Running Irons

by J. T. Edson

“It’s Stan, that kid from the Box Twelve. He’s down there and wanting to see you. Only he’s pulling out with a herd and won’t be back for a month.”

  Ella frowned as she went to her bed and removed the pants. Knowing why Stan wished to see her, she did not care for the last piece of Phyl’s information. The cowhand had delivered ten stolen yearlings to Ella’s men and awaited payment, but she knew that if he rode out with the money her place would never profit by it.

  “Who’s he with?” she asked, standing clad in her black drawers and reaching for her stockings.

  “His kid brother.”

  “I mean of our girls.”

  “Mousey——”

  “She’s no good for what I want,” Ella interrupted.

  “That new gal, Marty’s, with them. Her and Mousey’s got real friendly.”

  “Marty, huh? This might be a chance to find out just what she’s like.”

  “Hey, that reminds me, boss,” Phyl put in. “You had an answer to that telegraph to Austin. Marty was put on the stage by the town clown, for lifting a drunken dude’s wallet.”

  “I thought as much,” Ella stated, drawing on her stockings. “Go down and tell Stan I’ll be in soon, and after I’ve paid him off, you can let me have a word with Marty.”

  Half an hour later Ella strolled downstairs dressed in her usual work-day style and showing no sign of having sneaked out of town that afternoon, taken a long ride and not long returned from visiting the hiding place of the stolen cattle.

  “Did that feller see you-all, Miss Ella?” Stan asked eagerly as she came up.

  “Sure, Stan,” Ella answered and held out the envelope she carried. “Say, what’s in this?”

  “Poker winnings, ma’am.”

  Like the rest of the cowhands who became involved in the cow stealing, Stan believed that Ella merely acted as an innocent go-between for the hard-case Stocker who took the cattle from them. Taking the envelope, Stan opened it and extracted the money. He slipped four of the ten-dollar bills into his wallet and turned to the bar.

  “You’ve been lucky,” Ella remarked, watching him thrust the wallet into his hip pocket.

  “Sure have, ma’am,” Stan agreed with a grin. “This’ll sure buy us a time when we get to Fort Williams.”

  “So you’re deserting us, Stan,” Ella smiled.

  “Shucks, it’ll only be for a spell. Say, ma’am, can I buy you a drink?”

  “I’ll take a brandy, Stan, thank you.”

  “One brandy, two glasses of whisky, something for the gals and one for you, Izzy,” ordered the cowhand. “Say, when’s old Pedlar Jacobs coming up here again?”

  “Don’t know, Stan,” replied the bartender. “He comes and goes. What’s up?”

  “Got him a real fancy white-handled Army Colt last time he was in. I figured I might buy it. Is he a friend of your’n?”

  “Not especially,” grunted the bartender and moved away to attend to another customer. One thing Izzy did not wish to discuss was his association with Jake Jacobs, particularly before his boss.

  “Drink up and have another, gals,” Stan told them, ignoring the departing Izzy. “I’m just going out back.”

  As Eddie elected to go along with his brother, Ella had her chance to talk with Calamity. First Ella sent Mousey off with a message for Phyl, then turned to her latest employee.

  “When Stan rides off, I want you to bring me his wallet,” the saloon-keeper ordered. “And don’t try to look shocked or innocent. I heard from Austin and know why you left town.”

  “Oh!” said Calamity flatly, not quite sure how she ought to react.

  “You don’t need to worry about that here, either. As long as you only do it when I tell you. Go to it and lift his leather for me.”

  “Yes’m,” said Calamity.

  Yet she felt worried by the assignment even though it presented her with a chance to gain Ella Watson’s confidence. Calamity remembered Murat’s warning that she must not become a party to any crime by actual participation. Even without the warning Calamity would have shrunk from stealing and did not want the young cowhand believing she was a thief.

  At that moment Stan and his brother returned and Ella drifted away. The two young cowhands behaved in a more steady manner than Calamity would have expected, knowing how most of their kind acted when in the money. Although Stan and Eddie bucked down to enjoying themselves, they did not go beyond the ten dollars the elder brother retained for his payment. Of course, ten dollars could get a couple of cowhands reasonably drunk, even when buying drinks for various friends.

