Calamity Jane 6: The Hide and Horn Saloon (A Calamity Jane Western)

by J. T. Edson

  On the other hand, the rest of the attentions given by both pairs of seconds had been efficacious. Nor had the anticipated advantage expected for Wanda, where such ministrations were concerned, materialized. Much to the surprise of Good in particular, the apparently strange selection of a male second by Madam Bulldog had proved more beneficial than his own in some respects. Making the most of a wide medical knowledge, including some primitive and yet effective methods, Marvin Eldridge ‘Doc’ Leroy had done much to help the blonde to commence each successive round in the best possible condition. Acting upon advice given by Connel that morning, he had also applied bandages to protect the knuckles as skillfully as those which had been expected to supply another advantage to her opponent.

  Much to her growing consternation, following the removal of the man from the hay loft of Pegler’s livery barn, the red head had had none of the promised illicit assistance from outside the ring. Instead, she had been compelled to depend upon the tricks taught to her as a matter of course by Good. These had not been confined to low and kidney punching. During clinches, she had stamped upon her opponent’s feet, brought a knee up between the thighs, and tried to gouge the eye on the side away from the referee with her thumb. Nevertheless, she had discovered the blonde was conversant with and reduced the effectiveness of such methods. On three occasions, she had been seen in violation of the rules by Connel. However, aware that to award the fight to Madam Bulldog by a disqualification would have been disputed by Wanda’s supporters and might easily end in a violent confrontation with those in favor of the winner, he had done no more than warn her against continuing to use such tactics.

  Although the man to whom the red head had referred had been instructed to render assistance, distracting the blonde by blowing dried peas at her through a cigar holder improvising as a bean-shooter, he had been prevented from doing so.

  Having decided on the methods which might be employed against their friend, the gamblers she had invited had combined their not inconsiderable knowledge to circumvent such attempts. Making an accurate deduction with regards to the cigar holder, Madame Mustache had employed her feminine charm to obtain a seat behind the man. At the first suggestion of her assumption being correct, she had intervened.

  ‘M’sieur, do not try it!’ the man had heard, in a husky feminine voice with a sensuous French accent—albeit, more menacing than sensual in the present circumstances—from his rear, while he was starting to remove the cigar from its holder, counting upon everybody around being too engrossed to detect him. ‘I am holding a revolver in my reticule and, if you don’t go on smoking, instead of what you’ve been told to do, I will most certainly put a bullet through your spine.’

  Being unwilling to take the chance of the threat being carried out, the man had refrained from interfering and had settled down to enjoy the fight!

  ‘Do something then!’ Wanda demanded, glaring at the trainer. ‘She’s hurting the hell out of me!’

  ‘There’s one thing I could do,’ Good replied. ‘But it’s not going to be easy for you!’

  ‘What is it?’ the red head asked and, on being told, went on, ‘Do it and I’ll take my chances.’

  Reaching into the bag containing his medical and other equipment, the trainer took out a bottle filled with a reddish powder. Having dried the outside of the right glove, he tipped some of the contents upon its punching surface.

  ‘There you are,’ Good said and added a warning, ‘You’ll have to hold back with your right until you get a chance to shove the powder into her eyes or, if you can’t get at them, her nose. It’ll either blind her, or make her sneeze. Either way, you’ve got her!’

  Time was sounded and the two women came out. Instantly, the red head found herself at a disadvantage as a result of the preparations made to put the blonde in serious difficulties. Wanting to use the red powder, she was compelled to keep the right away from any contact which would remove at least some of it from her glove. Depending solely upon the left for offensive purposes against a woman of her opponent’s ability was far from satisfactory or safe. In fact, it led to the acceptance of so much punishment that she was tempted to forego the attempt as the seconds became first one and then two minutes without being granted an opportunity to capitalize upon it.

  However, when the opportunity came, it seemed likely to justify the suffering and waiting.

