by J. T. Edson
There was a knock on the office door and Bearcat Annie called for whoever it was to come in. One of her barmen entered, followed by a thin, ratfaced dude in a loud check suit. He was holding a big, oily cigar in his left hand as he came towards the woman. His accents were New York, and East-side New York at that, as he greeted her. “Are you the boss here?”
“That’s right. Who are you?”
“Joe Mundy, you sent for my troupe to come along.”
Bearcat Annie managed a welcoming smile. Mundy ran a rugged kind of entertainment which she thought would go down well with the customers and she had sent for him to come. Her mind was not really on the man at all. “I want your best two gals tonight. You understand that?”
“Sure, I’ve got Olga Petrosky and Eeney Haufman for you. They’re the best in the troupe.”
Still Bearcat Annie was not fully listening but two words caught her attention. “You said Eeney Haufman. Is she German?”
“Sure. She’s the top—.”
“Those girls of your’n obey orders?” she cut in with more interest than she had previously shown.
“Sure they will. What do you want?”
Bearcat Annie looked relieved as she showed Mundy out of the room. There was a chance, only a small chance but one for all of that, if Dutchy accepted her invitation and was as proud of his country as she thought he might be. Fang watched her face for a time, he could see she was pleased with something but was not sure just what it was. Bearcat Annie went across the room to where Frank Derringer was playing solitaire. He looked up as she came towards him and nodded a greeting.
“Say, Frank. I’ve been thinking, Captain Fog isn’t such a bad gent after all. How about going down to the jail and asking him if he’ll come along to see the show tonight as my guest.”
“Sure, Annie,” Derringer was surprised at the woman’s change of heart. “I’ll go and ask them.”
Derringer left the saloon and returned soon after with news which both pleased and amused her. She had guessed that Dusty would keep a close eye on Dutchy and this was confirmed when Derringer returned.
“I saw Dusty. He’ll come and his boys. Dutchy Schulze was there and I asked him to come along. He’s been shot in a hold-up attempt but he’s all right and he’ll be coming with them. Hope you don’t mind.”
Bearcat Annie most certainly did not mind. She knew Dusty would never allow the miner to go unguarded and this was the only way she knew to get Dutchy here so she could try and put her idea into operation. Bearcat Annie returned to her office and started to make her plans, showing a keen insight into the way men thought. She rose and went to the door to call one of her less scrupulous house gamblers in to give him his orders.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bearcat Annie Entertains
THE LAW of Quiet Town was preparing for its first night of relaxation since taking over. Of all the young Texans only Dusty was worried by the invitation extended to them. He was concerned about Bearcat Annie’s change of heart for although there had been no further trouble with her he did not think she was the sort calmly to forgive and forget.
“You still worrying about her sending for you, amigo?” Mark Counter asked, for he knew Dusty very well.
“Just a mite. You know me, I’m naturally suspicious.”
“Sure. It’s a good way for a man to be at times. We haven’t taken time off since we came here and I reckon the boys want a chance to relax.”
Rusty Willis and Doc Leroy came from outside where they had been washing. They were getting worried about the non-arrival of the rest of the Wedge crew and deciding whether they should stay on for a spell or head down to Newton and find their boss. The decision was put off until after the evening out, and with Dutchy Schulze escorted by the five young men all headed for Bear cat Annie’s.
The saloon was well crowded as they entered. Bearcat Annie herself came across the room, smiling a welcome and cutting through the crowd like a clipper ship going through Mississippi flatboats. Word that she was running some very special surprise entertainment was going the rounds of the town and the big bar room was crowded out. In the centre of the room was a raised square platform with a wooden post at each corner and three ropes running from post to post around the square. On the wooden boards which formed the base of this platform was a canvas tarp, in two of the corners formed by the posts were stools.
“What’s that thing?” the Kid asked, noting how all the tables were arranged around the platform.
