‘Buy me a drink some time,’ Evans replied. ‘I haven’t liked any of those three since the boss took them on. Where’s Curly?’ The Ysabel Kid could have answered that question, but at the moment he was riding towards the camp.

  Looking down at the body of the thin gunman, Mark shook his head. ‘Don’t ask me, What I’d like to know is who marked up Gordon’s face like this. He looks like he’s been kicked by a knob head mule.’

  Chapter Thirteen—Miss Carde Goes to War

  AT EIGHT O’CLOCK in the morning Candy Carde sat on the edge of her bed and looked down at the still sleeping Dusty Fog. From there her eyes roamed across the room and came to rest on the dressing table. The previous night she had placed the note which brought Dusty into town upon the dressing table and so rose to walk across the room. Her black silk nightdress clung to her body and emphasized the firm-fleshed curves under it. Without a thought for her appearance, Candy took up the note and read it, then she raised it to her nose and sniffed at it once more. The sound of Dusty stirring in the bed caused her to turn. She looked down at his fight-marked face and a grim frown came to her brow.

  Making her decision, Candy pulled open the top drawer of the dressing table and took out a combination chemise and drawers outfit of the latest design. She peeled off the nightdress and stood naked for a moment, then slipped into the underwear. Deciding to dispense with stockings, she went to the closet and opened it to take out a pair of medium-heeled shoes. Instead of her usual working clothes, Candy donned a white blouse and buttoned its hem to the top of a plain black skirt. Then she put on her cloak, gave her hair a rapid comb and slipped a hat on. Throwing a kiss at the bed, she left the room, carrying the letter in her hand.

  Meeting one of her girls in the passage, Candy paused long enough to give her orders.

  ‘Tell Len to wake Captain Fog at nine o’clock,’ she said. ‘Len can take him breakfast up and ask him to loan Captain Fog a shirt. If the Captain asks for me, Len is to tell him that I’ve gone to see the writer of the letter.’

  ‘Will Cap’n Fog understand, Miss Candy?’ asked the girl.

  ‘I reckon he will,’ Candy said and turned to walk away, but a thought struck her. ‘Tell Len that Captain Fog’s horse is stabled at Colonel Goodnight’s place.’

  ‘Yes’m,’ the girl replied and watched Candy walk away, a puzzled expression coming to her face. ‘Hum!’ she mused. ‘I wonder how Cap’n Fog lost his shirt? If it was me, I’d rather have Mark Counter.’

  So might Candy have thought on first impressions, but she had no cause for complaint or to be dissatisfied with her choice.

  The sound of knocking on the door woke Dusty. He lay for a moment, trying to decide where he might be. Then memory came back and he moved, giving a muffled grunt of pain. Swinging his feet from the bed, he looked around. Candy’s nightdress lay on the bed and Dusty picked it up. Now that was a fancy looking outfit, he would bet Candy looked sweeter than a barrel of molasses wearing it. With the thought come and gone, Dusty bundled up the nightdress and slid it out of sight.

  ‘Come in,’ he called.

  Len, the head bartender, was noted for his skill as a poker player; he needed all his skill to prevent his surprise showing as he entered Candy’s room. Bringing the tray of breakfast things to the bed, he put it down, looking with frank interest at Dusty’s face, but asking no questions about the battle-scars. ‘The boss left word for me to wake you at nine, Cap’n,’ Len said, taking the shirt he had carried over his arm and placing it upon the bed. ‘Said for me to loan you one of my shirts, so I brought this’n. Will it do?’

  ‘Do fine, thanks, Len. Where at’s Candy now?’

  ‘Left word to tell you she’s gone to see the writer of the letter—’

  ‘What?’ barked Dusty. ‘Hell’s fire, Len, hand me my pants, pronto!’

  The urgency in Dusty’s voice made Len jump into action and forget the unasked questions buzzing in his head. Taking the Levi’s, Dusty drew them on and he wasted no time in donning the borrowed shirt and the rest of his clothes. Strapping on his gunbelt, Dusty headed for the door.

  ‘What about your breakfast?’ Len asked.

  ‘You eat it. Where’s my horse at?’

  ‘Colonel Charlie’s place.’

