Trouble Trail (12 page)

‘Thanks,’ replied the captain, not showing the interest one might have expected at being presented with a prime buffalo’s hide; especially as he particularly wanted one to make into a carriage-rug for Molly. ‘I reckon I’ll go join the ladies.’

Resin and the other two men did not regard that as a show of weakness. Fact being the two butchers looked a mite green around the gills and Resin hated the sound of stripping off a hide in such a manner. So did Calamity and she wanted to get the work done as quickly as possible.

The other three hides were removed, though each took a longer time as the body under it cooled. A cursing Calamity watched the last hide come free and stopped her horses. Even though she felt sickened, Calamity’s first thought was for her team. She unhitched the two horses, watered them from the five-gallon keg fastened to the wagon, then left the animals to graze. Walking up the slope and passing over it, leaving the three men to handle the butchering and loading of the wagon, Calamity found Eileen lazing by the bushes, but no sign of Molly and Bigelow.

‘Hey, Boston,’ she said, shaking the dozing girl. ‘Where’re the love-birds?’

‘Huh? Oh, they went for a ride.’

‘They did what?’ gasped Calamity, staring in disbelief at the tracks of two horses leading from the bushes. ‘Didn’t reckon they was headed for the wagon train, did they?’

‘No,’ Eileen replied, standing up as she saw the concern on Calamity’s face. ‘They said they’d take a short ride and join us in an hour or so.’

‘Danged fools!’ grunted Calamity. ‘Wade’s a nice feller and smart in a lot of ways. Only he’s no plains scout and it’s hellish easy to get lost out here. I reckon I’d best go look for them.’

‘Shall I come along?’

‘Nope. I don’t want to fuss with that mean Appaloosa and there’s only one other hoss.’

‘Why not tell Beau and let him go?’ asked Eileen.

‘ ‘Cause he’s more use down there helping with the butchering and loading than I would be. And the sooner we get back to the train, the better me ‘n’ him’ll like it.’

‘I thought you said there had been no Indian sign?’

‘Time to start worrying about Injuns is when you don’t see ‘em,’ Calamity answered. ‘Can I take the hoss?’

‘Do you need to ask?’

‘Sure do, with a gal who fights as good as you do,’ grinned Calamity. ‘And don’t worry, gal. I’ll bring that lil schoolmarm of our’n back safe and sound.’

‘You see you do,’ Eileen replied. ‘Or you and I’ll take another walk in the woods.’

Eileen had been wearing a divided skirt and riding astride, which was fortunate, for Calamity had never been on a sidesaddle such as was popular among female riders back East. The way Calamity looked at the situation, she might need all her riding skill before the day was out.

Collecting Eileen’s horse, Calamity saddled and bridled it. For a moment she thought of borrowing one of the rifles from the wagon, but discarded the idea. If any Indians had been in hearing distance, the sound of the shots fired at the buffalo might bring them in. Not even settlers were hated by the Indians as were hide-hunters; and the Indian did not draw any distinction between slaughter for hides and folks hunting food. If a bunch of Cheyenne came on the party, they would attack and having three rifles could mean the difference between life and death for Calamity’s friends.

While Eileen walked down to the wagon to tell the others, Calamity took the departed couple’s trail. Although Calamity found little difficulty in following the tracks, she could not make even as much speed as Molly and Bigelow raised; and from the sign they had not been pushing their horses to any great extent. As she rode along, Calamity decided on just what she aimed to say to Captain Wade H. Bigelow when she caught up with him; it would not be ladylike, that was for sure, but aimed to tell him in pungent, profane terms just what she thought of his stupidity. Hell, not even being in love gave old Wade the right to take such damned fool chances with his and Molly’s lives.

‘Dang. that Wade!’ she spat out after trailing the couple for almost three miles. ‘Why in hell don’t he stop acting like a gentleman and take her off some place cool and shady?’

A flutter of white caught the corner of Calamity’s eye and brought her twisting around in the saddle, right hand turning palm out by the butt of her Colt. One glance told her two things: first, she would not have need for the gun; second, that Bigelow appeared to have taken Molly some place cool and shady. The little schoolteacher stood on the edge of a fair-sized clump of bushes and waved as happily as if on a New England Sunday-school picnic.

‘Hey!’ Molly greeted as Calamity rode up.

