by J. T. Edson
‘That being so,’ Troop said quietly, coming to a halt and, despite his apparently relaxed posture, as tense as a compressed coil-spring. He knew that the easiest way to avert trouble was to prevent it from beginning. ‘You won’t need it anymore and I’d be obliged if you’d put it away.’
‘If you insist,’ the Kid replied, but made no suggestion of complying.
‘I do!’ Troop confirmed, then nodded to the other players. ‘These gents won’t mind if you put it away.’
‘As long as I have your word for that, I’ll comply,’ the Kid stated and, after the peace officer had glowered around to receive if not agreement at least no sign of refusal, returned the Webley to its holster, saying, ‘As I said, it seems that I was in error. I thought I was playing with gentlemen possessed of sportsmanship, but found only poor losers.’
‘Hell, Marshal!’ Matchetto protested, as Troop’s gaze swung to him. ‘I don’t mind losing, unless it happens every goddamned hand.’
‘Not every hand,’ the Kid corrected calmly. ‘And, I would also point out that I only shuffle and deal, after the deck has been cut at least once, one hand in five.’
‘You got any complaints, Mr. Lincoln?’ Troop inquired, laying noticeable emphasis on the honorific.
‘N … None, Marshal,’ Lincoln replied, realizing he had no proof other than that the run of the cards and skillful playing had been responsible for the Englishman’s successes since being invited to join the game. ‘Nope, I reckon the Kid’s just lucky and good.’
‘How about the rest of you gents?’ the peace officer demanded, swinging his gaze from each driver in turn. After receiving a clearly grudging concurrence with their employer’s summation, he went on, ‘Anyways, I reckon you’ll all agree the game’s over.’
‘Does it need to be, constable?’ the Kid objected, sounding like a hunter who was faced with the possibility of a desirable trophy slipping away.
‘I’d say it does!’ Troop declared, in tones of finality.
‘Do you want to see me, Mr. Cavallier?’ Lincoln asked, wanting to give the impression to the marshal that he was looking for a way in which to bring the game to an end.
‘Yes,’ le Loup-Garou agreed, although tempted to give a negative answer in the hope of provoking a situation which would cause the marshal to order the Englishman to leave Stokeley. Being unable to guarantee such a result would not end in gun play and the loss of a potentially useful assistant, he resisted the temptation. ‘My clients have asked me to tell you they’d like to leave tomorrow.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ the freighter stated. ‘Come on, boys. We’ve got work to do so we’re ready to pull out.’
Watching Lincoln and his men leave, Cavallier next swung his gaze to the marshal. Troop was eyeing the Kid in a speculative and far from amiable fashion. Deciding that the latter was being considered as a possible trouble-maker, he considered it should not be difficult to engineer an incident which would convince the marshal of how Stokeley would be a better and more peaceable place without the Englishman’s continued presence.
Chapter Ten – Which of Us’s Going to Win?
‘Good evening, “Miss Lavinia”,’ Jebediah Lincoln greeted, as Belle Boyd came across the Worn Out Tie Saloon’s barroom from the direction of the door with “Ladies” painted on it. ‘Happen you’re looking for the Kid, he’s along there talking to Calam.’
‘So I notice!’ the Rebel Spy answered, making it obvious that she did not approve of the company Captain Patrick Reeder was keeping.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ the freighter offered.
‘Why that’s most generous of you-all, sir,’ Belle assented, still glaring to where Calamity Jane was laughing loudly at something the Remittance Kid had said and brandishing a glass which appeared to be filled with whiskey. ‘Could I have wine, please? I think anything else is so unladylike and unbecoming, don’t you?’
‘I sure do and wine it is,’ Lincoln declared, watching the slender girl and deciding the situation had possibilities. Having been kept busy since the end of the poker game and being faced with a long period on the trail, he was not averse to spending the evening in such a beautiful member of the opposite sex’s company, particularly if she felt the need for solace over her boyfriend appearing to prefer another woman. ‘Calam looks like she’s in a funning mood tonight.’
