Waco's Badge Read online

  Silently praying that her belief that no members of the gang were hiding close by was correct, Belle Starr had reached into the reticule at the first sign of trouble. Even as her right hand was starting to slip the Manhattan Navy revolver from its holster, she felt herself grasped and swung around to be pushed away from the rear end of the stagecoach. Spluttering a furious exclamation, despite realizing why she was being treated in such a fashion, she fetched out the weapon while regaining control of her movements. Coming to a halt, she swung her gaze to find out what was happening.

  Giving only scant attention to the male Summer Complaints, all of whom were being dealt with by her companions, the lady outlaw devoted her interest to the two young women. Only one struck her as being likely to give trouble; but it was the one against whom she had the greater animosity.

  Knowing the men she had brought into the desperate situation, Sarah had no faith in either their courage or their ability as gun fighters. Even before the lack of the latter was made obvious, she concluded there was nothing to be gained by making a fight; particularly in contention against men who were clearly most skilled in matters pistolero. As usual with her, to think was to act. Instead of trying to use the Merwin & Hulbert Army Pocket revolver, she turned and fled toward where their horses had been left.

  Seeing the woman who had tried to have her blamed for robbery and murder was running away, Belle tossed down the reticule. With her left hand reaching toward the waist band of the black shirt, she set off in pursuit. However, she was not allowed to catch her quarry without interruption.

  Amazed by the way in which things were suddenly and terrifyingly going wrong, Fiona had allowed the revolver she had fired—to miss Crowther and remove Walter Tract’s hat in passing—to fall from her hand. Seeing the “French woman” apparently rushing at her, but being unaware that she was not the objective, she was sufficiently spirited to try to meet what she believed to be an attack. Having no interest in the little blonde, whose motives and status in the gang she had deduced accurately, Belle lashed a backhand slap with the left arm which sent her spinning aside and ran on.

  Not very far, however!

  Giving a squeal of pain mingled with rage, Fiona hurtled after her assailant!

  The first intimation received by the lady outlaw of the second attempt at intervention came when she felt her skirt being grasped from behind. Having been prevented from doing so by the blonde’s first try, she had once more put her left hand to preparing to make use of a modification to the garment which she had copied from Belle “the Rebel Spy” Boyd. A tugat the fastening of the waistband caused it to loosen and open sufficiently wide for the skirt to be discarded more quickly than by conventional means. Having it grabbed by Fiona, who had dived and was falling, made the function perform even more rapidly.

  Although Belle felt her movements being impeded, the skirt was sufficiently voluminous so that when it opened it failed to trap her completely. Staggering, but without falling, she contrived to liberate first the right and then the left leg. In doing so, exhibiting the tight fitting black riding breeches and Hessian leg boots beneath the discarded-garment, she was compelled to make a half turn. What she saw warned she was not yet finished with the attentions of her assailant.

  Having landed upon hands and knees, displaying a rubbery agility regardless of her buxom build, Fiona bounded to her feet and into the attack once more. Despite admiring her spunk, the lady outlaw was disinclined to accept any further delay in going after the leader of the gang. Stepping to meet the intended assault, she made effective use of her longer reach. While she swung another back hand blow, this time it was with the right fist. This held her revolver, but it was the knuckles and not the barrel or frame which made the contact. Struck at the side of the jaw, the little blonde made another involuntary twirl away from her objective. On this occasion, however, she was unable to remain on her feet. Stunned by the blow, she pitched face forward on to the ground and lost all interest in the proceedings for several seconds.

  Resuming her twice interrupted pursuit, Belle ran through the trees in the direction she had last seen the taller girl disappearing. Although she scanned her surroundings, she could not locate her quarry due to the dense undergrowth. However, the crack of revolver shots from ahead gave her an indication of where to go. Other sounds, following the three detonations, warned why the weapon had been discharged.

  “God damn it!” the lady outlaw ejaculated, coming into a clearing and seeing Sarah riding away; also that the shots had frightened off the horses belonging to the other Summer Complaints. “You’ll not get away from me that easy, you bitch!”

