by J. T. Edson
‘Look there!’ he croaked and pointed to the approaching party.
Both Grief and Fagan recognized the riders as being the men Lefarge took with him, yet they could see no sign of the gambler in his buckboard—unless that blanket-draped shape—no, it could not be.
But it was. The gunman driving the buggy waved a hand to the shape and said unnecessarily, Frenchie’s dead. Dusty Fog took him on with swords and killed him.’
‘But that’s impossible!’ croaked Grief.
‘Yeah,’ the gunman replied dryly. ‘That’s what Frenchie thought—only he was wrong, too. We’ll take him to the undertaker’s.’
Watching the party go by, Grief let out a blistering string of curses. He raved on about the evils of fate that brought Dusty Fog into his town and drove all the trade away from it. For a time Fagan let Grief carry on, then he gave a grin.
‘How much would it be worth to break Mulrooney?’ he asked.
‘Could it be done?’
‘I reckon it could. See, I’ve had a man hanging around Mulrooney and watching the way things went. He told me something interesting.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Let’s go into your office and talk, it’s more private.’
Inside the mayor’s office, a well-furnished room with more luxury than most civic authorities in the west could claim, the two men sat on opposite sides of the desk and Grief took out the office bottle and box of cigars.
‘You aim to give them trouble down there?’ he asked.
‘I thought of that—and tossed it out,’ Fagan admitted. ‘Those Texans are too handy a bunch to let things get out of hand. Only there’s a way we can break Mulrooney.’
How?’
‘What’d happen if the bank got taken for every dime in its vault?’
‘Could it be done?’ Grief breathed.
‘I reckon it could. See, my man tells me there’s some fuss brewing between Buffalo Kate and that gal who owns the Fair Lady. If things go the way I reckon they might, knowing Kate, there’s a chance my plan’ll work.’
‘Do you reckon that the bank could be hit in daylight?’
‘I’ve got something figured out,’ Fagan replied. ‘Only it may take a week or so to set it up.’
‘How’re you going to do it?’ Grief inquired, a shade too innocently for Fagan’s taste.
‘My way,’ replied the marshal.
Grief could get no more out of Fagan. Although the marshal had all the details of his plan worked out, he doubted if he would be wise to let Grief know too much. It did not pay to take unnecessary chances when dealing with a tricky cuss like the mayor of Brownton; especially when a man aimed to make a fair amount of money out of him.
Chapter Eleven
The Challenge
‘Is the Pride of Dixie appearing at your place tonight Freddie?’ Kate asked during their period of friendship following the departure of Lefarge’s men.
‘No. I could only get him for one night. He’s booked into a place in Brownton tonight.’
‘I thought I saw him in town yesterday?’
‘So you did,’ Freddie replied. ‘He’s still at the hotel and plans to go up to Brownton on the noon train.’
Never had Kate fought to keep any trace of emotion showing in her voice or on her face as she did at that moment Keeping her tones calm, she remarked, ‘I’d best go check on my bar stock to see what replacements I need.’
‘I’ve some work to do, too. How do you like the town?’
‘It’s great, one of the best I’ve ever been in.’
‘I won’t say it!’ Freddie thought ‘I’ll stay friendly.’
‘I almost hate myself for doing this,’ Kate thought as Freddie walked away. ‘But it’ll teach her a lesson and show her who’s the best saloon owner.’
Freddie’s friendly feeling lasted until the evening when she heard that the Pride of Dixie was appearing at the Buffalo for two nights. As clearly as if it lay written before her, Freddie saw what must have happened. On learning the Pride was still in town, Kate visited him and must have told him what sort of place he had booked into next. Then Kate offered to hire him to appear in her place and had the best drawing attraction possible. Trade was not very brisk in the Fair Lady that night and the noise from the Buffalo made it far worse.
‘Babsy, Vera, Jill, Rita!’ Freddie called and the girls gathered around her. ‘Are you game to put one over on the Buffalo crowd tomorrow?’
‘Aren’t we though?’Babsy replied.
