J. Edson - Ranch War

Sick anxiety filled the agent as he massaged his numb, aching right shoulder. On learning what he had wanted them to do, his men had stated that they would not go up against that alert, proddy-looking Texan with guns. So Spatz had persuaded them that they could take the visitors with their bare hands. In fact, he had told them, their victims would be less likely to expect trouble from unarmed men.

Studying the cold, Comanche-mean features of the Ysabel Kid as he rose from behind the rubbish heap, Spatz felt his anxiety increase rapidly. The agent began to wish that he had never listened to the suggestions of his previous pair of visitors, or taken their money to prevent the girl and the Texan following them.

Deciding that the Kid could deal with the agent, Calamity came to her feet. She looked at the horses, wanting to make sure that they had not been disturbed by the shooting. Satisfied on that score, she tucked the carbine on the crook of her right arm and walked to where Misery lay. Removing her whip from his ankle, she strolled toward the forge, coiling its lash.

“You all right, Lon?” she asked, returning the handle to its belt loop.

“Well enough,” the Kid replied, joining her. “You?”

“He never come close. What’s it all about, Lon?”

“We’ve got the feller here’s can tell us,” the Kid answered, nodding to Spatz. “The lady asked a polite question, hombre. Why’d your hired help jump us?”

“This here’s the Ysabel Kid, fatso,” Calamity warned. “He don’t look it, but he’s got him a real mean temper when he’s lied to.”

Spatz might have disputed the statement about how the Kid looked. Instead he stared at the Indian-dark Texan and croaked, “The Ysabel Kid?”

“That’s me,” the Kid admitted. “And, seeing’s how we’re getting so all-fired friendly, this’s Calamity Jane. I bet Otón ’n’ Job never told you who we was.”

“They sure as hell didn’t!” Spatz agreed indignantly.

“Then what’d they tell you to make you try ’n’ jump us?” Calamity demanded.

“My men’re hur——!” Spatz began.

The words ended abruptly as the Kid’s left hand laid hold of their speaker’s shirt-front and hauled him forward. The Dragoon’s muzzle bored hard into Spatz’s belly and a savage face came close to the agent’s perspiring, frightened features.

“They won’t be the only ones that way,” warned the Kid, “happen I don’t real quick get some answers.”

“Hey! Easy there, Kid!” Spatz yelped placatingly as the Texan thrust him away. “Them two fellers come here. Allowed they’d been to Mulrooney and the greaser’d killed a feller who was trying to pull the badger game on him. Reckoned the dead feller’s gal ’n’ brother was gunning for ’em.”

“And you thought we was them?” Calamity finished for him.

“I didn’t know. That’s what I sent the boys out to ask. Only I ought to’ve remembered——”

“About what?” prompted the Kid, holstering his Colt.

“I ought to’ve thought. Tully don’t cotton to Texans. Anyways, when I saw them jump you, I come right out to stop them.”

“I just bet you did,” drawled the Kid. “Who were those two fellers?”

“I’ve never seen ’em afore,” Spatz replied.

“Not even in Hollick City?” asked the Kid.

“I don’t often go up there. Mulrooney’s a whole heap livelier.”

“How about that telegraph message they got?”

“Hey!” Spatz ejaculated. “It was right after I give it to ’em that they told me about the trouble in Mulrooney. They must’ve knowed you was coming, Kid, and slickered me into helping ’em.”

“Why sure!” snorted Calamity. “I’ll just bet that’s what they did.”

“And me,” the Kid agreed mildly. “Only I’m wondering if ole Jim Hume’ll see it that way.”

“Ji——!” Spatz gasped. “You know Mr. Hume?”

“Well enough,” the Kid replied. “I’m a deputy, special hired by the folks of Mulrooney, so I’m wanting help from you, hombre. ”

Spatz gulped, knowing how long he would continue to hold his lucrative position after Wells Fargo’s head trouble-shooter heard of his activities. Even if the Kid was not so well-acquainted as he claimed with Jim Hume, the mayor of Mulrooney knew him. Freddie Woods was noted for the backing she gave to her town’s peace officers. The agent decided that cooperation was his only hope of remaining in employment. So he forced a friendly smile.

“What do you want to know, Kid?”

“When’d they pull out?”

“Be just after noon, I’d say. Right after Tully’d fitted a new shoe on the white feller’s hoss.”

“Do they work for The Outfit?”

“Not any mo——I don’t know what outfit you mean, Kid.”

“Let’s go, Calam,” the Kid growled, sensing that he would learn nothing more from the man.

“Er—Kid,” Spatz said. “I was going to stop them——”

“Sure you was,” the Kid replied. “And I won’t say nothing about it to Jim——Happen you don’t telegraph ahead about that white stallion and red mare coming. I’m not partial to being talked about that way.”

“Or me!” Calamity yelped, realizing what the Kid meant. “Red mare!”

“I wouldn’t do that, Kid!” Spatz whined. “You can count on it.”

Turning their backs on the frightened agent, Calamity and the Kid went by the forge to collect their horses. Neither of them looked around as they rode across the ford. On dry ground once more, the girl let out a snort of disgust.

“Do you reckon that they spun him a windy like he told us?” she asked. “And he believed it?”

“Nope. He thought it up real quick as an excuse for what his bunch’d tried to do.”

“And we’re going to let him get away with it that easy?”

“You want for me to go back ’n’ scalp him, ears ’n’ all?” grinned the Kid. “’Cause apart from that, or burning down the station comes nightfall—which Jim Hume’d reckon was damage to Company property—there ain’t a whole heap’s we can do.”

Giving her companion a cold glare that bounced right off him, Calamity scanned the range ahead.

“They’ve got about a three-hour start on us, Lon. Like you said, we’re making better time than they are.”

“Sure enough are, gal.”

“And one of ’em’s likely got my letter.”

“Likely,” agreed the Kid, glancing up at the sky. “Only we’ll not catch up with ’em today. Won’t’ve reached another way station before dark, neither.”

“So I’ve used the ground for a mattress and the sky for a roof afore now.”

“I ain’t gainsaying it. Only when we make camp, it’ll be without a fire. Just in case them two pelados figure Spatz’s bunch didn’t stop us and come back to do it personal.”

“Would having ’em come back looking for us be so bad?” Calamity asked.

“Not’s long’s we knowed they was likely to do it,” admitted the Kid. “Which’s why I reckon we shouldn’t take chances tonight.”

“You’re the boss,” Calamity conceded.

“Then why’m I leading the pack-hoss?” asked the Kid.

Chapter 8 WE’LL TAKE THEM WHILE THEY SLEEP

OTÓN RUIZ FELT UNEASY AS HE RODE WITH JOB Hogue into the woods beyond the Silvers’ way station on the Platte River. Turning in his saddle, he looked back at the buildings.

“Hijo de puta!” the Mexican spat out, reining his sabino around.

Wondering what had disturbed his companion, Hogue swung his bay to face in the direction from which they had come. He stared back across the half a mile that separated them from the buildings. At first he could detect nothing to have brought about the other man’s actions. Then he looked beyond the way station and felt relieved by the fact that the trees and undergrowth flanking the trail hid them from the buildings and the ford behind them. Letting out an Anglo-Saxon curse even viler than his companion’s Spanish comment, Hogue turned his eyes to the other’s face. Ruiz was grinning in a faintly mocking manner.