Contact: Phineas_Redux@yahoo.com
—OOO—
Preface:— The following account is purely a fantasy; so the fact that the historical persons described may well have been elsewhere doing other things as this story unfolds has no bearing on the present tale.
Summary:— Henrietta ‘Harry' Knappe and Calamity Jane perform several kind acts at the festive season.
Note:— Although this tale owes much to the ‘ Wolfville ' stories by Alfred Henry Lewis I have dropped first-person narrative in favour of third-person description; thereby allowing a deeper, more open, portrayal of the womens' relationship.
Copyright:— All characters are copyright © 2015 to the author, and are wholly fictitious representations.
—O—
Louis Carter's dry goods store, on a prime site on Main St, Red Neck, Arizona, was pretty widely patronised by the citizens; it being almost the only, and certainly the biggest, store of its kind in town. But at this time, on an early December afternoon of 187-something-or-other, only a mite of customers were left to block the passages between the piles of goods; which, Carter being the kind of ornery character that he was, were stacked some higglety-piggledy, leaving not much room to move in some corners. Henrietta ‘Harry' Knappe, bear-hunter extraordinaire, presently in pursuit of a pair of leather gloves, was standing at the counter arguing something awful with Louis himself; while Calamity Jane in person, none other, drooped bonelessly against the side of an up-ended apple barrel near the door. At the point this story begins Calam had just allowed to move herself out of the way of a departing female customer.
Harry, meanwhile, had finally argued Louis, against all the principles he held closest to his heart or, at least, that part of his anatomy where others were accustomed to having the said organ, into knocking off a whole five dollars from his price for the gloves. And so as Calam moseyed, quiet as a rattlesnake with the rheumatiz, up to her elbow Harry was facing the world with a big grin; a bargain being a thing of beauty and reverence to her.
“Harry?” Calam spoke low and soft as Louis, trying not to shed actual tears, went off to change Harry's two gold five dollar half-eagle pieces. “Did y'see that there leddy who jest left?”
“What leddy?” Harry cocked an eyebrow at the smaller woman, still obviously with her mind on more important matters. “Jest got ol' Louis t'knock near a third offen the price o'these here gauntlets, Calam; did'ya see the poor guy's face? Like as if he'd jest lost a dear one. Here, look'it ‘em; great, ain't they?”
“She were in t'buy the evenin' meal, I'm thinkin'.” Calam stood, mighty glum, by the tall black-haired bear hunter. “She took away a coupl'a pounds o'horse-meat, Harry.”
Harry glanced at her companion, who stood high in her personal estimations; as everyone surmised, but were too particular of their own safety to bring up in open conversation. It was clear Calam had something weighing heavy on her mind, and Harry, knowing full well the blonde's capacity to stick morosely on these things, like mushrooms on a dead tree, transferred her attention full onto the new topic of conversation.
“Horse-meat?” She shrugged, some unmoved. “Cain't be fer her family's supper, maybe fer the dogs; she prob'ly havin' a coupl'a hounds t'keep the ol' homestead secure a'nights. Thet'll be it.”
“I don't think so, Harry.” Calam gripped the stronger woman's forearm, beneath the aged leather jacket Harry allowed as being the height of fashion. “I heard Louis, a few minutes ago, tryin' t'sell her some steak, an' then some bits o'pork. But, final, she settled on horse-meat, an' paid in cents an' dimes, an' mighty few o'those. I fancy she ain't got more'n half a dollar in her purse now, an' that in single cents.”
“ Ah-Ha .” Harry stood quiet, furrowing her brow in thought. “Y'know the leddy, by any chance?”
“I seen her round an' about, over the course o'the year, yeah.”
“Know where she lives?”
“I got'ta fair idee.”
“Think she'll take t'charity?” Harry gazed down into her partner's troubled face. “I kin see y're champin' at the bit t'do one o'these here good deeds that're so dam' popular at this time o'year. Must be somethin' in the air; like the influenzy, or measles, or somesich. Y'feel like y'have a temperature, at all?”
