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

by J. T. Edson

  While playing poker, the blonde continued to keep the town dweller under observation. She noticed that every time he made a bet, he always used several bills, the denominations of which she could not see. Furthermore, despite the cowhands each announcing the amount being wagered, he did not make a similar declaration. Nor, although supposed to insist upon it, did McDonald ask him to do so. What was more, every time he lost a hand, he would ask for a ten dollar bill to be changed in spite of there being money before him.

  ‘Excuse me, boys!’ Madam requested, after about an hour had elapsed, unable to restrain her curiosity any longer. ‘I’m just going to circulate a mite.’

  ‘Sure,’ assented the attorney, wondering what had been diverting the attention of his client. ‘It’ll give one of us poor suckers a chance to win a pot or two.’

  ‘I once heard the biggest thrill of gambling is losing,’ the blonde claimed. ‘So, not being one for thrills, I always like to let my friends have them instead of me.’

  ‘With friends like you,’ Gavin Standish put in, calculating he had lost five dollars and twenty-five cents since sitting down. ‘I’ll soon be too poor to afford enemies.’

  ‘Whoever heard of a banker having friends?’ the blonde countered and strolled away in an apparently nonchalant fashion.

  Making a circuit of the barroom, as she had made a habit of doing regularly, Madam still kept a surreptitious watch on the vingt-un table while exchanging comments with various customers. Followed by many eyes, as she was wearing a scarlet gown in the same fashion as the black dress she had worn on the second night, she timed her arrival to coincide with the town dweller losing a hand.

  ‘You’re doing real well, Matt,’ the blonde declared, after the middle sized and overweight gambler had drawn in the stakes. ‘Hell, I’ve just remembered I need some cash to pay a marker to the Counselor. So I’ll take what I need from here.’

  Before McDonald could speak, Madam picked up a pile of bills which included those taken from the town dweller. Giving no indication that she had noticed the consternation both of them started to display, she walked away from the table. Catching the attention of Turner in passing, she signaled for him to join her. They met at the door of her private office and, without offering any explanation, she led the way inside. Wondering why he had been summoned, he watched her place the money on her desk and start to examine each bill in turn.

  ‘What’s up, boss?’ the floor manager inquired, as the blonde stiffened and gave a low exclamation.

  ‘So that’s what they were up to!’ Madam breathed. ‘By golly, it’s a new one on me!’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Turner wanted to know.

  At first sight, the bill extended towards the floor manager by his employer appeared to be valued at one dollar. However, on her turning it over, its denomination was that of a ten. [21]

  ‘It’s the neatest god-damned caper I’ve come across in many a year!’ Madam stated, with something closer to admiration than anger in her voice.

  ‘This’s been done real carefully, I’ll admit,’ Turner replied, his tone puzzled, examining the bill and discovering it to be genuine ten and one dollar bills stuck exactly back to back. ‘Only I still don’t see how it’s used.’

  ‘It goes this way, I reckon,’ the blonde began, ‘The townie—!’

  ‘He’s called “Shardlow”, or some such, but it’s likely a summer name. Hangs around on the fringes of Gilmore’s bunch.’

  ‘ “Shardlow”, then, puts down nine singles and this “eleven dollar bill”, let’s call it for the sake of argument, is amongst them with the buck side upwards making ten. If he wins, good ole Matt scoops in the pile, turns it over and—’

  ‘Pays out the bet as if it was for nineteen bucks!’ Turner finished, some understand-of the situation coming at last. Then he let out a furious growl and went on, ‘Hell’s fire, boss, that means Shardlow gets it at even money, or two to one if he’s holding a natural!’ [22]

  ‘That’s the way it goes,’ Madam confirmed.

  ‘But what happens when he loses?’ the floor manager asked and waved the ‘eleven dollar bill’. ‘How many of these do they have?’

  ‘Only the one,’ the blonde explained. ‘Matt scoops up the money, making sure he keeps an eye on and extracts the “eleven”. Then he hands it back when Shardlow gets a ten spot changed. That way, they’re only out nine bucks in ten for a loser and haul down either nineteen or thirty-eight every time he pulls a win.’

