Read Online Troubled range by John Thomas Edson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Thomas Edson
Ads: Link
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.
"I've never met the lady," Belle remarked, ignoring the interest her action aroused among the people in the room. "But I'm sure the statement was correct."
At his table, Framant leaned forward, studying Belle with cold
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.
"I've never met the lady," Belle remarked, ignoring the interest her action aroused among the people in the room. "But I'm sure the statement was correct."
At his table, Framant leaned forward, studying Belle with cold
Similar Books
