The Road to Ratchet Creek Read online

  The latter came hurriedly as Cole started to rise with a gesture of impatience. “What’d you hear?”

  “The feller said for Eli to tell Sedgewell his sister said come to Ratchet Creek by the end of the week.”

  “Whose sister?” demanded Cole.

  “Sedgewell’s. She’s sent messages here for him afore. Now will you turn me loose, marshal?”

  “I’m damned if you deserve it,” Cole growled and took out the handcuff key.

  As Cole opened the left cuff, he caught Salty’s thrust-out foot in the chest. Although the man could not put his full weight behind the kick, it landed hard enough to throw the marshal off balance. Tearing his right arm from under the chain, Salty flung himself to and grabbed up the shotgun. Cole drew and fired instinctively, to miss. Yet the bullet came so close that Salty felt its wind on his face. Surprise caused him to step back. His legs struck Ehart’s body and he sprawled on to his rump.

  Sitting up, Cole saw Salty had been uninjured by the bullet. There could be only one course left to the marshal. Even as the hired hand tired to raise the shotgun, Cole took aim and fired. A .44 bullet ripped into Salty’s head and he pitched over dead, the shotgun clattering from his hands.

  “You damned fool!” Cole growled, coming to his feet.

  Ten minutes later flames licked into the air, forming a funeral pyre for the three bodies and making sure that none of the trading post’s goods fell into the wrong hands. Cole spent the night close by, waiting for the return of Ehart’s two men. At dawn they had not come and he concluded that their loyalty did not extend to taking chances of being caught by whoever had set fire to their employer’s property. Regretfully Cole put aside thoughts of trailing the pair. He knew that he must reach Ratchet Creek before the end of the week and prepare a welcome for the Sedgewell gang.

  Chapter 12

  DON’T NOBODY ELSE GET CLEVER

  “JOHNNY!” CALLED CALAMITY JANE AS THE YOUNGSTER came from his room at the hotel where he spent the night. “Come with me.”

  “What’s up, Calam?” he asked, for the girl carried a screwdriver and hammer.

  “I’m going to put our money someplace safe.”

  “Huh?”

  “That feller Cultus shot belonged to the Sedgewell gang. I don’t know if they aim to hit the stage, but I’m taking no chances.”

  “But my money’s in the safe down at the office,” John pointed out.

  “The agent’s there and he’ll likely let you have it,” Calamity replied.

  The girl’s guess proved correct. On arrival at the office, they found the agent already on the premises. Showing no curiosity, he opened the safe and handed over John’s money. Then the boy and Calamity walked around to where the coach stood ready to be harnessed.

  After making sure that they were unobserved, Calamity climbed on to the box. With the screwdriver, she forced up the nails holding the seat cover. Then she took a thick pad of money from her jacket pocket and slipped it under Pizen Joe’s cushion.

  “Now yours,” she told the boy.

  “That’s a smart idea,” he enthused handing over the money.

  Carefully arranging the money between the cushion on boards of the seat, Calamity nailed the cover into place. Standing back, she examined her handiwork with a critical eye and decided that it would pass unnoticed.

  “It’ll do,” she said. “Go get your breakfast, Johnny. I’ll stay on here and lend Cultus a hand with the team.”

  The thought that Calamity might take his money after he left never entered John’s head as he returned to the hotel. All he felt about the incident was pride in the girl’s smart selection of a hiding place. So proud that when he joined Monique at a table in the diningroom he told her of Calamity’s scheme to thwart possible robbery.

  “Why don’t you ask her to put your money with ours?” he suggested.

  Monique laughed. “I hardly have enough to bother.”

  “Calam wouldn’t mind if you did,” John assured her.

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t,” the little singer answered. “Most of my money was spent on this ring and bracelet, but I doubt if Calamity would like to have them under her when the coach starts bumping along.”