  “They do say it’s the first sign of going loco,” Waco drawled, having left his companions to deal with the situation at the stagecoach and followed Belle, “when folks start talking to themselves.”

  “I’d love to hear what Betty Hardin says to you after I’ve written her!” the lady outlaw answered. “Help me catch one of their horses, please. Two Belle Starrs are one too many and I’m aiming to make sure it stops!”

  Although she had not heard anybody approaching the ranch house on horseback, Sarah Siddenham was more curious than alarmed when she heard its front door open!

  Not for the first time, the over confidence which was the chief weakness of the Summer Complaints’ otherwise competent leader was causing her to under-estimate the gravity of her situation!

  Satisfied she had prevented all chance of an immediate pursuit by scattering the rest of the horses, none of which was the equal of her own mount in quality, Sarah had not seen anything to make her revise the opinion as she was fleeing from the disastrous attempt to hold up a second stagecoach. Instead of taking the kind of circuitous route and employ the methods of hiding tracks learned from Deputy Sheriff Jackson Martin—although these had not been successful, as they failed to prevent Waco from following the Summer Complaints to their headquarters—she had returned by the quickest route. Leaving her badly lathered horse to take care of itself on her arrival, she had entered the ranch house to carry out the plans she had made during the flight from Pinal County. Feeling certain that any of the gang who survived would not hesitate before betraying her, with the probable exception of Fiona Crenshaw, she knew she must not delay her departure. In fact, but for one vitally important consideration, she would not have returned at all.

  The theft of the money on the night of what the Summer Complaints referred to as a game of “strippoker” had proved to be a blessing in disguise. While it had led to Sarah and her companions electing to carry out the second hold up, despite having learned the neighboring rancher had no designs upon their property, it had improved her own situation in one respect. She had lost her “table stakes,” but this had affected her far less than any of the others. Not only had she frequently emerged a winner from earlier conventional poker games, but she had abstracted some of the loot put aside for the furtherance of their scheme. As the money had been hidden separately in her bedroom, it was not included in the sum stolen by the three masked intruders. Added together, winnings and abstractions would be more than sufficient to let her escape from the immediate vicinity long before the stagecoach could be taken to either Red Rock or Marana and the authorities informed, then to continue her flight out of Arizona.

  Tossing the bag containing the money on to the bed alongside the blonde wig she had removed, Sarah started reaching for the Merwin & Hulbert revolver more as a precaution than with any belief she might need it.

  “Leave it where it is, ‘Belle Starr!’”

  Hearing the feminine Southern drawl from the door of the room, Sarah tensed as she looked over her shoulder. For a moment, as the newcomer had discarded the black travelling costume, the wig and was barefoot, explaining how the silent approach had been possible, she failed to recognize the “French woman” from the stagecoach. What she did notice immediately, however, was the short barrelled weapon resembling a Colt 1851 Navy revolver which was lined unerringly at her. There was something in the deme
anor of the new arrival, whose blonde hair was cropped as short as her own—a requirement created by the need to wear wigs in the hot climate of Arizona—warning it would be extremely unwise to disobey.

  “Who are you?” Sarah demanded, raising her right hand clear of the Merwin & Hulbert and turning slowly until facing the door.

  “You’ve lost your Southern drawl, you-all,” replied the genuine Belle Starr. “It wasn’t very well done, at that.”

  “I said who are you?” Sarah hissed, although she was beginning to suspect the truth.

  “I’m Belle Starr,” the lady outlaw answered. “And, as I told a very good friend just recently, I don’t take kindly to lobby-lizzies trying to have me blamed for their crimes.”

  “What do you intend to do with me?” Sarah challenged, despite feeling very uneasy as she listened to the softly spoken words. “Take me into Marana and turn me over to the sheriff?” She paused, then continued. “But, if you did that, I would just as quickly turn you over.”

  “You’ll be in no condition to turn anybody over,” Belle claimed. “Fact being, Summer Complaint, by the time I’m through with ‘you-all,’ you’re not going to be doing anything for longer than it will take me to be long gone to where the sheriff, or anybody else, can’t find me.”