It was Mark who supplied the answer. “They call it a ring. I saw one in New Orleans while I was there one time. Use it for fist fights, looks like that’s the surprise Bearcat Annie’s got on.”
“Howdy, Captain Fog!” Bearcat Annie reached them, smiling in welcome, the flat meaningless smile of a professional entertainer. “I’m pleased to see you here. Make yourself at home. I’ve told the bartenders your money is no good tonight. You’re my guests. Come on, I’ll take you to your table.”
“Was I a suspicious man I’d wonder about your change of heart, ma’am,” Dusty remarked as they walked through the crowd side by side.
“Was I a more sensitive woman I’d be riled at your suspicions,” she countered. “I’m not, so I’ll explain. Sure, we’ve had our differences. I wasn’t sure what sort of lawman you’d make, so I tried you out. I didn’t want a fast gun, hired killer here running the law. Now I know I was wrong and when I make a mistake I’m the first to admit it.”
The excuse was reasonable and yet Dusty was not fully convinced. It did not fall in with the idea he had formed of Bearcat Annie, that she would ever admit to making a mistake. However there was nothing to be gained by antagonising the woman until she gave cause for it.
They were taken to a table next to the side of the ring, obviously a place of honour. Mark took a seat with his back to the ring and the others sat in a circle around the table. Dusty held out the chair for Bearcat Annie, then took a seat at her right. Dutchy Schulze pulled a bottle from his pocket, a square-faced bottle with a colourless liquid in it. “With no disrespect, Annie,” he said. “I would like to let my friends try a drink of this.”
Bearcat Annie laughed and waved off any idea that she might be offended. She beckoned and a waiter materialised by her side, carrying a tray with a bottle of her best bonded whisky and seven glasses. Dutchy poured three fingers of his liquid into each glass, then lifted his glass.
The others all drank; the drink might look like water but it packed quite a kick to it. Mark Counter coughed and rubbed his eyes then grinned admiringly at Dutchy. “Man, that’s real likker. It’d curl the hairs on a muleskinner’s chest!”
Rusty Willis shook his head as the bottle was offered to him again. “Not for me thank you. What is it?”
“Schnapps,” Dutchy replied.
“Kicks like that bottled bullwater Pasear Hennessey sells down at his place,” the Kid remarked. “Knowed a man once drank three bottles of that and never staggered.”
“Must have been some drinking man,” Bearcat Annie put in, determined to keep up the friendly atmosphere. “Three bottles, then never staggered.”
“No, ma’am. He just couldn’t move at all.”
Dusty joined in the laughter and glanced around him. At the table behind them, almost in touching room of Dutchy and himself sat several loud-dressed gamblers who he knew worked for Bearcat Annie. The others around however were occupied by miners or the other customers. None of the nearby tables held anyone who might be a hired gun ready to take some treacherous action.
Kennet came by the table and stopped to greet the lawman. “Good work your men did in stopping that hold-up man, Captain.”
“That’s what they’re paid for,” Dusty replied, looking at the Kid and Rusty who were the men involved in stopping a man who held up a big stake private poker game.
“What amuses me is that at least three of the men were really good with their guns,” Kennet went on.
“What’s so funny about that?” Mark asked.
/> “But one man took their money. One lone man.”
“With a gun.” Dusty reminded the young banker. “Tell you something. If I was a hold-up man I’d sooner take Ben Thompson, King Fisher, Clay Allison or Wes Hardin than four ordinary men. Real good guns know what risks they can take, they’ve more sense than buck odds. Your real good man is safer to rob than a half-trained dude. As long as you don’t make a mistake.”
Kennet digested this piece of information. He could hardly believe that a man who was really good with a gun would sit mildly back and allow himself to be robbed. It was true, the good man with a gun would have more sense than buck the hold-up man. It was the dude who possessed that little knowledge who was dangerous, he might do something silly.
Passing on, Kennet went around the ring and out of sight. The talk at the table was general for a time then Bearcat Annie saw Mundy crossing the room and entering the ring. She pushed back her chair and stood up. “I’ve got an announcement to make, boys.”
