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

and forth between them and exclaimed, “Good Lord, you’re both so casual about someone nearly killing you!”
    â€œIt’s not like this is the first time it’s happened,” Chance said.
    â€œAnd he missed, so there’s no point in getting worked up about it,” Ace said. “No matter who that bushwhacker was or why he was shooting at us, the most important thing is that none of us were hit.”
    â€œYes, I can see that,” Porter said, nodding. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be as blasé about a brush with death as you two are, though.”
    The three of them mounted up and rode on. Ace and Chance flanked Porter now, and their eyes never stopped moving as they watched the slopes around them. Ace didn’t think it was likely the bushwhacker would make another try right away, but there was no guarantee of that. He hoped that one of the bullets he and Chance had thrown at the man might have tagged him, so he wouldn’t be interested in any more ambushes, but there was no way of knowing that, either.
    Late in the afternoon, they came to a settlement along the banks of a river that twisted through the hills. A sign at the edge of town announced that the place was called Johnson City. One of the first buildings Ace saw was a stage line office.
    The stagecoach from Austin hadn’t overtaken them during the day, but it probably wasn’t very far behind them now. Ace pointed out the stage station to the other two and said, “The coach will probably stop there for the night.”
    Eagerly, Porter said, “So I’ll have an opportunity to speak to Evelyn and persuade her to abandon her plan to marry Hudson. I might convince her to turn back before she even reaches Fredericksburg!”
    â€œYeah, if you think that’ll do any good,” Chance said.
    â€œHope springs eternal!” Porter cried.
    A low rumble sounded. To the surprise of Ace and Chance, the storm had lurked in the west all day without moving in to drench the already soaked landscape any more. The thunder meant that respite might not last much longer, though, and so did a sudden gust of cold wind.
    â€œLet’s find a stable for these horses and a place to get in out of the rain if it starts to pour,” Ace suggested.
    There was a stable on the other side of the street from the stagecoach station. The garrulous old man who ran it introduced himself as Carlton. He gushed over what fine horses Ace’s chestnut and Chance’s cream-colored gelding were and told them that the Pedernales Hotel, named after the nearby river, was the best hotel in town.
    â€œOf course, it’s also the only hotel,” he added with a chuckle. “But they’ll take good care of you there. One of my brothers runs the place. Got a fine barbecue pit, too, so you’ll want to eat in the dining room.”
    â€œYou happen to know what time the stage from Austin gets in?” Ace asked.
    â€œI know when it’s scheduled to come in, since my other brother manages the station. Ought to be close to on time, since the good weather’s held today. I sure didn’t expect it to. I been givin’ some thought to how maybe I ought to start buildin’ me a big boat.”
    â€œSo what time does the stagecoach get here?” Chance asked.
    â€œOh, I didn’t say, did I?” Carlton took a turnip watch out of his pocket, flipped it open, stared at it, and said, “Right about now. Fact is, I hear it comin’.”
    So did Ace and Chance. They turned toward the stable doors as the stagecoach came bumping and splashing along the street.
    Porter hurried out, unable to contain his eagerness. The brothers trailed him. Across the street, the Concord coach had rocked to a halt in front of the stage line office. A couple of hostlers came out of the barn to tend to the team. A man in a white shirt, vest, string tie, and sleeve garters emerged from the office. He was probably the