Trouble Trail

by J. T. Edson

  Departing behind a bush, Molly Johnson followed Calamity’s orders. She returned with a long strip of white cloth in her hands, giving it to Calamity and watching the other girl swiftly bandage the wound.

  ‘That’s as good as any doctor could do it,’ one of the women remarked.

  ‘Most times out here there’s not a doctor around,’ Calamity answered. ‘Gal gets to know how to do her own doctoring. There, boy, now go find that knife and bring it back in here.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he be in bed?’ inquired Mrs. Bloom.

  ‘It’s not night yet,’ Calamity grunted. ‘Anyways, it’s no more’n a scratch. But there’s an open knife lying someplace out in the trees, maybe some poor fool critter’ll step on it and get hurt. You fetch it. boy, and don’t waste time. You should be attending the class.’

  Like his brother and sister, Hubert tended to be unruly and disobedient; but for once he did not argue. Turning, he scuttled off into the trees and his mother stared after him. Then she became aware that Rodney and her daughter, Beryl, were both pulling at her skirt and demanding her attention.

  ‘How’s about what she done to us, Maw?’ Rodney asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Calamity agreed. ‘What about that. They was making fuss and stopping the class.’

  ‘That’s a 1—!’ Rodney began.

  His words chopped off as his mother landed a ringing smack across his ear and sent him staggering. Then Mrs. Bloom brought her hand around to apply its palm in a slap to Beryl’s rump that lifted the girl almost a foot into the air.

  ‘Just let me hear of you misbehaving in class again!’ she snorted. ‘Miss Johnson is here to teach you. See that you behave and try to learn something.’

  If somebody had walked up and handed Molly Johnson a diamond necklace, she would not have felt more pleased than she did at that moment.

  ‘Take your seats, please,’ she said.

  Without fuss, noise or objection the youngsters hurried back to their places and prepared to start their lessons. Behind them Mrs. Bloom’s party gathered around Calamity.

  ‘What sort of tree is this?’ Mrs. Bloom asked, indicating the one from which Calamity drew the gum.

  ‘Balsam fir,’ the girl replied. ‘It’s good for stopping bleeding. So’s powdered witch hazel leaves, or a poultice made by stewing bark, buds or twigs of a slippery elm. Fact being, there’s medicine for nearly all your ailments growing in the woods happen you know what to look for.’

  ‘How can we tell which sort of trees to use?’ a woman inquired; forgetting her earlier comments at the sight of Calamity walking through the camp.

  ‘We’ve maybe four weeks travelling together. Likely I can show you most of what you’ll need before Fort Sherrard.’

  ‘Would you please?’ said Mrs. Bloom.

  ‘I’ll make a stab at it,’ Calamity promised. ‘Not tonight though. You ladies most likely have food to cook for your men.’

  Her words caused a hurried departure. Not because she shocked the women or failed to hold their interest, but because all of them remembered leaving food on their fires when coming to lend Mrs. Bloom moral support in defence of her mistreated children. Promising to see Calamity at the next camp, they hurried away.

  ‘I’d like to thank you, Miss—’ Molly said, coming to Calamity’s side.

  ‘Never been one for “Missing” with folks I like. The name’s Calamity Jane. You can call me Calam, like most of my friends, or be real formal and make it Jane.’

  ‘Thank you, Calam,’ Molly smiled, taking a better liking to the other girl. ‘They were getting out of hand and too much for me.’

  ‘Try slapping their ears down a mite next time.’ Calamity suggested. ‘I’d say Mrs. Bloom won’t mind.’

  ‘According to Professor Strubacher “physical punishment arouses resentment and creates the desire to make more mischief”,’ Molly quoted.

  ‘How many kids has he got?’ asked the practical Calamity.

  ‘The professor? He’s a bachelor.’

  ‘Then where in hell did he learn about kids? Way I see it, happen you treat a kid same way as you treat a hound pup, you bring ‘em both up right. Praise him when he does right and take a switch to his hide when he wets on the wagon bed, only do it right off so he knows what he’s getting licked for.’