The men started to get up and she waved them down again, then walked around the ring to climb up and duck between the ropes. Talk welled up in the saloon and there was an air of expectancy through the room. Bearcat Annie waved for silence, then announced. “Boys! Tonight I’ve got you the greatest attraction you’ve ever seen. All the way from the East—.” Six women walked through the crowd towards the ring, four in dresses, the other two draped around with long silk robes. They climbed the steps into the ring, the brunette in the robe and two of the women in the dresses going across to one corner. “For the first time in Montana Territory!” Bearcat Annie went on, ignoring the rumble of talk which was going up, “we have an all-woman bout of fisticuffs. Not only that, but this is for the Championship of the World. Over there we have the Woman Fist-Fighting Champion of the World, Russian Olga Petrosky.” The blonde woman removed her robe and stepped forward to yells and whoops of delight. She was a woman of about five foot six, her face coarse and her figure heavily built. She wore a pair of black tights and a scarlet-spangled, sleeveless blouse, her fat figure straining at it as she acknowledged the yells of the crowd. “And the challenger!” Bearcat Annie went on, “Eeney Haufman of Germany.”
Dutchy looked up with interest as the brunette woman tossed aside her robe and stepped forward. She was as tall as the blonde but not so heavily built. Her hair was cut fairly short and framed a face which, while not being out and out beautiful, was still pretty. She wore the same style of dress as Olga but her figure was far more suited to it. She also acknowledged the cheers of the crowd and went back to sit on the stool in the corner. She was in the corner nearest to Dusty’s table and as men crowded forward to the ringside around Olga’s corner, Dutchy rose and went to look at the other girl. In German he asked, “Where do you come from?”
Eeney looked down, seeing a handsome man with one arm in a sling. She was used to men speaking to her but this was the first of her own countrymen. She tried to read from his face whether he approved or disapproved of her way of making a living. “From Stuttgart,” she replied, smiling down at him.
“Will you win?”
“Of course,” Eeney answered, giving the usual answer although she knew Olga was to win.
“Then I will bet on you. Good luck.”
Watching him walk away Eeney felt worried. She sat back with two of the other members of the troupe acting as her seconds. Bearcat Annie was telling the crowd the rules governing the fight and Eeney watched Dutchy return to his table. “Tell you that German gal’s got no chance.”
Dutchy looked at the speaker, one of the gamblers seated on the next table. “Are you sure of that?” the miner asked,
“Sure enough, Dutchy. Give odds of two to one that she loses.”
“I’ll take the odds. A hundred dollars.”
Eeney felt relieved at this; the words came to her and she doubted if a hundred dollars would break the miner. Then she heard the gambler laugh mockingly.
“That’s a powerful lot of belief you’ve got there, Dutchy. All of a hundred dollars. Still, I reckon you know what the German gal’s worth.”
Dutchy was proud of his German nationality. Although he was not sure he approved of the girl being dressed in that manner and fighting, he did know she must have some sign of his support. Without thinking of the consequences he asked, “Will you take four thousand dollars?”
The gambler pretended to edge, following the instructions Bearcat Annie gave him. “That’s a lot of money, Dutchy,” he began. “I’d take you up but I work for the house and I don’t know if—.”
“Put up or shut up!” Dutchy barked.
Clint Fang arrived. “What’s the trouble?” he asked.
“Dutchy wants to take four thousand on the German gal winning,” the gambler explained. “I ain’t sure if I should.”
“I said put up, or shut up,” Dutchy snapped, knowing that not only the five Texans were watching him but also that the girl’s eyes were on him. He pulled out his wallet and tossed it on to the table in front of the other man. “Is it a bet?”
“It’s a bet. You forced me into it.”
“Can you pay off if you lose, friend?” Dusty asked; he was worried for he did not like to see Dutchy taking such a rash bet. It was, however, against his code to interfere with what another man did with his money.