  Seeing her chance, Wanda threw the right glove towards Madam’s momentarily unguarded face. Missing the intended target of the eyes, one of which was almost closed despite all the efforts of the seconds to prevent this, the contact was made on the nose. Twisting her hand to ram as much of the powder as possible into the nostrils, the red head went backwards a couple of steps. Having inadvertently breathed in on being struck, the blonde had helped to achieve the purpose of the attack. About to move towards her opponent, she felt a sensation of irritation in her nose. It twitched and a sneeze wracked her whole body.

  Ready for such an eventuality, the red head literally sprang into the attack. Driving a left hook upwards into Madam’s now undefended belly, Wanda folded her on to an uppercut from the right. Lifted erect, the blonde took a left cross to the side of the head. Pain erupted through her and, involuntarily spitting out the gum-shield, she was sent in a twirling plunge against the ropes. They halted her headlong rush and she crumpled in a mass of torment on to the canvas covered padded flanks which formed the floor of the ring.

  Sorely stricken though she was, Madam might have counted herself fortunate in one respect. Due to the punishment absorbed while awaiting the opportunity to apply the powder, Wanda had not been able to put her earlier full power into the blows. If she had, the fight would have been over. As it was, the blonde retained just sufficient of her faculties to hear and realize what was meant by Connel starting to count.

  However, knowing and doing something to remedy the situation were horses of a vastly different color!

  Listening to the words, ‘One! Two! Three! Four!’, Madam forced herself to think of the prize for which she was fighting. Somehow, calling upon what flagging energy remained, she managed to struggle to her feet and bring the count to a halt just as it reached nine. For all that, she had little control over her wobbly legs and her arms felt like lead as she raised them for Connel to wipe clean the gloves. Adding to her dilemma, she found herself being wracked by a second sneeze and knew another was forthcoming. Her condition, she concluded was far from capable of fending off whatever further attentions the red head might be planning to give to her.

  All the audience and Wanda were equally aware of the blonde’s precarious situation!

  At his table by the ring, Rudolph Schanz took his gaze from the tottering owner of a rival saloon and turned it to his stopwatch!

  The moving finger was just passing two minutes and thirty seconds!

  In the first, third and fifth rounds, the saloon-keeper had sounded the gong early to relieve Wanda from difficulty. Now he could see he was presented with another opportunity to render another service. Given only a short period beyond the three minutes, she would be able to inflict further punishment, even if failing to attain a complete knockout.

  There was only one fly in the ointment!

  When the rest period after the fifth round was being taken, having written something in a notebook and torn out the page, Abraham ‘Pappy’ Maverick had risen and crossed to the table from his ringside seat. Under the pretense of inquiring whether there would be a game of poker at the Barnhof Saloon that evening, he had slipped the paper into Schanz’s hand. After the sixth round was started, the saloon-keeper had read what was written on it with a feeling of alarm and consternation.

  ‘My watch is just as accurate as the one you’re using. I start and stop it when you do. If you go under or over the three minutes just one more time, I will personally ram that gong up your butt and sound it with my gun butt.’

  Repeated glances at the elderly gambler had revealed he was doing as promised. Having no doubt this was still the cas
e, and fully aware of what would happen to him should the supporters of the blonde find out what he had already done—regardless of the threat from Maverick—he decided against doing anything which might give added assistance to the red head. There was, he told himself, just time for her to inflict further punishment legitimately before the three minutes were ended.

  Much the same thought was passing through Wanda’s head as she watched and waited impatiently to be able to resume the attack. However, the referee was still between her and her quarry. What was more, he was moving the blonde towards the blue corner instead of stepping aside and signaling for her to start fighting again.

  Suspecting something illicit had been responsible for the sneezing, Connel had seen Wanda rubbing the right glove against the leg of her tights before he could check on whether he was correct in his assumption. He had noticed the holding back with that hand and remembered, too late to intervene, having heard a reason for such apparently pointless and even dangerous behavior. Realizing that to make an accusation without proof would be construed as favoritism—or an attempt to save the blonde—by the supporters of the red head, he had seen a way he might gain her a badly needed respite. While making the count, he had retrieved a gum-shield. Now he was taking the legitimate action of arranging for it to be washed before allowing it to be replaced in Madam’s mouth. Much to his satisfaction, the bell for the end of the round sounded before this could be done.

