Trouble Trail (6 page)

‘Yeah? Well, let me tell you something, you high-and-mighty Boston—’

‘Don’t you insult Boston, you—you—’

‘I’ll insult what I want on my blasted wagon!’

Fortunately. Captain Bigelow rode up at that moment and Eileen, somewhat red in the face, turned to speak with him. Although he prevented any further rift between the girls, he did not bring peace. For the rest of the day’s travel Calamity and Eileen ignored each other.

After being dismissed by Eileen, Muldoon galloped his horse to the head of the train, paying little attention to its occupants. Once clear of the train, he brought his horse to a halt and let out a long chuckle.

‘Pathrick James.’ he said, ‘happen she gets some of that Boston fuddy-duddy knocked out of her, that gal’ll make a real fighting officer’s lady.’

‘Always reckon it’s the first sign when they start talking to themselves,’ drawled a voice from behind Muldoon.

Turning, the big sergeant grinned at Beau Resin and showed no sign of animosity over the previous night’s affair.

‘Sure and I’ve always been after having an intelligent and superior person talking with me, and having an intelligent and superior person to talk with, Beau.’ he explained.

‘You’ve got a right smart point there, or a damned good excuse. You boys are sure fancied up.’

‘That we are. He’ll learn, Beau, he’ll learn. There’s a man’s heart under that shiny-butt’s uniform.’

‘He’d best learn; and fast!’ Resin stated. ‘Word has it that Sand Runner’s gathering the Cheyenne bad-hats.’

‘Which’s why they sent us soldier lads to defend all you civilians,’ grinned Muldoon. ‘Say, where’d you and Calamity go last night, I was looking for to apologise for me unseemly behaviour and give her a little something to remember Fatso Hack by.’

‘We were around, and how we were around,’ the scout drawled. ‘What happened to Hack?’

‘The poor darlin’ fell over something. The fort surgeon says he’ll be right as ever in a week or so. Sure though, isn’t that Calamity a lil darlin’?’

‘She thinks the same about you.’

‘Then she shows good taste.’

‘Yep.’ drawled Resin. ‘Couldn’t stop talking about you offering to marry her. Asked me if you’d want a white wedding in a church.’

‘Holy Mother of God!’ croaked Muldoon, horror replacing the delighted beam on his face. ‘I hopes you stood true by an old friend, Beau lad, and persuaded her what a lousy husband I’d make. Sure ‘tis no use I’d be to any woman, I drink, never save a dime—’

‘Reckon I talked her out of it,’ grinned the Scout.

‘Then ‘tis me thanks you have, Beau, lad,’ said Muldoon, gripping Resin’s hand in a heart-felt manner. Letting out a shudder, Muldoon went on, ‘Faith, a gal as strong-willed as Calamity might’ve—hey, just look who’s there.’

While the two men sat talking, the wagons passed them and the outfit belonging to the rat-faced jasper with the four hefty girls was just going by. It was to the buxom blonde not the man that Muldoon nodded.

‘Joined us on the Kansas line. Keep to themselves and pay their way,’ Resin replied. ‘Which’s all we ask.’

‘Does Calam know who she is?’

‘Lordy-lord. I hope not. If she does—’

‘Yeah,’ grinned Muldoon. ‘It’d be a sight to see though, happen Calamity finds out.’

CHAPTER SIX

‘COFFEE, Mrs. Tradle?’

‘If you please, Miss Canary.’

A week had passed since leaving Fort Connel and the association between Calamity and Eileen was in the dangerous stage of studied politeness. Each tried to out-do the other in avoiding giving reason for a further clash—which brought them closer to it many times than would more ordinary behaviour.

In several ways Eileen had changed. On the first night Calamity growled an order for Eileen to start a fire while the freight outfit’s crew tended to their chores. It had been on the tip of Eileen’s tongue to refuse, but a further comment from Calamity to the effect that Eileen would not know how to make a fire without a flock of Boston servants to help brought a change of plan. Angrily Eileen went to the rawhide possum belly under the wagon and drew out dried buffalo-chips and wood. Refusing Molly’s help, Eileen made a fire as her father taught her in the days of her rather tomboy youth. Next day Eileen lent a hand to harness the team and each day since had taken more and more of a share in the work load. Her soft white hands hardened with washing dishes and doing other manual labour that had for years been the prerogative of her family’s servants.