‘I had noticed!’ Belle sniffed icily and, having received a glass of wine, went on, ‘Shall we go and join them?’
‘Sure,’ Lincoln agreed and, remembering the orders given by Marshal Dixon Troop before he and his men had left earlier that afternoon, continued, ‘But no poker for me tonight. We’re pulling out comes morning.’
‘I wish we were!’ the Rebel Spy declared, giving no indication of knowing the real reason for the abstinence. Instead, she elaborated as she and the freighter started to walk towards the red head and the Englishman, ‘I don’t care for the kind of people there are in this town,’
‘Whee-dogie, if it ain’t good ole Jebediah Lincoln!’ Calamity whooped, coming close to drowning the music of the small band which now was playing for the benefit of those customers who wished to make use of the clear place offered as a dance floor in the company of the establishment’s obliging female employees. Her voice and gestures with the glass she was holding suggested she had already imbibed more ardent spirits than was wise. ‘It’s great to see there’s one son-of-a-bitching wagon boss who’s not to all-fired high-toned and fancy to come out take a drink with the hired help, damned if it’s god-damned not.’
‘Hey there, Calam,’ Lincoln greeted, noticing that the red head was not wearing either her gunbelt or the whip and wondering whether her absent employer, who had annoyed her by refusing to come along if her comments were any guide, had insisted upon her leaving them behind.
‘How soon’re we going to get them pasteboards moving, Rem-boy?’ Calamity inquired, favoring Belle with a mocking grin and laying her right hand on the Kid’s left arm. ‘ ’Cause I reckon this’s my night to howl.’
‘You’re doing plenty of that?’ the Rebel Spy commented disdainfully.
‘Well hot damn, your mother’s here, Rem-boy!’ the red head said, loudly enough to bring the attention of the people closest to her party in her direction. ‘Hey, old woman, why aren’t you at home in bed with a shawl ’round your skinny shoulders, ’stead of being here putting the miseries on us young folks?’
‘Why don’t you decide whether you’re a man or a woman and dress for it?’ Belle countered, then swung her gaze appealingly to the Kid. ‘Rem-honey, Mr. Lincoln doesn’t feel like playing cards tonight – and I can’t say I blame him, considering some of the company.’
‘How’d you like to smell my foot after I’ve rammed it knee deep up your butt?’ Calamity demanded savagely, slamming her glass down on the counter.
‘Steady on there, Calam’!’ Lincoln put in, although he was hoping his advice would be ignored, wanting to be able to claim he had tried to prevent any trouble that happened if he should be questioned later by the red head’s employer. ‘Don’t you forget what Dobey Killem told you.’
‘To hell with what Dobey Killem, or anybody else told me!’ Calamity answered, oozing truculence. However, the memory appeared to sober her a trifle and she shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. ‘Aw hell, she’s not worth it! How’s about them cards?’
‘It’s like I told Miss “Lavinia” here,’ the freighter replied, disappointed by the red head’s reaction. ‘I’m pulling out tomorrow morning and it’s always unlucky for me to play poker the night afore I leave.’
‘I wish to hell we were pulling out,’ Calamity sighed, apparently satisfied by what was an acceptable excuse for a superstitious gambler to refuse to play. ‘Hey, Rem-boy, how’s about you ’n’ me making the most of that fancy dancing music seeing’s how there’s no chance of us setting up a game?’
‘Do you know how to dance?’ Belle injected, having put down her glass in a less noticeable manner.
/> ‘Do I know how to dance?’ Calamity snorted. ‘Girlie, I’ve whomped up more god-damn fancy steps than—!’
‘I don’t mean doing some clodhopper chaw-bacon’s hoe-down,’ Belle interrupted. ‘I was talking about the real dancing done by ladies and gentlemen.’
‘You mean like you can do?’ the red head challenged.
‘I do,’ Belle confirmed.
‘All right, skinny gal!’ Calamity said truculently. ‘Happen you’re so god-damned fancy-footing, let’s see how good you can dance.’