  Studying the jewellery, John felt inclined to agree. He had a vague idea that the brilliant colorless stones were diamonds, which he had heard about but never seen. What the green stones clustered around the central diamond in the ring or spaced evenly through the bracelet might be, he could not guess. He thought of suggesting that Calamity thought out another hiding place, but before he could, the food arrived and Monique started to eat with pointed concentration. Young John might be, but he could take a hint. Thinking on the matter, he decided that Monique regarded herself as old and experienced enough to care for her own property without outside help.

  Not until they stood outside the Wells Fargo office watching Calamity fetching the stagecoach to a halt did Monique mention the subject again.

  “Can I give you some advice, Johnny?”

  “Sure, Miss Monique.”

  “Don’t mention Calamity’s hiding place to anyone else. She wouldn’t like it if she knew that you had told me.”

  “Shucks, you’re all right,” John stated.

  Once again John and Monique found themselves the only passengers. Placing Calamity’s carbine in the wall rack, he sat facing it and the girl. Up on the box Calamity started the team moving and the Concord rolled along Shadloe’s main street at a fair pace. Watching the last houses of the town fall behind, a thought struck Calamity and caused her to turn to the guard.

  “Did you have any trouble with those two yahoos who tangled with us when we pulled in last night?” she asked.

  “Nope,” Cultus replied. “That great seizer back there might not be smart, but he’s got just enough sense to stop trouble starting. So he kept them well clear of me.”

  “How about that jasper with the feller you shot?”

  “If he’s wanted, nobody’s doing it bad enough to put out a dodger on him. So the marshal figures to let him go sometime this morning when we’re well clear of town.”

  “It’d be best,” the girl admitted.

  “I wonder how Marshal Cole’s doing,” Cultus remarked.

  “He should’ve got help afore he went after Ehart,” Calamity answered. “Damned fool, going on his lonesome that way.”

  “I figure he knows what he’s doing,” Cultus replied. “Now he is one real smart lawman.”

  “Hah! You men allus stick together.”

  “And you women don’t. That’s why we’re the bosses and run things.”

  “Maybe you’d like to get off and walk for a spell?” Calamity asked.

  “A man wouldn’t pull a mean game like that ’cause he lost an argument,” the guard told her.

  On rolled the stagecoach and the more open range of the previous days’ travel changed to hilly country with scattered woodland. The trail they followed wound along by the easiest route for the horses. Often it curved and turned around slopes which prevented any sight of what lay on the other side. Calamity studied the changed conditions with disfavor.

  “This’s good country for a hold-up,” she remarked.

  “If there’s one thing I like, it’s a happy driver,” Cultus replied. “Yeah, Calam girl, it’s damned swell country for a hold-up.”

  “I never asked,” the girl said. “But just what is in the chest?”

  “Money for the Ratchet Creek bank,” Cultus answered. “And I told you when you first started driving.”

  “I was hoping that I heard wrong,” Calamity said, deciding against admitting that her worries at handling the coach had driven all memory of its “treasure chest” out of her head. “How much?”

  “Five thousand simoleons. That’s below Sedgewell’s usual level. He goes for the big ones.”

  “He could be needing money,” Calamity pointed out.

  “You’re making me feel happier all the time,” Cultus growled.

  Swing
ing the coach around a corner, Calamity saw a large Rocky Mountain mule deer in the center of the trail. A young buck, sleek and carrying plenty of meat. The girl felt her mouth water at the thought of venison, but before she could make any suggestions the deer bounded off the trail and into the trees.

  “Why in hell didn’t you shoot?” she asked.

  “For one thing Wells Fargo don’t give me shells to shoot deer,” Cultus replied. “And for another, I’m not wanting to let folks know we’re around. If they want to hold us up, let ’em work for it.”

  “Just how much chance is there of anybody jumping us?”

  “There’s always a chance and the farther we get from Shadloe, the better it gets. Until we start coming close to Ratchet Creek, that is. Sedgewell never hit a coach nearer than six miles to a town. That way, by the time the driver can get in and spread the word, he’s long gone.”

  “Now you’re making me happy,” Calamity said.

