Calamity Jane 11

by J. T. Edson

  ‘We are,’ Cavallier confirmed.

  ‘Then things couldn’t be better, old boy,’ the Kid declared. ‘Even if that “Roxby” blighter complains to the U.S. authorities that he’s been fleeced, they can’t do a thing about it. Canada’s British territory and a man can’t be extradited from the country of his birth.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Cavallier admitted. ‘Are you on?’

  ‘By jove, yes!’ the Kid accepted. ‘I’m your man, old boy.’

  ‘And I’m your woman!’ Belle injected determinedly. ‘Because there’s one little thing you’d both get into your heads. I’m not being left behind. Either I go along, or I’ll make sure “Roxby” knows what you’re up to – and other folks, Rem-honey.’

  ‘We wouldn’t think of leaving you behind, mademoiselle,’ Cavallier said reassuringly, deciding from the last comment that the Englishman had other crimes which could be brought to the attention of the authorities. ‘In fact, you’ll be able to help us set him up for the fleecing.’

  ‘Why I’ll be pleased to do every little thing I can to help,’ Belle promised and continued, not without truth. ‘Well, Rem-honey, it surely looks like things are going our way after all.’

  ‘Didn’t you get any more drivers?’ “Matthew Devlin” demanded, turning from watching the three Chinese men who were transferring his and Vera Gorr-Kauphin’s baggage off the buggy which had brought them to Jebediah Lincoln’s camp and into the wagon they had selected as their accommodation during the journey.

  ‘Only Calam here,’ the freighter replied, indicating the red head at his side. ‘But either me or one of the Chinks can handle the other wagon. So we’ll be able to pull out as soon as Mr. Cavallier gets here.’

  Like le Loup-Garou, Lincoln had been completely taken in by the events at the marshal’s office. He had managed to position himself close enough to an open window to be able to watch and hear everything that happened. Listening to the various acrimonious comments which had passed between them, he had been on tenterhooks in case Dobe Killem relented at the last moment instead of carrying out the threat to fire Calamity. It had not happened. He had not only discharged her, but had stormed out reiterating his threat to pass the word about his reasons for having done so and ensure she would be unable to inflict herself upon any other wagon boss.

  Waiting until the dejected and worried-looking girl had made arrangements to pay the fine which she swore would leave her almost penniless, Lincoln had offered to hire her as she emerged from the office. He had found that, although she was clearly taking Killem’s threat to heart, she was not completely deflated and retained something of her usual spirit. Accepting his offer, she had made it plain that she considered she was doing him a favor and would expect to be regarded as his top driver. Believing such an arrangement would be beneficial, he had agreed. For all that, he had wondered how his two remaining drivers would consider the matter.

  Instead of mentioning his concern, the freighter had accompanied Calamity to the small rooming house at which she was staying. After she had changed her badly torn shirt and collected her belongings, he had escorted her to where his camp was set up about half a mile from Stokeley. Before leaving in search of replacements for Waldo Matchetto and Solly Snagge, he had had the teams hitched up. On his return, he found that “Mr. and Mrs. Roxby” had arrived, but there was no sign of Cavallier. As he expected, Frenchie Ponthieu and Joe Polaski were lounging by the camp fire and leaving the work to his trio of Chinese helpers. Dressed in the usual kind of black cotton coolie clothes and sandals, with long pigtails, they were of indeterminate age, taller than the average for their race and hard looking.

  ‘That being the case,’ Calamity remarked, laying down her bulky bed roll – in which reposed the war bag holding most of her possessions – and leaning her Winchester Model of 1866 carbine against it. ‘I might’s well go on over and get acquainted with those two hard-working jaspers.’

  ‘Sure,’ Lincoln assented, deciding that any trouble between the girl and the pair of hard-cases had better be resolved before the journey was commenced.

  Neither of the drivers offered to rise as Calamity and their employer approached the fire. A coffeepot was bubbling and steaming in the embers and each had a sizeable tin cup in his hand. However, a threequarters’ full bottle of whiskey standing between them suggested that they might have been flavoring the beverage from the pot with some of its contents.

