Even as the whip’s lash snaked in her direction, Calamity knew what she must do. Swinging her legs around, she lowered herself over the edge of the gorge. Dirt flew into her face as the popper hit the ground between her hands. Spluttering, she let go and dropped about twelve feet on to the path that ascended the face. On landing, she pressed herself against the rock. At that point there was a slight overhang to hide her from Florence. Fighting to hold down the sound of her breathing, Calamity stood with her face and body flattened to the wall.
“It’s no good hiding, Canary!” Florence’s voice warned from above. “I can still get to you.”
With that the blonde swung the whip, its lash curling down over the contours of the wall. Calamity gritted her teeth to prevent as much as a gasp leaving her as the leather bit into her back. Again the whip cracked and she saw the lash strike the wall to her left. Like a flash she turned and grabbed it in both hands. Bracing herself, she tugged hard. Taken unawares, Florence gave a startled yell. She knew that she could not prevent herself going over, so jumped. Releasing the whip’s handle, she landed on the edge of the path. For a moment she teetered and then slipped. Grabbing wildly, she managed to hook her arms over the edge and dangle from it.
Once again Calamity discarded her whip, then walked toward Florence. Kneeling, the girl obtained a double-handed hold on the blonde hair and hauled the woman upward. Florence squealed and mouthed curses at the pain that it caused. Hooking her right leg on to the path, Florence made sure that she would not fall. Then she drove her right fist into Calamity’s left breast. Releasing the hair with a croak of agony, Calamity staggered backward.
During the brief seconds Calamity required to shake off the worst effects of the blow, Florence regained the path and stood up. Neither of them gave a thought to the whip, but came together in a fist-swinging rush. After exchanging wild blows, they closed in a tight clinch and locked their arms around each other in a double bear hug. Trying to trip Florence, Calamity slid her right leg between the blonde’s meaty thighs and behind her left knee. At the same moment, the woman duplicated the move. Balancing precariously as they crushed breast to breast at each other, they tilted over. Still enmeshed in each other’s grasp, they crashed to the path on their sides. The impact broke their holds and Florence rolled Calamity over, kneeling astride her and driving her hands at her face. Calamity jerked her head forward, closing her teeth on the base of Florence’s right forefinger. With a screech, the blonde pulled back and Calamity pitched her over.
Landing on top, Calamity tied into Florence in a savage, unthinking tangle. For over two minutes they turned, pitched and rolled on the path. Sometimes they were face-to-face, then one behind the other, or head to foot—all the while ripping, biting, tearing, punching, kneeing, kicking and clawing. During the mindless brawl, Calamity’s shirt was torn off and Florence lost her blouse.
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.