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  Rolling on to her stomach, Wil made an instinctive attempt to rise. Failing, she sprawled face down on the thick carpet, her gorgeous, pain-torn body shaking uncontrollably.

  Sucking in deep breaths, Lily stood over Wil and watched for any sign that she might be able to get up. After about thirty seconds, Lily hooked her left foot under her shoulder and rolled her on to her back. Still the mayor showed no hint of wanting to resume hostilities.

  ‘Looks like you’re all through, big businessman, and I hadn’t hardly got started,’ Lily mocked, then shrugged and turned to walk slowly towards the door. ‘I’ll have Doc Riley come tend your hurts. Any other time you feel like coming to run me out of town, feel free. I’ll be pleasured to oblige.’

  If Lily had looked behind, she would not have felt so complacent. Forcing herself upright, Wil darted after her. While hurt, the mayor had been able to think well enough to know standing when Lily faced her would be dangerous. So she had waited for her chance. The rules learned in the Women’s Suffrage Movement’s ‘fisticuffs’ classes—taken to prove they could do anything men could—would serve no purpose at that moment. This was not a carefully supervised affair in a boxing ring but a real, anything-goes fight.

  Lily’s voice smothered the slight sounds made by Wil’s feet and the blonde suspected nothing. Even as her right hand reached for the key, Wil caught up with her. Throwing her left arm over Lily’s left shoulder, Wil snapped it across the front of her throat in a choke-hold. Back and forward flashed the mayor’s right fist, pumping and jabbing blows into the saloonkeeper’s kidney region. Flattened against the door, Lily could do little or nothing to protect herself. Then Wil heaved with her left arm and twisted around. Thrown off balance and released, the blonde teetered almost to the bed before subsiding on to her rump.

  Giving Lily no chance to recover, Wil rushed up. Swooping over, she dug greedy fingers into the long blonde hair. A heave brought Lily, squealing protests, almost to her feet. Turning with her back to the blonde, Wil again encircled Lily’s throat with the left arm. Having gained the hold, the mayor rained punches into the bewildered girl’s head and face.

  ‘I’m ready to start again right now!’ Wil gritted as her leather-encased knuckles drew blood from the blonde’s nose and lips.

  Through the agony of the brain-jolting impacts came a sickening realization that Lily had underestimated Wil’s courage and determination. Instead of being beaten, the mayor had tricked her. Now she was paying the penalty for her mistake by taking back as much punishment as she had previously handed to Wil.

  Half-strangled as well as receiving the blows, Lily knew that she must try to escape. She was at Wil’s mercy and could be sure that none would be shown. Three times she raked the tips of her fingers down the mayor’s bare back, clawing at the choking left arm with the other hand. Then she understood why her efforts produced no results. Covered by the gloves, her nails were unable to dig in and rip her way out of the chancery-hold.

  Sobbing curses, Lily allowed her knees to sag until her sweat-sodden torso rested against Wil’s left hip. Thrusting her left arm between the mayor’s spread-apart thighs and clamping her right arm tightly about Wil’s waist, she surged upright. Wil let out a startled yelp as her feet rose from the floor. Retaining her hold on the blonde’s neck, she stopped the pummeling and sank the free hand deep into Lily’s hair. In her efforts to throw Wil from her, Lily staggered backwards. Still locked together, they tumbled on to the bed.

  Such was the force Lily put into her effort that Wil lost her hold as they fell. Passing over the blonde’s head, she rolled across the covers and on to the floor. Landing on her derriere, Wil saw Lily wriggle around to follow her. Bouncing from the bed, the blonde landed astride the mayor almost as if trying to sit on her lap. Lily’s weight carried Wil over backwards. Straddling Wil with her knees, Lily swung slaps and punches at her face. Kicking wildly, but ineffectively, with her legs, Wil tried to catch the hands that flailed at her. Failing, she hurled up a jab that rammed her left fist into the blonde’s already bloody nose. Squeaking in pain, Lily grabbed at and caught the wrist before it could withdraw. An instant later their unoccupied palms met and fingers interlocked.

  ‘When I’ve finished with you!’ Lily gasped, straining to keep Wil pinned to the floor, ‘Poona’ll look away instead of at you.’

