J. Edson - Ranch War

“Let’s go back and leave the sheriff tend to things, boys,” Vandor said. “That’s what he’s paid for. Ruiz and Job Hogue quit working for the boss a fair piece back. It ain’t likely they’d still be around here.”

Turning, the three men were about to walk about. Olaf never moved, but stood staring with unwinking eyes at the Kid. Not until Vandor spoke, telling him to come, did the giant turn and follow his companions.

“That was a mean-looking cuss,” Calamity breathed, following the Kid into the sheriff’s office.

“I’ve asked Miss Eastfield to keep him out of town,” Leckenby replied, closing the door and indicating the chairs at one side of his desk. While his visitors sat down, he walked to the other side. “She reckons he’s harmless as long as nobody bothers him. He is, as long as her or Vandor’s around to keep him that way.”

“Feller wasn’t doing his work too good,” the Kid said quietly. “One more step ’n’ I’d’ve stopped him.”

“So you’re Howie Canary’s lil gal from back East,” Leckenby remarked, letting the Kid’s comment go by and sitting down.

“I don’t reckon pappy knowed where I was at. He wasn’t much for writing home, even if we’d’ve been there to get letters. Folks got to calling me ‘Calamity Jane’ that much I sorta of stopped using my real name.”

“Calamity Jane, huh. You drive for Alvin Killem, don’t you?”

“Dunno about the ‘Alvin’ part, Sheriff,” Calamity grinned. “Most folks call him ‘Dobe,’ ’cause he don’t cotton to them saying ‘Cecil.’”

“Is that ole Dobe’s for-real name?” the Kid asked.

“Yep,” the girl confirmed. “Only don’t you let him know I told you.”

“I know Calamity’s name, Texas,” the sheriff hinted, satisfied by her knowledge that she worked for Dobe Killem.

“Loncey Dalton Ysabel,” the Kid supplied.

“Known as the Ysabel Kid?” Leckenby asked.

“Among other things,” Calamity sniffed.

“We might’s well tell you the truth, Sheriff,” the Kid said, pulling the kepi down over the girl’s eyes. “We didn’t exactly find them hosses straying.”

“How did you come by ’em?”

“We killed the two fellers who owned them.”

Hooking his right boot on to the desk top, Leckenby gazed for a moment at the two young faces. Then he suggested, “Maybe you’d best do some explaining.”

“They’d tried to kill Calam twice in Mulrooney, set Spatz’s bunch on to us down by the Sappa, then come back in the night to have another go. By that time, I sort of figured they should be discouraged afore they got two real nice folks hurt.”

“I’m still listening,” Leckenby prompted.

Starting with her reason for being in Mulrooney, Calamity told about the two attempts on her life and the theft of her credentials. Then the Kid took up the story and held nothing back, not even the fact that they had laid a trap for the two men.

“You’d got a good reason,” Leckenby ruled, after the Kid had explained why they had made the decision. “Mind if I see them papers, Miss Canary?”

In addition to her own documents, Calamity handed over a letter which Lawyer Talbot had written before they left Mulrooney. It told how she had been robbed, but that Talbot was satisfied with her identity. Returning the papers, the sheriff seemed on the verge of asking a question. Apparently he decided against it, for he let out a chuckle.

“I mind how your pappy got the Rafter C, Calamity. Howie come to town with nothing but a hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of wolf-skins. Got the money for ’em and started gambling. He hit the damnedest streak of luck I’ve ever seen. Couldn’t put a foot wrong. Wound up in a poker game with some fellers, including old Coltsal’s owned the spread. Coltsal was fixing to sell out ’n’ retire and put up the deeds against five thousand dollars on what he figured to be a winning hand. Only it warn’t. Not that he was bothered, he’d enough money to last him the rest of his days.”

“What happened to Paw after he’d won the game?” Calamity asked.

“He got word of a gold-strike some place and lit out to stake him a claim on it. Before he went, he had the title to the spread turned over in your name so’s he wouldn’t lose it same way’s he got it,” Leckenby replied, then after a slight pause, went on, “What’re you fixing to do with it?”

“Could be those two hombres ’d been hired to decide that for her,” the Kid put in.

“How’d you mean?” Leckenby asked.

“Getting her killed ’n’ stealing her papers’d be a good way of stopping her taking over the spread.”

“And?”

“Them folks living out there’d strike some’s having a real good reason for wanting that.”

“Not Cash Trinian!” Leckenby barked, starting to rise angrily.

“Don’t let him rawhide you, Sheriff,” Calamity said with a grin. “He don’t mean half he says and the other half’s not worth listening to.”

“Cash Trinian’s my friend,” the sheriff growled, sitting down.

“How about that Eastfield gal?” Calamity asked. “Seems like them two jaspers used to work for her.”

“And them fellers outside looked like they’d heard tell of Martha Jane Canary when we let her name slip out accidental-like,” the Kid continued. “What do you know about her, Sheriff?”

“Not a whole heap,” the sheriff admitted. “She’s had a sawmill built in the hills on the Loup. It’s in the county, but I’ve never had call to go out there.”

“You don’t like her,” the Kid guessed.

“I won’t play poker with you,” Leckenby grinned. “Nope, I can’t say’s I’m took with her. There’s an owning-look in her eyes, like anything she don’t own, she intends to eventual. Could be my imagination.”

“Corey-Mae telled me that Eastfield wants to buy the Rafter C,” Calamity told the peace officer. “And, afore you ask, she don’t know I’m who I am.”

“That was my idea,” the Kid went on. “Those two hombres was bringing Calam’s papers to somebody up here and I figured it’d be safer not to say who she is until we knowed for sure who was sat where in the game.”

“Nobody can blame you for that,” Leckenby replied. “What’re you figuring on doing now, Calam?”

“Do you want for us to do something special?” the girl asked.

“Stay around town until morning,” the sheriff replied. “I believe you, but I aim to telegraph Marshal Beauregard and ask about it. My star’s one of the things Miss Eastfield’s got her owning look on and I don’t aim to give her any chance to get it by reckoning I’m not handling my work right.”

“We’ll play it your way,” the Kid stated and Calamity nodded agreement. “We can go and see Lawyer Endicott tonight and save time, Calam.”

“Spend the night at my house, if you like,” the sheriff offered. “Millie ’n’ me like company. You can put up your hosses at my barn.”

“That’s good of you,” Calamity smiled.

“Smart, too,” grinned Leckenby. “Then I can say, if anybody asks, I’m holding on to you until I’ve checked out what you’ve told me about the two hosses you found straying.”

Coming to his feet, Leckenby led the way to the door. He opened it and let the other two out ahead of him. On the sidewalk, the Kid came to a halt and looked across the street.

“That’s Miss Eastfield,” the sheriff said, following the direction of the Kid’s gaze.

“Figures,” the Texan answered, swinging up his Winchester to rest its barrel on his right shoulder, “company she’s keeping.”

Calamity studied the woman who was walking across the street followed by the four men. About thirty-five years of age, she had a buxom, medium-sized figure that looked firm and hard, not fat. Two bunches of blonde hair showed from under the Stetson on her head. Her face was good-looking, if not beautiful, but had a hard set to its features. She wore a white shirt-waist, black bolero jacket, doeskin divided skirt and calf-long riding boots.