‘Certainly,’ Belle replied, raising her arms and putting her hands behind her head.
Moving with graceful dancing steps, the slender girl brought first her left and then the right elbow around sharply to land on the red head’s cheeks. Letting out a yell of well simulated anger, Calamity swung her right fist to connect with Belle’s jaw. Following the staggering Rebel Spy, she tore off and flung aside the togue to sink both hands into the short blonde hair. Being treated in the same fashion, she pushed Belle backwards to fall on to a table and, while its occupants vacated it hurriedly, was brought down on top of her.
Screeching, tugging at hair, scattering bottles and glasses, the girls rolled across and caused the table to tip over. Still entangled, they were deposited on the floor. Churning over and over, putting considerable vigor into a far less skillful kind of brawling than either would generally have employed, they made the customers and employees who were gathering around yelling encouragement move out of the way and they disappeared under a chuck-a-luck table.
‘Well, we’ve got us a fight going!’ Calamity said quietly, between shrieked out curses. ‘There’s only one thing, though.’
‘What’s that?’ Belle inquired sotto voce, employing similar tactics to avoid being overheard.
‘Which of us’s going to win?’ the red head wanted to know.
‘I don’t suppose you’d agree to it being me?’ the Rebel Spy suggested, after gaining the upper position and screeching a description of Calamity’s possible relationship with her mother which was physically impossible.
‘No more’n you’d let me,’ the red head stated, when she had toppled Belle over and writhed on top, interspersing her efforts with a flow of blistering profanity. There was a wistful note in her voice as, upon being displaced and straddled again, she went on just as softly, ‘It’s a real pity we can’t find out.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Belle agreed, sounding just as disappointed. ‘Let’s get out of here and see if we can persuade anybody else to join the fun.’
‘Ease up a mite then!’ Calamity requested, bracing her shoulders and buttocks on the hard boards of the floor. She followed a louder expletive which cast doubts on the marital status of the Rebel Spy’s parents when she was born with a much quieter, ‘I’ll help you on your way.’
Hoisting herself upwards until resting on her hands and feet, Belle felt the other girl’s moccasins come under her torso to deliver a thrust which propelled her from beneath the table. On alighting, she kept herself rolling until she had room for what she planned to do next and then came to her feet. By the time she was erect, Calamity had also emerged and was advancing with head lowered in the same manner as when delivering the butt that had sent the soldier through the window of the Fair Lady Saloon.
The red head’s attack did not meet with a similar success.
Stepping aside just before the moment of impact, Belle pivoted and, as Calamity plunged by, swung a kick to the tightly stretched seat of the buckskin trousers. Yelling with what was close to genuine fury, the red head was driven onwards into the arms of a group of excited saloon girls. Having considerable antipathy for what they regarded as her intrusion of their domain, they turned and held her so that the “blonde” – who might be a stranger, but at least was dressed like one of them – could arrive and take advantage of their co-operation.
Following Calamity, Belle hoped that she would know what was expected of her. Justifying the Rebel Spy’s confidence, the red head stamped hard on the foot of the girl at her right. As the grip on that side was released, she rammed her liberated fist into the ample bosom of the woman at her left. Twisting free, she ducked her head and inclined her torso to the right. Timing the move so perfectly that it might have been rehearsed for weeks instead of extemporized on the spot, Belle’s right arm shot out. Missing Calamity by a very close margin, her knuckles ‘accidentally’ rammed into the nose of a girl behind the red head.
Next moment, a hair yanking, clothes snatching, slapping, punching and kicking melee erupted as the saloon girls became embroiled with one another as well as against the pair of outsiders who had deliberately brought the conflict about. Which, for all their speculations about who would be the victress while under the table, was part of the result the intruders had hoped to produce.
Much as each would have liked to satisfy her curiosity on that point, Belle and Calamity were aware that they had something far more serious demanding their attention. So they devoted all their efforts to defending themselves, or one another when the situation called for it, against the saloon girls. Nor did they continue to employ the unscientific tactics which had characterized their own “fight” until they had emerged from beneath the table. Instead, while Calamity punched with an almost masculine precision, Belle demonstrated her skill at savate to such effect – in spite of having kicked off her shoes to avoid inflicting too serious injury upon the recipients – that their assailants were soon being kicked or knocked in all directions.