  ‘Thanks. How long ago did Candy leave?’

  ‘Getting on for an hour back.’

  ‘Damn that crazy gal,’ thought Dusty as he limped downstairs. ‘Doesn’t she know enough to keep her head out of a trap?’

  With an hour’s start, Candy would be beyond any stopping; and there was a call Dusty had to make first. For once in his life Dusty wished that his big paint stallion had a gentler nature, or that one of his friends was around. No stranger could saddle the paint, not without considerable danger to himself. So Dusty would have to make his call, then saddle his horse and ride after Candy.

  Going to Scales’ house, Dusty looked through the office window. All the signs pointed to the lawyer having left in a hurry. The safe door hung open and a few papers lay scattered on the floor. Dusty went around to the rear of the house and, after making sure nobody saw him, kicked open the back door to enter the building. As he expected, Scales had gone. In Scales’ bedroom, Dusty found that the bed had not been slept in although the lawyer had laid upon it during the night. The closet and dressing-table drawers had all been emptied and Dusty found nothing to hint where the lawyer had gone. Just as he was about to leave, Dusty saw what appeared to be a bunch of human hair lying on the floor under the bed.

  ‘A false beard,’ he said, leaving. ‘This’s who the drummer in the bar was.’

  On his way to Goodnight’s house Dusty called in at the livery barn. What he learned there told him the situation was not as bad as he at first imagined—it was a hell of a lot worse.

  ‘Is everythi—’ Laura Naylor began, throwing open the front door of her house. The words died away as she found her early morning caller was not who she expected. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Laura, wearing a woolen dressing gown over her underwear, stared at Candy. Stepping forward, Candy made Laura back off until they were both in the house, then the blonde closed the door behind her.

  ‘I came to see you,’ Candy replied.

  ‘Not this morning,’ Laura snapped. ‘I’m not in the mood—’

  ‘This isn’t a social call, dearie,’ Candy interrupted, moving forward and causing Laura to step away until they stood by the ornament-decorated sidepiece. ‘I came to see you about the letter you sent to Captain Fog

  ‘L—letter?’

  ‘This one,’ Candy answered, taking it from her pocket and tossing it on to the sidepiece’s top. ‘Its edges were soaked in perfume to make Dusty sure it had come from me. Only it’s not my kind of perfume, and it’s more expensive than any of my girls could afford. So I got to thinking who I knew used this kind of perfume and guess who the answer came out.’

  ‘I really don’t know wh—’

  ‘Cut it out, Laura dear. You wrote the letter and I want to know why.’

  Hate and anger blazed in Laura’s eyes as she pointed towards the door. ‘Get out!’ she hissed. ‘Get out, or I’ll call the hands and—’

  ‘They’re working the roundup,’ Candy pointed out. ‘And you don’t have a cook. He quit on you last week, you haven’t been able to hire another. There’re only we girls here, Laura. Now let’s have a little heart-to-heart talk.’

  ‘And if I don’t feel like talking?’

  The gentleness dropped from Candy’s face and her voice went hard. ‘Get one thing, Naylor, I aim to have the truth out of you even if I have to tear every hair out of your head to get it. Which is it, do we talk, or roll around on the floor for a while first?’

  Candy did not know what she expected Laura to do next. Maybe the brunette would start talking; she might make a run for the stairs and the safety of her bedroom; she might even grab for hair, although Candy doubted if the snooty Mrs. Naylor would indulge in anything so unladylike as brawling.

  So Laura’s action took Candy completely by surprise. Suddenly and without warning, the brunette drove her left fist into Candy’s stomach. The blow came so unexpectedly that Candy was taken completely by surprise. With a croaking gasp, she doubled over. Catching up one of the ornaments from the sidepiece top, Laura swung it on to Candy’s head. Two things saved Candy from serious injury: her long hair being able to cushion some of the force; and the fact that the ornament was a hollow vase which broke on impact. However the blow still landed with enough force to drop the girl on to her hands and knees.

  Pain twisted Candy’s stomach and made her want to retch, while the floor of the room appeared to be pitching like the deck of a ship. The broken vase clattered down at her side and she heard Laura’s feet pattering away from her. Clearly the brunette aimed to get out of it while the going was good. Then the footsteps returned to halt at Candy’s side.