“Quit with the jokes, I ain't laughin'.” Calam turned a mournful gaze on Harry that, if set against others of the Human race, would have brought instant tears and despair; Harry stood fast, unimpaired. “She looks as if she's down an' out, with barely a red cent t'her name. We got'ta do somethin' about it; help her, somehow. Any idee's?”
At this moment Louis returned with the change for Harry's purchase and his latest loss. A few seconds later both women were out in the relative freedom of the sidewalk on Main Street, in the gathering twilight. Harry took up the matter of import she wished to share with her impulsive other half as they sauntered along under the roofed passageway's shade.
“I allus allows, some certin on the matter,” Harry paused in her long stride to contemplate the smaller figure by her side. “that givin' o'charitable purposes at the Christmas season ain't all it's cut out t'be—no, not by a whole lasso's length.”
“Thet sounds as if you'd had some kind'a bad play in the matter, Harry.” Calam spoke up with a jaunty air. “Wan'na give me the lowdown on it?”
“Waal, talkin' o'folks gettin' themselves tangled in a scrum o'good deeds gone wrong.” The bear-hunter sniffed disconsolately. “Y'know yerself, Calam, how the ord'nary citizens o'Red Neck aren't, usual, advocates of sky pilots in any reg'lar sense o'the term. Oh, they come in useful every now an' when, fer the usual obsequies, after some too-rumbumptuous character has overstepped the fine line o'the social etiket o'the town—usual ending in a stand-off between opposing examples o'single action an' repeating revolvers o'varyin' makes.”
“A regular gunfight, in fact.” The young lady, though not many other ladies of the town would allow her that title, shuffled her shoulders inside her deerskin jacket. “Was this somethin' that happened a few weeks ago, while I was away? An' was it big? Why didn't ya tell me?”
“Nah, not so's it could be remarked on in the ‘ Red Neck Herald ' as bein' contrary t'local custom or gen'ral peace, no.” Harry scratched her chin reflectively. “An' does I have t'tell ya every dam' thing I does in the day? Ain't I got any privacy, to go shootin' who I please's? Anyways, it was that fracas between Andy ‘ Two Hats ' Malone an' Dixie Halloran. Dixie, as y'no doubt know, won; after I'd sort'a lent a helpin' hand for him t'put away ol' Andy; not that dam Hickock was overjoy'd, lettin' on he was half-minded t'round me up, too, as an accessory t'the shoot-out an' causin' Public disorder—dam' fool. Anyway, thet's the reason Wild Bill's now sojourning over to Flagstaff fer a coupl'a weeks, fer the trial.”
“Yeah, I recalls now; Andy's funeral rites were a fortnight or so ago; wish I could'a gone, I so love a good funeral. Anyways, don't change the subjec'; what about this here leddy with the horse-meat supper? I don't allows as such a play goes.”
Harry, caught by the determined tone of her companion, and knowing full well there was no escape until the blonde spitfire had her wishes duly carried out according to Hoyle, sighed some mournful and came to a standstill on the sidewalk.
“What yer got in mind, then?” The tall woman shrugged helplessly. “Y'gon'na go back t'Carter's an' buy a pound o'steak; so's we can leave it, some quiet, on the leddy's doorstep; then ring the bell afore runnin' fer it?”
“No bell; she lives with her father, an' a young girl—her daughter I imagines.” Calam's face worked expressively, and her jaw jutted out with determination. “On the desert side o'Main St, right out by the edge o'town. A run-down shack, with naught but two rooms, an' a big cupboard. Goes t'the local well fer water; washes an' bathes sometimes at Mrs Maguire's bath-house on Templeton St; when she can afford sech luxuries, I fancies. Does some maid-o'-all-work here an' there t'bring in a dollar now an' agin; from what I've, er , gather'd. I don't think cold charity'll hit the spot; likely as not t'spit in my eye, an' call me a lowdown Yankee—”
“Don't exaggerate; she seemed pretty much a leddy, from the glimpse I recalls.” Harry raised her eyebrow, registering thereby uncertainty and concern. “So, no gifts. What does that leave us, then? Remember, you brought the subjec' up. We could'a bin home an' comfy by now, otherwise.”
