“I’ll lend you a hand,” the girl said her voice just a mite strained.
“Gracias, Calam. Take the feet, I’ll handle the head.”
Between them, Calamity and Danny lifted first one, then the remainder of the tarpaulin-wrapped shapes into the rear of the girl’s wagon, laying them side by side in the space at the back. With that done, the two of them cleaned up, as well as they could, the traces of the fighting. Calamity gathered up the shattered glass while Danny brought shovel-loads of dirt to cover the bloodstains. Finally they stood back and looked over their work.
“I took a bath when I arrived,” the girl remarked. “Damned if I don’t feel all dirty again.”
Danny put a hand to his bristle-covered chin. “And me. I sure hate to have whiskers growing on me. Say, is there any water inside?”
“I’ll boil some for you. Then while you’re shaving, I’ll go take a bath,” Calamity suggested. “And then I’ll cook us a meal.”
“Sounds like a real good notion,” Danny answered.
Opening his bedroll, Danny dug into his warbag and collected his shaving kit. Calamity poured him out some hot water and headed for the swimming hole while he stripped off his shirt to wash and shave. Having been hunting the Comancheros alone for the past three days, Danny had not found time to wash and shave, or even take off his clothes. He felt a whole heap better with the growth of whiskers and some of the trail dirt removed from his hide. On Calamity’s return, Danny took a change of clothes and headed for the swimming hole. All in all, he both felt and looked a whole heap better on his return. Nor had Calamity wasted her time, but set to and cooked a real good meal for him.
“You cook just like Mark said,” he told Calamity after the meal, having been too hungry during it to waste time in talking. “Man gets tired of stream water and jerky.”
“Reckon he does,” she agreed then grinned. “You mean ole Mark said something nice about me?”
“Shucks, Mark always talks real high and respectful about you, Calam.”
“I just bet he does,” smiled the girl.
“There’s no chance of making Austin today,” Danny remarked, looking out of the window at the darkening range. “Happen we start at sun-up, we ought to reach it afore noon tomorrow.”
“That’s how I saw it,” agreed Calamity. “Let’s go tend the stock. I reckon we’ll leave the four Comanchero hosses here to pay for the damage I did to the window.”
Danny gave his assent and they went out to feed, water and bed down the horses. On their return, Calamity lit a lamp while Danny laid his saddle carefully on its side by the wall and unpacked his bedroll.
“It’s going to be a mite chilly for whoever sleeps in here,” Calamity said, glancing at the shattered window.
“You take the bedroom then,” replied Danny, courteous to the core as became a Southern gentleman.
“Shuckens no. Let’s do it fair,” answered Calamity, taking a coin from her pocket and flipping it into the air. “Heads I have the bedroom, tails you get it. Dang it, Danny, it’s tails. We said best of three, didn’t we?”
“Why sure,” grinned Danny, taking the coin and flicking it up again. It landed on the table with a metallic clink.
“Three out of five, we said, didn’t we?” asked Calamity, looking at the exposed tails side.
Once more the coin sailed into the air. Shooting out a hand, Calamity caught the spinning disc of metal and brought it down to stand on its edge in a crack on the table top.
“Land-sakes a-mercy,” she said innocently. “It looks like we’re due for a stand-off.”
“What’ll we do in that case?” asked Danny, just as innocently.
“Didn’t Mark teach you nothing about—things?”
“You know, Calam, gal,” Danny drawled, blowing out the lamp. “He just might have done at that.”
Almost an hour later, just before she went to sleep, Calamity gave a grin. One thing was for sure. Dusty Fog’s kid brother could sure act like a man full grown.
Chapter 5 BREAK UP THAT COW STEALING, DANNY
SID WATCHHORN EASED HIS ARM IN THE SLING, glanced at the rider and wagon which entered the compound and then walked back into the office.
“Danny’s here, Cap’n,” he said.
“Alone?” asked Murat, seeing his chance of making the Caspar County investigation—and getting away from the tedium of office work—depart.
“Never thought he’d bring any of ’em in alive,” Sid answered. “Only he’s not alone. Got a right pretty lil gal along with him, driving a six-hoss Conestoga.”
Throwing a glance at Sid, the Ranger captain tried to read the tanned, leathery face for a hint that his wounded man made a joke. He saw nothing, which did not entirely surprise him. However, Murat knew handling the ribbons of a six-horse Conestoga wagon took skill of a high degree. Coming to his feet, Murat walked from the office and looked in the direction of the approaching party.
“I told you so,” said Sid in doleful delight, “only you didn’t believe lil ole me.”
“Does anybody?” grunted Murat and walked to meet his other Ranger. “Howdy, Danny. We got a telegraph from Sandy up to Two Trees, said you’d gone on after Choya and his bunch.”
“Huh huh!” Danny answered.
“Catch ’em?”
The words came out more as a statement than a question. No Ranger worth his salt would leave the trail of the men who killed one of his partners and wounded another. Yet Murat could see no sign of the Comanchero’s horses. Then his eyes went to the wagon’s box, studying the various scars on its timber. Two of the bullet holes looked newly made.
“I caught ’em. They’re in the back of Calam’s wagon.”
Walking by his captain, Sid headed to the rear of the wagon and started to unfasten its canopy’s lashings. Calamity jumped down from the box and joined the Ranger at the rear.
“Let me lend you a hand,” she said. “You look like you need one.”
“Her husband come home early,” answered Sid.
“That’s allus the way,” Calamity commiserated.
“How many in there, ma’am?”
“Four, all there was. And happen you don’t want the other wing busting quit calling me ‘ma’am’.”
One of the young wranglers dashed up and took charge of Danny’s horse. It said much for Danny’s trust in the youngster that he allowed the sabino’s welfare to the boy’s hands. However, Danny knew he could rely on the youngster to care properly for the big horse and that he must give his report to his captain as quickly as possible.
“Let’s go into the office, Danny,” Murat suggested as the youngster led the sabino away.
Following Murat into the office, Danny took a seat at the desk. There was nothing fancy about the room in which the Rangers of Company “G” handled their paper-work and planned their campaigns against the criminal elements of Texas. Just a desk, its top scarred by spur-decorated boot heels and burned by innumerable cigar and cigarette butts, with a few papers sharing the top with the first edition of the famous “Bible Two,” the Texas Rangers’ list of wanted men that would be brought out each year and read by the sons of the star-in-the-circle far more than they ever studied the original book. Some half-a-dozen chairs stood against the walls, two more at the desk. A safe, its door open and shelves empty, graced one wall, a stove facing it across the room. On either side of the door leading to the cells at the rear of the building were respectively a bulletin board containing wanted dodgers from all over the State, and a rack holding some dozen assorted Winchesters, Spencer carbines and ten-gauge shotguns, all clean and ready for use.