  The next question, Connel told himself, was whether the blonde would be able to continue the fight.

  The same thought was occurring to everybody else!

  ‘The lousy bitch!’ Madam gasped, half lying rather than sitting erect on the stool in the blue corner. However, so skillful had been the ministrations of her seconds, she was in better shape than she looked. Well enough, in fact, to be able to think clearly about how she had been treated during the final minute of the round. ‘She had something that made me sneeze on her glove!’

  ‘Why don’t you tell the referee?’ Greta suggested, glowering at the red head.

  ‘It’s too late to prove it now and they won’t chance doing it again next round,’ the blonde replied. ‘She’s been fouling me ever since we started. Now I’m going to fight fire with fire.’

  A clang of the gong on the timekeeper’s table signaled the commencement of the next round before any further explanation could be sought or supplied unasked!

  Staggering from her corner, Madam moved in such a way that she looked much worse than she was feeling. However, her pose fooled Wanda. Advancing confidently, the red head decided she had nothing to fear and felt sure she could deal with the blonde in any way she fancied. Taking no precautions, she threw a jab towards the agony lined and bloody face of her opponent. Avoiding it, seemingly by accident, Madam went into a clinch. Clinging on and leaning all her weight against Wanda, she contrived to force them in a circle until she was in front of the referee and preventing him from seeing what she was contemplating. Hooking the thumbs of the gloves under the elasticized waist band of the red head’s tights, she thrust downwards. Having done so, she liberated her hands so quickly nobody was aware of what she had done.

  Even the red head failed to realize what had happened. Feeling the garment beginning an unaccountable downwards slide, she assumed the elastic had broken. Thrusting away her opponent, who went with surprisingly little opposition, she grabbed at the garment which was now a couple of inches below the bottom of her satin undershirt. Although the tights alone covered her nether regions, modesty had not provoked the action. She suspected that, on seeing they would not stay up, Connel would use it as an excuse to halt the fight at least until they could be replaced. That would allow time for the blonde to recover from the blows which had put her in such distress at the end of the previous round.

  Just as Wanda was reaching these conclusions, Madam made the most of the opportunity she had created. Going back a short distance, she twisted to the left and lowered her near hand almost to the floor. Uncoiling to the right like a released spring, she brought the fist up in an arc with the whole weight and remaining power of her rotating body behind it. The glove struck the side of Wanda’s jaw with terrific force. Her eyes glazed and closed, then her hands fell limply to her sides. Although she was knocked out on her feet, she was not allowed to fall without further attention from her opponent. Wanting to make sure there would be no return for the red head, the blonde slammed a straight right into her lower body. A left and right to each breast followed in rapid succession and, as their recipient’s knees began to buckle, a left hook to the chin sent her over on to her back.

  For a moment, staring down at the red head, Madam thought she had gone too far. Wanda lay absolutely motionless. Thinking the blows had killed her, it was with relief that the blonde saw her bosom start moving up and down. Although her arms were spread out, spasms affected her legs. It seemed she was trying to get up, bowing her body until it rested on her heels and shoulders, then a violent tremble ran through her and she subsided limply to the canvas once more.

  The count was a mere formality!

  Not even the most optimistic, or hopeful, spectator expected the red head to get up!

  Nor did she!

  Even as Madam’s victory was being announced, men swarmed into the ring. Lifting her on to their shoulders, then thrusting the two bags of money forming the ‘purse’ into her still gloved hands, they carried her from the ring and in the direction of the Hide and Horn Saloon.

  Triumphant though the arrival of Madam Bulldog in the square undoubtedly was, it could hardly have happened at a more inopportune moment in the estimation of some members of Tennyson’s population!