  ‘Son-of-a-bitch!’ Turner ejaculated. ‘How long’ve they been at it, boss?’

  ‘Only tonight, I reckon,’ Madam estimated and described the events which had drawn her attention to what was happening, concluding, ‘I’ve been watching Matt and haven’t seen Shardlow at his table until tonight.’

  ‘Looks like we’re going to have to pick up his toes, boss,’ the floor manager commented, not without a slight trace of satisfaction in his demeanor, as he had never entirely forgiven the over-weight gambler for having cast unwarranted aspersions upon his relationship with the blonde.

  ‘Just firing him will do,’ Madam corrected, being aware of what was implied by the expression used by the burly man, and her manner indicated she would listen to no other suggestions. ‘Have him come here so I can do it.’

  ‘Maybe he won’t want to come,’ Turner hinted, almost hopefully it seemed to his employer.

  ‘Could be he won’t,’ the blonde admitted, being just as aware that to be caught out while employing such a trick would almost certainly provoke painful—perhaps even lethal—repercussions in many saloons. ‘But we don’t want anything that could start the other gamblers to feuding again with the rest of the crew. So tell him, if he comes peaceable, all I aim to do is pay him off and he can go some other place to use his “eleven dollar bill”.’

  ‘Whatever you say, boss,’ Turner assented, being willing to concede his employer was making her usual good sense. ‘Are you going to give it back to him?’

  ‘Hell no!’ Madam replied with a smile, taking back the ‘eleven dollar bill’. ‘Let him make another one wherever he figures on trying it next.’

  ‘Aw shit!’ the floor manager ejaculated, having crossed and opened the door giving access to the barroom and seeing another of the gamblers was now acting as dealer at the vingt-un table. ‘He hasn’t wasted any time!’

  ‘How do you mean?’ the blonde inquired, although she could guess.

  ‘Charlie Henderson’s handling his table,’ Turner informed. ‘He must’ve put in a call for a relief as soon as we came in here. Can’t see Shardlow anywhere, either.’

  ‘Lit a shuck, huh?’ Madam said, showing neither surprise nor annoyance. Opening a drawer to put in all the money, except the ‘eleven dollar bill’ which she tucked into a secret pocket on the inside at the right of her gunbelt, she went on, ‘Well, that saves needing to pay him off. Come on, my pigeons will be wondering whether I’m figuring on quitting while I’m so far ahead.’

  ‘How much’re you taking ’em for, boss?’ the floor manager inquired with a grin, knowing the game was for far from high stakes despite being contested most seriously.

  ‘Must be all of nine dollars and fifteen cents,’ the blonde estimated. ‘Hell, Joe, should I keep on winning that way, I’ll be able to retire and travel the world.’

  ‘Aren’t you ’shamed to take so much from them poor gentlemen?’

  ‘No more than they was last night when they took me for a whole twelve dollars and forty cents between them.’

  ‘That much, huh?’ Turner asked.

  ‘Why’d you think I had them back tonight?’ Madam queried, as soberly as if discussing a matter of tremendous importance. ‘I’m after revenge. Let’s go, Joe. Maybe you’d best go and make sure McDonald doesn’t take anything except his own gear from the changing room.’

  ‘I’ll tend to it, boss,’ the floor manager promised. ‘Only don’t you go losing this place the same way you got it from Maxie.’

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ the
blonde promised.

  Leaving the office, Madam and Turner separated. However, as she was making her way across the barroom towards the table at which the poker game was being held, she noticed two men coming through the front entrance. Although she had not seen them since they had left with Leo Wallace on the first night of her occupancy, one being carried by the other, she recognized them as his far from effective bodyguards. They were dressed in much the same fashion and, if their somewhat unsteady gait was any indication, had been drinking more than was seemly. Furthermore, nothing about them suggested their state of intoxication had induced a feeling of good spirits towards the world.

  Unless the blonde was doing them an injustice, she considered the newcomers were ‘on the prod’ and looking for trouble!