  Putting all she had into a sudden pitching thrust, Wil toppled the blonde over. Retaining their hand-holds, the mayor assumed the upper position. With her hips between Lily’s thighs and bosom pressed against bust, Wil glared down. Feeling Lily trying to lock her legs around for a scissor-grip, she eased up her rump to counter the attempt.

  ‘Don’t think he’ll even look once at you!’ Wil hissed back. ‘Because I’m going to make you want to leave town.’

  Releasing the trapped wrist, Lily grabbed for hair and Wil duplicated the move with her left hand. Jerking their other fingers apart, they transferred them to help in tearing at hair. Tight as two lovers, they went rolling along the floor. The nature of the fight had undergone a transformation. All signs of skilful attack and defense were forgotten. With no more definite thought than to inflict punishment on the other girl, they churned and wrestled in a wild, primitive tangle of waving arms and thrashing legs.

  For almost three minutes, practically without a pause, Wil and Lily battled in that fashion. They were oblivious of repeated poundings on the door and shrill, excited feminine voices demanding to know what was happening. Screams, gasps and shrieks broke from them as they punched, slapped, nipped, pulled, kneed, kicked or bit mindlessly at each other. Occasionally one of them would shove clear and get to her knees, but the other always tackled and brought her down before she could stand upright. Nor did they stay face to face. Sometimes they would be head to foot, or one on the other’s back, or even back to back. Once, wriggling out between the kneeling blonde’s thighs, Wil found her face pressed against the other’s well-padded buttocks. There was only one thing to do in such a position. Lily screeched aloud as the teeth sank home and dived away. Later, the blonde returned the treatment as Wil, thrust aside by her feet, fell face down on the bed. Squealing, Wil reared on to her knees and shoved Lily away from her with such force that the blonde fell and rolled several feet.

  Slowly the girls dragged themselves erect and faced each other, Lily croaked in her attempts to replenish her aching lungs with air and swayed from side to side in exhaustion. To her amazement and horror, Wil showed no hesitation about returning to the attack. While sweat-soddened, bruised and bloody, now clad only in her tattered drawers, the mayor seemed in better physical shape than the saloonkeeper. That was understandable, for Wil lived an active life which kept her muscles exercised and toned up. Lily followed a more sedentary occupation.

  Trailing her one remaining stocking behind her, Lily tried to throw a slap. Wil sprang the remaining distance, thrusting out with both hands. They clapped on the blonde’s heaving bosom and shoved hard. So slowly had Lily’s arm been moving that her palm missed Wil as she was sent staggering backwards across the room. Brought to a halt by the wall, she slumped against it and stared at the approaching lady mayor.

  ‘N—N—No!’ Lily sobbed, holding out her left hand weakly. ‘Don’t h—’

  Instead of continuing her attack, Wil lowered her raised hands. Instantly Lily’s right fist hurled upwards. Caught under the jaw, Wil spun back several steps and crumpled face down on the floor. Delighted by the success of her bluff, Lily shoved herself from the wall and advanced. Sinking down, she lay on the mayor’s back. Sliding her left arm under Wil’s throat, Lily started to choke her and the right’s fingers made a determined effort to tear out a hank of the black hair.

  Pain blazed through Wil’s reeling senses. Croaking out sounds which might have been words, she grabbed Lily’s left forearm in both hands and jerked it forwards. Down ducked Wil’s head and sharp white teeth sank through the black material of Lily’s glove into the flesh below. The blonde screeched loud and long. Trying to escape
, she eased herself upwards above Wil. Releasing the arm with her hands the, mayor grabbed over her. Sinking her fingers into Lily’s matted, disheveled hair, she hauled down on it. At the same moment, Wil thrust her rump from the floor until she stood on her head and feet. She had made the movements with such speed and power that Lily was catapulted from her. Turning a somersault, the blonde landed on her back and bounced twice.

  Wil beat Lily to regaining their feet. While the sobbing blonde was still trying to rise, the mayor reached her. Up hurled Wil’s right knee, taking Lily full in the face. Blood gushed in an increasing volume as she was lifted erect and sent blundering away to fall backwards on to the bed. The blonde was beaten and knew it. Every inch of her almost naked body throbbed in a white-hot cauldron of torment. Her head felt on the verge of exploding after the knee-kick she had just taken. Through the pain-mists which boiled about her, she saw Wil looming above her.