Both Calamity and Eileen looked for an excuse to bury the hatchet, but each time the way opened something would happen to start them feuding again.

As an onlooker, Molly found the situation highly diverting and amusing. Although the British writer Rudyard Kipling was still many years from writing about the under-the-skin kinship of the colonel’s lady and Sarah O’Grady, Molly was in an ideal position to understand what he would mean.

Calamity’s energy amazed Molly. Not only did the girl rise in the first light of dawn, tend to and harness her team, drive all day; but after caring for the six horses in the evening would visit the class Molly taught, then organise a lecture on various western subjects for the women of the train and throw herself wholeheartedly into any festivity she found herself invited to attend after dark.

Eileen helped Calamity around the wagon and attended all the girl’s lectures although always standing at the back and pretending not to be listening, or showing her disbelief if the red-head happened to glance her way.

Storm clouds were gathering in the sky as the two women stood by the fire and drank their coffee, after eating the breakfast Eileen had helped cook. Killem slouched over to them and nodded his head.

‘Looks like rain,’ he said.

‘Tastes a mite like coffee though,’ Calamity answered.

Once more the possibility of burying the hatchet went flying by. Calamity’s joke had been harmlessly meant, but it was Eileen’s coffee—and well-brewed at that. Giving an angry snort, Eileen doused the fire by up-ending the coffeepot and pouring out a good three mugs full, one at least of which Calamity had hoped for and looked forward to drinking.

In angry silence the two girls prepared to travel and neither spoke as the wagon rolled. Molly had not joined them that morning, finding the situation on the wagon too disconcerting and, having taken a liking to Eileen, wished to avoid antagonising either of her friends.

Each morning the order of travel changed so that the same people did not spend all their days eating the dust at the rear of the column. On this day Calamity found herself in second position behind the wagonmaster’s vehicle which always took the lead. Before they had gone a mile, dust was not the thing the travellers needed bother about.

Suddenly the blackened skies split with a flash of lightning and rain began to gush down, coming in slanting sheets that drove towards the wagons. There was no chance to take precautions and almost everybody on the train found themselves soaked to the skin.

‘If you’d any sense you’d get in there and put your slicker on,’ Calamity told Eileen, hunching miserably on the box and sending her whip’s lash flickering out to keep the idle centre near-side horse doing its share.

‘When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it!’

‘So soak and the hell with you then! Easy there, you stab-gutted, spavined crow-bait. You’re not on. Boston High Street.’

For fifteen minutes the two girls sat side by side, soaked to the skin and both too damned hog-stubborn to give in. At last Eileen decided to call it quits and turned to slip through the dawn-down canopy into the lurching wagon. Although her oilskin coat and hat hung ready for use, she doubted if she could change while the wagon rolled, jerked and pitched. Donning the coat, she was about to climb back on to the box when she saw Calamity’s wet-weather clothing lying on the battered box.

Picking up the Stetson hat and yellow oilskin slicker, she opened the flap and climbed out.

‘Here!’ she said.

It was on the tip of Calamity’s tongue to tell her to go to hell, then sit out the storm unprotected, but she changed her mind.

‘Thanks.’

‘I’d have done it for a dog,’ Eileen sniffed. ‘Let me take the reins and you get dressed.’

‘You?’

‘You’ve been boasting about how good your team is, so I should be able to manage them—if they’re that good.’

‘Don’t you insult my horses!’ Calamity squealed. but handed over the reins and donned her protective clothing.

Suffering a mutual discomfort might have brought peace to the two girls. but the fates decreed that before they could forget their differences a fresh cause of strife would arise.

Beau Resin came galloping through the rain towards the wagonmaster and Bigelow as they rode at the head of the column. The rain had been slashing down for over an hour and the ground under foot grew soggy and uncertain.

‘We got trouble. Sam,’ Resin drawled, water trickling from his Stetson brim in a steady stream.

