by J. T. Edson
‘No you don’t, you Limey son-of-a-bitch!’ a voice snarled, before the Englishman and the freighter had covered half of the distance. ‘You ain’t getting off this easy!’
One glance over his shoulder confirmed what the Kid already knew. The speaker was the member of Lincoln’s freight outfit he had hoped would offer him the opportunity to render incapable of leaving the following morning. He also realized that achieving his purpose would prove more difficult than disposing of Snagge.
Still bareheaded, with his hair in even greater disarray and a trickle of blood running from his nose, Matchetto looked a most menacing figure as he lumbered along the alley. Nor did the Kid consider his looks were deceiving. When describing his qualities shortly before they had set off for the saloon to implement their scheme, Calamity had claimed he was the most dangerous of Lincoln’s drivers. Not only was he noted for his ability as a dirty fighting roughhouse brawler, he had no scruples over using either the bowie knife or the Colt Cavalry Peacemaker revolver when roused.
Knowing that the red head would not have exaggerated or sensationalized her description, the Kid felt disinclined to depend upon his unarmed combat skills. While far from a coward, he was too aware of the dangers to tackle the big driver with his bare hands. Size and bulk were in Matchetto’s favor, if not skill. Even with the element of surprise on his side, the Englishman realized there was too much at stake for him to risk sustaining an incapacitating injury which would leave the Rebel Spy devoid of his assistance.
‘What do you have in mind, old sport?’ the Kid inquired, swinging to face the driver, but showing no suggestion of his thoughts.
‘I’m going to get back that money you cheated us out of!’ Matchetto declared, interspersing the explanation with language too foul to be repeated.
‘I hate a poor loser,’ the Kid sighed, sounding almost patiently resigned as he decided how to cope with the latest development. Glancing around quickly, he offered the freighter an opportunity to intervene and prevent injury to another of his employees. ‘I’d advise you tell him to forget it, old boy.’
‘He wouldn’t pay any attention if I did,’ Lincoln answered, harboring similar views to those expressed by Matchetto over the way in which he had lost his money to the “gambler” and confident that it would all be refunded in return for his support when the town marshal arrived. Which should not be long, if the sound of a fire engine’s bell clanging was any guide taken with his knowledge of how the peace officer had acted when other saloon brawls erupted. ‘So you’ll have to tell him yourself.’
‘On your head be it,’ the Kid warned, speaking almost languidly and having received the response he anticipated.
Sharing the freighters appreciation of what was meant by the evidence that a fire engine was approaching, Matchetto changed his mind on how he would deal with the “gambler”. Although the prospect of pounding the other to a bloody pulp and reducing the handsome features to a ruin had its appeal, there would not be sufficient time to carry it out. He watched for the first suggestion that the Englishman meant to reach around to draw the revolver and increased the pace of his advance. To his delight, he saw his potential victim’s right hand crossing to the hilt of what Lincoln had informed him was some kind of foreign knife. Considering there was little to fear as his opponent was only what he had described as a ‘yellow-bellied Limey tinhorn’, he decided it would be more satisfying to hand the other his needings via the massive bowie knife. With that in mind, he swept the selected weapon from its sheath.
Studying his attacker with what appeared to be disinterest, the Kid was moving with a deceptive speed. While his actions seemed to be carried out in the usual leisurely fashion which characterized him, they were in reality made with great rapidity. Enfolding the pistol-like handle of the badik with the second, third and fourth digits of his right hand, he adopted the traditional ‘pinch grip’ of its Bugi makers by taking the upper end of the blade between the thumb and forefinger as it emerged from the sheath. Cumbersome as the method might appear to Occidental eyes, he soon demonstrated that it did nothing to impair the weapon’s efficiency when performed by one who was well trained in the Bugis’ system of wielding it.
