The Floating Outfit 19 Read online

  Rubbing the blood which trickled from the side of her mouth, Calamity forced herself up, shaking her head. Madam was at her, one hand shooting out to dig into the girl’s short hair and hold it, the other lashing in back and open palm slaps at her face. Calamity’s head rocked from side to side and her own hands drove out to tangle into Madam’s longer hair. The pain must have been intense if the howl Madam let out could be anything to go by. They staggered backwards across the room, both alternating between tearing at hair, swinging punches and slaps and kicking out, although as neither wore shoes this did not prove to be very effective.

  It took Calamity just ten seconds to know she had tangled with a woman as strong as, and with as much fight-savvy as herself. Calamity had learned her fighting from soldiers, bullwhackers and mule-skinners and they had taught her to use her fists like a man. Wherever Madam Bulldog learned to fight, she also learned that a clenched fist proved more effective in a brawl than any amount of hair-yanking.

  On the stairs the three excited saloon girls watched, gave their vocal and moral support to their boss, for Madam Bulldog had endeared herself to them all and they held her in the greatest respect. Besides Calamity Jane was not one of them, she belonged to the world outside, the world of “good women” who looked down on and sneered at the painted workers of the saloons, or caused them much trouble and inconvenience. So they wanted to see their boss hand Calamity a whipping, to uphold the high traditions of their place.

  The noise brought the other girls out, sleepy-eyed and complaining until they saw what caused the fuss. Then they also settled down to enjoy the brawl. None of the male saloon workers lived on the premises, an innovation since Madam Bulldog took over, and the old swamper was hustled indignantly into a room and locked in by one of the girls. So no man saw the great battle between Calamity Jane and Madam Bulldog.

  Despite the lack of witnesses, which did not bother either fighter in the least, the two women put on a brawl which neither would ever forget, nor would the few girls who saw it.

  At first they fought with their fists, like two men, then closed and started hair yanking, tearing and kicking at each other, crashing to the floor and rolling over and over, still tearing at each other. They rolled apart and came up again with Calamity attacking even before Madam made her feet. She came into a punch which knocked her backwards, on to a table top. Madam rose, caught up a chair and swung it over her head, charging forward to bring it down at Calamity who rolled from the table and dropped to the floor just as the chair splintered above her and where her body had been an instant before.

  With a spluttering curse Calamity dived under the table, locking her arms around Madam’s legs and bringing her crashing down. Calamity clung to the legs as she fought her way to her feet, then leaned forward to grab at Madam. Too late Calamity realized she had made an error in tactics, for Madam managed to get her feet under Calamity’s body. She started to thrust and Calamity, clawing desperately for a hold, caught the top of the green satin dress. With a powerful heave of her legs Madam threw Calamity backwards and from her. There sounded a harsh ripping noise as Madam’s dress, tight on her figure and not meant for such strenuous activities, parted at the seams. Calamity lost her hold and shot backwards, on to a chair which broke under her and deposited her on the floor.

  When Madam rose she found her torn frock impeded her free movements. She tore it from her and charged at the girl clad only in her underwear and stockings.

  While still on her hands and knees, Calamity saw Madam coming into the attack. Calamity threw herself forward, her head ramming into Madam’s middle and bringing a croaking gasp. Calamity locked her arms around the plump waist and bore Madam backwards.

  Then a hand dug into Calamity’s hair, bringing forth a howl of pain. Madam’s other hand caught at the back of Calamity’s shirt, tearing at it, dragging it from under the waistband of her old pants and ripping it. At that moment Madam realized such methods would do her no good and drove two hard blows into Calamity’s back. The girl lost her hold and caught Madam’s knee as it drove up to stagger her away. Now it was Calamity’s turn to get rid of a torn garment, for the shirt got in her way. She wriggled and tore out of it without a thought for not having a stitch of clothing under the shirt. When Calamity attacked she was naked to the waist.

