The Road to Ratchet Creek

by J. T. Edson

  Comforted by that thought, she returned to her temporary home. Never one to sit around idle, she insisted on helping Harry Tappet with a few jobs at the corral of the freight outfit he owned. The bank draft from Dobe Killem covered a loan which had been due at the bank, but the stolen money had been intended to supply the old timer with running expenses until work came in.

  While working, Calamity thought about the information John had given her and could reach no conclusion. Early in the afternoon Monique came to the corral and suggested, insisted almost, that Calamity came to the Bull Elk Saloon that night as her guest. Never averse to a social evening, Calamity accepted and the little singer departed.

  Toward sundown Sheriff Jergens returned with his posse and visited the Tappet house to interview Calamity and John. First he told them of his own results.

  “Nothing,” he said. “We combed the country for miles around here. Looks like they split up. We could find only two sets of hoss tracks and lost them on the high country trail to Coon Hollow.”

  In times of heavy rain the trail used by Calamity became impassable, so an alternate route was found. Being harder going for the horses, the high country trail failed to supplant the other in good weather.

  “What’re you thinking of doing now?” she asked.

  “There’s not much I can do, gal,” Jergens admitted. “Sure I could keep combing the hills, but I’ll just be raising sweat and wasting time.”

  “Do you get much stealing around town, sheriff?”

  “No more’n any other place this size. Why?”

  “I clean forgot to take my carbine out of the coach last night. Got there this morning and it’d gone——.”

  “Stolen?”

  “Not as it come out,” Calamity admitted. “Ray Burkee had it in his office.”

  “That’s one thing nobody’s had stolen around here,” Jergens said, sounding relieved. “A gun.”

  That was the information Calamity had been after. If the banker had lost a valuable shotgun, Calamity doubted if he would have kept quiet about it. Which meant John had made a mistake, or——There Calamity stopped. The masked man had been altogether bigger than the banker and had talked in a different manner.

  So Calamity kept quiet. If she mentioned John’s thoughts on the matter and they proved wrong, Hewes might refuse to make a loan. Part of her argument had been the boy’s ability as a gunsmith offering a better than fair chance of the money being repaid.

  That night Calamity went to the Bull Elk, Ratchet Creek’s best saloon. At first the bartender eyed her unfavorably, but Monique appeared and introduced her. After that everything went smoothly. There was one over-stuffed blonde just asking to get hand-scalped, but Calamity regretfully decided to leave the matter until her head lost its lump from the owlhoot’s blow. Monique, appearing in a brief costume that made the male audience overlook any slight inadequacies in her vocal range, sang on the barroom’s small stage and went down well.

  “I’ll have another drink,” Calamity told one of the bartenders and pulled out the money Burkee had given her at the bank.

  “Monique said your drinks were on her,” he answered.

  “I need the change to buck the tiger a whirl,” Calamity explained and offered him a ten dollar bill. Then she drew it back again, staring hard at a rusty-brown stain on it. “Only I’ve changed my mind.”

  Giving a grunt that seemed to say his thoughts on women in bars had been confirmed, the man moved off to attend to a paying customer. Calamity stood for a moment undecided what to do in the light of her discovery. To see the sheriff might be the best action to take, but Solly Cole ought to be along in the near future and she preferred to deal with him. Never a girl to take a gloomy view of life, she refused to even think that Cole could be lying in an unmarked grave at Ehart’s trading post. So she would hold off until at least noon the following day before giving the sheriff her information.

  “You do not enjoy yourself, Calamity?” Monique asked, joining her after a spirited rendering of a slightly bawdy song.

  “Sure. Only that hit on the head’s left me a mite shakey. I reckon I’ll go and hit the hay.”

  “But no, you must stay and see the rest of the show.”

  Monique became so insistent that Calamity agreed to remain for a little longer. It seemed that the little singer wished for Calamity’s company, for she stayed at the other girl’s side until going on to the stage. While Calamity enjoyed the songs, she felt tired and made up her mind to leave at the end of the session. As Monique left the stage, a couple of men stopped her and gave Calamity a chance to go.