Word passed around the town during Monday evening and throughout Tuesday that some of Freddie’s girls had quarreled over a poker game and would play out a match the Tuesday evening to decide who was best. Freddie saw to it that word of the stakes the girls played for would reach the right ears. Not even the Pride of Dixie could compete with the sight of four pretty girls playing poker for their clothes upon the Fair Lady’s stage.
Dusty saw no cause to interfere for he reckoned that Freddie had good sense enough to know when to have her girls stop the betting. In this he proved correct. The girls bet and removed right down to their scanty underwear but on the final bet the stage’s curtain dropped. Before her audience could become restless, Freddie had drinks on the house called and started her show.
Wednesday found both saloons starting without a top-name drawing card and Kate’s girls appeared in even shorter than usual dresses. By opening time on Thursday night Freddie’s girls entertained their customers wearing skirts that barely reached below their stocking tops. News of this reached the Buffalo and saw Kate’s girls heading for their rooms where snipping scissors lowered the level of their dresses’ bosoms and removed the skirts so as to show bare flesh over stocking tops.
By the time Friday evening came around the saloons’ customers were taking bets on how little the girls would be wearing. Kate’s girls showed up in low cut outfits which were little more than bodices, for they ended at a level with the brief, frilly-legged panties and left the rest exposed. For her part, Freddie sent the Fair Lady to war wearing skirts that trailed to the floor—at the rear, the entire front being removed to the waist and the upper part cut down to just over the nipples of the girls’ unsupported bosoms.
Goggle-eyed cowhands, especially those who came in that day after a month and more on the trail, staggered from one place to the other. The dress of the girls attracted attention from another source too.
‘Sarah,’ Dusty said, entering the main office where his female and male deputies gathered around the desk discussing the saloon feud. ‘Go tell Freddie I want to see her and for her to come straight away. In her working clothes!’
‘Sure thing, cap’n,’ Sarah replied, noting the emphasis he put on the last four words.
‘Lon, go bring Buffalo Elate in. The rest of you get out on your rounds.’
When that note entered Dusty Fog’s voice, his friends knew better than stand around asking fool questions. At such a moment the best place to be was anywhere well clear of the Rio Hondo gun wizard for, man, he was angry and when Dusty lost his temper it behooved all sensible folks to seek out and take shelter in the storm cellars.
‘I’ll go change,’ Freddie said when Sarah brought Dusty’s orders.
While she wore her usual working clothes and not the abbreviated costume sported by her girls, Freddie made a point of never visiting anywhere in her capacity as mayor unless dressed town style.
‘The cap’n said to come in your working clothes,’ Sarah replied.
‘But I won’t be a moment changing,’ Freddie objected and started to turn.
Catching Freddie’s arm, Sarah held her boss and their eyes met, surprise showing in the English girl’s and grim determination in Sarah’s.
‘I don’t know if I could drag you down there, Miss Freddie,’ Sarah stated, ‘but I’ll sure as hell have to try. Cap’n Fog’s riled and when he’s riled it don’t pay to go against his orders.’
Then Freddie got it. This was not a friendly request from the marshal to the
mayor, asking for an informal chat. She was being summoned before the head of the Mulrooney peace officers as a saloonkeeper who had stepped too far over the line. So Freddie went along with Sarah and arrived at the office at the same time as Buffalo Kate appeared escorted by the Kid.
‘In here, ladies!’ Dusty ordered, in a tone which showed he did not regard them as being lady-like. ‘Go help make the round, Sarah, Lon.’
Kate glanced at Freddie and promised herself that if the English girl had used her civic influence to make trouble, she would give her the licking of her life on the spot.
If Freddie noticed Kate’s expression, she gave no sign of it. On other occasions when Freddie visited Dusty, she found a chair awaiting her. This time there was only one chair and Dusty sat in it, not even bothering to go through the social form of rising when ladies entered the room. For a time nobody spoke. Kate shuffled her feet and even Freddie’s serene calm quavered under Dusty’s cold-eyed gaze.
‘What do they wear on Monday?’ he asked at last. ‘Or aren’t you bothering to have them in clothes?’
‘That’s an idea I hadn’t thought of,’ Freddie said, guessing what was coming and hoping to carry it off lightly. ‘Although I always believe a girl looks more seductive when wearing just a small amount of clothing.’