  For a full fifteen minutes they fought like enraged wildcats and without a pause. Their clothes had suffered still more. Madam also fought bare to the waist now. In a wild thrashing attempt to grab Calamity, Madam had caught the patch on the seat of her pants, torn it away and got a hand into the exposed hole, then tore from the seat to the bottom of the right leg. Nor were clothes the only things to suffer. Neither woman had long nails, but their hard fists left bruises or drew blood, while their teeth had found flesh and both bore marks to show how effective the teeth had been. Yet, bloody, bruised, half naked and battered though both were, neither would give way or call the fight off.

  Once they went down, laying gasping for breath, then slowly rose, but when they made their feet they fought on with the same ferocity which marked the fight from start to finish. They used fists, back-hand and open hand slaps rained on faces and bodies, their elbows thudded into ribs, they kicked, using the sole of the foot, they drove knees into each other, tore hair, butted like a pair of Rocky Mountain rams, threw or swung chairs at each other. Blood ran from their noses and lips, sweat soaked them, but neither gave a sign of finishing.

  “Reckon we ought to stop them before they kill each other?” asked one of the watching girls as Madam and Calamity rolled off the faro layout on which they had landed and thrashed over and over in their fight.

  “You can try if you like,” answered Viola, watching the two women, clinging to each other still, crawl to their feet and fight on. “I sure don’t aim to.”

  “They’ll stop themselves soon,” another girl, face flushed with excitement, answered. Then she shuddered as Calamity swung a roundhouse punch at her boss. “Ouch! I felt that one.”

  Viola also winced in sympathy as Madam took the punch. It sent the plump woman stumbling back. She hit the side of the vingt-un table and clung to it for a moment, then slid down. A moan of disappointment rose from the girls as Calamity, tottering but still on her feet, started towards their boss.

  “H—had—enough?” Calamity croaked, hoping the other woman would say she had.

  Weakly Madam put her hand on the seat of a chair and used it to lever herself up. Her other hand gripped the edge of the table and with this to help she made her feet. She had to cling to the table, but she stood there and gasped in breath as she watched Calamity come closer.

  Madam released the table and brought around her fist. The blow caught Calamity and stopped her in her tracks, for she had never thought the other woman capable of such a blow. She stood there, dazed and unable to stop the next swinging blow Madam launched against her. For a moment Madam stood staring, then swung again, this time with all her strength. Calamity’s head snapped back, she reeled away, hit a table and fell over on to it, laying there.

  Still Calamity was not beaten. She saw Madam coming at her and lashed out with her foot. With a flat “splat!” the foot caught Madam in the face and stopped her advance. She shook her head, another kick caught her and she stumbled forward, gripped the edge of the table and heaved it upwards. Calamity yelled as she felt herself slipping. She twisted and rolled sideways from the table as it turned over, landing on the floor and rolling over on to her back, laying there with arms thrown wide and one knee raised, her eyes glassy, her breasts heaving. On the other side of the overturned table Madam Bulldog sank to her knees, rested a hand on the floor and then flopped on to her side.

  “Wowee!” gasped a girl. “They’re both done for.”

  It certainly looked that way, for neither woman offered to try and get up for almost a minute and Viola opened her mouth to tell the others to get their boss up to her room. Before she could they all saw a movement. Only it came from the far side of the overturned
table. Calamity had rolled over and braced her hands on the floor as she tried to force herself up.

  “It’s Calamity!” groaned one of the watching girls.

  “Looks that way,” agreed Viola, bitterly disappointed, for she knew that if Calamity rose she would be the winner.

  Now Calamity knelt on the floor, gasping and sobbing for breath as she weakly reached her hands upwards towards the edge of the overturned table. On the other side of the table, weakly but definitely, Madam forced herself up on to her hands and knees. She could hardly think straight and wondered why Calamity had not ended the fight. She could see no sign of the girl, only the legs and bottom of the table she tipped over. The warning yells of her girls seemed to be far off and she could not make out their meaning, something about somebody getting up, pulling herself up on the table. Madam shook her head to try and clear it, then she saw a hand grip the edge of the table and another hand. Something clicked, the meaning of the yells she had heard. Although she felt like collapsing, ached in every muscle, bone and inch of flesh, although the top of her head seemed to be on fire where hands had torn at her hair, Madam Bulldog braced herself on her knees and one hand, watching the top of the table. Calamity Jane was getting up that she knew.