With so many factions represented by employees in various local businesses and industries being present and the excitement of the spectators rising, it was not long before the end to which the Rebel Spy and the red head were working was achieved. Knocked backwards by Calamity, a girl ran into the arms of a burly railroad worker and turned upon him furiously. More amused than alarmed, he caught her by the wrists to restrain her. However, his laughter ended in a curse as her feet hacked at his shins and he began to shake her in an attempt to control her temper.
‘Get your hands offen her!’ yelled a soldier with whom the girl had been drinking when Belle and Calamity started their “fight” and rushed forward.
Thrusting the girl aside, the railroad worker met the charge willingly!
No further inducement was needed!
Spreading like the ripples crossing a pool when a rock is thrown in, the fight became general. Customers and saloon workers joined in, everybody picking upon the nearest person belonging to a different type of employment.
Within a few seconds, a full scale brawl of considerable gusto was in progress.
Which is what Belle, Calamity and the Kid had hoped would happen.
‘This is hardly the place for two gentlemen of our caliber, old boy,’ the Englishman remarked to Lincoln, having pushed him aside and dodged the chair which had been swung in their direction by a cowhand. Knocking its wielder sprawling into the nearest knot of fighters, he went on, ‘Shall we adjourn to somewhere more peaceable?’
‘I’m all for that,’ the freighter answered with alacrity. He gave no thought to what might be happening to his employees, although he was aware that all four drivers were present. Nor did he see anything unusual in the “gambler” displaying a similar disinterest where “Lavinia” and Calamity Jane were concerned. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here!’
While starting to cross the room on Lincoln’s heels, the Kid demonstrated that neither fear nor lack of fighting skill was responsible for his eagerness to vacate the premises. In fact, he displayed that he was exceptionally capable of protecting himself and his companion. His travels in the Far East had been of sufficient duration for him to have attained proficiency in a form of unarmed combat little known in the Western Hemisphere at that time and he put his training to good use. 32
While throwing, avoiding and kicking, then thrusting three successive would-be assailants away as each in turn tried to attack him, the Kid employed only sufficient force to avoid injury to himself and being compel
led to take a more active participation in the general fighting. All the time he was doing so, he remained alert for an opportunity to carry out his part of the scheme.
Engaged in a wild slugging mill with a group of soldiers and cowhands, Solly Snagge noticed the “gambler” who had won almost all of his party’s money that afternoon was following his employer towards the side door and clearly intended to escape involvement in the fighting. Filled with a desire to take revenge, he flung himself out of the melee and towards the Kid.
Seeing the driver approaching and guessing what had motivated the attack, the Englishman was slightly disappointed. He had hoped that the chance he was seeking would be presented by Waldo Matchetto. However, Snagge matched him in height and was somewhat heavier. He was also a foul mouthed bully who, according to Calamity Jane, had been fired from more than one freight outfit for cruelty and neglect of his team. Nor had anything occurred during their short acquaintance to make the Kid regret what he proposed to do. In fact, Snagge was his second choice after Matchetto.
Stepping forward as if to engage in the kind of head-down, bull-rushing fashion that was Snagge’s style of fighting, the Kid once again exhibited his alien expertise. Catching the driver’s outstretched right arm by the wrist, he raised and pirouetted underneath it. Then, using the other’s weight and impetus as an aid by applying a wrenching heave which dislocated his shoulder, the Englishman threw him over the bar.
Being concerned only with saving his own skin, Lincoln would not have raised any objections over his employee’s rough handling, nor attempted to find out what injuries Snagge might have sustained. Without even looking behind to find out how his protector was faring, he was unaware that he would be one driver short in the morning. Instead, he felt only relief as he reached the side door. Pulling it open, he preceded the Kid through and they started to walk along the alley towards the front of the building.