Calamity twisted on to the top of Ella, trying to bang the black head against the ground. Not that Calamity stayed on top for long. Over and over the two girls rolled and thrashed. Neither showed any kind of skill, or gave a thought to anything more scientific than clawing hair, swinging wild slaps and punches or biting at first.
Nor did the situation improve for almost three minutes. Then, how it happened neither girl could say, they found themselves on their feet. Ella stood behind Calamity, arms locked around the redhead and pinning Calamity’s own arms to her sides. Just what advantage Ella aimed to take from the situation is hard to say. She retained her hold and crushed on the red-head, but could do little more. Gasping in fury more than pain, Calamity lashed backward, her heels landing on Ella’s shins hard enough to make the other girl yelp and loosen her hold a little. Then, Calamity clasped her hands together, forcing outward against Ella’s grip with her elbows and sucking in a deep breath. Suddenly Calamity exhaled and felt the encircling arms relax their grip. Before Ella could tighten again, Calamity twisted slightly and rammed back with her elbow, driving it into the other girl’s stomach.
Giving a croaking gasp, Ella lost her hold and stumbled back. Jumping in to attack again, Calamity discovered that the other girl was far from beaten. Ella’s left hand shot out, driving the fist full into Calamity’s face, then the right whipped across to connect with the other girl’s jaw. Staggering, Calamity caught her balance just in time to meet Ella’s rush.
For over ten minutes the girls put up a hell of a fight. They used fists, elbows, feet, knees, punching, slapping, kicking, pushing and shoving. Twice they rolled over Calamity’s Colt without giving it a glance or thought. However, Calamity slowly gained the upper hand. Her normal working life offered greater advantages in the matter of staying fit and strong than did Ella’s career in the saloon.
Gasping in exhaustion, her shirt torn open and minus one sleeve, Calamity landed a punch which sent the sobbing, exhausted Ella sprawling to the ground. Calamity stumbled forward. Through the mists which roared around her, Calamity heard horses approaching. She came to a halt and started to look at the newcomers. That look nearly cost her the fight. Ella had come to her feet, swaying and barely able to stand. Yet she still swung a wild punch that ought to have flattened Calamity; only it missed the red-head by a good two inches. Once more Calamity’s instincts came to her aid. Ignoring the two men who rode toward her, she turned and lashed out with all she had. In missing, Ella staggered forward and walked full into the punch Calamity threw. It clocked like two rocks cracking together as they fell down a cliff, Ella shot sideways, landing face down and lying still. Weakly Calamity followed the saloonkeeper up and dropped to her knees by the still shape.
“Ease off, Calam!” Danny yelled, leaping from his horse and running to where Calamity rolled the unconscious Ella over. “She’s done!”
“Know something?” Calamity gasped. “I’m not much better myself.”
Five minutes later Calamity recovered enough to tell Danny what had happened. Ella sat moaning on the ground to one side and Calamity looked at Danny with a wry grin as he said:
“I’d swear you let her jump you and get your gun just so you could fight.”
“Shucks,” grinned Calamity. “Can’t a gal have any fun at all?”
Chapter 15 CLEAN UP IN CASPAR COUNTY
AT NINE O’CLOCK ON THURSDAY MORNING, DANNY Fog stood before the desk in the Caspar County Sheriff’s office and looked at Simmonds. The young Ranger had not shaved and looked tired after a night without sleep. Once Calamity patched up her own and Ella’s injuries, Danny took them back to Bowie Rock. There he found Stocker to be in a most cooperative mood and from the rancher learned all he needed to know to make sure he could smash the cow stealing in Caspar County forever. Once Danny knew everything, he left Stirton’s party to bring in the prisoners and rode ahead. In Caspar City he visited the sheriff’s office to offer the local law enforcement officers the chance of winding up the affair.
“And that’s how it was, Sheriff,” Danny said, finishing his explanation of why he came to Caspar County and what he had achieved. “Ella Watson suckered the cowhands into stealing for her. Then she took the money paid to them back out of their pockets in the saloon. Stocker got all eager to help and talked up a storm.”
“Where’d he hide the stolen stuff?” asked Deputy Clyde Bucksteed, an attentive listener to the Ranger’s story. “I was out with the ranchers when they went over the Bradded S range and we never saw hide nor hair of any stolen cattle.”
“You just didn’t know where to look,” Danny explained. “There’s a hidden valley, got good water and decent grazing in it. You can only get in through a tunnel at the back of a cave the ranchers probably never bothered to search. They’d figure the cattle couldn’t be inside, I reckon, so they missed finding the hideout.”
“How’d they get rid of the stolen stuff?” inquired the sheriff, showing interest for the first time.
“The agent at the Kaddo Reservation bought it from them. Got it at cheaper than the market price.”
“You should have told me you was a Ranger,” Simmonds complained. “Sounds like you didn’t trust me.”
“Figured I’d work better alone,” Danny replied. “There’s only one thing left to do now.”
“What’s that?” grunted Simmonds.
“Go to the Cattle Queen and pick up Soskice and Ed Wren.”
A look of worry came to the sheriff’s face. “I don’t figure this’s any of my fuss, Ranger. You come here without asking, played things as they suited you. Don’t rightly see that I should tangle with a feller like Ed Wren just to please you.”
“Won’t come, huh?” asked Danny.
“Can’t see my way to doing it,” Simmonds replied.
“Then I’ll take them alone.”
Turning, Danny walked toward the office’s front door. Clyde Bucksteed watched the Ranger and an admiring look came to his face. Slowly Clyde lifted his left hand to touch the badge he wore. In that moment Clyde Bucksteed changed from an office-filler, holding down his position because of his relationship with the sheriff, and became a man.
“I’m with you, Ranger,” he said and followed Danny from the room.
Just as they stepped from the office, a man came racing his horse toward them. Seeing how excited the newcomer appeared to be, the two young lawmen halted and waited to see what caused the man’s haste.
“I just found that pedlar, Jacobs. He’s lying out there ’bout a mile from town. Somebody shot him in the back. From the look of his wagon, feller who done it was after his money.”
“How about it, Ranger?” Clyde asked.
“Let’s go see Wren first. We might save ourselves some work,” Danny answered. “Jacobs sold me out to Ella Watson, but he’d sold her to Cap’n Murat first and I reckon she sent Wren after him.”
“Best go see him then,” said the deputy.
“Sure had,” Danny agreed. “Let’s go.”
Before they had taken three steps along the street, both saw the batwing doors of the saloon open. Wren, Soskice and one of the bouncers walked out, all wearing guns. While Soskice remained standing on the sidewalk, Wren and the bouncer stepped out, moving across the street.
“What’re you wanting, Forgrave?” Soskice called.
“You and Wren. We caught Stocker last night and he told us everything.”
“So now you plan to arrest me,” the lawyer went on.
“That’s about the size of it,” Danny said, not breaking his stride.
“How about it, Mr. Wren?” asked the lawyer, a sneer playing on his lips.
“He’ll have to pass me first,” Wren replied.
“My brother managed it easy enough that time in Granite City,” Danny said quietly, watching Wren’s face and leaving the handling of the bouncer to Clyde.
For an instant the confident sneer left Wren’s face and he stared at the tall, blond young Ranger.
“Your brother?” croaked Wren and Danny detected a worried note in the hired killer’s voice.
“My brother, Wren. My name’s Danny Fog.”
In that moment the scene came back before Wren’s eyes. He was standing with the two men who hired him, looking at the Rocking H wagon and three cowhands who flanked it. The small, blond man on the big paint stallion
