J. Edson - Ranch War

“Mr. Vandor tells me that you’re Miss Canary,” the blonde said, coming to a halt without mounting the sidewalk. “You don’t look like an Eastern girl.”

“Other folks’ve maybe made the same mistake,” Calamity answered.

“I’m Florence Eastfield. Can we talk?”

“I’ve heard you and I know I can. Go to it.”

“In private,” Florence suggested. “Perhaps in my buggy, over there?”

“Here’s private enough for me,” Calamity answered, glancing at the buggy and the four horses from out front of the Clipper saloon at the other side of the street. “Unless you’d like to come ’round some time tomorrow.”

“I have to go back to my sawmill tonight,” Florence gritted. Clearly she was not used to having people go against her wishes. “And my business with you is confidential.”

“Meaning I’d spread it around, Miss Eastfield?” Leckenby inquired mildly.

“Put any meaning you want to it, Sheriff,” Florence answered, darting a glance in the Kid’s direction. Her eyes were cold, hard, warning that she was used to having her own way.

“Maybe I’m not thinking of selling the Rafter C,” Calamity said.

“I can up any offer Tr—you’re made for it,” Florence answered, jerking her gaze back to the girl.

“Happen I want to sell, I’ll keep it in mind,” Calamity promised.

“Miss Canary!” Florence barked as the girl started to turn away. “I always get anything I set my heart on.”

“That’s a good habit,” Calamity answered. “I’m near on the same. I don’t let anybody take something that I want.”

“You want for me to stop her disrespecting you, Flo?” rumbled Olaf.

“Keep him back!” Leckenby ordered.

“Or?” Florence challenged.

Like a flash the Kid’s rifle swung its barrel downward and the foregrip slapped into the palm of his left hand. Held waist high, it pointed its muzzle directly at the giant’s head.

“If the sheriff don’t stop him, I will,” the dark young Texan promised.

“Stand still, Olaf,” Florence said and the man halted as if he had walked into a wall. “Are you standing for this, Sheriff?”

“Nope,” Leckenby replied. “That’s why I told you to keep him back.”

“This makes five times you’ve taken sides against me, Leckenby!” Florence hissed. “I’m getting tired of it.”

“You call it taking sides. I say I’m stopping your men making trouble,” the sheriff corrected, right hand pointing toward the Remington’s butt. “And it’ll be six, happen Torp don’t quick move his hand.”

Giving a guilty start, the smallest of the gunslingers let fall away the hand that had been creeping toward his gun.

“That’s better,” the Kid drawled. “You near on got a rifle ball in the head, hombre, ’n’ should thank the sheriff polite for saving you.”

“So, Miss Canary,” Florence purred. “You’ve brought in a hired gun to help you hang on to your property.”

“You want my ranch bad?” Calamity asked, facing the woman.

“I intend to have it!”

“All right, then. I’ll go get the deeds from the law-wrangler right now. Then you ’n’ me’ll go around to the Wells Fargo corral. Just us. Not my hired gun, nor your’n. And you can have them deeds—if you can take ’em offen me.”

A small crowd had gathered, hovering in the background and taking in every word. Calamity’s suggestion brought a muted, but still audible rumble of excited and anticipatory comment from the audience. For a moment Calamity thought that Florence aimed to take up the challenge. Clenching her fists, the blonde studied Calamity with hate-filled eyes. Then, slowly, Florence let her hands drop to her sides.

“I’m a businesswoman, not some cat-house tail-peddler,” the blonde sniffed. “I’ll give you——”

“I’ve told you the price for my ranch,” Calamity cut in flatly. “That you, just you, take it off me.”

Again talk welled up among the onlookers. Swinging around, Florence glared at the assembled people. When she swung back toward the trio on the sidewalk, her face showed rage and determination.

“You’ve had my last offer, Canary,” the blonde declared. “And you, Leckenby, this county’s not big enough to hold me and anybody who’s against me.”

“Was that what you sent Otón ’n’ Job to tell me?” Calamity inquired.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Florence spat and spun on her heel. “Let’s go, men.”

“I’m right sorry to’ve brought fuss on you, Sheriff,” Calamity said, watching Florence board the buggy and drive off accompanied by the four men.

“It’d’ve come sooner or later,” Leckenby replied, holding his voice down so that the words would not reach the crowd. “When she says I’m again’ her, she’s close to being right.”

“A man like you’d have to have a better reason than just friendship for taking sides,” the Kid commented.

“I figure I’ve got ’em,” Leckenby answered, pleasure at the compliment mingling with the sober gravity on his face. “Soon after they got here, I met up with the boss of the crew’s built the sawmill. He was a drinking man’s liked to talk; which I’ve allus been a good listener, especially when it’s something’s affects my county. He told me’s how the Eastfield family’d got a real big contract to cut timber and deliver it to Burwell.”

“There’s plenty of timber on the hills,” drawled the Kid. “And it’d bring money into the county.”

“Did you ever see a hill range after all its timber’d been cut?” the sheriff asked, leading Calamity and the Kid along the sidewalk and watching the crowd disperse.

“Can’t say I have,” the Kid admitted and Calamity shook her head.

“It’s ruined,” Leckenby stated vehemently. “With all the big trees gone, there’s nothing to shelter what small stuff the loggers haven’t bust down or trampled underfoot. So it dies off. Then the rains wash away the soil, ’cause there’s nothing to hold it. That makes the rivers ’n’ streams into mudholes that fish can’t live in nor cattle drink out of. I’ve seen it happen, Kid, Calamity. That’s what she’ll bring here, unless she’s stopped.”

“Is it that bad?” Calamity asked.

“It is,” Leckenby replied. “To fill her contract, she won’t leave a tree standing the length of those hills.”

“With something like that on hand,” drawled the Kid, “why in hell does she want Calamity’s land?”

“I don’t know,” the sheriff answered. “Maybe Orde Endicott can tell you. Only we’ll get you settled in at my place afore we go to see him.”

Chapter 12 OLAF’LL BREAK HIM IN TWO

BEING MARRIED TO A PEACE OFFICER FOR SEVERAL years had accustomed Millie Leckenby to surprises. So the plump, cheerful-looking woman showed no concern at learning she would have two visitors for the night. She did not even seem put out at the sight of Calamity’s unconventional attire. There was only one spare room at the small house, but the Kid said that he would be all right in the stable. While hospitable, Mrs. Leckenby did not look as if she would condone bundling, even with the use of a virtue-saving pine-board. Telling the sheriff to help the youngsters stable their horses, she went to make up a bed for Calamity.

“Florence Eastfield’s face when you offered to fight her for the deeds,” Leckenby chuckled, as they walked inside the barn. “What’d you’ve done if she’d called your bluff?”

“I wasn’t bluffing,” Calamity replied calmly. “Shucks, I one time licked a gal’s claimed to be the female fist-fighting champeen of the world.”*

“How’d you do that?” the sheriff asked, still grinning.