oooOooo
*
Told in TROUBLE TRAIL by J. T. Edson. Wagon Wheel Western.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHILE Calamity had tasted champagne on a couple of occasions, and decided that as a drink it would never replace whisky, she objected to having it poured over her head even as a joke. Although she felt no resentment or antipathy towards folks more fortunate than herself in the possession of the world’s goods, Calamity failed to subscribe to Madam Darcel’s view that the upper-class customers must be treated as sacred and permitted to take liberties.
Shooting out a hand as she forced herself from the table, Calamity caught the blonde in the same manner that she grabbed the pickpocket earlier. With a heave, Calamity plucked the blonde from the bosom of her friends and jerked her forward. Letting out a startled squeal, the blonde dropped the champagne bottle as Calamity swung her around and gave her a push which sent her staggering. Striking the protective rail, the blonde’s weight broke it and she fell into the arms of the laughing, jeering crowd. Set on her feet, the blonde swung around. A female face came before the blonde, so wild with rage and mortification, she swung a resounding slap at it. Already over-excited by the fight she had seen, the blonde’s victim forgot that the carriage-trade was to be treated as sacrosant, and grabbed hair. With a screech of pain, the blonde dropped lady-like dignity and a second hand-scalping battle began. Not a bad one either, considering that blonde’s upbringing and education sadly lacked in such matters.
On the dais, the blonde’s female friend gave a yell as she saw the assault. Excitement and stimulation at watching the pagan sight of two girls fighting led the second into folly. Grabbing up a bottle by its neck, the girl, a brunette of some charm and attraction, started around the table, meaning to attack Calamity and avenge her friend.
Also moving in to the attack, Jacqueline caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Turning her head to check more thoroughly on what attracted her attention, she saw the bottle-armed brunette approaching. The sight recalled Jacqueline’s
savate
training once more. Like a flash Jacqueline rotated her body half a turn to the left, leant forward from the waist, drew up her right leg under her, pointed its toe at the charging brunette and kicked upwards. She caught the brunette under the jaw with the bottom of her foot, landing an almost classic
savate
horizontal high-kick. The force of the impact shot the brunette to one side. Dropping the bottle, she staggered full into the female member of the other party. The two girls had long been social rivals, which did not help towards a peaceful settlement when the brunette collided with the other and grabbed wildly, tearing the left shoulder of a new, latest style dress. Giving an angry squeal, the third girl, a beautiful and shapely red-head, let fly with a slap to the jaw already sore from Jacqueline’s kick, setting the brunette back on her heels, and following it up with a grab for the hair which started yet a third battle.
Like the ripples stirred up by a stone thrown into a pond, the fight spread across the room. Excitement had reached the pitch Madam Darcel feared it might as the blonde socialite’s fight with the saloongirl started other battles. On the dais one of the brunette’s escorts sprang forward meaning to grab hold of the redhead. That brought the second party’s male members into the fray and a rousing battle began upon the upper-crust’s country.
“Looks like you’ve got trouble on your hands, Madam,” drawled Killem, shoving aside Tophet Tombes as the scout tied into a burly city man who had earlier made some insulting remarks about Calamity’s fighting prowess.
“Help me, Dobe!” replied the big woman, swinging a blow which felled a riverboat man before he could tangle with Chan Sing. “Head across that way and make for the door. You’ll see a policeman on the street. Yell and tell him there’s a riot in here. He’ll know what to do. I’ll try to make it the other way.”
“You’re on,” grinned the freighter, taking up Calamity’s clothing and slouching off on his rescue mission, felling anyone who tried to block his path.
Madam Darcel paused long enough to order her employees, such as were not already involved in the fighting, to protect the merchandise and more expensive fixtures. All around her fights broke out, a wild brawl where one tied into the nearest person and, other than showing a desire to join the fun, meant nothing by doing so. Cursing as tables overturned, chairs shattered and glassware broke, Madam Darcel tried to force her way through to the door. The fighting blonde and saloongirl blocked her way and she threw aside her rules for the correct treatment of the carriage-trade. Shooting out her hands, Madam grabbed each dishevelled girl by the neck, cracked their heads together hard and dropped their limp bodies to the floor. Then she backhanded a man aside and tried to get through the crush so as to be able to summon aid in ending the riot that threatened to wreck her room.
On the dais Calamity and Jacqueline joined battle again after dealing with the socialite interference. Diving forward, Calamity tackled Jacqueline around the waist and rammed the girl backwards. Locked together they crashed into the protective rail, shattered it and fell to the floor. However, Jacqueline was tiring, for she had performed her speciality act twice that evening. On the other hand Calamity’s champagne-dousing had partially revived her and her extra weight wore on her opponent. For all that, the fight went on until they reached the wall by the main entrance. Shoving Jacqueline back to the wall, Calamity uncorked a roundhouse swing as the slim girl bounced off. Even as Jacqueline drew back a foot for a kick, she walked full into the punch. Give Calamity her due, she knew how to throw a fist. The blow carried Calamity’s weight behind it and Jacqueline helped by walking into it. Back snapped the slim girl’s head, her body crashed into the wall, her eyes glazed over and she sank slowly to the floor.
