Ranch War

by J. T. Edson

  Once again Calamity discarded her whip, then walked toward Florence. Kneeling, the girl obtained a double-handed hold on the blonde hair and hauled the woman upward. Florence squealed and mouthed curses at the pain that it caused. Hooking her right leg on to the path, Florence made sure that she would not fall. Then she drove her right fist into Calamity’s left breast. Releasing the hair with a croak of agony, Calamity staggered backward.

  During the brief seconds Calamity required to shake off the worst effects of the blow, Florence regained the path and stood up. Neither of them gave a thought to the whip, but came together in a fist-swinging rush. After exchanging wild blows, they closed in a tight clinch and locked their arms around each other in a double bear hug. Trying to trip Florence, Calamity slid her right leg between the blonde’s meaty thighs and behind her left knee. At the same moment, the woman duplicated the move. Balancing precariously as they crushed breast to breast at each other, they tilted over. Still enmeshed in each other’s grasp, they crashed to the path on their sides. The impact broke their holds and Florence rolled Calamity over, kneeling astride her and driving her hands at her face. Calamity jerked her head forward, closing her teeth on the base of Florence’s right forefinger. With a screech, the blonde pulled back and Calamity pitched her over.

  Landing on top, Calamity tied into Florence in a savage, unthinking tangle. For over two minutes they turned, pitched and rolled on the path. Sometimes they were face-to-face, then one behind the other, or head to foot—all the while ripping, biting, tearing, punching, kneeing, kicking and clawing. During the mindless brawl, Calamity’s shirt was torn off and Florence lost her blouse.

  Just how it happened, neither woman could tell; but they made their feet with Florence behind Calamity and holding her in a full Nelson. Arms hooked under Calamity’s and fingers interlaced behind her neck, Florence saw her chance. Gasping in breaths of air with a sound like a saw rasping into wood, the blonde began to push Calamity toward the wall of the gorge.

  When all their weapons were fully loaded, the Kid nodded to Trinian and crossed to the side door. Reaching it, he made a discovery that changed his plan of campaign. Vandor was not dead and, as the Kid appeared, was already riding his horse out of sight behind Florence’s cabin.

  Nicked by one of Staff’s bullets, Vandor had been stunned. On his recovery and return to conscious thought, he had reached a rapid decision on what to do next. Going by the shooting that he heard, some of his companions were alive and fighting. Not that he meant to go and help them. The Canary girl had escaped, so Vandor could expect no mercy from her rescuers should he fall into their hands. If he knew Florence, she would already be riding at all speed for the safety of Burwell. Catching up with her and reaching the town offered him his only hope of salvation. With that in mind, he had retrieved his Smith & Wesson, collected his horse and set it moving.

  The Kid recognized a threat to Calamity. If Vandor laid hands on her, the girl would make a useful hostage. So the Kid stepped through the door, meaning to go after the man. A bullet from the end of the third cabin hissed by his face and caused his hurried return to the building.

  “Vandor’s getting away, Cash!” the Kid yelled. “I’m going after him.”

  “Go to it,” the rancher answered. “I’ll cover you.”

  Instead of trying to leave by the side door, the Kid went to the rear entrance. If he must run the gauntlet through the fire of the men in the cabins, he aimed to do it Comanche fashion. A shrill whistle left the Kid’s lips. Hearing it, his white stallion loped swiftly up the slope. Running to meet his horse, the Texan took off in a bound that landed him afork the saddle without touching the stirrups or reins looped around the horn. Rifle in his right hand, he urged the stallion to a better speed and prayed that he would be in time to save Calamity.

  Knowing that she might be seriously injured if she allowed Florence to crash her face and bust into the wall, Calamity let the woman hustle her forward. When close enough, she swung up and rested her feet on the side of the gorge. Letting her legs bend, Calamity straightened them with enough force to thrust her captor backward. Before the blonde could escape, they had crossed the path and fallen over the edge. Separating in midair, they plunged into the river.

