Running Irons

by J. T. Edson

  “Lanky’s out back with one of the gals,” Stirton drawled as they left the saloon. “Take his dun, Mar—Calamity.”

  At that moment the sheriff and his deputy came running along the street. Calamity did not give them time to start asking questions, but pointed to the saloon and yelled, “There’s a fight upstairs, Sheriff!”

  Then she and the Rafter O men hit their saddles. Before the sheriff could ask any of the questions which boiled up inside him, the entire bunch went racing out of town. In the lead Calamity told Stirton to head for Bowie Rock. She rode as never before. Knowing it to be a race against time—with Danny Fog and Tommy Fayne’s lives hanging in the balance.

  Chapter 14 IT WON’T WORK THIS TIME, ELLA

  DANNY FOG AND TOMMY FAYNE HAD ONE ADVANTAGE over Stocker and Schatz when Ella Watson screamed out her warning. The two young men knew they were fakes and both expected trouble as soon as they heard the rapidly approaching horse coming from the direction of town.

  Even though Danny could not figure out how Ella discovered his secret, he wasted no time in idle speculation. Already he held a Colt in his right hand for he had never professed to be real fast with a gun and knew he could not match Stocker in a straight draw-and-shoot fracas. Even as the rancher heard the words, let out a startled curse and grabbed for his gun, Danny went into action.

  “Yeeah!” Danny yelled and fired a shot into the air.

  Never the most stable and easily handled of animals, even less so when newly branded and being held against their will during the night hours, the longhorns needed little encouragement to spook and take to running. All twenty head heard the yell and crash of the shot, then they went to running—straight at Stocker and Schatz. While a longhorn could be handled, under normal conditions, safely enough from the back of a horse, that did not apply right then. Both rancher and segundo took one look at the wild-eyed, charging animals and jumped their horses clear of the rush of scared longhorns.

  Cattle streamed by Stocker as he threw two shots at Danny. Shooting from the back of a horse had never been noted as an aid to accuracy, especially when using instinctive alignment, so the bullets missed the Ranger. Danny fired in return—only he took the extra split-second to raise his Colt shoulder high and use the sights, and his sabino stood like a statue under him. Flame licked from the barrel of Danny’s Colt and the muzzle-blast blinded him for an instant. When his vision cleared, Danny saw Stocker pitching down from his saddle. Even as he saw Stocker fall, Danny heard the crackle of shots to his right.

  Tommy had drawn his Colt even as Danny started the cattle running. Often Tommy daydreamed about becoming involved in a gun fight and now he found himself tangled in a real shooting match. Buck-ague sent rippling shivers of excitement through the youngster and his hand shook at he threw up the Colt. Guns roared and Tommy heard a flat “splat!” sound which he failed to recognize as the cry of a close-passing bullet for he had never heard one before. He saw the bulky shape of Schatz charging at him and shooting as he came. Only the fact that Schatz handled his gun with his left hand saved Tommy from death. Three times the burly man fired, his lead coming closer with each successive explosion.

  Pure instinct guided Tommy’s hand. He lined his Colt, feeling his horse fiddle-footing nervously under him and guessing the movement helped to save his life. Tommy never remembered firing his Colt. All he knew was that the gun roared and bucked against his palm. Next moment Schatz tilted backward, sending a bullet into the air, and went down from his horse, landing under the feet of Tommy’s mount and letting the gun fall from his hand.

  Tossing his leg over the sabino’s saddlehorn, Danny dropped to the ground and moved toward Stocker. The rancher had come to his knees, but saw Danny approaching and noted the gun the Ranger held. Remembering the lawman’s rule for dealing with such a situation, Stocker released his injured right shoulder and raised his left hand hurriedly into the air.

  “Don’t shoot, Ranger!” he yelled. “I’m done. Hold your fire.”

  The rancher appeared to be making more noise than one would expect; or so Danny decided. With every instinct alert and working full-time, Danny soon discovered the cause of the noise. Dark shapes moved out of the clump of scrub oaks from which Stocker and Schatz had emerged. Even as Danny saw the shapes, guns bellowed from them and muzzle-blasts flared in the darkness—but not aimed in his direction.

