“It’ll take Day about two hours to get out there and back,” Mrs. Leckenby finished. “We’ll wait supper for him, unless you’re hungry.”
“Ate right well with Corey-Mae and Cash Trinian,” Calamity told her. “What say we go see Lawyer Endicott right now, Lon?”
“Not until you’ve had a cup of coffee,” the sheriff’s wife stated. “It’s all ready for you.”
After drinking their coffee, Calamity and the Kid rose to leave. They had placed their Winchesters on the wall-rack and left them there. Mrs. Leckenby told them how to locate Endicott’s home and asked that they should bring the lawyer back with them. Agreeing to do so, Calamity requested that the woman keep her documents. Florence Eastfield and her men had left town, but there was no point in taking needless chances. Mrs. Leckenby accepted the envelope and locked it in the drawer of her husband’s desk.
Although Calamity and the Kid found the main street deserted on their return, they did not feel surprised. It was Thursday and in the middle of the month, so the town would not be over lively. Going between two buildings, they followed Mrs. Leckenby’s directions. By the livery barn, they located Endicott’s house. It did not strike them as the dwelling to be expected as a successful lawyer’s residence. The whole place was in darkness, which did not hide its tumble-down aspect.
“He ain’t to home,” called a voice from by the barn.
“Where’s he at, then?” asked the Kid, turning to face the speaker.
“Down at the Clipper,” the man answered. “Where else? Damned drunk.”
“Let’s go get him,” Calamity suggested and made a wry face. “From the look of this place and the way that feller talks, I can see why the pride of that fancy Eastern law school wound up here.”
Returning to the main street, they headed toward the Clipper Saloon. Its hitching rail was devoid of horses and trade seemed to be very bad, if the lack of noise from inside was anything to go on. Two boys stood on the seat, looking over the painted lower section of the left side’s window. Hearing Calamity and the Kid approaching, they turned.
“What’s up?” the girl asked tolerantly.
“They’re getting old Lawyer Endicott liquored up in there,” one of the boys replied. “He’s a screaming whoop when he’s that ways, until he falls asleep that is.”
Being aware that baiting a drunkard, especially if he also happened to be well-educated, was a favorite indoor sport of small-town loafers, Calamity let out an explosive snort and headed for the batwing doors. A good- hearted girl, she hated petty cruelty of that kind. Even without having need of the lawyer’s professional services she would have reacted in the same manner. Slipping her whip from its loop, she went striding into the Clipper Saloon.
Knowing his Calamity, the Kid followed on her heels. He reckoned that she might require some backing if the men concerned with the lawyer-baiting objected to her intervention. Just a moment too late, as the doors swung closed behind them, the Kid realized that they had walked into a trap.
The barman stood behind the counter, looking scared. Off to the right of the room, Olaf was seated facing a tall, thin, unshaven man wearing a threadbare, but once expensive suit, a grubby, collarless white shirt and scuffed, cracked town boots. Two grimy hands gripped at a beer schooner into which the giant was pouring the contents of a whiskey bottle. The long-handled axe lay across the table.
Even as a realization of the danger bit at the Kid, he heard a footfall from behind him and felt the hard muzzle of a revolver gouge into his back. At the same moment, a muffled curse from Calamity caused the Kid to turn his head. The smallest of the three gunslingers they had last seen with Florence Eastfield stood behind the girl. He had his arms locked tight about her elbows and torso, and knew enough to keep his face clear of her head.
“Unbuckle the gunbelt, cow-nurse!” ordered Vandor’s voice from beyond the revolver. “And don’t you make fuss, gal, or he’s dead.”
Calamity knew when to surrender. So she stopped struggling; but still retained her hold of the whip. Equally aware of the futility of resisting at that moment, the Kid slowly obeyed the order. Unbuckling his gunbelt, he let it slide to his feet. Vandor placed his left palm against the center of the black shirt and pushed the Kid forward.
“What’s on your mind,
“You disrespected Miss Eastfield out there in the street, while you was stood behind a rifle and backed by Leckenby,” Vandor explained, following him and thrusting him farther from the door. “Olaf didn’t like it. Did you, Olaf?”
