Calamity Jane 6: The Hide and Horn Saloon (A Calamity Jane Western)

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Why’d he do that?’ the hulking man pursued, showing a complete lack of comprehension.

  ‘It could be he’s hoping that,’ Wanda continued, starting to grit out the words in growing exasperation, ‘we’d get the hell out of his life, thinking he’d lost the saloon and there’d be no more money coming in.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Stern admitted, the idea having failed to occur to him before. He continued, in a tone redolent of self-righteous indignation, ‘The bastard’s slick enough to’ve pulled a play like that. And mean enough, comes to that!’

  ‘Aw hell, Wan!’ Wallace commented, despite knowing Maxwell Higgins had been given adequate cause for any ‘meaness’ he might be slick enough to indulge in where his wife and her dependent relatives were concerned. ‘If that’s what’s behind it, all we have to do is say so and get her throwed out on her fat fanny!’

  ‘I didn’t say that’s what’s behind it, all I said was “if” it had happened,’ the red head said. Rising from the table at which she had seated herself, although she had not offered either man a chair and they knew better than to sit down without being invited, she went on, ‘And even if that should be what his game is, Scrope and probably Collier will be in cahoots with him. So we’re going to have to prove what’s happened, whether it really did, or we just reckon it was pulled that way.’

  ‘How the hell are we going to do that?’ the gambler asked. ‘Particularly if she did win it fair and square.’

  ‘How the “something” do I know how we’ll do the “mother-something”, whether we’re right or wrong?’ the red head snapped, her language growing more profane as was always the case in moments of stress or excitement. It was a trait which had done much to make her extremely unpopular with the “good” women of the town; this being an age long before the employment of such terms by members of her sex was accepted as a ‘trendy’ indication of sterling ‘liberal’ qualities. A pensive expression came to her face and, as was also always the case when wanting to give thought to a serious problem, she began to pace the room in a sensuous glide which drew a lascivious gaze from her half-brother; even Stern watched her with less than filial attention. Coming to a halt and showing no sign of being perturbed by their faces she announced, ‘I’d best see that skinny gutted jury fixer and find out exactly how the land lies.’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be best!’ seconded the hulking man, tearing his gaze from the pulsating and skimpily covered breasts which his sister was deliberately causing to jut forward over her trim and firm stomach. Then, as her cold gaze turned his way, he started to shuffle his feet. He felt, as was frequently the case when in her company, like a dim witted schoolboy. ‘So what do you want us to do while you’re at it, Wan’?’

  ‘You can come and help me get our gear out of the Hide and Horn,’ Wallace stated, also wrenching his lecherous eyes from the red head and giving her no chance to reply. The words sounded more in the nature of an order to an underling than a request made to a member of the family.

  ‘Why the “something” should you move it out?’ Wanda demanded, pausing as she was about to make her way to the stairs.

  ‘She reckoned’s how she was aiming to look it all over with Collier,’ the gambler replied. ‘So we’d best get it out afore they can.’

  ‘Leave the bastard where it is!’ the red head commanded, her manner similar to that employed by Wallace when addressing her brother. ‘I’ll get back the saloon if it’s the last thing I do, and having all the crooked gear left in it just might help.’

  ‘How?’ the gambler challenged, thinking of the cost of the equipment which he had partly borne when making the purchase at the instigation of his half- sister.

  ‘I’ve got something in mind, don’t worry!’ Wanda replied, with what appeared to be complete confidence, although at that moment she had only the bare nucleus of a scheme. ‘So you just leave it where it is until I tell you different. Right now, I’m going to get dressed and go find out all I can from Scrope. You head ‘round there and let him know to expect me at eleven, Moe.’

  ‘Sure, Wan’!’ Stern assented.

  ‘I’ll come with y—!’ Wallace began.

  ‘The hell you will!’ the red head corrected. ‘You stay here and out of sight. I’m going to spread the word that you’ve left town. Moe, after you’ve seen Scrope, find Norman and Lang and tell them not to show themselves until I’ve talked to them.’

  ‘Flow long do I stay here?’ the gambler asked sullenly, as the hulking man nodded concurrence with the latest order.