  “Hit the ground, Tommy!” Danny yelled, throwing two shots at the shapes and changing his position as he fired.

  Showing remarkable presence of mind considering it to be his first involvement in a corpse-and-cartridge affair, Tommy left his saddle and lit down on the ground. Although his horse spooked, it did not go far with the reins trailing but came to a halt a couple of hundred yards away. Crouching behind a black mound, Tommy raised his Colt. Then he realized that the hump hiding him was in reality Schatz’s body. The man lay without a move.

  “If you shoot, Tommy,” Danny called, rolling over as he spoke and sending another shot at the approaching men, “move straight after it.”

  Before Tommy could profit by Danny’s advice, they heard more hooves thudding from the direction of Caspar City. So did their attackers. Coming to a halt, the Stocker men read danger in the approaching riders, for they knew one set of hooves could not make so much noise.

  “Get out of here!” yelled a voice.

  Not that the speaker needed to give any warning. Even before he yelled out his sage advice, the others had turned and started to run back in the direction from which they came. In his excitement Tommy thumbed off two shots, but failed to make a hit.

  Stocker saw his hired help take a Mexican stand-off and painfully dragged himself on to his hands and knees after flattening down to allow his men to shoot without fear of hitting him. Holding his bullet-busted shoulder with his left hand, the rancher prepared to make a dash for safety.

  “Hold it right there, Stocker!” Danny barked, coming to his feet and lining the Army Colt. “I won’t tell you twice!”

  Knowing that nobody would blame a Texas Ranger for shooting down a cow thief, and not being sure whether Danny would carry out the threat or not Stocker came to a halt. Crashes and the snorting grunts of disturbed horses told the rancher that his men were going fast and that he had no hope of escape.

  “All right,” he said. “I’m done.”

  “Danny!” yelled a voice from the approaching party. “It’s the Rafter O!”

  “Come ahead,” Danny replied.

  Bringing his horse to a halt, Stirton pointed off to where the fleeing Stocker hands could be heard. “Want for us to take after them?”

  “Nope. They’ll not be back,” Danny answered. “How’d you get here just at the right time?”

  “That gal Marty told us you was a Ranger and likely to need help. Say, she reckons she’s Calamity Jane.”

  “Don’t you going tell nobody now,” grinned Danny. “But she is Calamity Jane.” He looked around then went on, “Say where is she now?”

  “Took off after one of the bunch who cut away across the range. Sent us on in to help you.”

  “Stay on here and tend to Stocker, Wally. I’ll go look for her.”

  “Is Stocker in on this stealing?” growled the rancher, looking at the suddenly scared, wounded man.

  “Up to his dirty li’l neck,” replied Danny.

  “Then we’ll hold him for you,” Stirton promised.

  Something in the rancher’s voice brought Danny to a halt as he started to turn away from Stirton.

  “I want him alive when I get back,” Danny warned. “You hear me?”

  “Danged if you aint’ a spoilsport,” grunted Stirton. “He’ll be alive and kicking when you come back.”

  Turning, Danny walked to the waiting sabino and swung into the saddle. He looked to where a couple of the Rafter O hands stood over Schatz’s body, one of them holding the bull’s-eye lantern and directing its beam downward. Tommy stood to one side and even in the feeble light Danny could see the pallor of
the youngster’s usually tanned cheeks.

  “He’s done,” said the hand with the lantern. “Hit straight between his two eyes. Who got him, Tommy?”

  “Let’s ride, Tommy,” Danny put in before the youngster could answer.

  Tommy raised no argument. One of the Rafter O hands had collected his horse and he swung into the saddle.

  “I’ll tend to things here, Ranger,” Stirton called. “Need any of my boys?”

  “Reckon me and Tommy ought to be enough,” Danny replied. “Fix Stocker’s wing and put out some guards in case his boys come back to try and pry him free.”

  For a time Danny and Tommy rode in silence. Danny looked sideways at Tommy and guessed how the youngster must feel.

  “It’s never easy, killing a man, Tommy,” he said.

  “It sure ain’t,” agreed Tommy. “I felt like fetching up, only I didn’t want Rafter O to see me do it.”