Turning his head slowly, the giant hurled the empty bottle across the room. He lurched to his feet, ignoring the lawyer who sat drinking from the schooner.
“Olaf didn’t like it!” the giant rumbled. “Olaf’ll break him in two.”
“You standing for this, barkeep?” asked the Kid, watching the giant. “I don’t reckon the sheriff’ll be too happy if you do.”
“Maybe Leckenby won’t be coming back,” Vandor sneered, retreating toward the door. “And if he don’t, Miss Eastfield’ll want to know who her friends are. Take him, Olaf!”
Letting out a bellow more animal than human, the giant lurched in the Kid’s direction. At the table, Endicott set down the glass and stared through bleary eyes at the big man.
“Wha-Wha——!” the lawyer mumbled. “Dish-grashe-ful be-hav-hav——” He took up the schooner again and drank deeply.
Separated from his weapons, the Kid was far from helpless. Although the Comanches preferred more direct, permanent methods of settling quarrels, they knew some effective bare-hand fighting tricks. In addition, the Kid had watched such masters as Dusty Fog and Mark Counter perform, learning valuable lessons from them. So he reckoned that he would not be the easy victim the men—and maybe Calamity—expected.
Gripping the back of a chair, the Kid leaped to meet the advancing giant. At the last moment, the Kid weaved aside and crashed his weapon into Olaf’s chest. Wood splintered and the chair disintegrated in the Kid’s hands. Apart from a single grunt, the giant gave no sign of feeling a blow that would have felled most men. As the Kid started to go by, Olaf swung his left arm. It caught the Texan a glancing blow on the shoulder. Glancing, maybe, but the force of it sent the Kid staggering across the room.
“That does it!” Vandor said enthusiastically, watching the Kid’s attack. “There’ll be no stopping that crazy bongo until he’s killed the Texan. Hold on to the gal, Torp. I’ll go fetch the hosses.”
“Sure, Van,” the other man replied, tightening his grip on Calamity. “I’ll stop in here ’til you get back. I’m enjoying this.”
“Want to bet you stay that way, you stinking son-of-a-bitch?” Calamity thought, her eyes on the fight.
With surprising speed, the bald man turned and charged after the Kid. Managing to turn, the Texan struck with his back against the wall. Pinned there momentarily, he saw Olaf coming closer. When in range, the man launched up his right leg in a kick. Crossing his wrists, the Kid interposed them between his body and the rising leg. Even with the support offered by the X-block he had learned from Dusty Fog, he only just halted the boot clear of him. Changing his hand position fast, he gripped the raised ankle in them. Then he leaped to one side and gave the trapped limb a savage lateral swing. For a moment Olaf’s other spiked boot held on to the planks beneath it. Then it slipped and he spun around, away from the Texan. Following the staggering man, the Kid interlaced his fingers and smashed his hands as hard as he could against the base of Olaf’s spine. Again the giant grunted, stumbling but not going down.
Going after the giant, the Kid learned the advantage offered by the caulked boots. Ramming down his forward foot, Olaf halted. He pivoted around, swinging his right fist. Desperately the Kid tried to twist aside. The back of the forearm crashed into his chest and the force of the blow pitched him backward. Hitting a table, he went over it and landed on the floor. Dazed and winded, he saw Olaf stalking with measured strides toward him. Taking hold of the table in both hands, the man swung it above his head as if it weighed no more than a matchstick.
Down drove the table. Throwing himself over, the Kid just managed to roll clear. He heard the table drive edge-first into the floor and shatter, continuing to roll. With a bestial snarl, Olaf flung away the ruins of the table and stalked after the Texan.
At the door, Calamity watched the fight with worried eyes. She knew that she could not break Torp’s hold on her by sheer strength. However, as the fight progressed, his attention became absorbed by it. That was what the girl had been hoping for. Feeling his grip slacken a little, she raised her right foot and stamped it down hard on to Torp’s left instep. Worn for utility rather than feminine fashion, Calamity’s footwear was solidly constructed. So the force of her attack drove pain through her captor’s foot and leg. Torp let out a howl and his arms loosened their