‘Where in hell’s shiny-butt?’ growled Calamity in reply, seeing no sign of the gallant captain.

‘I thought we’d dropped that name!’ Molly said a trifle stiffly.

‘We dropped it when he stopped acting it. Which same he started again, or he wouldn’t’ve taken you lolly-gagging off like this.’

‘We only took a ride!’ Molly answered, a blush creeping to her cheeks as she dropped a hand to the blouse, discovering its buttons to be fastened in the wrong holes—which they had not been in leaving the meat-hunting party.

‘Sure, honey,’ Calamity replied gently. ‘Where’s he at?’

‘He’s just like a boy,’ smiled Molly, although a few minutes before Bigelow’s actions had been anything but boy-like. ‘After we—Well, we went through the bushes and saw a herd of those little pronghorn antelope. I said I would like to examine one of them and Wade insisted on trying to ride one down for me.’

‘He went chasing a pronghorn on hoss-back?’

‘Yes.’

‘Danged if he’s not worse’n I thought. That’s like trying to out-swim a trout going up-stream.’

The fact that Calamity said ‘danged’ and nothing stronger told Molly that her friend had partially forgiven Bigelow.

‘They are fast,’ Molly admitted.

‘He’s not slow his-self,’ grinned Calamity. ‘Only he’s got about as much chance of catching one of them white-romped streaks of lightning as I have of becoming a for-real lady.’

‘Calam!’ thought Molly, knowing better by now than expess it in words. ‘You may not dress the part, but you’re a for-real lady now.’ She went on aloud, ‘Are they that fast?’

‘Danged fastest thing on four legs on the plains,’ replied Calamity, seeing Bigelow ride into sight. ‘Here he comes, without a pronghorn.’

The girls walked together through the bushes and halted at the other edge to wait for Bigelow’s arrival, keeping under cover for Calamity never liked to be unduly exposed when out on the Great Plains. Riding up. Bigelow came to a halt in the bushes and threw a glance at Molly.

‘He got away, darling. Say. while we’re waiting for my horse to cool out why don’t we—?’

‘Reckon I ought to close my eyes?’ asked Calamity who had been standing to one side and behind a bush.

‘Hey. Calam,’ Bigelow greeted. ‘We’ve just been resting Molly’s horse and I thought—’

‘Yeah,’ Calamity said dryly. ‘I know it. Only—Hell fire, Wade, we got us some real trouble!’

From where they stood, Calamity had a good view of the country traversed by Bigelow in his fruitless chase after the pronghorn herd. Turning, Bigelow saw what had turned Calamity’s voice from faintly ironic to dead serious. A cold, sick feeling hit Bigelow in the pit of his stomach as he saw the deadly danger into which he had brought the girl he loved.

They came into sight over a rim not half a mile away, riding slowly as one of their number followed Bigelow’s trail—almost twenty Cheyenne warriors led by a tall war-bonnet chief with a yellow-ochre covered face, wearing much-decorated cavalry gauntlets and with an old Colt Dragoon revolver thrust into his waistband. At that distance Bigelow could not pick out the details of the chief’s dress and Calamity had not heard a description of Sand Runner. So, although they did not know the great war-leader was present. both knew for certain sure they had found about as bad trouble as three palefaces ever came across upon the Great Plains.

One thing—and it was not much—remained in their favour. So far the Indians only knew of Bigelow’s presence. The bushes prevented the approaching Cheyenne from seeing the girls. No Indian would have contented himself in riding at so leisurely a pace had he known that two prime white-brother squaws stood just ready for the taking. However, that thought did not give Calamity any great joy. Happen they tried to run for safety, the Cheyenne could not miss seeing them and each man rode his war-relay. Using their spare, fresh horses, the Cheyenne could ride down the three palefaces before covering a mile, especially as Bigelow’s mount had been hard-ridden.

Yet if they stayed, Calamity, Molly and Bigelow would be in no better shape for one man and two girls—even if one be Calamity Jane—could not hold off the attack of a score of was-wise Cheyenne braves hot and eager for coups or glory. Calamity knew that all too well. So, it seemed, did Bigelow.

He had dismounted on arrival and swung to face Molly, placing his hands on her shoulders. Lowering his head, he kissed her.

‘Molly.’ he said gently. ‘I love you, my darling. I love you. Never forget that.’