  “There’s no shame in it. Only remember this. It was him or you. He sure as hell aimed to kill you and you’d every right to stop him any way you could.”

  “Yeah,” answered Tommy and gave a shuddering sigh. Then he threw off the feeling of nausea. “Say, how do we find Calamity?”

  “Just ride on for a spell, then stop and listen some.”

  Following Danny’s plan, they rode on for about half a mile before halting their horses and sitting in silence. Only the ordinary night noises came to their ears and after a few seconds Danny started his sabino moving again.

  “Which’s the shortest way back to town, Tommy?” he asked.

  “Over that ways,” Tommy answered, pointing to the right.

  Swinging their horses in the desired direction, the two young men continued their ride. Ten minutes passed and Danny brought his sabino to a halt again. This time he heard something, so did Tommy.

  “What the hell?” Tommy asked, listening to the screams, squeals and scuffling noises that came faintly to their ears.

  “Reckon ole Calam done caught up with Ella Watson and just couldn’t resist temptation,” Danny replied. “Let’s go take a look.”

  When Ella Watson saw the approaching Rafter O hands even though she did not recognize them as such, she knew her reign as boss of the Caspar County cow thieves had come to an end. From the number of shots and the shouted conversation between Danny Forgrave—or Fog, whichever it might be—and Stocker, she figured that the attempt at killing the Ranger had failed. So she decided to pull out, make a fast ride to town, empty her safe and be well clear of Caspar before the posse could return with news of Stocker’s capture.

  A yell from the posse told Ella she had been seen and one of the riders spun out of the group to give chase. Ella urged her horse to a gallop, yet she doubted if the animal could outrun her pursuer’s mount. Hearing the yell Stirton let to warn Danny of his coming, Ella knew she did not have a chance in a race. The Rafter O specialized in breeding good horses, while her own mount had been selected more for its gentle qualities and steadiness rather than speed.

  After half a mile of riding Ella swung her mount in the direction of the distant town and safety. Although still ahead of her pursuer, she figured it would not be long before they came together. Yet she did not wish to kill the one following. With Gooch it had been different. Then she fled before a wanton murderous bounty hunter and her life would have been forfeit if she fell into his hands. So she decided to use her trick merely to draw her pursuer in close. Then she would take his horse, leaving him afoot and unable to interfere, ride relay with it and her mount, make better time to town and have a longer start on the posse.

  Having made her decision, Ella unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it open to expose her naked breasts. With bait like that any cowhand would walk straight into her trap and fall easy prey to her.

  Twisting around in her saddle, Ella glanced back at the other rider. At the distance separating them she could not distinguish the other, or recognize him. It was not Danny For—Fog, of that she felt sure. However, he might prove too smart to fall for her trick. Probably the rider was one of Stirton’s younger hands trying to make a name for himself. If so, he ought to be easy to handle.

  Ella’s horse slid down a gentle slope and as it reached the open ground at the bottom she reined it in. Before the pursuer came into view, Ella slid out of her saddle, dropping to the ground and lying flat on her back. She tossed the hat aside with her left hand, allowing her hair to hang over her face. With the right she took out her Derringer and held it concealed. From above came the sound of the other horse, then the noise ended and she knew the rider had halted. She figured he could not see enough yet, but would come in closer.

  For a few seconds nothing happened. Ella lay still, hardly daring to breathe in case she scared the other rider into shooting in panic. A faint scuffling sound came to her ears as the other started to come down the slope. Any second now he ought to come close en——

  “It won’t work this time, Ella, gal,” said a voice.

  Shock ripped into Ella at the words, for she saw the failure of her plan. No man addressed her, but the voice sounded mighty like that of the girl she knew as Marty Connelly. Somehow, Ella could not think how, the girl must have escaped from the Cattle Queen, gathered a posse and ridden to Danny’s aid. Cold fury gripped Ella and she tensed to roll over with a roaring Derringer in her hand. Even as the thought came to her, Ella heard the low click of a Colt coming to full cock.

  “Don’t try it, gal!” the voice went on in cold warning tones. “A stingy gun like that Derringer’s no good at over fifteen foot and I’m more than that away.”

  “What’d you want?” Ella asked, debating whether to chance rolling suddenly and throwing a shot at the other girl.

