by J. T. Edson
The wagon ahead started and Calamity swung her whip, yelling to her horses. She gave her full attention to the team as it took up the strain on the harness, and flicked the centre near-side horse with the tip of her whip to make sure it did not shirk its share of the load. With a lurch, the big wagon began to roll, but Calamity gave her horses a blistering string of profanity just to let them know she was still around. At last the team settled down and Calamity relaxed, turning with a grin to Molly.
‘Wasn’t that a party last night?’
‘Did you enjoy it?’ asked Molly.
‘I always enjoy a good—dance,’ Calamity answered with her reckless grin. ‘That Beau Resin’s got his points, Molly, gal. If you see what I mean and I reckon you don’t.’
An angry flush crept to Eileen’s cheeks as she read an implication into the words that Calamity had not meant to be there. On the way West Eileen had shown some considerable interest in Resin and thought Calamity knew of this. Eileen took it that Calamity knew of the friendship and tried to annoy her by hints at a very close relationship with the big scout.
‘I really enjoyed myself last night,’ Molly admitted, seeing the expression on Eileen’s face and changing the subject—or so she hoped—to safer ground.
‘Sure,’ grinned Calamity. ‘I saw you and that bow-necked shiny-butt.’
‘Wade’s not bow-necked, or a shiny-butt!’ Molly put in hotly. ‘He’s just unfortunate in having been assigned to the Quartermaster Corps, but he’s hoping for a transfer when he reaches Fort Sherrard and—’
Molly’s defence had come just a shade too quickly and her cheeks reddened as she saw the tolerant smile on Calamity’s face, so stopped her details of the life of Wade H. Bigelow, frustrated captain of the Quartermaster Corps.
Once more Eileen breathed her annoyance; for she had hoped to become much better acquainted with Bigelow during the trip to Fort Sherrard and saw her chances going out of the window in the face of the pretty, single schoolmarm’s competition. Naturally Bigelow would prefer an unmarried girl, with its attendant possibilities, rather than squiring an officer’s lady which could only pass mild, innocent flirtation with the gravest risks to his career.
To give her credit, Eileen had no intention of extending her friendship with either Resin or Bigelow beyond the mildest flirtation. She loved and was loyal to her husband and reared in the strictest Back Bay Boston traditions—which were about as strict as one could get. So her interest in both men was more mercenary than licentious. Resin had been third from the top in the wagon train’s hierarchy during the trip from the East and the two higher members of the social scale were both married, with their wives along. Bigelow, as commander of the military escort, now was the head man. All her life Eileen had tried to be around the top people, not out of snobbery but because she had been born into that class. She knew the value of friendship with men in high places as an adjunct for obtaining her own way. So she planned to be known as the escort of the leader of the train; it was always a good thing to be.
Only it appeared that Molly, who Eileen had previously regarded as a rather plain, sexless little mouse, was cutting the ground from under her feet one way and the coarse, common, vulgar Calamity Jane taking her place in the other.
All in all the earlier stages of the drive were not happy for Eileen. In the course of her talk, Calamity let it slip out that she had appropriated Bigelow’s trout; which further annoyed Eileen who had been offered a supper from the fish and was disappointed not to receive it after hearing so much about the taste of fresh-caught squaretails. She resisted all attempts to make peace, snapping out chilling answers until Molly’s even temper started to wear thin and Calamity sat debating to herself whether to boot the officer’s lady from the wagon box.
Fortunately for Eileen, before Calamity reached a decision on the matter there came an interruption. Muldoon galloped his horse up from the rear and pulled in alongside Calamity’s wagon. After mopping his sweat-streaked face with an enormous bandana, he grinned at the girls.
‘The top of the morning to yez, ladies,’ he greeted.
‘Sure and ‘tis elegant yez look, Pathrick, me darlin’,’ replied Calamity. ‘If ‘twas Indian country, sure they’d see yez coming five miles off with the flash of yez fancy buttons.’
‘Elegant!’ answered Muldoon, snorting like an old bull buffalo faced with a pack of Great Plains wolves. ‘It’s the idea of that bow-neck—’
‘Now hush up there, Paddy,’ grinned Calamity. ‘Can’t you see I’ve got a lady aboard. Anyways, that shavetail from Connel’s been out enough to know better.’
