by J. T. Edson
‘I just aimed to whup you a mite, girlie,’ Olga growled, unfastening her cloak. ‘But now you’ve riled me and I’m going to lick you good.’
On removing the cloak, Olga showed that she had come prepared for a fight, for she wore the outfit used in the ring. Calamity studied the woman, noting the powerful fat legs in black tights, the firm condition of her torso under the upper part, which resembled a man’s sleeveless undershirt, and the muscular state of her arms. There might be fat around Olga’s middle, but under the fat lay hard muscles or Calamity missed her guess.
‘You fixing to tangle with me?’ Calamity asked.
‘If you don’t shoot me first,’ Olga answered.
‘I’ll soon settle that,’ Calamity said, the light of prospective battle glowing in her eyes.
She removed her bandana, a simple precaution for a saloon girl once almost choked her by grabbing it in a brawl, and placed it in the crown of her kepi, putting them under a tree. Next Calamity removed her shirt, figured that if Olga could fight in an undershirt, so should she, and lastly she unfastened the pigging thong and unbuckled her gunbelt, placing it by her hat.
Turning to face Olga, Calamity grinned. ‘Ready or not, here I come!’ she said, then looked at Eileen. ‘Is this how you do your fighting in Boston, with somebody else to take the bruises?’
A flush crept into Eileen’s cheeks. ‘I—I thought you might like to show me how tough you were and I wouldn’t be a match for you.’
‘Which you wouldn’t. But when I’ve whupped the champeen here, I’m going to whale the tar out of you.’
Eileen felt that she deserved the ‘whaling,’ although she doubted if Calamity would be in any condition to do it. Standing under the tree by Calamity’s clothes, Eileen watched the red-head move towards the blonde.
Much to Calamity’s surprise and amusement, Olga adopted the fighting stance used by male boxers of the period. Calamity had tangled with several saloon-girls at different times in her hectic young life, she had never seen one adopt such a posture.
The amusement did not last for long!
Out stabbed Olga’s left fist to crash under Calamity’s unprotected and offered chin. Taken by surprise both by the speed and force of the blow, Calamity went back on her heels. Olga came in fast, her left slugging Calamity in the stomach and folding the gasping girl over to take a right behind the ear. Down went Calamity in a winded, dazed heap on her face, Through the whirling mists that filled her head she heard Eileen and Russian Olga talking.
‘That will be enough, Miss Petrosky.’
‘Like hell. She reckons she’s tough. I aim to see how tough.’
A hand gripped Calamity by the waistbelt and another dug into her hair. She felt herself being dragged along and then dropped. The ice-cold shock of landing face down in the stream drove the mists from her head and she rolled over, sitting up. Standing on the bank, hands on hips and a grin on her face, Russian Olga looked down at Calamity.
‘Had enough. girlie?’
Slowly, Calamity rose, spitting out a mouthful of water. She put up a hand to feel at her chin and winced. Then she climbed from the water and swung a punch which ripped into Olga’s cheek. On the heels of the first, Calamity brought around a second blow, and the blonde staggered back putting up her hands again.
Watched by Eileen. Calamity and Olga slugged it out like two men for almost three minutes. Although Calamity landed good punches, she lacked Olga’s skill and training, which gave the blonde a distinct advantage. Twice Calamity went down and each time, much to her surprise. Olga moved back to let her rise. While on their feet and slugging, Olga’s skill went against her in one way; when she threw a feint to draw Calamity’s guard, the girl ignored it for Calamity had never learned such tactics. Blood trickled from the blonde’s nose and Calamity’s left eye was swelling when Olga sent the girl down for the third time. Rolling on to her face, Calamity tried to force herself up and shook her mist-filled head.
‘Calam. gal!’ she told herself. ‘You’ve got to fight her your style, not her’n, or get the licking of your young life.’
With that in mind Calamity levered herself up into a one-knee crouch. She saw Olga advancing and flung herself forward, head ramming into the blonde’s middle and arms locking around the fat thighs. To the accompaniment of Olga’s gasp of pain, they went backwards and crashed to the ground. Now Calamity held the advantage for Olga was not used to all-in roll-around bar-room fighting. For all that the blonde gave a fair account of herself in. the hair-tearing, thrashing session, but soon she realised it would be to her advantage to be on her feet. Unfortunately, Calamity also understood Olga’s point and determined to keep the fight on the ground.
