Cold Deck, Hot Lead

by J. T. Edson

  “Stage, then.”

  “And the depot’s right on Main Street,” Calamity pointed out. “Happen that bunch’re dead set on getting you, they’ll not miss any bets like watching the stage depot. Are you dead set on going East?”

  “Not so that I can’t change my mind,” Derringer admitted. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “I’m taking that wagon-load of supplies to Banyan,” she replied. “You can come along with me, happen Dobie don’t mind—which he don’t.”

  “Is it all right with you, Dobe?” Derringer asked.

  “Sure. The other wagons aren’t here yet and you going along’ll save me using one of the stable-hands as a shotgun guard.”

  “You carrying anything important?”

  “Just general supplies for a couple of ranches and folks in Banyan,” Killem answered.

  “Nothing special, then?” Derringer went on.

  “Not real special, and nothing like—say a box of gold or money somebody wanted sneaking out to ’em unsuspected.”

  “Unless you count that box full of decks of cards,” Calamity put in.

  “Oh yeah, them,” Killem said, nodding. “We’ve shipped some of ’em afore now, gal. They’re for a store-keeper in Banyan, he acts as jobber for the company that prints ’em. I’d say that he supplies the whole town from the number of ’em he has sent to him.”

  “They do allow that there’s gambling goes on in Banyan,” commented Calamity with an air of wide-eyed innocence that brought a grin to Derringer’s lips.

  From all Derringer had heard about the town, claiming that gambling went on there was like allowing folks prayed in a church. Although the railroad missed it by some eighty miles, Banyan had grown fast through a number of fortunate circumstances. In addition to being near Fort Brace, which acted as base for two infantry regiments and a force of cavalry, a small but thriving gold-mine business brought men and money to the town. While the buffalo hunters who once formed a large portion of the customers grew less with the shrinking of the herds, cattlemen moved in to utilize the grazing left vacant. In such a boom-town atmosphere gambling could be expected to flourish, and, by all accounts, Banyan offered any kind of action a man might desire. That had been one of the reasons Derringer decided to accept Calamity’s offer.

  “I’d heard there might be,” he assured the girl. “So there’d be nothing on the wagon anybody’d want to steal?”

  “If you’re still thinking about that back flap being open, any of the load’d sell easy enough could somebody lay hands on it,” Killem replied. “Maybe somebody saw Bugle away from the yard and took a chance, only you scared him off afore he could take anything.”

  “Could be,” Derringer admitted.

  “Anyways,” Calamity stated, “there won’t be another chance, Neb’d best put one of the boys to guarding it when they come back from their drinking and carousing in town.”

  “Drinking and carousing yet,” grinned Killem. “A schooner of beer each, a few hands of penny-ante poker and the weekly session of lying about the good old days is all they’re doing.”

  “I can’t help it if they’re not as young and feisty as they used to be,” Calamity sniffed. “Fact being, they never were.”

  “Women!” Killem snorted. “I’ll have Neb set a guard. You got any baggage that needs gathering, Derry?”

  “I always travel light. What I have’s in the wagon. I threw it over the top of the load before I climbed up into the tree.”

  “You think fast,” Killem complimented. “That was a smart play, climbing up into the tree when you saw Bugle. He went underneath you, saw them jaspers and headed to them afore he’d time to get your scent. Then we all thought you couldn’t be in the yard.”

  “Not me,” contradicted Calamity. “I was over by the stove when Bugle took to bawling and looked out of the window. So I saw you climb up there.”

  “And didn’t say a word about it,” Killem growled.

  “You’re always telling me us women talk too much,” Calamity reminded him, and looked at the gambler. “How about it, Derry. Do you want to come to Banyan with me?”

  “I’ve nothing to go any other place for,” Derringer replied. “Sure, I’ll go along. Only it’ll mean we’ll be alone on the trail with each other.”

  If the thought shocked Calamity, she failed to show it. “Shucks,” she said. “I’m game to take a chance on that if you are.”