  A sense of wild, primitive elation filled Wil. Yet she remembered what had happened when she had last thought the blonde beaten. She did not intend allowing it to happen again. By the time she was through, Lily would be irrevocably licked.

  Leaping astride the still conscious, but completely impotent blonde, Wil forced both arms against Lily’s sides and clamped them there with her knees. That rendered the blonde unable to defend herself, while leaving the mayor’s hands free. Going by Lily’s expression and feeble attempts to escape, she knew what to expect. Taking her time, Wil let fly with a left that snapped the blonde head around as far as the bed’s mattress would permit. Across flashed Wil’s right fist as soon as Lily’s face pointed upwards. Then another left, right, left, right, the tempo increasing and the blows pelting the blonde’s battered features from side to side. Diluted somewhat by many tears and the sweat pouring from both over-heated bodies, Lily’s blood soaked Wil’s gloves and splattered on the covers. At that moment there was only one thing for which the blonde might have counted herself lucky. Wil was so exhausted that her blows fell at much less than their earlier force.

  Swinging around, Wil’s right hand missed its mark. She overbalanced and fell from her bosom-cushioned perch. Sobbing in pain and exhaustion, Wil lowered her protesting body from the bed. Slowly she turned to face her rival, hoping that she would not need to continue her exertions. Lily lay motionless, having passed into merciful unconsciousness soon after the final battering had commenced.

  All the elation ebbed away from Wil and sanity returned. Dragging feet which seemed to be weighted with lead, she stumbled around the bed and retrieved her clothes. The door crashed open as she was trying to pull on the skirt. Followed by the doctor and some of Lily’s girls, Waxahachie Smith burst into the room.

  ‘What the hell?’ the Texan ejaculated, skidding to a halt.

  ‘See—to—Shiv—Shiv—doctor!’ Wil ordered, holding up the skirt to cover her naked bust. The room seemed to be rocking and twirling around, but she forced herself to go on. ‘And one of you girls tell her I want to see her in my office at the bank tomorrow morning. If—she—can make it.’

  That proved to be Wil’s final effort. Letting the skirt fall, she collapsed in a heap and slid limply from the bed.

  ‘What the hell started this?’ Lorna inquired, staring in amazement from one battered, bruised and bloody girl to the other but addressing her words to Smith. ‘Lily told that painter to quit working on the new sign and burn it just after you and Miss Jeffreys left the saloon this morning.’

  Chapter Twelve – An Attorney-at-Law from Cheyenne

  ‘Wax,’ Ottaway said, walking into the marshal’s office followed by the burly ‘drummer’. ‘This here’s C. B. Frith. I met him putting his hoss up at the livery barn and fetched him along. They said at the bank that Miss Jeffreys won’t be in today.’

  While Smith did not feel surprised at the last piece of information, considering the mayor’s condition when he had last seen her, he made no comment on the subject. Instead, he laid aside the sheaf of ‘Wanted’ posters he had been examining and rose from the desk.

  ‘So you’re C. B. Frith,’ Smith greeted and held out his right hand. ‘I never did figure you for a travelling salesman for Schuyler, Hartley and Graham.’

  ‘I was, way back,’ Frith objected, his grin matching the Texan’s. ‘And Cedric Burbury’s my given names. Only I’d sooner you gents didn’t spread that around. There’s not many folks knows it.’

  ‘Looks like you two know each other,’ Ottaway commented.

  ‘We met down at Gilpin’s,’ Smith explained sketchily, resuming his seat behind the desk and indicating the room’s other chairs. ‘Pull up and set a spell. You played them close to your vest down there, Ric’

  ‘So did you,’ Frith pointed out as he seated himself facing the Texan. ‘I figured you was heading here to be hired, same as me, but I didn’t know if the same feller had sent for us both.’

  ‘Comes out we’re both on the same side, anyways,’ Smith drawled. ‘And I can’t say I’m sorry over that.’

  ‘Or me,’ Frith replied. ‘Point being, Wax, who’s on the other side?’

  ‘You mean who-all sent those three jaspers to Gilpin’s after me?’

  ‘Something like that. There’s a heap of this “sending after” going around. Three fellers tried to put windows in my skull up to Billings.’