A chair whizzed by Calamity’s head and crashed into the wall. Whirling, she stood as well as she could and stared at the brawl taking place before her. More, she saw Madam Darcel emerge from the crowd and formed the wrong idea of the saloonkeeper’s motives.
To be fair, Madam Darcel’s only intention was to reach the door and summon assistance before the riot went too far. However, she had neither the time nor the inclination to explain such things to Calamity at that moment. Instead she clenched her right hand, throwing it at Calamity’s head. Happen Calamity had been her usual self instead of all tuckered out from as rough a brawl as she could remember, she could have easily avoided the blow. In her present exhausted state, Calamity moved too slowly and the fist crashed into the side of the girl’s jaw, depositing her in a heap on top of Jacqueline. As blackness came down on her, Calamity wondered if the roof had caved in upon her head.
Pain throbbed through Calamity as consciousness returned to her. The roots of her hair felt as if on fire; her left eye throbbed and she reckoned it would have a marvellous mouse under it come morning; while her nose felt twice its usual size, she knew that to be a normal reaction under the circumstances; for the rest, her bruised, grazed body seemed to send stabs of agony from different points in rotation. Slowly she raised a hand to her jaw and groaned. Then she realised that her clothing appeared to be soaking wet.
Making an effort, Calamity opened her eyes. The first thing to meet her gaze was the sight of Killem and that fancy city lawman, St. Andre looking down in some concern at her.
“Are you all right,
cherie
?” asked St. Andre worriedly.
“Only time I felt better was when a hoss throwed me, walked over me, then tossed me into a bobcat’s nest with its hooves,” Calamity answered, after manipulating her jaw gently to make sure it still worked. “Where was you when I needed you, Sherry?”
“I came as soon as I heard, my pet. But I found you sleeping like a babe.”
Before Calamity could think up a suitable reply, she glanced at the room and what she saw drove the thought from her mind. Everybody and everything appeared to be soaking and no longer showed any inclination to fight. Firemen coiled a couple of hoses nearby and Calamity saw why Latour Street maintained the extra large horse-troughs.
“That’s how we end trouble down here,
cherie
,” St. Andre went on, following her line of thought. “When this kind of trouble starts, the police bring a fire engine along to damp the fighters’ ardour.”
“Then why in hell didn’t they come in sooner and damp that skinny gal’s ardour, whatever it might be. That gal’d got ardour to spare and sure needed it damping down a mite—Hey, where is she?”
Trying to rise, Calamity looked around her. She found Jacqueline to be still out cold, but a couple of saloongiris tended to the slim dancer. Across the room Madam Darcel went among the crowd, holding out a derby hat into which men dropped cash donations to help pay for the damage caused by their fighting. Forcing herself to her feet, Calamity shook off Killem and St. Andre’s restraining hands, then walked slowly across the room towards the saloonkeeper.
“Come on boys!” Madam called, offering the hat to the redheaded socialite’s friends as they escorted the girl towards the door. “You’ve had your fun and I’ve got damage to pay for.”
“Talking about money, Madam,” Calamity put in.
Slowly Madam Darcel turned and looked Calamity over. “Were we talking about money?”
“If we weren’t, we sure as hell soon will be. I figure me ‘n’ and the gal went at it for ten minutes. At five dollars a minute, according to a half-smart lil Western gal like me, that’s fifty dollars you owe me.”
Before any more could be said, the red-haired socialite whispered to her escort and took some money which he removed from his billfold. All the trio bore marks of the battle, the men in soaking, rumpled suits, minus neck-ties and with shirts torn; the girl sporting a black eye, swollen lip and a couple of scratches, while her cloak did not entirely cover the fact that her dress had taken some hard pulling and needed holding up with one hand. However, despite all that the girl gave a friendly smile as she came towards Calamity and held out the money.
“I hope you won’t be offended at this gift,” she told Calamity. “For years I wished to get my fingers into that cat Celestine’s hair, and you did what I have long wished to do to Paulette.”
“Thanks,” answered Calamity, accepting the five ten dollar bills. “You did all right yourself once you got started.”
“I must admit it was fun while it lasted, though I don’t know what Papa will say when he hears.”
With that the red-head joined her two male friends and after each man slipped a donation into Madam’s hat, they left the room. Calamity watched them go, a grin on her face. It looked like those fancy-dress dude Frenchmen were some hecats when a fuss started; but she already knew that from her earlier meeting with St. Andre. Anyways, business came first and Madame Dared still had not made good her promise of remuneration.