There followed a short interlude in the conversation, while both women walked on along the edge of Main St. Red Neck, at this period in its florid and dramatic history, was not overstocked with shops or stores of any diversity. Carter's dry goods, Flannigan's hardware, miscellaneous general stores, several stables, two eating establishments, two Hotels, a bath-house, and three saloons, being the overall head-count for the metropolis. The women were at the moment holed up in the better of the Hotels, at the other end of town; but were now making their way towards their preferred watering-hole, the ‘ Yellow Dog ' saloon. Harry held the swing doors open for Calam to precede her inside, then they chose a table over towards the far side of the long public room, near the grand staircase leading to the first-floor where a series of private rooms lay; the saloon operating as a partial hotel itself, of the lower quality.
“Here y'are, park yer butt there while's I gets the throat medicine.”
Harry dragged out a chair from the round table and watched as the diminutive form of her loved partner made herself comfortable, then she headed for the bar. A couple of minutes later she returned with two pewter mugs containing what passed for beer in the locale.
“Here's t'you, leddy—drink hearty.”
After these preliminary preparations had been completed to each's satisfaction they settled themselves on the hard wooden seats and got down to business.
“So, what's the game, then?” Harry cocked an eye at her partner questioningly. “I'm fairly whacked, I got'ta say. If'n she won't accept o'kind wishes an' well-meant presents, as you say she won't; well, what's t'do?”
“I bin thinkin' the whole affair over, in my head—”
Harry's expression at this news pretty well reflected her reservations on such a dangerous course by her short-tempered companion, but she carefully refrained from open comment.
“—an' it seems t'me the answer's straight-forrard enuff.”
“Oh yeah, do tell.”
“A job.”
“What?”
“Get the leddy a salary-payin' job.” Calam nodded energetically, fully appreciating her own perspicacity. “Have her hold down a fee-payin' means o'bringin' in the dollars, an' she'll be set fer life, easy.”
“ Uh-huh , I see.” Harry thought about this news, then asked the obvious question. “How?”
“How what?”
“How d'we two, fer I takes it fer granted I'm bein' shanghaied inta this mess too; how does we arrive at offerin' the leddy a solid true-as-biscuits salaried position in this here town? Go on, surprise me.”
This query, which to any other woman would have seemed insurmountable, was mere child's-play t'Calam who, through earlier machinations of a subtle an' private nature, had been able to pinpoint a likely means of answering the criticism.
“I bin gallivantin' round the streets o'this half-baked metropolis, off'n on over the last week; an' I've hit paydirt, final.” She took a deep swig of beer, made a face which comprehensively described the quality of said drink without the use of words, and smiled widely at her friend, partner, and, unknown to the Public in general, sweetheart. “Miss Gardner's Eating-House.”
“Oh yeah?” Harry was not so convinced; raising over the rim of her tankard an eyebrow imbued with doubt and disbelief. “A nice place, I give ya that. Nice food, nice atmosphere, after y've bin used t'nuthin' but desert, scrub, an' forest, fer months. But only a small establishment, all the same. How'd ya make out there's room t'shoehorn this leddy inta a position throwin' plates o'boiled beef at hungry customers? An' are ya tellin' me, jest right now, y've had yer beady optics on this here leddy fer over a week? An' didn't think it worthy o'my bein' let in on the sity'atin?”
Calamity by now, during the course of their partnership, had gained sufficient experience to know and understand the inner workings of Henrietta ‘Harry' Knappe to a nicety. The which came in useful at the present time.
“Harry, get a grip.” Calam pursed her lips in contempt at such a reaction to her well-meant charitable actions. “What'd y'have said if'n I'd come t'ya days ago an' said there was a leddy livin' in a shack who I imagined could do with some help an' kindness? Y'd have laughed like a hyena, that's what. I kin hear yer at sich, now.”
“OK, OK.” Harry, knowin' full well when an argument had given up the ghost an' departed t'the great desert in the sky, let it go. “So's how d'ye expect t'convince said leddy—mind, I don't even know's her name as yet—inta takin' up said position; if'n sech becomes vacant an' open in the near future?”
