J. Edson - Ranch War

“So can we,” the shorter Texan pointed out and sprang into the mouth of the alley followed by his companion.

“Was the letter important?” the Kid inquired, helping Calamity to rise while the onlookers milled around uncertainly.

“Not ’specially. It told who I am.”

“Don’t you know who you are?”

“Of course I know, you blasted knob-head!” the girl yelped and her face twisted in a spasm of pain. “Damn and blast you, you grinning Pehnane slit-eye, you made me hurt my poor aching jaw. Them papers was to show to Counselor Talbot.”

“All right, folks,” said a polite, yet authoritative voice from the rear of the crowd. “Open up and let us through!”

Obediently the assembled people moved aside. Not only did Marshal Kail Beauregard make the request but he was accompanied by three deputies and Mulrooney’s well-respected lady mayor.

Six foot tall, well-made, ruggedly handsome, Beauregard wore the dress of a professional gambler and belted a low-hanging Army Colt. He had been the man selected as best suited to handle the varied, often conflicting personalities to visit the town. The residents had no reason to regret Freddie Woods’ choice. Taking over from Dusty Fog, Beauregard had continued to uphold the high standards of honesty and fair dealing established by the Rio Hondo gun wizard in his brief term of office.

Without wasting time, the marshal set about his work. Indicating the body crumpled on the street, he asked, “You, Kid?”

“Me,” the Kid confirmed and picked up his rifle. “It seemed like a good thing to do at the time, seeing’s how he was set on shooting Calam here when I showed up and he tried to turn his gun on me.”

“Oh! Hey, Calamity,” Beauregard greeted, eyeing the girl from head to toe and adopting a tone that she had heard from more than one friend whom she had visited when he was employed as a peace officer. “You’re sure livening up my town.”

“I knowed it!” Calamity wailed, turning to the grave-faced lady mayor. “I just knowed I’d get the blame!”

An inch taller than Calamity, although looking more with her raven black hair taken up in an elegant pile on top of her head, Freddie Woods left the girl far behind in the beauty stakes. As always when attending to the affairs of mayor, or going about the town on business, Freddie wore a stylish black two-piece outfit that met with approval—and some envy—from even the most strait-laced of the “good” womenfolk. That her clothes showed off a magnificent figure could not be helped. The seamstress had yet to be born who could make clothes to conceal the curves with which nature had endowed the Right Honourable Lady Winifred Besgrave-Woodstole, to give her her full and correct title.

“They do call you ‘Calamity,’” Freddie pointed out, her accents upper-class British. “There must be a reason for it.”

“If there is,” Calamity sighed. “I sure never asked for it.”

Returning from the alley, breathing hard, the two cowhands stated that there had been no sign of Calamity’s assailants.

“Figured it’d be best to come back and leave the marshal do the going around and asking folks,” the shorter cowhand commented.

“Thanks,” Beauregard answered, accepting the words as a tribute. There were trail-end towns where Texas cowhands would not have credited the local peace officers with the desire or ability to perform such a duty. “What happened, Calamity?”

“It was that pair from the hotel,” the girl replied, touching her jaw gently.

“They come after you again?”

“Sure, Marshal. And, way I see it now, they was after me last night as well.”

“Can you ask Calamity the questions somewhere that she can sit down, Kail?” Freddie put in. “That must have been quite a crack one of them gave her.”

“Why sure,” Beauregard agreed. “I’m sorry, Calam. Walt, see to things here. Stan, Irv, take these two Texas gents with you and look for——”

“A big, heavy-set bastard with a brand new black hat, wolf-skin jacket, tartan shirt, black pants tucked into flat-heeled boots. His holster’s empty, but he’s got a gun in his waistband. Right hand’s bandaged and his eyes’re a mite bloodshot for some reason I wouldn’t know about,” Calamity continued for the marshal, bringing chuckles from the deputies who had heard of her actions the previous night. “The other’s a tall, lean Mexican, without a mustache. I’ll bet he’s walking a mite scrunched up, though.”

“How come?” asked the taller cowhand.

“I let him feel my knee-bone,” the girl answered.

“Where?” inquired one of the deputies.

For a moment Calamity was on the verge of telling him. Then she saw Freddie watching her and assumed an expression of innocence almost equaling the Kid’s.

“Let’s just say some place ’tween his neck and his knee,” she replied. “Happen you come across ’em, watch the Mex. He don’t need to pull his gun afore he starts to throw lead.”

At that moment Freddie and the Kid saw the tall, well-padded, excellently dressed figure of Counselor Talbot coming through the crowd. While Beauregard went to look at the loafer’s body, Freddie and the Kid intercepted the lawyer.

“Got a letter for you, Counselor,” the Kid greeted.

“May we use your chambers, Charles?” Freddie interrupted, and pointed to the girl. “The marshal wants to question Calamity and she has to come and see you.”

“ You do, young lady?” Talbot asked, looking puzzled as the girl joined them.

“Sure,” Calamity agreed. “I’m Martha Jane Canary, Counselor.” Reaching across with her right hand, she rubbed the material over the empty pocket. “Trouble being, I can’t come right out with any papers to prove it.”

Chapter 5 THE ANSWER IS IN HOLLICK CITY

“HOPE YOU DON’T MIND, FREDDIE,” THE KID SAID AS they followed Calamity, Beauregard and Talbot toward the lawyer’s office, “I left my hosses in your stable. I didn’t see nobody around to ask——”

“It’s all right,” Freddie smiled. “How soon will the herd be here?”

“A week, ten days, I’d say. Dusty sent me ahead with a letter from Ole Devil and I’ve been covering fifty miles a day to their fifteen to twenty.”

“It’s fortunate for Calamity that Dusty sent you. I was just coming to see Charles Talbot, with Kail and his deputies, when we heard the shots.”

“If you’ve all got business with him, along of Calam ’n’ me, he’s in for a right busy morning.”

“My business wasn’t all that urgent,” Freddie admitted, dropping her voice so that the others would not hear. “But I couldn’t resist the temptation to come. I’m rather intrigued by why Charles should want to see Calamity.”

“They do say all women-folk’s naturally nosy,” the Kid remarked with a grin.

“I’ll treat that remark with the contempt it deserves,” Freddie smiled, then became serious as Calamity’s words drifted back to them.

“I still reckon they’re the same pair’s tried to bust into my room last night, Kail!” the girl was insisting.

“You said that the big feller called his pard ‘Houghton,’” Beauregard objected. “That’s not a Mexican name.”

“Maybe he was shouting to that skinny-gutted cuss the Kid dropped,” Calamity suggested.

“Was he there? The dead feller, I mean.”

“If he was, I never saw him. It wasn’t him at the door, I’m sure of that. Should he’ve been there?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Beauregard admitted. “Looked him over, back there. His name’s ‘Smith,’ for what that proves. Been around town for a couple of months now. Never did a lick of work, but always seemed to have money. That sort of feller always interests me. Never heard him called ‘Houghton,’ or anything other than ‘Smith.’”