Ranch War

continued their swift progress along the stage-trail. On reaching the way station, they had found proof of the men’s proximity. Newly left horse-droppings at the hitching rail gave a warning that was augmented by the presence of two sets of plates and cups on a table. Small things in themselves, but sufficient to tell them that the men they sought had passed that way recently. Maybe so recently that they had seen Calamity and the Kid ride up. If so, they would know that Spatz’s attempt had failed and decide to take action themselves.

When the Kid had tried to raise the matter of the previous visitors, the Silvers’ family had proved uncommunicative. While honest enough, the agent also possessed a streak of sensible caution. He had read the signs and known that the two hard-cases were expecting, or at least ready for somebody to arrive. As long as the trouble did not erupt on his property, Silvers did not intend to become involved.

Respecting Silvers’ reticence, Calamity and the Kid had restricted themselves to the first evasively answered questions. They had eaten a meal, rested and grain-fed their horses. Then, after purchasing sufficient food to last them until they reached Hollick City, they had ridden on. Keeping up a fast pace, they had been even more alert for the possibility of an ambush. Not that the Kid expected the attempt to be made in daylight. Even without knowing that he was followed by Cabrito, the Mexican would most likely insist on playing things safe. Either the men would keep going, intending to collect reinforcements at Hollick City, or make their move after dark.

From his first view of the valley, the Kid had guessed that the Mexican would go for the latter alternative. With his extensive knowledge of men like Ruiz, the Kid had accurately followed the other’s line of thought. Discussing the matter while riding down the southern slope, the girl and the Kid had decided that their chances of retrieving her letter would be better that night than after it had been delivered to whoever hired the men. So they elected to lay a trap in the hope of luring Hogue and Ruiz into their clutches.

Riding along the valley, they selected the campsite in the hollow as the one best suited to their needs. Already the Kid had located the watching men and guessed at their intentions.

Although Ruiz had seen Calamity at her wood-gathering, he had failed to notice that the Kid also left the clearing. Taking advantage of every scrap of cover, the Texan had examined the surrounding area to make sure that their enemies could not see what went on beyond the bushes. Satisfied on that point, he had rejoined the girl. They had lit a fire and made their preparations. Not wanting the horses wandering about the clearing, they had set up a picket line in a place from which the attackers were unlikely to come.

Working fast, Calamity and the Kid had made two dummies out of their spare clothes stuffed with grass and bush-branches. The Kid had changed shirts, using the one the men had seen him wearing to clothe the “man.” Arranging the saddles to hide the fact that the dummies had no heads, they had covered the “bodies” with a blanket and placed the “man’s” arm across the “woman’s” shoulders. The hats, gunbelts with revolvers in plain view, and boots had been placed to give the impression that the girl and the Texan slept by the fire.

There had been one more touch added to convey an air of life to the dummies. Borrowing a reel of stout black cotton thread that Calamity had in her parfleche, the Kid had attached its end to the “male” dummy’s exposed shirt-sleeve. Unwinding the cotton as he backed across to the bushes, he had tested its part in the deception. On being tugged gently, the thread of cotton had caused the sleeve to move as if the “man” was stirring in his sleep.

Maybe the dummies would not have worked in the light of day, but they had proved realistic enough when seen by the faint glow of the fire. Taking cover, Calamity and the Kid had waited for the men to come.

“Seeing’s how I’m all set to be a rich rancher,” Calamity remarked as she took the dummies to pieces, looking to where the Kid was unrolling and searching Oton’s belongings, “I’ll stand treat on a new shirt for you.”

“Gracias,” grinned the Kid. “That letter ain’t here. Unless it’s in the other feller’s gear, you won’t get to be a rich rancher. You won’t be able to prove to that law-wrangler in Hollick City that you’re Martha Jane Canary.”

“It’ll be easy enough,” Calamity stated.

“How come?” inquired the Kid, completing the repacking of the Mexican’s bedroll and opening Hogue’s.

“Why, I’ll just look at him right truthful and tell him who I am.”

“What if it don’t work?”

“Then I’ll whomp the son-of-a-bitch over the head with my whip-handle for not trusting a sweet, loving- natured gal like me,” Calamity replied. Seeing a familiar object fall from Hogue’s up-ended warbag, she pounced on it. “Yahoo! Here’s my letter, Lon!” She opened the envelope and looked inside. “They’re there. Now I can prove I’m me.”

“Was I you, knowing you the way I do,” the Kid replied, “That’d plumb give me the miseries.”

“You watch your mouth,” Calamity warned. “Us rich ranchers all stick together. More of your uncivilness, and I’ll ask Ole Devil to put you riding the blister end of a shovel when you get back to home.”

“Being rich hasn’t changed you, gal,” the Kid announced. “You’re still the same ornery, perverse cuss you allus was.”

“And I’m right proud of it,” Calamity grinned. Then she became more serious. “Anything to say who sent them after me, Lon?”

“Nothing’s I can find,” the Kid replied, after completing a search.

“What’re we going to do, then?”

“Get us some sleep.”

“I mean tomorrow!” Calamity snorted.

“Keep going, gal,” the Kid told her. “We’ll take their hosses ’n’ gear along with us. I’ll be kind of interested to see who takes notice of us bringing them into Hollick City.”

Chapter 10 I’D SAY THEY WAS EXPECTING TROUBLE

LEAVING THE TWO BODIES SO THAT ANY INTERESTED peace officer could come out and check their story of the incident, Calamity and the Kid continued along the trail to Hollick City. They had spent the night in the clearing, moving on soon after dawn. Calling in at the South Loup River way station, they had attracted no interest from having the sabino and bay along. So they had pushed on, holding to the same pace that had covered at least sixty miles a day since leaving Mulrooney. In the middle of the afternoon, they saw the sun glinting on the roofs of their destination. Built on the banks of the Middle Loup River, under the slopes of a wood-covered hill range, the town looked small and unimpressive in comparison with Mulrooney. It was still a good three miles away and, not far ahead of them, Calamity and the Kid saw a narrow track branching from the trail. Hardly more than the marks caused by a solitary wagon and a few horses going back and forward, the track turned off beyond a big old cottonwood tree and continued across the range in the direction of the hills.

Going by the tree, Calamity and the Kid saw a piece of wood nailed to it. Halting their horses, they looked at the letters burned into the wooden indicator that pointed along the track.

“ ONE MILE”

“That’s the Rafter C brand, gal,” the Kid announced. “I’d say your ranch house’s a mile along that track.”

They looked in the required direction. The land rolled away in undulating green folds until it joined the hills perhaps five miles from the stage-trail. There was no sign of the house or other ranch buildings. However, smoke rose from behind a ridge about a mile away. Not the black cloud of an unchecked fire, but a single plume such as might rise from a chimney.

“There’s somebody at home,” Calamity declared. “Maybe it’s pappy——”

“And maybe it’s not,” warned the Kid. “If your pappy was still there, likely the lawyer in Hollick City wouldn’t’ve needed to start hunting for you to make his offer.”

“Then whoever’s there shouldn’t be!” Calamity snorted and made as if to set her horses moving.

“Hold hard there, you damned hothead!” barked the Kid, reaching out a hand to catch hold of her arm. “We don’t know who’s there, what they’re doing there, or how many of them’s doing it. Could be whoever it is’s got what they reckon’s a real good reason for being there.”

“And could be they ain’t!”

“I’m not gainsaying it, gal. So we’ll just drift over there casual-like and see what’s doing. They don’t know