‘When did you ever come back like that and not have trouble?’ asked the wagonmaster calmly.

‘That’s what you pay me for, to bring you bad news.’

‘What is it?’ Bigelow asked, slightly irritated even after a week at the way Resin failed to respect his rank and position.

‘A damned great valley, Cap’n. Come on ahead and take a look at it.’

On riding some three miles ahead with the two civilians, Bigelow saw the cause of the trouble. A wide valley stretched ahead of them, its left slope sheer, the right, on which they sat, fairly gentle and the bottom along which the train planned to move turned into a roaring torrent by a storm-flooded stream.

‘That’ll be hell to get by,’ remarked the wagonmaster.

‘Plumb hell,’ agreed Resin.

‘We could go along the top there,’ suggested Bigelow.

‘Could,’ Resin answered. ‘Only there was a big burn-out up there a few years back and its grown over with thick young stuff and loused out with fallen dead trees. It’d take us a month to cut a way through.’

‘How about the other side?’

‘Happen we could cross that stream, which same’s not likely, there’s a fork down the valley about half a mile, you can’t hardly see it for the rain. It’d take us near a hundred mile out of our way to get round that fork and back on to our line and there’s no way we could cross.’

‘Do we wait it out?’ asked Bigelow, which showed that something of a change had come over him. He now asked for advice instead of giving orders.

‘Now that’s a good question, Cap’n,’ answered the wagon-master. ‘I only wish to hell I knew the answer.’

‘If one wagon broke the ground across this slope, the others could follow,’ Resin remarked.

‘Sure,’ agreed the wagonmaster dryly. ‘Only I’d hate like hell to be the first one.’

None of the party spoke for a few moments for both Resin and’ Bigelow knew that if it came to the point, the wagon-master most likely would be the one who made the pioneer trip across the treacherous mile or so of slope.

Riding forward with Bigelow at his side, Resin found the slope’s soil to be soft, soggy and slick. Yet their horses found little or no difficulty in keeping their feet. Of course, the Appaloosa and Bigelow’s bay did not haul a damned great Conestoga wagon behind them. On returning to the wagon-master’s side, the two men found Killem and the train’s segundo present.

‘Means going a good two mile along the slope before it’s clear to hit the top,’ Resin remarked, glancing at the halted wagons behind the men.

Jumping down from her wagon. Calamity slouched forward and looked at the scene ahead, reading its implications. Her eyes went to the lead wagon from which the wagonmaster’s family were climbing.

‘Way I see it,’ she said, joining the men, ‘my wagon’s carrying the least important stuff. Right, Cap’n?’

For a moment Bigelow thought then nodded. ‘If it comes to a point, your load is the most easily replaced.’

‘I’ve got the best danged team, too,’ the girl said calmly. ‘Have all the stock pushed across ahead of me, and let them with hosses ride across. Sam, get your kids back in your wagon out of the rain.’

Five startled pairs of male eyes stared at Calamity. In a way she spoke the truth. Of all the wagons hers could probably be most easily spared; every other carried a family’s home and belongings or vitally needed military supplies. Yet the men could not risk a girl’s life on the dangerous task ahead; not even a girl like Calamity Jane.

Without waiting for their permission, Calamity returned to her wagon and climbed aboard.

‘What’s the delay?’ Eileen asked.

‘Nothing. Get out.’

‘What?’

‘I’m taking the wagon across that slope ahead and can’t tote extra weight,’ Calamity growled. her nervous tension preventing her from explaining that she could not risk the other girl’s life in the crossing.

‘But how do I get across?’ asked Eileen, the rain making her temper rise.

‘Look down there!’ Calamity snapped, pointing to the bed of the wagon. ‘See them things sticking out from under your dress? They’re feet, use ‘em.’

‘But I—’

‘Get out or I’ll throw you out!’ Calamity screamed. Something in the girl’s voice warned Eileen not to push Calamity any further. While Eileen willingly swapped word-warfare, she drew the line at physical conflict and so climbed from the wagon. A squeal left her lips as she sank ankle-deep into the mud. Hearing the sound of men approaching, Eileen turned. The wagonmaster, Bigelow and the other men came towards Calamity’s wagon but one look at their faces warned Eileen not to worry them with, petty troubles. One thing Eileen had learned young and early was when not to trouble the men-folk and such a time was at hand.