Without any warning of what he meant to do, Bigelow bunched his right hand into a fist and drove it against Molly’s jaw. The little blonde collapsed, but Bigelow caught her and lowered her gently to the ground. Then he looked up at Calamity expecting to find her showing amazement, anger or curiosity. Instead all he could read was admiration and realised he did not need to explain his action or what he aimed to do next,

‘Let me go,’ Calamity said.

‘I’d never find my way back to the others, Calam.’ Bigelow replied. ‘Don’t argue, there’s no time and I don’t want to leave you lying by Molly. Take care of my little girl, Calam.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Calamity promised, gripping the man’s hand. ‘Try to get that damned war-bonnet chief there. Drop him and the rest might pull out. Good luck, shiny-butt.’

‘And you, red top. Tell Molly I love her.’

Vaulting on to his horse, Bigelow kicked it into movement and sent it charging out of the bushes, headed off at a tangent from the Indians. Even as he went, Bigelow realised that for the first time in his experience the words ‘shiny-butt’ had not been used as an insult, but came out full of Calamity’s unexpressed pride.

On seeing the captain burst out of the bushes, every Cheyenne voice lifted in a wild, ringing yell and each man started his horse forward at a gallop, in doing so, they swung clear of the bushes and headed away from the girls, just as Bigelow hoped they would.

He rode his tiring horse for almost half a mile, hearing the enemy hooves drawing closer. Pulling the Army Colt from his holster, Bigelow swung his horse to face the Cheyenne. His face grew set and grim as he went to meet them. Twenty against one. Yet he must face them for Molly, his darling, loving little Molly’s life hung in the balance.

Twice Bigelow fired as the men closed on him, but he did not find opportunity to take Calamity’s advice. Sand Runner’s name as a warrior had been long established and he did not need to take chances. So the chief hovered in the background and allowed the young bucks to bear the brunt of the attack. His bull voice roared out a deep-throated order and,- to Bigetow’s surprise the attacking braves made no attempt to use their guns or bows even though one of their number slid from the back of his pony.

Then one of the braves cut loose with his buffalo-bow, sending its arrow into the chest of the soldier’s horse. Feeling his mount going down under him. Bigelow kicked his feet free of the stirrups. His luck ran out for the horse landed awkwardly and threw him off balance. Down he went, rolling over as the hooves of the horses churned around him. Just as he reared up to try to shoot, the butt end of a buffalo lance crashed down on to his head and everything went black.

Calamity had watched everything and a shudder ran through her as she saw Bigelow taken alive. Even without being conscious of the action, her Colt slid into her hand. Just as Calamity prepared to charge out and attempt a rescue, or to kill Bigelow and save him from torture, a moan from Molly brought her to her senses.

‘Not a sound, honey!’ she whispered, dropping to her knees and laying a hand over Molly’s mouth. ‘Can I trust you?’

Surprise, puzzlement came to Molly’s glazed eyes, then realisation, remembrance and understanding cleared them and Molly nodded.

‘Where is he, Calam?’ she asked when the hand moved from her mouth.

‘Out there—Keep still, gal, we can’t help so don’t let it be in vain.’

‘I—I don’t want to live without W—him.’

‘I do, and he wants you to!’ Calamity growled, holding her voice down. ‘The red-sticks took him prisoner, gal. Now hold yourself. For gawd’s sake don’t go all woman on me, or I’ll have to quieten you.’

‘C—can’t we do anything?’

‘Only one thing. Get back to the others, head for the train and get help to go and rescue him.’

For once in her life Calamity had told a deliberate, serious lie to a friend. She knew in her heart that there was hardly a hope in the world of rescuing Bigelow.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A WHITE-FACED, dry-eyed Molly Johnson stared at Calamity as the full impact of the horror of the situation hit her. Yet she did not go ‘woman,’ turn hysterical. Moving cautiously, the two girls crept to the edge of the bushes and peered out, watching the Cheyenne ride away with Bigelow’s body draped across the back of a horse. Calamity could feel Molly trembling and laid a hand upon the girl’s arm.

‘We must do something, Calam!’ Molly moaned.

‘Sure, Molly, gal. We’ll let those red scouts get clear, then ride like hell to the wagon.’

‘Couldn’t we follow them?’

‘No.’