‘And so he does; for hasn’t he had the teaching of Pathrick James Muldoon to show him what’s right. Sure, we’d be riding in comfort but for that—’
‘Sergeant!’ Eileen snapped. ‘Do you usually cut down your officers before civilians?’
Stiffening into a brace, Muldoon looked at the young woman. ‘No, ma’am. Only Calamity isn’t a civilian at all—’
‘Aren’t you going somewhere on duty?’ Eileen interrupted coldly.
‘That I am, ma’am,’ Muldoon answered.
Anger glowed in Calamity’s eyes as the burly sergeant sent his horse along the line of wagons. Eileen met Calamity’s stare without flinching and it appeared that an open clash could not be avoided.
‘Will we see any buffalo this trip, Calam?’ Molly asked mildly.
‘Huh?’ Calamity grunted, then smiled at the little blonde. ‘We might.’
Eileen decided that having two enemies might be a mite more than she could handle, so reckoned she ought to make her peace with one of them. Of course, there could only be one choice. While Molly Johnson was in employment, schoolteaching stood on a different plane to other kinds of female labour; and Molly was socially acceptable both by birth and education. With that in mind, Eileen turned and smiled in her most winning manner at the blonde.
‘My father came out here hunting last year, with another congressman,’ she said, deciding to show Calamity that she possessed a string of imposing relatives, ‘and my uncles, Generals Brackstead and Porter. They all shot several buffalo.’
‘Never could stand these dudes coming here and gunning down poor fool critters then leaving the meat to rot,’ Calamity put in.
‘Nobody asked you!’ Eileen spat out. ‘I’ll thank you to continue driving and mind your own business.’
‘Yeah!’ snorted Calamity. ‘Well, you can g—’
‘I think I’ll go to my own wagon.’ Molly interrupted. ‘It’s humiliating to see two grown women acting like children,’
‘I assure you, Molly—’.
‘Danged if she didn’t start—’
Both girls started to speak at the same moment, stopped and glared at each other then relapsed into silence.
‘Of course, I could talk with one of you for, say ten minutes, then turn to the other,’ Molly remarked, hoping the introduction of a light note would break the hostility.
‘Don’t put yourself out for me!’ Eileen snapped.
‘I got work to do!’ Calamity snorted. ‘Blasted dudes coming out here and shooting up the country.’
‘I always say a woman should dress like one!’
‘Yeah? Well, let me tell you something, you high-and-mighty Boston—’
‘Don’t you insult Boston, you—you—’
‘I’ll insult what I want on my blasted wagon!’
Fortunately. Captain Bigelow rode up at that moment and Eileen, somewhat red in the face, turned to speak with him. Although he prevented any further rift between the girls, he did not bring peace. For the rest of the day’s travel Calamity and Eileen ignored each other.
After being dismissed by Eileen, Muldoon galloped his horse to the head of the train, paying little attention to its occupants. Once clear of the train, he brought his horse to a halt and let out a long chuckle.
‘Pathrick James.’ he said, ‘happen she gets some of that Boston fuddy-duddy knocked out of her, that gal’ll make a real
fighting officer’s lady.’
‘Always reckon it’s the first sign when they start talking to themselves,’ drawled a voice from behind Muldoon.
Turning, the big sergeant grinned at Beau Resin and showed no sign of animosity over the previous night’s affair.
‘Sure and I’ve always been after having an intelligent and superior person talking with me, and having an intelligent and superior person to talk with, Beau.’ he explained.
‘You’ve got a right smart point there, or a damned good excuse. You boys are sure fancied up.’
‘That we are. He’ll learn, Beau, he’ll learn. There’s a man’s heart under that shiny-butt’s uniform.’
‘He’d best learn; and fast!’ Resin stated. ‘Word has it that Sand Runner’s gathering the Cheyenne bad-hats.’