‘All right, Calamity,’ Killem said. ‘I’ll take your wagon over.’

‘Like hell you will,’ she replied.

‘Come on, Calam,’ Killem growled. ‘Let me handle it.’

‘Nope!’

‘I said I’d take it!’

‘And I said go to hell!’

‘Damn it, Calam!’ Killem barked. ‘You’re fired.’

‘Swell!’ she answered. ‘Then I don’t have to take your orders any more.’

Giving an angry snort, Killem stepped towards the wagon. Then he came to a sudden halt, he and the other men who started to follow him with the intention of lending their moral support. While Calamity’s Colt rode under her fastened slicker, a Winchester carbine lay in a boot on the side of the wagon—or did lie there for Calamity jerked it out and fed a round into the chamber.

‘Get your hand off the wagon. Dobe!’ she warned as her boss reached for the wheel to climb aboard. ‘Damn it, I mean it. Get your hand off or I’ll put lead into you.’

And she meant it, too, every man present knew that. Calamity had pride in her work and nobody, not even her boss, took over her wagon no matter how dangerous the situation.

‘It’s damned risky, gal,’ Resin pointed out.

‘Reckon I don’t know it?’ she snorted. ‘Dobe, Sam and all the boys have kin depending on ‘em. You’re needed as scout and the cap’n doesn’t know how to handle a six-hoss team well enough to take it across there. I’ve got nobody needing me to support ‘em, so I’ll take her over.’

‘All right, you blasted ornery female,’ Killem said, his voice gentle. ‘Go bust your fool neck and kill yourself. Only don’t you come blaming me when you do.’

On receiving his permission, Calamity booted the carbine, leaned over to remove Killem’s hat and planted a kiss on the top of his head. ‘I love you, too, Cecil!’ she whispered, then raised her voice. ‘Get that stock run across, Beau.’

Even with all the spare stock run across the slope so as to chum up the ground a mite, Calamity could see her task was anything but a sinecure. She started her team moving, conscious that almost every member of the train stood behind and watched her. The story of what Calamity hoped to do passed around and Eileen forgot her position to watch the girl, realising why Calamity ordered her from the wagon.

Ignoring the crowd, Calamity sat her wagon’s box and concentrated on handling her team. She kicked off her moccasins and sat with bare feet on the wagon bed, the better to feel the vibrations of movement under her. With her eyes on the horses, she gave low-voiced encouragement.

‘Slow and easy, blast you!’ she said, gripping the reins between delicate yet strong fingers to steady or urge on as the situation demanded. ‘You make me trouble, Muley, and I’ll skin your hide tonight.’

This last came as a warning to the near-side centre horse as she felt it slack its pull. Usually the horse tended to idle and needed the spice of a whip-flick to keep its attention on work, but it sensed the danger of the situation and buckled down to pull its weight.

Never would Calamity forget that trip across the slope. Once she felt the rear wheel begin to slide and her fingers controlled the reins, giving the horses confidence while keeping them pulling. Although the rain beat down and she was wet to the skin, Calamity felt sweat soaking her and the few seconds during which the wheels slid downwards seemed like an hour. Then the great horses’ strength held it and the wagon rolled on once more. Behind her Calamity heard a roar of cheers that followed on the concerted gasp of horror which rose as the slipping started. She ignored the crowd’s approval, knowing that she was far from being in safety.

‘I sure hope they mark that place down,’ she breathed. ‘Pull, boys, pull!’

On went the horses, fighting their way along. Ahead of her, where she could turn to safety on top of the slope, Calamity saw Resin, Muldoon and a number of the biggest, strongest men of the train gathering. So intent had been her concentration before that she could not remember them passing her and wondered what they were doing. Then she got the idea and gave a sigh of relief. After a pull like they had just been through, the horses would find difficulty in hauling a heavy Conestoga to the head of the slope. The party of men had come to lend a hand at a time when their aid would be of the most use.