Eileen said.
‘Oh my lord!’ Molly gasped, staring at Eileen and Olga’s tattered clothing, and knowing she was not more completely attired. ‘How can we get to camp like this?’
‘It’ll be dark afore we get there,’ Calamity replied. ‘We’ll sneak in and get into me ‘n’ Boston’s wagon, then see about getting clothes for you two. What’s wrong, Boston?’
Eileen had been touching her blackened and puffed-up left eye with a delicate forefinger. Giving a wince, she replied, ‘Can’t our native medicine woman do any thing for a shiner?’
‘A lump of beef-steak’d help, which same we can get back to the camp,’ Calamity replied, then looked at the other girls’ battle-marked faces. ‘It’ll fix ‘em a mite, but we’ll sure as hell cause some talk when folks see us in the, morning.’
oooOooo
* Told in ‘Quiet Town’ by J. T. Edson.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MISS CANARY HANDS OUT ADVICE
‘GOOD morning, Mrs. Tra—’ Dobe Killem began as Eileen limped stiffly towards the camp fire after coming up from the river. Then his words trailed off as he saw her face. Fine poker player though he was, Killem could not prevent his surprise showing as he studied the condition of her face.
‘I walked into a door, Dobe,’ Eileen said and put a hand to her temple. ‘Ooh! Must the cook make so much noise?’
Yet it was not her usual imperious complaining. From the slight scraping noise being objected about and Eileen’s obvious headache, Killem might have suspected a hangover, but that could not be in her case—or could it?
Just then Calamity came up, throwing a towel into the wagon as she passed and Killem found his day for surprises instead of ending had only just begun. Taking in Calamity’s battle-scarred features and adding them to Eileen’s fist-marked face, he reckoned there must have been the expected explosion between them—No, that could not be. That hoity-toity Boston gal could never have marked up Calamity in such a manner, and yet the signs showed plain enough.
‘I bumped into two doors,’ growled Calamity before her boss could ask the questions buzzing in his head. ‘Now get the hell out of my way and let me at the coffee. Hey, Boston, pour out a cup for a gal.’
Which same, from past experience, told Killem that Calamity had tied on one of her still rare benders and carried a whisky-head to show for it. Yet she addressed Eileen in a friendly manner.
‘Go to hell and pour your own, you idle slut,’ Eileen replied, but not in her usual tone; and she poured out a cup of coffee before Calamity reached her.
Killem wondered if he ought to go back to bed and see if he had got up that morning. Anyway, he thought, nothing more could surprise— At that point he saw Molly hobble up from the river sporting as fine a brace of shiners as he had ever seen and a nose to match them—and showing much the same hung-over symptoms as the other two.
‘Who gave you them eyes?’ he gasped, long past, politeness and western waiting to be told about private affairs.
‘Nobody,’ Molly replied. ‘I had to fight like hell for them.’
That was when Killem decided to call it a day. Turning, he slouched away from the girls and met Muldoon coming with more puzzlement and news. Apparently Russian Olga was hobbling round her fire, looking like her face had been tromped by a mule and mean-mouthing her friends like she toted a hell of a sore head which did not come from a bout of fist-fighting.
‘Reckon Calem might know anything about it?’ asked Muldoon.
‘I reckon she might at that,’ agreed Killem.
‘You mean that Calam went and took Olga on and never told all her good friends, so let us miss it?’
‘From what I just saw,’ Killem replied in a dazed manner, ‘you don’t know the half of what we must have missed—and neither do I.’
The previous evening the four girls sneaked unseen back to camp and into Calamity’s wagon. Being the only one at least acceptably attired, Calamity visited
‘Oh my lord!’ Molly gasped, staring at Eileen and Olga’s tattered clothing, and knowing she was not more completely attired. ‘How can we get to camp like this?’
‘It’ll be dark afore we get there,’ Calamity replied. ‘We’ll sneak in and get into me ‘n’ Boston’s wagon, then see about getting clothes for you two. What’s wrong, Boston?’
Eileen had been touching her blackened and puffed-up left eye with a delicate forefinger. Giving a wince, she replied, ‘Can’t our native medicine woman do any thing for a shiner?’
‘A lump of beef-steak’d help, which same we can get back to the camp,’ Calamity replied, then looked at the other girls’ battle-marked faces. ‘It’ll fix ‘em a mite, but we’ll sure as hell cause some talk when folks see us in the, morning.’
oooOooo
* Told in ‘Quiet Town’ by J. T. Edson.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MISS CANARY HANDS OUT ADVICE
‘GOOD morning, Mrs. Tra—’ Dobe Killem began as Eileen limped stiffly towards the camp fire after coming up from the river. Then his words trailed off as he saw her face. Fine poker player though he was, Killem could not prevent his surprise showing as he studied the condition of her face.
‘I walked into a door, Dobe,’ Eileen said and put a hand to her temple. ‘Ooh! Must the cook make so much noise?’
Yet it was not her usual imperious complaining. From the slight scraping noise being objected about and Eileen’s obvious headache, Killem might have suspected a hangover, but that could not be in her case—or could it?
Just then Calamity came up, throwing a towel into the wagon as she passed and Killem found his day for surprises instead of ending had only just begun. Taking in Calamity’s battle-scarred features and adding them to Eileen’s fist-marked face, he reckoned there must have been the expected explosion between them—No, that could not be. That hoity-toity Boston gal could never have marked up Calamity in such a manner, and yet the signs showed plain enough.
‘I bumped into two doors,’ growled Calamity before her boss could ask the questions buzzing in his head. ‘Now get the hell out of my way and let me at the coffee. Hey, Boston, pour out a cup for a gal.’
Which same, from past experience, told Killem that Calamity had tied on one of her still rare benders and carried a whisky-head to show for it. Yet she addressed Eileen in a friendly manner.
‘Go to hell and pour your own, you idle slut,’ Eileen replied, but not in her usual tone; and she poured out a cup of coffee before Calamity reached her.
Killem wondered if he ought to go back to bed and see if he had got up that morning. Anyway, he thought, nothing more could surprise— At that point he saw Molly hobble up from the river sporting as fine a brace of shiners as he had ever seen and a nose to match them—and showing much the same hung-over symptoms as the other two.
‘Who gave you them eyes?’ he gasped, long past, politeness and western waiting to be told about private affairs.
‘Nobody,’ Molly replied. ‘I had to fight like hell for them.’
That was when Killem decided to call it a day. Turning, he slouched away from the girls and met Muldoon coming with more puzzlement and news. Apparently Russian Olga was hobbling round her fire, looking like her face had been tromped by a mule and mean-mouthing her friends like she toted a hell of a sore head which did not come from a bout of fist-fighting.
‘Reckon Calem might know anything about it?’ asked Muldoon.
‘I reckon she might at that,’ agreed Killem.
‘You mean that Calam went and took Olga on and never told all her good friends, so let us miss it?’
‘From what I just saw,’ Killem replied in a dazed manner, ‘you don’t know the half of what we must have missed—and neither do I.’
The previous evening the four girls sneaked unseen back to camp and into Calamity’s wagon. Being the only one at least acceptably attired, Calamity visited
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