Troubled range (7 page)

This belief that where Mark Counter was, his two amigos were sure to be, saved Mark and Belle from trouble, just as in a future meeting it would again save their lives.*

"Told you so," Belle remarked calmly.

"You told me," Mark agreed. "Let's get on our way."

She looked at him, her face troubled.

"Are you sure you still want me to go with you?"

"Why not. You're still the girl I brought out with me— 'Sides which, you all-carrying the picnic basket."

A merry smile took the place of the troubled look. The old Marigold Tremayne tone came into her voice once more.

"Shall we go, sir?"

*Told in The Hard Riders by J. T. Edson.

"It'd be my pleasure, ma'am," Mark replied, taking his seat and putting down the rifle.

"Then we will."

While watching Belle put the Manhattan into her vanity bag, a thought struck Mark.

"Say, weren't you scared of busting your gun when you hit that feller with your bag last night?"

"Nope," she replied and held out the bag. "Look."

The inside of the bag, apart from a few inches at the top which could be drawn together and fastened, was lined with leather. More, a holster had been built into the bag so she would always find her Manhattaa's butt pointing towards the bag's mouth and protected against getting the other items in the bag entangled with its mechanism.

"I wondered why that bag didn't show the gun," he said admiringly. "That's a neat bit of work."

"My pappy made it. Let's go."

Although Mark kept a watch on their back-trail, he saw no sign of the three men following. It seemed that they had either given up the chase, or waited for a chance to hit at the buggy on their return to town.

Mark collected the money from Gamble. The rancher and his wife insisted he and Belle stayed for lunch and Mark had been amused at how thoroughly Marigold Tremayne replaced Belle Starr in the presence of the Gambles. She charmed Mrs. Gamble, even though the rancher's wife did not look the kind of woman to treat a saloon worker as a friend, or have the cowhands of the ranch hanging around to try to win a smile from her.

Not until they were on their return trip was any mention of the previous night's episode made.

Mark reached up a hand to adjust his bandana and Belle glanced at him, a merry twinkle in her eyes.

"Who bit you?" she asked.

"You did," Mark grinned.

"I mean first."

"Calamity Jane."

A smile flickered across Belle's lips as she studied his face, then died off again and a frown creased her brow.

"You're funning me," she said, then shook her head. "No, you're not. Did Calamity Jane do that to you?"

"Why sure. She's quite a gal," Mark answered. "Came through yesterday and she'll likely be back tonight."

"Will she?" Belle sniffed.

There Belle let the matter drop. Her attitude showed that she did not intend to discuss the matter of Calamity Jane further. Yet Mark's instincts warned him he had better try to keep Calamity Jane and Belle Starr well separated that night.

Belle continued to talk about various things and drive the buggy. Both she and Mark kept alert for signs of the three men, but saw none. Either the trio had decided to call the game off when they saw Belle's escort, or they were lying low and waiting until conditions favoured them. Whatever the reason, Belle and Mark saw no sign of the men and reached Elkhorn without any incident.

In town Mark saw something. Calamity Jane's wagon stood behind Larkin's livery barn and her team horses in Larkin's corral. Hoping he would not come across Calamity in the street and while escorting Belle, Mark headed for the hotel.

"I'll expect to see you tonight," Belle told Mark as they stood in the passage of the hotel's upper floor. "You can bring a friend, if you like."

Reading the challenge in Belle's voice, Mark groaned silently. From the way Belle looked, and what he had seen of Calamity Jane, Mark guessed one thing. Happen they got together, it wouldn't be bulls locking horns that Marshal Joel Stocker had to worry about.

"I'll see you," he promised.

"Make sure you do," Belle purred. "I'd hate to have to come looking for you-all, Mark honey."

Kissing him lightly on the cheek, Belle turned and walked towards her room. Mark watched her go and grinned as he went along the passage to his. Maybe Calamity would not find him. She might even have found herself another feller by this time.

Just as he unlocked the door, Mark heard a faint scuffling noise in his room. Almost without thinking about it, his right hand dipped and lifted his Colt from leather. Gripping the door knob, Mark pushed hard. The door swung inwards and thudded into something which gave a startled gasp. Mark had been right, he did have an unexpected visitor inside.