  A smile came to Molly’s lips as she heard the wild, poorly educated young Western woman argue against the learning and instructions of the great Professor Strubacher. Or was the red-head so poorly educated in practical matters? Molly admitted that she, for all her college education, would have been helpless to deal with the cut on Hubert Bloom’s arm. From a more personal point of view, Molly had only to look at her class’s decorum to see that Calamity’s views on handling children apparently worked better than had Professor Strubacher’s.

  ‘You could be right at that,’ Molly smiled. ‘Go cut me a switch.’

  ‘Gal, you’re the first eastern dude I ever saw who knowed good sense when she come face to lace with it,’ Calamity replied.

  After the class ended, with Calamity sat by and listening as attentively as any of the pupils, Molly walked back to camp with the western girl.

  ‘Are you coming to the dance?’ Calamity asked as they entered the camp circle.

  ‘Which dance?’ asked Molly.

  ‘The one they’ll hold tonight.’

  ‘I haven’t heard of any dance.’

  ‘There’ll be one, you mark my words,’ Calamity grinned.

  ‘Do you reckon all those soldier boys down to the fort are going to miss a chance to come here and dance with you unattached females?’

  ‘I’m not much for social life,’ Molly admitted.

  ‘Then it’s time you started,’ Calamity told her. ‘Go let your hair down, put on your best party dress and you ‘n’ me’ll celebrate until the last dog’s shot and all the pups are hung.’

  ‘Do you want my company?’

  ‘Why sure,’ Calamity chuckled. ‘It’s not every day I get a chance to go to a dance with a schoolmarm. Say, come over to our camp and I’ll fry up a mess of brook trout. If you’ve not ate fresh-caught Kansas brook trout, then you’ve never tasted fish.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MISS CANARY ATTENDS A BALL

  MOLLY Johnson caused something of a stir when she arrived with Calamity at Killem’s camp-fire. In fact, she scared a group of tough, efficient and hardy men into stammering inarticulation and brought about a hurried disappearance in search of washing water and shaving tackle. Probably the fluster came about through Calamity insisting that Molly let down her hair from its severe schoolmarm style and wear a dress which showed off her figure. As a stout supporter of the newly started feminist cause, Molly tried to object to fancying herself up, but Calamity could be mighty persuasive when she wanted. Seeing the reaction her change of costume caused, and being pleased despite herself at it, Molly decided that Calamity might have a real good point in suggesting she changed.

  With some amusement Calamity watched her male friends over the meal, as they strove to remember half-forgotten or hardly learned social manners. One man spilled his stew over his pants and turned red in the face as he fought down the words which rose naturally at such a mishap. Not even the pleasure of eating Bigelow’s trout could break the ice.

  ‘Colonel’s having the Regimental Band come out this evening,’ Beau Resin remarked, having joined the party for a meal. ‘They’ve got a dance caller who’ll set your feet to tapping, Miss Johnson.’

  At that moment one of the freighters bumped into the man next to him and jolted a cup of coffee from his hand. Naturally the bumped one swung around and said, ‘You clumsy—’

  Then he flushed as he realised he stood close to a for-real lady who should never have her ears sullied by the last word he spoke in his haste. With this thought in mind, he turned to the girl and made amends.

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ he said, ‘this bastard pushed me.’

  For a couple of seconds silence fell over the group. The
n Molly began to laugh. She could not help herself, the sight of the men’s shocked faces, and the way the words came out. struck her as amusing. The nervous air of the men sagged off a mite as they realised the girl was not only human like themselves, but also had a real keen sense of humour.

  Showing timing that a professional comedian might have envied, Calamity continued with the ice-breaking progress. With her usual gusto, she started to tell Molly how she humiliated the pious, sanctimonious boss of a freight outfit.

  ‘Wouldn’t let his boys stay on in town overnight to celebrate,’ Calamity explained. ‘So I runs up to him and throws my arms round his neck, like this,’ she demonstrated on Beau Resin. ‘Gives him a kiss, like this,’ once more she gave a spirited demonstration. ‘And then I says, ‘Why, darling, don’t you remember how you n’ me set up drinks that night on the North Platte?” I tell you, Molly, gal, that feller looked sicker’n a skunk-stunk beagle. He tried to pull away from me and kept gasping about never seeing me, or there being some mistake. “Now that’s not what you said that night, honey,” I tells him. Then he jerked free from me and lit a shuck out of town like the devil after a yearling. Never did show up again that night and the boys had them a time.’