  ‘Frenchie, Joe,’ the freighter said, coming to a halt. ‘I reckon you know Calamity Jane here. She’s taken on with me.’

  ‘In Waldo Matchetto’s place,’ the red head supplemented in challenging fashion.

  ‘Waldo’s place!’ Ponthieu growled. ‘He was top driver.’

  ‘Which’s why Jebediah’s took me on in his place,’ Calamity answered. ‘I’ll go take a look at the wagons, boss, ’n’ make sure everything’s ready to roll.’

  ‘I’ll say one thing, Frenchie,’ Polaski commented, feasting his eyes on the well-filled seat of the red head’s pants as she strode away in the direction of the wagons. ‘She sure walks prettier’n any other top driver I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘That’s for sure,’ Ponthieu admitted, also taking in the view as he reached for the bottle and drawing no more conclusions than his companion from the way in which Lincoln was moving aside hurriedly. ‘But it still don’t mean I cotton to the notion of having a gal’s top driver over me.’

  Having anticipated there would be some form of opposition to her appointment, Calamity had already decided upon what she considered would be the best way to counter it. As she started to turn around, her right hand flew across to the bull whip with such rapidity that it was out of the belt loop and the long lash was uncoiling by the time she was facing in the opposite direction.

  In a smoothly coordinated continuation of the move, without the red head appearing to take aim, the lash snaked through the air as if possessing a will of its own to curl around the neck of the whiskey bottle. Snatching back his fist with a startled exclamation, Ponthieu watched the bottle plucked from its position. Although the lash fell away in mid-flight, it sailed onwards to the girl’s waiting left hand.

  ‘What the hell!’ Polaski ejaculated furiously, starting to lurch erect and reaching for his holstered revolver.

  Once again Calamity sent the whip curling out. The popper gave an explosive crack which dissipated most of the force with which it was moving. Then, acting as if of its own volition, it moved sideways to wrap around the driver’s right wrist and jerk his hand away before its fingers reached their destination.

  Snarling in a mixture of fright and anger, Ponthieu saw what he believed to be an opportunity while the red head was dealing with his companion. He too began to thrust himself to his feet and his hand descended in the direction of his gun. Dropping the bottle and transferring the whip’s handle to her left hand so deftly that its lash still remained taut around Polaski’s wrist, Calamity turned the right palm outwards. Dipping, her fingers curled around the ivory butt of the Colt 1851 Model Navy revolver. Twisting it from its holster, the hammer riding back under her thumb, she aligned its seven and a half inch long octagonal barrel before Ponthieu’s weapon had cleared leather.

  ‘I can copper your bet, same as his,’ the red head warned as the lanky driver froze into immobility. ‘Happen you want it done, that is.’

  ‘By cracky!’ Lincoln laughed, as Ponthieu signified a refusal of the offer. ‘I reckon you’re top driver all right, Calam.’

  ‘I never doubted that,’ the girl replied, liberating her whip and twirling away the Colt. ‘Now maybe I can get on with checking over the wagons.’

  Chapter Twelve – You’ve Told Me All I Need to Know

  ‘Damned if I’ve ever sat the box of a wagon’s been as bad kept as this one,’ Calamity Jane complained to Vera Gorr-Kauphin, handling the reins of the six-horse team with the deft ease of long training. ‘There’s no wonder good ole Jebediah Lincoln was so all-fired eager to take me on after that mean son-of-a
-bitch Dobe Killem kicked me out without so much’s a thin dime in my pockets.’

  After the red head had established her right to be considered top driver, she had conducted her examination of the wagons. She had discovered, as she had expected, they were far removed from the high standards to which she had become accustomed. There was nothing basically wrong with them and the teams appeared adequate for handling the work, but the vehicles had been neglected to a degree neither Killem nor any of his drivers would have tolerated. All of which had played into her hands, offering an excuse to conduct an investigation of each’s contents without arousing suspicions over her primary purpose.