“Hey, Madam,” Calamity said, turning her attention to the saloonkeeper once more. “How’s about the money? I’d hate like hell to have to come in tomorrow night and ask for it again.”
“I believe you would come again tomorrow,” said Madam Darcel. “Just as I now believe you are Calamity Jane.”
“I never doubted that for a teensey minute,” grinned Calamity and held out her right hand. “Fifty dollars, I’ll take it in tens.”
With a broad smile, Madam Darcel counted off fifty dollars and handed it to Calamity. “I’m almost tempted not to pay. Your fight was a good attraction. But I don’t believe the police would go for two riots in a week at my place.”
“I’ll mind that, if I come tonight. Anyways, you couldn’t get another gal as tough as that skinny kid. See you up the trail, Madam.”
Crossing the floor. Calamity made straight for where Jacqueline had been helped to her feet by the other girls. Seeing her opponent approaching, Jacqueline shook the other girls’ hands from her and prepared to defend herself. St. Andre also expected trouble and started to move forward. A huge hand closed on his arm and held him back despite the fact that the detective was no weakling himself.
“Don’t bother, friend,” said Killem’s gentle voice. “Calain’s not fixing to cause fuss.”
“Hey there, easy,” Calamity stated, holding her hands hip high and spread with open palms towards Jacqueline in the Indian peace sign. “We raised enough lumps on each other for one night. How’d you feel, sk—gal. Which same, I reckon you feel just about as sick and sore as I do.”
“I’m all right.”
“Yeah, I tell lies too,” grinned Calamity and counted out fifty dollars.
“What’s that for?” Jacqueline asked, staring at the money.
“Your cut. I sure as hell couldn’t have won it without you.”
“But—but—.”
Letting out a mock serious sigh, Calamity said, “Don’t tell me I’ve got to lick you again afore you’ll take it.”
“Are you serious?” gasped Jacqueline.
“I’m allus serious where money’s concerned, sk—gal.”
Wondering what kind of girl she had met, Jacqueline accepted the money. She tried to express her thanks, but Calamity laughed them off. At that moment Madam Darcel arrived and gave her girls orders to take Jacqueline to their quarters so a doctor could examine her injuries.
“And you, Calamity, he’ll examine you also,” the saloonkeeper went on.
“Shucks no. I’ve broken nothing,” Calamity scoffed. “I’ll just rub on some of my soothing syrup and I’ll be fit as frog’s hair comes morning.” Then, knowing something of saloonkeepers’ ways when dealing with their employees, she decided to hand out a warning. “I shared the money with sk—Jacqueline here. It’s for her, Madam, understand?”
Madam Darcel understood all too well. Strangely she felt no resentment at Calamity’s words or what they implied, but took them as the girl meant, as an interest in seeing Jacqueline received fair dealing.
“You’d best be, getting home, Calam,” Killem remarked. “Don’t want you all stove up with a chill comes morning.”
“Or me,” agreed Calamity, then studied her employer closely. “Hey, how come you aren’t wet?”
“When the fuss started, I got out and yelled for help.”
“Spoilsport!” sniffed Calamity.
“Anyways, I saved your coat, hat and bandana from a wetting.”
“Thanks too much! Why didn’t you leave them and save me?”
“Shucks, gal, I saw you enjoying yourself with that Jacqueline gal and didn’t want to bill in.”
“One of these days, Dobe Killem,” Calamity began, “I’m going to tell everybody your name’s—well what we both know it is.”
Killem suffered under the given name of Cecil, a fact Calamity alone of his outfit knew. When her boss grew obstreperous, she used the knowledge to bring him back into line.
“And what is Dobe’s name?” asked an interested Madam Darcel.
Thrusting the coat, hat and bandana into Calamity’s hands, Killem gave a warning growl. “You tell her and I’ll peel your hide. Get off home and leave me to round up the rest of the boys.”
“May I escort Calamity home, sir?” asked St. Andre stepping forward and remembering the girl’s statement that her boss and fellow workers treated her like their sister.
However, he need not have taken the trouble. With a grin, Killem nodded to the girl. “Try asking her, friend. She’ll damned soon say ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”
“Let’s go, Sherry,” Calamity said.
“Tuck your shirt in first and put on your coat, preferably with the buttons fastened,” replied St. Andre.
For the first time Calamity realised that at some point in the fight every button had been torn from the front of her shirt and its flap hung outside her pants. Showing no embarrassment, she made the necessary adjustments to her dress and finally pulled on her coat. Having worn a man’s vest under the shirt, Calamity knew she showed little that might raise eyebrows in polite society. Winking at Killem, she accepted St. Andre’s arm and walked from the
Cheval D’Or
.
At the end of Latour Street, St. Andre hailed a passing cab. He helped Calamity inside, then gave the driver instructions and swung up to sit by the girl. On the ride to the local station house, where they collected Calamity’s gunbelt and Navy Colt, St. Andre learned the cause of the fight.