Free Trouble Trail by J. T. Edson

he’ll be right as ever in a week or so. Sure though, isn’t that Calamity a lil darlin’?’
    ‘She thinks the same about you.’
    ‘Then she shows good taste.’
    ‘Yep.’ drawled Resin. ‘Couldn’t stop talking about you offering to marry her. Asked me if you’d want a white wedding in a church.’
    ‘Holy Mother of God!’ croaked Muldoon, horror replacing the delighted beam on his face. ‘I hopes you stood true by an old friend, Beau lad, and persuaded her what a lousy husband I’d make. Sure ‘tis no use I’d be to any woman, I drink, never save a dime—’
    ‘Reckon I talked her out of it,’ grinned the Scout.
    ‘Then ‘tis me thanks you have, Beau, lad,’ said Muldoon, gripping Resin’s hand in a heart-felt manner. Letting out a shudder, Muldoon went on, ‘Faith, a gal as strong-willed as Calamity might’ve—hey, just look who’s there.’
    While the two men sat talking, the wagons passed them and the outfit belonging to the rat-faced jasper with the four hefty girls was just going by. It was to the buxom blonde not the man that Muldoon nodded.
    ‘Joined us on the Kansas line. Keep to themselves and pay their way,’ Resin replied. ‘Which’s all we ask.’
    ‘Does Calam know who she is?’
    ‘Lordy-lord. I hope not. If she does—’
    ‘Yeah,’ grinned Muldoon. ‘It’d be a sight to see though, happen Calamity finds out.’

CHAPTER SIX
    MISS CANARY TAKES A CHANCE
    ‘COFFEE, Mrs. Tradle?’
    ‘If you please, Miss Canary.’
    A week had passed since leaving Fort Connel and the association between Calamity and Eileen was in the dangerous stage of studied politeness. Each tried to out-do the other in avoiding giving reason for a further clash—which brought them closer to it many times than would more ordinary behaviour.
    In several ways Eileen had changed. On the first night Calamity growled an order for Eileen to start a fire while the freight outfit’s crew tended to their chores. It had been on the tip of Eileen’s tongue to refuse, but a further comment from Calamity to the effect that Eileen would not know how to make a fire without a flock of Boston servants to help brought a change of plan. Angrily Eileen went to the rawhide possum belly under the wagon and drew out dried buffalo-chips and wood. Refusing Molly’s help, Eileen made a fire as her father taught her in the days of her rather tomboy youth. Next day Eileen lent a hand to harness the team and each day since had taken more and more of a share in the work load. Her soft white hands hardened with washing dishes and doing other manual labour that had for years been the prerogative of her family’s servants.
    Both Calamity and Eileen looked for an excuse to bury the hatchet, but each time the way opened something would happen to start them feuding again.
    As an onlooker, Molly found the situation highly diverting and amusing. Although the British writer Rudyard Kipling was still many years from writing about the under-the-skin kinship of the colonel’s lady and Sarah O’Grady, Molly was in an ideal position to understand what he would mean.
    Calamity’s energy amazed Molly. Not only did the girl rise in the first light of dawn, tend to and harness her team, drive all day; but after caring for the six horses in the evening would visit the class Molly taught, then organise a lecture on various western subjects for the women of the train and throw herself wholeheartedly into any festivity she found herself invited to attend after dark.
    Eileen helped Calamity around the wagon and attended all the girl’s lectures although always standing at the back and pretending not to be listening, or showing her disbelief if the red-head happened to glance her way.
    Storm clouds were gathering in the sky as the two women stood by the fire and drank their coffee, after eating the breakfast Eileen had helped cook. Killem slouched over to them and nodded his head.
    ‘Looks like rain,’ he said.
    ‘Tastes a mite like coffee