  ‘Until I tell you differently!’ Wanda replied and swung on her heel to make for the staircase without allowing any further discussion on the matter. However, pausing at the foot, she looked around and went on, ‘Tell Scrope to have that “Madam Bulldog” woman there as well, Moe!’

  ‘You figuring on taking her ‘stead of Vi Grant, Wan’?’ Stern inquired.

  ‘It could maybe come to that,’ the red head admitted grimly. ‘But I want to look her over first and see what kind of opposition I figure she might be.’

  ‘Hell, boss, I’m sorry!’ Viola Grant apologized, stepping hurriedly from the second floor balcony and, as if considering there was an urgent need for ensuring privacy although there was nobody else on it, closing the door of the room she entered. ‘I din’t even know you was out of the sack yet, much less guess what I’d find you doing up here!’

  The time was quarter after ten in the morning, and there was justification for the latter part of the statement by the boss girl!

  Due to the sturdy way in which the Hide and Horn Saloon was constructed, there had been no indication downstairs of the activity being carried out by the new owner. It had been the habit of Maxwell Higgins to sleep until almost noon on the numerous occasions when he elected to remain in the saloon instead of going home, and the brunette had heard nothing to suggest her new boss would behave in a different fashion. Certainly there had been nothing to indicate how Madam Bulldog was engaged in the main bedroom of what was now her personal living accommodation. Nor, if asked, would Viola even have thought of finding her occupied in such a manner; particularly after the strenuous activities of the previous day.

  Wearing only a pair of black cotton tights, such as were used during rehearsals or training by ballet and other kinds of dancers, the blonde was lying with only her head and shoulders on the carpet covered floor. Having elevated her curvaceous buttocks to almost vertical, she was moving her sturdy legs through the air in a circular motion similar to that of a person riding and operating the peddles of one of the ‘boneshaker’ bicycles which were becoming popular in the cities of the East.

  ‘That’s all right, Vi,’ Madam replied amiably, bringing her feet down and up to with an agility and ease which might have appeared surprising considering her less than slender build. ‘I should have thought to tell you I always do some exercises dressed like this in the morning, straight after I get out of the sack. The other gear I sometimes use will be coming along with my other stuff on a freight wagon in the next day or so.’

  With that, the blonde spread her legs apart and placed hands on hips. Bending forward at the waist, she began to vigorously rotate her torso. Watching her, the brunette was able to form an even better impression of how she had been able to deliver such a powerful punch. There was not an ounce of flabby fat anywhere on her shapely buxom figure. Instead, well developed and clearly firm muscles writhed and pulsated beneath her smooth skin. Their fluid and seemingly effortless movements provided testimony to the strength, backed by speed and agility, which they were capable of exerting.

  ‘Whooee!’ the boss girl gasped in admiration, as her employer straightened up. ‘You do this sort of thing every morning?’

  ‘I try not to miss doing it, or something just as lively,’ Madam answered with a grin, contriving to speak almost normally in spite of her massive and firm bosom expanding and contracting as proof of the effort she had been putting into the exercises. Extending her arms forward at shoulder height, but keeping
her back straight, she began to bend her knees until her thighs were parallel to the floor. Returning slowly to an erect posture, she repeated the. squatting motion while continuing in a slightly more breathless fashion, ‘It keeps me in shape for handling awkward cusses who rile me. Anyways, what’s brought you up here?’

  ‘Lawyer Scrope’s just sent around word’s he’d like to see you in his office at eleven,’ Viola explained, showing no resentment over the comment, despite having qualified as one of the ‘awkward cusses’ during her first meeting with the blonde.

  ‘I was aiming to drop by sometime this morning, anyways,’ Madam admitted, having completed fifteen of the exercises to improve the strength of the back. ‘But have you any idea why he wants me to go there right then?’

  ‘Seems like that red haired bitch’s married Max—Mrs. Higgins sent him word’s she wants to talk to you and him,’ the boss girl replied, making a face which demonstrated her feelings where the wife of the former owner was concerned. ‘He said he figured you’d want to be on hand to hear what she’s got in mind.’

