The Road to Ratchet Creek by J. T. Edson

manage, Calamity felt she might have done far worse.
    There were differences, obviously, between handling a heavy freight wagon and driving the light stagecoach, but Calamity rapidly gained the feel of her new vehicle. At her side, Cultus watched with at first concern, then admiration. However he remained silent for a time, figuring that she needed to concentrate. It never occurred to him that he might advise the girl about the horses’ individual characteristics. Anybodyclaiming to be a driver would take offense at such a liberty, being full capable of forming his, or her, own conclusions.
    Tense and alert, Calamity concentrated on her work. The height she sat above the ground tended at first to confuse her, but she quickly became used to it. Although she soon grew accustomed to the difference in weights, and found the Concord coach handled like the thoroughbred it was, she did not relax and grow careless.
    At last Cultus felt he should give a warning. “Best hold down on the speed a mite, Calam. We’ve a lot of miles to cover.”
    â€œI’m going too fast, huh?”
    â€œJust a lil mite.”
    â€œIt’s hard to tell, she rides so smooth.”
    â€œShucks, you’re no worse’n old Joe,” Cultus informed her with a grin. “I mind one time we reached Ratchet Creek the day afore we left Promontory.”
    Fortunately during the early part of the drive, the stagecoach trail ran straight and over level ground. By the time they reached the first curve, Calamity knew enough about the Concord’s handling qualities to take it around without difficulty. Then they started to climb a hill. Although Calamity noticed that the coach made the ascent with greater ease than her wagon would have, she knew going down might be more tricky.
    So it proved. Used to the need to exert considerable force to operate her wagon’s brakes, Calamity gave the handle a hard shove with her foot. Immediately she saw her mistake and drew back her leg just a shade too quickly. Disaster might have resulted, but for the fact that an experienced team pulled the coach. Feeling the sudden jolt caused by the application of the brakes, then the slackening of the traces caused by their removal, the horses increased their speed in order to avoid being run down. Cursing savagely, Calamity made a more tentative try at controlling the speed.
    â€œWhat the hell’s she doing?” Conway snarled as the coach jolted and rocked.
    â€œHer best, brother,” Cole answered. “Which nobody can do better.”
    â€œYou’re doing good, Calam,” Cultus said as they reached the bottom of the slope.
    â€œI’m doing lousy,” she replied. “But don’t tell me so.”
    â€œNot while you’re toting the whip,” he grinned, and let her concentrate on the driving once more.
    Backed by almost three years experience of handling a six-horse team, Calamity rapidly mastered the different techniques involved in driving the stagecoach. At her side, Cultus nodded approvingly on reaching the bottom of the next slope. He had to admit that she had made no glaring mistake and had brought down the coach almost aswell as Pizen Joe would have done it. Settling back in his seat, Cultus put aside his doubts and misgivings. Maybe all the stories he had heard about Calamity Jane were not true, but she could sure drive.
    Time went by and Calamity reached the stage where she did not need to devote all her attention to the work at hand.
    â€œWonder how Joe is?” she said.
    â€œI don’t know how he is right now,” admitted Cultus with a chuckle. “But I sure know how he’s going to be.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œMad as a razorback hawg that’s backed into a still-fire. Ole Joe’ll bust a gut when he knows you’re up top.”
    â€œReckon he won’t trust me?”
    â€œCalam,” Cultus replied. “He don’t even trust other Wells Fargo drivers to