Eileen watched the fight with growing horror. For the first time she realised just what she had started—although to be fair to her, she had expected to see Calamity decline the challenge or be speedily defeated. Back Bay, Boston, being rather sheltered from the rawer side of life, Eileen had never seen two women fight before and had no conception of how rough they could get. Suddenly scared, she moved forward to try to stop them; which showed a considerable lack of experience on her part.
With Olga trying to rise and Calamity struggling to get her back on the ground, the fighters had almost made their feet when Eileen reached them.
‘Stop it!’ Eileen gasped, trying to push them apart. ‘St—’ Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Calamity swung at its owner, driving her bunched fist into Eileen’s nose. The force of the blow brought a squeal of pain from Eileen and she staggered back. Freed of the hindrance, Calamity hooked a leg behind Olga and tripped her, dropping to kneel astride her. Holding her nose, Eileen howled in fury. Her Back Bay training left her and she became a primeval, hurt woman. Springing forward, she grabbed a double handful of Calamity’s hair and heaved at it. Calamity squealed, feeling as if she was being scalped. Just as she was about to turn and deal with the fresh menace, Olga, bucking wildly to free herself, grabbed hold of Calamity’s waistbelt and prevented Eileen from dragging the red-head from her.
At that moment Molly came on to the scene. What she saw brought her to a shocked and sudden halt. Like Eileen, Molly had been brought up in an area where women fought with catty remarks not fists and Molly made Eileen’s mistake.
‘Eileen, Calam!’ Molly said, running forward and catching Eileen’s arm. ‘Stop it, bot—!’
Releasing Calamity’s hair with the arm Molly held, Eileen thrust the smaller girl away. Then Eileen used the free hand to land a slap that Calamity would remember for some time across the red-head’s ear. Once more Molly came forward and caught the back-hand swing from Eileen’s blow at Calamity. It landed hard enough to stagger Molly back again.
Then Molly changed from a pacifist to an active and enraged belligerent. With a wild squall of pain and fury, she threw herself bodily at Eileen, landing with flailing fists and hair-grabbing fingers. Locked together, Eileen and Molly sprawled over Calamity and went down together. For a Boston-bred officer’s lady and a sedately-reared college-educated New England schoolmarm, Eileen and Molly put on a highly spirited rendition of a hand-scalping bar-room brawl. Nothing fancy like the Calamity Jane—Russian Olga fracas, but fast, lively and with plenty of spirited hair-tearing, slapping, kicking and general female battling tactics.
For almost ten minutes the two separate fights carried on, then the four of them rolled into an unholy mixed-up tangle during which Olga gave Eileen a black eye, Eileen tore one shoulder strap from Olga’s outfit, Calamity completed the destruction of Molly’s blouse and Molly sank her teeth into Calamity’s leg as it waved before her face; all this in addition to whatever they did to their opponents.
Somehow they managed to untangle themselves still fighting the same opponent and Calamity gained a momentary advantage on Olga. A wild-swung punch sent the fat blonde sprawling on her back and Calamity dropped down to sit on Olga’s belly to end the battle.
Whether by accident or a desire to help, Eileen lashed out with a bare foot, sh
e and Molly having lost their shoes earlier. The kick caught Calamity at the side of the head and knocked the girl off balance just as Olga gave a heave. Lurching up, Olga reversed the position by diving on to the dazed Calamity.
Shoving Eileen backwards, Molly was about to attack when she saw Olga knelt on Calamity, one knee on the red-head’s belly and a hand dragging her head up to be hit. Dazedly, Calamity saw what was coming and waited for the end. The blow never came. Instead Olga suddenly let out a screech and jerked backwards, dragged by the double handful of hair Molly held.
Freed from Olga. Calamity started to rise, saw Eileen rushing forward and tackled her around the waist. Down they went and for a couple of minutes got a whole belly-full of dislike out of their systems. Give Boston her due, Calamity thought as they thrashed over and over fighting, she had sand to burn and could sure fight. Nothing fancy mind, but she packed a mean slap, could punch, kick, yank hair and use her knees as good as many a saloon-girl who had had the advantages of a correct upbringing in such matters.
