Elbow Creek Magazine

CALAMITY'S RIDE

 By George Smith

 

A resting figure lay on a well-used cot, no sheets to cover the old blue and  once-white tick mattress; just a covering of a heavy, moth eaten buffalo robe.  The persons breathing was soft, as if listening while outside darkness had  smothered the log cabin and only a few tiny winkles of light showed there were  other inhabitants dwelling in the small town of Guilt Edge, Montana.

The hour was mid-way to dawn when against the crusted snow surrounding the  log cabin where the figure slept, or pretended to, a tall shadow emerged,  silently approaching the doorway to the cabin. With care, the shadowed figure  placed one booted foot upon the ice-crusted step, paused for a moment then  leaned toward the door, listening, waiting, hearing nothing. A gloved hand  reached for the door knob, turning it slowly, then pushing, trying to force open  the wooden door. Ice and snow had sealed it shut, causing a curse to escape the  mans mouth as he pushed even harder. With a muffled crack, the door opened an  inch then became lodged. The man-figure placed his right shoulder against it,  grunting from the pressure. Inch by fractional inch, the door eased inward  allowing the cold of winters night to rush past into the one room.

As the man shoulders blocked the entrance, he paused again. From the  interior, the three metallic clicks gave warning--he knew them, counted them  mentally. "LOAD-HALF-COCK-and FIRE position. Fear etched his bearded face, his  mouth began the words: "DON'T SH0--!" when orange tongues of flame reached  toward him from across the room. Deafened by the explosion, the man recoiled  backward, feet slipping on the frozen steps, sending him sprawling onto the  snowy ground as a second shot splintered the door frame where his head should  have been.

"GAWDANGIT, JANIE. HOLT YER FIRE! IT BE ME...BILLY NOLL!"

"Yer lucky I had the snakes 'er I woulda plugged ye center. Now, come on in  while I fetch a light...... an' shet the damn door ahind ya when ya do. It's  cold in here," she threw at him forcefully.

Calamity Jane, as she was known as--her real name being Martha Jane Cannary,  struck a lucifer, touched the wick of a kerosene lamp and replaced the globe.  She waited a moment until the small flame had warmed the glass then she turned  the wick up higher, almost to the point where soot would have smoked the glass.  The orangish light from the lamp pushed away the darkness as the cabins door was  opened then shut by the man who now stood, embarrassed, before the woman as she  still lay abed. Billy stood tall, a good six-two in his boots and the Montana  sun and weather had worked him over pretty damn good in his thirty six  years.

"Pass me that whisky bottle, Billy. My mouth feels a bit rough. Better have  one yerself." Her callused hand reached for the bottle as Billy began to raise  it to his lips first. She cut him down with: "AFTER me, ya damn fool. Where's  yer manners."

Billy, again embarrassed, handed her the cold bottle, muttering his apology.  His lips had been primed to taste the whisky so now he licked them in  anticipation for what would follow. His eyes followed her every move, could  almost taste the strong, cheap whiskey but he knew better. He would have to wait  his turn at the two-person pecking order. Calamity guzzled the fiery brew,  coughed then handed it toward the out-stretched, gloved hand. From habit, he  started to wipe the neck of the bottle, glanced over its edge, eyes meeting  those of the woman and raised it toward that face with: "To yer good health,  Calamity."

"I seed what ya was about. What's the matter? Ya afeared you'd ketch  somethin'?"

Quickly Billy made his confession. "No..no. It's jest a habit from the men I  hang around with. Hell, Janie, you seed what they's like, all dirty an' smelly.  None of em any too clean."

"OK. Now, what brings ya here?"

"Colonel, Ma'am. He sent me ta fetch ya. Sez it's important."

"That ol' bastard? What the hell he want me for? Any ridin' he wants done, he  can do it hisself or send one of those worthless son's a his'n. Billy? We gonna  palaver for if we are, build up the fire. Might be a few sparks left." Janie  waved a hand toward the small parlor stove and next to it, the meager wood  pile.

