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
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
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