  What was more, watching the pair coming in her direction, Madam concluded that she was the objective for their less than friendly intentions!

  ‘Can I do something for you, gents?’ the blonde asked, as the two men came to a halt a short distance from her. She failed to notice that the red haired saloon girl, Sally, was passing them.

  ‘You’re the lousy tail-peddling calico cat’s got us fired by Leo Wallace!’ Barry Norman announced in a loud voice. ‘He wouldn’t give us no pay, so we’ve come to take it from you!’

  ‘And don’t nobody else make a move!’ ordered Herbert Lang, reaching with his left hand to catch Sally by the arm as she was passing. Bringing out and cocking his revolver with the right, he thrust its muzzle against her side and went on. ‘’Cause, if any son-of-a-bitch does, she’s going to be dead!’

  Thirteen – You Being a Woman Won’t Stop Me

  ‘Do just what he says, all of you!’ Madam Bulldog ordered, her voice carrying around the barroom of the Hide and Horn Saloon in the silence which had suddenly descended. ‘This is between me and them!’

  Although there were many men present who would have been willing to intercede upon her behalf, including a number of the customers, the instructions given by the buxom blonde were delivered in a tone which warned she expected to be obeyed. This was an even greater inducement to compliance than the threat to the red haired saloon-girl. However, such was the esteem in which the new owner was now held, the general consensus of opinion was that a most painful retribution would be exacted against the two hard- cases if any harm should befall the girl at their hands.

  ‘Now,’ Madam went on, looking from Herbert Lang to Barry Norman. ‘What’s all this foolishness about?’

  ‘I told you jusht now!’ the unencumbered man replied loudly, swaying a trifle on his feet and slurring the words, more than he had when first addressing her. ‘You got Herb ‘n’ me fired by Leo Wall-ash and he told ush he wouldn’t give ush no pay. So we’ve come to get it offen you!’

  ‘And what if I won’t give it to you?’ the blonde inquired, taking two steps and coming to a halt without any objections from either hard-case. Then Herb ‘n’ me’s going to take it out of your-sh hide!’

  ‘Why not just you, or do you reckon you’ll need Herb to back your play?’

  ‘Just-sh me, you “mother-something” tail peddler!’ Norman declared. ‘And you being a woman won’t stop me doing it!’

  ‘I reckon you’d be a heap more likely to back off from me was I a man,’ Madam claimed, standing apparently relaxed and at ease, with none of the truculence being displayed by the taller hard-case. ‘Only you didn’t show any too well last time you tried to take me.’

  Despite her seemingly relaxed and disdainful attitude, the blonde was far from unaware of the danger. What was more, she fully appreciated the ramifications of the situation. For one thing, having had considerable experience with men in various stages of intoxication over the years, she did not believe either hard-case had imbibed enough to be rendered ineffective. In fact, taking into account how they had addressed her on arrival, she felt sure they were completely sober and cognizant with what they were doing.

  Remembering an axiom of gun fighters and wanting to test her theory, Madam had made the experiment of stepping closer to Norman. [23] Although a drunken man tended to halt at the distance from which his eyes focused most clearly, he had not protested. Nor had his slurred speech been consistent and he only inserted words like ‘ush’ and ‘jusht’ as though they were something of an after-thought.

  ‘Watch the fat old bitch, Norm!’ Lang advised, also raising his voice so it would carry to everybody present and be remembered when questions were being asked by the peace officer they had been promised would handle the investigation of the incident. Retaining his hold on Sally’s arm and keeping the revolver pressed against her side, he went on, That’s a man’s gun rig she’s got on and she reckons to be a regular snake with that fancy white handled hog-leg she’s toting.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind, Herb!’ the taller hard-case promised. ‘Only it ain’t going to stop her handing over what we’ve got coming to us!’

  ‘I owe you nothing and you know I don’t,’ Madam stated. ‘But I’ll be willing to let you get the hell out of here and not bring Marshal Collier on your damned fool heads, providing you go straight away!’

