buxom women tore into each other with flying fists, grabbing fingers, kicking feet, oblivious of everything except for their dislike of the other and desire to injure her as badly as possible.
While Calamity would have liked to stay through the fight and enjoy what looked like being a hell of a brawl, she knew time would not permit her to do so. Letting the two women become fully engrossed in their hair-yanking brawl, Calamity headed for the door and left the room. She ran along the passage and into her own quarters, closing its door behind her. Even while running along the passage, Calamity had been stripping off the cheap jewellery. In the room, she jerked off her dress and kicked aside her shoes. Opening the cupboard door, Calamity lifted out the grip in which she brought her spare saloon-girl clothing.
Before Calamity left Austin, a saddler worked all night to fit a false bottom into the grip. Reaching into the apparently empty grip, Calamity pulled up the cover of the false bottom and lifted out her normal clothing. The loss of her Derringer did not worry her, for her gunbelt, Navy Colt and bull whip all lay in the hidden cavity and Calamity had managed to keep the gun clean even while working in the saloon.
Outside Calamity’s room voices sounded. She could guess what had happened. Hearing the sounds of the fight between Phyl and Maisie, the other girls were coming up to investigate. Moving fast, Calamity drew on her shirt, then pulled the levis pants on over her stockings. Her kepi and moccasins came next, then she slung on the gunbelt and when she thrust the bull whip into her waistband, she felt at ease for the first time since accepting this chore.
Most of the girls stood in the passage outside Phyl and Maisie’s room and from the sounds beyond the door there had been little easing of the fight. One of the chattering, excited girls happened to glance in Calamity’s direction, then gave a yell which brought every eye to the transformed redhead. None of the girls made a move, but Dora scowled and opened her mouth.
“The name’s Calamity Jane, gals,” Calamity announced before Dora could say a word. “I’m working with the Rangers to bust up this cow stealing and I’ve no fuss with any of you.”
Most of the girls had nothing to lose by the wrecking of the cow stealing organization and anyway that bull whip looked a damned sight too dangerous for them to start arguing. However, Dora still hated Calamity for the humiliation handed out on the red-head’s arrival. Now she saw a chance to take her revenge.
“Get he——!” she began.
Once more Dora was interrupted. Mousey did not know for sure what was happening, or why her friend Marty dressed in men’s clothes and claimed to be Calamity Jane. All the little blonde knew was that she now had a good chance to tangle with Dora and put Calamity’s self-defense lessons into use. Catching Dora by the arm, Mousey turned her and brought across a punch which staggered the bigger blonde back across the passage.
“Why you——” Dora hissed.
Down went Mousey’s head and she charged, ramming Dora full in the middle of the body. In her childhood, Mousey lived hard and still had strong little muscles. These, backed by the lessons Calamity gave her, enabled her to tangle with Dora and make the bigger girl believe a bobcat had jumped her.
“Sic her, Mousey!” Calamity whooped. “And use your fists like I taught you.”
The other girls let Calamity depart unhindered. Unlike Mousey, Dora had never been popular, so the girls saw no reason to halt what shaped up to be a good fight; especially as Mousey appeared to be getting the best of it.
Wally Stirton, boss of the Rafter O, his men and the other customers gathered at the foot of the stairs, listening to the screeches, yells and other sounds of female brawling which drifted down. Then the men stared as Calamity came into sight and ran down the stairs toward them.
“What the hell?” Stirton growled. “Hey Marty——”
“Get your boys on their hosses and lend me a mount, Wally,” Calamity interrupted. “We’ve a chance to bust up the cow stealing.”
Give him his due, Stirton threw off his surprise and got moving without wasting time or asking fool questions. He and his men headed for the door on Calamity’s heels and the girl told him her true identity, also of Danny’s danger.
“Lanky’s out back with one of the gals,” Stirton drawled as they left the saloon. “Take his dun, Mar— Calamity.”
At that moment the sheriff and his deputy came running along the street. Calamity did not give them time to start asking questions, but pointed to the saloon and yelled, “There’s a fight upstairs, Sheriff!”
Then she and the Rafter O men hit their saddles. Before the sheriff could ask any of the questions which boiled up inside him, the entire bunch went racing out of town. In the lead Calamity told Stirton to head for Bowie Rock. She rode as never before. Knowing it to be a race against time—with Danny Fog and Tommy Fayne’s lives hanging in the balance.
Chapter 14 IT WON’T WORK THIS TIME, ELLA
DANNY FOG AND TOMMY FAYNE HAD ONE ADVANTAGE over Stocker and Schatz when Ella Watson screamed out her warning. The two young men knew they were fakes and both expected trouble as soon as they heard the rapidly approaching horse coming from the direction of town.
Even though Danny could not figure out how Ella discovered his secret, he wasted no time in idle speculation. Already he held a Colt in his right hand for he had never professed to be real fast with a gun and knew he could not match Stocker in a straight draw-and-shoot fracas. Even as the rancher heard the words, let out a startled curse and grabbed for his gun, Danny went into action.
“Yeeah!” Danny yelled and fired a shot into the air.
Never the most stable and easily handled of animals, even less so when newly branded and being held against their will during the night hours, the longhorns needed little encouragement to spook and take to running. All twenty head heard the yell and crash of the shot, then they went to running—straight at Stocker and Schatz. While a longhorn could be handled, under normal conditions, safely enough from the back of a horse, that did not apply right then. Both rancher and segundo took one look at the wild-eyed, charging animals and jumped their horses clear of the rush of scared longhorns.
Cattle streamed by Stocker as he threw two shots at Danny. Shooting from the back of a horse had never been noted as an aid to accuracy, especially when using instinctive alignment, so the bullets missed the Ranger. Danny fired in return—only he took the extra split-second to raise his Colt shoulder high and use the sights, and his
Tommy had drawn his Colt even as Danny started the cattle running. Often Tommy daydreamed about becoming involved in a gun fight and now he found himself tangled in a real shooting match. Buck-ague sent rippling shivers of excitement through the youngster and his hand shook at he threw up the Colt. Guns roared and Tommy heard a flat “splat!” sound which he failed to recognize as the cry of a close-passing bullet for he had never heard one before. He saw the bulky shape of Schatz charging at him and shooting as he came. Only the fact that Schatz handled his gun with his left hand saved Tommy from death. Three times the burly man fired, his lead coming closer with each successive explosion.
Pure instinct guided Tommy’s hand. He lined his Colt, feeling his horse fiddle-footing nervously under him and guessing the movement helped to save his life. Tommy never remembered firing his Colt. All he knew was that the gun roared and bucked against his palm. Next moment Schatz tilted backward, sending a bullet into the air, and went down from his horse, landing under the feet of Tommy’s mount and letting the gun fall from his hand.
Tossing his leg over the
“Don’t shoot, Ranger!” he yelled. “I’m done. Hold your fire.”
The rancher appeared to be making more noise than one would expect; or so Danny decided. With every
