J. Edson - Ranch War

Just how it happened, neither woman could tell; but they made their feet with Florence behind Calamity and holding her in a full Nelson. Arms hooked under Calamity’s and fingers interlaced behind her neck, Florence saw her chance. Gasping in breaths of air with a sound like a saw rasping into wood, the blonde began to push Calamity toward the wall of the gorge.

When all their weapons were fully loaded, the Kid nodded to Trinian and crossed to the side door. Reaching it, he made a discovery that changed his plan of campaign. Vandor was not dead and, as the Kid appeared, was already riding his horse out of sight behind Florence’s cabin.

Nicked by one of Staff’s bullets, Vandor had been stunned. On his recovery and return to conscious thought, he had reached a rapid decision on what to do next. Going by the shooting that he heard, some of his companions were alive and fighting. Not that he meant to go and help them. The Canary girl had escaped, so Vandor could expect no mercy from her rescuers should he fall into their hands. If he knew Florence, she would already be riding at all speed for the safety of Burwell. Catching up with her and reaching the town offered him his only hope of salvation. With that in mind, he had retrieved his Smith & Wesson, collected his horse and set it moving.

The Kid recognized a threat to Calamity. If Vandor laid hands on her, the girl would make a useful hostage. So the Kid stepped through the door, meaning to go after the man. A bullet from the end of the third cabin hissed by his face and caused his hurried return to the building.

“Vandor’s getting away, Cash!” the Kid yelled. “I’m going after him.”

“Go to it,” the rancher answered. “I’ll cover you.”

Instead of trying to leave by the side door, the Kid went to the rear entrance. If he must run the gauntlet through the fire of the men in the cabins, he aimed to do it Comanche fashion. A shrill whistle left the Kid’s lips. Hearing it, his white stallion loped swiftly up the slope. Running to meet his horse, the Texan took off in a bound that landed him afork the saddle without touching the stirrups or reins looped around the horn. Rifle in his right hand, he urged the stallion to a better speed and prayed that he would be in time to save Calamity.

Knowing that she might be seriously injured if she allowed Florence to crash her face and bust into the wall, Calamity let the woman hustle her forward. When close enough, she swung up and rested her feet on the side of the gorge. Letting her legs bend, Calamity straightened them with enough force to thrust her captor backward. Before the blonde could escape, they had crossed the path and fallen over the edge. Separating in midair, they plunged into the river.

They landed in a deep pool where the current formed a swirling eddy. Spluttering and gasping, Calamity came up first. The icy chill of the water had done nothing to cool off her temper. As Florence’s head bobbed above the surface, she caught the girl’s fist on the nose. Then Calamity grabbed the woman’s hair and shoved her under. She felt Florence’s fingers close on the neck of her undershirt and haul her down. Clinging together, they submerged and continued to fight under water. With her lungs seeming to be almost bursting, Calamity got her face briefly above the surface. She had barely time to suck in a mouthful of air before Florence dragged her down. A plump arm waved into view, followed by a blonde head. Florence spat out water, making incoherent sounds, then one of Calamity’s hands took hold of the tangled hair and she disappeared again. Ripped off by Florence’s grabbing hands, Calamity’s undershirt floated to the surface.

Fingers sank into flesh, grinding and crushing, as the current carried the fighting women from the eddy. Over and over they turned, breathing when they could. Half drowned but showing no sign of breaking off hostilities, they were swept on to the shallows beyond the gorge.

With her chemise torn and trailing from her waist, Florence managed to make her feet. Also naked to the waist, Calamity rose with her. Fear and desperation gave the blonde enough strength to thrust the girl away from her. Sobbing in exhaustion, beaten and scared, Florence stumbled through the shallows toward the shore. Her feet sank into the mud churned up by the wagons which brought in her supplies and building materials, slowing down her flight. Following Florence, Calamity dived to lock her arms around the other’s waist. Down they went together, rolling and struggling in the clinging, gooey mud.

At last Calamity felt herself gaining the upper hand. Aching in every muscle and fiber, smothered from head to foot in mud, the girl straddled Florence’s torso. With knees pinning down the blonde’s arms, Calamity scooped up hands full of mud and heaped the stuff on her victim’s face. Unable to see or breathe, Florence used her rapidly failing strength in feeble attempts to roll the girl from her.

Sanity returned to Calamity, along with a realization of what she was doing. Then she heard shooting and, closer, the drumming of hooves. Raising her head, she saw Vandor galloping down the slope. It seemed that recognition was mutual, for the man snatched out his revolver.

Staring at the two mud-covered figures, Vandor needed to ride almost to the foot of the slope before he could tell for sure who was on top. The Smith & Wesson had been drawn as no more than a precaution, but he knew at last that he would have to use it. Not only could he win Florence’s increased gratitude by rescuing her, but the girl knew enough to bring the wrath of The Outfit on his head. Reining in his horse, he raised the revolver shoulder high, took aim and squeezed the double-action trigger.

Almost mad with terror, Florence felt Calamity relax. Taking advantage of the girl being distracted by Vandor, the blonde expended the dregs of her energy to heave herself into a sitting position. Too late Vandor saw what was happening. Even as the Smith & Wesson’s hammer reached the point where it was set free to snap forward again, Calamity tumbled away and Florence rose. The revolver crashed and its bullet flew across the mud to drive into the center of the woman’s back.

Tipped sideways by Florence’s surging thrust, Calamity landed on her hands and lay staring toward Vandor. Controlling his horse as Florence collapsed on to her back, he swung the gun into line with the certainty that this time nothing could come between himself and the girl.

Urging his horse to a full gallop, the Kid guided it by knee-pressure. The moment he emerged from behind Florence’s quarters, he twisted in the saddle and pointed the rifle toward the third cabin. Lead made its eerie crack in the air before the Kid’s face. Instantly his Winchester began to crash, throwing bullets in the direction of the man sheltering alongside the cabin. At the same moment, the second man burst out of the cookshack and the third reappeared through the door he had entered after being driven from the sawmill. Their rifles were lifting shoulderward ready for use.

Five times in rapid succession the Kid’s Winchester spat flame. Splinters erupted from the four holes which developed in the cabin’s wall and drew ever closer to the hard-case’s position. On the fifth shot, the man jerked convulsively. The bullet caused no splinters to fly, but had hit him in the head.

Seeing the Kid’s danger, Trinian dashed from the sawmill’s front entrance. With a revolver in each hand, he ran toward the third of the Kid’s attackers. Hearing the rancher, the man swung around fast. Rifle and Army Colt roared almost at the same instant. Trinian’s Stetson spun from his head, but he saw his own bullet bury itself in the man’s left shoulder. Throwing aside the rifle, the wounded man spun around and fell.

With his bullets coming closer to the Kid, the second gunslinger became aware of the fresh danger. Swiveling to face Trinian, he lined his sights on the rancher. Timing the move just right, Trinian went down in a rolling dive. He heard the rifle crack, but its bullet passed above him. Ending his evasion on his stomach, he cut loose with both revolvers. Their bullets struck the man in the body, flinging him off his feet.