‘You mean I couldn’t!’ Molly gasped. ‘Leave me here—’

Turning to face Molly, Calamity gripped her by the shoulders and shook her gently but firmly.

‘Don’t act loco, gal. And don’t say that I can go and leave you to find your way back to Beau. You’d be lost in a mile. The quicker we get back to Beau, the quicker he can decide what to do.’

Molly nodded. Tears trickled down her cheeks and her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Taking the little girl into her arms, Calamity soothed her like a child, showing a gentleness which might have surprised many people who made an acquaintance with Martha Jane Canary at happier moments. When the flow of tears had passed and Molly regained something of a hold on herself, Calamity turned to look after the far-distant Cheyenne.

‘Let’s go, honey.’ she said, helping Molly to rise.

Taking their horses, the girls rode cautiously from the bushes. Clearly the Cheyenne believed Bigelow to be alone for none of them even offered to look back in the direction of the bushes. For all that Calamity forced the pace; for protection and also to make Molly believe there might be a chance of rescuing Bigelow.

By the time they returned to the wagon, they found that most of the butchering and loading had been completed. Eileen and the three men watched the girls ride up and all showed some curiosity as to why Bigelow did not come with them.

‘Where’s Wade, Calam?’ Resin asked.

‘Cheyenne got him.’

‘Huh?’

Quickly Calamity outlined the situation. None of the others spoke while she gave Resin every detail that came to her mind and described Bigelow’s gallant action to save the girl’s then his capture.

‘Poor bastard,’ said Resin quietly at the end of Calamity’s explanation.

Something in the big scout’s tone and attitude struck Molly with the impact of a mule’s kick. Suddenly she realised just how little hope there was of rescuing Bigelow from the Cheyenne’s clutches.

‘I’ll never see him again!’ she moaned.

‘Sure you will, honey,’ Calamity answered.

‘I won’t! I won’t!’ Molly screamed, turning on the other girl. ‘You lied to me! I could have gone to him. I hate you!’

And she threw herself at Calamity, little fists striking the girl’s face. Calamity just stood there like a statue, letting the blows land although they were far from light taps. Like Resin, Calamity hated to lie and she hated it even worse when dealing with a friend.

Resin caught Molly’s hands, drawing the girl gently away from Calamity and Eileen moved forward to take the blonde in her arms. After the rage-hysteria, the reaction set in and Molly collapsed sobbing into Eileen’s arms.

Slowly Calamity lifted a hand to wipe the blood that ran from the corner of her mouth. She looked at the red streak upon her hand, then turned and walked towards her horse.

‘Where the hell are you going?’ Resin growled, catching the girl’s arm before she could mount the horse.

‘Molly’s right,’ Calamity replied. ‘I lied to her. I’m going to see if I can rescue him.’

‘Damn your fool hide, Calamity!’ the scout snapped. ‘You know better—’

‘Let go! Get your goddamned hand off my arm!’

‘When you stop acting like a fool kid I will. You know damned well that you can’t handle a chore like that.’

‘Can you?’

Lifting his hand from Calamity’s arm, the scout rubbed his jaw. ‘I don’t know, gal. But I sure as hell aim to find out. It’s the only thing we can do, and at best I’ll make sure he doesn’t suffer.’

Resin and Calamity’s eyes. went to the Sharps rifle which leaned against his saddle. That gun would carry accurately at ranges of up to a mile and packed the power to knock down a bull buffalo with one shot at the end of the distance. Both knew to what end the accuracy and killing power might be put. If the worst came to the worst, Resin intended to use it to cut short Bigelow’s sufferings at the hands of the Cheyenne—even if doing so led to the scout’s presence being discovered by the same Indians.

‘I—I’m sorry, Beau,’ Calamity said contritely. ‘Times I act like a woman.’

Suddenly scooping Calamity into his arms, Resin kissed her hard, passionately and savagely. He felt no embarrassment at the act, nor did the girl. Way they saw it, a man who might not be alive at dawn the following day had a right to kiss a gal happen he felt that way inclined.

‘Yeah,’ he said, releasing Calamity. ‘Times you sure do—I’m right pleased to say.’

