J. Edson - Ranch War

Instantly the Kid halted his stallion, the rifle lifting slightly from its place across his upper thighs. Behind him, Calamity brought the other horses to a stop. Her right hand moved toward the butt of the Navy Colt, but she knew that her main task in the event of shooting would be to control the animals.

The shotgun’s barrels retreated into the building and after a moment a man walked out. While tall, his lean build, white hair, bib-overalls and moccasins proved that he was not one of Calamity’s attackers. Coming to a halt on the edge of the porch, he thumb-hooked his hands into his belt. It appeared that he trusted the new arrivals, for he no longer held the shotgun—assuming that it had been him who had allowed it to show.

“Howdy,” greeted the Kid, slouching apparently at ease but ready to burst into sudden, violent motion should the need arise.

Slowly the old man shifted a wad of tobacco into his left cheek and cut loose with a spurt of juice. His eyes took in every detail of the newcomers’ appearance, resting for a moment on the rifle held with such deceptive negligence in the Kid’s hands.

“Light ’n’ rest your saddles,” the man offered.

“ Gracias, ” drawled the Kid, dismounting without looking at Calamity. “Can we bed the hosses down in the stable tonight?”

“Feel free,” the old-timer answered. “It’s empty right now.”

“Nobody staying with you?” Calamity asked.

“Nope. Was you expecting somebody?”

Remembering what Beauregard had said about The Outfit making use of Wells Fargo employees—without the Company’s knowledge or consent—as gatherers of information and message-carriers, the Kid decided against taking chances.

“Can’t say ‘yes’ to that,” he answered, giving Calamity no time to speak. “Not ’less it’s the gal’s pappy. He don’t cotton to having me for a son-in-law.”

“There’s some’d say the feller’d right good taste,” the old-timer sniffed and turned his attention to the girl. “Only I never knowed you’d got a pappy, Calam.”

“You figure maybe I was left under the blueberry bushes by the fairies, you wored-out ole goat?” Calamity demanded, walking forward. “Lon, meet Deke Goff. Not that he’s worth meeting. Deke, this here’s the Ysabel Kid, and I’m right ashamed to be seed in his company.”

“Why in hell didn’t you say you knowed the gent?” growled the Kid, after booting his rifle and shaking hands with the grinning old man.

“I just naturally loves to see a smart yahoo like you make a fool of hisself is why,” Calamity answered. “As if a sweet-looking, lovable gal like me’d marry up with a mean, ornery Pehnane varmint like you.”

“I might’ve been took in, Kid,” Goff commented. “Only I mind you from when you was a deputy in Mulrooney. So I reckoned anybody Cap’n Fog’d pin a tin star on’d be too smart to marry a freight-hauling she-male with a temp——”

“Damned if you men don’t all hang together!” Calamity yelped. “And should. There’s not one of you to improve on the rest. Come on, hosses, let’s leave ’em.”

Leading the way to the open doors of the barn, Goff looked over his shoulder and said, “Way you pair rid up, Kid, I’d say you was expecting somebody.”

“Two of ’em,” the Kid confirmed, knowing now that he could trust the old man. So he described Calamity’s attackers for Goff’s benefit.

“Does the Mex ride a fancy light red roan, with a white belly?” asked the old man. “What they call sabino, or some such.”

“That’s what they call ’em,” agreed the Kid. “Only we don’t know what sort of hosses him and his pard’s riding. Have they been through here today?”

“T’other feller’s riding a light bay with a white blaze down its face and a white off fore-leg,” Goff remarked, stepping aside inside the barn and indicating the empty stalls. “Take any you want. Come by maybe ten days back, headed for Mulrooney. The Mex had a misplaced eyebrow then, but not when he come back this afternoon, going north again. Would there be some special reason you’re asking about ’em?”

“They jumped me in town this morning and wide-looped a letter I was carrying,” Calamity informed him.

“Must’ve been a mighty important letter for ’em to tangle with you pair to get it,” Goff commented.

“I wasn’t with her when it happened,” the Kid explained. “How long is it since they went by?”

“Maybe three, four hours. They stopped off for a meal and lit out soon’s I’d fed ’em. Mex was walking kinda stiff, like he’d got him a sore crotch.”

“I was hoping he’d have one,” Calamity enthused, delighted that one of her attackers still felt the effects of her efforts. “’Cause I sure tried to get him that way.”

“Being a gent born ’n’ raised, I ain’t going to ask what that means,” Goff stated. “I thought they was watching their back trail kind of careful. The rest of the boys being in Mulrooney for the day, I didn’t ask ’em about it. Tell you one thing, was you to ask.”

“We’re asking,” Calamity sighed, looking at the roof as if searching for divine assistance.

“They’ll not be traveling too fast.”

“How come?” asked the Kid.

“The big feller’s hoss looked ready to throw a shoe,” Goff explained. “Can’t get it fixed afore he reaches the way station at the joining of the Sappa ’n’ Beaver Creeks over in Nebrasky. And I’d be tolerable surprised if it got him that far.”

All the time they had been talking, the old-timer was helping Calamity and the Kid to place their horses in the stalls and attend to the animals’ needs. Going on with the work, he confirmed that the big man’s name was “Job,” while the Mexican answered to “Otón,” although no surnames had been used.

“Unsociable pair,” Goff grunted. “Reckon you can finish off while I go tend to supper?”

“We’ll try,” promised the Kid.

“What’ll we do about them?” Calamity inquired as Goff left the barn.

“Do you reckon we should’ve kept on’s soon’s we heard they’d been here?”

“Nope. It’ll be dark soon, long afore we could catch up with ’em anyways. And I don’t figure they’ll make camp where we could easy find ’em.”

“I never knowed you used your head ’cept as a place to hang that beat-up blue-belly’s hat on,” the Kid told her admiringly.

“You want for me to tell you what I’ve allus heard about you?” Calamity asked.

“Couldn’t be anything but goodness, so go to it.”

They had finished with their last horse and stood face-to-face outside the stalls. Watching Calamity suck in a deep breath ready to blast him with profanity, the Kid grinned. No matter how their journey to Hollick turned out, he was in mighty stimulating company to make it.

“Anyways,” the Kid went on, giving her no time to launch her tirade, “I reckon we should spend the night here and move on with the hosses rested comes morning. What Deke told us, they figure on being followed. I’d say that that Otón hombre for one’d have some smart notions about how to stop whoever’s doing the following.”

“Do you know him?”

“Can’t say I do. I didn’t see him close enough up for that. But I know his kind, Calam gal. They’re tricky, hawg-mean and deadly as a stick-teased diamondback.”

Listening to the quietly spoken words, Calamity put aside her intention of pouring invective on the Kid’s head. The warning had been given by a man who knew full well what he was talking about. So she realized just how dangerous the journey to Hollick might turn out.

Satisfied that their horses wanted for nothing, Calamity and the Kid left the stable. They had placed their saddles on the inverted V-shaped wooden “burro” supplied for that purpose, but took their Winchesters with them. Going across to the big house, they entered to find its center front room deserted. After a moment, Goff appeared through the door leading into the telegraph office.