  They landed in a deep pool where the current formed a swirling eddy. Spluttering and gasping, Calamity came up first. The icy chill of the water had done nothing to cool off her temper. As Florence’s head bobbed above the surface, she caught the girl’s fist on the nose. Then Calamity grabbed the woman’s hair and shoved her under. She felt Florence’s fingers close on the neck of her undershirt and haul her down. Clinging together, they submerged and continued to fight under water. With her lungs seeming to be almost bursting, Calamity got her face briefly above the surface. She had barely time to suck in a mouthful of air before Florence dragged her down. A plump arm waved into view, followed by a blonde head. Florence spat out water, making incoherent sounds, then one of Calamity’s hands took hold of the tangled hair and she disappeared again. Ripped off by Florence’s grabbing hands, Calamity’s undershirt floated to the surface.

  Fingers sank into flesh, grinding and crushing, as the current carried the fighting women from the eddy. Over and over they turned, breathing when they could. Half drowned but showing no sign of breaking off hostilities, they were swept on to the shallows beyond the gorge.

  With her chemise torn and trailing from her waist, Florence managed to make her feet. Also naked to the waist, Calamity rose with her. Fear and desperation gave the blonde enough strength to thrust the girl away from her. Sobbing in exhaustion, beaten and scared, Florence stumbled through the shallows toward the shore. Her feet sank into the mud churned up by the wagons which brought in her supplies and building materials, slowing down her flight. Following Florence, Calamity dived to lock her arms around the other’s waist. Down they went together, rolling and struggling in the clinging, gooey mud.

  At last Calamity felt herself gaining the upper hand. Aching in every muscle and fiber, smothered from head to foot in mud, the girl straddled Florence’s torso. With knees pinning down the blonde’s arms, Calamity scooped up hands full of mud and heaped the stuff on her victim’s face. Unable to see or breathe, Florence used her rapidly failing strength in feeble attempts to roll the girl from her.

  Sanity returned to Calamity, along with a realization of what she was doing. Then she heard shooting and, closer, the drumming of hooves. Raising her head, she saw Vandor galloping down the slope. It seemed that recognition was mutual, for the man snatched out his revolver.

  Staring at the two mud-covered figures, Vandor needed to ride almost to the foot of the slope before he could tell for sure who was on top. The Smith & Wesson had been drawn as no more than a precaution, but he knew at last that he would have to use it. Not only could he win Florence’s increased gratitude by rescuing her, but the girl knew enough to bring the wrath of The Outfit on his head. Reining in his horse, he raised the revolver shoulder high, took aim and squeezed the double-action trigger.

  Almost mad with terror, Florence felt Calamity relax. Taking advantage of the girl being distracted by Vandor, the blonde expended the dregs of her energy to heave herself into a sitting position. Too late Vandor saw what was happening. Even as the Smith & Wesson’s hammer reached the point where it was set free to snap forward again, Calamity tumbled away and Florence rose. The revolver crashed and its bullet flew across the mud to drive into the center of the woman’s back.

  Tipped sideways by Florence’s surging thrust, Calamity landed on her hands and lay staring toward Vandor. Controlling his horse as Florence collapsed on to her back, he swung the gun into line with the certainty that this time nothing could come between himself and the girl.

  Urging his horse to a full gallop, the Kid guided it by knee-pressure. The moment he emerged from behind Florence’s quarters, he twisted in the saddle and pointed the rifle toward the third cabin. Lead made its eerie crack in the air before the Kid’s face. Instantly his Wi
nchester began to crash, throwing bullets in the direction of the man sheltering alongside the cabin. At the same moment, the second man burst out of the cookshack and the third reappeared through the door he had entered after being driven from the sawmill. Their rifles were lifting shoulderward ready for use.

  Five times in rapid succession the Kid’s Winchester spat flame. Splinters erupted from the four holes which developed in the cabin’s wall and drew ever closer to the hard-case’s position. On the fifth shot, the man jerked convulsively. The bullet caused no splinters to fly, but had hit him in the head.