  “Throw the gun well clear of you,” came the reply.

  “Go to hell!”

  “In good time, I reckon. Only this’s the last time I’ll ask you to throw that stingy gun away.”

  Ella could tell from the tone of Calamity’s voice that argument, or trying to roll over and shoot, would do no good. Being a smart girl, Ella knew when to call the game quits. Carefully she lifted her right hand, then tossed the Derringer a fair distance away across the level floor at the foot of the slope. Then she sat up slowly and shoved her hair back before turning to look at her captor. One glance told Ella the other girl spoke truly in the matter of relative gun ranges. From the casually competent manner the red-head held the Navy Colt, she knew how to handle it and could likely have put a bullet into Ella had the saloonkeeper made a wrong move.

  Standing up the slope, Calamity watched the Derringer sail away into the darkness. On her arrival at the head of the slope Calamity had left her borrowed horse standing with trailing reins, hung her whip around the saddlehorn and moved in ready to hand Ella a shock.

  “Who are you?” Ella asked, coming to her feet.

  “The name’s Martha Jane Canary——”

  “Mar—Calamity Jane?”

  “I’ve been called worse,” Calamity admitted. “Let’s ride back to Bowie Rock and meet Danny Fog.”

  “If he’s still alive,” answered Ella.

  “I figure he will be. That boy’s real smart.”

  “How’d you get away from Maisie and Phyl?”

  “They got to fussing with each other after you left.”

  “I should have figured that,” Ella sniffed. “Say, you and I can’t come to some arrangement, can we?”

  “Sure. You just arrange for yourself to get on that hoss and we’ll head back to Bowie Rock.”

  “You’ve nothing on me,” Ella remarked as she walked slowly toward Calamity.

  “Maybe. Only I figure somebody’ll start to talk once we begin the round-up and haul them down to the pokey.”

  Knowing some of her confederates, Ella did not doubt Calamity’s words. So she decided to try another line of reasoning, one which might appeal to a young woman like Calamity Jane.

  “What have I done that’s so wrong?” asked Ella. “All I did was buy a few head of
cattle from the cowhands——”

  “Don’t say you didn’t know they’d been stolen,” Calamity interrupted.

  “Had they? They weren’t branded——”

  Once more Calamity cut in. “Most of them come from branded herds, and you knew it all along.”

  “All right, so I knew it. I gave the cowhands a few bucks. Hell, the ranchers would lose more to the weather or stock-killing critters in a year than I took.”

  “Losing’s one thing. Having ’em stolen’s another.”

  “So who got hurt?” asked Ella.

  “How about Sammy and Pike from the Bench J?”

  “You can’t blame me for that!” Ella gasped, for her conscience troubled her more than she cared to admit over the death of the two young cowhands. “I only happened to be along that night. They always used that same place to brand the stuff. Even if I hadn’t been along, Gooch’d’ve found them.”

  “And how about Gooch?” said Calamity quietly.

  “If you are Calamity Jane, you’ve been around long enough to know what Gooch was. He aimed to rape me before he killed me—Hey, how did you know that I killed Gooch?”

  “That was easy. Jake Jacobs told Cap’n Murat you was running the cow stealing. Both me and Danny figured you must have killed Gooch. Gooch might have been as bad mean as a man could be, but he’d a damned sight more sense than walk up to a man with his gun in leather. So it figured that a woman killed him and you seemed most likely to be the one. When I saw you coming in wearing those men’s duds, I knew how you got Gooch in close and stopped him being suspicious.”

  “And you blame me for killing Gooch?”

  “Nope. For turning decent kids into thieves. Get going.”

  “Nobody made them steal,” Ella pointed out as she walked by Calamity.

  “Nope. Only your gals got them so they didn’t know which way to turn.”

  Slowly Ella walked up the slope with Calamity following. Suddenly the saloonkeeper appeared to slip. Ella’s feet shot behind her, striking Calamity’s legs and tangling with them. Letting out a yell, Calamity went over backward and lost her gun as she fell. Even as Calamity rolled down the slope, Ella stopped herself sliding after the red-head and grabbed up the fallen Navy colt. Coming to her feet, Ella lined the gun down at Calamity.