when bullets impacted against the walls of the sawmill and the Kid’s Winchester cracked in reply. Unbuckling her waistband, she wriggled from the ruined trousers. Lead sent splinters flying from the log and Calamity quit it with her shirt tail flapping around her drawers.
Calamity saw her gunbelt on the bench, so made for it. To reach it, she had to pass across the open doors. Disregarding the danger, she hurled herself forward. A bullet fanned by her head and she heard the flat bark of the Kid’s rifle. Looking through the door, she saw a man staggering toward one of the cabins. Dropping his rifle, he fell before he reached safety. Two more strides carried Calamity beyond the door. Reaching down her right hand, she snatched free her whip. Ignoring the Colt, she darted toward the side door through which Florence and Vandor had left the building.
With the returning hard-cases beyond any range at which he could hope to make a hit with his revolver, Staff took time out to glance around. He saw Calamity about to go through the side door.
“Where’re you going, Calam?” Staff called.
“To keep a promise!” the girl answered and departed.
“What’s up, Staff?” called the Kid, turning his attention from where Torp and the other men were taking cover among the empty cabins.
“Calam’s going after Flor——” the young cowhand answered without looking around. “Look out, gal.”
Raising his voice to yell the last three words, he lunged through the door and his revolver cracked twice. From some distance beyond the door, two shots mingled with the detonations from Staff’s gun. Letting out a cry of pain, the youngster returned through the door. The revolver dropped from his hand and he collapsed face down on the floor.
Dashing across the sawmill, Trinian dropped to one knee by the cowhand. The Kid accompanied the rancher, looking at the hideous hole where the two heavy caliber bullets had burst out of the left side of Staff’s back, then stepped cautiously to the door.
“He’s cashed, Kid,” Trinian growled bitterly.
“Looks like he got his saving Calam,” the Kid replied. “Did a good job of it at that.”
Coming to his feet, Trinian joined the Kid and looked out of the building. Vandor sprawled face down, revolver a couple of feet away from his hand, at the rear of the cabin they had seen him enter with Florence. From Vandor, Trinian turned his attention to where Calamity was disappearing around the corner at the front of the building.
Chapter 16 I WARNED YOU WHAT’D HAPPEN
LEAVING THE SAWMILL, CALAMITY DARTED TOWARD the cabin where she expected to find Florence Eastfield. Her hope of taking the blonde and Vandor by surprise did not materialize. Down at the corral, Vandor turned from his horse. Drawing his Smith & Wesson, he started to run in the girl’s direction. Yelling his warning, Staff burst from the door of the big building. Calamity heard the crackle of shots followed by the cowhand’s cry of pain, then watched Vandor go down. By that time she had reached a position which offered a view of the front of the cabin. What she saw prevented her from turning to discover how badly her rescuer had been injured.
At the hitching rail, Florence had already unfastened her horse’s reins and was preparing to mount. She gripped the saddle-horn in her right hand, drawing up the hem of her black skirt with the other hand as she raised her left foot toward the stirrup iron. The sound of shots from the sawmill had caused Florence to revise her plans. Instead of changing into her riding clothes and ensuring that the red-haired girl was dead before leaving, she had decided to make an immediate departure. After collecting the reinforcements waiting at Burwell, she could return and deal with whatever situation awaited her. Looking across the horse at Calamity, Florence figured that she had made a wise choice. With the girl free, Florence would need the extra gunhands if she hoped to enforce her will on the people of Hollick County.
Guessing what the blonde had in mind, Calamity also realized that Florence would be mounted and gone unless she acted fast. So the girl took aim and swung her right arm. The whip’s long lash extended before Calamity and its popper struck with an explosive crack against the horse’s rump. Letting out a scream of pain, the animal reared and plunged forward. Florence felt the saddle-horn snatched from beneath her right hand and the force of the jerk sent her staggering. Staying on her feet, she caught her balance and prepared to chase after the fleeing horse.
