by J. T. Edson
‘Mig Santiago will be annoyed to have missed this,’ Giselle remarked, after Dusty had sat down and exchanged greetings.
Any comment the small Texan might have considered making on the subject of the Mexican’s departure, under pressure from his financially embarrassed gang, went unsaid. The low hum of conversation died away around the room. Every head swung to stare at Belle as she strolled through the batwing doors.
True to her promise, the lady outlaw had left off her gunbelt and boots. Missing too were the Stetson and her jacket. She made an attractive picture in her moccasins, riding breeches as tight as a second skin, shirt with its sleeves rolled up and hands covered by thin black leather gloves.
Posted to keep watch for Belle, a girl on the balcony darted away. When Emma came slinking gracefully down the stairs, the way in which she was clothed threatened to overshadow the black-haired beauty’s appearance. The blonde wore nothing but a brief, lace-trimmed white bodice, black silk tights and high-heeled slippers with pompoms on the toes. Showing her unadorned hands, she drew on a pair of white gloves. Then, in a silence that could almost be felt, she advanced to the centre of the area in front of the bar which had been cleared of tables and chairs to make room for the anticipated battle.
‘I’ll set up drinks all round after I’ve handed her her needings, folks,’ Belle announced, moving towards Emma like a great cat stalking its prey.
‘If she licks me,’ the blonde countered, ‘I’ll give drinks to the house all night.’
That was all the conversation carried out. Warily the two gorgeous creatures circled each other. Suddenly Belle whipped her arm right back and swung her open palm in a roundhouse slap to Emma’s left cheek. It cracked with a sharp, vicious sound, snapping the blonde’s head around and bringing an involuntary squeak of pain. For all that, Emma responded almost immediately by whipping out first one hand, then the other. The explosive smacks of her palms against Belle’s face rang out loud. Eager to follow up her advantage, the blonde crowded forward with arms flailing. Bewildered by the onslaught, Belle was forced to retreat. Excited yells rose from the crowd. Men and women came to their feet, moving to form a wall of humanity around the open space in which the girls were tangling.
Desperate to halt the stinging punishment, Belle suddenly entwined her fingers into Emma’s blonde tresses. She backed off a long stride, hauling the saloonkeeper’s head down and throwing up her knee. An experienced bar room brawler, Emma had known what to expect. Swiftly she folded her arms in front of her face and Belle’s knee struck them. Although the blonde had saved herself from serious damage, the impact snapped her erect. Belle had retained her hold on Emma’s hair, so the pain caused by the halting of her head’s upwards movement ripped into the blonde. Letting out a screech, Emma sank both hands deep into Belle’s free-flowing black hair. She jerked and twisted at the ensnared locks with deliberate fury, only to have Belle reply in a similar manner.
Lurching from side to side, their heads bobbing and shaking with the violence they put into the hair-yanking, the girls also staggered back and forwards a few steps at a time. They clung determinedly to each other’s hair, looking as if they desired to hand-scalp each other. Forehead to forehead, they panted and grunted, striving all the time to retain their balance on wide spread legs.
It could not last. With a final wrench bringing squeaks of agony, almost as if by mutual consent, they jerked free their hands and went into a clinch. For a few seconds they tussled on their feet. Then Belle managed to twist away and drag Emma over her buttocks. Turning a somersault, the blonde went to the floor. However, she had clung on to Belle and the outlaw followed her. Curling over in mid-air, Belle lit down on her back.
Rolling over swiftly, Emma writhed until her open thighs made an arch over Belle’s head and her knees held the outlaw’s arms pinned to the floor. Bending forward, the blonde thrust her fingers on to the trapped girl’s bust. With the pain knifing into her, Belle supported herself on her bent left leg, and, lifting her rump from the unyielding planks, jerked her right knee hard against the top of the blonde’s forward tilted skull. The blow caused Emma to remove her fingers from the sensitive region and lurch away.