 

Calamity Page 3 G.Smith

"Yes'm. I'll do that. It is a might cold out tonight." Without further ado,  Billy tossed in some wood chips, blew gently at the mound he had placed in the  stove, and saw a tiny spark that quickly died. He blew again, found some more  embers then taking another drink from the bottle, spit toward where he noted the  glow. What followed was almost a disaster. There came a loud WHOOSH, followed by the erupting of smoke and ash after the fire inhaled fresh air,  igniting the raw whisky. Billy had his head half-buried in the doors opening and  when the fire burst into life, poor Billy was left with no eyebrows or lashes.  His facial hairs were non-existent, leaving his face the shape of an elongated  moon where all the hair had been burned off..

"What the hell's a matter with you, Boy? Ain't you got no smarts at all? That  was monogahela. Dum-near pure alky." Calamity looked at the figure sitting on  the floor in front of the stove and began to laugh, loud and boisterous. She  raised her right arm, pointing at the stunned man. When her laughter subsided,  she continued. "Shet the damn stove door after you put some wood on it. You look  like hells fire got to ya."

Billy peered inside the stoves opening, added more fuel, slammed the door  shut then on hands and knees, crawled to one of the two chairs set before the  small kitchen table. With much effort he raised himself and sat, waiting for  Calalmity to rise from her cot. He watched the manly figure with interest. Her  hair was of chestnut color, her body muscular but the face was not that of a  womans. With shortened hair, she could have passed for a man, which she had done  many times, even to the point of being a currier for The Man himself; General  George Armstrong Custer, the poor bastard. Deserved what he got and then some,  it was always stated. If it hadn't been for her taking a message to Ft.  Fetterman, she herself would have been one of those infamous members of the 7th.  Cavalry. But, things have a way of going for the poor and innocent. She had  carried her message all right, after having swum the Platte River. On reaching  the fort, she became ill to the point of pneumonia, or close to it. There, she  lay in bed for many days, recuperating. That put an end to her army life as a  scout. Then, a stint with the railroad she eventually made her way to Montana,  where she was now.

 

Calamity scowled at the man seated before her. Two white eyeballs peered from  a blackened face at her as she half rose from her cot. His mouth hung half open  as he stared at her when she swung her legs from beneath the robe. More scowls  from her and her voice continued its hostility.

"WELL?...What the hell you a'starin' at? Ain't ya seed a woman half dressed  a'fore?"

Billy's mouth started to move as if to answer but he had forgotten what he  wanted to say. All he could do was stare, moving his lips up and down with no  sound coming forth. Calamity snarled at him.

"Avert yer eyes, ya damn fool, while a woman gets dressed. And shet yer  mouth. Yer a'droolin' on the rug." Ignoring him, she stood, reaching for her  heavy trousers, slipped her long, woolen, underwared legs into the cold pants.  That was what Billy was staring at. He had never seen a woman dressed in mens  long underwear. Avert his eyes? Never! Some mysteries about women were unveiled  to him.

Oh' sure, hell, he'd been around enough women in his time, but none like this  one. He was more accustomed to the "dainties" down the street at the Palace.  Calamity lived in a small shack at the north west end of town, keeping more to  herself during the cold spell that had enveloped the land. Ah, but in the  evenings, she would wander down to the bars, sampling the whisky, paid for by  anyone who wished to hear of her exploits. Most of them were lies she herself  had made up but no one was brave enough to question them. If they had, chances  were,they would have found themselves sucking on the cold business end of her  pistol.. Or feel it being wrapped around his noggin. Leastwise, she would have  tried.

Calamity picked up her red and black checkered wool shirt from off the floor  and placed her arms in the sleeves, catching her one thumb in a hole at the  elbow. Frowning, she glanced side-ways at Billy to see if he had noticed it. She  could handle an ox team, drive a stage coach, handle a weapon, rifle or pistol  with proficiency but when it came to thread and needle, she shied away from  things like that. She reached for her western boots, slid her feet into the  familiar leathers and stomped life into them. They were cold but would soon warm  from the stomping.