  “You talk big for somebody with a gun in her hand,” Sarah countered, employing all her considerable strength of will to prevent her trepidation showing. She was helped by the timber of disdain with which the words, “Summer Complaint” were said. Glaring defiantly at the visitor, she continued, “Which is about all I could expect from a ‘mother-something’ peckerwood tail peddler like you!”

  “Come on out here and close the bedroom door behind you,” Belle instructed, gesturing with the Manhattan and showing no sign of the annoyance she felt over being referred to by the derogatory names for a Southron and a prostitute. Moving backward as she was speaking, although not sufficiently to prevent her from keeping the weapon lined on the other girl, she concluded, “Then we’re going to see just how much I need a gun to hand you your needings!”

  “Now what?” Sarah demanded, having done as she was instructed.

  “I’m going to give you the licking of your life,” the lady outlaw declared, crossing to open the center drawer of the sidepiece. Placing the Manhattan in and closing it, she went on, “But you can make things a whole heap easier for yourself if you hand over the pocketbook you took from Senator Twelfinch.”

  “Can I though?” Sarah said disdainfully. “Now isn’t that a pity, peckerwood. I burned it as soon as we got back here. So I’ll just have to pass up having things made ‘a whole heap easier’ for me.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it,” Belle claimed, the attitude of disinterest assuring her that the other was speaking the truth and also unaware of the potential value offered by the incriminating contents of the book. “I’d hate not to be able to give you everything you have coming.”

  With that, the lady outlaw started to cross the room!

  Watching Belle approaching, a surge of elation flowed through Sarah. Until she had seen the revolver put away in the drawer, she had had fears for her life or at least her future liberty. Now she believed both were secure. Clearly the “peckerwood” believed there was nothing to fear at her hands. In which case, she was confident she could cause a most painful disillusionment.

  Bringing up her fists as she had learned when boxing, but without eliciting a similar posture of readiness, Sarah danced rapidly to meet her opponent. Out shot her right fist, for a jab to the “olive brown” face of the beautiful Southron. Such a punch, she felt sure, would come as a complete surprise and be sufficiently disconcerting and hurtful to render its recipient open for more punishment.

  Disillusionment came quickly!

  Not, however, as had been envisaged by the Summer Complaint!

  Warned by Waco of Sarah’s competence at boxing, Belle was not taken unawares and was ready to defend herself. Rising, her hands caught the approaching wrist before the knuckles could make contact. Raising the trapped arm, she pivoted beneath and jerked it downward. A wail of alarm burst from Sarah as she felt herself suddenly being spun in a half somersault through the air. Coming down on the dining room table, it collapsed under her weight and sent her rolling across the floor. Before she could recover her wits, two hands sank into back hair and, with a wrench which threatened to rip hanks out by their roots, jerked her erect. Swung around by it, she had hurtled across the room on being released. This time, however, she was more fortunate and her spinning rush ended with her sitting on the well padded sofa by the side of the room.

  Following the Summer Complaint, Belle concluded she was far from finished. Bouncing from the sofa, she was ready to take action before the lady outlaw arrived. Knotting her fists, Belle shot out a right, a left and another right in rapid succession. Showing she had recovered from the surprise received on her opening attack, Sarah deftly blocked each blow in turn. On the heels of the third thwarted attempt, the Summer Complaint retaliated by hooking two punches into the unguarded midriff of the lady outlaw. Gasping, the blows having been hard, Belle was driven back a couple of steps. Before she could pass beyond reaching distance, a backhand slap to the side of the head sent her spinning to land on hands and knees facing away from her assailant.

  Hissing in triumph, Sarah advanced spraddle-legged to sit on Belle’s back as if riding a horse. Having gained the position, she used each hand in turn to box the other’s ears. Such tactics were all very well when used in a friendly rough and tumble with Fiona, as they had proved on two occasions, but they were less effective against an opponent whose intentions were far from friendly. Letting out a squeal of pain at each slap, Belle thrust upward against the straddling legs. Such was her strength, she raised the Summer Complaint from the floor and, by tilting over, sent Sarah back to it in a far from triumphant sprawl.