‘Which’s why they sent us soldier lads to defend all you civilians,’ grinned Muldoon. ‘Say, where’d you and Calamity go last night, I was looking for to apologise for me unseemly behaviour and give her a little something to remember Fatso Hack by.’
‘We were around, and how we were around,’ the scout drawled. ‘What happened to Hack?’
‘The poor darlin’ fell over something. The fort surgeon says he’ll be right as ever in a week or so. Sure though, isn’t that Calamity a lil darlin’?’
‘She thinks the same about you.’
‘Then she shows good taste.’
‘Yep.’ drawled Resin. ‘Couldn’t stop talking about you offering to marry her. Asked me if you’d want a white wedding in a church.’
‘Holy Mother of God!’ croaked Muldoon, horror replacing the delighted beam on his face. ‘I hopes you stood true by an old friend, Beau lad, and persuaded her what a lousy husband I’d make. Sure ‘tis no use I’d be to any woman, I drink, never save a dime—’
‘Reckon I talked her out of it,’ grinned the Scout.
‘Then ‘tis me thanks you have, Beau, lad,’ said Muldoon, gripping Resin’s hand in a heart-felt manner. Letting out a shudder, Muldoon went on, ‘Faith, a gal as strong-willed as Calamity might’ve—hey, just look who’s there.’
While the two men sat talking, the wagons passed them and the outfit belonging to the rat-faced jasper with the four hefty girls was just going by. It was to the buxom blonde not the man that Muldoon nodded.
‘Joined us on the Kansas line. Keep to themselves and pay their way,’ Resin replied. ‘Which’s all we ask.’
‘Does Calam know who she is?’
‘Lordy-lord. I hope not. If she does—’
‘Yeah,’ grinned Muldoon. ‘It’d be a sight to see though, happen Calamity finds out.’
CHAPTER SIX
MISS CANARY TAKES A CHANCE
‘COFFEE, Mrs. Tradle?’
‘If you please, Miss Canary.’
A week had passed since leaving Fort Connel and the association between Calamity and Eileen was in the dangerous stage of studied politeness. Each tried to out-do the other in avoiding giving reason for a further clash—which brought them closer to it many times than would more ordinary behaviour.
In several ways Eileen had changed. On the first night Calamity growled an order for Eileen to start a fire while the freight outfit’s crew tended to their chores. It had been on the tip of Eileen’s tongue to refuse, but a further comment from Calamity to the effect that Eileen would not know how to make a fire without a flock of Boston servants to help brought a change of plan. Angrily Eileen went to the rawhide possum belly under the wagon and drew out dried buffalo-chips and wood. Refusing Molly’s help, Eileen made a fire as her father taught her in the days of her rather tomboy youth. Next day Eileen lent a hand to harness the team and each day since had taken more and more of a share in the work load. Her soft white hands hardened with washing dishes and doing other manual labour that had for years been the prerogative of her family’s servants.
Both Calamity and Eileen looked for an excuse to bury the hatchet, but each time the way opened something would happen to start them feuding again.
As an onlooker, Molly found the situation highly diverting and amusing. Although the British writer Rudyard Kipling was still many years from writing about the under-the-skin kinship of the colonel’s lady and Sarah O’Grady, Molly was in an ideal position to understand what he would mean.
Calamity’s energy amazed Molly. Not only did the girl rise in the first light of dawn, tend to and harness her team, drive all day; but after caring for the six horses in the evening would visit the class Molly taught, then organise a lecture on various western subjects for the women of the train and throw herself wholeheartedly into any festivity she found herself invited to attend after dark.
Eileen helped Calamity around the wagon and attended all the girl’s lectures although always standing at the back and pretending not to be listening, or showing her disbelief if the red-head happened to glance her way.
Storm clouds were gathering in the sky as the two women stood by the fire and drank their coffee, after eating the breakfast Eileen had helped cook. Killem slouched over to them and nodded his head.
‘Looks like rain,’ he said.
‘Tastes a mite like coffee though,’ Calamity answered.
Once more the possibility of burying the hatchet went flying by. Calamity’s joke had been harmlessly meant, but it was Eileen’s coffee—and well-brewed at that. Giving an angry snort, Eileen doused the fire by up-ending the coffeepot and pouring out a good three mugs full, one at least of which Calamity had hoped for and looked forward to drinking.