"Move!" was all it took for Billy to make way so she could warm her hands  before the fire. She rubbed her rough hands together, reached for the bottle  again and took along pull, passing it to her companion who smiled and brought it  to his question forming in his face as to how much he would dare sample. She  caught his meaning, gruffly saying: "Hep yerself."

"Thankee, Miss Janie." Billy took a pull on the bottle then spoke

"Ah Miss Janie? What ya reckon the Colonel want of you?"

"Don't know fer sartin', but I guess I'll have to go find out. You wanna come  along or you wanna stay here til I gets back?". Billy, confused, asked:

"Is that an invite or you jest want my company to the colonels?"

"Take it any way ya choose," she said as she put her heavy, winters Mackinaw  on then wrapped a scarf around her neck. From the coats pocket, she drew a pair  of heavy mittens, slipping them onto her hands. Reaching behind him, she removed  her western hat, slapped it on her head and opened the door. Looking behind her,  she met Billy's gaze and read it.

"Fine. You stay here. I'll be back soon but, lay off my whisky." Then she was  gone into the night. Billy stood by the one window, watching the retreating  figure, coat collar pulled up around her neck, fighting to keep her balance  either from the whisky or the icy street, if one could call it that. There were  no sidewalks, just the rutted dirt streets of Guilt Edge.

A lighted window beckoned the lone figure, its dim glow showing through the  elm trees that formed a path to the two story house near the end of town.  Calamity struggled, seeking the smoothest route toward the large front door  where she rapped loudly on the wood frame work. Without waiting to be let in,  she shoved the door open, feeling the blast of delicious heat emitting from the  over-size fire place. Before the fire were two over-stuffed chairs, backs facing  the entranceway. Above the back of one of the chairs, she could see the shine of  a bald head and knew it to be the Colonel.

"Come in and set, Calamity. We need to talk." He heard her stomping the snow  from her boots and shuddered, thinking, why the hell didn't she do that outside  instead of in his house?

"Cold out there, Colonel. Ya got any whisky to warm my poor body?" she  asked.

"You know where it is. Help yourself. And hang your coat on the rack beside  the door. I don't want any snow melting on this rug. It's imported, you know,"  he spoke athoritively without turning around.

"Sorry, Colonel. I reckon I most forgot." Colonel Waldin C. Walker frowned at  hearing her comment then crossed his short legs before the fire. In his hand, he  held a cup of steaming brandy and from his mouth jutted a large cigar, smoke  curling toward the high ceiling where it drifted, catching the breeze from when  the door had been opened. He heard the tinkling of the decanter, the gurgle of  liquid being poured into a glass, he hoped, and waited for his guest to seat  herself.

"How'd ya know it was me, Colonel? It could have been one of the renegades  from the mines, come ta rob ya." Calamity plopped herself into the chair  opposite, raised her whisky glass toward the man on her right, saying  cheerfully: "Salute." From the corner of his eye, he watched as she threw the  liquid down in one move and a gulp, smacking her lips and then wiping her hand  across her mouth. "Good stuff, Colonel. Hell of a lot better than the crap I  been drinking. What's on yer mind?"

"In answer to your question, if it had been a robber, he or she wouldn't have  bothered to knock. Therefore, It had to be you. Salute, yourself," he spoke as  he touched his lips with the hot brandy. He'd rather sniff the brandy fumes then  drink it, enjoying the fragrant aroma of cognac, also, imported.

"OK. I'm here. Billy said you wanted to see me pronto. Must be important to  drag me out this time of night and in this shitty weather, beggin' yer pardon,  Colonel."

"It is, Miss Calamity. Very important. I need you to take a message and a  package to my bank in Lewistown. It has to be there by eight o' clock tomorrow  morning." Switching hands where he had been holding his brandy,, his right  reached over the arm of his chair and brought forth a leather saddle bag then  passed it toward the woman next to him. Calamity took the bag, felt the heft of  it and set it down next to her right leg giving it a slight nudge with her foot  as if to confirm what her hand had told her of the contents....money.