  Pausing just outside the batwing doors, Calamity looked in each direction along the dark, almost deserted street. Further along a couple of men entered another saloon, while in the other direction a man and woman walked away. Calamity turned her feet in the direction of the Tappet place.

  The bank faced the saloon and Calamity glanced toward it. Any thought she harbored died abruptly as she saw a dark shape in the alley separating the bank from its neighboring building. She had taken only a couple of drinks, not enough to dull her perceptions, and saw enough of the shape to make her feel decidedly uneasy.

  From behind her at the end of the saloon came the crash of a revolver shot. Lead slapped into the wall of the bank, causing the dark shape to jerk backward. Then flame spurted from the shape and Calamity heard the distinctive pattering of a shotgun’s load striking wood. While the girl did not know if she had walked into a private fuss, she knew better than to remain standing asking questions. One very important thing struck her. The charge of the shotgun across the street had hit the wall just ahead of her.

  Flinging herself forward, Calamity landed on the sidewalk, rolled under the hitching rail and dropped to the street. As she landed, her right hand twisted around the comforting ivory handle and slid the Colt from leather. Acting as an innocent by-stander in a gun-fight could prove mighty dangerous and she aimed to discourage any more stray shooting in her direction. Boots thudded as their owner ran along the sidewalk in her direction. Across the street, the dark shape turned to dart back up the alley and out of sight.

  “Consider the gilded lilies in that there saloon,” said a familiar voice as the boots came to a halt above Calamity’s position. “They toil not, neither do they drive a stagecoach; and I’ll bet there’s not one of ’em could’ve dived off this sidewalk as neat as you done it.”

  “Solly!” Calamity yelled. “He’s run for it.”

  “Let’s go take a look,” Cole suggested, vaulting the hitching rail and landing at her side. “He’s been watching the place for near on an hour, might be interesting to see why.”

  Side by side Calamity and the marshal darted across the street and into the alley. A shot crashed at its other end and lead spanged off the wall close to Cole. Firing on the run, he sent a bullet to the left of the shooter’s muzzle blast. At the other side of the alley Calamity saw the shape which shot at them stagger and heard a croak of pain. Then her Colt cracked, for the shape neither fell nor dropped its revolver. An instant later Cole’s Rogers & Spencer bellowed, only the marshal took more careful sight. Already starting to spin around from Calamity’s bullet, the shape pitched into the wall. Once more the revolver spoke, but the flame from its muzzle slanted toward the ground.

  Behind Calamity and Cole voices yelled. Coming to a halt, they stood in silence and listening. Apart from the spasmodic thrashing from the shape sprawled on the ground, they could hear nothing ahead of them.

  “We got him,” Calamity said.

  “Only why’d he use a handgun down here instead of the scatter he cut loose at you with?” Cole inquired.

  “Maybe it was only a single-barrel——How’d you mean, he cut loose at me?”

  “Like I said, he’d been watching the saloon for around an hour that I know to, sister. Four fellers came out and went by him without getting shot at.”

  “Just hold it right there and no sudden moves,” called a voice, before Calamity could
request details of how the marshal came to be on hand at such an opportune moment. “This here’s the sheriff talking.”

  “I’m a man of peace, brother,” Cole said over his shoulder. “Only not when some poor sinner starts throwing lead at me.”

  “That you, Solly?” Jergens demanded, walking forward.

  “This’s me, brother,” admitted the marshal. “Done come to bring light to the heathen and show the sinner the error of his ways.”

  Already people attracted by the shooting gathered at the mouth of the alley. Turning, Jergens ordered them to stand back. Then, as the citizens obeyed, he followed Calamity and Cole. By the time they arrived, the shape on the ground lay still. Gun in his left hand, Cole used the right to ignite a match on his pants’ seat and illuminated the scene.

  “Know him, Ham?” asked the marshal, looking down at an unshaven face twisted in lines of agony.

  “It’s Siwash Kagg,” the sheriff answered.

  “Who is he?”

