Kid Calhoun

by Joan Johnston

  “Figured that.” Jake winced as he tried to get more comfortable. “I’ll wait for the doctor in Santa Fe.”

  The Kid looked at him askance. “You need to get that bleeding stopped.”

  “When the storm ends we’ll be on our way.”

  Several hours later, with the storm still raging, it was apparent the Kid had been right. Jake felt himself growing weaker and knew it wouldn’t be long before he lost consciousness. He hadn’t felt like eating any of the beans the Kid had fixed, though he had managed to drink some coffee.

  He was still trying to decide what kind of man stood by and watched cold-blooded murder being committed when he robbed a stage and then risked his life to save a perfect stranger on the trail.

  Jake had taken a good look at Kid Calhoun, and he wasn’t much impressed by what he found. The Kid was tall and rail thin, with cheeks that were almost gaunt, making his deep blue eyes seem even larger in his face. His skin was beardless, smooth as a brat’s bottom. His black hair was tucked up under his hat, but strands hung every whichaway around his face and down over his collar.

  His nose was small and straight, not taking up much room on his face. On the other hand, his mouth was wide, the lips not too thin. A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. When he talked around it Jake had noticed he had all his teeth. It was easy to guess he had done his fighting with a gun, rather than his fists.

  Jake didn’t think much of the Kid’s grooming habits, either. The jeans he wore were ripped at the knee, and the gray flannel shirt was too big for him. All in all, Kid Calhoun didn’t fit his image of a heartless killer. It was hard to believe someone so innocent-looking had ridden with the outlaws who had shot Sam down.

  All Jake had to do was remember the past to know that looks could be deceiving. Bobby Latham had also looked innocent as a lamb. He’d been a wolverine in sheep’s clothing. The memory of what Bobby Latham had done would be with him forever.

  Before Jake lost his senses, he had to decide whether or not to trust the Kid to take out the bullet. In truth, he hadn’t any choice at all.

  “Guess you were right,” Jake admitted. “That bullet has to come out.” A wry smile twisted his lips before he continued, “Since either me or you has to do it, I vote for you.”

  The Kid hesitated, then reached for the knife at his belt. “All right. I’ll do it.” He put his knife in the fire to burn it clean, then set it on a rock to let it cool.

  Jake chose a stick from the pile near the fire. “Go ahead. I’m ready.” He put the wood between his teeth and bit down against the pain to come.

  The muscles corded in Jake’s neck, and his hands fisted at his sides as the Kid began to probe with his knife. He hoped to hell the Kid knew what he was doing—that he wasn’t cutting tendon and sinew that Jake would need later to walk.

  “I’m done,” the Kid said at last.

  Jake looked into the outlaw’s deep blue eyes and saw that the Kid had survived the ordeal on pride and stubbornness alone. “Thanks,” Jake murmured.

  The Kid rooted in Jake’s saddlebags for something he could use as a bandage. He wrapped the wound with one of Jake’s shirts, which he tore into strips for the purpose. Then he rose and began saddling his horse.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Jake demanded.

  “Out for some air.”

  Jake drew his Colt, which had gotten almost too heavy to hold, and pointed it at the Kid.

  “Hold it there,” he ordered. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  The Kid turned and looked at him with steady eyes. His hand hovered over his Colt. “I don’t think you’ll shoot me. You owe me your life.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “Nevertheless, I’m taking you in.”

  The Kid’s eyes looked troubled, and he gnawed on his lower lip, making him look even more like the kid he was. “I’m not who …” He seemed to change his mind about what he wanted to say. He thrust his chin out and said, “I give you my word I’ll be back.”

  Jake’s lip curled. “The word of an outlaw?”

  “Even an outlaw can have honor.”

  “Not in my experience,” Jake said bluntly.

  “You’re going to have to shoot me to keep me here,” the Kid said.

  “Don’t think I won’t,” Jake warned.

  The Kid apparently believed him, because he leaned against the wall of the cave and crossed his arms belligerently.

  Beyond the fire, at the mouth of the cave, Dog suddenly appeared. He whined once, but didn’t come inside. Jake focused his attention on the animal to try and stay awake. He called to the animal, urging him to come inside, to the warmth of the fire. But Dog stayed where he was.