"Why me, Colonel? Why not have one of yer own boys deliver it?"

"HARRUMPH! No. I need someone I can trust and if they knew what and how much  was in those bags,...well, you know men and women better than most. The main  obstacle, for them, would be getting past the Palace. No, I need trust and  you're the only one." From his breast pocket, he brought out an envelope,  passing it toward Calamity Jane, saying: "In this you'll find a substantial sum  for your trust, shall we say?" He looked at the woman and for the first time she  could remember, he smiled.

From somewhere deep within her hardened soul, she felt a stab of pain. And  following it, a lone drop of moisture itched its way down her cheek. Quickly she  dabbed at her eyes then placed one of her hands on his that was resting on her  right elbow. She sniffed, rubbing her nose with her left hand.

"Must be kotching a cold, Colonel. Sorry," she apologized, quickly looking  away.

"No need for apologies, Miss. I understand. If you'll go out to my stables,  you'll find my sorrel already saddled and waiting for you. You'll leave when  ever you're ready." He took her right hand, squeezed it adding: "Miss, what you  will be carrying is my future. Should anything happen to it would mean the end  for me...a very bitter end."

Jane sniffled again, patted his hand and looked at him with proud eyes. "No  need for you to worry, Sir. I'll have it delivered muy pronto....and thank you  for your trust." She rose from her chair as did he and for a very brief moment,  the two looked at one another, understanding how each felt. She walked to the  coat rack, dressed as she had when she entered and without turning, made her way  to the livery stable out back, saddle bag over her arm.

 Opening a side door, Calamity entered, finding a lighted barn lantern hanging  from a hook on one of the overhead beams. She stood a moment to adjust to the  darkness of the interior and it was then she saw the figure standing near one of  the stalls. She was taken aback for a moment until she heard a familiar voice  saying: "Yo hoss, he done ready fo' yo, Miss Jane. Colonel he say to have him's  sorrel ready fo' you. Don' know 'zactly where yo is headed but de colonel say it  'potent so you be's careful out dere, Miss Janie."

"Oh, I will, Jube. I surely will." She slung the weighted bags over the horn,  tying them in place then expertly swung into the saddle as Jube opened one of  the two main doors. Gigging the mare forward, Calamiity Jane again entered the  night. It would be a long and cold eighteen mile ride. But first, she would have  to check on Billy to let him know where she would be going. Maybe a bait of grub  would be in order before she left. Kinda delute the raw whisky that now set sour  in her stomach. Coffee and a bait a grub would do her good, before she headed  out. Calamity rode at a fast trot to her cabin, tied the reins to a near-by bush  and stomped her way into the warmth where she lived. Billy still sat before the  fire, the bottle of whisky still untouched since she had left. She knew how much  had remained and a quick glance confirmed her thoughts. Trust? Yes, she too had  trust in mankind, especially Billy.

 "Well? What did the ol' bastard want of you this time of night?" he asked  sarcastically.

"Business, Billy. Just plain business. Got a ride to make an' I'll need some  grub an' coffee before I go. Fetch me that sack a frozen eggs an' that slab a  bacon over there will you while I make coffee. You want some? There's a-plenty  for both." Billy brought her the eggs and bacon while she readied a pan, laying  bacon in first so as to have some grease to fry the eggs in. Taking the last of  her eggs, she lay them on a small rack on the left side of the stove for them to  thaw while she added water and coffee to the ancient and battered pot. Billy  brought in more wood and filled the fire box. Moments later, the sound and  smells of bacon permeated the close interior.

"Watch these a second while I bring in something." Without waiting for a  question or comment, she rushed outside and brought in the saddle bags, tossing  them on her cot. Billy eyed the leather, heard the clink of coin then shrugged  his shoulders as if to say it was none of his affair. Right now, he wanted to  eat more than anything. Watching Calamity at the stove, he re-thought his  thinking about wanting only food. There were, after all, more things in life  than food that he wished for. One was in those saddle bags and the other was at  the stove.