  Although the pair separated, this only lasted for a moment!

  Coming to their knees, the lady outlaw and the Summer Complaint faced each other from less than two feet apart. Acting as if upon a signal, they thrust inward and, with a thwack of colliding flesh, they flung their arms around one another in a violent embrace. Tumbling sideways, locked in that fashion, they went across the floor in a rolling mill which made them appear to be one misshapen human form trying to destroy itself. Skill was forgotten and pure instinct as primeval as the beginning of time prevailed. Fingers clawed at flesh, but neither had nails of sufficient length to inflict scratches. However, cloth tore and buttons flew from masculine shirt and female blouse as they were grasped and wrenched at mindlessly. Involuntary grunts and moans burst through clenched teeth as arms and legs squeezed with savage power, sounding louder in the otherwise silent room.

  Having attained the upper position, straddling Sarah with fingers sunk like talons into the bosom now bared by the loss of the shirt, Belle gained the first serious advantage; but only momentarily and she paid for it. Pure chance rather than deliberate intent caused Sarah to drive her wildly flailing right fist against the temple of the lady outlaw. Toppling sideways, hand clutching at the point of impact, Belle rolled desperately away from the Summer Complaint. The blow had been devastating, a “shot to the head” of the kind which frequently won boxing bouts. Nor was the lady outlaw unaware of the danger.

  Could Belle recover, she wondered as she was struggling to rise, or would Sarah attack again before her strength returned?

  The answer came quickly!

  Coming up fast, the Summer Complaint pounced like a chicken hawk stooping to take an incautious hen. Still with none of the skill she possessed, she grabbed and flung Belle to the floor. Going forward, she caught hold of the lady outlaw’s right leg as it and its mate kicked in a futile attempt to fend her off. Raising the limb, she gave a squeal more animal than human and sank her teeth into the calf. Even through the riding breeches, Belle felt the pain. It galvanized her into a reprisal which her condition might otherwise have failed to produce. Kicking wit
h all her strength, she was not too bewildered to ensure the contact was made with the top and not the toes of the left foot. The force of the impact sent the Summer Complaint spinning against the wall, from which she flopped to the floor.

  Once again, the embattled pair rose almost simultaneously. Legs trembling under the exertions, they paused for a moment to re-marshal their strength for the next confrontation. Then they rushed at one another with a fury which was astonishing and not a little frightening to behold, if there had been any spectators. For close to ten minutes without a pause, they twisted, grabbed, yanked, punched and generally mauled each other without mercy. Soaked in perspiration, each shedding blood from nostrils, lips and grazes, they went at it as if their lives depended upon it. In one respect, at least where Belle was concerned, it did. Should she fail, she believed Sarah would kill her out of hand.

  Coming to their feet, still without releasing their clutches, the girls reeled heedlessly across the room. Locked in the same fashion, they crashed through the window taking glass and sash with them. By some miracle, neither was cut by the shattered shards. However, tumbling to the porch served to jolt them apart. Not for long, however. Lurching erect, they closed. Slightly faster, Belle delivered a kick which sent the ball of her foot into the pit of Sarah’s stomach. Gasping for breath and badly hurt, the Summer Complaint began to double over. Her throat descended into the clutching hands of the lady outlaw and she was forced upright once more.

  Now Sarah was in jeopardy!

  Held by the savage constriction of the strong fingers wrapped around her throat, the Summer Complaint squirmed in desperation to free herself and to breathe. Flailing with her fists and trying to kick, she beat at her assailant’s head and body with a decreasing force. For her part, the lady outlaw took the blows and devoted every ounce of her will power to keeping up a pressure which grew harder to maintain by the second. Feeling her fingers trembling from exhaustion, as the clutching efforts strained at her muscles, she suddenly thrust Sarah away. Colliding with the wall of the house, what small relief the Summer Complaint experienced was short lived.