J. Edson - Ranch War

When no more shots came his way, the Kid concluded that Trinian’s intervention had been successful. Reaching the top of the slope, he saw Vandor send the bullet into Florence. Quitting the stallion’s back at full gallop, the Kid landed with cat-like agility. Then he dropped into a kneeling position, working with smooth, unflurried speed for all the urgency of the situation.

Weakly Calamity tried to rise, but the pain and exhaustion that filled her were too much for movement. She watched the Smith & Wesson turn to point at her, moving at what seemed to be a snail’s pace, its .44-caliber muzzle looking like the yawning mouth of a cannon.

Suddenly the vague shape behind the revolver stiffened and jerked. His face appeared to dissolve into bloody ruin and the right arm flopped limply to release the revolver. Feeling its rider sliding from the saddle, the horse snorted and moved off. Shot in the head by the Kid, Vandor sprawled face down into the mud.

Even as the Kid rose, working the Winchester’s lever to replace the bullet which had saved the girl’s life, he saw riders galloping along the Hollick City trail. Led by Doctor Goldberg, six well-armed men plunged their horses through the ford. Telling his companions to keep going, the doctor dismounted at Calamity’s side. The girl’s response to Goldberg asking if he could help her was typical of Calamity Jane.

“I—I’ll do!” she gasped. “See—if—you can—help—Flo——”

And Calamity collapsed unconscious.

Chapter 17 IF YOU CAN MEET MY PRICE

“WELL, CALAM, IT’S ALL OVER,” CASH TRINIAN ANNOUNCED. “We found papers in Miss Eastfield’s safe. Took with what those two gun-slicks we caught ’n’ Lawyer Endicott told us, we’ve learned the whole game.”

It was sundown on the day after the fight at the sawmill. Calamity sat on a comfortable chair in the Leckenbys’ parlor, while the sheriff’s wife and Corey-Mae Trinian bustled about making everything ready for a celebration dinner. Standing by the fire, the Ysabel Kid grinned as he studied the girl’s blackened right eye and swollen lip. From what Doctor Goldberg had mentioned about her injuries, ole Calam must be sore as hell; but she gave no sign of it.

Taking charge of Calamity while the other men attended to the dead and wounded sawmill gunslingers, Goldberg had washed the mud from her. Then he had treated her injuries and obtained clothing from Florence’s cabin for the girl to wear during her return to Hollick City.

Finding Florence’s keys in the torn skirt, Trinian and the Kid had opened the safe in the office. They had collected all the documents, gathered up Calamity’s whip and gunbelt, bringing the items in for the sheriff’s inspection. With Endicott’s help, most aspects of the affair had been cleared up.

“Seems like Miss Eastfield figured to make enough on that contract to set her up in the timber business,” the Kid remarked. “Only she needed her brother. She never let on about his accident and made sure the fellers who gave her the contract didn’t meet him. They thought she was just acting for Olaf and he come in handy for making the loggers work, or would have. Trouble being, she’d took the contract afore she learned about the water-rights laws. Endicott told her about them and more.”

“That gun-slick I shot reckons Miss Eastfield and Vandor got Endicott liquored up and he let on how we was trying to find you and buy the Rafter C, Calam,” Trinian explained. “Told her about the arrangements with Counselor Talbot ’n’ every damned thing. I’m acting as deputy until Day’s back on his feet. If you want, I’ll arrest Endicott.”

“No!” Calamity stated flatly, glancing at Mrs. Leckenby. “Let it ride, Cash. He saw me yesterday and told me everything. Says he’s through law-wrangling and that’s good enough for me.”

The sheriff’s wife let out a sigh of relief, for she had wondered how Calamity intended to deal with her brother’s breach of trust. Nodding his agreement, Trinian continued to discuss the affair with Calamity and the Kid. They decided that the girl should tell Marshal Beauregard everything on returning to Mulrooney, leaving him to decide what action, if any, could be taken against The Outfit. Calamity looked disturbed when she learned that Staff had left a widowed mother. Not until after an enjoyable meal, however, did Trinian raise the matter which most concerned him.

“What’re you fixing to do with the Rafter C, Calam?” he asked, watching the girl limp stiffly across to sit in the well-padded armchair.

Instinctively Corey-Mae moved to her husband’s side. Leaning by the fireplace, the Kid watched the couple’s and Calamity’s faces. Mrs. Leckenby put aside her intention of clearing the table and listened to the conversation that followed.

“It’s a right nice-looking place,” the girl answered. “I bet I could get nine, ten thousand dollars for it.”

“You could,” Trinian agreed coldly.

“So I’ll sell it to you. If you can meet my price.”

Trinian jerked his head around to look at his wife, but Corey-Mae’s eyes never left Calamity’s unsmiling face.

“How much?” Trinian inquired warily.

“There’s some’d say five thousand one hundred and fifty simoleons’d be a fair price,” Calamity answered.

“Five thous——!” Trinian barked.

“That’s what it cost pappy,” Calamity pointed out, looking as sober and unfeeling as a hanging-judge about to pass a sentence of death. “He started out with one hundred and fifty dollars ’n’ won the spread on a five-thousand-dollar call in a poker game. So there’s some’d say that’d be a fair price.”

“But you don’t see it that way?” Corey-Mae said quietly.

“I don’t,” Calamity admitted.

“Then how do you see it?” Trinian demanded.

“Like I said, pappy started out with a hundred and fifty lil iron men,” the girl replied and a grin started to twist at the corners of her mouth. “So you give me that and split the rest between the sheriff ’n’ Staff’s mother, seeing’s it was through me they got shot up.”

Silence followed the girl’s words. Corey-Mae looked triumphantly at her husband and Trinian stared blankly, with mouth dropping open, at the red-haired girl in the armchair.

“Who’s going to buy me that new shirt I got promised?” asked the Kid.

“Hell, yes!” Calamity ejaculated. “I forgot that. Cash, the price’s gone up. I want a new shirt for Lon on top of it.”

“But—But——” Trinian gobbled, hardly able to believe that he had heard correctly.

“It’s my only offer,” Calamity declared. “And, happen you’ve any feeling for the good folks of Hollick County, you’ll take me up on it.”

“I don’t follow you,” Trinian said.

“If you don’t buy the place,” Calamity explained, “I’ll settle on it myself.”

“Which means you’d have fire, flood, storms, drought, Injun raids and every other kind of misery ’n’ torment come a-running here,” the Kid elaborated.

“How you talk, Lon Ysabel,” Miss Martha Jane Canary snorted indignantly. “Why you’ll have folks believing I deserve to be called ‘Calamity.’”

About the Author

J.T. EDSONbrings to life the fierce and often bloody struggles of the untamed West. His colorful characters are linked by the binding power of the spirit of adventure—and hard work—that eventually won the West. J.T. Edson has proven to be one of the finest craftsmen of Western storytelling of our time.

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Books by J.T. Edson

RANCH WAR

THE BIG HUNT

THE ROAD TO RATCHET CREEK