  Seeing the Kid’s danger, Trinian dashed from the sawmill’s front entrance. With a revolver in each hand, he ran toward the third of the Kid’s attackers. Hearing the rancher, the man swung around fast. Rifle and Army Colt roared almost at the same instant. Trinian’s Stetson spun from his head, but he saw his own bullet bury itself in the man’s left shoulder. Throwing aside the rifle, the wounded man spun around and fell.

  With his bullets coming closer to the Kid, the second gunslinger became aware of the fresh danger. Swiveling to face Trinian, he lined his sights on the rancher. Timing the move just right, Trinian went down in a rolling dive. He heard the rifle crack, but its bullet passed above him. Ending his evasion on his stomach, he cut loose with both revolvers. Their bullets struck the man in the body, flinging him off his feet.

  When no more shots came his way, the Kid concluded that Trinian’s intervention had been successful. Reaching the top of the slope, he saw Vandor send the bullet into Florence. Quitting the stallion’s back at full gallop, the Kid landed with cat-like agility. Then he dropped into a kneeling position, working with smooth, unflurried speed for all the urgency of the situation.

  Weakly Calamity tried to rise, but the pain and exhaustion that filled her were too much for movement. She watched the Smith & Wesson turn to point at her, moving at what seemed to be a snail’s pace, its .44-caliber muzzle looking like the yawning mouth of a cannon.

  Suddenly the vague shape behind the revolver stiffened and jerked. His face appeared to dissolve into bloody ruin and the right arm flopped limply to release the revolver. Feeling its rider sliding from the saddle, the horse snorted and moved off. Shot in the head by the Kid, Vandor sprawled face down into the mud.

  Even as the Kid rose, working the Winchester’s lever to replace the bullet which had saved the girl’s life, he saw riders galloping along the Hollick City trail. Led by Doctor Goldberg, six well-armed men plunged their horses through the ford. Telling his companions to keep going, the doctor dismounted at Calamity’s side. The girl’s response to Goldberg asking if he could help her was typical of Calamity Jane.

  “I—I’ll do!” she gasped. “See—if—you can—help—Flo——”

  And Calamity collapsed unconscious.

  Chapter 17 IF YOU CAN MEET MY PRICE

  “WELL, CALAM, IT’S ALL OVER,” CASH TRINIAN ANNOUNCED. “We found papers in Miss Eastfield’s safe. Took with what those two gun-slicks we caught ’n’ Lawyer Endicott told us, we’ve learned the whole game.”

  It was sundown on the day after the fight at the sawmill. Calamity sat on a comfortable chair in the Leckenbys’ parlor, while the sheriff’s wife and Corey-Mae Trinian bustled about making everything ready for a celebration dinner. Standing by the fire, the Ysabel Kid grinned as he studied the girl’s blackened right eye and swollen lip. From what Doctor Goldberg had mentioned about her injuries, ole Calam must be sore as hell; but she gave no sign of it.

  Taking charge of Calamity while the other men attended to the dead and wounded sawmill gunslingers, Goldberg had washed the mud from her. Then he had treated her injuries and obtained clothing from Florence’s cabin for the girl to wear during her return to Hollick City.

  Finding Florence’s keys in the torn skirt, Trinian and the Kid had opened the safe in the office. They had collected all the documents, gathered up Calamity’s whip and gunbelt, bringing the items in for the sheriff’s inspection. With Endicott’s help, most aspects of the affair had been cleared up.

  “Seems like Miss Eastfield figured to make enough on that contract to set her up in the timber business,” the Kid remarked. “Only she needed her brother. She never let on about his accident and made sure the fellers who gave her the contract didn’t meet him. They thought she was just acting for Olaf and he come in handy for making the loggers work, or would have. Trouble being, she’d took the contract afore she learned about the water-rights laws. Endicott told her about them and more.”

  “That gun-slick I shot reckons Miss Eastfield and Vandor got Endicott liquored up and he let on how we was trying to find you and buy the Rafter C, Calam,” Trinian explained. “Told her about the arrangements with Counselor Talbot ’n’ every damned thing. I’m acting as deputy until Day’s back on his feet. If you want, I’ll arrest Endicott.”

