Ranch War

weapon. Specially plaited for her by Dobe Killem, the whip had a slightly more slender, but no shorter lash than those used by his male drivers. She was very expert in its use.

The nickname had come into being through her penchant for becoming involved in a variety of trouble. Going into saloons with the other drivers had often brought her into conflict with the female employees. Jealous of her intrusion, more than one saloon girl had tried to evict Calamity. Leading a more healthy life than her opponents, Calamity had only once—during her last meeting with Charlotte Canary—met defeat at another woman’s hands. She had been held to a draw when she tangled with Belle Starr in Elkhorn, Montana, after which she had smuggled the lady outlaw out of town in her wagon to avoid Belle’s arrest by the local marshal.*

Not all the excitement that followed Calamity came from saloon brawls. She had taken her full share of fighting off Indians and other marauders with designs on the wagons’ cargoes. Along with Belle Starr and Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy,† she had been responsible for breaking up a murderous outlaw gang.‡ After its driver had been wounded in an Indian attack, she had driven a stagecoach to its destination, then helped a U.S. Marshal to trap a smart owlhoot.§ The citizens of New Orleans had had cause to be grateful for Calamity’s visit. While there, she had battled with a savate-fighting Creole girl, embroiling her friends in a rough-house that wrecked a saloon; but she had also acted as a decoy against a maniacal murderer who had strangled eight women in the city’s parks, ending his reign of terror.* More recently, she had sided a Texas Ranger in ending the activities of a band of cow thieves.†

So while she deserved the name “Calamity”—and knew it—most of her escapades had been on the side of law and order.

Studying the girl, who looked so sincere that she might have been telling the truth, Philpotter decided against taking the matter of her pseudonym further. There was another item troubling him. While he had heard of Calamity Jane, there had never been any mention of her as Martha Jane Canary. He wondered how he could raise the subject of proving her identity without creating a scene, or giving offense to somebody who might have influential connections.

“Have you eaten, Miss Canary?” he asked, for something to say.

“Ate right well on the train,” Calamity replied. “Ole Freddie Woods sure travels in style.”

“You know Miss Woods?” Philpotter gulped.

“Sure,” Calamity agreed.

Having gauged the clerk’s character and guessed what was on his mind, she figured he would be easier to get along with if he knew that she was one of Freddie Woods’ friends. In addition to being the co-owner of Mulrooney’s best saloon, Freddie was the town’s efficient mayor. The assumption paid off. Giving a cough, Philpotter signaled to the boy to take Calamity upstairs.

Lifting the parfleche, the boy grunted a little as he became aware of its weight. His opinion of Calamity Jane had shot up several notches. In addition to the way she handled old “Potty,” which he could admire knowing the man, she had toted the heavy bag all the way from the railroad depot. Picking up her carbine, Calamity followed the boy across the hall.

Philpotter shook his head as he watched them go. One had to remember that Miss Woods tended to be unconventional and made unusual friends. So he did not intend to antagonize Miss Canary. Anyway, he consoled himself, the room was only reserved for one night. With luck, its occupant would have taken her departure in the morning before the other guests left their rooms. Giving a sigh, he looked at the register. Noticing that the girl had not signed it, he completed the appropriate columns. “Miss M. J. Canary, Topeka. Room Fourteen.”

“You couldn’t’ve surprised old Potty any more if you’d hit him in the face with a sock-full of bull-droppings, Calamity,” the boy enthused as they mounted the stairs. “Did you really eat with Miss Freddie on the train?”

“Sure I did,” Calamity replied. “And shared a couple of bottles of what she called wine. I tell you, it’ll never replace whiskey for drinking.”

“Where-at’s your wagon?”

“With Dobe Killem’s freight outfit. Ought to be here in a week or so.”

“Air it true that your team can run faster’n pronghorn antelope?”

“Not when they’re hauling a full load,” Calamity admitted modestly. “Any trail crews in town?”