  “A no-account. Does some meat-hunting, or trapping sometimes, but mostly he just hangs around town living on what he can beg.”

  “Do you know him, Calam?” Cole inquired, striking another match.

  “Never seen him afore,” the girl replied. “And afore you ask, he’s too short and heavy for that hold-up man. Where-at’s his scattergun?”

  “Scattergun?” said Jergens, sounding puzzled. “Kagg never had but that old Remington and a Henry rifle.”

  “Whoever cut loose at me used a scatter,” Calamity objected.

  “Suppose the sheriff sees to this poor sinner, sister,” Cole put in. “You and me can go take a look around the back there.”

  “Go to it,” Jergens agreed. “I’ll see you down to my office when you’ve looked around.”

  Leaving Jergens, Calamity and Cole went to the back end of the alley and halted to look and listen for signs of the second attacker.

  “The other one’s gone,” Cole remarked.

  “You’re sure there was another?”

  “Sure as sin’s for sale in a trail-end town, sister. The jasper who shot at you was some taller and slimmer.”

  “Say, how’d you come to be on hand at the right time?” Calamity asked.

  “I called at Shadloe and spent some time there, then rode on here,” Cole explained. “Went to the Tappet house and young Johnny told me where to find you.” A grin twisted his face. “Figured I’d best come along and save you from a life of sin. Only when I saw that feller hiding in the alley I waited to see why.”

  “Which same I’m not sorry you did. Two more steps and I’d’ve been right in that gun’s shot pattern. You figure somebody was trying to gun me?”

  “Nobody else but you,” agreed the marshal. “Who’d want you dead, Calam?”

  “Me?” she yelled. “I don’t have an enemy in the world.”

  “That jasper didn’t mistake you for a cottontail rabbit,” Cole pointed out.

  “I still can’t figure who’d want me dead,” Calamity insisted. “Say, did you see Ehart.”

  “I saw him,” Cole admitted and told her quickly what had happened at the trading post, finishing, “When I saw that jasper I figured it might be Sedgewell, or one of the gang and waited to see if he met anybody. I hear you had a mite of excitement on the way in.”

  “Some,” she agreed. “Let’s go see the sheriff. There’s something you and he ought to know—if he’s all right.”

  “I’d trust him with my life,” Cole assured her. “What’s up?”

  Calamity told him of John’s theory and found that he approved of her keeping the youngster quiet.

  “Not that I don’t trust ole Ham,” the marshal said. “But it’s not a thing wants talking about promiscuous.”

  “I don’t know what the hell that last one was,” Calamity said as they started to walk toward the sheriff’s office. “But I agree with you.”

  On arrival at the sheriff’s office, Calamity took a seat at the desk and told her story to Jergens. No expression came to his face, but he nodded soberly at the finish.

  “Boy knows guns, I’ll give you that. But he could be wrong.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Calamity admitted. “At first.”

  “And now?” asked Cole.

  Taking out her money, Calamity extracted the ten dollar bill which had attracted her attention at the saloon. Accepting the ten-spot, Cole turned it between his fingers. He studied the paper, coloration and gazed long at the rusty-brown stain on one side.

  “It’s the real McCoy, Calam.”

  “Sure. And that blood stain on it’s from Johnny Browning’s nose back in Promontory.”

  “Where’d you get it?” demanded the sheriff.

  “From Ray Burkee,” Calamity replied.

  “Ray Burkee?” growled the sheriff.

  “And he got it off that gal at the bank, from money Hewes gave her out of the drawer in his desk.”

  Silence fell on the office while the two men digested the news. At last Cole broke their thought trains. “How about it, Ham?”

  “It takes some believing,” Jergens breathed. “Anyways, that jasper who pulled the hold-ups looked nothing like Hewes.”

  “I’ve seen the Rebel Spy make herself look older, heavier, taller even,” Cole pointed out. “Used a gray wig, theatrical face fixings, padding under clothes that were too big for her, thick heels on her boots.”