However, Back Bay social life did not compare with western freighting as a training ground for a fight and Calamity would have finished Eileen off had she not seen that Molly needed help.
At first Molly’s speedy, furious attack prevented Olga from doing anything effective, but weight and strength were on the fat blonde’s side. With a heave, Olga threw Molly backwards and started after her. Pure instinct caused Olga to put up her fists boxing style and Calamity knew Molly would stand no chance once Olga started slugging. Leaving Eileen with a slap that knocked her staggering, Calamity headed towards Olga. Linking her fingers, Calamity slugged the fat blonde behind the neck and knocked her sprawling by Molly, then followed to bound on to Olga’s back and bring her down.
Calamity had expected that after the roughing-up Eileen received, the brunette would be only too pleased to get away. Not so. Eileen managed to rise and staggered after Calamity, then swerved and re-tangled with Molly.
Just how it happened none of them would ever know; but Molly caught Eileen by the wrist and swung the girl, meaning to throw her. Instead, Molly retained her hold, swinging right round in a circle, making Eileen stagger on the end of her arms. Once more Molly swung the gasping Eileen around and the sigh gave Calamity an idea. She and Olga were struggling weakly on their feet and she caught the blonde’s wrist then heaved her around in a circle, going the opposite way to Molly.
Gasping in saw-scraping croaks, Molly brought Eileen around again, just missing Olga’s swinging body in passing. Calamity moved a step closer and the two bodies swung towards each other. Olga’s squeal of fear mingled with Eileen’s wail of exhausted realisation and merged in a thud as they collided. On the impact between Back Bay, Boston, and Lower Eastside, New York—from which sprawling slum area Olga originated—New York came off slightly the better. Eileen went down, collapsing backwards and dragging the little blonde after her, Molly falling over Eileen’s body and lying across it. Olga sank to her knees and Calamity threw a punch that caught the fat blonde’s ear and draped her across Molly. Then Calamity staggered and collapsed, falling face down over Olga.
Back Bay socialite, New England schoolmarm, New York lady pugilist and western female freighter lay in a pile on the ground. A philosopher once said that war was a great leveller and from the look of the girls he spoke the truth.
Almost a minute passed before any of the girls showed any sign of getting up. Apart from a little involuntary movement of arms and legs, they lay still, until as last Calamity levered herself on to her knees, then managed to rise. Looking down, she saw Molly weakly attempting to rise but falling due to the weight on top of her. Reaching down. Calamity gripped the still motionless Olga’ and rolled the fat blonde from Molly. The little schoolmarm came up trying to fight and Calamity caught her by the wrists, steering her to the edge of the stream.
Reaction flooded over Molly and she started to cry hysterically, but Calamity splashed cold water over her and the sobs died off.
‘Easy, gal,’ Calamity said.
‘Wh-what happened?’ gasped Molly.
‘We licked ‘em is what,’ grinned Calamity. ‘Let’s go wake the sleeping beauties, shall we?’
Anything less beautiful than Eileen and Olga would have been hard to imagine as they lay side by side, half naked, bruised, bloody and with their hair in matted tangles over their faces. Not that Calamity and Molly could feel superior for they were in no better condition.
Dragging first Olga then Eileen to the edge of the stream, Calamity dumped them into the water. While she bathed her face and torso, Calamity watched the two women recover and sit up gasping.
‘If you want any more.’ she told them, ‘my pard and I’ll be pleased to hand it to you.’
‘I’ve had enough!’ Olga gasped, much to Molly’s relief, for the little blonde did not relish the thought of another fight.
Or did she? Much to her amazement Molly found herself thinking that the fight had been exciting. In it she worked off a number of frustrations and petty inhibitions which had troubled her all the way West.
‘How about you. Boston?’ asked Calamity, but for once the name did not come out as a sneer.
For a few seconds Eileen could not speak, she managed to catch her breath and nodded her head, agreeing she was satisfied with the result.
‘Get my medicine bag, Molly,’ Calamity said, helping Olga then Eileen out of the water. ‘Hey, Boston, you was right, I do need it.’