After raising the tankard of beer t'her lips once more Calam paused t'take stock o'the up's an' down's of her next move. Final, she picked the safe course an' replaced said container back on the table, untasted.
“Y'know, Harry, Karl's jest got'ta get some better throat-poison from somewhere, fer this joint; or the Yellow Dog 'll be losin' a mite o'dis-satisfied customers. This here concoction don't no-ways come up t'the mark.” The wildest woman west of the Black Hills of Dakota nodded sagely. “As t'your question, I got it all down pat. I had a conversation with Delia Gardner herseff, not two days gone. After a little doubt in the matter, as was only t'be expected, I brought her round t'the charitable pint o'view. In short, she's agreeable t'takin' on another waitress—one o'the two she already pays preparin' t'jump ship mighty soon anyways, cos o'bein' long gone in the baby-line, y'see.”
“ Oh .”
“Which stroke o'good fortin'll allow o'Laura—Laura Kellaway, that is, the leddy under discussion—slippin' right in, without a pause in the efficient runnin' o'said steak-flingin' joint.” Calam nodded to herself, well-satisfied with the breadth of her own astuteness; if'n she'd known the word, which she surely didn't. “How's thet get ya, leddy?”
Harry raised an eyebrow; took stock of her partner sitting across the table from her; picked up her own tankard and took a mighty swig—she not havin' the delicacy o'taste showed by other more difficult t'please customers o'this estimable establishment; an' replaced it with a curl of the lips.
“Cain't see nuthin' wrong with it.” She shook her head, as they both rose to head for the swing-door exit. “So, what's yer plan? Is everythin' firin' off right now; or does y'expect t'hold back fer a day or two?”
“The way I views it, darlin' o'my heart, is t'waylay, bushwhack, hold-up, an' similarly hinder the leddy from headin' out on her usual purposes sometime tomorrow mornin'—say, around ten o'the clock; be it sunny, or be it rainin' fit t'drown a hog.”
“ Jeesus , Calam, this's Arizonny; the dam' sky's allus blue hereabouts, ‘cept when it dam' snows.”
“Jest so; which irrelevant remark goes some ways t'provin' my pint.” Calam grabbed the jacket sleeve of her friend and dragged her along the sidewalk at an unladylike pace. “Come on, you an' I's got an appointment back at our hotel room; though y'doesn't seem to realise sech, at the moment.”
“Oh yeah? Fer what reason, may I ask—an' quit pullin' me along, fer Christ's sake.”
“You'll find out, lover, you'll find out. It being, in its way, sort'a personal; but nuthin' y'ain't gotten used to, recently.”
“ Oh. Ah. Well, in that case, why're we goin' so slow. Come on, gal, mend yer pace, as my ol' nanny used t'say.”
—O—
The next day dawned rosy, with a slight remaining chill in the sharp December air; but no-one was around to notice such weather conditions, the citizens of Red Neck having, to a woman and man, better things t'do than crawl out'ta their individool flea-pits at sech an or'nary hour. No, movement and action didn't feature in the dirt streets o'the old mining town till well on in the morning; it being usual around nine-o'-clock before the majority o'responsible townsfolk found the energy an' verve t'make a public appearance.
It was, in fact, almost ten minutes to this major stepping-stone in the life of the metropolis when Harry and Calam walked, some hearty, along the sidewalk of Main Street once agin. But their promenade, aimed singly at interceptin' Laura Kellaway as she moseyed out'ta her old shack at the far end o'the street, was itself brought to a halt by the appearance of Horace K Lightoller, depity o'the town; and, while Hickock was away on official business, the major available aspect of local Law.
“How do, ma'am; and, er , ma'am.” Lightoller, standin' some respectful in front of the two ladies, all the same showed a definite determination t'halt them in their tracks. “How's life in gen'ral? Easy times, eh?”
Brought up short, an' not feelin' any overwhelmin' interest in whether the depity thought it was a nice day or not, the women exchanged glances—as much as to say, will ya knock him off the sidewalk, or will I take that mighty honour? Harry, final, made the first reply to this inane remark o'the depity's.