Her attempt failed by a good country mile.
‘Look,’ Dusty growled. ‘I don’t give a damn that you pair both want to be the saloon queen of Mulrooney. I don’t care whose place gets the most trade. What I do care about is you dressing your girls in a way that’s hotting up every girl-hungry cowhand, railroad man and skin hunter in town to the point where he’s ready to grab hold of the first woman he sees and let it go.’
‘It’s not that bad—’ began Kate.
‘Like hell it isn’t!’ Dusty barked. ‘Three times already tonight I’ve had to whip down fellers who were all set to go and couldn’t find a gal to go with. It’s only lucky that I was on hand or some innocent gal would have suffered—and for what, so you pair could try to haul in some of the trade that might be headed to the other’s saloon.’
‘We were only competing for tr—’ Freddie started to explain.
‘You were acting like a pair of money-hungry sluts without a lousy brain between the pair of you!’
Anger glowed in Freddie’s eyes, the kind of righteous anger a guilty conscience faced with the truth often caused. ‘You can’t talk to us like that, Captain Fog!’
‘I’ll talk to you how I feel like,’ Dusty answered. ‘There are men in this town who haven’t seen a woman for weeks and you’re dangling your half-naked girls all around them. I figured that as mayor, you could be relied on to show better sense than that, Miss Woods. And I sure as hell reckoned that you’d been in the saloon business long enough to know better, Miss Gilgore. Now get the hell out of my sight, both of you. In thirty minutes I’ll be visiting your places and if I find one girl not wearing a dress that comes below the knees all round and covers her tits, I’ll close you both down. Got it?’
A red-faced Freddie nodded her head and an equally discomforted Kate gave her silent agreement that she got ‘it’. Dusty did not even bother to look at them again. After a significant glance at the wall clock, he settled down to writing in the jail log. Turning, both women slunk out of the office and made their way in silence to the door. In her heart each of them knew Dusty to be right and Freddie could not help but wonder at the change in one whom she always regarded as a quiet-spoken, polite young man.
‘Whew!’ she gasped as they stepped into the cool night air and the range breeze fanned their hot cheeks. ‘I feel about three inches high,’
‘And me,’ Kate replied. ‘This was all your fault!’
‘Mine!’ Freddie squeaked. ‘You started it when you stole the Pride of Dixie!’
‘And you had your sluts stripping on the stage!’
‘Don’t call my girls sluts. They’re not cat-house culls like that bunch you hire.’
‘Cat-house culls!’ Kate hissed, clenching her fists. ‘You’re asking—’
‘I make it twenty-three minutes, ladies!’ Dusty’s voice cut in. ‘You’re not giving your girls much time to dress.’
For a moment Freddie and Kate glared at each other, standing face to face. Attracted by their voices, a small crowd stood around watching them Neither wanted to pull out and look like she was running away. Yet neither wanted to have her place closed for disobeying Dusty’s orders.
‘This town isn’t big enough for both of us!’ Kate warned. ‘One of us has got to go!’
‘Then you’d better start packing!’ Freddie replied. ‘Good night!’
At exactly the same instant they turned away from each other; Freddie stamping off along the sidewalk and Kate crossing the street. Half an hour Dusty had given them and both knew he would not be more than a few seconds late.
Not until half way to the Buffalo did Kate realize that Freddie had not used her influence to make trouble for her rival, and that Dusty treated his friend—who was also the town’s leading citizen—to the same hide-searing tongue-lashing that he dished out to the errant Kate. She was willing to bet that if Freddie failed to improve her girls’ dress, the Fair Lady would be padlocked before midnight. So all right, the Limey hadn’t screamed out and stood on her civic status; that still did not excuse her insulting Kate’s girls. It was time Miss Woods learned who had best claim to the title of saloon queen of Mulrooney.
Freddie stormed back to the Fair Lady, cheeks burning and ears tingling. On the way she decided that she asked for all Dusty said to her, but did not intend to let Kate get away with her insults; Kate was right about one thing; Mulrooney could not hold both of them.