  Shortly after dawn next morning Calamity drove her wagon out of Tribune. As she passed a livery barn, she saw Bud Keebles and Ferrely coming from it. Resisting the temptation to stop and ask if the trio had caught their man, she continued to drive. For his part, Bud did no more than glance at the girl seated alone on the wagon box and then turned his attention back to his companion. While passing the Wells Fargo office, she saw Throck seated on the porch. Although he looked her over, the burly man gave no sign of suspecting anything.

  Once clear of the town, Calamity held her team to a fast walk and allowed them to work off the friskiness caused by rest and grain-feeding. For a mile she concentrated on the team, then as they settled down turned her interest to the back trail. After another half a mile she looped the reins loosely around the brake-handle. Without slowing the team, she turned on the box and unfastened the front of the canopy.

  Inside the wagon, a warm-looking Derringer blinked as light flooded through the open front. When assembling the load, a space had been left at the front in which Calamity could spread her bed at night. Derringer had hidden in that space, with front and rear canopy flaps lashed down, to prevent Nabbes’ gang knowing that he was travelling with the girl. Despite having heard nothing to alarm him, the gambler held his cane-gun ready for use.

  “Come on out,” Calamity suggested. “There’s nobody after us.”

  “Were they watching?” he asked, joining the girl on the box.

  “I saw young Keebles and another coming out of the livery barn,” she replied. “Likely they’d been asking if you’d got a hoss. And there was that big Throck jasper watching the Wells Fargo stage office. They must want you bad, Derry.”

  “I can think of near on fifteen hundred right good reasons, Calam.”

  “Whooee! I’m doing the wrong kind of work. Anyways, they don’t know you’ve come out with me. We’ll fool ’em a mite more soon.”

  A battered U.S. Cavalry kepi perched at a rakish angle on Calamity’s head and she sported a tight-rolled green bandana knotted around her neck. Seated comfortably on the wagon box, she handled the ribbons of the powerful six-horse team with complete confidence. A Winchester Model 1866 carbine rode in a boot fastened to the side of the wagon in easy reach of her right hand.

  “How’d you figure on doing the fooling?” Derringer asked.

  “We’re not sticking to the Banyan trail. I’ve some other stops to make. So they’ll not know where to find us. I tell you, Derry, there’s not a thing to worry about.”

  Although Derringer felt that the girl might be a touch optimistic, he grew more into line with her thoughts as the day went by. Especially when they left the main trail to follow a winding, narrow track across the range. By nightfall they reached their first delivery point, a small ranch-house, and had seen no sign of pursuit. However, he figured that Nabbes would not allow the matter to rest, nor give up the attempt to find him. There might still be danger.

  Seated at the table in the small saloon’s back room, Eli Nabbes looked around the circle of faces. Night had fallen and the gang had gathered for a debate.

  “It’s been two days,” he said. “I tell you, Derringer’s got out of town.”

  “Not on any stage, that’s for sure,” Fenn Keebles stated. “Me and Joe’ve watched ’em leave and I’ve followed ’em maybe three mile along the way.”

  “You’ve been watching the railroad depot, Eli,” Ferrely pointed out. “And had Bud out on that slope in case Derringer tried to jump a train there. And I can’t get word of him hiring a hoss.”

  Knowing his steerer’s
skill at obtaining information, Nabbes accepted the statement. Before any more could be said, the door opened and the saloon-keeper looked in.

  “Billy Bitzer wants a word with you, Eli,” he announced.

  For a moment Nabbes thought of declining, then he changed his decision. Bitzer was a small-time gambler who hovered on the fringe of actual crime. Possibly he possessed information about Derringer, for Nabbes had passed the word that he would welcome such news.

  “Send him in,” ordered the little man.

  The man who entered wore cheap flashy town clothes and carried himself with an air of cocky assurance, like one who knew he brought news of importance. Throwing a glance at the door, he made no attempt to start speaking until the saloon-keeper had closed it from the other side.

  “Got something you might want to hear, Mr. Nabbes,” Bitzer started, coming to the table.

  Which meant, as Nabbes realized, that money must change hands before he heard the news. However, he also knew that Bitzer would not visit him unless possessing worthwhile information. So he took out his wallet and nodded.