Stepping clear of the raking thrust Matchetto directed at him with a motion as graceful and effective as a matador evading the charge of a bull, the Kid swung the badik in the whip-like left to right swing so favored by the exceptionally proficient knife-fighting Bugi warriors who had learned the best way to handle their favorite close quarter’s weapon. Flashing upwards at an angle, the razor sharp convex edge of the butterfly blade reached the outside of the driver’s extended right arm just above the elbow. It curved onwards to slice through the sleeve of the shirt and deep into the bicep. Slipping from the fingers of a hand which had suddenly become inoperative, the bowie knife clattered to the ground.
Watching horror and pain distort, then turn Matchetto’s face ashen under its dirt and tan, the Kid felt little remorse. He knew the driver would not have hesitated to kill, or seriously injure him given an opportunity. As his victim stumbled on for a few more steps and collapsed, he concluded that he had fulfilled his part of the scheme more adequately than was required.
Instead of Lincoln finding himself minus one driver for the delivery of the consignment of firearms, he now had two incapable of helping him.
Everything now depended on whether Calamity Jane could carry out her specialized function.
Or was given the opportunity to do so.
Chapter Eleven – You Could Offer My Services
‘God-damn it, you stupid, no good bitch!’ Dobe Killem thundered, in what struck the onlookers gathered outside the open door of the town marshal’s office as being a towering rage. ‘Didn’t I warn you to keep out of trouble?’
‘It wasn’t all her fault!’ Belle Boyd put in, moving to the sullenly truculent looking Calamity Jane’s side in a protective manner.
‘You can keep your blasted mouth shut!’ Captain Patrick Reeder ordered, exhibiting an irascibility that was as well simulated as the freighter’s anger and the two girls’ behavior.
Standing side by side in the cell to which they had been escorted the previous evening, the Rebel Spy and the red head looked decidedly the worse for wear. However, although each had received bruises and their clothing had suffered damage, they had survived the brawl at the Worn Out Tie Saloon without serious injury.
Taken all in all. Belle had had not the slightest cause for complaint over the way in which Marshal Dixon Troop had carried out the request for assistance she had made to him. Accepting as genuine her identification documents and learning what had brought her to Stokeley, he had realized that the Metis’ intended uprising could have adverse effects upon Montana as well as Canada. However, he had demurred on one point when being told what she had in mind. She had countered the objection by giving an assurance that the owner of the saloon would be reimbursed by the United States’ Treasury for all damage and loss of business caused to his premises. With that matter settled, the peace officer had proved to be a willing and helpful collaborator.
Following his usual practice when dealing with such situations, Troop had used the hose pipes and close to two hundred of gallons of cold water from the tender of the fire engine to bring the fighting to an end. Then learning from the irate owner who had been the cause of the disturbance, he had taken the culprits to jail. Nor had he allowed either girl to change from her sodden garments. Instead they had been placed in the same cell and informed they could do what the hell they wanted to each other and nobody would stop them. Pretending to be alarmed by a realization of the predicament in which they had involved themselves had provided them with an excuse to refrain from further hostilities and being told that neither Killem nor the Remittance Kid could be located had supplied the means for them to ‘forget’ their differences and become allies in the face of adversity.
There had been an added satisfaction for Belle over the way in which the scheme had been carried through s
o far. Much to her relief. she had learned from Troop that nobody had been badly hurt in the brawl and the damage was not sufficiently extensive to make the saloon close down. In fact, the marshal had claimed the owner said the fight would have a salutary effect on business. Both pieces of news were useful in that they would not allow Troop to avoid holding the girls for trial, but also gave him an excuse to do what was needed to let the plan have a chance of succeeding.
At ten o’clock in the morning,, the deputies had located the freighter and the Kid. Word of what had happened the previous night had spread around the town and there was a good sized crowd assembled in front of the marshal’s office to see what the famous Calamity Jane looked like and find out how Troop intended to deal with her. Passing through the spectators, the two men had noticed Arnaud Cavallier and Jebediah Lincoln were present, but not standing together.
‘It’s all right for you to talk, Pat St John-Haythornthwaite!’ Belle protested in shrill indignation, grabbing and shaking the bars of the cell. ‘If you-all hadn’t got us both drunk and riled at each other, Calam and I wouldn’t have fought and been put in here. Where have you be—?’
