard anytime to see such need, but at Christmas, it broke her heart.
No, taking the wagon to Mobeetie to fetch her saloon’s supply of whiskey for the winter had been the right thing to do. She’d make it right. Come hell or a high-winded blizzard.
For friends, she had also picked up a list of merchandise meant to be used for the Christmas holiday. She couldn’t let them down. Her friends in Kasota Springs weren’t all that many, and disappointing them didn’t set well with her. Anna flicked the reins and set her jaw to the task, giving the dog a quick wink. “Got to get these presents home, don’t we, Jack? If Saint Nick can do it, so can we . . . huh, boy?”
Jack barked, making her laugh and easing some of the tension that gripped her. Jack might be all of five pounds, his head bigger than the rest of him, but he had the heart of a longhorn.
“You make one scrawny-looking reindeer, and I suppose with my red nose,” she wiggled her nose trying to keep it from feeling so numb, “I could probably lead the team in the night sky. Do you think Santa would go for that, boy?”
Jack barked again, this time louder and with more intensity. Suddenly it became a continuous yapping that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He sprang to all four feet, then sailed off the wagon
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