"I ever tell you how purty you are, Miss Janie?" Slightly embarrassed, Billy  waited for the onslaught, which surprisingly never came. Without turning around,  Calamity, in a bored-heard-it-all voice said:

"Yeah-yeah, Billy. Just keep a tight rein on them thoughts of yourn an' fetch  two plates. Them eggs is about ready." Timidly, he held out two plates while she  dished out the bacon and eggs. Setting them on the table, he added two forks and  two cups, reached over and got the coffee pot, pouring the dark brew into the  cups. Calamity had not bothered to remove her winters wear for she knew she  hadn't much time before she would have to ride on out of Guiltedge. Eighteen  miles of cold hell awaited her and whatever else, she did not know. In her  Mackinaw coat pocket was an envelope and perhaps a brighter future. Enough to  get her through the winter anyway. Wolfing down the last of the eggs and bacon,  she slurped the cooling coffees’ remains, stomped her feet to settle them  comfortably, kissed Billy on the forehead, much to his embarrassment and left  the cabin to begin her ride.

Colonel Waldin C. Walker mulled over his decision to have that woman deliver  his future. Could he really trust her? You damn right, he could. She was hard as  the rocks in the mine he was about to purchase but the town folk would never lie  about her honesty. Hadn't she been a stage driver? And they don't hand out the  job unless that person is trustworthy. No. His decision was final and he had no  fears of her making the delivery on time. Providing some of the towns scum had  other ideas. Like those two boys of his. Worthless would be considered a  compliment. What other word could he have used? Anyway, they weren't his boys,  really. They were his wives’ by a previous marriage.

The Colonel again crossed his short legs, relaxing before his fire, thinking  of what the banks board members would say when Calamity delivered the money and  note for the purchase of the mine. He was fifty-four years old but looked older,  having served his time in the army in the southwest. Life in those forts tended  to age a person greatly. After being released from the army as a captain, he  took the role of colonel, and no one questioned it. Why should they? He was  respected, a good Christian and an outstanding person in the community. Smiling  to himself, he finished his brandy and slowly made his way to the upstairs  bedroom. As his weight sank into the mattress, the woman next to him stirred,  asking: "Who was that downstairs you were talking too, Dear?"

"Calamity Jane, Dorthy. Just Calamity Jane."

"And why would you be in her company? You know what she is."

"No. What is she, other than a rough but kind person," he answered  defensively. Miles out of town, Calamity rode, hunched against the cold and the  now western winds that chewed at her like a lone wolf.

Once, after leaving the towns last residence, she had another two miles to go  before she came to the junction of the stage route to Lewistown and places east.  Right now, she was holding to the north-south route to Ft. McGinnis and Maiden  Canyon gold mines. It was all open country for another five miles at least, then  she would strike the wooded areas east of Lewistown before it opened up again.  That would be the most likely area for an ambush, although she never suspected  anything like that. After all, who knew where she was going and what she was  carrying? None, that she herself knew of, other than Billy and he was safe and  snug inside her cabin. Probably finishing off the rest of my whisky, she cursed  at him.

Keeping her head turned half-way away from the west wind, she tried to curl  her face inside her Mackinaw and still keep an eye on the road she was taking.  She walked the sorrel for it was no use trying to ride any faster, what with the  wind and blowing snow. She couldn't take the risk, for now, at least. Maybe when  the first light of day crept from behind the mountains, she could push faster.  If the mare busted a leg out here, she might as well make her peace with whoever  was in charge of her destiny. There would be no going back. She'd freeze to  death within a short time, even before she made it half way to her cabin.

