Trouble Trail

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Sure,’ agreed the wagonmaster dryly. ‘Only I’d hate like hell to be the first one.’

  None of the party spoke for a few moments for both Resin and’ Bigelow knew that if it came to the point, the wagon-master most likely would be the one who made the pioneer trip across the treacherous mile or so of slope.

  Riding forward with Bigelow at his side, Resin found the slope’s soil to be soft, soggy and slick. Yet their horses found little or no difficulty in keeping their feet. Of course, the Appaloosa and Bigelow’s bay did not haul a damned great Conestoga wagon behind them. On returning to the wagon-master’s side, the two men found Killem and the train’s segundo present.

  ‘Means going a good two mile along the slope before it’s clear to hit the top,’ Resin remarked, glancing at the halted wagons behind the men.

  Jumping down from her wagon. Calamity slouched forward and looked at the scene ahead, reading its implications. Her eyes went to the lead wagon from which the wagonmaster’s family were climbing.

  ‘Way I see it,’ she said, joining the men, ‘my wagon’s carrying the least important stuff. Right, Cap’n?’

  For a moment Bigelow thought then nodded. ‘If it comes to a point, your load is the most easily replaced.’

  ‘I’ve got the best danged team, too,’ the girl said calmly. ‘Have all the stock pushed across ahead of me, and let them with hosses ride across. Sam, get your kids back in your wagon out of the rain.’

  Five startled pairs of male eyes stared at Calamity. In a way she spoke the truth. Of all the wagons hers could probably be most easily spared; every other carried a family’s home and belongings or vitally needed military supplies. Yet the men could not risk a girl’s life on the dangerous task ahead; not even a girl like Calamity Jane.

  Without waiting for their permission, Calamity returned to her wagon and climbed aboard.

  ‘What’s the delay?’ Eileen asked.

  ‘Nothing. Get out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m taking the wagon across that slope ahead and can’t tote extra weight,’ Calamity growled. her nervous tension preventing her from explaining that she could not risk the other girl’s life in the crossing.

  ‘But how do I get across?’ asked Eileen, the rain making her temper rise.

  ‘Look down there!’ Calamity snapped, pointing to the bed of the wagon. ‘See them things sticking out from under your dress? They’re feet, use ‘em.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Get out or I’ll throw you out!’ Calamity screamed. Something in the girl’s voice warned Eileen not to push Calamity any further. While Eileen willingly swapped word-warfare, she drew the line at physical conflict and so climbed from the wagon. A squeal left her lips as she sank ankle-deep into the mud. Hearing the sound of men approaching, Eileen turned. The wagonmaster, Bigelow and the other men came towards Calamity’s wagon but one look at their faces warned Eileen not to worry them with, petty troubles. One thing Eileen had learned young and early was when not to trouble the men-folk and such a time was at hand.

  ‘All right, Calamity,’ Killem said. ‘I’ll take your wagon over.’

  ‘Like hell you will,’ she replied.

  ‘Come on, Calam,’ Killem growled. ‘Let me handle it.’

  ‘Nope!’

  ‘I said I’d take it!’

  ‘And I said go to hell!’

  ‘Damn it, Calam!’ Killem barked. ‘You’re fired.’

  ‘Swell!’ she answered. ‘Then I don’t have to take your orders any more.’

  Giving an angry snort, Killem stepped towards the wagon. Then he came to a sudden halt, he and the other men who started to follow him with the intention of lending their moral support. While Calamity’s Colt rode under her fastened slicker, a Winchester carbine lay in a boot on the side of the wagon—or did lie there for Calamity jerked it out and fed a round into the chamber.

  ‘Get your hand off the wagon. Dobe!’ she warned as her boss reached for the wheel to climb aboard. ‘Damn it, I mean it. Get your hand off or I’ll put lead into you.’

  And she meant it, too, every man present knew that. Calamity had pride in her work and nobody, not even her boss, took over her wagon no matter how dangerous the situation.

  ‘It’s damned risky, gal,’ Resin pointed out.