  “No!” Calamity stated flatly, glancing at Mrs. Leckenby. “Let it ride, Cash. He saw me yesterday and told me everything. Says he’s through law-wrangling and that’s good enough for me.”

  The sheriff’s wife let out a sigh of relief, for she had wondered how Calamity intended to deal with her brother’s breach of trust. Nodding his agreement, Trinian continued to discuss the affair with Calamity and the Kid. They decided that the girl should tell Marshal Beauregard everything on returning to Mulrooney, leaving him to decide what action, if any, could be taken against The Outfit. Calamity looked disturbed when she learned that Staff had left a widowed mother. Not until after an enjoyable meal, however, did Trinian raise the matter which most concerned him.

  “What’re you fixing to do with the Rafter C, Calam?” he asked, watching the girl limp stiffly across to sit in the well-padded armchair.

  Instinctively Corey-Mae moved to her husband’s side. Leaning by the fireplace, the Kid watched the couple’s and Calamity’s faces. Mrs. Leckenby put aside her intention of clearing the table and listened to the conversation that followed.

  “It’s a right nice-looking place,” the girl answered. “I bet I could get nine, ten thousand dollars for it.”

  “You could,” Trinian agreed coldly.

  “So I’ll sell it to you. If you can meet my price.”

  Trinian jerked his head around to look at his wife, but Corey-Mae’s eyes never left Calamity’s unsmiling face.

  “How much?” Trinian inquired warily.

  “There’s some’d say five thousand one hundred and fifty simoleons’d be a fair price,” Calamity answered.

  “Five thous——!” Trinian barked.

  “That’s what it cost pappy,” Calamity pointed out, looking as sober and unfeeling as a hanging-judge about to pass a sentence of death. “He started out with one hundred and fifty dollars ’n’ won the spread on a five-thousand-dollar call in a poker game. So there’s some’d say that’d be a fair price.”

  “But you don’t see it that way?” Corey-Mae said quietly.

  “I don’t,” Calamity admitted.

  “Then how do you see it?” Trinian demanded.

  “Like I said, pappy started out with a hundred and fifty lil iron men,” the girl replied and a grin started to twist at the corners of her mouth. “So you give me that and split the rest between the sheriff ’n’ Staff’s mother, seeing’s it was through me they got shot up.”

  Silence followed the girl’s words. Corey-Mae looked triumphantly at her husband and Trinian stared blankly, with mouth dropping open, at the red-haired girl in the armchair.

  “Who’s going to buy me that new shirt I got promised?” asked the Kid.

  “Hell, yes!” Calamity ejaculated. “I forgot that. Cash, the price’s gone up. I want a new shirt for Lon on top of it.”

  “But—But——” Trinian gobbled, hardly able to believe that he had heard correctly.

  “It’s my only offer,” Calamity declared. “And, happen you’ve any feeling for the good folks of Hollick County, you’ll take me up on it.”

  “I don’t follow you,” Trinian said.

 
“If you don’t buy the place,” Calamity explained, “I’ll settle on it myself.”

  “Which means you’d have fire, flood, storms, drought, Injun raids and every other kind of misery ’n’ torment come a-running here,” the Kid elaborated.

  “How you talk, Lon Ysabel,” Miss Martha Jane Canary snorted indignantly. “Why you’ll have folks believing I deserve to be called ‘Calamity.’”

  About the Author

  J.T. EDSON brings to life the fierce and often bloody struggles of the untamed West. His colorful characters are linked by the binding power of the spirit of adventure—and hard work—that eventually won the West. J.T. Edson has proven to be one of the finest craftsmen of Western storytelling of our time.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Books by J.T. Edson

  RANCH WAR

  THE BIG HUNT

  THE ROAD TO RATCHET CREEK

  RUNNING IRONS

  WACO’S BADGE

  TEXAS KILLERS

  COLD DECK, HOT LEAD

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  RANCH WAR. Copyright © 1970 by J. T. Edson.