Snatching her arms from beneath Emma’s knees, Belle rolled into a sitting position. She turned just in time to meet the blonde’s diving attack. Bust to bust, fingers again ripping at hair, they pitched full length on the floor. Belle’s legs were doubled under her, but she managed to writhe them free. A sudden heave brought the outlaw on top, both hands tugging outwards at hanks of blonde hair. Shrieking in torment, Emma tried to bow her body upwards. Her left hand lost its grip on Belle’s hair. Scrabbling for a fresh hold, she grasped the open neck of Belle’s shirt. A fresh surge of pain from the tortured locks of hair caused Emma to wrench savagely at the garment. Buttons popped and, dragged out of Belle’s breeches, the shirt split open down its front.
Angered by the damage to her clothing, Belle released the hair. Wriggling until her right knee rammed against Emma’s abdomen, she sought for revenge. Drawn down around her right bicep, the shirt did not entangle her arms sufficiently to inconvenience her. Laying her right hand on Emma’s face, she pressed the blonde’s head to the floor. Greedily the outlaw’s left fist clamped on the front of the bodice, tugging and pulling until the flimsy material came apart from décolleté to waist.
Almost unseated by Emma’s furious struggles, Belle advanced to sit astride her shoulders. Transferring her hand to the side of the blonde’s head, she drew back the other fist ready to pound Emma’s face. At the table, Dusty wondered if he should intervene. To do so might bring about his death, for the wildly excited crowd would expect to see the fight through to a decisive victory for one or the other girl. Yet, held down in such a way, Emma might suffer serious damage at the hands of her enraged rival. Before he could reach a decision, Dusty saw Emma was shouting something. Although the noisy acclaim of the spectators prevented the small Texan from catching the words, Belle obviously heard them.
Instead of pummeling the blonde’s face to a bloody ruin, the outlaw’s fist held back. Like a flash, Emma braced her feet and head against the floor. Up curved her body, with a force that flung Belle forward and away from her. Rolling on to her stomach as Belle landed face down, Emma plunged on to the outlaw’s back. For several seconds, the blonde remained on top. With her thighs squirming to hold down Belle’s legs, the blonde hooked her left arm under and around the other’s throat while her right alternately punched the trapped head and tore away the remains of the shirt.
Screeching and struggling with the strength of rage-filled desperation, Belle contrived to roll on to her right side. The arm was still about her neck and the blonde’s legs, the knees showing whitely through the ruptured silk of the tights, straddled her hips. While Belle’s right arm attempted to drag Emma away by the hair, her left fingers raked ineffectively at the blonde’s ribs to complete the destruction and removal of the bodice.
Oblivious of her naked torso, Emma fought on. So did Belle. Losing her chokehold, the blonde allowed the outlaw to reach a sitting position. Then, sitting up herself, she wrapped her legs in a scissor grip about Belle’s bare midsection. Gasping as the crushing pressure bit at her, Belle clawed at Emma’s upper leg in a futile effort at escaping. Tilting sideways and resting on her left elbow, the saloonkeeper slammed her clenched right hand into the centre of the outlaw’s face. Blood trickled from Belle’s nostril^. Mouthing croaks of pain, Belle took her hands from Emma’s right leg. She put them to better use by grabbing hold of and crushing at the blonde’s jutting bare right breast. Emma’s scream rang out loud. Lifting her right leg, she shoved up with the left to try to dislodge her tormentress. Such was
Belle’s relief at the end of the scissors that she released her own hold and rolled away.
Dragging themselves to their feet, the girls stood for a moment to regain something of their energy. Then they rushed at each other with fists flying. Wildly propelled knuckles impacted on faces, busts, st
omachs, or missed as chance dictated. Coming in close to try to minimize the punishment being inflicted, they went into a mindless tangle of primitive, unscientific wrestling. Arms, legs, elbows, hands and feet were used indiscriminately and teeth brought into play. Emma was bare-footed, her tights in ribbons, while Belle had lost one moccasin and her other leg showed where the breeches’ seam had split. Six times they made their feet and went down, while the crowds screamed itself hoarse, encouraging them to further efforts.
On the seventh time of rising, the girls clutched at one another’s throats and held on with a choking grip. Reddish blotches showed around their fingers as the digits gouged into sweat-sodden flesh. Guttural sounds broke from them. Although fairly evenly matched, Emma had a slight weight advantage. Not much, but enough in their present condition. Slowly she bore Belle backwards, but without causing the other to let go.