“He works for the house,” Fang put in. He should have kept out of it but his dislike for Dusty Fog made him speak.
That settled the matter for it was the custom of the saloons to employ professional gamblers to take bets from any client who wanted to get in on the action. The gambler was covered against his losses by the house and his take went to it. So there was no objection from Dusty as the gambler made out a receipt of the bet and gave it to Dutchy.
Bearcat Annie climbed from the ring and went to the bar, going around it to climb up and sit on a chair on the bartop. The two women in the ring advanced on each other, fists clenched and held up in the manner of professional pugilists.
Mark Counter turned with his back to the others and watched with critical eyes. He knew much about the fist fighting game, having learned it from his father’s cook who had fought in the prize ring. The two women shaped up as if they knew what they were doing. He compared them with the view to betting although he doubted if this would be a serious fight. His suspicions were confirmed when the first blows were struck. They looked hard but he could see both women were pulling their punches. It was well done and he doubted if many people would spot it. Certainly the uncritical bloods in the crowd did not. Mark looked at the German girl, seeing play of muscles as she moved. The blonde might have advantage of weight but in a serious fight Mark would have bet on Eeney.
Eeney Haufman was worried as she toed the line. She had seen and heard how much the German miner bet on her and did not like the idea. For the most part the girls of the troupe followed a certain pattern in their fights, learning a routine which they could use without injury. The result of every fight like that was arranged and tonight Olga was to win. With the other girls it would have been easy, a word in the ear and the routine changed so Eeney won. Olga was the manager of the troupe’s favourite, nasty tempered and a bully. She and Eeney were not friends and so Eeney knew Olga would hardly be likely to agree to losing. She never did if she could help it, not unless they were laying a trap for a sucker bet.
Clinching Eeney tried to persuade Olga. “Look, Olga. I want to win tonight. Can I?”
“No!” Olga hissed back, grinding her fists hard into Eeney’s side. “Sorry, it was an accident.”
Mundy pushed at them, trying to separate them and growling a warning. Eeney still hung on. “I’m going to win!” she hissed.
Hate glowed on Olga’s eyes and she answered, “If you can!”
Mundy pushed the two women apart. Instantly Olga smashed her right into Eeney’s body in a hard punch that brought a gasp of pain. Instantly Eeney hit back, feeling her knuckles grind into the blonde’s coarse face. They circled, anger in their eyes an
d both knew it was to be the real thing this time, there would be no punch pulling or routine following.
Eeney bored in, her right stabbing into Olga’s face, then her left driving into the fat throat. Olga stepped back, her own fists smashing into the German girl just below the breast and bringing a grunt of pain. Mundy circled them worriedly, he could see the blows were landing hard and did not like it. There were other times when two of the girls lost their tempers and really fought. They cost him money for the girls involved were usually in no shape to appear again the following day and Mundy was hired to provide a fight a night for a week. He tried to get between the two women without arousing the suspicions of the crowd and caught a punch from Eeney which knocked him out of the way.
The crowd were wild with delight; they had most of them seen hair-tearing fights between dancehall girls but this was a novelty. The two women were more scantily attired than was usual even in the wild, wide open towns and they were both an eye-catching sight for men who saw few women.
The first round was hard as the two women worked their anger out on each other. Eeney ripped a punch up which caused a trickle of blood to run from Olga’s mouth, then she gasped as the blonde’s fists caught her in the stomach. She doubled over and saw Olga’s knee smashing up at her face. Eeney jerked erect in her attempt to avoid the knee and tripped, falling backwards on to her rump. For a moment Olga stood looking down at her then turned and walked back to her corner. Eeney got up and returned to her own corner. She sat on the stool and the two girls started to work on her. “What’s the game?” one asked. “You and Olga’s hitting like you meant it.”
“We do!” Eeney touched her lips which felt swollen. “I’m going to win tonight.”