  ‘Reckon I don’t know it?’ she snorted. ‘Dobe, Sam and all the boys have kin depending on ‘em. You’re needed as scout and the cap’n doesn’t know how to handle a six-hoss team well enough to take it across there. I’ve got nobody needing me to support ‘em, so I’ll take her over.’

  ‘All right, you blasted ornery female,’ Killem said, his voice gentle. ‘Go bust your fool neck and kill yourself. Only don’t you come blaming me when you do.’

  On receiving his permission, Calamity booted the carbine, leaned over to remove Killem’s hat and planted a kiss on the top of his head. ‘I love you, too, Cecil!’ she whispered, then raised her voice. ‘Get that stock run across, Beau.’

  Even with all the spare stock run across the slope so as to chum up the ground a mite, Calamity could see her task was anything but a sinecure. She started her team moving, conscious that almost every member of the train stood behind and watched her. The story of what Calamity hoped to do passed around and Eileen forgot her position to watch the girl, realising why Calamity ordered her from the wagon.

  Ignoring the crowd, Calamity sat her wagon’s box and concentrated on handling her team. She kicked off her moccasins and sat with bare feet on the wagon bed, the better to feel the vibrations of movement under her. With her eyes on the horses, she gave low-voiced encouragement.

  ‘Slow and easy, blast you!’ she said, gripping the reins between delicate yet strong fingers to steady or urge on as the situation demanded. ‘You make me trouble, Muley, and I’ll skin your hide tonight.’

  This last came as a warning to the near-side centre horse as she felt it slack its pull. Usually the horse tended to idle and needed the spice of a whip-flick to keep its attention on work, but it sensed the danger of the situation and buckled down to pull its weight.

  Never would Calamity forget that trip across the slope. Once she felt the rear wheel begin to slide and her fingers controlled the reins, giving the horses confidence while keeping them pulling. Although the rain beat down and she was wet to the skin, Calamity felt sweat soaking her and the few seconds during which the wheels slid downwards seemed like an hour. Then the great horses’ strength held it and the wagon rolled on once more. Behind her Calamity heard a roar of cheers that followed on the concerted gasp of horror which rose as the slipping started. She ignored the crowd’s approval, knowing that she was far from being in safety.

  ‘I sure hope they mark that place down,’ she breathed. ‘Pull, boys, pull!’

  On went the horses, fighting their way along. Ahead of her, where she could turn to safety on top of the slope, Calamity saw Resin, Muldoon and a number of the biggest, strongest men of the train gathering. So intent had been her concentration before that she could not remember them passing her and wondered what they were doing. Then she got the idea and gave a sigh of relief. After a pull like they had just been through, the horses would find difficulty in hauling a heavy Conestoga to the head of the slope. The party of men had come to lend a hand at a time when their aid would be of the most use.

  Even with the aid of the men, Calamity felt her wagon’s wheels skid and saw the horses straining and fighting to move it. For a long moment everything hung in the balance and then Calamity felt the wagon inching forward and upward. Then the horses topped the slope and her wagon lurched up and on to level ground.

  ‘Yahoo!’ Resin whooped, coming alongside the wagon and grinning up at the girl. ‘You done it, Calam!’

  ‘It looks a mite that way.’ she replied. ‘Hey, get some hosses up top here and ropes, the others won’t have teams like mine. I’ll head down to the bed ground and settle in.’

  ‘Sure thing, gal. Go on about half a mile, you’ll find a big cl
earing. Stay there, the stock’s down there already.’

  After moving her wagon on to the appointed bed ground, Calamity attended to her horses. The rain, having made things as dangerous and awkward as it could for the travellers, eased off and, by the time Calamity had halted her wagon, finished to allow a watery sun to creep through cracks in the clouds. Calamity ignored her own soaked condition as she worked on her horses, drying their coats and then taking them to water in the brook at the edge of the camp. After watering and feeding the horses, Calamity headed back to the slope to see if she could help out. On her way she found that Eileen had crossed and was also very busy.

  Although she slipped once and slid several feet in the mud of the slope, and lost both shoes in the process of crossing, Eileen had come to the other side on foot. She forgot her own discomfort as she watched the others straggling across; men, women and children walking so as to relieve the weight on the wagon teams and lessen the risk if anything went wrong. Something stirred inside Eileen, the spirit which lifted her family above the rest of the herd and made them leaders instead of staying among the led.