  “Ten o’clock, time we was riding, Brother Eddie,” Stan remarked after bringing Calamity from the dance floor.

  “Sure thing, big brother,” grinned Eddie. “See you around Mousey.”

  “Now me,” Stan stated, his arm around Calamity’s waist, “I’ve got more good sense than to pick up with a gal who’s got a feller. You-all coming to see me on my way, Marty, gal?”

  “I sure wouldn’t miss it for the world,” replied Calamity.

  Arm in arm, she and Stan left the room, with Eddie following on their heels. Outside the youngster left his elder brother on the sidewalk while he went to collect the horses. Slipping his arm around Calamity’s waist, Stan looked down at her.

  “Do I get a kiss afore I leave?” he asked.

  “Not out here. Let’s go into the alley.”

  “We’re on our way, Marty, gal.”

  On reaching the shelter of the alley, Calamity turned to face the young cowhand. Like she figured, he might be trying to sprout a moustache and act all big and grown-up, but Stan lacked practical experience in such matters. In her time Calamity had been made love to by some prominent gentlemen, the kind of fellers who could near on curl a girl’s hair just by taking her in their arms. Stan did not come into that class by a good country mile.

  After fumbling for a moment, he got to slipping his arms around her and brought his face to her own. Calamity slid her arms between his and around his body then burrowed her face to his, kissing him. And when Calamity set her mind to it, she could kiss better than most gals with far greater advantages in more formal education. One thing was for sure, when Calamity started in to kissing him, Stan could have been jabbed by a sharp-rowelled spur and never noticed the pain.

  While kissing, Calamity lowered one hand and slid the wallet from Stan’s hip pocket. The very ease with which she removed it made Calamity decide to change her plans. On leaving the saloon she had merely intended to give Stan a slight return for a mildly enjoyable evening and then return to Ella Watson with the story that the cowhand did not give her a chance to lift his leather. Finding how easy the removal was, Calamity changed her original plan.

  Just before she could put her plan into operation, Stan pulled his head away from her. Calamity found herself in an embarrassing position, standing with the cowhand’s wallet in her right hand. Of course, he could not see the hand, but at any moment he might miss his wallet. So, like any good general, Calamity decided the best defense would be to attack.

  “Whooee!” she gasped. “You sure kiss up a storm. When a gal’s been kissed by you, she sure knows she’s been kissed.”

  Which same coincided with what Stan had always suspected. “Want another?” he inquired.

  “What do you think?”

  Once again Calamity kissed the cowhand. His arms gripped her tightly, but she managed to extract the money from the wallet. Still holding Stan’s attention, she slid the money into his pocket and retained the wallet.

  “Stan! Hey, Stan!” Eddie yelled, riding into sight on the street and leading a second horse. “Let’s go.”

  Releasing Calamity, Stan stepped back. Just in time Calamity slipped her right hand behind her back so he could not see the wallet it held. Stan looked at the girl and grinned.

  “Dang it, Marty,” he said. “I’ve got to go now. Say, will you be here when I get back?”

  “Sure will,” she agreed.

  Turning, Stan headed
for his horse and went afork in a flying mount. A wild cowhand yell left his lips and he put the pet-makers to his horse’s flanks. With a few more whooping yells, the brothers galloped out of town. Calamity watched them go, a grin on her face. Quickly she slipped the wallet into the front of her dress and walked back to the saloon.

  “Did you get it?” Ella asked as Calamity walked over to her.

  “Sure. Where’d you want me to give it to you?”

  “In the office. Come on.”

  Following the saloonkeeper, and with Maisie and Phyl on her heels, Calamity went into Ella’s office; a small room with a desk, a couple of chairs and a safe, and used for general saloon business. Taking out the wallet, Calamity handed it to Ella, wondering what would come next.

  “What’s this?” Ella snapped as she opened the wallet and stared at its denuded interior. “It’s empty!”

  “Empty!” said Calamity, Phyl and Maisie; Calamity in well simulated surprise, Phyl in a startled tone, and Maisie with a mocking glance at the red-headed boss girl.

  “All right, Marty!” Ella hissed. “Strip off!”