  Like the other three, the wagon to which Calamity was assigned was equipped to be drawn by a team of six horses. She was used to such an arrangement and competent to attend to hitching up and controlling the animals, as well as being able to appreciate the vehicle’s good points.

  Somewhat smaller than the massive Conestoga prairie schooners which had gained fame during the great transcontinental migrations prior to the building of a railroad from the East and to the West Coasts, the wagon’s body consisted of a sturdy open box about fourteen foot long and five foot in width. Attached to the three foot high sides were half a dozen curved hickory “half bows” over which was spread the kind of white canvas cover that had created the schooners’ name. Of sufficient length to extend beyond each end of the body, the canopy could be secured by drawstrings to conceal and protect the cargo in the event of inclement weather. However, the body lacked the deep undercurve and overhang which had been a feature of the kind of vehicles originally manufactured in the Conestoga Valley of Pennsylvania and had given them their great, safe carrying capacity over even the roughest terrain. The stout oak plank known as a “lazy board” and offering a seat for casual passengers was omitted from the left side, but the staple-hinged tool box – holding a hatchet, smaller ax, hammer, nails, an augur, some rope, spare linchpins and kingbolts among other useful items – was there, even if its contents had seen little use. Nor had the powerful wagon-jack and the bucket filled with lubricants which were suspended from the rear axle.

  Heavily ironed and braced for additional support, the bolsters and axles underneath the body were made of hickory and the hubs from black gum so hard as to be almost impossible to split. Mounted on the hardwood axle beds, the front and rear wheels were respectively four and five feet in diameter to offer adequate ground clearance when traversing the uneven and generally roadless terrain west of the Mississippi River. Each rear wheel’s outer rim, capped – or encircled – by a three inch wide iron tire, had fourteen strong wooden spokes secured by tightly fitting tenon-and-mortice joints connecting it with the hub. 34 In making it, the wheelwright had ‘dished’ it to ensure the spoke at the bottom of each turning cycle – which would be the one currently bearing the brunt of the weight – was absolutely perpendicular to the axle and the hub. 35

  For all her happy-go-lucky way of life in general, Calamity took pride in her work and had been trained by men who were arguably the pick of the freight hauling business. Experience told her there was nothing structurally wrong with the wagons and she was willing to concede that whoever had built them was competent and fully conversant with all the important aspects of their construction. However, she had discovered that most of the essential maintenance had been neglected and she had insisted that it must be carried out before the journey was commenced.

  Neither Frenchie Ponthieu nor Joe Polaski had been enamored of the prospect when they were told what was expected of them. Although Lincoln had realized that to do so would prevent the outfit from setting off that day, he had seen the wisdom of the red head’s suggestions and had given her his support. The drivers had drawn some slight consolation from the arrival of Belle Boyd, Captain Patrick Reeder and Arnaud Cavallier. Learning that the Remittance Kid was to drive the fourth wagon, Calamity had put him and le Loup-Garou to work along with them.

  While the maintenance tasks were in progress, Calamity had been able to examine the contents of all four wagons. Each had a small load of assorted goods, but there had been no sign of the consignment of firearms and ammunition she and her companions had expected to find. Certainly none of the boxes and bundles were of sufficient dimensions or shape to have rifles, nor even carbines, concealed in them. However, as yet, she had not been able to pass on the negative information verbally to her fellow conspirators. Nor had doing so been necessary. Although the Kid had purchased suitable clothing for traveling and two saddles and a pack horse to transport themselves when they left the “hunting party”, they would have taken action if she had announced the consignment was present.

  On their arrival at the camp, before the men were put to work by Calamity, Belle and the Kid had ostensibly had their presence explained to “Matthew Devlin” and Vera Gorr-Kauphin. They were aware that this was done by Cavallier to prevent them from suspecting there might be a motive other than the supposed fleecing of “Mr. Roxby” behind their being allowed to accompany the ‘hunting expedition’. It had soon become apparent, however, that the anarchists and le Loup-Garou were not entirely willing to trust them. At no time were they allowed to be alone with the red head.