“Lightoller, we is headin' out about private matters o'some urgency t'us; an' mighty important too. If'n all y'got is small-talk o'that natur' Calam an I'll jest bid ye a fond farewell, an' pass on.”
“ Ah , there is, by coincidence, somethin' ye both might wan'na think about givin' a helpin' hand with, as it happens.” Horace stood in front of perhaps the two most dangerous women in Arizona, if not neighbouring states also; clearly thinking for the first time that he ought'a have thought out his mornin's work rather more carefully. “Y'see, it's like this—”
The pause he now entered into finally appearing to the women as being a thing of infinite scope, if not variety, Calam was first to lose her temper—as was only t'be expected.
“Listen, Horace, what the dam' d'ya want? I only hopin' it's some important t'the health o'the United States as a whole; an' not anythin' o'lesser interest. Say yer piece, dammit, time's a'wastin'.”
Urged on in this polite manner—polite for Calamity, that is—Lightoller took his courage in both hands; turned pale; started quivering with what might have been the residool cold mornin' air, but was more probable sheer fear; and at last produced his request.
“There's a stagecoach headin' out; from the company's office along the street there, in about half an hour. Aimin' fer Thompson's Gulch, where it'll meet up with the main Wells Fargo coach goin' on t'Phoenix.” Having launched into speech he now ran on like a runner in a speed race, twirlin' his hat some nervous meanwhile. “It's loaded with a crate o'gold dust, reachin' t'an awful amount o'dollars; an' the last thing Hickok said t'me before he left fer Flagstaff was ‘ Get them two lazy bear-hunters; give ‘em the run o'the Marshall's Office's rifle-rack; an' tell ‘em t'get their butts in motion an' take post together as shotgun messengers on the dam' gold-dust stage. Tell ‘em they'll even get paid; after they've come back successful, that is. ” His very words, leddies; don't blame me.”
“Shit.”
“Damnation.”
At heart nothin' if not community-minded, a mere two minutes later found the women examining the rack of shotguns and rifles in the Marshall's lair.
“Laura'll jest have t'wait a few hours.” Harry shrugged her shoulders, inside the heavy but painfully decrepit leather jacket she wore habitual. “I'll take this here Spencer seven-shot repeater rifle; what about you?”
Calam had been eyeing the contents of the racks behind their glass doors with some intent, and now reached forward to take her pick.
“This here Remington twelve-gauge coach gun'll suit me fine.”
“ Ha! One shot from that n'everyone in a fifty-foot wide spread'll be taken out, complete.” Harry paused to eye her lively partner. “Y'sure seem'ta harbour enmity against yer enemies mighty sharp?”
“They comes along, meanin' t'shoot my hide; they gets shot in their turn, that's all.” Calam sniffed, some unforgivin'. “What's wrong with thet look-out?”
The coach was the standard of its type, with room for six passengers inside; comfortably or not depending on each individuals' proportions; and pulled by six horses. This mornin' its flat top was piled, as usual, with the passengers' luggage. Harry took the sole remaining inside place; while Calam climbed to the high seat by the driver; a position she had come t'love, from other earlier experiences in the same line. The mornin' now advancin' some rapid, by the company's clock—set religious each day by telegraphed railroad time—the driver, Ronald Carver, whipped up his team an' quicker than anyone might have thought possible the coach was bowling along the broken uneven track which passed for the trail to the neighbouring township of Thompson's Gulch, some fifteen miles off to the north.
“Coach seems t'be ridin' mighty hard an' heavy, Ron.” Calam had been takin' stock of the manner of the coach's travel since leaving the township behind. “Runnin' like a parcel o'bricks bein' dragged along. Is it the hosses?”
“Nah, it's the dam' crate o'gold dust under yer seat, Calam.” Ron gave his companion a quick glance, a broad grin nearly visible through the vast extent of grey face-hair he sported. “Weighs a dam' ton. Waal, fer real, some coupl'a hundred pounds or so.”
“Shit.”
“Means we'll take some longer than usual t'reach the Gulch.” Ron took an opportunity to spit handsome over the side of the coach by his elbow. “If'n we're attacked by hold-up men, or whatever, we ain't gon'na have much hope o'outrunnin' the dam' bas---ds.”