Calamity removed one of her mittens and from her watch pocket, she slipped  the old Ingram, popped open the cases' front and tried to read the time. Without  an illumines dial, it was of no use to her. She put it back into her pocket and  snarled into the wind as if too send it back from whence it came. Time passed  with the slowness only known in the darkest of nights. With her head facing  half-east, she could watch the sky and gladdened as the first signs of dawn were  coming. The mare stopped as if confused or waiting for a command. Looking ahead,  she could see the junction and gigged the mare to the right. This was the main  route, the one she had waited for. But now, she was facing the full brunt of the  wind. Draping the reins over the horn, she unwound her scarf then placed it over  her hat, tying it securely under her chin, wrapping the long ends around her  neck, clumsily tying the ends together. Ahead, she could barely make out the  darkened outline of trees and once inside, she would find some relief from the  cursed wind.

Now she began to notice the lack of feelings in her feet. "Whoa, ol' girl.  Time for this one to do some walking." Stiffly, she dismounted and began to plod  westerly, stumbling over the frozen ruts. The mare had been showing signs of  tiredness as Calamity walked in front, the mare following her like a pet dog,  head bobbing with each step. Another half hour passed. Calamity’s feet were  beginning to feel normal so she mounted the mare, continuing west at a  comfortable pace for the tow of them. No great need to hurry which would only  tire them both. She knew she had time enough to reach Lewistown. Again she  removed the watch, barely noting the time in the dim, mornings light. It was  just a little after six. She estimated she had about five more miles to go when  she heard....no, felt the passing crack of a bullet, mini-seconds before she  heard the actual rifles report as a blue whistler narrowly missed her head..

Instantly she dug her spurs into the mares flank, leaned low over the saddle  horn and fell to the rhythm of the mare. Another explosion came from her right,  the bullet passing far from its intended target.

"HE-YAH, Pard," she shouted into the mares ear. "Some son of a bitch is  lookin’ fer a fight an’ he’s gonna get it....if we get outta here in one  piece."

Without looking behind her, she knew she would be followed by whoever was  taking pot-shots at her. Somebody must have known what she was carrying but,  who? No time to think on it, she told herself. Tired as the mare was, she  responded quickly. What snow lay on the ground was nothing. In fact, it gave  better footing to the beast she rode.

They cleared the first knoll, dropped down into a gully and began to gain  altitude at the next rise... Chancing a glimpse behind her, Calamity could see  two riders pushing their mounts, about two hundred yards back. "Stupid men," she  spoke to the mare. Ain’t no way were they going to gain on her, if the mare  could keep up the pace. As Calamity leaned forward, she listened to the horses  breathing, concentrating also on the feel of its body beneath her. If it  faltered, she would have to make other plans instead of an all-out race.  Calamity’s teeth gripped the mitten of her right hand, pulled it loose then  stuffed it inside her coat. She reassuringly touched the revolver holstered  against her right hip, in case there was going to be some gun play shortly.  Behind the scarf she wore, Calamity actually smiled at the thought. Again she  glanced behind her, noting the two men had gained on her but not by much.

 She knew their horses were more rested but the little mare held  steady...until they passed over the next ridge. Now Calamity detected labored  breathing and there was a slight faltering in her stride. Having removed the one  mitten, she had tucked her right hand inside her coat for warmth but now she  withdrew it and patted the mares neck, whispering: "Come on, baby. Come on. You  can do it. Don’t give up on me now."

As they passed over the next ridge, instead of following the roadway,  Calamity hauled the mare to the left, forcing her to climb the same ridge they  had passed over. Now they were in the timber as Calamity brought the mare to a  quick halt, tossed the reins over the mares’ head then threw herself from the  saddle. Drawing the .38 from its holster, she sprinted, crouched over, for the  roadway, quickly ducking behind a ground juniper bush as she sucked in great  draughts of air and waited, listening for the hoof beats of the two riders.

Long moments passed before the two riders came into view, hunched over their  saddle horns, whipping their mounts to greater speed. Calamity eared back the  hammer of the .38, rested her right hand over her left wrist and sighted at the  nearest rider. Holding to a good lead, she let the hammer fall then spoke to  herself, with satisfaction, “one down.” as she saw the figure trying to maintain  a grip on the reins. It was of no use. He threw up his hands and fell sideways  onto the frozen ground. The second riders head swiveled to the left, noted his  partners absence then saw two orange flames stabbing at him from behind a  juniper. Leaning farther forward, he dug spurs into his mounts flank as Calamity  mouthed the words once used before: "Stupid men."