  Finding Molly Johnson, Eileen made her suggestions and the two girls started a fire. Then Eileen bustled around the women, making them work and taking their minds off their misery. The results of her drive showed quickly enough in the other fires that appeared and then in the smell of brewing coffee and cooking food. By the time half of the wagons had made the still dangerous crossing, hot coffee and food awaited the hard-working men. Not until everybody had been fed did Eileen manage to get to the wagon and start to change her clothes.

  The flap of the wagon lifted and a naked Eileen gave a gasp, swinging around and hiding as well as she could behind the towel she held. Calamity swung in and looked at. the other girl. Tossing aside her hat and slicker, Calamity unfastened her bandana and removed it.

  ‘Come out from behind there,’ she said testily as Eileen continued to hold up the towel. ‘I’ve seen all you’re likely to show me and got about the same.’

  ‘I’m not used to sharing a changing room,’ Eileen replied, cold and exhaustion bringing an edge to her voice.

  ‘Yeah, well in that case you go out of the wagon, I don’t aim. to,’ Calamity snapped back. ‘I’m getting sick to my guts of you!’

  ‘The feeling is quite mutual!’ snorted Eileen, turning her back and continuing her drying.

  Calamity tried to peel the sodden shirt and undershirt from her, but the already tight material stuck. Giving a harder tug, she jerked them over her head but the force of the pull sent them slapping on to Eileen’s back. A squeal of fury left Eileen’s lips and she swung around, dropping the towel.

  ‘You did that deliberately!’ she hissed and drew back her hand.

  ‘Don’t try it!’ Calamity warned angrily. ‘You start slapping and I’ll take you apart, you Boston hoity-toity.’

  Commonsense warned Eileen that Calamity spoke the truth. While Eileen could more than hold her own in a slanging match, she knew that Calamity had the advantage in any other kind of brawl. Then she realised how she was—or was not— dressed. Blushing, she bent hurriedly and grabbed up the towel, rubbing herself savagely with it. Once dry, she dressed and pushed by Calamity, leaving the wagon. Calamity stared after Eileen, gave an angry snort and finished her drying, then put on dry clothing and went in search of Beau Resin.

  Once again a chance mishap had ruined their hopes of peace for both girls had formed a respect for the other during the day. With luck they might have ended their feud in the wagon, but things went wrong and both were pot-boiling mad at the other.

  Leaving the wagon, Eileen went in search of Bigelow, but he was at supper with the Johnsons. In her loneliness, Eileen fell into conversation with Muldoon who she met on his way to inspect pickets. While walking through the camp, he told her much of Calamity, expressing his admiration for a number of most unfeminine talents shown by the girl.

  ‘Now there’s an outfit for you, ma’am,’ Muldoon remarked as they passed the rat-faced dude’s wagon. ‘You’d never guess what they do.’

  ‘Are they actresses of some kind?’ she replied.

  On hearing of how the outfit made its living, Eileen first thought that Muldoon must he joking. Then she saw he appeared to be very serious and listened to what he said about the blonde in particular. Nothing might have come of it, but after separating from Muldoon and walking back to her wagon Eileen saw the blonde away from her friends hanging clothes to dry.

  For a few minutes, Eileen tried to fight down the temptation, then she gave an angry snort. Calamity had asked for it, and needed to lose some of her conceit. With that in mind, Eileen walked over to the blonde and started talking. It seemed that Muldoon told the truth about the blonde, and she was willing to help Eileen out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MISS CANARY MEETS A LADY PUGILIST

  THE wagonmaster and Bigelow declared the day after the rains a rest period in order to allow the travellers a chance to dry out their belongings. Men went out to cut timber and the women did their chores.

  During the morning, after having slept on the matter all night, Eileen felt tempted to call off the arrangement she had made with the blonde. However, a trivial incident which neither of them could be blamed for sparked off a blazing quarrel and so Eileen went to see the blonde, taking money with her to finalise the arrangements. In these Eileen showed considerable planning skill that might have been worthy if applied to a better cause.