  By the time the meal ended Molly found herself on friendly terms with the freighters and looked forward to a night’s fun at the dance.

  Just as Calamity predicted, the soldiers from the fort made their appearance as the day’s work ended. By the time Calamity and Molly returned to the wagon circle, they found that practically everybody who could had left Fort Connel and come a-visiting. First to arrive had been the unmarried enlisted men, followed some time later by the single officers who had not wished to show ungentlemanly haste, but were just as eager to see some female company. Lastly came the families and the senior officers, mingling with the travellers and exchanging gossip.

  One thing Molly noticed as she walked with Calamity through the wagon train circle was how like gathered to like. Without any hint of snobbery the senior officers and their families gathered with the better class citizens of the train; the Blooms and Molly’s aunt and uncle among others. So it went on through the camp, the different social levels finding equals among the travellers. A group of young officers swarmed around Molly and Calamity, gay blades fresh out of West Point or with only a few years service, all hot and eager to get better acquainted with the pretty little blonde. For her part Molly revelled in a chance to talk with somebody of her own age and class. Five minutes flashed by and the little blonde saw that Calamity had backed away. Excusing herself, Molly went after the other girl.

  ‘Where are you going, Calam?’ she asked.

  ‘Back to my kind of folks. You stay there and have fun with yours.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Look, honey.’ Calamity said with a smile. ‘You wouldn’t be happy down there with us when we start celebrating; and I sure as hell couldn’t set down and enjoy myself among the brass.’

  ‘But—but—’

  ‘Hey, Molly, come on!’ called one of the officers.

  Laying her hand on Molly’s arm. Calamity squeezed it gently, smiling. ‘Go on. gal. Have your fun. Comes morning I’ll visit and we’ll “woman” over tonight.’

  Without another word, Calamity turned and walked away. Molly could see no sign of dejection in Calamity’s walk and the red-head called out cheery greetings to various people, being received with laughter and friendly attitudes that had not shown while the girl stood with Molly and the officers. Then Molly realised that her social chatter with the officers must have been over Calamity’s head and probably bored the other girl. It was just another case of like calling to like. She and Calamity were worlds apart in social life and neither could be truly happy in the other’s area.

  Molly turned a head towards the young officers, glancing back over her shoulder. It seemed that Calamity must have been thinking about her, for the red-head had turned, Calamity gave Molly a broad grin, turned after waving and mingled with the crowd.

  Music sounded as the Regimental Band approached. Night was falling and eager hands built up the various fires so that all who wished to dance would have plenty of light by which to do so.

  Joining Beau Resin, who showed considerable pleasure at her company, Calamity headed for where the crowd of poorer folk congregated to have their fun. While heading for the dance ground, Calamity saw the piggy, sullen face of Sergeant Hack. His presence did not worry her any; having handled him once, she figured she could do so again, even without the help of the big young scout.

  Watching the girl and Resin join the crowd. Hack gave thought to taking revenge on her. He knew something of his captain and guessed Bigelow would not be overkeen on taking Calamity along on the train. Nor would the train’s women if it came to a point; a girl as unconventional as Calamity would be an anathema to them. If she became involved in some unseemly incident, the women would demand that she be expelled from the train.

  Once having decided that, Hack put a smart and scheming brain to causing an incident. All he needed was the right sort of man to carry his plans out, for Hack was a thinker not a fighter and as such never put himself in a position of danger if he could help it. A booming roar of laughter from a group of soldiers drew Hack’s attention to them. They were tanned. tough, hard-riding combat non-coms, fighting sergeants and corporals who had little but contempt for an office soldier of Hack’s type—unless the shiny-butt showed up suitably supplied and equipped. Hack had just the kind of equipment he needed. Turning, he headed back to the fort and collected something guaranteed to sweeten the heart of any combat non-com.