Adrenaline flowed freely within her as she walked to where the mare still  stood. Patting its neck, she checked for wounds and finding none, led her to  where the fallen figure lay face up on the roadway. As she looked down at him,  he stirred and opened his eyes.

"Howdy," she spoke, smiling. "Ya hurt some?"

Came a weak answer. "Y..yup. S..some."

"Whur it be, stranger? Not that I give a damn." Her eyes followed the Skid  marks and seen the bloody trail left behind.

"Won’t tell ya but it hurts like hell," he managed to say.

Calamity reached down, unloosened his gun belt and yanked it free, the side  arm still tied down to the holster. Rolling him over, she laughed out loud at  seeing the wound. He groaned heavily.

 "Nice shot, if’n I do say so meself. Peers like you ain’t gonna be sittin’  for a mighty long while. I picked the biggest an’ ugliest target since I was  about outta breath at the time. Lucky fer you, maybe, but I think you’ll live.  We’ll know when we get ya to town so jest lay quiet an’ I’ll see what I can do."  She laughed quietly, knowing how embarrassed he must feel with a bullet hole in  his lower cheeks. From off her saddle, she removed a lariat, slipped a loop  around both of his wrists then added: "Face up or down? It’s yer choice."

"Wha..what are ya gonna do?" he asked wide-eyed as he seen her take the loose  end of the rope and tie it to her saddle horn. She mounted, looked down at him  in passing saying: "Well, friend, it looks like you’ll be having a tough trip.  But, like I said, I think you’ll live." Gigging the mare forward, she began to  drag the man, face up, toward Lewistown. His curses went unheard and Calamity  ignored them, for a while at least. Eventually, they grated on her nerves.  Stopping the mare, she turned in the saddle, removed her mitten from her right  hand, drew the revolver and pointed it at him saying: "Take yer pick. Shut the  hell up an’ enjoy yer trip or keep on bitchin’ or I’ll put an end to yer misery  right now. An’ if that partner of yourn’s got any idee of an ambush, well, I  don’t think you’ll be enjoyin’ another sunrise like the one we got comin’. We  got about three miles ta go so hesh up an’ let’s get at it."

The remainder of the trip was uneventful as Calamity hauled her burden in  front of the sheriff’s office where she tossed the reins over the hitch rail.  Dismounting, she clumped up the two steps, shoved open the door and stood  nonchalantly in front of the man with the badge pinned to his vest. "Got a gift  for ya, Sheriff. He’s right outside"

Curiously he asked: "What is it, Calamity?" He recognized her immediately as  one of the locals of Fergus County for she was well-known throughout.

"Bushwhacker. They’s two of ‘em but I could only bring one down. Anybody come  ridin’ in here in the last hour or hour an’ a half?" she asked.

"Nope. Just one of the Colonel’s step-sons. Why?"

"Tother one is outside, that bein’ the case. Maybe that’s why I didn’t  recognize the varmit. Leastwise I think that’s him. Better go have a look-see  an’ fetch the doc. This one isn’t in too good a shape."

"Really. What happened to him? Horse fall on him?"

"Nope. I shot him."

"You shot him?" the sheriff asked as he rose from behind his desk, a  concerned look on his face.

"Had too. They was after me." She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall  behind the desk and asked: "That the right time?"

"It is. May I ask why it’s so important?"

"Got business at the bank across the street in a few minutes but I’ll be back  soon’s I’m done. I’d ’preciate it if ya threw this one in the pokey an’ the  tother one too." Without adding anything further, she exited, stomping her way  across to the banks entrance as the sheriff’s words followed her with: "I’ll do  that, ma’am, and with pleasure. Those two only showed up around here a few weeks  ago."

At two minutes past eight, Calamity opened the banks door carrying a pair of  saddle bags slung across her left shoulder, which left her right hand free in  case she needed it. Walking briskly, she stood in front of the banks president  where she tossed the saddle bags onto his desk. Elmer Vestre looked up asking  nervously: "May I help you?" Looking down at him, she stated her business.

