“Unbuckle the gunbelt, cow-nurse!” ordered Vandor’s voice from beyond the revolver. “And don’t you make fuss, gal, or he’s dead.”
Calamity knew when to surrender. So she stopped struggling; but still retained her hold of the whip. Equally aware of the futility of resisting at that moment, the Kid slowly obeyed the order. Unbuckling his gunbelt, he let it slide to his feet. Vandor placed his left palm against the center of the black shirt and pushed the Kid forward.
“What’s on your mind, hombre?” the Kid inquired.
“You disrespected Miss Eastfield out there in the street, while you was stood behind a rifle and backed by Leckenby,” Vandor explained, following him and thrusting him farther from the door. “Olaf didn’t like it. Did you, Olaf?”
Turning his head slowly, the giant hurled the empty bottle across the room. He lurched to his feet, ignoring the lawyer who sat drinking from the schooner.
“Olaf didn’t like it!” the giant rumbled. “Olaf’ll break him in two.”
“You standing for this, barkeep?” asked the Kid, watching the giant. “I don’t reckon the sheriff’ll be too happy if you do.”
“Maybe Leckenby won’t be coming back,” Vandor sneered, retreating toward the door. “And if he don’t, Miss Eastfield’ll want to know who her friends are. Take him, Olaf!”
Letting out a bellow more animal than human, the giant lurched in the Kid’s direction. At the table, Endicott set down the glass and stared through bleary eyes at the big man.
“Wha-Wha——!” the lawyer mumbled. “Dish-grashe-ful be-hav-hav——” He took up the schooner again and drank deeply.
Separated from his weapons, the Kid was far from helpless. Although the Comanches preferred more direct, permanent methods of settling quarrels, they knew some effective bare-hand fighting tricks. In addition, the Kid had watched such masters as Dusty Fog and Mark Counter perform, learning valuable lessons from them. So he reckoned that he would not be the easy victim the men—and maybe Calamity—expected.
Gripping the back of a chair, the Kid leaped to meet the advancing giant. At the last moment, the Kid weaved aside and crashed his weapon into Olaf’s chest. Wood splintered and the chair disintegrated in the Kid’s hands. Apart from a single grunt, the giant gave no sign of feeling a blow that would have felled most men. As the Kid started to go by, Olaf swung his left arm. It caught the Texan a glancing blow on the shoulder. Glancing, maybe, but the force of it sent the Kid staggering across the room.
“That does it!” Vandor said enthusiastically, watching the Kid’s attack. “There’ll be no stopping that crazy bongo until he’s killed the Texan. Hold on to the gal, Torp. I’ll go fetch the hosses.”
“Sure, Van,” the other man replied, tightening his grip on Calamity. “I’ll stop in here ’til you get back. I’m enjoying this.”
“Want to bet you stay that way, you stinking son-of-a-bitch?” Calamity thought, her eyes on the fight.
With surprising speed, the bald man turned and charged after the Kid. Managing to turn, the Texan struck with his back against the wall. Pinned there momentarily, he saw Olaf coming closer. When in range, the man launched up his right leg in a kick. Crossing his wrists, the Kid interposed them between his body and the rising leg. Even with the support offered by the X-block he had learned from Dusty Fog, he only just halted the boot clear of him. Changing his hand position fast, he gripped the raised ankle in them. Then he leaped to one side and gave the trapped limb a savage lateral swing. For a moment Olaf’s other spiked boot held on to the planks beneath it. Then it slipped and he spun around, away from the Texan. Following the staggering man, the Kid interlaced his fingers and smashed his hands as hard as he could against the base of Olaf’s spine. Again the giant grunted, stumbling but not going down.
Going after the giant, the Kid learned the advantage offered by the caulked boots. Ramming down his forward foot, Olaf halted. He pivoted around, swinging his right fist. Desperately the Kid tried to twist aside. The back of the forearm crashed into his chest and the force of the blow pitched him backward. Hitting a table, he went over it and landed on the floor. Dazed and winded, he saw Olaf stalking with measured strides toward him. Taking hold of the table in both hands, the man swung it above his head as if it weighed no more than a matchstick.
Down drove the table. Throwing himself over, the Kid just managed to roll clear. He heard the table drive edge-first into the floor and shatter, continuing to roll. With a bestial snarl, Olaf flung away the ruins of the table and stalked after the Texan.
At the door, Calamity watched the fight with worried eyes. She knew that she could not break Torp’s hold on her by sheer strength. However, as the fight progressed, his attention became absorbed by it. That was what the girl had been hoping for. Feeling his grip slacken a little, she raised her right foot and stamped it down hard on to Torp’s left instep. Worn for utility rather than feminine fashion, Calamity’s footwear was solidly constructed. So the force of her attack drove pain through her captor’s foot and leg. Torp let out a howl and his arms loosened their hold.
Not much, but enough. Drawing forward, Calamity propelled the handle of her whip to the rear. The hard knob of the butt rammed into Torp’s solar plexus. Belching out a gasp of agony, he released her entirely and started to go backward. Calamity swung around and lashed out with her whip-filled right hand. The back of her fist caught Torp at the side of the head. Spinning in a circle, he blundered into the batwing doors and passed through. Still unable to halt himself, he crossed the sidewalk, collided with the hitching rail’s end-post and tumbled on to his hands and knees in the street.
On the point of following Torp and making sure he could not return, Calamity heard the crash of the table. Turning her head, she saw that the Kid needed help in the worst kind of way. Three strides across the room carried Calamity close enough to give it. Already her right arm had sent the whip’s lash curling behind her. Forward the arm snapped and the lash reversed its direction.
Looking up, the Kid saw Olaf’s right foot raised and poised to crash the sharp spikes into him. If he could only have a moment to catch his breath, he might yet escape. The moment was to be granted to him. Something brown wrapped itself around the man’s head. Still standing on one leg, Olaf screamed in agony as the whip’s lash bit into his face. Calamity tugged back on the handle, pulling the man off balance. Although he sent the boot driving down, he just missed the Kid. Up rose Olaf’s hands, tearing the lash from his face and flinging it aside. Then he started to rush across the room.
Seeing in which direction the giant was headed. Calamity dropped her whip and reached for her Navy Colt. Then she heard the rumble of hooves and voices raised in the street. Realizing that the sounds heralded Vandor’s return, and noticing that the Kid was already on his hands and knees as he started to get up, she knew that she must try to prevent the gunslingers from coming back into the barroom. Backing hurriedly toward the doors, she hooked her left boot under the Kid’s gunbelt and sent it skidding across the floor in his direction.
“Lon!” she yelled, drawing his attention from the bald giant and to the belt which halted several feet from the Texan.
Sweeping Endicott aside as he tried to rise, Olaf snatched up the axe. Mouthing barely human sounds, the giant turned and rushed toward the Kid. Still only half erect, the Texan saw the man approaching. Around whistled the axe, swung with the speed, power and precision of a trained lumberjack. The Kid propelled himself toward his gunbelt, barely passing clear of the axe’s swinging arc. Diving, the Texan extended his right hand as he landed belly-down on the floor. His fingers closed about the butt and he plucked the old Dragoon from its holster. Nearer came the giant’s feet, sounding and vibrating through the planks. Twisting on to his back, the Kid saw Olaf looming toward him and the axe swinging into the air. Thrusting the Dragoon upward, the Kid drew its trigger to the rear with his right forefinger as the heel of his left hand flashed over to drive back and release the hammer.