Most of the girls had nothing to lose by the wrecking of the cow stealing organization and anyway that bull whip looked a damned sight too dangerous for them to start arguing. However, Dora still hated Calamity for the humiliation handed out on the red-head’s arrival. Now she saw a chance to take her revenge.
“Get he——!” she began.
Once more Dora was interrupted. Mousey did not know for sure what was happening, or why her friend Marty dressed in men’s clothes and claimed to be Calamity Jane. All the little blonde knew was that she now had a good chance to tangle with Dora and put Calamity’s self-defense lessons into use. Catching Dora by the arm, Mousey turned her and brought across a punch which staggered the bigger blonde back across the passage.
“Why you——” Dora hissed.
Down went Mousey’s head and she charged, ramming Dora full in the middle of the body. In her childhood, Mousey lived hard and still had strong little muscles. These, backed by the lessons Calamity gave her, enabled her to tangle with Dora and make the bigger girl believe a bobcat had jumped her.
“Sic her, Mousey!” Calamity whooped. “And use your fists like I taught you.”
The other girls let Calamity depart unhindered. Unlike Mousey, Dora had never been popular, so the girls saw no reason to halt what shaped up to be a good fight; especially as Mousey appeared to be getting the best of it.
Wally Stirton, boss of the Rafter O, his men and the other customers gathered at the foot of the stairs, listening to the screeches, yells and other sounds of female brawling which drifted down. Then the men stared as Calamity came into sight and ran down the stairs toward them.
“What the hell?” Stirton growled. “Hey Marty——”
“Get your boys on their hosses and lend me a mount, Wally,” Calamity interrupted. “We’ve a chance to bust up the cow stealing.”
Give him his due, Stirton threw off his surprise and got moving without wasting time or asking fool questions. He and his men headed for the door on Calamity’s heels and the girl told him her true identity, also of Danny’s danger.
“Lanky’s out back with one of the gals,” Stirton drawled as they left the saloon. “Take his dun, Mar—Calamity.”
At that moment the sheriff and his deputy came running along the street. Calamity did not give them time to start asking questions, but pointed to the saloon and yelled, “There’s a fight upstairs, Sheriff!”
Then she and the Rafter O men hit their saddles. Before the sheriff could ask any of the questions which boiled up inside him, the entire bunch went racing out of town. In the lead Calamity told Stirton to head for Bowie Rock. She rode as never before. Knowing it to be a race against time—with Danny Fog and Tommy Fayne’s lives hanging in the balance.
Chapter 14 IT WON’T WORK THIS TIME, ELLA
DANNY FOG AND TOMMY FAYNE HAD ONE ADVANTAGE over Stocker and Schatz when Ella Watson screamed out her warning. The two young men knew they were fakes and both expected trouble as soon as they heard the rapidly approaching horse coming from the direction of town.
Even though Danny could not figure out how Ella discovered his secret, he wasted no time in idle speculation. Already he held a Colt in his right hand for he had never professed to be real fast with a gun and knew he could not match Stocker in a straight draw-and-shoot fracas. Even as the rancher heard the words, let out a startled curse and grabbed for his gun, Danny went into action.
“Yeeah!” Danny yelled and fired a shot into the air.
Never the most stable and easily handled of animals, even less so when newly branded and being held against their will during the night hours, the longhorns needed little encouragement to spook and take to running. All twenty head heard the yell and crash of the shot, then they went to running—straight at Stocker and Schatz. While a longhorn could be handled, under normal conditions, safely enough from the back of a horse, that did not apply right then. Both rancher and segundo took one look at the wild-eyed, charging animals and jumped their horses clear of the rush of scared longhorns.
Cattle streamed by Stocker as he threw two shots at Danny. Shooting from the back of a horse had never been noted as an aid to accuracy, especially when using instinctive alignment, so the bullets missed the Ranger. Danny fired in return—only he took the extra split-second to raise his Colt shoulder high and use the sights, and his sabino stood like a statue under him. Flame licked from the barrel of Danny’s Colt and the muzzle-blast blinded him for an instant. When his vision cleared, Danny saw Stocker pitching down from his saddle. Even as he saw Stocker fall, Danny heard the crackle of shots to his right.
Tommy had drawn his Colt even as Danny started the cattle running. Often Tommy daydreamed about becoming involved in a gun fight and now he found himself tangled in a real shooting match. Buck-ague sent rippling shivers of excitement through the youngster and his hand shook at he threw up the Colt. Guns roared and Tommy heard a flat “splat!” sound which he failed to recognize as the cry of a close-passing bullet for he had never heard one before. He saw the bulky shape of Schatz charging at him and shooting as he came. Only the fact that Schatz handled his gun with his left hand saved Tommy from death. Three times the burly man fired, his lead coming closer with each successive explosion.
Pure instinct guided Tommy’s hand. He lined his Colt, feeling his horse fiddle-footing nervously under him and guessing the movement helped to save his life. Tommy never remembered firing his Colt. All he knew was that the gun roared and bucked against his palm. Next moment Schatz tilted backward, sending a bullet into the air, and went down from his horse, landing under the feet of Tommy’s mount and letting the gun fall from his hand.
Tossing his leg over the sabino’s saddlehorn, Danny dropped to the ground and moved toward Stocker. The rancher had come to his knees, but saw Danny approaching and noted the gun the Ranger held. Remembering the lawman’s rule for dealing with such a situation, Stocker released his injured right shoulder and raised his left hand hurriedly into the air.
“Don’t shoot, Ranger!” he yelled. “I’m done. Hold your fire.”
The rancher appeared to be making more noise than one would expect; or so Danny decided. With every instinct alert and working full-time, Danny soon discovered the cause of the noise. Dark shapes moved out of the clump of scrub oaks from which Stocker and Schatz had emerged. Even as Danny saw the shapes, guns bellowed from them and muzzle-blasts flared in the darkness—but not aimed in his direction.
“Hit the ground, Tommy!” Danny yelled, throwing two shots at the shapes and changing his position as he fired.
Showing remarkable presence of mind considering it to be his first involvement in a corpse-and-cartridge affair, Tommy left his saddle and lit down on the ground. Although his horse spooked, it did not go far with the reins trailing but came to a halt a couple of hundred yards away. Crouching behind a black mound, Tommy raised his Colt. Then he realized that the hump hiding him was in reality Schatz’s body. The man lay without a move.
“If you shoot, Tommy,” Danny called, rolling over as he spoke and sending another shot at the approaching men, “move straight after it.”
Before Tommy could profit by Danny’s advice, they heard more hooves thudding from the direction of Caspar City. So did their attackers. Coming to a halt, the Stocker men read danger in the approaching riders, for they knew one set of hooves could not make so much noise.
“Get out of here!” yelled a voice.