  “Sedgewell only pulls a raid when he’s sure he’ll get plenty,” Cultus reminded her. “This consignment of money was a last-minute business, nobody knew it was to be sent until just afore we left. I’d say there’s been no time for word about it to leak out.”

  A comforting thought for Calamity; although it might not have been had she known that Sedgewell’s sister sent messages to the outlaw leader from Ratchet Creek.

  “There’s more than Sedgewell’s bunch around though,” she said.

  “Sure, but he’s like an old grizzly bear. When he’s in an area planning something he passes word around for the small fry to keep clear. That way there’s no chance of somebody pulling a small job and getting the law riled up and on the prod.”

  “They listen to him?”

  “Young grizzlies listen to the old boss he-whooper. Them as don’t get hurt real bad and fast.”

  “So you reckon we don’t have a thing to worry about?” Calamity asked.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Cultus replied. “But I’m a mite easier after seeing Sedgewell’s man in town. If he was going to Ehart’s place for a message, it’s not about us. And if there’s a big one in the air, Sedgewell’ll already have passed the word.”

  For all that Cultus kept his shotgun across his knees and remained alert. Nothing happened to disturb the even course of the journey and at last he let out a sigh of relief.

  “Only another four miles at most to Ratchet Creek, Calam.”

  “Be night afore we get there,” she replied.

  At that time they were driving along the bottom of a winding valley with wood-dotted slopes. Ahead lay a blind corner, but Calamity had passed around so many of them without incident that she hardly gave it a thought. Already she had gained such a control of the stagecoach that she could rely on her instincts to make the turn without the need for conscious thought.

  It would be good to see Harry and Sarah Tappet again, she mused. Not only did Dobe Killem send along the means to keep his old friend in business, but the rest of the outfit chipped in——

  While Calamity thought, the team felt her controlling pressure on the reins and made the turn. A startled curse broke from the girl’s lips as she saw the large rock which stood in the center of the trail. Instantly she hauled back on the reins and raised her leg to boot home the brake as hard as she could. The Concord coach had a good braking system and applying it brought the vehicle to an almost immediate halt on level ground.

  Taken by surprise, Cultus pitched in his seat and almost lost his hold of the shotgun. Inside the coach, John shot forward to collide with the opposite wall. Winded, but not otherwise hurt, he sat for a moment dazed by the impact.

  “Hands high!” bellowed a voice from the right of the trail.

  Fully occupied with controlling the team and retaining her seat, Calamity still threw a glance in the direction of the voice. Coming from the bushes level with the rock, a man lined a twin-barrelled shotgun at the driver’s box. He wore a hat slightly too large for him, so that it came down to obscure his hair, and a bandana hid most of his features. Clad in nondescript range clothes, he appeared to be around six foot tall and heavily built, a low hanging Colt at his side.

  With her fingers interlaced in the reins and body strained back holding the team, Calamity could do nothing. Cultus caught his balance and made as if to raise the shotgun. From among the trees to the left came the flat crack of a rifle. As his hat spun from his head, Cultus gave a cry of pain. He reared to his feet, then fell forward, struck the rump of the near wheel horse and bounced to the trail. On landing, he lay without a movement.

  “Don’t nobody else get clever!” warned the masked man in a mumbling, indistinct voice as if he spoke through a mouthful of food.

  Curses burst from Calamity’s lips as she fought to control the horses, especially the left side animal of the rear pair. Spooked by Cultus falling on to it, the near wheeler reared and plunged in a manner likely to set the rest of the team going. Risking a bullet, Calamity ignored the masked man and used every ounce of her skill to restrain the team.

  Shaking his head, John glared out of the window and saw enough to tell him all he needed to know. With a low growl, he started to rise and reached toward Calamity’s carbine. Giving a screech of fear, Monique threw her arms around him.

  “Save me, Johnny!” she wailed, ignoring the fact that she effectively prevented him from obtaining the means to do so. “I’m so frightened!”

  By that time Calamity had calmed the team and glared defiance at the man as she lashed the reins to the brake handle. She still held her whip and measured the distance separating her from the robber.

  “Toss your gun and whip away!” he ordered.