‘Well I’m blowed!’ the Kid ejaculated. ‘I didn’t tell you to start clawing like damned alley-cats and, dash it, if that’s your attitude, I’m going—’
‘Not so fast, mister!’ Troop put in as the Englishman started to turn away. He was so impressed by the way in which all the participants were reacting that he was almost convinced it was true and that helped him to put the correct tone in his voice. ‘Your wife and that gal caused a ruckus that near on wrecked the Worn Out Tie Saloon and the damage has to be paid for.’
‘My wife as you call—’ the Kid commenced, swinging to face the peace officer.
‘I surely hope for your sake that you call her your wife, seeing’s how you’re living together as “Mr. and Mrs. Whatever-She-Said” at the Palace Hotel,’ Troop interrupted in a threatening fashion. ‘Because, no matter what they reckon to such doings where you come from, we don’t take kind to folks committing what’s known as adultery here in Montana. Fact being, it’s against the law and them who do it stand to be fined real heavy if not throwed in jail. What was you saying?’
‘She’s my wife,’ the Kid conceded reluctantly.
‘The owner of the Worn Out Tie’ll be right pleased to hear it,’ the marshal declared. ‘Under Montana law, a man’s responsible for any debts incurred by his legal wife.’
‘Damn it, I’m not standing the whole lot!’ the Kid objected, pointing at Calamity. ‘She was just as much to blame as “Lavinia”.’
‘I’m not gainsaying it,’ Troop answered, having to struggle to prevent himself grinning at the red head’s far from lady-like comments about the Englishman’s perfidious behavior. ‘How about it, Mr. Killem?’
‘How about what?’ the freighter challenged. ‘I’ve got nothing to do with this. Before she went out last night, again’ my wishes, I warned her that she was on her own should she start any ruckus. So to hell with her. She’s not costing me as much as another buffalo penny of my money!’
‘The hell with you and your money, you dime-squeezing, tight-butted son-of-a-bitch!’ the red head screeched, with all the fury of a woman scorned and to the delight of at least one member of the crowd which was eavesdropping on the sidewalk. ‘I don’t need you or it. With them savings of mine you’re holding for me, I don’t want a thin red cent of yourn!’
‘What money’s that?’ Troop inquired, hoping it did not occur to the men they were trying to mislead to wonder why he was allowing so many people to stand around outside listening to his business,
‘It’s my saving, like I said,’ Calamity wailed, with such vehemence she might have been speaking the truth. Drawing upon her experience of various melodramatic plays she had seen and thoroughly enjoyed – although wondering why the heroine allowed any son-of-a-bitch like the villain to get away with his abuses instead of kicking him where it would do some good – she went on in a similar downtrodden fashion, ‘Money I got out of working my fingers to the bone for him. He said he’d hold it safe for me. Now he’s figuring on using what happened last night as an excuse to keep it and stop a poor lil orphan gal getting what’s rightfully her’n.’
‘Goddamn it!’ Killem boomed in tones of exasperation, despite being as amused as the marshal by the red head’s convincing histrionics and knowing she was anything but a ‘poor lil orphan gal”. 33 Managing to continue in the same indignant manner, he went on, ‘You can have a bank draft for every last dime of it, you caterwauling, drunken, no-account hot-butt. Then we’re through and by God I’ll be pleased to see the back of you.’
‘No more’n I will you!’ Calamity stormed back. ‘I don’t need you. Any outfit’ll take me on.’
‘Not if I’ve anything to do with it,’ Killem warned.
‘You do what you want after I’m through,’ Troop interrupted, then swung his gaze to the Kid. ‘Half the cost each should be a fair split, I reckon.’
‘Half!’ the Englishman commenced.
‘I found a feller lying in the alley by the saloon with his right arm laid open so bad he’ll likely never use it again,’ the marshal said menacingly. ‘When he got so he could talk, he allowed you jumped him from behind and did it without giving him a chance to—’
‘It was self-defense!’ the Kid protested.
‘I’d say that all depends on whose story a man’d be ready to believe,’ Troop countered. ‘Is it half, or not?’