“If they do, they'll sure ‘nough get some lively early Christmas presents from Harry an' me, that's certin.” Calam raised her eyes to scan the moving horizon all round. “I'm feelin' mighty gen'rus thetaway, surely.”
Some while later, after another couple of miles of sagebrush and scrubby desert had passed under the coach's wheels, Calam heard a plaintiff cry from behind on her left. Knowin' full well the source o'this entreaty for attention she leaned over to look backwards at the door on her side. Projectin' from its open window were the head an' shoulders o'the best bear-hunter east of the Rockies, long hair blowin' wild in the breeze.
“ Hey , Calam, what fer y'r haulin this dam' crate along like a bath-tub? We're getting' some shook up back here. Y'asked Ron t'take the dam' wheel-brake off yet?”
“Har, Har, lady.” Calam merely sniggered down in a wholly unladylike manner at this request. “Y'took the Law's dollar, jest like me—so y're stuck with the result, jest like me. Don't worry; another three hours or so an' we'll be in Thompson's Gulch. Sit pretty till then.”
As Harry retreated back inside the coach whatever parting remark she had recklessly thrown at her paramour was thankfully lost in the wind. Calam returned to sitting on the hard wooden bench, under which lay a fortune in gold, examining her short-barrelled coach-or shot-gun, making sure it was fully loaded. In the event of an attack she could, with some deft re-loading, deal out death and injury wholesale and on a grand scale.
It was a bare five minutes after this entertaining interval that things became lively in a general and comprehensive manner. Calam was first to notice movement way over on her left side, among the dirty green brush thickly littering the landscape. At first she couldn't quite make out what it was, then a thinning in the widespread undergrowth showed up her cause of worry clearly—a group of horsemen, numbering maybe eight or more, riding along some half mile away though in line with the advancing coach. In an instant Calam knew what was afoot. She turned to Ron, giving him a dig in the ribs t'gain his whole attention.
“Ron, we got company.” She nodded over in the direction of the mystery riders. “Looks like a gang o'thieves got us spotted. Try'n get some more speed out'ta this rattletrap; an' drive like crazy, if'n it comes t'it.
She checked her shotgun one last time; made sure her pockets were full of loose spare cartridges; and leaned over to glance down at the near door again; but Harry was already staring out, ahead of her warning.
“Y'got ‘em spotted, Harry?”
“Yeah, I see ‘em.” The black-haired woman had her long-barrelled Spencer rifle pointing out towards the source of her anxiety. “I counts nine. Heavy dust-coats; one o'the leaders with a light-coloured hat.”
“Shit, sounds like Bart Gruneval an' his gang.” Calam raised her voice, making sure her partner heard her reply. “He's a killer, an' no mistake. If'n he stops the coach he ain't gon'na be satisfied without he puts a bullet in someone—probably you an' me. This here's a fight t'the dam' death, Harry. We got'ta kill them, afore's they sure as bacon kills us.”
“I'm with ya, gal. Make every shot count; an' don't give ‘em any chance to come close an' try t'enter inta parley about stoppin' an' givin' up—thet's jest a short way t'yer coffin, as we both knows. OK, good luck, an' shoot straight.”
Just over a minute later the action began. Just as Harry had prophesied, a single rider changed direction and headed to cut the coach's trail a hundred yards or so ahead. He raised his hat; waving it over his head, as if signalling for the driver to slow so he could hold converse; but neither Calam nor Ron were taken in by this well-known ploy. If the coach slowed, the man would certainly draw his weapon and, joined by his rapidly approaching friends, hold up and rob the coach; if not worse still. Calam, acting on her previously set out plan, and without waiting for the rider to either come any closer or start shouting from afar, levelled her shotgun and fired both barrels.
Though at extreme range, the wide spread this allowed meant that the man had no real chance of escaping the shot. Calam saw the dust blast off from his long heavy coat as part at least of her volley hit home. He hauled his horse round, leaning over acutely the while; then, in a cloud of dust and the cantering animal's flailing legs, fell off his mount never to rise again.
