Ranch War

by J. T. Edson

  “I would,” Beauregard insisted. “He’s kept more thieves and such out of the law’s hands than I can count. All with legal trickery and pull in the State Legislature.”

  “That’s never been proven——!” Talbot began, his instincts making him protect the reputation of a man he knew to be all the marshal had claimed.

  “And is getting us away from the point,” Freddie put in. “There could be several valid reasons why Grosvenor didn’t inform Charles about Calamity coming. What we are trying to find out is how they knew where to find her, so that they could rob her of the papers that would prove her eligible for receiving the offer to buy the ranch. And don’t ask me to repeat all that.”

  “It sounds to me like The Outfit’s involved,” Beauregard said gently.

  “Which Outfit?” asked the Kid.

  “I wished I knew,” the marshal admitted. “It’s only rumors I’ve picked up, Kid, but there’s a mighty well-organized bunch operating in and around Kansas. You want somebody killed, or got rid of, and’ve got the money to meet their prices, you go to The Outfit. They’ve fellers in every town, near on, and’re said to use some of the Wells Fargo way station crews to pick up and pass on information.”

  “And you think they’re involved?” Freddie inquired.

  “Could be,” Beauregard admitted. “I wouldn’t put it past Grosvenor to be working for The Outfit.”

  “Then why send her all this way?” asked the Kid. “She could’ve been jumped and robbed just as easy in Topeka, especially if Grosvenor’s mixed in the deal.”

  “Word has it that the State Legislature’s getting interested in The Outfit,” Beauregard answered. “So they wouldn’t chance making a fuss that close to home.”

  “You think this ‘Outfit’ has men in Mulrooney, Marshal?” Talbot put in.

  “I know it has, but not who they are. The Outfit’s smart. They don’t try to take over a town. They just keep a few hired guns around in case some’re needed. Likely the fellers don’t even know beyond whoever gives them pay in town.”

  “So Grosvenor sends Calam here and lets somebody know she’s coming,” the Kid said. “They wouldn’t need to follow her to the hotel.”

  “They might, though,” Freddie insisted. “If The Outfit pass information by telegraph, they would have to use a code, or make the messages sound harmless and nothing to do with what they really meant. That would mean they couldn’t go into a lot of details or descriptions. So they would have had to keep a watch at the depot.”

  “If they had done, they’d’ve knowed she wasn’t no shy lil Eastern gal,” the Kid objected. “Least-ways, I’ve never seen any Eastern gal dressed like Calamity.”

  “What’s wrong with how I dress?” Calamity bristled indignantly.

  “Not a teensy thing from where I’m sitting,” the Kid assured her. “Only I never saw no shy lil Eastern gal wearing pants, nor toting a Colt ’n’ a bull-whip.”

  “Calamity didn’t leave the train with the other passengers,” Freddie announced. “So if they had a man watching, he wouldn’t have seen her. Or didn’t recognize her.”

  “You’ve maybe got it,” drawled the Kid.

  “Do you mean that The Outfit have been paid to scare Miss Calamity so that she would sell the ranch without wanting to visit it?” asked Talbot.

  “Either that, or to steal the papers so that she couldn’t prove her identity,” Freddie agreed. “The answer is in Hollick City, unless you manage to catch the two men and make them talk, Kail.”

  “I’ll do my damnedest on that,” the marshal promised.

  “And, unless you want for me to stick around, I’m headed for Hollick City just’s soon’s I can get me a good hoss,” Calamity announced. “I don’t take to fellers spoiling my sleep and whomping me across the jaw. So I’m headed up there to see why they’ve done it.”

  “You’ve got company, Calam gal, happen you want it,” the Kid told her, coming to his feet. “Dusty told me to go back down to the herd, but he’ll not mind if I don’t when he hears why.”

  “Just hold on for a moment, you hotheads!” Freddie snapped as Calamity stood up. “You can have the pick of my stable, Calamity, and a pack-horse. But only if you show some sense. Lon, attend to your business with Charles. Kail, I dare say you’ve inquiries to make before you’ll let Calamity leave. So I suggest that we break up this meeting and attend to our affairs.”