  Completing the maintenance to Calamity’s satisfaction had precluded any chance of moving off that day. So the party had set up camp for the night. When preparing to move off the following morning, Belle was seated alongside the Kid on the wagon which had been assigned to him. The Chinese, the eldest of them proving to be an excellent cook, occupied the vehicle driven by Lincoln. As her “husband” was riding on horseback with Cavallier, the actress had been placed in Calamity’s charge.

  In spite of Vera having displayed a desire to talk on moving off, the afternoon was well advanced before she was given an opportunity to do so. Until then, the red head had been too occupied with getting the feel of the wagon – which had different handling characteristics to the one she usually drove for Dobe Killem – to engage in conversation. She had also had to concentrate upon gaining the confidence and teaching the six horses of her team who was boss. This had been accomplished by skilled manipulation of the reins, judicious use of the long lashed bull whip to ensure there was no slacking and a liberal flow of choice bad language. At last, with everything going satisfactorily – although she still considered the vehicle did not feel exactly right – she had found herself able to relax somewhat.

  ‘I thought the way Killem treated you was scandalous,’ Vera consoled, forcing herself to speak in a pleasant tone. ‘However, that is only what one can expect from an employer. But it was that English “gambler’s” trollop who is really to blame for you being dismissed. What do you think of her?’

  The actress would have expressed similar sentiments to any employee who was dismissed as a way of exhibiting her deep sympathy for the down-trodden working classes, no matter how justified the dismissal had been, but she had another reason for asking the question. Nothing she and “Devlin” had seen or heard of the Remittance Kid and “Lavinia Saltyre” suggested they were other than they appeared to be. For all that, despite having become practically convinced they were not agents of the British or United States’ Secret Services, the anarchists were still doubtful of them. Neither the actress nor “Devlin” trusted le Loup-Garou and, remembering his eagerness to have the Englishman accompany them, they wondered if some form of treachery was contemplated. So Vera was wondering whether Calamity might be a source of information.

  ‘Oh, she’s not such a bad sort of gal when you get to know her,’ the red head replied, with the air of one willing to be charitable to another less favored. ‘But she’s sure lucky to have a goddamned hair left on her head. Happen those other calico-cats hadn’t took her side and grabbed me, I’d’ve hand-scalped and whupped her so quick she’d’ve thought the hawgs’d jumped her.’

  ‘So she didn’t put up much of a fight then?’ Vera asked.

  ‘Much of a fight?’ Calamity repeated and, guessing what had provoked the question
, she contrived to adopt what appeared to be a mixture of contempt and amusement over the suggestion. ‘Hell, happen my momma ’n’ poppa’d put up such a puny donnybrook 36 when they come home drunk on a Saturday night, us Canary kids’d’ve been “shamed to show our faces outside come Sunday morning”.’

  After Cavallier had aroused their suspicions with respect to Belle’s possible identity in Chicago, “Devlin” had contacted an anarchist colleague who was living in the city and had served in the United States’ Secret Service during the War Between the States. While the information he had received did not include an accurate description, one of the items mentioned had been the Rebel Spy’s ability to defend herself with bare hands if weapons were unavailable. He had claimed that, according to a report which was received, on one occasion she had fought and beaten three women who were trying to kill her. 37

  ‘How long have you known those two?’ Vera inquired, satisfied by the red head’s comment that they could not be harboring Belle Boyd in their midst and seeking further information.

  ‘Only since I met up with them at Fort Connel a few days back,’ Calamity lied, convincingly. ‘Mind you, though, I’ve heard a few things about the Kid—’

  ‘What kind of things?’ the actress asked, having heard similar tones when other women had a desire to receive a request for details of information which should have been treated as confidential.

  ‘Well now, I wouldn’t want to go spreading gossip, mind,’ Calamity answered, her whole attitude suggesting that she wished for nothing more. ‘But I did hear’s how he got hisself run out of England ’cause some important folks reckoned he was way too lucky when he was gambling with .’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Vera gasped, sounding worried and remembering that Cavallier had suggested a similar reason for the Englishman having had to leave the land of his birth. ‘Do you mean he cheats at cards?’