This mark of what the passengers and defending messengers meant to do about the present crisis caused instant action from the remaining group of thieves. In a close group they turned their horses' heads and headed straight for the rapidly moving coach, though still near a hundred yards or more off; puffs of smoke heralded their answer to the loss of the first of their group, and instantly Calam heard the frightening tearing noise of bullets passing close by her head or thumping into the body of the coach with loud bangs.
From below Calam's position came, in return, a series of loud reports; Harry joining in, on her part. The great thing about a Spencer rifle was its seven-shot magazine, and its long barrel. The latter allowing a finesse of aim at extreme range that was surprising to those unacquainted with the make. In the hands of an expert it could wreak precise havoc at what might appear to the innocent spectator as immense distances. And Harry was renowned as just such an expert, when put to the necessity.
Her first two shots missed; but her third took out another rider clean as a whistle, he diving off his mount as if hit by an express train, which was pretty nearly what had happened. Her fourth bullet too knocked the ginger out of another rider; he slumping in his saddle and taking no further interest in unfolding events.
By this time Calam had reloaded, and now fired her barrels singly and carefully. Because the coach, though now moving fast, was loaded down with so much weight it still ran steadily, without lurching; so her first shot, though aimed at a moving target over thirty yards off, took him straight in his front. Calam actually saw the splash of blood as his chest disintegrated and he disappeared in the cloud of dust now enveloping the remaining riders. Several more shots from this source were still being fired at the coach; but not now in any directed manner.
Just at that moment the dust cleared enough for Harry and Calam to spot these remaining thieves, now numbering only five. They had slowed down, and were steadily dropping to the rear of the coach; obviously having lost heart for their devious enterprise. The leader, a tall man in a yellow dust-coat and white wide-brimmed hat—certainly the infamous Bart Gruneval in person—could be seen berating his surviving gang members, then waving his hat in the air in obvious anger. But this was his downfall because he now presented, even at that distance, an enticing and sharp target for two of the meanest shots in Arizona.
Calam, making time for a slow careful aim as the coach continued on, let off both barrels just as she heard—in exact tandem with her own shots—a trio of sharp reports from the Spencer rifle below and to her side. The coach's passage dissipated the resulting cloud of white smoke in an instant; and what was revealed was amazing. Gruneval was now slumped low in his saddle, coat tattered, with streams of dark blood, even at this long intervening distance, visibly spurting from his shattered body. While both women stared intently, he slowly keeled over and fell out of sight off his horse; the remainng few of his gang jostling their mounts close by. Then, as if deciding together, they turned their horses as one and made off through the brush; heading west, away from the source of their general destruction. Harry and Calam had survived; and, in so doing, accounted for the most wanted thief and murderer in the state.
—O—
Around four o'clock in the afternoon the triumphant duo, on borrowed horses, returned to Red Neck with a story t'tell Lightoller, and anyone else wishful of listenin', that would re-echo down the years as one of the greatest gunfights ever to take place in the state.
But they still had their own interest firmly centred on more important things than the long wished-for demise of a mean-hearted low-life. They sauntered along the sidewalk on Main Street, having previously gone to their hotel room to dust themselves down; take a quick ducking in the tin bath in the corner of said room; and dress in clean attire; or as clean as Calam could ever be persuaded to don. Now they were heading once more for the last shack on Main Street; the habitation of Laura Kellaway, with news, if she so desired, of a well-paid job awaiting her immediate attention.
“So, how exactly does we play this?”
“How'd ya mean?”
“Well, we cain't jest barge in; let her know there's a place awaitin' at Miss Gardner's eatin' house; then walk gaily away.” Calam, havin' had some up-close an' mighty personal discussions with various members of the female community of Red Neck at one time or another, had a pretty fair idea of how one—even as poor as Laura Kellaway—would react to such attention from two dubious characters such as Harry and herself. “We got'ta be careful; an' mighty perlite. Perliteness over everythin', in fact. If'n we say a single word out'ta place, we'll lose the gal. We got'ta be cunnin', thet's the thing.”
“ Uummph. ” Harry rubbed her chin as they walked on. “Y'got that note from Miss Gardner safe?”
“Yeah, here in my pocket. Why?”
