The Big Hunt (4 page)

For a moment the man and woman stood by the train and looked around them. Keen blue eyes in a tanned, strongly masculine face rested momentarily on Calamity and studied her with approval, then swung toward Killem. In that moment Calamity gained the impression that there stood a man who, no matter how he dressed, it would not pay to rile. A neatly trimmed moustache and short goatee did nothing to hide a firm mouth with grin quirks at its corners.

“You'll be Mr. Killem,” said the man, walking forward with the stride and swing of a soldier used to commanding obedience yet not arrogant with it.

“That's me,” admitted Killem.

“I'm Lord Henry Farnes-Grable,” the tall dude stated, his voice a clipped accent Calamity had never heard before and far different from the dialects of such Englishmen as she had met. “Don't look surprised, old chap, General Sheridan described you rather well.”

“Yeah,” grinned Killem, and held out his hand. “I just bet he did.”

A hand strong and hard took Killem's and shook it. Whatever he might be, that drawling
Englishman was no milk-sop who needed wet-nursing.

“Beryl, this is Mr. Killem,” introduced Lord Henry, turning to the blonde. “Mr. Killem, my sister.”

Smiling, the blonde held out her hand which Killem gingerly took after giving his palm a rub against the leg of his pants. Not exactly an ignorant rustic, Killem still felt like a barefoot country boy when looking at the poised, calm face of Lady Beryl Farnes-Grable. Then he lost his embarrassment, for she possessed the rare virtue of being able to set people at their ease.

“I'm quite looking forward to the trip, Mr. Killem,” she said.

“Hope we give you a good time, ma'am,” Killem answered. “This's my driver, Martha Jane Canary.”

“My pleasure, Miss Canary,” said Lord Henry and took the girl's offered hand.

“We've got a long ways to go, and I've never been one for being called ‘Miss,'” Calamity answered. “Why not make it ‘Calam,' like everybody else?”

“It's short for Calamity,” Killem told the Englishman. “And she's all of that. But there's not a better driver on the Great Plains.”

“Of course,” Lord Henry replied. “You're
Calamity Jane. General Sheridan told me about you.”

“I was hoping to meet you, Calam,” Beryl put in, offering her hand.

Calamity based her ideas of a person on the way the other shook hands. Film, strong—surprisingly strong after preconceived ideas of the pampered life a lady led—Beryl's grip satisfied Calamity that the blonde would do as a friend. For her part, Beryl studied Calamity and liked what she saw. There was something refreshingly different about the red-headed Western girl; and it went beyond her unusual style of dress. At twenty-eight, Beryl no longer regarded defiance of convention as an automatic sign of worthiness. However, she felt that Calamity Jane would make a good friend, or just as bad an enemy. Born into the English aristocracy, Beryl was no snob—her kind rarely were, that being the way of the newly-rich who felt unsure of their position—and knew she would be thrown into very close contact with Calamity throughout the trip. Things would be much more pleasant if a friendly relationship could be maintained.

“Where's Frank Mayer?” Killem asked, looking around for some sign of the hunter who arranged for his wagons to come to Otley Creek.

“We ran into a bit of difficulty there,” Lord Henry admitted. “Mayer broke a leg running buffalo, whatever that might be, the day before we were supposed to meet. However, he said that your scout could take his place.”

“He could,” agreed Killem. “Only I didn't think to need him with Frank on hand and left him with my main outfit.”

“Can we manage without a hunter?” asked Beryl.

“I wouldn't want to try, ma'am,” Killem replied. “Sure I've done some hunting in my time, but I'll have work to do around the wagons. Have you any staff along?”

“Wheatley, my valet, is all,” Lord Henry answered, nodding to where a tall, lean man wearing sober black of the cut and style adopted by the poorer classes stood by the baggage car and watched the Negro porters lift out a large trunk. “Didn't want a big staff along.”

“So, of course, I had to do without my maid,” smiled Beryl.

“That's men all over,” grinned Calamity. “Never seen such mean critters. Say, is that all your gear?”

Three trunks, a long leather case with reinforced sides and two smaller boxes that looked like the kind used for shipping bulk orders of ammunition,
stood by the train, watched over by the tall man, his attitude showing that he expected no more to come.

“Yes,” Beryl replied. “We always buy our supplies on the spot, it saves time and space.”