  “Huh!” Calamity gasped.

  “Come on, you know what the boss means!” Maisie snapped, delighted to have scored on Phyl, for the red-head was the one who took the new girl to see Ella.

  “All right, don’t get mean!” Calamity yelped. “So search me! How was I to know it was empty? I couldn’t look in it with him watching, and I’d be crazy to try lifting the cash then bringing an empty wallet.”

  “She’s got a good point there, boss,” Phyl put in.

  “Or maybe she’s just smart,” sniffed Maisie. “Peel off, girlie, or I’ll do it the hard way.”

  Normally such a threat would have been met eagerly by Calamity, but she held down her desire to jump the buxom brunette and hand her a licking. Giving a shrug, Calamity peeled off the dress and stood clad in a combined chemise and drawers outfit, stockings and shoes—and with the Remington Double Derringer, borrowed from Captain Murat, in a garter holster. Calamity had hoped to keep her armament hidden from the other saloon-girl’s eyes but knew her secret was out. All three women looked at the gun, yet none seemed concerned by it.

  “You don’t need that here,” Ella remarked, nodding to the Derringer.

  “I wouldn’t reckon you’d have any virtue to defend,” Maisie went on, giving Calamity’s dress a thorough search. “I’ll do that.”

  The last came as Phyl started to examine the rest of Calamity’s clothing as it was removed. An angry red flush crept to Phyl’s face at the words.

  “Don’t you trust me?” she hissed and made no attempt to put down the garments she held.

  “Check the Derringer’s got nothing but bullets in it, Maisie,” Ella interrupted. “Phyl, go ahead with the underwear.”

  While she encouraged the rivalry between her two boss girls, Ella had no intention of allowing them to decide once and for all who had the higher social standing by means of a fight. Knowing that hell had no fury like an annoyed or humiliated woman, Ella preferred to let them simmer than have one embittered by defeat and maybe looking for revenge by talking of the saloon’s other business to interested parties.

  “Nothing,” Ella said after the check. “No hard feelings, Marty, but you know how it is.”

  “Sure, boss. I’m sorry I didn’t do better. Why’d you think he had something in his wallet?”

  “Just a hunch. It looks like he either changed places, or let Eddie hold the money when they went out back. Young Stan’s smarter than I thought. Go back out front and do some work, Marty.”

  After Calamity left the office, Maisie scowled at Phyl and asked, “Do you reckon she could have hid the money outside before she came in?”

  “And bring in the empty wallet?” scoffed Phyl. “She’d need to be real dumb to even think about it. Anyway, we heard those cowhands ride by just before she came in. Stan must have changed the money while he was outside, like the boss said.”

  “Sure. I think Marty’ll work out right for us,” Ella stated. “Let’s get out and see if there’s anything happening.”

  “We lost some money,” Maisie pointed out.

  “I lost some,” Ella corrected. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it back later.”

  Out in the bar room Calamity joined Mousey and found the little girl bubbling with curiosity about the reason for the visit to Ella’s office.

  “It wasn’t much,” Calamity answered. “The boss just wanted to know if I’d settled in all right.”

  “Oh! I thought you might have been in trouble. Did you see Stan and Eddie off?”

  “Yep,” Calamity smiled. “I reckon I did.” Then a thought struck her. “Say, when do I get to meet this Tommy of yours?”

  “He’ll maybe come in tomorrow,” Mousey replied. “Hey, if he brings Danny Forgrave in, maybe you and him can make up a foursome with us. You’ll like Danny, he’s a real nice boy.”

  Thinking of the night in the Jones cabin beyond Austin, Calamity smiled. “I reckon I might at that.”

  She figured Danny would take the opportunity to come to town with Tommy and that ought to give them a chance to get together and discuss what they each had learned so far.

  Chapter 11 MISS CANARY INVOLVES MR. FOG

  DANNY FOG COULD NOT TRUTHFULLY ADMIT TO making any progress in the few days spent on the Caspar County ranges. Even with his findings of the first day, he might have been no more than an ordinary drifting cowboy who stopped off at the Bench J for work, for he knew little more about the cow stealing than when he arrived.