When Dusty arrived at the Fair Lady exactly half an hour after his warning, he found the girls dressed in their original clothes and a much calmer air around the place. On visiting the Buffalo, he saw that Kate had also taken his warning to heart. But he knew the feud was far from over and would not be until one or the other knew for sure who was boss.
A man had been standing outside the jail, down the side alley by Dusty’s office and listening to the small Texan’s angry words which came through the open window. Just as the listener was about to walk away, he saw a youngster carrying a bundle of large white posters coming along the street. Stopping, the youngster hung one of the posters on a wall, pinning it up with blows of a hammer. Then he came on and halted by the door of the jail.
‘Can I put this sign up here, cap’n?’ he called.
Coming from his office, Dusty walked to the front door and looked down at the youngster. ‘Now that all depends what it is, boy,’ he said.
‘Mr. Dongelon’s got him a real fist-fighting ring like they have back east and he’s offering a hundred dollars to any feller as can stand up against that pugilist—what in hell that might be—he’s brought out from the east.’
‘Is that so?’ Dusty grinned. ‘When’s this pugilist coming?’
‘Should be here by Monday, but Mr. Dongelon wants to make sure everybody knows in good time.’
‘Then you’d best hang up that sign real quick, amigo.’ The listener remained in the alley until after the boy hung up his sign. After the youngster departed and Dusty had returned to his office, the man left the alley and walked along the street. Finding one of Dongelon’s advertising posters on a closed store’s wall, the man tore it down and thrust it into his pocket. He went to where a good horse stood, mounted it and rode out of town going west along the railroad track in the direction of Brownton.
Along towards midnight Dusty and the Kid were making their final rounds when they saw a man fastening a poster on to a walk Neither bothered to check, putting the incident down to some cowhand high-spirits. Most likely he was turning the posters upside down, or face to the wall; both cowhand tricks when liquored up. It would not harm the posters and might even attract more attention to the forthcoming event Dongelon arranged.
‘Let’s go grab a cup of coffee, Lon,’ Dusty said.
‘Maybe those posters’ll take folk’s minds off Freddie and Kate.’
‘Maybe,’ agreed the Kid.
Freddie Woods was dreaming that she and Buffalo Kate were fighting. They were on the floor, Freddie’s right fist dug into the blonde’s hair, her left pounding at Kate’s face and Babsy stood over them shaking Freddie by the shoulder. ‘Miss Freddie! Miss Freddie! Wake up!’
Slowly Freddie came out of her sleep, finding herself lying face down, her right hand gouging into the pillow and her left pounding at it. Standing by the bed and looking excited, Babsy held out a large sheet of white paper with something printed on it. Rolling on to her back, Freddie sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Several of the girls stood behind Babsy and all showed considerable excitement for an early hour on Sunday morning.
‘What—what’s wro—’ Freddie began, then her eyes focused on the poster in Babsy’s hands.
CHALLENGE Miss Freddie Woods and Miss Buffalo Kate Gilgore will engage in a bout of pugilism in the ring at the Buffalo Saloon tonight, Saturday, at 9 o’clock to decide who is the Saloon Queen of Mulrooney, the loser to get out of town and all proceeds to be given to the Mulrooney Church Social Fund.
‘Where did you get this?’ Freddie gasped.
‘Nailed to the wall outside,’ Babsy replied. ‘But they’re plastered all over town.’
Swinging her feet from out of the bed, Freddie rose and crossed the room. She drew back the curtains and looked along Main Street. At three different points, including before the Buffalo Saloon, she saw small groups of excited people standing and looking at sheets of paper nailed to walls.
‘Coo’er, Miss Freddie,’ Babsy said, her eyes wide with surprise. ‘You never told me you was going to paste her earhole.’
You’ll lick her good, Miss Freddie,’ another of the girls stated and the rest muttered their agreement.
It seemed that the girls took it for granted that Freddie had issued the challenge and all felt assured that she would win. Freddie frowned at the thought. If Kate wanted a fight, and the poster indicated that she did—or why would the poster say the bout’s rendezvous was the Buffalo—she could have one. But Freddie wanted the fight to be private. Then Freddie saw the eager faces of her girls and heard their chatter as they excitedly discussed the forthcoming whipping and expulsion of Buffalo Kate.