Stepping into the room fast, Mark thrust the door closed behind him and lined his gun—on Calamity Jane.

The girl stood with her back to the wall, a look of amazement and fury on her face as she put a hand to her nose. However her eyes dropped to the barrel of the Colt lined on her and the anger left her face.

"Easy there, Mark!" she gasped. "I forgot what you come up here to collect."

"Huh?"

"That money. I should have known better than fool around like this when you're carrying it."

Now Mark understood. Calamity put his reaction down to his expecting trouble, or at least being prepared for trouble, while carrying the money he collected from Gamble. He did not disillusion her, figuring the later she learned about Belle Starr the better for all concerned.

Even as he holstered his Colt, Mark found Calamity close to him, her arms around his neck and her mouth crushing against his. She moved back a shade after the kiss, cocked her head on one side and grinned at him.

"Boy, I sure put my brand on you. Right under your right—Hey! That's not on the right side! Mark Counter, what've you been doing?"

"Would you believe me happen I told you I cut myself shaving?"

"Nope," she snorted.

"Now what do you reckon I've been doing, Calam?" he went on.

"I just wouldn't want to guess."

There did not seem to be any point in standing talking. So Mark did the next best thing. He scooped Calamity into his arms and kissed her. While it had nothing to do with the subject under discussion, it sure ended Calamity's curiosity faster than a whole heap of lip-flapping would have.

"Let's hooraw the town tonight, Mark," Calamity suggested when he released her and went on innocently. "That's a swell looking saloon next door."

"There's a couple of other nice places—"

"Sure," Calamity interrupted, "but they don't have blackjack games."

"Blackjack?" Mark asked, sounding nonchalant and innocent.

"Blackjack!" Calamity repeated. "They do tell me the dealer totes a real mean picnic basket."

Standing back from Mark, Calamity put her hands on her hips and grinned, her even white teeth flashing. He grinned back. There was something infectious about Calamity Jane's zest for living. Maybe she did not conform to the rigid conventions imposed on women of her day, but she enjoyed every minute of her life.

Then Mark remembered how Belle Starr smiled when she invited him to bring Calamity to the saloon that night. They were two of a kind, those girls. A man couldn't judge them by the same moral standards which affected other women. Each girl lived her life the way she felt it ought to be lived, and stuck to certain rigid codes. The main difference between Belle and Calamity was in the way their lives had gone. Calamity stayed on the right side of the law, Belle strayed over its line and went against it.

"How'd you get to know?" Mark asked.

"You know how folks talk," Calamity grinned.

"Old Pop Larkin!" Mark snorted. "Darned old goat, never knew a livery barn owner who wouldn't talk the hind-leg off a hoss. How did you get in here?"

"Bet my door key'll open every room on the floor," Calamity answered. "Did she do that?"

"She's a Southern lady," Mark replied, spreading his bandana to hide his honourable wounds.

"Does that mean yes or no?" grinned Calamity. "Go wash up, then we'll head for the Crystal Palace and play us some blackjack."

Mark's hopes of keeping Calamity and Belle apart did not seem very great. They sank to zero as he and Calamity prepared to go down to the hotel dining-room and have a meal before visiting the Crystal Palace.

Even as he stepped into the passage with Calamity at his side, Mark saw the door to Belle's room open. It appeared that Belle had been waiting for his appearance, for she walked towards him. They met at the head of the stairs and

Belle directed a dazzling smile at Calamity.

"Why, Mark," she said, in her Marigold voice, "You-all never said the Ysabel Kid was in town."

While the light in the passage was poor, it was not that poor. Mark knew it; Belle knew it; and, if the way Mark felt the girl's body stiffen and bristle at his side was any indication, Calamity knew it too.

"Miss Tremayne," Mark said, for he had not let Calamity into the secret of Belle's true identity. "Allow me to present Miss Martha Jane Canary. Miss Canary, this is Miss Marigold Tremayne."

Belle showed well-simulated shock and embarrassment at her "mistake". Her hand fluttered to her mouth and her eye took on an expression of horror as she looked Calamity up and down.

