by J. T. Edson
Tearing his attention from the Kid, Trinian gave thought to saving Calamity if the Texan failed to reach the lever and halt the carriage. One of the heavy crowbars leaned against the frame supporting the circular saw. Twirling away his Colt, Trinian leaped and caught it up. Already the log’s end was within a foot of the V-toothed blade. Calamity had raised her head and shoulders as far as possible and her face was pale under its tan. Picking up the crowbar, Trinian thrust it into the narrowing gap. Lying across the carriage, the iron bar rode toward the saw.
With the peavey’s hook driving at him, the Kid kicked both of his feet to the front and fell backward. Breaking his fall with his left hand, he felt the wind of the implement’s passing. Carried forward by his momentum, Logger’s feet straddled the Kid’s legs. Bringing up his right boot, the Kid hooked it between Logger’s thighs and behind the man’s rump. Bending his right leg, the Kid heaved at Logger and prevented him from coming to a halt. Then the bowie knife thrust upward. Its point sank into Logger’s body and the blade ripped across to lay open his entire stomach. Blood gushed from the wound, splashing down on the Kid as the stricken man continued to blunder onward. Letting the peavey drop, Logger clutched at his injury and sank first to his knees, then collapsed upon his face.
Rocking backward, the Kid bounded to his feet as soon as Logger had passed above him. Without as much as a glance at the man, the Kid dived forward and gripped the lever. He pushed at it without result, so reversed direction. At his pull, the lever began to move and behind him he heard the sound of the saw biting into the end of the log.
Creeping onward, pushing the crowbar ahead, the log’s end was bitten into by the teeth. Then they struck against the far harder, less yielding material of the crowbar. A hideous screaming ripped the air as the rapidly-spinning blade met the crowbar and shattered teeth sprayed out. Luckily for them, the end of the log shielded Calamity, Trinian and Staff from the flying metal fragments. At first the carriage tried to force the log onward, but the Kid’s operation of the control lever brought it to a stop.
Hurdling Logger’s body, the Kid ran to Calamity. Still pale, showing some of the fear that she had felt, the girl looked sideways at her rescuer. Then she regained control of her emotions and managed to sound her usual self as she spoke.
“What the hell kept you?” she asked.
“Figured you was so comfy I didn’t need to rush,” the Kid answered, starting to sever the rope.
“Get me loose, blast it!” Calamity demanded, sitting up as soon as her torso had been freed.
“I’ll do just that,” promised the Kid, looking at the nails which held the girl’s trouser legs to the log. “Only——”
“Cut the blasted things off!” Calamity insisted hotly. “I’ve got things to do to Flo Eastfi——Behind you, Cash!”
While speaking to the Kid, Calamity had been looking around and a movement at the main doors caught her eye. She saw a shadow fall across it and yelled her warning instinctively. Spinning around, right hand flashing toward his Colt, Trinian found himself face-to-face with Poole. Recognition appeared to be mutual. On his way to tell Florence and Vandor that he had seen a couple of strange horses among the trees, Poole was not expecting trouble. He still reacted with some speed, but not fast enough. Clearing leather, Trinian’s Army Colt crashed. The bullet ripped into Poole’s chest. Spun around, he tumbled out through the door. As he went, his own revolver left its holster and bellowed. Its bullet churned into the ground as he fell.
“That does it!” Trinian growled, going to the door and flattening himself alongside it to look out. “There’ll be more of ’em coming.”
“Wasn’t no other way you could’ve handled it,” the Kid answered.
“Gimme that blasted knife!” Calamity yelled. “Damned if I didn’t figure I’d have to get myself loose.”
Handing the knife to the girl, the Kid caught his rifle, tossed to him by Staff. While the two men joined Trinian at the door, Calamity started to cut the material of first left, then right trouser leg. She had not completed her work 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 too
k 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, 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.”
Appare
ntly 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.