  Jake felt cold and wondered whether it really was chilly in the cave or if the feeling came from inside. Jake’s throat felt parched, and his leg ached. His eyes were already half-closed when he realized he had almost fallen asleep. He tightened his hold on the Colt in his hand and stared at the outlaw across the cave from him.

  The next thing Jake knew, the Kid had tugged the gun free of his hand, leaving him unarmed. He was helpless now. At the mercy of his enemy. Gentle fingers tested the pulse at his throat. Lean strength lifted his head so he could drink.

  Jake tried to hold onto consciousness. His life might very well depend upon it. The darkness slipped over him and sucked him down.

  Anabeth let her eyes roam over the pale, chilled man. Her feelings for him confused and annoyed her. She had interrupted her trail of vengeance to help him. But she couldn’t for the life of her understand why she had done it.

  At first she had trailed Jake because he was following Wat Rankin. She had seen the trap and realized she didn’t want him killed. It had been a spur of the moment decision to help him. And look what had happened. Now she either had to stay here with Jake until he got well enough to travel or figure out a way to get him back to Santa Fe.

  It was the latter solution she had finally decided upon while she was waiting for Jake to lose consciousness. She would leave Jake Kearney on the back steps of Eulalie Schmidt’s boardinghouse where Anabeth Smith could discover him when she went to get kindling for the morning fire in the kitchen.

  Anabeth admitted to herself with chagrin that she didn’t want to let Jake Kearney out of her sight until she was sure he was well. She knew full well it was a mistake to get involved with the Ranger, but the man fascinated her. However forbidding his countenance—and with those steely gray eyes and that scar turning down his mouth it could be awesome—she found herself attracted to him, compelled to know more about him.

  It had been downright reckless to reveal herself to the Texas Ranger as Kid Calhoun. He believed her to be a thief and a murderer. He thought she was a man.

  Anabeth had no intention of correcting his mistake. Especially since Kid Calhoun was about to disappear again. Nor was she about to allow her inexplicable feelings for Jake Kearney to distract her from exacting vengeance for her uncle’s death.

  She thought back over the events of the past evening. She had wanted to make Grier suffer the way Booth had suffered. The outlaw had cheated her by choosing death instead of life as a cripple. But Grier’s death was only the beginning. Her vengeance would not be complete until all the members of Booth’s gang—especially Wat Rankin—had paid for their treachery.

  Just before dawn she would take Jake Kearney into Santa Fe. Then Kid Calhoun would disappear again while sweet, submissive Anabeth Smith continued plotting the downfall of the Calhoun Gang.

  7

  Anabeth was dozing when she heard a stone turn at the mouth of the cave. She was fully awake in an instant, her gun in hand. What she saw in the firelight had her smiling in welcome relief. “Wolf! What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “Who could not see the light from your fire, Stalking Deer?”

  Stung by Wolf’s censure, Anabeth stopped her movement toward the Apache. “I needed the light to—”

  “Why are you he
re? I did not think to see you again.”

  Anabeth heard the longing in Wolf’s voice. And the anger. Their parting had not been an easy one. Wolf had not yet forgotten or forgiven their argument. He had a right to ask why she had not left for Colorado as she had vowed she would.

  Her explanation was equally painful. “Booth is dead. He was murdered—by his own gang! I couldn’t go to Colorado—”

  Wolf stiffened as he suddenly became aware of the figure lying in the shadows. “Who is there?”

  Anabeth laid a hand on Wolf’s forearm. It was taut as a bowstring. “His name is Jake Kearney. I’ve been trying to tell you—I needed the light to watch over him. He was ambushed and wounded by Booth’s gang. I removed a bullet from his leg, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  Anabeth left Wolf to kneel beside Jake. She put her hand to his throat, seeking a pulse. The beat was faint.

  Wolf searched the face that was precious to him, surprised by the concern he saw there for the stranger. A sharp, uncomfortable feeling rose in his breast.

  Jealousy.

  He told himself his feelings were unfounded. Nevertheless, within him rose the urge to kill the white man. Wolf did not crush it, but he did not act on it, either. The death of Stalking Deer’s uncle changed everything. Now there was no need for her to go away. Now she could stay with him.