  Calamity gripped the edge of the overturned table and used it to help drag herself to her feet. It proved to be a mistake. The moment Calamity’s head came into view over the edge of the table Madam Bulldog shot out a bunched fist which crashed into the girl’s jaw and sprawled her once more to the floor. Calamity rolled over and slowly tried to force herself on to her hands and knees. Just as slowly Madam rose to her feet and, staggering in exhaustion, she moved in. Bending down she took a handful of Calamity’s tangled red hair and hauled her to her feet. On being released, Calamity tottered dazedly and almost fell. Before the girl’s legs could collapse under her, Madam brought around a right fist with a full swing of her body, smashing it into the side of Calamity’s jaw. Calamity spun around like a child’s top, then crashed down. From the rag doll limp way she fell one thing was for sure—this time Calamity would not be getting up.

  Stepping forward Madam sank to her knees, straddling Calamity’s body, then she gripped the girl’s hair in both hands, lifting the head ready to bang it against the floor. Seeing how limp Calamity’s head hung in her hands, Madam released it and it flopped to the floor. Madam rested her hands on the floor by the side of Calamity’s head and stayed where she was. She heard the excited chatter of the girls as they crowded down stairs and came towards her. Hands gripped her arms and helped her to her feet, for she had not the strength to rise under her own power.

  “You licked her, Madam!” Viola whooped eagerly. “Come on, gals, get the boss up to her room.”

  Though whirling mists of pain filled her and the room seemed to be flying in a circle around her, Madam clung to consciousness. She gasped in breath to her aching, tortured lungs as her girls held her on her feet. Weakly she managed to point down to Calamity’s still form as the girl lay with breasts heaving and mouth hanging open.

  “G—get—her—to—her room at—h—hotel!” Madam gasped and went limp in their hands.

  Mark Counter sat in the room at Doc Connel’s, eating breakfast and talking over the events of the previous evening with the doctor and his uncle. Mrs. Connel, a small, pleasant woman who had many of her husband’s good points, such as an ability to get things done, entered, bringing Viola with her.

  “Doc,” the girl gasped; she wore her street clothes and showed signs of having dressed hurriedly. “It’s the boss.”

  “What happened?” Connel replied, thrusting back his chair and rising from the small table where he and Mark sat.

  “She tangled with Calamity Jane. They fought for nearly an hour and Madam licked her in the end.”

  Which showed how legends could grow. The fight lasted just over thirty minutes and had already been almost doubled in duration.

  “Where’s Calam now?” Mark asked, also rising, for he knew something of the ways of dancehall girls with their enemies.

  “We took her back to the hotel,” Viola replied. “The boss told us to.”

  Mrs. Connel glanced at her husband. She knew and liked the boss of the Bull’s Head but did not have any illusions about her toughness. If she and Calamity Jane had fought both would likely be needing medical aid. She looked at her husband and gave her orders.

  “You go to the saloon and do what you can for Madam Bulldog, George. I’ll take the hotel and do what I can for that Calamity Jane woman.”

  “I’ll come along with you, ma’am,” Mark offered.

  “Like to see how bad ole Calam’s hurt, then I’ll make my rounds of the town.”

  “You start thinking about Cousins and his bunch arriving, Mark,” warned Tune grimly. “They might be here today, or they might not. But it won’t hurt none to be ready for them.”

  “You lie easy and I’ll tend to it,” Mark replied. “Say, you’ll be alone for a spell. I’ll put your gun under the pillow where it’ll be handy.”

  At the hotel Mark started to follow Mrs. Connel into Calamity’s room, but was ordered out before he got beyond the door.

  “Tell the manager to send up some hot water,” she said. “And stay out. This gal’s in no state yet to have male visitors.”

  Mark guessed as much from the brief glimpse he’d got of Calamity before being chased out. He knew she had been wearing her sole remaining items of clothing the previous night. Which meant she would hardly be in any shape to appear in public until she obtained some more clothes.