  Clearly Ed Lyle regarded Danny as being all right when the foreman returned from tracking the remaining cow thief, then back-trailing Danny to establish that the young man had told the truth about coming from Austin City way. The foreman could find no sign that Danny had come from any other direction and so was prepared to treat him as he would any other hand. As to the other matter, Lyle told Danny that the cow thief’s tracks disappeared on to the Rock Pile, a large, barren rocky area on the edge of the county and over which following tracks was impossible.

  During the next few days Danny rode the ranges and performed the routine work of a cowhand. His skilled use of the borrowed cutting-horse when working cattle lulled any remaining suspicions the foreman might have held, for a cutting-horse was a specialist animal and the fact that Danny possessed one tended to make his pose as a drifting cowhand more acceptable. Mostly Danny worked with Tommy and from the youngster learned much about the affairs of the county. Tommy told Danny how, soon after the stealing became noticeable, Turk Stocker had the other ranchers search his spread on the Rock Pile but they found only his runty, poorly-fed stock on it. So they concluded that the cow thieves ran their stolen animals on to the Rock Pile to make tracking impossible, then could go in any direction to wherever they sold their loot. While Tommy admitted he did not care for Soskice, he said the lawyer had his uses when the sheriff picked up one of the boys. Simmonds appeared to be regarded as a harmless nuisance hired by the town to keep cowhand horse-play in bounds. Of Sammy and Pike’s behavior before their deaths, Tommy said little. It appeared that Sammy found his “love” for Dora came real expensive, far more so than a cowhand could afford and that Pike, like the good friend he was, did what he could to further his amigo’s romance. Only small things came out of Danny’s talks with Tommy, yet they helped him build up a better picture of the situation in Caspar County.

  When the story of how Danny stood up to the deputy and Ed Wren made the rounds, and of how he rode the Rafter O’s bay reached the ears of the other hands, he found himself regarded as being quite a feller. The feeling pleased him, for this time he had made the grade without anybody thinking of him as Dusty Fog’s kid brother and treating him to secondhand respect on that relationship.

  However, when Saturday arrived, little had been done to either prevent the cow stealing or find the folks behind it. No further losses had been discovered and none of the crew went out at night to do the necessary riding neede
d to locate brand and deliver the stolen animals.

  “Are you coming into town tonight, Danny?” Tommy asked as they rode toward the Bench J’s main buildings on Saturday afternoon.

  “Reckon so. I’ve some money just itching to be spent. Are you fixing to see your gal tonight?”

  “Sure am. Why don’t you get one?”

  “Me? Way I see it, Tommy, amigo, ain’t but the one thing worse’n getting left afoot, and that’s tying in with a good woman.”

  “Compadre,” Tommy replied soberly, “you’ll never know how wrong you are until you’ve tried it.”

  “Tell you then,” grinned Danny. “Happen I find a real nice gal. I’ll think about trying it.”

  After a meal in the cookshack, the two young men joined the other hands at washing, shaving and generally preparing for a trip to town. Such an occasion called for one’s better clothing and the use of one’s go-to-town horse; this latter being selected for its good appearance rather than any ability for working purposes. Once prepared, the hands mounted their horses ready for the ten-mile ride to town.

  A fair crowd had already gathered in the Cattle Queen when the Bench J crew arrived. Jerome left his hands to attend to a few pieces of business around town, and some of the crew went to deal with personal affairs, but Danny and Tommy headed for the saloon.

  “Hey, Maisie!” Tommy called as he entered and looked around the bar room. “Where-at’s my gal?”

  “Not down yet,” Maisie replied. “Set a spell, she’ll be along.”

  “Go grab a table, Tommy,” Danny suggested. “I’ll fetch in the drinks.”

  While waiting for Mousey to make her appearance, Danny and Tommy sat at a table and drank beer. Danny looked around for some sign of Calamity, yet she did not appear to be present. Pointing out various people in the room, Tommy named them for Danny’s benefit. At last the youngster nodded to a pair of men sitting at a table between them and the stairs leading to the saloon’s private quarters.

  “That’s Turk Stocker and his foreman, Dutchy Schatz,” Tommy remarked. “How the hell they manage to make that spread up on the Rock pile pay, I can’t figure.”