J. Edson - Ranch War

Having delivered his cryptic prediction, Vandor urged his horse on at a faster pace. Throwing a glance to their rear, Poole forced his and Calamity’s mounts to keep up with the other animal. They were already out of sight of the town, riding through wooded country along the valley through which the Middle Loup River flowed. Hills rose on either side at that point and the valley wound through them.

After three hours continuous hard riding, they approached a place where the valley narrowed to a sheer-sided gorge. Coming out of the narrow stretch, the Loup widened to form a ford. Calamity noticed that the shallows had been much used over the past couple of months or so, both shores being churned into soft mud by continual coming and going of men and heavy wagons. A narrow path ran up the side of the gorge toward which the party was riding, but they did not follow it. Turning the horses, they rode up the scar ripped across the more gentle slope of the valley by the same means that had created the muddy banks.

Reaching the top of the incline, Calamity found herself in a fair-sized clearing on nearly level ground. The sawmill’s buildings fanned in a rough circle ahead of her. There were several log cabins designed to house the workers and supply their needs, or to hold stores. Most of them appeared to be empty as the girl rode nearer. That could be accounted for by the twenty or so horses in the pole corrals, most of which looked more suitable for draft-work than riding. Beyond the other buildings, backing on to a creek at the upper side of the gorge, was the sawmill itself, a large plank-built structure with chimneys for its steam-engines rising from the roof. Smoke curled lazily from one of the chimneys, and the sound of a circular saw working reached the girl’s ears.

“Looks like the boss’s fixing to take herself a ride,” Poole remarked, nodding to where a fast-looking bloodbay gelding stood saddled, its reins looped on the hitching rail of a cabin clear of the others and close to the side of the gorge.

“She’s fetching the rest of the boys in from Burwell most likely,” Vandor answered, then raised his voice. “Torp!”

Coming from what would be the cookshack, followed by three more gun-hung hard-cases, Torp eyed the girl malevolently before turning his gaze to Vandor.

“See you got her.”

“That’s what I was sent to do,” Vandor replied. “Where’s the boss?”

“Her ’n’ Logger’s up at the mill, testing the gear,” Torp answered. “Reckons they’ll be starting work real soon.”

“Could be she’s right,” Vandor grinned and dropped from his mount. “Bunjy, take my hoss and toss my saddle on another. Rest of you, get your rifles and go watch the trail.”

“Somebody coming?” asked one of the men.

“A bunch from town,” Vandor explained. “If Trinian’s with ’em, the boss’ll pay five hundred dollars to the feller who downs him.”

Removing Calamity’s gunbelt and draping it across his shoulder, Vandor went to the girl. He released first one foot, then the other, while the men disappeared into the cabin. Knowing that she could not hope to escape at that moment, Calamity swung her right leg up and forward to drop to the ground. Five men came from the cabin, carrying rifles, and moved off toward the trail. Taking hold of an arm each, Vandor and Poole hustled the girl toward the sawmill. Muttering under his breath, the man called Bunjy led off all three horses toward the corral.

Halting inside the doors of the mill, the men and Calamity watched and listened to the scream of the whirling circular saw as it ripped down the center of a sizeable tree trunk.

“Miss Eastfield!” Vandor called.

Looking over her shoulder, Florence smiled at the sight of the girl between the men. Like Calamity, she wore moccasins and had on a man’s shirt and an old black skirt. With her sleeves rolled up, she showed a powerful pair of arms. Signaling to the burly man at the controls, she walked toward the newcomers. The man pulled on a lever, halting the log carriage which held another large trunk ready to be put through the saw.

“We’ve got her, Miss Eastfield,” Poole announced.

“You wouldn’t’ve showed your face back here if you hadn’t,” Florence answered coldly. “Was she carrying any papers, Mr. Vandor?”

“No,” Vandor replied.

“It doesn’t matter,” Florence decided. “After we’ve dealt with her, we’ll go over to Burwell and bring back the rest of the men. Then we’ll visit Hollick City and have you elected sheriff.”

“Maybe you’ll have trouble getting the folks to vote for him,” Calamity remarked, praying silently to have her hands free and a clear run at the blonde.

“I don’t think so,” Florence replied. “A town’s only as tough as its leading citizens. Without Leckenby and maybe ten others, Hollick City is full of sheep. When I ride in, it will be with enough guns to make sure they know who’s running things.” Her eyes went to Vandor. “Is the Texan dead?”

“He left town last night, soon’s he found out the sheriff’d been shot,” Vandor replied. “Gal says he run out on her.”

“Looks like we both had lousy luck with the fellers we hired to help us,” Calamity remarked to Florence. “Mind if I sit down?”

Without waiting for the blonde to agree, Calamity went and sat on the bench by the doors. There was only one hope for her, to keep her captors occupied and talking. She must play for time in the hope that she could hold off whatever Florence intended to do with her until the Kid arrived. That he would come, Calamity did not doubt. Given luck, he ought to be on his way by that time. Every minute, second even, that she gained increased her chances of survival.

Going by the scowl Vandor directed at Calamity, he did not care for her references to the inadequacies of the male help. Turning from the girl, he diverted Florence’s attention by pointing to the log at the far end of the carriage.

“Looks like everything’s working properly, Miss Eastfield.”

“The mill’s been ready to go for a week or more,” Florence answered. “So’s all the other gear. But none of it’s any use unless we can float the logs in.”

“So that’s why you want my ranch!” Calamity ejaculated.

“What do you mean?” asked the blonde.

“You want it in case you can’t make this game up here work!”

It seemed that Calamity’s mocking words struck at a sore spot. Spinning around, Florence glared furiously at the girl.

“How do you mean, can’t make it work?” the blonde spat out. “Maybe I don’t run around dressed like a man, but I know more about the timber business, every part of it, than any damned logger you’ll ever meet.”

“If you’re so all-fired smart,” Calamity scoffed, “why’d you need the ranch?”

“I don’t want, or need your ranch.”

“That’s not what you was saying in town.”

“The ranch doesn’t mean a thing to me!” Florence insisted.

“Then what the hell do you want?” Calamity asked.

“Timber.”

“I’ve been riding for three or more hours through it,” the girl pointed out. “Haven’t seen the deeds to my place yet, but I don’t reckon it takes in much of the wood country. And there’s not many trees on the ranch.”

“I agree,” Florence replied.

“Maybe we ought to get going, Miss Eastfield,” Vandor put in. “It’s a fair ride into Burwell.”

“Go check that the men are watching the trail, Poole,” Florence ordered. “I won’t be long, Mr. Vandor.”

Calamity watched Poole turn and slouch away. That left Florence and Vandor in her immediate vicinity, the sawmill hand being at the far end of the building. So the girl determined to make a try at escaping, but knew that she must plan things very carefully if she hoped to succeed.