  “You’d best give me an idea of what size clothes she’d want, Mrs. Connel,” he said. “Shirt and jeans.”

  “She a friend of yours?”

  “You might say that.”

  “Huh!” sniffed Mrs. Connel. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

  Mark grinned. “You’re not seeing Calam at her best right now. And she’s a damned good friend to have in a tight corner.”

  The rebuke was plain in Mark’s voice and Mrs. Connel smiled. “You’re right. I’m not seeing her at her best. Go tell the manager and when you get back I’ll tell you the size of clothes to buy.”

  After delivering Mrs. Connel’s message and collecting the sizes from the woman, Mark headed for the general store where the owner studied the list Mark gave him.

  The items attracted some excited comment from the storekeeper who could tell at a glance the shirt and levis would never fit Mark, nor would the big Texan be likely to wear the other items of clothing on the list.

  “You mean Madam ’n’ Calamity Jane tangled this morning?” asked the storekeeper, sounding disappointed at missing the fight.

  “That’s just what I mean.”

  “Hell, and we never got to see it. Who won?”

  “Madam, way I heard it,” drawled Mark.

  “Yeah, that figures,” said the storekeeper, then remembered the other item of interest and speculation in Tennyson. “Say, Mark, do you reckon Cousins’ll come today?”

  “Today, tomorrow, the next day. He’ll be here. I’ll see you, Herbie.”

  Leaving the storekeeper loading his old ten gauge scatter gun with a dose of nine buckshot, Mark headed back to the hotel with his purchases. He went up to the first floor and tapped on the door to Calamity’s room.

  “How’s Calam?” he asked Mrs. Connel.

  “Well, one eye’s closed, the other looks a mite black. Reckon she won’t feel like eating anything solid for a spell way her jaw’s swollen. She’s got a few bites, a few lumps raised and it’s easier to see bruises than skin on her body, but she’ll live. That gal’s sure tough as leather. She’s conscious, but I’ve given her a dose of laudanum to ease the aches. Go in and look her over.”

  Mark entered the room and found a battered but clean Calamity lying on her back in the bed. By now the laudanum was taking its effect, but the girl managed a very faint attempt at her usual grin and even tried to wink through her good eye.

  “You
look like you tangled with a bobcat, Calam gal,” drawled Mark, laying the new clothes on the chair by her bed. “And a mule or two.”

  For all her aching body, dulled by the laudanum’s action, Calamity still tried to tell Mark what she thought of him. However the effort was too much and after an incoherent mumble she lay back and glared at him as best she could.

  “Leave her be, Mark,” said Mrs. Connel. “She needs rest.”

  “Why sure,” agreed Mark and looked down at the girl. “Don’t go away, Calam.”

  With that he left the room and found Doc Connel in the hall, having come from attending to Madam Bulldog’s injuries. Mark stopped to learn how the saloonkeeper had fared in the fight.

  “That must have been a hell of a brawl,” Doc said. “Madam sure looks a mite peaked. I hope Cousins holds off until she gets on her feet.”

  “When’ll that be?” asked Mark.

  “I gave her laudanum to ease her aches, enough to make her sleep until noon, but she’ll be stiff as a dead polecat when she recovers and in no shape for fast moving.”

  “Damn that fool Calam!” Mark snapped. “Why in hell couldn’t she have waited a day or so. I’ll take a switch to her hide, see if I don’t.”

  After delivering the threat Mark turned and left the hotel. He walked along the sidewalk, making for the marshal’s office, nodding in answer to the greetings called by passersby and owners of business premises as they opened for the day’s trade. From the look of things none of them seemed unduly bothered by the threat of Cousins’ arrival. Just as he was about to enter the office he happened to look towards the Wells Fargo office. He saw Viola, Madam Bulldog’s boss girl, enter the building and wondered if the girl might be booking a seat, or seats, on the stage which passed through that evening headed for the west, from Sand City. He doubted if it would be Madam Bulldog running, although the injured woman might be trying to escape before Cousins arrived. Mark decided to go and see her, warn her that she could be running into more danger by leaving, for Cousins possibly would have men watching the stage coaches out of town.