  ‘He’s right as the Indian side of a horse,’ the blonde confirmed. ‘I didn’t know Maxie was married when I won the Hide and Horn from him, so I reckon I’d best look her over and see whether I reckon she’s got a raw deal out of him.’

  ‘The only thing she ever got that was raw’d be the inside of her thighs when she was lying on her back in bed,’ Viola claimed. ‘And that wouldn’t have been caused by Maxie!’

  ‘I’ll keep an open mind on it,’ Madam declared, knowing her image would be improved in the town if she treated the wife of the man she had supplanted with fairness, even if this was undeserved. ‘Can you get some water here, so’s I can wash and get ready to go and meet her?’

  Ten – If I Wasn’t A Lady

  ‘Good morning to you, Madam Bulldog!’ Aloysius P. Scrope greeted, rising from behind his desk, as the new owner of the Hide and Horn Saloon was shown into his office some five minutes before the time he had requested her attendance. Indicating the two chairs placed at the other side, as his daughter withdrew and closed the connecting door, he went on, Take a seat, please. I’m afraid Mrs. Higgins isn’t here yet.’

  ‘I’d sort of got a notion she wasn’t,’ the blonde claimed with a warm smile, thinking the appearance and dour behavior of the attorney was so similar to her last visit that he might never have left his desk. Sitting on the chair furthest away from the door through which she had been admitted, she went on, ‘Seems likely she doesn’t know Sergeant Paddy Ma- goon, pride of the United States’ Cavalry.’ [19]

  ‘If he wears trousers, which his rank and name presupposes would prove the case, I’d be much surprised if she didn’t know him,’ Scrope asserted dryly and, apparently, with complete seriousness. ‘But I fail to see why her absence should lead you to assume she has not made his acquaintance.’

  ‘Paddy always reckons a good soldier gets on parade five minutes early,’ Madam explained, with a similar suggestion of imparting solemn and vitally important information. Then, although there was little discernible change in her manner, the levity left her and she went on, ‘Anyways, I hope Mrs. Higgins doesn’t decide to exercise a woman’s prerogative and show up too late so as to impress us. There’re a whole heap of things I want to get done before we open up the Hide this afternoon.’

  On hearing that her presence had been requested by the attorney, the blonde had wasted no time in making ready for the visit, Stripping off the tights, she had washed the perspiration from her buxom body with water delivered to the smaller bedroom of her living accommodation by the swampers, Sonny and Young ‘N’. Then, having tidied her hair and applied the socially acceptable amount of facial make up, she had donned clean clothing of a similarly respectable style to those worn the previous day. Normally a hearty eater, one reason for her vigorous session of exercises every possible morning, she had restricted her breakfast to a cup of coffee brought upstairs by Viola Grant. By doing so, wanting to speak privately with Scrope and sure Wanda Higgins would not show an equal punctuality, she had contrived to keep the appointment earlier than was stipulated.

  ‘Did you have a good first night?’ the attorney inquired.

  ‘It had its moments,’ Madam replied cheerfully. ‘But, taken all in all, I don’t reckon I got too bad a deal out of Maxie.’

  ‘One might even go so far as to say you’ve got a good deal,’ the attorney corrected, with professional caution.

  ‘Only “might even”?’ Madam challenged with a smile. ‘And here’s poor lil ole me thinking I had got one!’

  ‘Let us say there is a reasonable probability you, did, if you would rather,’ Scrope suggested, his face as apparently unemotional as the aged parchment which his skin resembled, but there was a twinkle in his eye belying the somber manner. ‘As I mentioned yesterday, Joe Turner and I have been handling the day to day business and operation of the saloon, in the absence of Maxwell Higgins. Even the gambling side, until the arrival of Leo Wallace and his minions.’

  ‘I thought Mrs. Higgins had been running things?’ Madam commented, resisting the temptation to adopt a similar style of dry speech to that of the attorney.

  ‘A not unnatural assumption,’ Scrope conceded. ‘However, apart from finding employment for her indigent kin, Mrs. Wanda Higgins was only interested in getting all the money she needed from the profits, not in how they were accrued.’

  ‘I’m beginning not to like Mrs. Wanda Higgins!’ the blonde claimed.