  “Tell it then, Billy.”

  “I don’t know all of it,” admitted Bitzer, with the air that what he knew ought to be enough. “Only I’ve been working for Ted Claggert from Banyan for the past few days.”

  “So?” Nabbes demanded, knowing Claggert to be floor-manager in one of Banyan’s leading saloons.

  “He didn’t pay me all that good,” Bitzer remarked pointedly.

  Slowly, almost reluctantly and without allowing the other to see how much the wallet held, Nabbes drew a ten-dollar bill into sight and then a second.

  “Twenty’s all it’s worth, and not that unless there’s more,” he stated.

  “There’s more,” promised Bitzer. “Like how a couple of nights back I got hold of a bitch red-hot in heat for Ted——”

  “And?”

  “Took it down back of Dobe Killem’s freight yard to lure away that big bluetick that’s kept there.”

  Watching his customer, Bitzer saw just a slight sign of interest. Yet he felt that his words had caught the rest of the gang’s notice. It seemed that Bud Keebles meant to say something, but Nabbes glared the youngster into silence.

  “Why’d he want you to do that?” the little man inquired.

  “So’s he’d have time to get in there and change a box that was on a wagon.”

  “So what’s important about that?” Nabbes snorted, making as if to replace the money.

  “Claggert don’t know that I found out what was in the boxes they changed. Decks of playing cards.”

  “What time’d that be?” Fenn Keebles put in. “When you was making the swap, I mean?”

  “I didn’t make it. All I had to do was get the bitch, let her go into the alley on a long line and haul her out when the bluetick come sniffing around her. Claggert and his pard done the swap.”

  “All right, you’re clean, innocent and done nothing!” Fenn snorted. “But what time was it?”

  “I’d say maybe half after nine,” Bitzer answered, wondering what caused the question. “We had to wait until Killem’s straw-boss and hands went to the Long Rail so’d there’d only be Killem and Calamity Jane there and less chance of anybody roaming around.”

  “How about the hound?” Nabbes said. “How long was it away?”

  “I dunno for sure,” Bitzer told him. “All I did was lead it off after the bitch a ways, let ’em get tied together and left ’em. It was away long enough for Claggert to do the swap.”

  Clearly Bitzer felt that he had done his share, for he reached across the table in the direction of the money. However, Nabbes made no attempt to relinquish it.

  “You figure that’s worth twenty bucks?” the little man demanded. “Whyn’t you come and tell us sooner?”

  “Hell, Claggert didn’t leave until nightfall and kept me with him until just afore he went. I come as soon as I could.”

  “Why’d you reckon he swapped them boxes?” Throck spoke up for the first time, scowling in a puzzled manner.

  “I didn’t ask,” Bitzer stated. “All I know is that he wanted them changing and without Killem suspecting anything. That’s why he didn’t let me kill the dog once I got it clear of the yard.”

  “Here,” Nabbes said, sliding the money across the table. “And don’t go peddling your news to anybody else. Happen I hear that you do, I’ll let Claggert know where I got it.”

  “I’ll keep quiet, trust me,” Bitzer replied, knowing what his fate would be if Claggert knew of his treachery. The only reason he remained alive was that the floor-manager did not realize the full extent of his knowledge; or how he had disobeyed orders by leaving the coupled dogs and returning cautiously to a place where he could see into the yard. Having watched the exchange, Bitzer had slipped away and acted as if he had followed Claggert’s instructions to the letter.

  “What’s that all about, Eli?” Ferrely demanded after Bitzer left. “We don’t have so much money that you can toss away twenty bucks like that.”

  “Don’t, huh?” Nabbes snorted, although he knew that the other spoke the truth with regard to their financial standing. “What time was it when you boys lost Derringer that night?”

  “Coming up to quarter to ten, I’d say,” Fenn replied.

  “Hell!” Throck ejaculated. “He could’ve got into the yard with the dog gone and hid in the wagon.”

  “The dog was there,” Bud objected.

  “It must’ve come back after he hid, seen us and made for us,” Fenn guessed. “So we figured he couldn’t be around.”