Up and down moved Calamity’s right hand. Once again her aim proved very accurate and she demonstrated her skill at using the whip. Curling in the required direction, the rawhide popper sliced into the top right side of Florence’s skirt. It cut through the material, tangling with the keys in her pocket. With a heave on the handle, Calamity caused the lash to rip the skirt. The blonde’s screech of anger rang loud as the force of Calamity’s pull spun her around and peeled off the skirt to expose her plump, shapely legs and frilly-edged drawers. Trying to resume her pursuit of the horse, Florence heard the hiss of the whip’s lash passing through the air. Cold on her bare skin, the plaited leather coiled around her ankles and jerked them together so that she tumbled to the ground.
Florence might have counted herself fortunate. In skilled hands, the bull-whip was a weapon combining the cutting power of a knife and crushing pressure of a closing bear-trap. If Calamity had wished, she could have peeled flesh instead of stripping off the skirt, or broken both of Florence’s ankles.
Hitting the ground, Florence broke her fall with her hands. Calamity deftly shook the lash free, ignoring the shouts of the men behind her. Grim satisfaction showed on the girl’s face as she watched Florence twist toward her. Resting her left knee on the ground, Florence forced herself up on her hands.
“I warned you what’d happen if I got loose,” Calamity remarked, tossing her whip over Florence to where the land dipped gently to the lip of the gorge.
Instantly Florence catapulted herself forward, trying to ram her skull into the girl’s chest. Expecting some such move, Calamity twisted her torso and the blonde’s head scraped by her side. Florence’s left shoulder struck Calamity and the woman’s arms wrapped about the girl’s waist. Despite having anticipated the attack, Calamity felt herself forced backward by Florence’s weight. Linking her hands under the blonde’s plump midsection, she fell backward. Unable to stop herself, Florence was drawn after the girl. On landing, Calamity’s knees jabbed into the blonde’s upper thighs. Florence felt herself hoisted into the air. Losing her hold on the girl’s waist, she felt herself released and turned a somersault to land on her back.
Rolling over swiftly and rising on one knee, Calamity lunged at Florence. Kneeling astride the woman’s head, she dug her fingers into the other’s left breast. A squeal broke from Florence, but she showed that she knew a trick or two. Bringing up her legs, she snapped them together so that the insides of her knees struck Calamity’s ears. Pain caused the girl to release her hold, rear up and stagger away.
Oblivious of the gunfire that crackled intermittently among the buildings, Florence rolled over and started to rise. As Calamity rushed at her, the blonde shot out a punch. It took the girl in the stomach, halting her and causing a retreat that let the woman stand up. They came together in a flurry of flying fists. There was no skill in either’s attack, only a melee of flailing arms that propelled knuckles into the other’s face, bust, torso, ribs, or missed with equal abandon. For almost a minute the exchange of blows continued. Fists smacked flesh to the accompaniment of gasps, squeals and croaked curses from their recipients. In the course of their slugging, they trampled over Calamity’s whip and gave it no thought.
Abruptly Florence changed her tactics. Blood was running from her nostrils and she snorted them clear as she dug both hands into Calamity’s hair. Taking a firm hold, the blonde stepped backward and pivoted around. Caught by surprise, Calamity was dragged off balance. Releasing the hair, Florence threw but missed with a hay-maker of a blow. Set free, but unable to stop herself, Calamity was propelled down the slope, stumbled and sprawled on her hands and knees. Looking in the direction from which she had come, the girl saw something that sent a chill running through her.
Instead of following Calamity, Florence had bent and snatched up the whip. From all appearances, the blonde knew how to handle it. Maybe not to the girl’s standard, but sufficient for her needs. Advancing, Florence swung the whip and aimed its lash at the redhead. Calamity twisted over, hearing the savage crack and watching the popper churn a groove into the ground where her body had been an instant before. Taking another two strides, Florence tried again. This time Calamity felt the lash bite through her shirt as she rolled. Pain slowed her reactions, preventing her from grabbing at the lash. Yet she knew that she had been lucky. If the popper had caught her,