  ‘Then you share the sentiments of practically every other member of your gender in Tennyson,’ the attorney asserted, but he was doing something more than merely passing the time in idle gossip. Although he had acted for her husband, he felt no loyalty whatsoever to Wanda Higgins and, having formed a shrewd assessment of Madam Bulldog’s character, wanted to offer advice about her before they met. Glancing at a drawer, he continued, ‘If you would care to look over the accounts and records we have kept—?’

  ‘There’s no rush for that, as far as I’m concerned,’ the blonde stated airily ‘I’d sooner settle things with Gavin Standish over to the Cattlemen’s Bank and put some business to Saul Berstein, Dutchy Schmidt and Thel Whitwell, then talk to that young newspaperman from the Tennyson Times like I promised I would last night, before I find out how well you and Joe Turner’ve been living since Maxie Higgins lit out for Cowtown.’

  ‘I fear, the way we’ve been cooking the books, you’ll never be able to find out how we have each laid aside tidy sums against our old age,’ Scrope warned, deducing from what would have been a slanderous suggestion if made by a person like Wanda Higgins that the blonde considered him sufficient of a friend to say it without meaning any offense. As he was making a response in kind, he wondered what she might be wanting with the local tailor, builder and owner of the town’s largest general store, to whom he had introduced her the previous evening. There is one point I feel we should settle before she arrives, however. In addition to the saloon, there is—!’

  ‘It’ll have to wait, Counselor,’ the blonde interrupted, cocking her head towards the door through which she had entered. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, I’d say your other guest has shown up.’

  Also having heard a feminine voice speaking loudly in the outer office and recognizing it, the attorney nodded agreement.

  Without waiting to be announced by Rosemary Scrope, Wanda Higgins threw open the connecting door and made her entrance.

  Looking from the blonde to the new arrival, Scrope decided which of them he would have selected as the new owner of the Hide and Horn Saloon if he had been unaware of the situation. The attire worn by the former, while stylish and complimentary to her buxom build, was such she might have been mistaken for the wife of a prominent citizen thereby qualifying for the category of “good” woman on that account. On the other hand, the red head had on a revealing dress—its bright colors far from tastefully blended—and ostentatious jewelry more suited to the less than respectable theatrical circles from whi
ch she had originated than to the supposedly acceptable female member of the community in a Texas’ town of moderate size.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs. Higgins,’ the attorney said, but his voice was subtly different to what it had been when he had addressed his other visitor upon her arrival. Indicating her as she rose from the chair she had taken, he went on, ‘May I present Madam Bulldog?’

  ‘Madam Bulldog?’ the red head repeated, running what was clearly a disdainful gaze over the other woman and pointedly ignoring the right hand extended in her direction.

  ‘Mrs. Higgins?’ the blonde countered blandly. ‘Are you Maxie’s wife?’

  ‘I’m not his mother]! Wanda hissed, bristling like an alley cat scenting a rival on its territory.

  ‘I didn’t think you were,’ Madam claimed, exuding a seeming innocence, and sitting down. ‘It’s just that I didn’t think Maxie had very good taste when we met. But now I’m sure he hasn—that I was wrong.’

  ‘Will you have a seat, Mrs. Higgins?’ Scrope suggested, deciding Madam had won the opening exchange. Waiting until his offer was accepted, he continued, ‘Now, exactly what can I do for you?’

  ‘You mean you don’t know why I’m here?’ the red head asked sardonically.

  ‘I know nothing whatsoever about your business,’ the attorney asserted, wanting to establish that he considered only Maxwell and not Wanda Higgins was his client. ‘However, I presume it has to do with your husband having lost the Hide and Horn Saloon in the poker game known as “the Big One”, at the Silver Bell Saloon at Fort Worth, to my client, who reserves her right to be known only by the alias, ‘Madam Bulldog”. Am I correct?’

  ‘You know god damned well you are!’ the beautiful and statuesque woman replied, without so much as a glance at the buxom blonde, her cheeks reddening under the excessively applied make up. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Is what true?’ Scrope inquired, exuding a somber lack of comprehension.