In an attempt to free herself, Belle slid her legs between Emma’s spread-apart feet and lowered her rump to the floor. And found she had made a serious mistake. She was sitting with the back almost touching the dais on which, at other times, the band played. Before she could rectify the situation, Belle was trapped. Spreading open her thighs, Emma lunged to kneel on the dais and crush Belle against it.
Realizing the consequences of failure, Belle put all her strength into a desperate effort. Bracing her shoulders against the dais, she thrust forward. Finding herself being tilted off balance, the blonde tried to spring to the rear. Landing awkwardly, she sat down hard. Lurching upright, Belle swung around her right leg. The sole of the bare foot slammed against the side of Emma’s jaw. As she fell backwards, Belle stumbled away.
Sobbing with exhaustion, the outlaw turned to defend herself. She saw Emma lying supine, right leg bent, right hand clasped on her forehead and left arm stretched out limply. Calling on her last dregs of energy, Belle returned to the blonde’s side. Standing astride the motionless figure, Belle folded her legs until her rump came to rest on Emma’s bosom. She had the blonde at her mercy, arms trapped beneath her knees, but waited to regather her strength. Then she felt two hands beneath her arm-pits, lifting her. For a moment, she tried to struggle and twisted her head to see who was holding her.
Tor God’s sake, Belle,’ Dusty Fog said, dragging her from the unconscious blonde. ‘Leave Emma be. She’s licked.’
‘T-Take-me-hotel!’ Belle croaked back. ‘D-Damn it. Take me. I’ve won and it’s due to me.’
Chapter Fifteen – We Had To Know Who’s Boss
‘I hope you haven’t got the wrong idea, Dusty,’ Belle Starr remarked as she stood with her back to him and, wincing a little, donned a flimsy nightgown. ‘Because only one man has ever shared my bed.’
‘So Mark told me,’ Dusty replied. ‘What the hell did you fight Emma for?’
As soon as Dusty had seen Emma was beaten, he had left the table and prevented Belle from inflicting further punishment. Nobody had objected, being more concerned with reaping the full benefits of the blonde’s defeat. Deeply puzzled by the lady outlaw’s behavior, he had escorted her to the hotel. She had clearly made arrangements for her return. A hipbath, filled with warm water, stood in the corner of her room and she had used it to wash away the dirt, sawdust and sweat of the fight. Powdered witch-hazel leaves had stopped the bleeding from her nose and other minor abrasions. Although she had a mouse under her left eye and a mottling of bruises, she did not appear to have suffered any serious damage.
‘For two reasons,’ Belle said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘I don’t take to blonde calico-cats mean-mouthing me. And I wanted a chance for a long, private talk with you.’ She gingerly touched her swollen, discolored left eye. ‘If I’d known how tough that girl of yours was, I’d’ve picked an easier way of doing it.’
‘She’s not my gal,’ Dusty corrected. ‘Except that she figures “Ed Caxton” might be able to help her against Mayor Lampart.’
‘Does she?’ Belle said, with some interest. ‘And why is “Ed Caxton” here?’
‘I could ask you the same thing. Day comes when the Indian Nations gets so “disturbed” Belle Starr has to run out, I’ll start voting Republican.’
‘Considering what I went through tonight, just to be all on our lonesome with you, Ed honey, I think you should answer me first.’
‘All right,’ Dusty drawled, not offering to leave the chair he had occupied since entering the room. ‘Me and the boys came here to find out all we could about this town, so that the Governor can figure out a way to close it down.’
‘I thought that’s about what it would be,’ Belle admitted. ‘From all I’ve heard, you’ve been busy since you got here. Word has it that you’re Lampart’s right hand gun.’
‘I’ve made myself useful,’ Dusty said, with an expression of distaste. ‘So far, everybody I’ve had to kill’ve been fellers who deserved it.’
‘You’re going to break Lampart before you leave,’ Belle commented, as a statement and not a question.
‘If I can,’ Dusty agreed and told her all he had learned since coming to Hell.
Belle sat and listened without interruption all through Dusty’s lengthy recital of the town’s history. Relying on Mark Counter’s assessment of her character, the small Texan held back no aspect of the citizens’ and the mayor’s infamy. Revulsion flickered on her bruised features as she heard of how men had been murdered for the bounty on their heads. Then he mentioned one last thing; an item which he figured would seal her hatred of Lampart.