 "I reckon so. Open that there bag, read the letter inside and sign a receipt  After you count the money that’s in there. Go ahead an’ take yer time. You got  all of fifteen minutes." Her demand went unquestioned. Perhaps it was the sound  of her voice or the look on her face but whichever, it brought results as Elmer  shouted.

"MR. BRACKER! Count out the money in these saddle bags the sign the receipt  while I read this letter. It’s from the Colonel. And hurry. This woman has other  important business." Smiling up at her, he added: "Isn’t that right, Ma’am?" Mr.  Bracker is my assistant, you understand."

"Great. I’m so pleased," she chided him. Elmer, slightly embarrassed, began  to read the enclosed letter.

It was beginning to show signs of a clear evening as Calamity rode the tired,  little mare into the stables behind the colonels house, where she was greeted by  the colored man, Jube. "Y’all’s have a good trip, Miss Janie, weather bein’ what  it is?"

"Fine, Jube. Just fine. Nice little mare the colonel has. Yup. Very nice so  you take good care of her, ya hear?"

Jube’s smile was as warm as the stables they were in as he replied: "No need  to worry ‘bout dat, Miss Janie. Colonel say he wants to see you right away,  soon’s you gets back." He led the mare to her stall and began to unsaddle her,  speaking to the animal in soft tones as Calamity exited through the small door,  making her way to the colonels house. She smiled as she approached, rapped  loudly then entered without waiting for his command to do so. Still seated in  front of his Huge fireplace, she could see the shine of his head over the back  of his favorite chair. "Come and sit, Calamity. Did everything go as  planned?"

"Not exactly. I did have a few problems but your money and letter was  delivered on time. Here’s your receipt, all signed as you requested." She handed  it to him over the back of the chair, into his waiting hand.

Without looking at her, he unfolded the piece of paper then added: "Help  yourself to the whiskey. By the way, what problems did you have? Did Elmer throw  a fit?" referring to the banks president. He heard the tinkle of glass and the  sound of whiskey being poured, then waited for her to seat herself next to  him

As Calamity related what had happened, the colonel chuckled softly, saying:  "I wish I could have seen it all. Those two deserve what they have coming to  them. I’m sure the sheriff will be by tomorrow or soon after. I do thank you,  Miss Calamity, for all you’ve done, even risking your life for an old fool. But  for your curiosity, what you delivered was a small fortune for the purchase of  the mine in this area. Therefore, I am the sole owner."

After the meeting, Calamity walked the darkened street, stumbling through the  ruts as she made her way to the one-room cabin that was hers. She noted the  smoke rising from the stove pipe, saw the lighted window and knew Billy was  still there. As she burst through the door, she caught Billy unawares, his long  legs stretched out fully, his feet braced against the wall of the cabin and in  his hand was a book. As she entered, the book went flying as Billy fought to  right himself. He swore: "DAMN, Janie. Ya coulda knocked." Embarrassed, he sat  up, staring at her nervously.

"Why?" she asked. "It’s my house. Now OUT!" Calamity stabbed the air toward  the doorway with her thumb.

Billy scrambled for his boots, shoved his feet into them and quickly put on  his coat and hat. He rolled his eyes at her, silently pleading then said: "Miss  Janie? Couldn’t I spend the night? It’s damn cold out there an’ I got it all  nice an’ warm for ya."

Scowling at him, she said: "I’m cold, tired and hungry, in that order. Right  now, all I want to do is sleep. Pass me the bottle, if there’s anything left in  it," she added. Taking it from his hand, she eyed what remained, uncorked it and  swallowed the fiery liquid with pleasurable sounds. After, she made him remove  her boots then threw her coat and hat on the floor, slipped out of her pants and  crawled beneath the buffalo robe with a sigh. With her right hand, she again  stabbed toward the door as Billy took the hint, leaving her alone as she wanted  it.

 

The End