  ‘So you’re going to tear out my hair, are you?’ Laura asked.

  Candy heard a swishing sound and then she screamed as a hot, burning sensation knifed across her back. Collapsing forward on her stomach, Candy twisted her head to look up. Laura stood over her, and through the tears which clouded her pain-filled eyes Candy saw the quirt held by the brunette. There was an expression of rage and hate on the brunette’s face which told Candy she must do something, or be cut to ribbons with the quirt.

  Even as Laura raised the quirt to strike again, Candy rolled over towards the brunette, locking her arms around Laura’s legs and pulling. Taken by surprise, Laura went over backwards, giving a startled squall and losing her hold of the quirt. An instant later Candy landed on top of Laura and when she came, she came fighting.

  Neither girl had ever been involved in a physical fight with another woman, but some primeval instinct directed fingers on to her hair. Tearing and yanking at each other’s hair, the two girls rolled over and over on the floor. For almost five minutes they turned over in a wild tangle of flailing arms and thrashing, waving legs. Now and then one or the other would try to get to her feet, only to be dragged down again. They tore at hair, lashed out wild blows, bit and scratched. A small coffee table disintegrated as the girls, on their knees at the time, lurched over and crashed on to it. Laura’s shapely legs waved wildly, the black silk stockings bursting at the knees, while runs split their length and the suspender clips popped. Both girls lost their shoes, and Candy’s blouse separated from her skirt waist, but neither gave a thought to anything more than trying to hurt the other as much as possible.

  At last Laura managed to force herself to her feet, dragging Candy up after her. The brunette was scared and hurt, already the first flush of triumph had left her. While she did not object to hurting Candy, Laura had no wish to take punishment herself. Desperately she thrust the blonde away from her, then turned and staggered towards the stairs. Once in her room a bolted door would keep her safe until help arrived.

  Catching her balance, Candy shoved her hair out of her eyes and then went after the brunette. Already Laura was mounting the stairs and Candy grabbed out to catch the skirt of the dressing gown. Finding her progress halted, Laura pulled free the dressing gown’s cord and wriggled from its sleeves. Candy threw aside her trophy and grabbed again. This time she caught Laura by an ankle, gripped it in both hands and pulled. Laura lost her balance, falling forward on to her face. Scrabbling with her fingers, she tried to prevent herself being hauled down the stairs. When that failed, she twisted around to try to kick at the gasping, pulling blonde. Taking her opportunity, Candy caught Laura’s other leg. She braced herself and heaved hard, hauling the brunette bodily down the stairs. Staggering back, Candy sat down and Laura slid on to her, but before the brunette could make a move, Candy had rolled her over.

  Once again the wild tangle raged across the floor. Candy’s skirt ripped from hem to waist and her blouse lost a sleeve and was torn open before they came to their feet again. Not that Candy even thought about her appearance. Through the fiery haze which seemed to surround her, Candy was conscious of only two things; the slaps and occasional punches which rained on her face and shoulders, and the way she slapped and hit at the enraged face surrounded by a tangled mass of brown hair which floated before her. For a time the ‘splat!’ of slaps, the crisper thud of punches, gasps, squeals and yelps of pain rang through the room. Then the girls closed again, grabbing hair, scrabbling for holds on each other and both trying to bring the other down.

  Candy shoved Laura backwards and ran at the brunette. Getting her hands against Candy, Laura pushed her away then grabbed up a plaster statuette from near at hand to hurl it at the blonde. Laura’s downstairs main room was well-supplied with missiles and Candy caught up an ornament as the statuette hissed by her head. The air became filled with flying objects, statuettes, vases, ornaments, books, hurled with more or less accuracy. Although both girls scored hits, the matter was pure luck, not skilled aiming, Exhaustion welled through them and some of their throws barely reached half-way to the desired objective.

  One throw landed. Caught on the forehead by a flying vase, Laura stumbled to one side and fell against the edge of the fireplace. Her hand felt something round, cold and hard, recognizing it as a steel poker. Even in her pain, rage and exhaustion Laura sensed the advantage the weapon gave her. She picked it up and reeled across the floor towards the other girl.