  Feeling sure neither man expected her to pay them the money they claimed had been refused by Wallace, the blonde knew there was nothing to be gained by behaving in a conciliatory fashion. Her main intention was to prevent harm coming to the red haired saloon girl, or anybody else in the barroom other than herself and the hard-cases. Doubting whether she would gain anything by referring to the local peace officer, especially if she was correct in her assumption over why the pair had come, she had done so only to offer them a way of leaving without attempting to carry out their purpose.

  The hope did not materialize!

  ‘You talk big for a fat old lobby lizzy!’ Norman sneered. ‘Now let’s see you back it all the way!’

  Confident that he had nothing to fear, disbelieving what he had been told about the speed with which his intended victim had acted on the previous occasion, the hard-case sent his right hand towards the low tied Colt Army Model of 1860 revolver at the conclusion of the words.

  Alert for such an action, Madam responded to it at the instant it was commenced!

  While reaching across, the blonde was grateful that she had taken sufficient practice to make the movement without needing to think consciously that she was carrying the Webley Bulldog at her waist and not in the shoulder holster worn when outside the saloon. [24] Without even the momentary hesitation such a need to remember would have created, she brought the weapon out of leather.

  Regardless of the rapidity with which Madam was moving, she did not allow herself to be flustered. Knowing that manually operating the double action of the Webley gave a fraction of a second advantage, she did just that! However, she neither started to draw back the hammer with her thumb, nor let her right forefinger enter the trigger guard until the muzzle was turning towards Norman. This, those among the onlookers conversant with matters pistolero were aware, was a sign that she was very well versed in handling a handgun in the heat of conflict. [25]

  Just as his Colt was rising above the lip of its holster, Norman discovered, with a sensation of shock, he was too slow!

  Flowing into alignment with great speed, held centrally at waist level in front of the curvaceous feminine torso, the Webley roared as the realization was striking home!

  Knowing she had no other choice, if she wanted to survive, Madam shot for an instant kill. Being at a distance which precluded the need to take aim along the stubby barrel, the .450 Eley caliber bullet flew to where it would produce the required effect. Entering the center of Norman’s forehead, the lead brought the upwards movement of his revolver to an immediate end.

  A startled profanity burst from Lang as he watched his companion going down without so much as getting off a shot. Despite the evidence he had received on their last meeting, he had felt sure the blonde only carried the revolver for show. He had also assumed, the speed with which she had drawn it from the shoulder holster to mena
ce Wallace notwithstanding, she would lack the nerve to do so in a face to face confrontation with an armed adversary. Appreciating just how wrong he had been, he was equally aware that he must now take some action against her. Not to avenge Norman, but—knowing even County Sheriff Lloyd Bowman could do nothing to help him under the circumstances—to save himself from the consequences of what they had planned.

  Feeling the hand loosen its grip and the revolver being removed from against her torso, Sally saw and took the chance she was being offered. Snatching free her arm, she sprang away from her captor. While doing so, she hoped her boss would be able to cope with whatever he was planning.

  Even before she saw the girl escape, Madam was already setting about preparations to meet the second threat to her life. Relieved by the sight, as it removed the need to have to consider Sally’s safety before taking action, she threw herself down in a diving roll. Nor did she move a moment too soon. Even as she was landing on the floor, the Colt in Lang’s hand bellowed. Passing so close it clipped plumes from the spray of red dyed ibis feathers in her hair, his bullet did no more than kick up splinters from the planks beyond her. Halting on her stomach, her left hand joining the right on the butt and thumbs cocking the hammer, she fired in echo of the shot.

  And missed!

  However, except when the hammer was being fanned, an uncocked revolver with a self-cocking double action was faster to use than one requiring this necessary function to be performed manually!

  Twice more in very rapid succession, the blonde squeezed the trigger and the hammer was taken through its operating cycle. Both bullets tore into the chest of the hard-case, the first arriving an instant before he could manually cock and use his Colt. Thrown from his feet by the double impact, the revolver left his hand and he sprawled limply on to the floor. Although his body moved spasmodically, his companion lying in a loose and uncaring fashion, not too far away, was absolutely still.