J. Edson - Ranch War

Unfortunately for him, Calamity was nowhere near so unsuspecting as Misery fondly imagined. Having seen the trio making for the forge, she had expected trouble. When Misery left his companions, she figured that she had called the play correctly. She also decided that the Kid might need help and reckoned that she could supply it, after she had handed her mournful-featured assailant the shock of his life.

Having turned her head to the front before any of the trio became aware that she had seen them, Calamity listened to Misery’s footsteps approaching. Undetected by the lanky man, she slipped the whip’s handle from its belt loop and loosened the lash ready for use.

“If I’m doing you wrong, I’ll say ‘sorry’ most humble,” Calamity thought. “If I ain’t, you’re asking for all you’re going to get, you scrawny, miserable-looking son-of-a-bitch.”

With that, Calamity started to pivot around in Misery’s direction. One glance told her that she had gauged the sound of his feet correctly. He was within range of her whip. Shock twisted at Misery’s face as he realized that he had been detected. Before he could decide on what action to take, Calamity made her move.

On the off-chance that the men might not have evil intentions, Calamity had decided not to make the whip perform at its most lethal potential. Using her turning momentum to extend the long lash, she swung her right arm sideways, to the rear and snapped it forward. Almost as if it possessed a will of its own, the lash followed the movement. It curled through the air parallel to the ground in the direction of the lean man. Hard-plaited leather wrapped around Misery’s forward ankle while the foot was still in the air. Even through his boot, he felt the crushing pressure of its hold.

Bracing her feet, Calamity gave a jerk on the whip. She caused Misery to hop on his other foot in an attempt to keep his balance. Darting toward him, she slid her hand to the upper end of the handle. As she came into range, before the man had recovered his equilibrium, she crashed the loaded butt of the handle against the side of his jaw. The force of the blow snapped his head sideways and he collapsed as if he had been pole-axed. Calamity threw a look at the forge, from which the sounds of strife had warned that her suspicions were correct. What she saw caused her to drop the whip, spin around and race toward the horses.

Hearing the sound of Masters approaching from the rear, the Kid prepared to meet the danger. He had not heard any disturbance from Calamity’s direction, but hoped the girl could take care of herself until he could give her some help. In turning to meet his attacker, the Kid thrust his right leg to the rear and bent his left knee. At the same time, he bowed his torso forward and crouched with such speed that he took Masters by surprise.

Despite seeing his proposed victim’s movements, the wrangler could not halt his attack. The pick-handle swung around and whistled above the Kid’s head. Driving himself forward with the abrupt, instantaneous impetus shown by a cougar making an attack, the Texan locked his arms around the top of Masters’ thighs. Straightening up, the Kid raised the unbalanced, amazed man from the ground and heaved him over. The moment he released Masters, the Kid lunged forward and started to swing around.

In falling, Masters rammed his head against the floor of the forge, and the hard-packed earth came off better from the encounter. The wrangler crumpled and landed almost at the feet of the charging blacksmith. Distracted by the sight of Calamity effectively coping with Misery, Tully belatedly tried to leap over his companion. Instead, his forward foot caught against Masters’ body and he stumbled as he landed. Big hands reaching for a hold, the blacksmith blundered toward the Kid. Jumping aside, the Kid caused the hands to miss. As Tully went by, the Kid drove a kick into his rump, which increased his speed.

During his evasion of Tully’s attack, the Kid had approached the anvil. Tully continued across the forge at a fast clip, but managed to hook his left arm around one of the roof’s support-posts. Using it to turn him, he started to charge again. The Kid wanted to end the matter swiftly, in case Calamity needed his assistance. Nearby lay the means by which he could do so. Scooping up the turning hammer from the anvil, he was reminded of Pehnane war-clubs he had seen and handled as a boy. Like a flash, he hurled the hammer as he had been taught by Grandpappy Long Walker. Flying across the forge, its head struck Tully between the eyes. Halted in his tracks, the blacksmith buckled at the knees and sprawled face down on the floor.

With the hammer thrown and its results observed, the Kid swiftly looked around. Tully no longer posed any threat and Masters lay where he had fallen. About to swing toward the river, a movement caught the corner of the Kid’s eye. Turning his head, he saw a portly, bald man running from the rear door of the main building. Wearing a collarless shirt, fancy vest, town suit and boots, he fit the description Goff had given of Agent Spatz. Which interested the Kid far less than the fact that the newcomer carried a double-barreled shotgun. Finding his presence had been detected, Spatz skidded to a halt and began to raise the weapon.

Right hand turning palm-out and fanging down to close about the Dragoon’s butt, the Kid vaulted over the anvil. It would not be large enough to offer him shelter from the shotgun’s spreading pattern of balls. Ahead was the pile of rubbish from which the pick-handle had come. It was of sufficient size and quality to give him protection—if he could reach it in time. At that range, Spatz would be unlikely to miss with a charge of buckshot. The chance had to be taken. To stay put would mean almost certain death. Bringing the Dragoon from leather, the Kid threw himself across the open space between the anvil and the pile of rubbish.

Calamity had also seen Spatz appear and knew that she could not handle the situation with her whip. Letting it fall, she darted to the horses and snatched her Winchester carbine from its saddle-boot. Swiveling around, she advanced three strides. Then she knew that she must stop moving and start shooting. Dropping her right knee to the ground, she adopted a firing position as fast as she had ever made it. Taking sight, she squeezed the trigger.

With his shotgun starting to line on the Kid, Spatz found the arrival of Calamity’s bullet very disconcerting. Dirt erupted between his feet, causing him to jerk hurriedly backward and press both triggers of his weapon. Bellowing like a cannon, the twin tubes discharged their loads. They had lifted when their user made his involuntary retreat, so the eighteen buckshot balls plowed into the roof of the forge. In his surprise, Spatz had relaxed his grip on the gun. So the recoil hurled the butt against his shoulder with numbing force. Letting out a screech of pain, he released and dropped the weapon.

Landing belly-down behind the heap of rubbish, the Kid heard the whip-like crack of Calamity’s carbine mingle with the boom from the shotgun and the buckshot’s impact on the roof over his head. Raising himself until he could see over the cover, he slanted the Dragoon in Spatz’s direction.

The agent stood with an expression of pain and shock on his face. It changed to raw fear as he turned his head and located Calamity. Already the girl’s right hand had returned the loading lever to its closed position. As his eyes focused on her, she laid her sights at his expansive stomach with cold deliberation.

“Make a move and you’re dead!” Calamity yelled.

“If she don’t get you, I will,” promised the Kid.

Finding himself covered by two weapons in obviously capable hands, and with his full working staff sprawled unconscious on the ground, Spatz knew there could be only one course left open to him. Surrender and hope to talk himself out of the reprisals his would-be victims might be considering taking against him.