J. Edson - Ranch War

“Stay put, Sam!” Leathers growled and the dog sank back to the crouching position that it had been on the point of leaving on hearing the Texan’s words. “Feller that sneaky’s likely to blow your bead off if you start gnawing on his arm.”

“Only if he goes higher’n the elbow,” the Kid corrected, walking toward the tree. “You out a-courting this late, friend?”

“Courting’s for young sprout’s hasn’t l’arned better sense,” Leathers answered, feeling admiration at the way he had been tricked. Concentrating on the approaching stallion, both he and the bluetick had failed to see or hear its rider quit the saddle and take up his present position. “I’m out coon-hunting.”

“With that relic?” the Kid scoffed, taking his right hand from the rifle to jerk a derisive thumb in the direction of the old-timer’s highly prized Spencer. It was also a gesture of peace, for the Kid had removed the hand that would be needed to fire the Winchester.

“When I shoots ’em,” Leathers replied, lowering the .52-caliber Spencer, “I aims to see’s they stops shot. What’s up in town, young feller?”

“Day Leckenby got shot tonight.”

“The hell he did! Who done it?”

“One of the sawmill bunch. Sheriff asked for us to come and tell Cash Trinian.”

“Figures,” Leathers growled. “Cash was a damned good deputy. Get your hoss ’n’ ride on, I’ll catch up to you along the track. My hoss’s hid in a hollow out there.”

When Leathers joined him, riding a leggy dun gelding, the Kid explained why he had not come at a faster pace. Then they continued to ride in the direction of the ranch-house. On arrival, they left their horses before the building and went across the front porch. Leathers knocked on the door of the darkened building and, after a moment, a light glowed in one of the windows. Raising the window, Trinian looked out. Telling the men to wait, he disappeared. A minute or so ticked by, then the window went dark and the parlor was illuminated. The door opened and Trinian stood at it, barefoot and with his night-shirt tucked hit-and-miss into his pants. Beyond him, wearing a night-cap and with a robe over her nightgown, Corey-Mae looked worriedly across the room.

“Oh. It’s you,” Trinian growled ungraciously, letting the Kid and Leathers enter, directing his words at the Texan. “You was a mite cagey last time you called. Didn’t hit us until after you’d gone, but Endicott’s law-wrangling pard lived in Mulrooney and Calamity Jane ’n’ the Canary gal’s got one name the same.”

“Calam’s Martha Jane Canary all right,” the Kid admitted. “Only we didn’t find them two hosses straying. We’d had to gun down their owners to stop ’em killing us. Thing like that happens, it makes a man careful. And you didn’t act any too sociable when we rode up.”

“We’d got our reasons——!” Trinian began hotly.

“Why have you come, Kid?” Corey-Mae interrupted.

“Day Leckenby got tricked out of town tonight,” the Kid replied. “He was bushwhacked, but got back wounded. It was done so that the Eastfield gal’s guns could sic that Olaf hombre on to me safe-like.”

“Only they didn’t sic him on to you, looks like,” Trinian growled.

“The hell they didn’t!” snapped the Kid, temper starting to rise. “I had to fan two forty-four balls into him to sort of cool him out of the notion. Calamity helped some——”

“What’s happened to Day Leckenby?” Corey-Mae cut in. “That’s the important thing right now.”

“He’s hit bad. Sent me to fetch your husband in,” the Kid supplied.

“To help him,” Trinian demanded, “or you?”

“Cash!” Corey-Mae gasped.

“Him, mister. Your friend!” the Kid replied. “I’ve got all the helping I need on my belt and in my saddle-boot.”

“Just a minute, Kid!” Corey-Mae snapped, advancing across the room with bare feet making determined slaps on the floor. “Now both of you stop behaving like stupid boys and start acting like grown men! I’m ashamed of you, Cash Trinian. And you’re no better than he is, Lon Ysabel. Sit at that table, both of you!”

There was something commanding and impressive about the way the woman glared at the two abashed men. Under her cold scrutiny, they took seats facing each other across the table. Placing herself in a chair between them, she looked from her husband to the Kid.

“Men!” Corey-Mae snorted. “I guessed who Calamity was while we were making the meal. But when the same notion finally struck Cash, he wanted to charge into town for a showdown. I thought that I’d talked him into enough sense to wait until morning and go in to ask what Calamity intends to do with the ranch. One thing I know. Whatever she decides, it will be a fair decision and not based on who rode with what damned stupid outfit in the War.”

“You can count on Calam for that, ma’am,” the Kid admitted,

“If she was a man I’d not be so sure!” Corey-Mae answered, eyeing the men coldly. “Day Leckenby’s your friend, Cash. And I’d say you like him, Kid. Even if you don’t, it was because of you, and Calamity, that he was shot. But instead of deciding how the hell you can best help him, you’re both thinking of who rode in what damned color uniform.”

Looking at the Kid, Trinian found the same contrition he himself felt. They each realized that their hostility stemmed from the War rather than any actual difference at that moment.

“You’re right, ma’am,” the Kid stated. “And I’m sorry for how I behaved under your roof.”

“So you should be, making me use cuss-words that way,” Corey-Mae smiled. “And Cash is as much to blame as you. When we saw you coming with the sabino, he had the kind of idea only a man could think up. It was a sneaky play by Eastfield. You’d been sent to sell us the horses cheap, then she could bring up a charge of buying stolen property. That’s why we acted the way we did when you arrived.”

“I know Calam’s got a sneaky, shifty look about her,” the Kid grinned. “But everybody with good taste tells me I’ve got a right honest face. How about it, Cash, are you coming in with me?”

“Yeah——!” Trinian said, starting to rise.

“There you go again!” Corey-Mae sighed. “Cash’s been hard at work all day, and you look like you’ve not slept properly for longer than’s good for you, Kid. But you still think you can charge back to town and be of help.”

“Well, ma’am——” the Kid began.

“Florence Eastfield had how many men the last time you went up there, Leathers?” Corey-Mae asked.

“Eight at most,” the old-timer answered. “So, happen she’s not got more in since yesterday, that ain’t a whole heap to go up against the town.”

“If I know Doc Goldberg and those other hunting and poker-playing reprobates,” the woman said, “they’ll be around Day Leckenby’s house armed to the teeth and all set to lick creation to help him.”

“She means the town’s leading citizens,” Leathers informed the Kid. “I’m one of ’em.”

“They’re around,” the Kid confirmed. “And I reckon Mrs. Trinian called ’em right. You mean there’s only eight men at the sawmill?”

“Nary more, not since the fellers who built it for her moved out,” Leathers replied. “I’d’ve expected them to be cutting the timber afore now, but they never got started. ’Cepting that Olaf’d cut some of the stuff close to hand. Must’ve been trying out the sawmill, or something.”

“Then that’s settled,” Corey-Mae smiled. “You can grab some sleep, both of you, and ride in at sunup. Even then, you’ll be there before she can get word to the sawmill and fetch in the rest of her men.”