In angry silence the two girls prepared to travel and neither spoke as the wagon rolled. Molly had not joined them that morning, finding the situation on the wagon too disconcerting and, having taken a liking to Eileen, wished to avoid antagonising either of her friends.
Each morning the order of travel changed so that the same people did not spend all their days eating the dust at the rear of the column. On this day Calamity found herself in second position behind the wagonmaster’s vehicle which always took the lead. Before they had gone a mile, dust was not the thing the travellers needed bother about.
Suddenly the blackened skies split with a flash of lightning and rain began to gush down, coming in slanting sheets that drove towards the wagons. There was no chance to take precautions and almost everybody on the train found themselves soaked to the skin.
‘If you’d any sense you’d get in there and put your slicker on,’ Calamity told Eileen, hunching miserably on the box and sending her whip’s lash flickering out to keep the idle centre near-side horse doing its share.
‘When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it!’
‘So soak and the hell with you then! Easy there, you stab-gutted, spavined crow-bait. You’re not on. Boston High Street.’
For fifteen minutes the two girls sat side by side, soaked to the skin and both too damned hog-stubborn to give in. At last Eileen decided to call it quits and turned to slip through the dawn-down canopy into the lurching wagon. Although her oilskin coat and hat hung ready for use, she doubted if she could change while the wagon rolled, jerked and pitched. Donning the coat, she was about to climb back on to the box when she saw Calamity’s wet-weather clothing lying on the battered box.
Picking up the Stetson hat and yellow oilskin slicker, she opened the flap and climbed out.
‘Here!’ she said.
It was on the tip of Calamity’s tongue to tell her to go to hell, then sit out the storm unprotected, but she changed her mind.
‘Thanks.’
‘I’d have done it for a dog,’ Eileen sniffed. ‘Let me take the reins and you get dressed.’
‘You?’
‘You’ve been boasting about how good your team is, so I should be able to manage them—if they’re that good.’
‘Don’t you insult my horses!’ Calamity squealed. but handed over the reins and donned her protective clothing.
Suffering a mutual discomfort might have brought peace to the two girls. but the fates decreed that before they coul
d forget their differences a fresh cause of strife would arise.
Beau Resin came galloping through the rain towards the wagonmaster and Bigelow as they rode at the head of the column. The rain had been slashing down for over an hour and the ground under foot grew soggy and uncertain.
‘We got trouble. Sam,’ Resin drawled, water trickling from his Stetson brim in a steady stream.
‘When did you ever come back like that and not have trouble?’ asked the wagonmaster calmly.
‘That’s what you pay me for, to bring you bad news.’
‘What is it?’ Bigelow asked, slightly irritated even after a week at the way Resin failed to respect his rank and position.
‘A damned great valley, Cap’n. Come on ahead and take a look at it.’
On riding some three miles ahead with the two civilians, Bigelow saw the cause of the trouble. A wide valley stretched ahead of them, its left slope sheer, the right, on which they sat, fairly gentle and the bottom along which the train planned to move turned into a roaring torrent by a storm-flooded stream.
‘That’ll be hell to get by,’ remarked the wagonmaster.
‘Plumb hell,’ agreed Resin.
‘We could go along the top there,’ suggested Bigelow.
‘Could,’ Resin answered. ‘Only there was a big burn-out up there a few years back and its grown over with thick young stuff and loused out with fallen dead trees. It’d take us a month to cut a way through.’
‘How about the other side?’
‘Happen we could cross that stream, which same’s not likely, there’s a fork down the valley about half a mile, you can’t hardly see it for the rain. It’d take us near a hundred mile out of our way to get round that fork and back on to our line and there’s no way we could cross.’
‘Do we wait it out?’ asked Bigelow, which showed that something of a change had come over him. He now asked for advice instead of giving orders.
‘Now that’s a good question, Cap’n,’ answered the wagon-master. ‘I only wish to hell I knew the answer.’
‘If one wagon broke the ground across this slope, the others could follow,’ Resin remarked.
