Ranch War Read online

  Even as the giant raised his foot for the step which would have caused a bullet to spike between his eyes, the office’s door opened and a man stepped out. Of medium height, he had a breadth to his shoulders and powerful frame that made him look taller. He wore range clothes of good quality, clean, neat but not new. Tanned by long exposure to the elements, his heavily mustached face showed strength mixed with intelligence. An ivory-handled Remington Army revolver rode in a cross-draw holster on the left side of his belt and a sheriff’s star glinted on his vest.

  “Something bothering Olaf, Vandor?” the sheriff inquired, looking at the four men.

  At the sight of the peace officer, the giant halted and the other three allowed their hands to relax at their sides. The handsome man moved forward and pointed at the line of horses.

  “Them two brought in what looks like Otón Ruiz’s sabino, Sheriff. We was wondering, natural enough, where they’d got it. Only he got lippy when we asked.”

  “I’m a mite choosey how I get asked,” the Kid put in.

  “Then I’ll ask you,” the sheriff said quietly, right hand resting on the center of his gunbelt.

  “We found the hosses straying, back along the stage-trail,” lied the Kid. “Brought them in to tell you about them and let you handle things, Sheriff.”

  Everything about Day Leckenby impressed the Kid with his honesty and capability. There had been neither suspicion nor bluster in his words, but they had held a warning that he intended to have his question answered. The Kid preferred that the sheriff be alone before hearing the truth.

  “Do you have business in town?” Leckenby asked, in the neutral voice of a peace officer addressing a potential source of trouble.

  “Not me,” the Kid replied, without looking at the quartet. “Miss Canary here, though, she’s got——”

  “Canary!” the smallest of the gunslingers burst out, before a glare from Vandor stopped him.

  “Martha Jane Canary, mister,” Calamity told him. “I’ve come up to take a look at the Rafter C.”

  Watching the quartet, the Kid saw the glances which bounced back and forward between three of them. The bald giant stood as if turned to stone, showing no interest in what went on. When one of his companions seemed about to speak, Vandor gave a savage shake of his head and the man kept silent.

  “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.

  “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.”*