  Knowing that Freddie made real good sense, the others went along with her suggestions. Leaving the Kid with the lawyer, Calamity accompanied Freddie to the stable. Beauregard headed for his office to start his investigation.

  Going to the telegraph office, after learning that the search for the two men had not yet produced any result, Beauregard was told that there had only been a couple of messages received from Topeka the previous day. One was from Grosvenor to the Railroad House Hotel, requesting that a room be reserved for Miss Martha Jane Canary. The other was to a general store, telling its owner that some supplies he had ordered were on their way. At any other time Beauregard might have ignored the second message. Remembering Freddie’s comments about innocuous-appearing information, he decided to keep his eye on the store-keeper.

  Leaving the telegraph office, the marshal almost walked into Calamity and the Kid. Freddie had insisted that they notify their respective employers of their intentions and they were on their way to do it. While telling them of his findings, Beauregard saw one of his deputies approaching.

  “They got away, Kail,” the man said miserably. “Feller allows he saw them riding out of town about half an hour after the shooting. They was headed north on the stage-trail.”

  “Which leads to Hollick City!” Beauregard growled. “They’re taking your papers to whoever hired ’em up there, I’d say, Calamity.”

  “And me,” the girl agreed. “Damn it! We can’t get started afore noon to take after ’em.”

  “Was they riding relay, friend?” the Kid asked the deputy.

  “Not according to the feller. Just the one hoss apiece.”

  “Then we’ll be traveling a whole heap faster’n they can, gal,” the Kid declared. “Given just a smidgin of good Texas luck, we ought to catch up with ’em on the trail. Happen we do, we’ll ask ’em real polite to give back that letter.”

  Chapter 6 THEY KNOW WE’RE AFTER ’EM

  “HOW COME I HAVE TO LEAD THE PACK-HOSS?” Calamity Jane inquired belligerently as she and the Kid rode north along the stagecoach trail.

  “’Cause you’re a woman,” her companion replied. “And us Pehnane fellers allus keep our women in their place.”

  “I ain’t no blasted Pehnane, no matter what you might be!” the girl protested. “So we’ll take us turns in leading this fool critter.”

  Adding the pack-horse to the two reserve mounts she had borrowed from Freddie did not cause Calamity any inconvenience. In fact she had led it ever since they had mounted their relays in Mulrooney at noon and the sun was dipping toward the western horizon. However, she felt that she ought to have certain matters straightened out. From what Mark Counter had told her, the Kid rated women above a food-dog but lower than a pack-mule on the scale of importance. So the girl had decided that it was up to her to raise the standing of females in her companion’s eyes and make him change such fool notions.

  Before leaving the town, Beauregard had told them of his latest findings; which had not been much. Smith had been seen around the depot the previous night and on two occasions in the company of two men answering the descriptions of Calamity’s assailants. On being questioned, the day clerk at the Railroad House Hotel had insisted that he knew nothing of Smith’s presence across the street when Calamity had left to visit Talbot. Beauregard believed that the man was lying. Beyond that, there was nothing definite. The whole affair had still struck the marshal as being the work of The Outfit. His view was strengthened by the speed with which the pair had left the town. After losing one man, the organizer for The Outfit would speed the others involved on their way wit
hout any delay as they had completed their work.

  Thinking of Beauregard’s comments, the Kid saw what might be a solution to Calamity’s demands.

  “Way I see it,” he remarked, “with them two pelados on the trail ahead and all, you should lead the pack-hoss and leave me free should it come to shooting.”

  “If it comes to shooting, I don’t want tying down to no blasted pack-hoss neither,” Calamity countered. “So, comes morning, we take turns in leading it.”

  “Banged paleface!” grunted the Kid.

  “Pehnane varmint,” the girl answered.

  Watching Calamity, the Kid was satisfied with what he saw. He knew the girl to be highly competent at handling a six-horse wagon, but riding relay was a different proposition. From all he had seen so far, she possessed the necessary riding skill to stand up to the fast pace they must use if they hoped to catch the two men. There was another matter for the Kid to consider.

  “Does Mark mean anything to you, Calam?” he asked.

