“Don’t try it, gal!” the voice went on in cold warning tones. “A stingy gun like that Derringer’s no good at over fifteen foot and I’m more than that away.”
“What’d you want?” Ella asked, debating whether to chance rolling suddenly and throwing a shot at the other girl.
“Throw the gun well clear of you,” came the reply.
“Go to hell!”
“In good time, I reckon. Only this’s the last time I’ll ask you to throw that stingy gun away.”
Ella could tell from the tone of Calamity’s voice that argument, or trying to roll over and shoot, would do no good. Being a smart girl, Ella knew when to call the game quits. Carefully she lifted her right hand, then tossed the Derringer a fair distance away across the level floor at the foot of the slope. Then she sat up slowly and shoved her hair back before turning to look at her captor. One glance told Ella the other girl spoke truly in the matter of relative gun ranges. From the casually competent manner the red-head held the Navy Colt, she knew how to handle it and could likely have put a bullet into Ella had the saloonkeeper made a wrong move.
Standing up the slope, Calamity watched the Derringer sail away into the darkness. On her arrival at the head of the slope Calamity had left her borrowed horse standing with trailing reins, hung her whip around the saddlehorn and moved in ready to hand Ella a shock.
“Who are you?” Ella asked, coming to her feet.
“The name’s Martha Jane Canary——”
“Mar—Calamity Jane?”
“I’ve been called worse,” Calamity admitted. “Let’s ride back to Bowie Rock and meet Danny Fog.”
“If he’s still alive,” answered Ella.
“I figure he will be. That boy’s real smart.”
“How’d you get away from Maisie and Phyl?”
“They got to fussing with each other after you left.”
“I should have figured that,” Ella sniffed. “Say, you and I can’t come to some arrangement, can we?”
“Sure. You just arrange for yourself to get on that hoss and we’ll head back to Bowie Rock.”
“You’ve nothing on me,” Ella remarked as she walked slowly toward Calamity.
“Maybe. Only I figure somebody’ll start to talk once we begin the round-up and haul them down to the pokey.”
Knowing some of her confederates, Ella did not doubt Calamity’s words. So she decided to try another line of reasoning, one which might appeal to a young woman like Calamity Jane.
“What have I done that’s so wrong?” asked Ella. “All I did was buy a few head of cattle from the cowhands——”
“Don’t say you didn’t know they’d been stolen,” Calamity interrupted.
“Had they? They weren’t branded——”
Once more Calamity cut in. “Most of them come from branded herds, and you knew it all along.”
“All right, so I knew it. I gave the cowhands a few bucks. Hell, the ranchers would lose more to the weather or stock-killing critters in a year than I took.”
“Losing’s one thing. Having ’em stolen’s another.”
“So who got hurt?” asked Ella.
“How about Sammy and Pike from the Bench J?”
“You can’t blame me for that!” Ella gasped, for her conscience troubled her more than she cared to admit over the death of the two young cowhands. “I only happened to be along that night. They always used that same place to brand the stuff. Even if I hadn’t been along, Gooch’d’ve found them.”
“And how about Gooch?” said Calamity quietly.
“If you are Calamity Jane, you’ve been around long enough to know what Gooch was. He aimed to rape me before he killed me—Hey, how did you know that I killed Gooch?”
“That was easy. Jake Jacobs told Cap’n Murat you was running the cow stealing. Both me and Danny figured you must have killed Gooch. Gooch might have been as bad mean as a man could be, but he’d a damned sight more sense than walk up to a man with his gun in leather. So it figured that a woman killed him and you seemed most likely to be the one. When I saw you coming in wearing those men’s duds, I knew how you got Gooch in close and stopped him being suspicious.”
“And you blame me for killing Gooch?”
“Nope. For turning decent kids into thieves. Get going.”
“Nobody made them steal,” Ella pointed out as she walked by Calamity.
“Nope. Only your gals got them so they didn’t know which way to turn.”
Slowly Ella walked up the slope with Calamity following. Suddenly the saloonkeeper appeared to slip. Ella’s feet shot behind her, striking Calamity’s legs and tangling with them. Letting out a yell, Calamity went over backward and lost her gun as she fell. Even as Calamity rolled down the slope, Ella stopped herself sliding after the red-head and grabbed up the fallen Navy colt. Coming to her feet, Ella lined the gun down at Calamity.
“It looks like we don’t need any arrangement now, Marty,” Ella said.
“Reckon not?” replied Calamity. “There’s no percussion caps on the nipples.”
“We’ll see about that,” Ella answered and squeezed the trigger.
Instead of the crack of exploding powder, a dull click came to Ella’s ears as the Colt’s hammer fell on a bare cap-nipple. Fury gripped Ella as she thought of how she had been tricked into tossing aside her fully-loaded Derringer—which used rim-fire bullets and did not need separate percussion caps to ignite the powder charge.
Calamity had not made the move intentionally. While she had stored the Colt with powder and a lead ball in each of the cylinder’s chambers, Calamity knew too much about guns to leave percussion caps on the nipples when the weapon was not in regular use. In her rush to get out and try to save Danny, she clean forgot to put the caps in place and did not remember this basic—and vitally necessary—precaution until just before she caught up with Ella. Then it had been too late, so Calamity made a damned good bluff.
Giving a squeal of rage, Ella charged down the slope. She swung up the Colt and launched a blow aimed at Calamity’s head. Bringing up her hands, Calamity caught Ella’s wrist as it brought the Colt down. Pivoting, Calamity heaved on the trapped arm and her pull, aided by Ella’s forward momentum, sent the saloonkeeper staggering by her. Ella lost her hold of the Colt and went sprawling face down on the ground. Rolling over, she spat out a curse and sat up, glaring at the advancing Calamity.
“Give it up,” Calamity ordered. “Or do you want to wrassle it out?”
Seeing that she could not escape unless she got by Calamity, Ella prepared to take action. Quickly Ella hooked her left foot behind Calamity’s right ankle, rammed her right boot against the redhead’s knee, pulled with the left, hoved with the right, and brought Calamity down on her back. Then Ella reared up and flung herself on to Calamity.
From the moment Ella landed, Calamity knew, as she figured on their first meeting, that the saloonkeeper could take care of herself in any girl’s kind of tangle.
Calamity’s kepi went flying as two hands dug deep into her hair and damned near tore out a pile of red curls by their roots. Pure instinct guided Calamity’s response. Even as she screeched in pain, her own hands hooked strong fingers into Ella’s black hair and Calamity braced herself, heaving up then rolling Ella from her. Swiftly Calamity twisted on to the top of Ella, trying to bang the black head against the ground. Not that Calamity stayed on top for long. Over and over the two girls rolled and thrashed. Neither showed any kind of skill, or gave a thought to anything more scientific than clawing hair, swinging wild slaps and punches or biting at first.