“I'll see to getting it down to the Bella Union Hotel,” Calamity promised. “Got their best rooms—Hey, we only asked for one room, thought you were married.”

“If you wish, Henry,” Beryl said, “I will go with Calam and book another room.”

“Go to it, old thing,” he answered. “Now, Mr. Killem——”

“Make it ‘Dobe,'” the freighter suggested, throwing a warning glance at Calamity, for she alone of his outfit knew his name to be Cecil.

“Now, Dobe. About the hunter. Could we get anybody?

“There's young Bill Cody, but he's working for the railroad, or the Army,” Killem replied. “Or maybe——”

“How about Kerry Barran?” Calamity put in. “Now he's quit skin-hunting, he might take on.”

“Could be,” Killem admitted guardedly.

“Is there something wrong with him?” asked Lord Henry, noticing the big freighter's hesitation.

“Not as I know of. Only he's a strange one, don't make friends easy——”

“He's just quiet,” Calamity objected.

“Likely,” grunted Killem.

“If you think he would do,” Lord Henry said, “I see no objection to asking him to act as our guide. Think about it, Dobe, while we're going to the hotel.”

T
HE CHANCE TO SOUND OUT
K
ERRY
B
ARRAN DID
not present itself until evening. After settling his belongings into the usual room at Ma Gerhity's place, Kerry took his horses and dog along to the nearby river. Allowing Shaun to swim, so as to wash the matted blood from his coat, Kerry settled down on the river's bank and gave thought to his future.

While the Army needed scouts, the idea did not appeal to Kerry. During his time as a meat hunter for the railroad, he saw enough of Indians and scouts to know he could handle the work; but memories of the War prevented him from considering working alongside blue-clad Federal troops.

California struck many people as the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but not Kerry. The days when a man might dig up a fortune had long passed and all the gold-producing areas lay in the hands of the big companies. Farming in California might be attractive, yet Kerry knew that starting up required capital and knowledge. All he learned as a boy on a Missouri farm had long since been forgotten and most likely would not apply to conditions in the Bear State.

Of course he might head South, down into Texas, and take work on a ranch. While he had no experience of cattle work, he figured he could learn. It meant starting from the bottom, unless he went in for breaking horses. The thought had possibilities. Kerry possessed a way with horses, including the uncanny but very necessary knack of knowing which way a bad one intended to go when it bucked. In a land where a horse was a way of life, instead of a mere means of transport, a man who could tame bad ones could always find work.

The more Kerry thought of the idea, the better he liked it. Busting horses brought in good money and left a man his own boss. If he took care, he might be able to save enough to buy a small place and raise his own horses for sale.

Time passed as he relaxed by the river and suddenly he became aware that the sun hung low over
the western horizon. Most likely Ma would be worrying herself into a muck-sweat over his absence. He had best get back before she took out after Corben with a broom handle, blaming the storekeeper for his failure to return. Knowing Ma's temper when riled, Kerry did not doubt that she would do so.

With Shaun at his side, Kerry collected the horses and rode back into town. He went along at the rear of the main street and saw a wagon he recognized standing behind Corben's store. From the look of the lathered team horses, the skinners had pushed them hard. That figured for the men to be in town already. Nor did the lack of interest in the horses' welfare surprise Kerry; he had been forced to take a firm hand with the quartet over such neglect before. Ignoring Rixon, who glared at him from the rear door of the building, Kerry continued to ride on in the direction of Ma's place.

“Barran just rode by,” Rixon told the men in the rear room of the store.

“What're you aiming to do with him, boss?” asked Potter, looking at Corben.

The storekeeper did not reply for several seconds. Although Potter hinted on his arrival that he could take over the hunter's work, the idea had no attraction in Corben's eyes. Nothing about Potter
convinced that storekeeper of his ability to handle the hunter's responsible job.

“I'm going to make him come crawling back after work,” he finally said.

“How?”

“Get him in trouble with the law.”

“You mean, blame him for a robbery?” inquired Rixon.

“No!” Corben snorted. “That way he'd go to jail and be no use to me. I aim to have him fined so heavily that he'll have to come work for me, or lose everything he owns.”

“How're you going to do it?” Potter wanted to know.

“He's going to pick a fight with you four.”

“Us?”
yelped Wingett.

“You four,” agreed the storekeeper. “Give him a beating he'll never forget.”