  “I wish he did,” she sighed. “There’s only one gal in his life and her name’s Belle Starr, not Calamity Jane.”*

  Topping a rim at that moment, they came into sight of Wells Fargo’s North Solomon River way station. That prevented Calamity from taking the matter any further, although she guessed what was on the Kid’s mind.

  The way station would have been a day’s journey by stagecoach, but the vehicle would have left Mulrooney shortly after sunup and traveled more slowly than Calamity’s and the Kid’s relays. Halting his horses, the Kid studied the deserted aspect of the main building, big barn and corrals.

  “They could be laying for us in the house or the barn,” Calamity remarked, having duplicated his scrutiny. “Best give me the reins of your relay, Lon. Only don’t count on me leading them all the way to Hollick City.”

  “Us Pehnane don’t trust the women-folk to lead our riding-hosses most times,” he replied, handing her the reins of the three horses.

  With Calamity spluttering a blanket condemnation of the Pehnane, Texans and himself, the Kid slid his rifle from its saddle-boot. Then he started the magnificent seventeen-hand white stallion moving. Calamity let him draw slightly ahead before following with the other horses.

  “You bunch cause me fuss, comes shooting,” the girl warned the animals, “and I’ll peel you to doll-rags with my whip, see if I don’t.”

  While approaching the long, one-story, stone building that acted as telegraph office, hotel, saloon and general store, Calamity and the Kid kept constantly alert. They had come to within thirty yards of the building before they saw anything to alarm them. Then the door started to open and they observed the twin barrels of a shotgun coming into view.

  Instantly the Kid halted his stallion, the rifle lifting slightly from its place across his upper thighs. Behind him, Calamity brought the other horses to a stop. Her right hand moved toward the butt of the Navy Colt, but she knew that her main task in the event of shooting would be to control the animals.

  The shotgun’s barrels retreated into the building and after a moment a man walked out. While tall, his lean build, white hair, bib-overalls and moccasins proved that he was not one of Calamity’s attackers. Coming to a halt on the edge of the porch, he thumb-hooked his hands into his belt. It appeared that he trusted the new arrivals, for he no longer held the shotgun—assuming that it had been him who had allowed it to show.

  “Howdy,” greeted the Kid, slouching apparently at ease but ready to burst into sudden, violent motion should the need arise.

  Slowly the old man shifted a wad of tobacco into his left cheek and cut loose with a spurt of juice. His eyes took in every detail of the newcomers’ appearance, resting for a moment on the rifle held with such deceptive negligence in the Kid’s hands.

  “Light ’n’ rest your saddles,” the man offered.

  “Gracias,” drawled the Kid, dismounting without looking at Calamity. “Can we bed the hosses down in the stable tonight?”

  “Feel free,” the old-timer answered. “It’s empty right now.”

  “Nobody staying with you?” Calamity asked.

  “Nope. Was you expecting somebody?”

  Remembering what Beauregard had said about The Outfit making use of Wells Fargo employees—without the Company’s knowledge or consent—as gatherers of information and message-carriers, the Kid decided against taking chances.

  “Can’t say ‘yes’ to that,” he answered, giving Calamity no time to speak. “Not ’less it’s the gal’s pappy. He don’t cotton to having me for a son-in-law.”

  “There’s some’d say the feller’d right good taste,” the old-timer sniffed and turned his attention to the girl. “Only I never knowed you’d got a pappy, Calam.”

  “You figure maybe I was left under the blueberry bushes by the fairies, you wored-out ole goat?” Calamity demanded, walking forward. “Lon, meet Deke Goff. Not that he’s worth meeting. Deke, this here’s the Ysabel Kid, and I’m right ashamed to be seed in his company.”

  “Why in hell didn’t you say you knowed the gent?” growled the Kid, after booting his rifle and shaking hands with the grinning old man.

  “I just naturally loves to see a smart yahoo like you make a fool of hisself is why,” Calamity answered. “As if a sweet-looking, lovable gal like me’d marry up with a mean, ornery Pehnane varmint like you.”

  “I might’ve been took in, Kid,” Goff commented. “Only I mind you from when you was a deputy in Mulrooney. So I reckoned anybody Cap’n Fog’d pin a tin star on’d be too smart to marry a freight-hauling she-male with a temp——”

  “Damned if you men don’t all hang together!” Calamity yelped. “And should. There’s not one of you to improve on the rest. Come on, hosses, let’s leave ’em.”