“A couple. Panhandle outfits,” the youngster replied. “It’s early yet. Must be, the OD Connected ain’t arrived.”

By that time they had reached the door of Room Fourteen. Unlocking and opening it, the boy stood aside and let her enter.

“Will it do?” he asked, when he had lit the lamp.

Coming to a halt, Calamity looked around her. The lamp hanging in the center of the ceiling illuminated far more elegant quarters than she usually occupied. On the left of the door was a double bed with a mattress of considerable thickness and clean white sheets. The other furnishings comprised of a wardrobe with a full-length mirror fitted to its door, a dressing-table, two chairs and a washstand holding a jug, soap and a white towel bearing the hotel’s name. Heavy drapes were closed across the window opposite the door.

“Whoee!” Calamity breathed, completing her examination. “Won’t it, though.”

Placing her parfleche on the bed, the boy received a tip and left. Calamity rested her carbine against the bed’s top right-side post. Removing her jacket, she crossed to the wardrobe and hung it inside. Returning to the bed, she took off her gunbelt and hung it over the post above the carbine. Then she tested the mattress for comfort by bouncing her rump up and down on it a couple of times.

“Whee doggie!” Calamity breathed, standing up. “Ain’t this a pistol? I don’t know why the law-wrangler here in town wants to see me, but him and that Governor sure know how to treat a gal. Which I surely do deserve all this comfort.”

While peeling off her shirt, she sniffed the air. Whoever had occupied the room previously used a strong, sickly perfume that was not to her taste. However, something else took her mind off the scent.

“Danged wine!” she muttered and looked under the bed. Going to its left side, she bent and drew out the chamber-pot. It was in keeping with the general elegance of the room. “Ole Chan Sing serves up our chow in a dish that’s not this fancy.”

With that thought, she made use of the pot and returned it. Stripping off her clothes, she gave thought to her present affluent situation. It had begun when a member of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency had met her in Ellsworth and requested that she should accompany him to the office of a prominent attorney-at-law in Topeka. Things being quiet in the freighting business, Dobe Killem had allowed her to take a vacation and she had traveled to the State’s capitol with the Pink-eye.

Calamity chuckled as she thought of Lawyer Grosvenor’s almost pop-eyed astonishment when he had first seen her. Recovering fast, he had seated her at his desk and started to ask questions.

Was she Martha Jane, oldest child of Robert Howard and Charlotte Martha Canary and had she been born in Princeton, Missouri?

On Calamity admitting that she was and had, he had asked, politely enough, if she could prove it. More by luck than good management, she had been able to do so. During a visit to St. Louis, she had called at the convent. On Dobe Killem’s suggestion, the mother superior had handed over all the documents concerning Calamity that had been left by Charlotte in the sisters’ care. So the girl had possessed the means to establish her identity.

Examining the papers, Grosvenor had admitted that she was indeed Martha Jane Canary; which Calamity had never doubted. Then he had requested that she should travel to Mulrooney, where Counselor Talbot would tell her something to her advantage. Having been closer to Mulrooney than to Topeka when the Pink-eye met her, Calamity had expressed her intention of telling him something to his advantage should they meet again. However, the lawyer had pointed but that the agent was only following orders, it having been assumed that she would be found in the East. More than that, all her expenses would be paid.

On learning that Calamity would not reach Mulrooney until around ten o’clock at night, Grosvenor had promised to telegraph and reserve a room for her at the Railroad House Hotel. She had hinted that she would be satisfied with some less opulent surroundings, but he was adamant. To make up for her inconvenience, she must be accommodated in the town’s best hotel.

Never a girl to look a gift-horse in the mouth, Calamity had accepted. Meeting Freddie Woods on the train had been enjoyable. They had discussed the reason for Calamity’s trip without reaching any conclusions. Not that Calamity worried. Her philosophy—although she had never heard the word—had always been to live for today and let tomorrow take care of itself.