  “That feller did step a mite short for his size,” Calamity went on. “And his hands were smaller than you’d figure from his heft. I’m not just saying that to make you reckon I’m right, Ham.”

  “I never figured you were, gal,” the sheriff assured her. “This’s a shaker for sure though.”

  “How well do you know Hewes, Ham?” Cole asked.

  “He’s been hereabouts for the past year or so. Took over the bank when his missus’ uncle, him being the banker then, died. Him and his wife get on well enough with folks, but they don’t mix much excepting for business.”

  “The bank’s sound, though?”

  “Allus seemed to be.”

  “You’ve had a slew of hold-ups hereabouts, from what I hear, Ham.”

  “Some, Solly, some. Nothing big though.”

  “Tell us about them,” the marshal requested.

  “There ain’t much to tell. First time was a rancher who drew some money out of the bank to pay for a bunch of hosses. He’d been sparking Monique, that lil——.”

  “We know her,” Cole interrupted.

  “Sure, she was on the stage with you,” agreed the sheriff. “Well sir, this rancher took Monique out to his place to see the new hosses. Got held up two mile out of town.”

  “How many men?” asked Calamity.

  “One, with a scatter,” Jergens answered. “Rancher’d’ve likely made a fight but Monique got scared and flung her arms ’round his neck. Feller can’t do much fancy lead-throwing with a gal hanging on to him. So he sat fast and lost his poke.”

  “That was the first one,” Cole said, glancing at Calamity.

  “Next was a prospector come in and changed some gold for cash money. He wanted to buy a place out of town that the bank held a note on. So Millie Hackerstow, her that works at the bank, took him out to see it. Same feller jumped them, cleaned the miner out.”

  “Most miners’d’ve done some objecting to that,” Calamity remarked.

  “So’d this un,” Jergens replied. “Only the Hackerstow gal swooned at the sight of the scatter, fell into his arms. Afore he could loose her, the owlhoot whomped him on the head with the scatter and when he come to the money’d gone.” He paused, took out a box of cigars from his desk and offered it to Cole.

  “Mind if we smoke, Calam?” asked the marshal.

  “I was just going to ask you the same,” she answered and the sheriff took the hint. With her cigar going, a sight that brought grins to the men’s faces, she went on, “You never found the feller doing the robbing?”

  “Nary a sign, gal,” Jergens admitted.
“And the next time he hit, we looked extra hard.”

  “Why then?” Cole inquired.

  “That time the feller was alone and got his brains blowed out with a rifle to one side of him. A week later Millie Hackerstow took a cattle-buyer out to the Box K and he was robbed. Couldn’t chance making a fight with the gal along, as there was this rifle lined on him from some bushes and the scatter.”

  “Has there been a gal along for each robbery?”

  “All bar the third, Calam,” the sheriff replied.

  “Monique and that gal teller each time?”

  “Nope. One time it was a couple of gals from the Bull Elk. Next time it was Sally-Mae Bloom from the general store——Only she’s Millie Hackerstow’s cousin.”

  “And Monique’d know those gals from the saloon,” Cole commented.

  “It was her who introduced them to the two jaspers who were robbed,” Jergens admitted. “But Sally-Mae Bloom’s as honest as the days’re long. So’s Millie for that matter. And I’ve never had a complaint against Monique or any of the Bull Elk gals.”

  “That Monique’s a mighty strange lil gal though,” Calamity remarked. “She didn’t throw a swoon when them Arapahoes jumped us, nor when ole Pizen Joe collapsed. But she does when that feller points a gun her way—and just at the right time to trip me up.”

  “And she knew where you hid that money, Calam,” Cole went on. “I asked Johnny when he told me about the hold-up and he allows he told her——.”

  “The young foo——!” Calamity began.

  “He did it to show how smart you were, because he likes and admires you,” Cole told her. “And where in hell’re you going?”

  The latter came as Calamity started to rise, sending her chair skidding back with an angry thrust of her knees.

  “To the Bull Elk,” she spat out. “When I’ve done with her, that damned Monique’s going to wish she’d never been born.”