  Gasping for breath, Candy leaned against the end of the sidepiece and stared at Laura. A realization of her danger seeped into Candy’s head and just in time she thrust herself aside. Lashing down, the poker missed Candy’s head by inches and laid a deep furrow in the sidepiece top, Staggering, Candy reached the bookcase which had supplied her with several missiles during the throwing session. One book caught her eye, a large, thick, leather-bound volume that looked mighty handy at such a moment. Drawing the volume out, Candy gripped it in both hands and turned to face her attacker.

  Laura was no longer the elegant beauty who graced the dinner party. Instead of the supercilious smile, her sweat-soaked, bruised and bloody face bore a look of exhausted but still latent rage, and was surrounded by a tangled mass of brown hair that had once been so neatly coiffured; her magnificent body was bruised and sweating, clad in the tattered remnants of her underwear and one ruined stocking.

  Not that Candy presented her usual attractive picture. Her long blonde hair resembled a dirty woolen mop and hung in front of her face; the blouse hung down, ripped away from her left shoulder and with the right sleeve torn off, her skirt still remained in place, although torn half off.

  Swinging up the poker, Laura prepared to launch a blow at Candy. Only the blonde had raised the book and struck an instant ahead of Laura’s move. Down came the heavy volume and thudded on to Laura’s head. Dropping the poker, Laura staggered backwards. Her eyes were glazed and her legs wobbled under her. Letting the book fall, Candy stumbled after Laura and swung a round-house slap. Her fingers caught Laura’s cheek—hard. The brunette spun around once more and fell face down on the floor, lying with her arms spread out and without a move.

  Sobbing for breath, her body throbbing with the pain from various bruises and bites, Candy staggered forward, dropping to kneel by Laura and roll the brunette on to her back. Which was all Candy could manage to do for a time. She stayed on her hands and knees by Laura for almost half a minute, then managed to rise and headed for the kitchen. Pumping a bucket full of water, Candy sluiced her face and shoulders, trying to remove the sting of scratches. Memory of why she came to the Naylor place returned to Candy and she lifted the bucket. Reeling a little under its weight, Candy returned to the main room and halted by the groaning Laura’s side. With an effort, Candy up-ended the bucket and tipped its contents over the other girl’s head and body.

  Gasping and spluttering, Laura came round under the deluge of cold water. Candy tossed the bucket aside and dropped to kneel astride Laura, getting a knee on each of the other girl’s biceps to hold her even more firmly down.

  ‘All right,’ Candy gasped, feeling Laura’s weak struggles to get free. ‘Why did you send that letter?’

  Only gasps and slightly more frenzied struggles answered the question. Three times Candy slapped Laura’s face without any result. Then she dug her fingers into the brunette hair and started to pull with all her strength.

  ‘Talk!’ she hissed, pulling harder.

  Squeals of pain burst from Laura’s lips, then—

  ‘I—it was H—Hugo Scales’ idea!’

  ‘Why did he want it written?’

  ‘You’d better ask me that, Miss Carde, she doesn’t know.’ The voice, which Candy instantly recognized, came from the open front door behind the blonde. Twisting around, though still seated on Laura, Candy looked at the speaker’s direction.

  Scales stood just inside the door. Only it was a different man to the usual Scales who walked around Goodnight. He wore range clothes and had a Webley Bulldog revolver thrust into his Levi’s waistband; his face bore several bruises and he spoke through a swollen mouth.

  ‘Get up,’ he ordered, walking forward. ‘This must have been some fight.’

  ‘Almost as good as the one you were in last night,’ Candy answered, forcing herself to her feet and ready to stop any attack Laura might make. However, the brunette made no move other than to turn on to her side and sob.

  An admiring grin twisted Scales’ face. ‘That’s one helluva tough feller you have, Miss Carde. Damned if he didn’t near whip all four of us. It’s a pity I couldn’t’ve got him in with me. Get up, Laura; and stop whining, you aren’t hurt that bad.’

  Slowly Laura lifted her head and looked at the man, then her face swung to Candy and hate turned it dark and ugly as she hissed, ‘Give me your gun, Hugo.’

  ‘Like hell. Go get cleaned up and dressed, we’re getting out of here.’

  ‘But—’

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18