  Not knowing the fate in store for her, Calamity joined in the dances and threw herself into having a good time with her usual verve and spirit. She and Resin led the sets, urged more and more folks to dance and led the applause which came at the end of each dance. At odd intervals as the time passed Calamity saw Hack standing with the group of non-coms, but she thought little of it. There was some drinking being done and combat soldiers had always been known for sociability when bending their elbows. Catching the eye of one of the drinkers, a big. burly, red-haired man with a face that was so Irish it might have been painted emerald green. Calamity gave him a friendly wink, showing that she understood how he came to be in such company. Unfortunately, he read the sign wrong.

  Turning from his friends, the big sergeant came forward and joined the dance set being formed. With casual ease, he planted himself alongside Calamity and beamed down to her.

  ‘The name’s Paddy Muldoon, colleen,’ he told Calamity in a brogue so thick it could have been cut with a knife. ‘Sure and they say you’re Calamity Jane.’

  ‘Sure and they’re roight.’ Calamity answered, ever willing to be friendly at such a moment.

  ‘And there’s not another girl like you anywhere in the world.’

  ‘If there is, I’ll whip her so fast she’ll think the hawgs have jumped her.’

  ‘You could do it!’ Muldoon bellowed. ‘Let’s get married and raise the finest fighting family that’s ever been born.’

  At that moment they separated and Calamity found herself partnering Beau Resin. She nodded towards Muldoon and grinned. ‘I’ve just been proposed to, Beau.’

  ‘By Paddy Muldoon?’ asked the scout, showing a remarkable lack of concern. ‘If you agreed, and he thought you meant it, he’d take off out of here faster’n a Neuces steer.’

  ‘That’s what I figured.’ groaned Calamity. ‘I no sooner get a decent offer than the feller heads out.’

  ‘Don’t let it bother you, honey-chile,’ Resin drawled, giving her waist a squeeze. ‘I’ll allus love you.’

  Another change in partners brought Calamity to Muldoon again, although under the rules she should not have met up with the sergeant in that set. They whirled around together, Muldoon dancing with gusto, abandon, but little skill. However, Calamity had long been spry on her feet and used to avoided being trampled on by her partner.

  At the end of the s
et Muldoon started to head towards Calamity, but she went back to Resin and her freighter friends. The big sergeant stood watching her, not exceptionally bothered, when he felt a hand on his sleeve. Turning, he looked down at Hack.

  ‘Now that’s no way for a gal to treat a cavalryman, is it, Paddy?’

  Normally Muldoon’s reaction would have been to tell Hack where to go. However, pay day was a few days away and Muldoon had never been a man to look a gift-horse in the mouth, especially when it toted a load of good Old Stump-Blaster in its chubby hand.

  Taking the offered bottle, Muldoon drank deeply, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and scowled after the departing couple. ‘It is not,’ he agreed, then slapped Hack on the back in a friendly manner which almost caved his spine out through his chest. ‘You’re not as bad as I allus reckon you was.’

  Three dances went by, with Muldoon joining in every set and imposing his bear-like scowl on anybody who tried to get near Calamity. Of all the crowd only Beau Resin ignored the scowls. The soldiers at the fort knew better than cross big Paddy Muldoon and the travellers on the wagon train recognised him as a dangerous when wet proposition. For his part Muldoon knew he possessed but one rival for Calamity’s affections. Beau Resin, a civilian—normally Muldoon had respect for the abilities of a good scout such as Resin, but not when the scout became his rival for the affections of a real good-looking girl—was grabbing Calamity every time the caller announced a change of partners and Muldoon had never been a man to stand mildly by while the ground was cut from under his feet.

  So Calamity found herself with only two partners. which had never been the intention of square dancing. She also attracted the disapproving glances of the other women. Normally such glances would not have worried Calamity, but they did that night for Calamity realised the delicacy of the situation.

  ‘Let’s go see how the other half live, Beau,’ she suggested at the end of a set, taking Beau’s arm and hauling him with her just as he aimed to walk over and settle matters with Muldoon.