“Yeah, but——” Potter began, seeing several objections to the scheme.

“I'll pay any fine you might get—not that you're likely to have one slapped on you. There'll be Deputy Sharpie on hand, ready to act as witness that Barran caused the trouble. And Marshal Berkmyer always listens to his men.”

“Should be all right then,” Potter stated. “I've wanted to take the tar out of that damned hunter for a spell now.”

“You'll have your chance tonight,” Corben promised. “Look around town for him. The more damage you can do, the better, so don't jump him in the street.”

“Why not get him in the store?” asked Wingett.

“Oh sure!” scoffed Corben. “And have my stuff damaged. You get him in the Gandy Gang, or the hotel, whichever he goes to, and do it there.”

While wanting Kerry Barran back, Corben did not intend to risk damage to his property or hide. Already that day he had paid out a good sum of money for a herd of cattle brought in after purchase at a trail-end town along the track and felt he made a sufficient expenditure for one day; even though the beef would bring in a good profit. So he wanted the hunter handled as cheaply as possible. Potter's bunch came real cheap—and Corben hoped that none of them realized they could hardly be kept in the same hunting party as Barran after they worked him over.

“You sure that deputy'll be on hand?” Potter said.

“He will,” assured Corben. “And he doesn't like Barran since that damned great cur killed his dog this morning.”

Knowing that Kerry never took Shaun with him around town, the four men felt no concern over the mention of the wolfhound. All wanted revenge
on the man who they considered deserted them; and also for the times when he forced them to do work against their will. Potter looked at the others and caught their nods of agreement.

“All right,” he said. “We'll do it for you.”

“Go now, I'll have my clerks tend to your team and unloading the wagon.”

With such an inducement, the quartet needed no further urging and left before any of them could think over the possible consequences of the proposed attack on the big hunter.

In addition to its other facilities, the Bella Union Hotel in Otley Creek operated a good-sized bar with all the usual saloon amenities. A chuck-a-luck table's cage whirred and the dice chattered as a few gandy dancers stood around and tried to beat the house's 7.47/54 percent advantage. Other members of the section crew indulged in different pleasures, varying with their interest in either enjoying female society or trying to win money. At the bar a couple of boss-snipe watched their men indulgently while entertaining two of the room's half-dozen girls.

Dobe Killem and Lord Henry entered the barroom, followed by the lean, angular valet, Wheatley. Only the two girls with the section bosses at the bar gave the new arrivals any attention. One of the pair, a buxom brunette called Big Win, nudged the other and nodded toward the Englishman.

“He looks like a sport who'd like company, Kathy,” she said.

“And what about us?” asked one of the king snipe.

“The boss likes us to circulate,” Kathy answered. “But we'll stop and finish our drinks.”

“That's him, standing alone there at the end of the bar,” Killem remarked, leading the way across the room toward where Kerry Barran leaned on the counter and toyed with a drink.

“Order drinks for us, Wheatley,” Lord Henry told his valet. “Try their Old Stump-Blaster, I've heard it recommended.”

“Yes, sir,” Wheatley answered, and caught the bartender's eye.

“Are you doing anything special, Kerry?” Killem inquired. “I mean, now you've quit hunting.”

“Nope.”

“Would you be interested in going out on a three-months' trip?”

“Doing what?”

“Let's find seats, shall we?” Lord Henry interrupted. “My old father used to tell me it's folly to stand when you can sit, and madness to sit when one can lie down.”

“How about it, Kerry?” asked Killem.

“Sure,” the hunter answered. “There's a table empty.”

After watching the three men take seats at a table, Big Win finished her drink and left the two king snipes to walk forward.

“Hallo,” she greeted, right hand on her hip and her most winning smile directed at Lord Henry.

“Good-bye,” Killem replied. “We're talking business.”

Annoyance glowed in Big Win's eyes, but she knew better than make a fuss when dealing with such an important-looking customer. Turning, she walked back to where her friend stood with the section bosses. Nor did the grins of the two men do anything to lessen her anger.

“That damned freighter!” she spat out. “I'd like to fix his wagon.”

“Maybe you'll get your chance,” said one of the king snipe. “Come on, Bill, let's go see what they're doing at the Gandy Gang.”