  In the late afternoon Eileen walked over to where Calamity sat cleaning her carbine, watched by a couple of admiring youngsters.

  ‘There’s some trouble down at the stream, Miss Canary,’ she said. ‘Molly—’

  ‘Is Molly needing help?’ asked Calamity, laying aside the carbine. ‘I’ll go right along.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘That’ll be as much help as an udder on a bull,’ Calamity sniffed.

  While listening to Calamity’s haste to go to Molly’s aid, Eileen had come almost to the verge of calling off her scheme, but Calamity’s sneer changed her mind. Tight-lipped and angry, Eileen turned and walked off through the camp. Behind her, Calamity told the two boys to ‘scat and keep out of mischief’ then followed on Eileen’s heels.

  The boys headed back to their wagons and on the way they met Molly returning from conducting a class.

  ‘Gee, Miss Johnson,’ one said. ‘We thought you was in trouble.’

  ‘Now what gave you that idea?’ Molly smiled.

  ‘Mrs. Tradle told Calamity you was and they went out of camp together.’

  Molly stared at’ the boy in horror. ‘Quick, Pete!’ she said. ‘Which way did they go?’

  ‘Down by the edge of the stream, following it down river.’

  ‘The fools! But Eileen Tradle wouldn’t—’

  ‘Wouldn’t what, Miss Molly?’

  ‘Nothing. You boys had better go back to your wagons and see if there are any chores for you.’

  Leaving the boys, Molly hurried out of the camp and through the woods, keeping to the banks of the stream. She covered almost a mile, well past the last working party and began to wonder if she was the victim of a schoolboy prank. Then she heard noises ahead. Moving forward, Molly saw there really was trouble on the bank of the small stream.

  Neither Calamity nor Eileen spoke as they walked through the trees along the bank of the stream. Eileen had learned the futility of trying to appear well-groomed and attired to the height of Eastern fashion and she wore a cheap old gingham dress instead of her fancy outfit; apart from her wedding ring, she had stored away all her jewellery, and her hair hung in a tidy fashion instead of being piled up in formal style.

  ‘Are you sure it’s this far?’ asked Calamity after they had passed the last of the train’s working parties.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘I hope I’ll not need my medicine bag,’ Calamity went on, looking down at the buckskin bag containing various herbs and items for rough-and-ready front
ier doctoring.

  ‘You probably will,’ Eileen answered.

  ‘I hope to hell you haven’t got lost,’ Calamity sniffed. ‘I haven’t. It’s just around the bend here.’

  Turning the bend, they came through the bushes into a clearing. Calamity saw a blonde woman sitting under a tree, but it was not Molly. On seeing Calamity and Eileen, the blonde rose, a long, flowing black robe hanging around her from neck to ankle.

  ‘What is this?’ Calamity growled. ‘Where’s Molly?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Eileen replied.

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘I started to say that Molly wasn’t involved, but you never gave me a chance. Anyway, I thought you’d jump at a chance of meeting Miss Petrosky.’

  ‘So who the hell is she?’ asked Calamity, looking at the buxom blonde who had aroused her interest earlier.

  ‘Her professional name is Russian Olga,’ Eileen replied. ‘She’s a lady pugilist.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Fist lighter, girlie,’ the blonde answered. ‘I’m champion of the world and never been licked.’

  Then Calamity saw what had been worrying Killem and the reason he changed the subject every time she mentioned the rat-faced dude’s outfit. Killem thought that if Calamity learned of Russian Olga’s claim to fame, she would go hell-blatting out looking for a chance to disprove the blonde’s statement. Calamity had heard of girl fist-fighters—they enjoyed a vogue much as girl wrestlers in later years—but had never connected the buxom blonde with the name Russian Olga.

  ‘Never been licked, huh?’ said Calamity thoughtfully, remembering something she had heard some time before.

  ‘Never, girlie.’

  ‘How’s about with that German gal up to Quiet Town?’

  A scowl creased Olga’s face at the mention of the incident, for her defeat still rankled. Yet she had met a defeat at the hands of an erstwhile member of the troupe while supposed to be fighting a fixed bout to cheat a rich miner out of his wager money.*