‘Lordy lord!’ the lady outlaw ejaculated. ‘You mean he’s actually given repeaters and ammunition to the Kweharehnuh?’
‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Belle,’ Dusty declared.
‘Lands-sakes-a-mercy!’ the girl gasped, shutting her eyes and visualizing what could result from the mayor’s actions. ‘They’re a prime set of scum, the people here. But I do declare that Lampart’s the worst of them all.’
‘Out and away the worst,’ Dusty confirmed.
‘I’m right pleased that I was asked to come here and help rob him,’ Belle announced.
Almost ten seconds ticked by before Dusty spoke. From along the street came the sounds of celebration. If the noise was anything to go by, the crowd were enjoying to the full the free liquor brought to them by Belle’s victory over Emma.
‘So that’s why you’re here/ Dusty breathed. ‘Who sent for you?’
‘I didn’t have time to find out before your sweet-honey called me for a showdown,’ Belle replied, a faint smile playing on her lips.
‘You don’t know?’
‘I had this offer, through a man I can trust, to come here for the job. I was given a thousand dollars traveling money and half a hundred dollar bill. Whoever wanted me here would show me the other half and we could make our deal. It seemed worth looking into, so I came along. I’d heard about having to hand over a tenth of the loot, so I fetched along around fifteen thousand dollars.’
‘That’s a heap of cash money—’
‘I’m not a two-bit thief,’ Belle pointed out. ‘So I’d be expected to have plenty. Anyways, all but three thousand of it’s Confederate States’ currency. And I did get a reaction from Simmy.’
‘So I noticed,’ Dusty grinned. ‘Mark always said you could charm a bird down off a tree, had you a mind to.’
‘It saves waving a gun ar—’ Belle began.
‘What’s up?’ Dusty whispered as the girl stopped speaking and adopted an attitude of listening.
‘Somebody’s just come and’s listening outside the door!’ Belle answered, just as quietly. ‘Quick. Strip to the waist, Stay sat and lift your legs so’s I can pull your boots off.’
Swiftly, Dusty unbuckled and removed his gunbelt. Then, while Belle drew off first one boot and the other, he divested himself of tie, shirt and undershirt. Having completed her part of the undressing, Belle rose, threw back the covers and climbed into bed. Drawing his right hand Colt, Dusty tiptoed across the room. Looking at what should have been a continuous strip of lamplig
ht glowing between the floor and the bottom of the door, he made out the dark blobs caused by the listener’s feet. Turning the key, he unlocked and threw open the door in practically one motion.
‘What the—?’ Dusty spat out as a figure clad in a hooded cape almost fell through the door into his arms.
‘Let me in, Ed!’ Emma Nene begged, sotto voce but urgently. ‘Quick. I’m not here to make trouble.’
Having already seen the thing she gripped in her right hand, Dusty knew that the blonde was speaking the truth. So he withdrew and allowed her to dart by. Glancing along the lamp-illuminated passage to make sure they had not been observed, Dusty closed and relocked the door.
‘I didn’t think you could make it before morning, after the licking I handed you,’ Belle smiled, sitting up and swinging her legs from the bed. ‘Do you have the other half of the bill?’
Thrusting back the hood, Emma allowed her cloak to fall open. Under it, she wore the nightgown which Dusty had come to know so well during his stay in Hell. Like Belle, the blonde had bathed and attended to her injuries. Emma’s top lip was swollen and her right eye resembled a Blue Point oyster peeping out of its shell. Walking to the bed as if Dusty did not exist, she held out the half of a hundred dollar bill which had told him that she had come on a peaceful visit. It had also given him food for speculation, in view of what Belle had said.
‘Here’s mine,’ the blonde said. ‘Where’s yours?’
Taking down her gunbelt, from where it hung around the post at the head of the bed, Belle produced the other half of the bill from a secret pocket. She handed it to Dusty and told Emma to do the same.
‘They match,’ the small Texan affirmed, placing the edges together. ‘Now will somebody tell me what the hell it’s all about?’
‘Your sweet-honey had me come here to help rob the mayor, Ed,’ Belle replied and repeated what she had already told him so that Emma would not suspect they had discussed the matter.