  “We should’ve searched that damned wagon,” Bud growled.

  “With Killem and that feller throwing down on us?” Throck scoffed.

  “Feller be damned!” Fenn snapped. “That was no feller, it was Calamity Jane. She stood back so we’d not know it was a woman.”

  “And Calamity Jane’s real friendly with Mark Counter from what I’ve heard,” Nabbes breathed. “That means she’d help Derringer if he asked for it.”

  “Huh! He warn’t on the wagon with her when she pulled out yesterday,” Bud protested. “I saw her going by.”

  “That’s for sure,” Throck went on. “There was just her on the box——”

  “Just her!” Nabbes snorted. “Do you reckon Killem’d let her go all the way to Banyan without a guard along, damn it?”

  “Maybe not,” Throck agreed.

  “You could bet your damned life he wouldn’t!” Nabbes snapped. “I’ll bet Derringer was either hid in the wagon, or waiting outside town someplace for her. Either way he’s left town and’s headed for Banyan, with our money.”

  “So what’ll we do, Eli?” Fenn inquired.

  “Take after him,” Nabbes replied. “Lou, go see if you can find a sucker. We can’t leave tonight and could use some extra cash. Comes morning we’ll get us some horses and head for Banyan.”

  “Then what?” Throck wanted to know.

  “If Derringer’s there, we’ll tend to his needings,” Nabbes explained. “And if he’s not—well, I’ll be interested to see what kind of cards they’re selling up that ways after Calamity Jane arrives.”

  Chapter 5

  TRAVELLING IN CALAMITY JANE’S COMPANY PROVED a novel, entertaining experience and Derringer found it a welcome break from the high pressures of a professional gambler’s life. The girl handled her team with a deft competence that many a man might envy. Pulled by six powerful horses bred for such work, the wagon travelled at a good speed even though no longer on the main Banyan trail. By nightfall they had covered some twenty miles and reached a small ranch-house.

  “Your gear’s at the back here,” Calamity told the rancher, after introducing Derringer, and opened the rear end of the canopy.

  Although accompanying the girl as a paying passenger, Derringer had already offered to help with the work. During the stop Calamity made at noon to rest and feed her team, he had been amused, if just a touch irritated, by her attitude. Until sure that
he knew sufficient to perform the more menial routine tasks of caring for her highly prized team and wagon, she kept a careful watch on him.

  Knowing Calamity, Derringer expected to find the wagon loaded correctly and the consignment of goods for the ranch placed conveniently at the rear. So he reached for the nearest box after lowering the tail-gate, wondering why it seemed both familiar and yet out of place. The box was stoutly made and securely fastened, bearing the words “BLETCHLEY & SONS, 300” on the sides.

  “Not that one, Derry,” Calamity said. “It’s those decks of cards Dobe told you about. The Tribune jam-buster* didn’t get the damned thing to us until after all the other gear’d been loaded. He allowed it’d been put down behind some other stuff and forgotten.”

  Given that much information, Derringer remembered where he had seen a similar box. Bletchley & Sons printed playing cards for a nation-wide market and always shipped bulk sales of their stock in such a manner. Using newly developed techniques of mass-production, the company produced nearly flawless back designs, ensured that all corners be exactly rounded and that no card exceeded the rest of the deck in size by an appreciable amount. Volume of sales allowed Bletchley & Sons to hold the price of their cards down at a competitive level, and the decks could be found in a majority of saloons—Derringer had two new Bletchley decks in his bag, regarding them, as did many gamblers, as the best available.

  Setting aside the box, Derringer put it from his mind and helped unload the goods for the ranch.

  Moving on the next morning, they travelled across country to the girl’s next delivery point. At first Derringer kept watch on their back trail, but by noon on the third day he shared the girl’s belief that their ruse had succeeded. Of course, if Nabbes had guessed how he escaped, there might be a reception committee waiting in Banyan. But Derringer saw no way that the little man could know his destination, even if—as Nabbes would by that time—he suspected that Derringer had managed to leave Tribune.