‘It’s half!’ the Kid confirmed bitterly.
‘How did it go, mon ami?’ Arnaud Cavallier inquired, although he already knew and was delighted by the result he had overheard, as Belle and the Kid walked towards him on leaving the marshal’s office.
‘Badly,’ the Englishman answered, scowling balefully at his companion. ‘This stupid bitch has cost me almost every penny I have,’
‘Don’t you go blaming me!’ the Rebel Spy protested indignantly. ‘If you-all hadn’t started leading poor Calamity along so’s you could win—’
‘All right, all right!’ the Kid interrupted. ‘Don’t harp on it, dear girl. We’ve too many problems to start quarrelling between ourselves,’
‘Perhaps you like to come and have a drink with me?’ le Loup-Garou offered, seeing Lincoln was accosting a worried looking Calamity Jane as she came slowly from the marshal’s office and guessing what the sight implied.
‘That’s jolly civil of you, old boy,’ the Kid assented. ‘I think we could both use one after that little episode.’
‘You say things didn’t go well for you,’ Cavallier remarked, as he and the couple set off along the sidewalk.
‘They couldn’t be worse?’ Belle declared, hooking her left hand through the Englishman’s right arm. ‘That damned Yankee marshal’s made Rem pay for the damage at the saloon and, on top of that, he’s told us to be out of Stokeley by sundown,’
‘It never rains but it pours, as my aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Brockley, used to tell me,’ the Kid went on. ‘The blighter also said he means to warn all his colleagues throughout Montana to keep a watch for me,’
‘Why would he want to do a thing like that?’ Cavallier asked, deciding the situation had developed better than he hoped.
‘Chap seems to have formed the impression that I’m not only dishonest, but dangerous,’ the Kid explained. ‘I considered taking legal action against it, but doubt whether there would be a chance of winning.’
‘There’s not a chance you would,’ Cavallier confirmed, doubting that such a line of action had been contemplated seriously. Don’t think I’m being nosey, mon ami, but do you have any plans for the future?’
‘We had,’ the Kid said bitterly. ‘But putting them into being won’t be easy unless we can get a … stake, I think you colonials call it’
‘Then perhaps I can help you,’ le Loup-Garou hinted.
‘I never borrow from friends!’ the Kid protested, but not in a convincing manner.
�
�And I never lend, believing that to lend money to a friend loses you his friendship,’ Cavallier answered. ‘But I thought you might be interested in a proposition.’
‘Such as?’ the Kid asked and felt Belle’s hand tighten a little on his arm.
‘As I’ve mentioned before, although he didn’t play on the train, the man “Roxby” is a gambler and not a very good one,’ Cavallier answered. ‘But, like most of his kind, he doesn’t know how bad he is. You and I could make a lot of money from him.’
‘But I thought you-all were leaving today?’ Belle put in.
‘So we are, mademoiselle, provided Lincoln can get replacements for the two drivers who were injured in the fight last night,’ Cavallier replied. ‘I noticed him talking to Calamity and, as her boss fired her, he might be able to get her. If not—’
‘I still can’t help you,’ the Kid put in, sounding disappointed. ‘ “Lavinia” and I have to be out of Stokeley by nightfall, or we’re likely to be put in jail until the constable can see us on our way personally.’
‘Why not come with us?’ Cavallier suggested.
‘It might solve the problem,’ the Kid admitted. ‘Except that I don’t really see the “Roxbys” allowing us to. They didn’t strike me as a couple brimming with the milk of jolly old human kindness. Unless—’
‘Yes?’ le Loup-Garou prompted.
‘You said you were two drivers short,’ the Englishman explained. ‘I haven’t been on one of those big Conestoga things, but I’ve driven a coach and four back in England often enough and the principle wouldn’t be too different. So you could offer my services in that capacity.’
‘That’s true, I could,’ Cavallier agreed, delighted the suggestion had come from the other man. ‘I’ll say you want to get up to the Canadian border and have offered to drive to help you get there.’
‘By gad, are you going to Canada?’ the Kid asked, with such sincerity in his voice he might have only learned the destination at that moment.