  ‘Did you get ’em?’ Ottaway inquired, having drawn up a chair and perched himself astride it.

  ‘Two’re wolf-bait,’ Frith admitted. ‘But the other was still alive when I left to come down here.’

  ‘Did he tell you who’d sent him, Ric?’ Smith wanted to know.

  ‘Was hit bad and unconscious,’ the burly man answered. ‘I left the Big Indian and Jed Trotter there to see if he’d tell anything when, or if, he come to. Doctor allowed it’d be three-four days at most before they’d know which it’d be. So they’ll be here Monday or Tuesday to tell me. Mr. Ottaway here allows that the mayor wants to take on some more men.’

  ‘Sure does,’ agreed Smith. ‘I was counting on asking you, not knowing you’d already been asked.’ He looked at the burly man quizzically. ‘Do you want to cut the cards, or spin a coin for who wears the marshal’s badge ?’

  ‘You’ve got it on, so keep it there,’ Frith replied cheerfully. ‘Likely there’ll not be enough difference in the pay for it to be worth dickering over. I can take orders as easy as giving em.

  ‘How about getting more help, Wax?’ Ottaway demanded.

  ‘Happen my recommendation’s any good, you could do worse than take the Big Indian and Jed when they get here,’ Frith suggested. ‘They might not look like church-going folks, but they’ve sand to burn and’ll do to ride the river with when the water’s over the willows.’

  Suddenly Smith became aware that two men were standing outside the open door, listening to the conversation. He recognized the mournful-featured bank teller and Stanley Jeffreys. Coming in, they approached the desk.

  ‘Hope we’re not interrupting anything special, Mr. Smith,’ Jeffreys said. ‘But Ry—Mr. Ryall thought you should know—’

  What about?’ Smith asked.

  ‘Counselor Yorck from Cheyenne has been to the bank, demanding to see Miss Jeffreys,’ the teller answered. ‘I told him to try at the house as she wasn’t in.’

  ‘Now why’d you do a mean thing like that?’ Smith inquired. ‘You know that she’s in no shape to talk business.’

  ‘Yorck’s talking for those two soft-shells you had us toss in the pokey,’ Jeffreys put in. ‘So Mr. Ryall thought you should know he’d be coming here.’

  ‘He’s like that, huh?’ Smith drawled. ‘Gracias, Mr. Ryall.’

  ‘Miss Jeffreys would have wanted you to know,’ the teller replied. ‘Now I’ve done it, I’ll be going back to the bank.’

  ‘He’s not a bad old cuss,’ Jeffreys commented after the man had left, then looked pointedly at Frith. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

  ‘This’s Stan Jeffreys, Ric,’ Smith introduced. ‘Stan, meet C. B. Frith.’<
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  ‘Mr. Frith,’ Jeffreys greeted, shaking hands.

  ‘Try “Ric”,’ Frith suggested, studying the badge on Jeffreys’ lapel. ‘You’re a deputy, huh?’

  ‘He’s learning the ropes,’ Smith explained.

  A tall, lean, well-dressed man of middle-age stalked into the office. Sharp-featured, he carried himself in a manner oozing with self-importance.

  ‘Where’s the marshal?’ he demanded, running cold eyes over the men gathered around the desk.

  ‘You’re looking at him,’ Smith answered, indicating his badge.

  ‘My name is Yorck. I’m an attorney-at-law and I want an explanation of your actions.’

  ‘All of them, Counselor, or just some in particular?’

  ‘I want to know why you assaulted and are holding prisoner two law-abiding young visitors to this city!’ Yorck elaborated.

  ‘Who d’you mean?’ asked Smith innocently.

  ‘Anthony Lander and Philo Wymar,’ the lawyer answered. ‘They were with a bunch of farmers who—’

  ‘Them two!’ Smith said in carefully-simulated understanding. ‘They kicked open the door of the mayor’s meeting-room and come busting in on a private meeting like a drunken Sioux headed for a pow-wow. I did what I did to stop the law being broken—’

  They weren’t breaking any law!’ Yorck protested.

  ‘Were likely to bust the lock on the door, way they opened it. That’s damaging civic property and breaking the law. Only that’s not what I was thinking about.’