  Leading the way to the open doors of the barn, Goff looked over his shoulder and said, “Way you pair rid up, Kid, I’d say you was expecting somebody.”

  “Two of ’em,” the Kid confirmed, knowing now that he could trust the old man. So he described Calamity’s attackers for Goff’s benefit.

  “Does the Mex ride a fancy light red roan, with a white belly?” asked the old man. “What they call sabino, or some such.”

  “That’s what they call ’em,” agreed the Kid. “Only we don’t know what sort of hosses him and his pard’s riding. Have they been through here today?”

  “T’other feller’s riding a light bay with a white blaze down its face and a white off fore-leg,” Goff remarked, stepping aside inside the barn and indicating the empty stalls. “Take any you want. Come by maybe ten days back, headed for Mulrooney. The Mex had a misplaced eyebrow then, but not when he come back this afternoon, going north again. Would there be some special reason you’re asking about ’em?”

  “They jumped me in town this morning and wide-looped a letter I was carrying,” Calamity informed him.

  “Must’ve been a mighty important letter for ’em to tangle with you pair to get it,” Goff commented.

  “I wasn’t with her when it happened,” the Kid explained. “How long is it since they went by?”

  “Maybe three, four hours. They stopped off for a meal and lit out soon’s I’d fed ’em. Mex was walking kinda stiff, like he’d got him a sore crotch.”

  “I was hoping he’d have one,” Calamity enthused, delighted that one of her attackers still felt the effects of her efforts. “’Cause I sure tried to get him that way.”

  “Being a gent born ’n’ raised, I ain’t going to ask what that means,” Goff stated. “I thought they was watching their back trail kind of careful. The rest of the boys being in Mulrooney for the day, I didn’t ask ’em about it. Tell you one thing, was you to ask.”

  “We’re asking,” Calamity sighed, looking at the roof as if searching for divine assistance.

  “They’ll not be traveling too fast.”

  “How come?” asked the Kid.

  “The big feller’s hoss looked ready to throw a shoe,” Goff explained. “Can’t get it fixed afore
he reaches the way station at the joining of the Sappa ’n’ Beaver Creeks over in Nebrasky. And I’d be tolerable surprised if it got him that far.”

  All the time they had been talking, the old-timer was helping Calamity and the Kid to place their horses in the stalls and attend to the animals’ needs. Going on with the work, he confirmed that the big man’s name was “Job,” while the Mexican answered to “Otón,” although no surnames had been used.

  “Unsociable pair,” Goff grunted. “Reckon you can finish off while I go tend to supper?”

  “We’ll try,” promised the Kid.

  “What’ll we do about them?” Calamity inquired as Goff left the barn.

  “Do you reckon we should’ve kept on’s soon’s we heard they’d been here?”

  “Nope. It’ll be dark soon, long afore we could catch up with ’em anyways. And I don’t figure they’ll make camp where we could easy find ’em.”

  “I never knowed you used your head ’cept as a place to hang that beat-up blue-belly’s hat on,” the Kid told her admiringly.

  “You want for me to tell you what I’ve allus heard about you?” Calamity asked.

  “Couldn’t be anything but goodness, so go to it.”

  They had finished with their last horse and stood face-to-face outside the stalls. Watching Calamity suck in a deep breath ready to blast him with profanity, the Kid grinned. No matter how their journey to Hollick turned out, he was in mighty stimulating company to make it.

  “Anyways,” the Kid went on, giving her no time to launch her tirade, “I reckon we should spend the night here and move on with the hosses rested comes morning. What Deke told us, they figure on being followed. I’d say that that Otón hombre for one’d have some smart notions about how to stop whoever’s doing the following.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Can’t say I do. I didn’t see him close enough up for that. But I know his kind, Calam gal. They’re tricky, hawg-mean and deadly as a stick-teased diamondback.”

  Listening to the quietly spoken words, Calamity put aside her intention of pouring invective on the Kid’s head. The warning had been given by a man who knew full well what he was talking about. So she realized just how dangerous the journey to Hollick might turn out.