instead of higher up the lash, it would have bitten deep into her flesh. While painful, the section that struck her merely raised a weal across her back.
Again the lash hissed and drove a burning sensation through the girl. She rolled over and found herself at the edge of the gorge. Looking back, she knew that she was in even greater danger. Florence had not come closer, so the distance separating them was just right for Calamity to receive the full impact of the popper when the next attack was delivered. Back rose the blonde’s arm, the long lash following its movement with sinuous grace.
In the sawmill, the Kid and Trinian heard the first crack of Calamity’s whip and saw Florence’s horse departing without a rider. Their place at the door prevented them from witnessing what was going on at the front of the cabin, but the Kid could guess at Calamity’s next actions.
“We’d best stop them gun-slicks horning in while ole Calam hands that Eastfield gal her needings,” the Kid suggested.
“Let’s do just that,” Trinian agreed, glancing at Staff’s body.
Holding his rifle in what soldiers called the “high port” position of readiness, the Kid stepped from the building. Trinian followed him and they were about to go along to the front when Torp and another of Florence’s hands came around the corner. Holding revolvers, the sawmill pair slammed to a halt and stared at their intended victims. They had believed that Trinian and the Kid were by the front entrance and finding otherwise handed them a hell of a shock.
Down swiveled the Kid’s rifle, lining at Torp from hip level. Four times, so fast that the detonations sounded like the rolling of a drum, the Winchester spat out lead that ripped through Torp’s body. Although the man got off a shot as he was thrown backward, the bullet drove into the wall above the Kid’s head. Sidestepping, Trinian moved clear of the Kid and cut loose with his Army Colt. He sent a .44 ball into the second hard-case’s head before the other recovered from the surprise.
“Get back inside!” barked the Kid, seeing the barrel of a rifle poke around the corner of one of the store cabins.
Spinning on his heel, Trinian leaped into the sawmill. He missed death by inches as a man fired at him from the main entrance. Although his Colt barked in reply, the bullet missed and the man retreated uninjured. Coming in on Trinian’s heels, the Kid suggested that they should keep the double doors covered.
“Sure,” the rancher agreed, starting across the building. “I don’t know how many of ’em’s left, but they’re all gunhands.”
“Here,” the Kid said, taking his right hand from the Winchester to draw his Dragoon and offer it to Trinian. “You might need some extra bullets quicker’n you can reload.”
“Thanks,” Trinian replied, accepting the revolver in his left hand.
On reaching the front entrance, they saw the man who had exchanged shots with Trinian diving through the door of the nearest cabin. Darting across the open space to reach the farther side of the entrance, Trinian heard two bullets split the air above him.
“One of ’em’s in the cookshack and t’other’s laid alongside that third cabin,” the Kid announced, then grinned as he looked to where the two women were slugging it out near the gorge. “With them tangled up close, Eastfield’s bunch won’t chance trying to hit Calam.”
Apparently the three gunslingers agreed with the Kid. Ignoring their boss’ predicament, they began to bombard the entrance of the sawmill. The hail of bullets caused the Texan and Trinian to duck inside and they did not see Calamity thrown down the incline or Florence’s use of the whip.
“The gal’s’ve gone,” the Kid said after an ineffectual if lengthy trading of shots. “Let’s load up, then I’ll go through the side door and to the Eastfield cabin. That way we’ll have ’em in a crossfire.”
“It’d be best,” Trinian agreed. “If we can nail another one, his pards won’t be so eager to keep fighting.”
While Trinian went through the slow process of recharging his Army Colt’s chambers with paper combustible cartridges and replaced the used percussion caps, the Kid fed metal-case bullets through the loading slot of his Winchester. Holding a fully loaded rifle, the Kid wondered how Calamity was faring.
Even as the whip’s lash snaked in her direction, Calamity knew what she must do. Swinging her legs around, she lowered herself over the edge of the gorge. Dirt flew into her face as the popper hit the ground between her hands. Spluttering, she let go and dropped about twelve feet on to the path that ascended the face. On landing, she pressed herself against the rock. At that point there was a slight overhang to hide her from Florence. Fighting to hold down the sound of her breathing, Calamity stood with her face and body flattened to the wall.