After that no time was wasted in preparing to leave. Resin intended to use all three saddle horses, riding relay on them and so having something in reserve if it came to a run for his life. While he saddled his Appaloosa, the two butchers finished loading the wagon and took the saddles from the two reserve horses, for Resin did not wish to have them toting extra weight. Calamity hitched up her team to the wagon, marvelling at the way Eileen soothed and cared for the still sobbing Molly and kept her out of the men’s way.

‘Get aboard, all of you,’ Resin ordered when all was ready.

‘Calam!’ Molly said. ‘I—I—’

‘Get aboard, honey,’ Calamity replied gently. ‘There’s nothing we can do here and folks need this meat.’

Camp was being made for the night when Calamity’s party arrived. A crowd quickly gathered but Calamity told them to start unloading and sharing the meat among them. In this she prevented any questions being asked, for she wished to give her story to the men who ran the outfit instead of wasting time answering a lot of fool questions.

‘What happened. Calam?’ Grade asked, coming up fast, Muldoon, Killem and the wagonmaster on his heels.

‘We found trouble,’ she replied.

‘Bad trouble?’ inquired the lieutenant.

‘As bad as it comes, Dave. Wade got took alive by the Cheyenne.’

‘The dirty, murderin’ spalpeens!’ Muldoon growled, sounding as mean as a winter-starved grizzly bear. ‘How’d they do it?’

Quickly Calamity told most of what had happened, finishing with, ‘Beau took out after them—with the Sharps.’

Her words met with cold, blank, guarded stares for the men knew exactly what she meant. Behind them, Eileen was already leading a sobbing Molly to the Johnson’s wagon, driving off any inquisitive spectators with cold stare, or brief, concise words if the stare failed.

‘Do we try to get him out. Paddy?’ asked Grade.

‘If there was only us to be thinking about I’d be after saying yes.’ the burly sergeant replied: and wondered what his reply might have been had the question been put at the start of the trip. ‘Only there’s these good folks to take care of and see through—and precious the little chance of finding the cap’n alive.’

‘First sight of the cavalry coming and he’s dead for sure,’ Calamity remarked.

‘We’ll wait for Beau.’

They waited and over an hour later, just after sundown, the scout rode in on his leg-weary Appaloosa: having left the other two horses behind as they tired. Dropping from his saddle, the scout slouched to Killem’s fire and the freighter sent one of his men to tend the Appaloosa.

Coming up with a pail of water, Calamity handed it to the scout and Resin dropped to his knees to sink his face in, drinking thirstily. At last he raised his wet face and looked at the silent circle around him. Grade, Muldoon, the wagonmaster, Killem and Calamity all stood waiting to hear what the scout could tell them.

‘He’s still alive,’ Resin said. ‘I trailed ‘em and found their camp. Moved in close, soon after they arrived and saw them get to talking. Some of ‘em wanted to get started on him, but Sand Runner did some yelling and hollering and they pushed Wade into a tent, tied like a hawg for slaughter. From what I could hear, they don’t aim to make a move until tomorrow.’

‘Then we might—’ Calamity began.

‘Yeah,’ Resin agreed. ‘We might. Like I said, they held a pow-wow. Seemed like Sand Runner was having to convince ‘em about something. Don’t know what, he don’t speak that distinct.’

‘And they aim to keep Wade alive?’ asked Grade eagerly.

‘That’s how it looked to me. There’s something about that damned Sand Runner gets me. I can’t put a finger on it, but he’s the weirdest Injun I ever saw.’

‘How’s about—?’ Mulduon started to say.

‘Hold hard, Paddy,’ Resin interrupted. ‘I’ve been all day without food. Let me eat, then we’ll decide. You boys get pickets out, tend to your work and come back here in an hour and we’ll say our pieces.’

Before any of the others could object, even if they aimed to, Calamity had come on them and hazed them away, leaving the big Scout to eat his meal in peace. Eileen returned with news that the train’s doctor had attended Molly and left her under sedation. Then for the first time Eileen heard the full story of what occurred on the plains.

The hour ended and the same party gathered around Killem’s fire watched by almost everybody from the train.

‘What we fixing—’ began Muldoon, but once again found his question interrupted.

First a rifle shot cracked out from the darkness well within the ring of cavalry pickets but beyond the wagon circle; then a voice boomed out ventriloquially so that nobody could say for sure from where it came.

‘
Tshaoh
! I come in peace to your camp-fire!’

