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Authors: John Thomas Edson
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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
"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
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