“It’s no good hiding, Canary!” Florence’s voice warned from above. “I can still get to you.”
With that the blonde swung the whip, its lash curling down over the contours of the wall. Calamity gritted her teeth to prevent as much as a gasp leaving her as the leather bit into her back. Again the whip cracked and she saw the lash strike the wall to her left. Like a flash she turned and grabbed it in both hands. Bracing herself, she tugged hard. Taken unawares, Florence gave a startled yell. She knew that she could not prevent herself going over, so jumped. Releasing the whip’s handle, she landed on the edge of the path. For a moment she teetered and then slipped. Grabbing wildly, she managed to hook her arms over the edge and dangle from it.
Once again Calamity discarded her whip, then walked toward Florence. Kneeling, the girl obtained a double- handed hold on the blonde hair and hauled the woman upward. Florence squealed and mouthed curses at the pain that it caused. Hooking her right leg on to the path, Florence made sure that she would not fall. Then she drove her right fist into Calamity’s left breast. Releasing the hair with a croak of agony, Calamity staggered backward.
During the brief seconds Calamity required to shake off the worst effects of the blow, Florence regained the path and stood up. Neither of them gave a thought to the whip, but came together in a fist-swinging rush. After exchanging wild blows, they closed in a tight clinch and locked their arms around each other in a double bear hug. Trying to trip Florence, Calamity slid her right leg between the blonde’s meaty thighs and behind her left knee. At the same moment, the woman duplicated the move. Balancing precariously as they crushed breast to breast at each other, they tilted over. Still enmeshed in each other’s grasp, they crashed to the path on their sides. The impact broke their holds and Florence rolled Calamity over, kneeling astride her and driving her hands at her face. Calamity jerked her head forward, closing her teeth on the base of Florence’s right forefinger. With a screech, the blonde pulled back and Calamity pitched her over.
Landing on top, Calamity tied into Florence in a savage, unthinking tangle. For over two minutes they turned, pitched and rolled on the path. Sometimes they were face-to-face, then one behind the other, or head to foot—all the while ripping, biting, tearing, punching, kneeing, kicking and clawing. During the mindless brawl, Calamity’s shirt was torn off and Florence lost her blouse.
Just how it happened, neither woman could tell; but they made their feet with Florence behind Calamity and holding her in a full Nelson. Arms hooked under Calamity’s and fingers interlaced behind her neck, Florence saw her chance. Gasping in breaths of air with a sound like a saw rasping into wood, the blonde began to push Calamity toward the wall of the gorge.
When all their weapons were fully loaded, the Kid nodded to Trinian and crossed to the side door. Reaching it, he made a discovery that changed his plan of campaign. Vandor was not dead and, as the Kid appeared, was already riding his horse out of sight behind Florence’s cabin.
Nicked by one of Staff’s bullets, Vandor had been stunned. On his recovery and return to conscious thought, he had reached a rapid decision on what to do next. Going by the shooting that he heard, some of his companions were alive and fighting. Not that he meant to go and help them. The Canary girl had escaped, so Vandor could expect no mercy from her rescuers should he fall into their hands. If he knew Florence, she would already be riding at all speed for the safety of Burwell. Catching up with her and reaching the town offered him his only hope of salvation. With that in mind, he had retrieved his Smith & Wesson, collected his horse and set it moving.
The Kid recognized a threat to Calamity. If Vandor laid hands on her, the girl would make a useful hostage. So the Kid stepped through the door, meaning to go after the man. A bullet from the end of the third cabin hissed by his face and caused his hurried return to the building.
“Vandor’s getting away, Cash!” the Kid yelled. “I’m going after him.”
“Go to it,” the rancher answered. “I’ll cover you.”
Instead of trying to leave by the side door, the Kid went to the rear entrance. If he must run the gauntlet through the fire of the men in the cabins, he aimed to do it Comanche fashion. A shrill whistle left the Kid’s lips. Hearing it, his white stallion loped swiftly up the slope. Running to meet his horse, the Texan took off in a bound that landed him afork the saddle without touching the stirrups or reins looped around the horn. Rifle in his right hand, he urged the stallion to a better speed and prayed that he would be in time to save Calamity.