“OK, what we does is this.” The tall bear-hunter frowned intently; the end result of which being so frightening that two men coming towards them quickly decided to step off the sidewalk and continue their stroll in the street. “We pretends we've jest bin dragooned inta this here messenger service, mighty against our better natur's, by Miss Gardner. When Laura opens the door t'ya I'll pretend t'bein' pretty pissed-off with the whole matter—it breakin' in, as it were, t'my drinkin' time at the ol' Yellow Dog . You act as if pacifyin' me; while tryin' t'remain perlite as required against great odds. Y'state the case as Miss Gardner havin' bushwhacked us in a state o'uncontrolled anxiety, God knows fer why, outside her place of work an' implorin' us—because of the recent an' unexpected loss of her former helpin' hand—t'bring this note—requestin' Laura's immediate an' permanent takin' up of said newly empty service position, at high wages;—poste-haste, as quickly as we can, an' without hesitation t'her, Laura's, doorstep. Then, givin' Laura nary the time t'draw a breath preliminary t'the askin' o'unnecessary an' unwanted questions, I grabs yer arm an' drags y'off an' away before she has time t'figure out jest what's in the wind. Left with but Miss Gardner's note, she ain't gon'na have any thought but that everythin' therein goes accordin' t'Hoyle; an' so grabs her best shawl an' makes a beeline fer her new employer. Works fer me; how's about you?”
“ God , Harry, now I knows why I loves y'so hearty. Y're a genius; thet's what y'are, a bloody genius.”
—O—
An hour later, each havin' been goaded beyond endurance by an overwhelming desire t'see how things had panned out, Harry and Calam innocently strolled along the sidewalk outside Miss Gardner's Eating House; taking a quick but intent glance through the large window as they passed by. The result of which was highly satisfactory to all concerned. Inside, wearing a clean apron, and handling three loaded dishes of steaks as if born to it, Laura was moving between tables like an expert; her new job clearly agreeing with her. Just as it obviously did with Miss Gardner herself, who was standing to one side of the room with a pleased smile on her face at the genteel nature of her newest recruit.
—O—
The hotel bed was wide, with clean sheets and heavy thick blankets, and warm as toast; though the somewhat uneven and bumpy mattress left something to be desired. But the inmates, under the blankets at the present moment, had other matters to capture their attention—to wit, each other.
“Harry, I think's thet was jest about the best thing I've ever bin party to, no argument.” Calam twisted in the bed to lie closer to the warm naked body close beside her own. “Y'were jest great, pretendin' t'be angry as a rattler with a headache. God , y'dam' near fooled me. Took Laura in complete, thank God.”
“Yep, it all worked out jest fine.” Harry turned to lay her arm over the chest of the woman she loved so deeply it hurt. “An' doin' fer Gruneval, final, adds a nice touch. Hickok'll be pleased, when he returns.”
“T'hell with Hickok.” Calam had something more important on her mind. “Harry, a coupl'a days ago I went out when y'were away's-off doin' I don't know dam' what, an' bought ya a-a—well, a present. Meant t'keep it till the usual day; but I think's, what with one thing an' another, y'deserve it now. It's over there in the corner, under that saddle-bag. But don't be in a hurry; there's presents, an' there's presents, if'n y'get my meanin'.”
“I believe I does, lover.” Harry's voice was low, full of growling desire, and yet gentle as a deer in the forest. “Over there, under the saddle-bag, eh? Thet means it must be close neighbour t'the small, but dam' expensive, present I got you ; oh, three days since. So, what d'we do first? Open yours, or open mine?”
“What we does first, dear heart, is somethin' wholly unconnected t'presents of any sort; but a lot t'do with Love.”
Calam's hand slid out over the flank of the woman by her side; and as her fingers gently caressed the bare ribs of her very own bear-hunter and lover, Harry, in her turn pressed her lips imperiously to those of the short-tempered, pretty much uncivilised, but intensely loving woman whom, on her part, Harry loved wholly, immeasurably and forever.
“ Mmmm .”
“ Aahh .”
The End
—O—
To be continued in the next ‘ Red Neck ' story of series 01.
—OOO—