  Having made the journey from Garnett to Tennyson in a Rockaway road coach, County Sheriff Lloyd Bowman, although hearing the cheers and other sounds, was disappointed to discover that the fight was taking place where it could not be seen from Vernon Street or the Square. Nor, due to the competent way in which he was prevented by the respectable leaders of the town, had he managed to draw attention to the commotion and ‘learn’ what was causing it. Foiled in his purpose, he had derived what satisfaction he could from the small size of the party assembled to meet the man most favored to be the next Governor of Texas. The welcome, he told himself, was nothing compared with what he had arranged to take place in the county seat.

  However, if put out by the apparent lack of interest in his visit, Stanton Howard had shown no trace of it. Tall, well built, distinguished looking—albeit with the rugged aura of one who enjoyed outdoor activities—he had greeted the few people assembled with an easy warmth and courtesy, as if a multitude and all the trimmings had been waiting for him.

  Just as the introductions were concluded and Hubert Tyler was about to suggest going into the Fortescue Hotel, the first of the spectators emerged from the alley alongside the building carrying the victress on their shoulders. Coming to a halt at the sight of the distinguished looking group in the Square, they lowered her to the ground. Realizing something of civic importance must be taking place for the mayor, town marshal, banker and members of the Ladies Guild For Civic Betterment to have assembled, she was equally aware that she was far from presenting an appearance suitable for such an auspicious occasion.

  Haggard from near exhaustion, Madam’s battered and gory features were a clear indication that she had been indulging in a most unladylike activity. Speckled liberally with her own and Wanda Higgins’ blood, the satin upper garment was so soaked by perspiration it emphasized rather than concealed the otherwise uncovered bosom beneath it and the tights had lost their knees on those occasions when she had been knocked to the canvas.

  Looking in horror at the blonde, the “good” women present began to mutter indignantly amongst themselves. While relieved at the evidence that she had won the fight, Tyler, Collier, Scrope and the banker were all wishing she had delayed her return for just a couple more minutes. A smirk of delighted satisfaction came to the face of the sheriff at the possibilities he believed we
re now being presented. Like the prominent citizens of Tennyson, he watched for the effect that the sight would have on the distinguished visitor.

  ‘My god!’ Howard exclaimed, staring at the new arrivals. Then he walked forward saying in a tone of mingled warmth and concern, ‘Well, Charlie, I’d heard you owned the saloon across yonder, and I meant to drop by for a noggin on the house. Great heavens, though, you look worse than when you and Russian Olga put on that bout of fisticuffs in aid of the Veteran’s Home in San Francisco. What have you been up to this time?’

  ‘I feel worse than I did then,’ the blonde replied, thinking of her successful encounter with the claimant to be the champion female bare knuckle fighter of the world. [32] Glancing at the bags she was still carrying, she turned her gaze to the now puzzled group of women and advanced holding them out. ‘Here you are, Mrs. Tyler. Put the purse for the bout to your fund for building a new schoolhouse, please.’

  ‘O…Of course, Madam Bulldog,’ the wife of the mayor assented, recovering her wits more quickly than any of her female companions. ‘And thank you on behalf of us all.’

  ‘May I make a suggestion, ladies and gentlemen?’ Howard requested, and was given an almost unanimous concurrence. ‘Providing Char … Madam Bulldog feels up to it, perhaps we might go into her place and drink to her success in this latest fistic encounter?’

  ‘I’d be honored and delighted to have you all as my guests,’ the blonde declared. ‘And I think you, ladies, may find some wine I have to your taste. Please come across, all of you.’

  Walking towards the other side of the Square between Howard and Tyler, with the rest of the crowd following, not even the pain which wracked her whole being could prevent Madam feeling satisfied with her lot in life. Not only had she defeated a threat to her possession of a lucrative business, but she believed nothing of the kind would be attempted in the future. [33] Furthermore, aided by her friendship with Stanton Howard, the means used in the thwarted attempt to discredit her, had allowed her to make a vast improvement to her standing in the community. She felt sure that she would have no further trouble from the Ladies Guild For Civic Improvement and was confident she would retain the respect and companionship of those male members of the population who counted.