“In the Golden Slipper at Austin, you skinny goat!” Calamity snapped. “You come up here to tell the boss how I got throwed out of town. I knew you’d got me marked down from the minute you come into the bar downstairs.”
“Hell, you saw the way he looked at me right from when he come in, Phyl,” Calamity said, turning to the red-head.
“He sure did, boss,” Phyl agreed and glared at Maisie as the girl gave a disbelieving sniff.
“How about it, Jake?” Ella inquired.
“Sure I looked at her. Thought I’d seen her around someplace. Only I don’t reckon it was in Austin.”
“Where’d it be?” asked Maisie, going back to rubbing her aching foot.
“Sure it was Austin, you danged fool!” howled Calamity. “You come here to tell the boss that I’d been run out of town. I’ve heard about you.”
“What’ve you heard, Marty?” purred Ella, watching the Jewish pedlar’s face rather than studying Calamity’s expression.
“That he’d sell his own mother if he thought the price was right,” Calamity replied. “Hell, I saw him talking to Cap’n Murat down a back street in Austin a couple of days before——”
“That’s a damned lie!” Jacobs screeched, and no other word could describe the sound.
“Just stay right where you are, Jake!” Ella ordered, swinging the Derringer in the pedlar’s direction.
“Hell, Miss Ella,” whined the pedlar nervously. “Murat only stopped me to ask about a gun I’d tried to get for him.”
The pedlar did not make his words sound very convincing and Ella’s suspicions deepened. If “Marty” told the truth, Jacobs would just have reached Austin after his visit to Caspar City. So he might have been selling information which brought Danny Fog to Caspar.
“All right, Jake,” Ella said. “I believe you. You’d better get going and let me talk with Marty here.”
Turning, Jacobs hurried from the room. His one desire was to collect his wagon and put as many miles as possible between himself and Caspar City, for Ella’s words had not fooled him at all.
“You letting him go, boss?” Maisie asked after Jacobs left.
“Go get Wren,” replied Ella, which answered the question after a fashion. When Maisie left the room, Ella turned her eyes to Calamity. “I’m not sure about you, Marty. Hold her until I get back, Phyl.”
“Sure, boss,” Phyl replied. “Come on, Marty, we’ll wait in my room.”
“Wait,” Ella ordered, rising and removing her robe. “You saw a lot of Danny Forgrave, Marty. Do you think he might be a Ranger?”
Calamity’s first instinct was to scoff at the idea, then she decided not to appear certain. She figured Danny could take care of himself, and had her own escape to think about.
“Seemed a mite slicker than most cowhands,” she admitted. “Only I thought he was just more crooked than most.”
Which just about coincided with Ella’s judgment of Danny’s character. The saloonkeeper drew on the man’s shirt, taken from its hiding place and slipped into a pair of levis pants. Watching Ella, Calamity remembered what Danny told her about Gooch’s death. Calamity studied the bare flesh under the shirt as Ella fastened its buttons and formed her own conclusions.
A knock sounded on the door as Ella finished buttoning the levis. She called “Come in!” looking at Phyl and Calamity as Wren entered followed by Maisie. “Take Marty to your room, Phyl,” Ella went on.
“I’ll go with her,” Maisie growled.
Anger etched a scowl on Phyl’s face, but she did not argue. Phyl and Maisie escorted Calamity to their room, leaving Ella to give orders to the cold-eyed hired killer.
Although she hid the fact, Calamity felt worried. Danny Fog’s life hung in the balance and somehow she must try to escape then warn him that his secret had been sold out. Yet before she could do anything, Calamity must escape from the two buxom, powerful boss-girls. For once in her life Calamity knew fighting was not the answer. She might be able to take one or the other girl, but not both at once; and even against one of them, skilled bar room brawlers that they were, she would be in no condition to make a hard ride straight after the fight.
The boss-girls shared a room slightly bigger, but not much better equipped than the type used by the ordinary female workers. On entering, Maisie leaned her back against the door and stood scowling at Calamity. None of them spoke for almost ten minutes. Calamity sat on the edge of Phyl’s bed and the redheaded boss-girl crossed the room to look out of the window.
“Girlie,” Maisie finally said, “I sure as hell hope you don’t come up with the right answers.”
“Why?” asked Calamity. “So it’ll put Phyl in bad with the boss.”
Turning from the window, after seeing Wren and Ella leave by the side door, Phyl scowled across the room at Maisie. Suspicion glowed in the red-head’s eyes and she said:
“You may have something there, Marty.”
“Sure I have, Phyl,” Calamity answered, taking her chance with both hands. “You’ve seen how she’s always trying to put you in the wrong.”
“I don’t reckon I’m going to wait until the boss gets back!” Maisie hissed and thrust herself away from the wall.
Before Maisie could reach Calamity, Phyl blocked her path. “You’ll leave her be, fatso. She’s——”
Drawing back her arm, Maisie swung it, hand knotted into a fist, against the side of Phyl’s cheek. The blow landed hard, sending the buxom redhead staggering. Maisie knew she had started something she must finish with Phyl before attempting to handle Calamity. So the brunette hurled herself at Phyl and walked into a punch between the eyes which stopped her in her tracks. The long pent-up hatred burst like a wrecked dam wall and the two buxom women tore into each other with flying fists, grabbing fingers, kicking feet, oblivious of everything except for their dislike of the other and desire to injure her as badly as possible.
While Calamity would have liked to stay through the fight and enjoy what looked like being a hell of a brawl, she knew time would not permit her to do so. Letting the two women become fully engrossed in their hair-yanking brawl, Calamity headed for the door and left the room. She ran along the passage and into her own quarters, closing its door behind her. Even while running along the passage, Calamity had been stripping off the cheap jewellery. In the room, she jerked off her dress and kicked aside her shoes. Opening the cupboard door, Calamity lifted out the grip in which she brought her spare saloon-girl clothing.
Before Calamity left Austin, a saddler worked all night to fit a false bottom into the grip. Reaching into the apparently empty grip, Calamity pulled up the cover of the false bottom and lifted out her normal clothing. The loss of her Derringer did not worry her, for her gunbelt, Navy Colt and bull whip all lay in the hidden cavity and Calamity had managed to keep the gun clean even while working in the saloon.
Outside Calamity’s room voices sounded. She could guess what had happened. Hearing the sounds of the fight between Phyl and Maisie, the other girls were coming up to investigate. Moving fast, Calamity drew on her shirt, then pulled the levis pants on over her stockings. Her kepi and moccasins came next, then she slung on the gunbelt and when she thrust the bull whip into her waistband, she felt at ease for the first time since accepting this chore.
Most of the girls stood in the passage outside Phyl and Maisie’s room and from the sounds beyond the door there had been little easing of the fight. One of the chattering, excited girls happened to glance in Calamity’s direction, then gave a yell which brought every eye to the transformed redhead. None of the girls made a move, but Dora scowled and opened her mouth.
“The name’s Calamity Jane, gals,” Calamity announced before Dora could say a word. “I’m working with the Rangers to bust up this cow stealing and I’ve no fuss with any of you.”