‘Easy folks!’ Resin roared as travellers grabbed for their guns. ‘Just simmer down and don’t nobody make any moves. It’s all right.’ Then he raised his voice and called, ‘Come and go in peace, brother!’

Gasps and mutters rolled up as the same war-bonnet chief who had acted as spokesman for Sand Runner rode into the camp circle. He came proudly, sitting erect and with a Winchester rifle held by its foregrip in his right hand high over his head, its lever down, showing he came in peace and unable to defend himself.

‘How!’ he greeted, riding towards where Resin’s party stood.

‘How!’ Resin answered, watching the chief drop from his horse.

Johnson had joined the party for the conference and he said, ‘Ask him—’

‘All in good time, friend,’ Resin drawled. ‘You can’t rush these things.’

Once again the two men went through the formality of charging, lighting and smoking their pipes, squatting by the fire. People gathered around, staring with fascination at their first close-up sight of a real, genuine hostile Cheyenne war chief. There was some muttering among one section of the party and a burly man slouched towards Muldoon.

‘How in hell did that red devil get past your damned sentries?’

‘Rode by ‘em, darlin’,’ answered the burly sergeant, for he did not like the man; one of a bunch of political agitators fleeing to the West. ‘If you reckon you could do better, get out and do it.’

‘I ain’t hired to stand no guard.’

‘Nor do anything ‘cepting moan about any man’s got more than you have, watch to see that nobody does less than you and do damned little yourself,’ growled Muldoon.

‘Yeah?’ snarled the man. ‘Well, that damned Injun might not find it so easy to get back out again.’

Thrusting his sun-reddened face to within an inch of the other man’s sullen features, Muldoon growled a warning. ‘Don’t try it, darlin’, or I’ll take pleasure in stopping ye meself, even if Beau Resin don’t lick me to it.’

‘You make plenty good fight last time,’ remarked the chief, sucking appreciatively at his pipe. ‘Spoil Sand Runner’s medicine.’

‘It was a trick that won’t work twice,’ Resin replied.

‘Good enough trick this time anyway. You Comanche plenty smart fighters.’

At that moment the pipes ended and the serious business commenced. Both men knocked out their tobacco remains, placed their pipes away and the chief said: ‘We took the soldier-coat chief.’

‘Is he still alive?’ Johnson asked.

‘Leave it to me,’ Resin ordered. ‘Do you still have him, or do the women?’

‘He brave man, chief among his people. Not go to women.’

‘What does that mean?’ Johnson breathed in Muldoon’s ear.

‘Mostly they let the women torture the prisoners. But if they respect the man they catch, they don’t hand him over, keep him themselves. There’s devil the bit of difference in the end.’

‘Why tell me this?’ asked Resin.

The chief did not answer for a moment, but sat with his head hanging. Something appeared to be bothering him. At last he spoke.

‘These are the words of Sand Runner. He says he want five thousand dollars for soldier-coat chief. You give-um, soldier-coat come back. No hurt except for sore head.’

‘I’ve got the money in my wagon!’

‘I’ll get the money, Beau.’

Johnson and Eileen spoke at the same moment, but Resin shook his head.

‘Not yet,’ he said and turned back to the chief. ‘Is this the Cheyenne way of making war? Do they now sell their brave enemies like they were Comancheros who will trade their own mothers?’

Hanging his head in shame, the chief answered, ‘This is the word of Sand Runner. We will meet you by the place where you killed the buffalo tomorrow at dawn, you have money, get soldier. Try tricks, he gets dead.’

‘This is a big matter,’ Resin drawled.

Yet worry nagged him. Again had come the request, demand, for money. No hostile plains Indian had ever before demanded money and Resin mistrusted any change in the smooth order of things.

‘You still take Sand Runner’s orders?’

‘His medicine not all bad,’ replied the chief. ‘It guided a young brave-heart into your bullet when the bullet would have taken Sand Runner.’

‘So he knows about that,’ growled the scout. ‘A man who is a man does not blame a warrior for taking his chief’s orders, even though they be bad orders.’

‘My thanks,
Tshaoh
,’ said the chief, gratitude plain in his voice. ‘I am one called Bear Trailer. Someday I repay you. Now, for the matter of the soldier?’

‘We must talk on it among the council. Tomorrow you will know.’

‘It is well. I do not care for this way of Sand Runner’s.’