Calamity Jane 5 by J.T. Edson

Author:J.T. Edson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cattle rustling, calamity jane, western stories, piccadilly publishing, jt edson, dusty fog, westerns pulp fiction, american westerns, cow thieves, martha jane canary
Publisher: Piccadilly

Nine – Ella Watson Hires Martha Connelly

Calamity Jane hated riding any kind of vehicle unless she held the ribbons and controlled the team. So she did not enjoy her trip to Caspar City and felt relieved when the driver drew rein before the depot at her destination. Luckily the stagecoach had not been one of the main runs, or she might easily have found the driver to be an acquaintance who could let slip her identity and wind her up in an early grave.

Throwing open the stage’s door, the agent gallantly offered his hand to help Calamity alight, ogling the exposed ankle and lower calf with frank interest.

“Tuck ’em in, friend,” Calamity ordered as she swung herself on to the sidewalk and looked around.

“Huh?” the man grunted.

“Your eyes, they’re bugged out a mite. Come down to the Cattle Queen tonight and look all you want, I’ll be paid for it then.”

Flushing a little, the depot agent jerked around and yelled for the driver to drop down the gal’s bags. There were no other passengers to alight at Caspar and Calamity took her two bags, carrying them along the street toward the batwing doors of the Cattle Queen.

“Calam, gal,” she mused. “Just keep remembering you’re Martha, call me Marty, Connelly. You learned a lot that last night in Austin, don’t forget it or you’ll be a long time dead.”

One thing Calamity had early learned was to face up to the truth. It would do her no good to pretend danger did not lay waiting for her on this chore. To do so might make her careless. So she intended to remember the danger and in doing so would be more likely to recall all the details drummed into her during the evening and morning before she left Austin to start her task.

Sucking in a breath, Calamity pushed open the batwing doors and entered the Cattle Queen’s bar room. It was the first time she had ever entered a saloon as a potential employee and she found the feeling novel. The time being shortly after noon, only a few customers sat at the tables or stood by the bar. Looking around, Calamity found only one girl to be present. That one sure looked a tough handful. She had red hair, stood Calamity’s size and weighed at least twenty pounds heavier. From the way the red-head’s dress fitted her, and the firm muscles apparent in her arms and legs, Calamity figured she would be as strong as they came; the kind of girl Calamity sought to tangle with when employed at her normal trade.

“Looking for somebody?” asked the buxom redhead.

“The boss. That you?”

“Me? Nope. The name’s Phyl. I work here. Come on up, I’ll take you to the boss. What’s your name?”

“Marty Connelly. I’m looking for work.”

“Didn’t take you for a circuit-riding gal-preacher,” Phyl sniffed. “Come on, we’ll see Miss Ella.”

Following the other woman, and holding down a temptation to plant a kick on the plump butt end so alluringly offered for such treatment, Calamity crossed the room and climbed the stairs.

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