Taking the bag from Molly, Calamity extracted a horn of the type usually employed to carry gunpowder. She shook some powder from it on to her palm and sniffed the grains up her blood-trickling nostril. Tipping some more out, she offered it to Molly.
‘Sniff her up, Molly, gal,’ ‘she ordered. ‘It’s that powdered witch-hazel leaves I told you about.’
All four nose-bleeds were treated with powdered witch-hazel and Calamity turned her attention to the other injuries. She found a balsam fir and punctured one of the bark blisters then smeared the gum on a nick upon her cheek and over a gash on her arm.
‘You’d best let me put some on that nick on your forehead, Boston,’ she said; turning to the others.
‘Thanks, Calam,’ Eileen replied.
Not until she had treated the gash did Calamity realise what’ Eileen had called her. A grin came to her face and she held out her hand. ‘Friends, Eileen?’
‘Friends, Calam, only make it Boston.’
For the rest of the time—and it covered twenty years—Eileen was on the Great Plains country, she was affectionately known by all who met her as ‘Boston.’
‘How about you, champeen?’ asked Calamity after attending to Eileen’s cut.
With a bitter frown on her face, Olga allowed Calamity to apply the gum to her minor abrasions. It hurt the woman to think that a kid had whipped her in a fight. From a mercenary point of view, she knew that her boss would not hesitate to offer Calamity a place in the troupe when he heard. Olga held her position as boss’s favourite because none of the other girls could displace her, but that would soon change should Calamity become a member.
‘Whooee, gal!’ Calamity said, smearing gum on a scratch on Olga’s back. ‘I see how you got to be champeen. I tell you, Olga, if Molly there hadn’t helped me, and I’d stayed on my feet instead of rough-housing, you’d’ve whipped me for sure.’
Apart from the piece about Molly’s aid, Calamity spoke the, truth and her words relieved the bitterness Olga felt.
‘How’d you like to be a fist-fighter?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t, if it meant tangling with gals near-on as tough as you,’ Calamity replied and she saw Eileen wink. It appeared her words had not fooled the officer’s lady at all.
‘We’d best get back to camp, I think.’ Eileen said.
‘Oh my lord!’ Molly gasped, staring at Eileen and Olga’s tattered clothing, and knowing she was not more completely attired. ‘How can we get to camp like this?’
‘It’ll be dark afore we get ther
e,’ Calamity replied. ‘We’ll sneak in and get into me ‘n’ Boston’s wagon, then see about getting clothes for you two. What’s wrong, Boston?’
Eileen had been touching her blackened and puffed-up left eye with a delicate forefinger. Giving a wince, she replied, ‘Can’t our native medicine woman do any thing for a shiner?’
‘A lump of beef-steak’d help, which same we can get back to the camp,’ Calamity replied, then looked at the other girls’ battle-marked faces. ‘It’ll fix ‘em a mite, but we’ll sure as hell cause some talk when folks see us in the, morning.’
oooOooo
* Told in ‘Quiet Town’ by J. T. Edson.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MISS CANARY HANDS OUT ADVICE
‘GOOD morning, Mrs. Tra—’ Dobe Killem began as Eileen limped stiffly towards the camp fire after coming up from the river. Then his words trailed off as he saw her face. Fine poker player though he was, Killem could not prevent his surprise showing as he studied the condition of her face.
‘I walked into a door, Dobe,’ Eileen said and put a hand to her temple. ‘Ooh! Must the cook make so much noise?’
Yet it was not her usual imperious complaining. From the slight scraping noise being objected about and Eileen’s obvious headache, Killem might have suspected a hangover, but that could not be in her case—or could it?
Just then Calamity came up, throwing a towel into the wagon as she passed and Killem found his day for surprises instead of ending had only just begun. Taking in Calamity’s battle-scarred features and adding them to Eileen’s fist-marked face, he reckoned there must have been the expected explosion between them—No, that could not be. That hoity-toity Boston gal could never have marked up Calamity in such a manner, and yet the signs showed plain enough.
‘I bumped into two doors,’ growled Calamity before her boss could ask the questions buzzing in his head. ‘Now get the hell out of my way and let me at the coffee. Hey, Boston, pour out a cup for a gal.’