  “Like he——!” Calamity began, tensing herself to strike.

  “In three my pard’ll start pumping lead into the coach,” the man warned. “One——.”

  While Calamity did not work for Wells Fargo, she knew the Company ruled in such cases that the welfare of the passengers came first. Although a remarkable robust vehicle in many respects, the Concord’s bodywork had to be made of the lightest possible materials. The plywood panels lacked the strength to halt a bullet, even if the second member of the gang could not see the passengers through the windows and aim accordingly. So Calamity knew that she must obey the man. If she alone had been involved, she might have gambled—probably would have done in her anger at the shooting of Cultus. However she liked John and the little singer too much for her to chance them being hurt.

  “All right!” she said, tossing her whip over her shoulder and coming to her feet. “I’ll do it.”

  Slowly, using her left hand and keeping the right well clear of the Colt’s butt, she unbuckled the gunbelt. Holding down the temptation to make a move, she darted a glance toward the left in the hope of locating the man who had shot Cultus. At first she saw nothing, then a metallic glint drew her eyes to where two trees grew close together. A rifle barrel showed between the trunks, aimed at her, but she could see nothing of whoever held it.

  Realizing the penalty for disobedience, for the rifle’s movement warned her that human hands still held it, Calamity swung her gunbelt and tossed it on to the grass at the side of the trail. In that way she hoped to minimize any damage the Colt might receive in its landing.

  “Now jump down and walk up here,” the man ordered.

  “How about the guard?” Calamity asked.

  “Leave him,” the man answered. “You in the coach, come out with hands raised and empty. One wrong move and this gal here gets a gut full of buckshot.”

  Much as John wanted to object, or fight, he knew that the chance to do so had passed. Earlier he might have risked using Calamity’s carbine, but no longer. Throwing a glare of annoyance at Monique, he thrust open the coach’s door and jumped down.

  “I’m sor——,” he began.

  “Shut it!” snarled the masked man. “Get up here, both of you.”

  Walking forward, John and Monique ranged themselves on either side of Calamity. They had been halte
d in a position which offered the second robber a clear shot at them from the trees. Satisfied that the trio could no longer pose any threat, the masked man approached with his shotgun held negligently before him in both hands.

  Holding down her inclination to jump the man and either hand-scalp him or get shot trying, Calamity studied his appearance for future reference. Despite his size and bulk, he took short steps. His hands seemed smaller than one might expect for his heft and were covered by leather gloves. Every item of his clothing could have been bought off the shelves of almost any general store west of the Mississippi River. Nothing about his gunbelt or the Army Colt in its holster caught the eye. The revolver carried plain varnished walnut grips and the normal case-hardened metal finish given to the majority of its kind.

  Then Calamity looked at the shotgun, noticing for the first time what a fine piece it was. Less than ten gauge in caliber, it showed a higher standard of workmanship than usual and ought to be easily recognized if seen again.

  At the other side of Monique, John also stared at the shotgun. Only he looked with the eyes of a trained gunsmith and saw far more than Calamity.

  “Hey!” he said and started to step toward the man. “That’s——!”

  With a low snarl, the man swung the shotgun. Its butt crashed into the side of John’s jaw, spinning him around and tumbling him to the ground.

  “You bastard!” Calamity shouted and lunged at the man.

  At the same moment Monique let out a startled gasp and collapsed. She fell in front of Calamity, tripping her. Going down, Calamity tried to break her fall. The man swung in her direction, raising the shotgun and driving it down. Pain tore into Calamity as the metal butt-plate struck her head. For a moment bright lights blazed before her eyes, then everything went black.

  Chapter 13

  IT WAS HIS GUN

  “CALAMITY. ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”

  The words seemed to be coming from a long way off, yet drumming into Calamity’s skull as if driven by a hammer. Something cold and wet splashed on to her face and she opened her eyes. Immediately the world started to spin around, while heaving up and down worse than any pitching horse. Slowly it settled and she looked at the scared faces of John and Monique. Weakly Calamity put her hand up and clutched at her throbbing head.