"Landsakes!" Belle gasped. "How could I have made such a mistake? Why I hear the Ysabel Kid is good looking."

Hearing the sudden intake of breath at his side, Mark prepared to grab Calamity before she jumped Belle. He did not know Calamity very well. The girl might lack some formal education, but she had a quick set of wits sharpened by her contacts with men and women of all kinds.

"That's real swell blonde hair you have, honey," she replied. "Why do you dye the roots black?"

"Perhaps you'd like to try to see if they are black?" Belle replied.

"Any time. Right—right nice of you to invite me and Mark to join you for supper, Miss Tremayne. We'll accept."

The change in Calamity's speech came due to a man and woman emerging from one of the rooms. Before either girl could say another word, Mark gripped them by an arm each and hustled them down the stairs.

Mark enjoyed his supper. His worries that the girls might start a brawl in the dining-room died away. Neither Calamity nor Belle cared greatly for public opinion, but they did know any brawl started in the hotel would be ended quickly. So they contented themselves in firing barbed, biting, catty comments at each other. On the face of it, honours appeared about equal when Mark took their arms and walked them to the saloon.

Interested eyes watched them enter the saloon and cross to the bar. None of the people in the saloon failed to notice that Belle—or as they thought of her, Marigold Tremayne— did not follow her usual procedure of going upstairs to remove her hat. Also they all knew that Marigold Tremayne never accepted drinks, or went near the bar. An eagerly expectant air ran through the room, following the whispered information that the other gal was Calamity Jane.

"What'll it be, ladies?" Mark asked, resigned to the fact that there would be a clash and that he could not stop it.

"Whisky for me," Calamity replied.

"I'll have a brandy, Mark," Belle went on.

"Brandy?" Calamity gasped. "French hawg-wash!"

"A lady doesn't drink whisky," Belle replied; and getting no reaction of her emphasis of the word lady, tried another attack. "It's fattening. Of course, darling, with a figure like yours, what have you to lose?"

"You're so right," Calamity purred back. "At my age you can eat and drink what you like. But not when you get as old as you are."

Once more Calamity had come back with a cat-clawing answer that evened the score with Belle. Angrily Belle's fingers drummed on the bar top while she sought for a suitable comment. Calamity grinned at her, enjoying the duel of words and not wanting it to end for a spell.

Twisting her whisky glass between her fingers, Calamity turned her back to the bar and leaned her elbows on its mahogany top. She looked around the room and her eyes came to rest on the board with the wanted posters. Crossing the room, Calamity came to a halt and studied the centre poster, cocking her head to one side and looking at the addition to the official wording.

"The toughest gal in the west!" she read in explosive, snorting words. "Now that's not right at all."

Watched by everybody in the room, Calamity dug a stump of pencil from her pants' pocket. She leaned a hand on the small table somebody had placed before the board and reached out to write "2nd" between the first two words of the message.

"That's better," she said.

At the bar Belle clenched her hands into fists and started to move. Mark's hand caught her arm and held her.

"Easy, Belle," he whispered. "Calam doesn't know who you are. At least, I haven't told her. And Framant's sat over there watching."

For a moment Mark thought Belle would show enough sense to at least wait until Calamity came back to the bar, then find some other excuse to start a fight. Maybe she would have, for Belle had put time and money into setting herself up in Elkhorn ready to pluck dollar-sign marked feathers from the local banker's tail, except for Calamity's next action.

"Let's just pretty old Belle up a mite while I'm at it," Calamity went on and began to pencil in a moustache on the picture's top lip.

Calamity did not notice Belle had crossed the room to her side. Mark knew she had, for his shin hurt where she kicked him and caused him to release her arm. With a shrug, he leaned on the bar. Things had gone too far now, he could not stop the inevitable.

All eyes went to the table, watching Belle reach out and take the pencil from Calamity's fingers. Everybody, with the exception of Mark, wondered what their lady blackjack dealer meant to do and why.

Placing her hip against Calamity's, Belle thrust hard and sent the red-head staggering a few paces. Then, as Calamity caught her balance and stopped, Belle put down her vanity bag and leaned over to score out Calamity's addition to the poster.