  Then and there he made a vow to himself that he would have Stalking Deer for his wife. She would learn to love him. He was certain of it. As for the white man, he could be killed if he became a threat to Wolf’s plans.

  Anabeth’s eyes begged for understanding from Wolf. When her silent plea did nothing to move him she explained, “I had to help him. I couldn’t let him die.”

  Wolf’s lips flattened, but otherwise his face revealed nothing of what he felt at this further proof of Stalking Deer’s attachment to the other man.

  The sound of voices dragged Jake back to consciousness. When he saw an Apache at the mouth of the cave he grabbed for his gun—only it wasn’t there. Though his mind knew what he must do to save himself, his body refused to help him. When he tried to move his hands, they lay there like lumps of clay. He turned his head and discovered the Kid kneeling beside him.

  “Apache!” The warning Jake shouted in his head came out in a whisper.

  “Lie still.”

  Jake gritted his teeth at the fire in his leg when he tried to move. “Dammit! Get my gun!”

  Anabeth laid the weight of her body across Jake’s chest to keep him still. Weak as he was, it was still a struggle to subdue him. “Be still,” she urged. “It’s all right. He’s a friend.”

  The Kid’s reassurance echoed in Jake’s ears as he succumbed once again to the blackness that wrapped itself around him.

  “He’s fainted,” Anabeth said. She was more worried than she cared to admit. “The fever’s getting worse.”

  Wolf reached across Anabeth’s shoulder and caught her chin, turning her to face him. “Come away from here. You have done all you can.”

  “I can’t leave him alone,” she protested. “I have to get him back to Santa Fe.”

  “What is this man to you?”

  Too quickly Anabeth replied, “Nothing!” She knew as she spoke that it was less than the truth. But how could she explain to Wolf what she didn’t understand herself? “He needs my help.” Her eyes searched Wolf’s for some sign that he understood. “Would you leave one of your own kind who was in trouble?”

  “An Apache would not want another to stand a death watch over him,” Wolf countered.

  “He’s not going to die!” Anabeth broke away and stalked the length of the cave. “And I’m not leaving.” She turned to face Wolf, her arms crossed in determination. “You’re free to go.”

  Wolf considered taking her away by force. Pride kept him from admitting that such a thing was needful. He did not have to lay his heart before her to be trampled. Especially now that she was not leaving right away for Colorado, he would have time to woo her properly. He turned to depart but stopped when Anabeth called to him.

  “Wait! Won’t you stay and talk with me?”

  “What is there to say?”

  “I …” She wanted to share with him everything that had happened since she had seen him last. How she was seeking vengeance for Booth’s death. How she had adopted the disguise of a woman in Santa Fe. Most of all, she wanted to ask him about the strange feelings she had for Jake Kearney.

  She met his dark-eyed gaze and found no encouragement to share her thoughts and feelings. It was as though Wolf had thrown up a stone wall between them. The openness they had enjoyed since they were children was gone as though it had never existed. Before her stood not her beloved friend, but a threatening stranger. A stranger who wanted her in a way she could not handle.

  Before Anabeth could find words to breach the unfamiliar chasm between them, Wolf was gone. She suddenly realized how cold it was in the cave. She built up the fire until it crackled and roared, filling up the ominous silence.

  While Jake slept, Anabeth cut some pine saplings and used a blanket and rope to rig a travois. An hour or so before dawn she shook the Ranger awake.

  “You have to help me. You’re too big for me to tote by myself.”

  Anabeth coaxed, and Jake responded by moving where she directed him. Once she had him tied down on the travois she headed for Santa Fe. She had to get to town before first light. She didn’t want to be seen by anybody who might ask for explanations she would be hard-pressed to make. And she had to get back inside the boardinghouse before Anabeth Smith’s absence was discovered.

  On the trip back to town Anabeth became conscious of something shadowing their movements. She feared reprisals from the gang, but the shadow turned out to be animal, rather than human. It was a dog. A huge, shaggy black dog that followed them, never getting too close, or too far behind. Anabeth found the presence of the dog strangely comforting. As long as he was around she knew that no one else followed her. When she reached the outskirts of Santa Fe, she noticed he was gone.

