Free Kid Calhoun by Joan Johnston Page A

“Can I have this?”
    “I guess so, seein’s how you’re going after the Kid. You are goin’ after him, aren’t you?”
    “Yes. I am.”
    Jake folded the poster and slid it into his vest pocket. “Did Gus say how many were in the gang that robbed the stage?”
    “Eight. Plus the Kid. Nine in all. Gus said one of the robbers was wounded. Don’t know how bad it was, though. He was still standin’.”
    “Anything else you can tell me? Any idea which way they headed?”
    The little man tapped the counter with a bony forefinger and leaned forward to speak confidentially. “Heard Booth Calhoun—he’s the boss of the Calhoun Gang—has a kept woman in Santa Fe. You might start lookin’ there.”
    “What’s her name?”
    “Don’t know for sure. You can ask in Santa Fe. Somebody’s bound to know.”
    “Thanks.”
    Just before Jake stepped out the door, the station-master said, “You’re a long way from Texas, Ranger. What’s your interest in this?”
    “Sam Chandler was a friend of mine.”
    “You plannin’ to marry the widow? Mighty fine-lookin’ woman, if I do say so myself. Heard tell she’s—” The man quailed at the look on Jake’s scarred face.
    “Mrs. Chandler is my sister. Bear that in mind next time your tongue starts flapping before your brain starts working.”
    “Yessir. Mighty fine—that is—good churchgoing woman, Mrs. Chandler.”
    Jake shook his head as he turned and left. Men made awful fools of themselves over women. It was a trail he was determined never to travel.
    He met up with Claire, and in no time they were out of town and on the meandering road that led to Window Rock. He drove Claire’s buggy, his horse tied on behind. Jake found pleasure in sitting beside her even though scarcely a word passed between them. Claire occasionally pointed out a landmark or a cactus flower or a bad rut in the road.
    Jake found the country they rode through remarkable for its variety. The grassy plains spread out before them spotted with sagebrush and yuccas. To the east a limestone mesa rose up from the grassland. Beyond that, mountains were stained dark green with fir and pine. It was a land of vibrant contrasts. The sun was warm, but the spring wind was crisp. Jake raised the collar of the fringed buckskin jacket he had donned to protect himself from the cold.
    “We’re being followed,” Claire said.
    Jake turned and looked where she pointed. A large black dog loped along the ridge, his tongue lolling, his bushy tail swinging with each step.
    “He’s been shadowing us, stops when we stop, starts when we start again,” Claire said. She looked at Jake, who didn’t seem at all surprised by the dog’s presence. “Does he belong to you?”
    “Dog doesn’t belong to anyone. He pretty much goes where he wants, when he wants.”
    Like you
, Claire thought. “Is he vicious?”
    “He’s never bitten anyone that I know of. But then, he never lets anyone get too close.”
    Like you
, Claire thought. She put a hand up to shade her eyes so she could get a better look at the shaggy black animal. He had a ragged ear and a noticeable limp. “How’d he get torn up like that?”
    Jake shrugged. “Been in a few fights, I guess.”
    Claire smiled inwardly.
Just like you
.
    They rode in silence for another half hour before Claire said, “There’s Window Rock.”
    Jake thought she was talking about the ranch, but when he looked where she pointed he spied an immense boulder with a rectangular hole weathered into it.
    “Sam took one look at that rock and named the ranch after it,” Claire said. “It’s just as impressive every time I see it. The ranch house is over the hill.”
    The whitewashed adobe house lay nestled at the lip of a valley, its red tile roof shaded by the branches of a weeping willow. A nearby stream was bordered with birch and willow. A bunkhouse and barn had been built downhill—and downwind—from the house. There were several horses in a corral that was attached to the