Watching the departure of two men who might have spent more money, Big Win did not lay any blame on her own actions but directed it at Dobe Killem's innocent head. She swung her angry eyes to watch Wheatley carry a tray with a whisky bottle and glasses to Killem's table and then turned her attention to finding some other source of drinks. Deputy Marshal Sharpie entered the room and made his way to the bar, but she knew he was of no use. So she stayed by her friend and won
dered what business the dude might have with Kerry Barran.

“I would like to hire you as a guide, Mr. Barran,” Lord Henry said, waving Wheatley into a seat after the man poured out drinks. “Take one yourself, Wheatley.”

“Doing what?” Kerry asked.

“Hunting.”

“You mean for sport?”

“Of course,” the Englishman answered.

“Sorry,” said Kerry. “I've done hunting.”

“They do say that once a man is bitten with the hunting bug, he'll never give it up,” Lord Henry commented.

“I have,” Kerry assured him. “Thanks for the drink.”

“You won't change your mind, Kerry?” Killem put in.

“Nope.”

“So be it,” Lord Henry said. “We'll just have to try to get somebody else.”

“It'll not be easy,” Killem warned. “Apart from Kerry here, all the good men are already hired.”

“Then we'll go without a guide,” Lord Henry stated. “Perhaps I can trade on your good nature, Mr. Barran, and ask for advice.”

“Go ahead,” Kerry answered.

“Any details you could give me about the game will help.”

“What're you after?”

“Elk, bighorn sheep, antelope, maybe a whitetail buck, grizzly bear of course, cougar, anything else that comes along.”

“You can get an elk not more than a mile from town, with luck,” Kerry said.

“I daresay I could,” Lord Henry replied. “Saw some coming in on the train. Nothing really exceptional though. Where would you say the animals with the best heads are found?”

“Up in the high country. Old bucks in their last year with a herd, or just been run off by a younger critter.”

“Which sort don't often come near to a town, they know better,” commented the Englishman. “That's what I'm after. An old buck with a really fine spread of antlers, and whose use to the species is about over.”

Looking at the lean fighting man's face, Kerry read interest and eagerness on it. There sat a man who loved hunting so much that he did not care for an easy trophy but wanted to take the best specimen available and was willing to work hard to do so. On hearing that the Englishman planned to go hunting, Kerry pictured a luxury filled, leisurely
trip across the Great Plains, shooting at everything that came in sight merely to see how many animals could be killed. He noticed that Lord Henry did not mention buffalo and put the omission down to avoiding the obvious. Every dude who comes west wanted to tumble buffalo, either from a stand or by running a herd from the back of a horse.

“Where'd we make a start at finding big ones, Kerry?” Killem asked.

“Up the Wind River way's as good a starting place as any. You'll be headed into country where you can pick up most of the others, too. I saw some real big old whitetail bucks up there, bighorns too in the real high stuff. Where you get them you'll find grizzly and cougar.”

“Do you know it, Dobe?” inquired Lord Henry.

“Nope, but likely my Army maps'll show us where to go.”

“And the antelope,” the Englishman continued, turning back to Kerry. “How about them?”

“They run pretty much to one size. Trouble with them's not picking the biggest, but getting close enough to shoot.”

“Alert, are they?” Lord Henry inquired eagerly.

“Real alert,” agreed Kerry. “And live in open country. You can try to run them down on a horse, but they'll get away most times; or wait for them to come down to a waterhole.”

“Is there no other way?”

“Stalking them on foot, but it's not easy.”

“If it was, I wouldn't want it. That's what I'll try. How about cougar, can one bait them up?”

“How's that?” asked the hunter.

“Stake out a kid or calf and let its bawling attract the cougar's attention. Then when the cougar comes in, you're waiting hidden close by and drop it. That's one way I used to shoot panther in India.”

“Does it work?”

“That depends on the panther—and how well one makes one's hide. Of course, with a man-eater, one tries to have it go for the bait, not oneself.”

For the first time in his life Kerry began to realize what a hold hunting had on him. Suddenly he wanted to talk; and to listen to this tanned dude who appeared to know a fair bit about hunting.

“I've never heard of anybody trying that with a cougar,” Kerry admitted.

“How about sitting up over a kill and waiting for the cougar to return?” suggested Lord Henry. “That's another way we go for tiger and panther in India.”

“That's another one I've never heard of,” Kerry replied. “Way to get a cougar, run him down with a pack of hounds.”