  Jake was still unconscious when they arrived at the back door to Frau Schmidt’s boardinghouse, so Anabeth simply cut the travois free from his saddle and left it lying there. She took the two horses to the livery and walked back through the alleys to the boardinghouse. It was just breaking dawn as she slipped in the back door and into her room.

  Anabeth yanked her shirt, trousers, and boots off, then stripped off her long johns and stuffed everything in the bottom drawer of the chest. She pulled on a clean chemise and drawers, a shirtwaist and a calico skirt, then donned a voluminous apron to cover it all.

  She sat down to roll on stockings and slipped her feet into a pair of high-button shoes Sierra had loaned to her. There wasn’t time to do anything with her hair except pin up her braids and cover them with a large white kerchief tied at her nape.

  She was halfway out the door to her room when she realized she had forgotten her spectacles. Anabeth quickly retrieved them, but left them perched at the far end of her nose so she would be able to see what she was doing. She skidded to a halt when she reached the kitchen and discovered that Frau Schmidt was there before her.

  “Sorry I’m late. I’ll get some kindling,” Anabeth said, hurrying to the back door. She was so out of breath that it was easy to sound breathless and excited when she opened the door and “discovered” Jake lying there.

  “Frau Schmidt!” Anabeth cried. “It’s Mr. Kearney. He’s been hurt!”

  “What?”

  Eulalie swooped down like a mother goose who discovers a hawk attacking her gosling. She knelt beside Jake and put a hand to his forehead. “He’s burning up with fever.” She took a quick look at the wound in his thigh. “Somebody’s done some surgery here. I suppose Doc Alton ought to take a look at this.

  “Anabeth, go wake up Mr. Struthers and Mr. Oxenfeld. We’ll need some help getting Jake upstairs.”

  Anabeth rushed off to do as she was bidden. As soon as Jake was settled on the bed in his room
, Eulalie sent Anabeth off to find the doctor. If Anabeth had been less distraught, she might have paid more attention to where she was going. As it was, she turned a corner and slammed right into one of the Calhoun Gang. It was Whiskey. And he was drunk.

  Whiskey grabbed hold of her to keep them both from falling, and Anabeth was paralyzed for a moment with fear. What if he recognized her? She didn’t have a weapon of any kind to protect herself. She decided to use the protection her sex ordinarily would have given her.

  “Let me go,” she said primly. “Please.”

  Whiskey leered at her. “What’s your hurry?”

  She had known Whiskey was trouble when he was drunk. But never had she felt so threatened as she did now. “I …” She wasn’t about to admit the truth. “I have an errand to run.”

  Whiskey peered into her face. “You look familiar.”

  Anabeth nearly gagged from the smell of whiskey that fanned her face when he spoke. Her face bleached white with fear that he would yet recognize her. “We haven’t met,” she said frantically. “I’d like to go now.”

  “In a minute,” Whiskey said. “First, you have to pay a toll, Missy.”

  Anabeth was so outraged when Whiskey put a hand on her breast that for a moment she didn’t do anything. But even docile Anabeth Smith had to draw the line somewhere. She would cheerfully have shot the drunken outlaw then and there, if she’d only had a gun on her. She had to settle for mauling his toes with the heel of her high-button shoes.

  Whiskey howled in pain and limped his way over to the wall. He leaned back and lifted his foot to his hand to inspect the damage.

  “That will teach you not to assault young ladies who don’t wish to engage your attention,” Anabeth said in her best Anabeth Smith voice. But Kid Calhoun couldn’t resist adding, “You ill-bred, gully-raking lecher!”

  When Whiskey grabbed for Anabeth again, she took off running. She could hear him swearing behind her, but his foot was in no shape for him to come after her.

  When Anabeth made the return trip with Doc Alton she kept a sharp eye out for the outlaw. Whiskey had evidently retreated indoors to drown his pain in drink. Anabeth hated Whiskey for what he had done to Booth. She loathed him for what he would have done to an innocent young woman. She wasn’t just being vengeful when she voiced the thought that the world would be a better place without him.