Trouble Trail (7 page)

Even with the aid of the men, Calamity felt her wagon’s wheels skid and saw the horses straining and fighting to move it. For a long moment everything hung in the balance and then Calamity felt the wagon inching forward and upward. Then the horses topped the slope and her wagon lurched up and on to level ground.

‘Yahoo!’ Resin whooped, coming alongside the wagon and grinning up at the girl. ‘You done it, Calam!’

‘It looks a mite that way.’ she replied. ‘Hey, get some hosses up top here and ropes, the others won’t have teams like mine. I’ll head down to the bed ground and settle in.’

‘Sure thing, gal. Go on about half a mile, you’ll find a big clearing. Stay there, the stock’s down there already.’

After moving her wagon on to the appointed bed ground, Calamity attended to her horses. The rain, having made things as dangerous and awkward as it could for the travellers, eased off and, by the time Calamity had halted her wagon, finished to allow a watery sun to creep through cracks in the clouds. Calamity ignored her own soaked condition as she worked on her horses, drying their coats and then taking them to water in the brook at the edge of the camp. After watering and feeding the horses, Calamity headed back to the slope to see if she could help out. On her way she found that Eileen had crossed and was also very busy.

Although she slipped once and slid several feet in the mud of the slope, and lost both shoes in the process of crossing, Eileen had come to the other side on foot. She forgot her own discomfort as she watched the others straggling across; men, women and children walking so as to relieve the weight on the wagon teams and lessen the risk if anything went wrong. Something stirred inside Eileen, the spirit which lifted her family above the rest of the herd and made them leaders instead of staying among the led.

Finding Molly Johnson, Eileen made her suggestions and the two girls started a fire. Then Eileen bustled around the women, making them work and taking their minds off their misery. The results of her drive showed quickly enough in the other fires that appeared and then in the smell of brewing coffee and cooking food. By the time half of the wagons had made the still dangerous crossing, hot coffee and food awaited the hard-working men. Not until everybody had been fed did Eileen manage to get to the wagon and start to change her clothes.

The flap of the wagon lifted and a naked Eileen gave a gasp, swinging around and hiding as well as she could behind the towel she held. Calamity swung in and looked at. the other girl. Tossing aside her hat and slicker, Calamity unfastened her bandana and removed it.

‘Come out from behind there,’ she said testily as Eileen continued to hold up the towel. ‘I’ve seen all you’re likely to show me and got about the same.’

‘I’m not used to sharing a changing room,’ Eileen replied, cold and exhaustion bringing an edge to her voice.

‘Yeah, well in that case you go out of the wagon, I don’t aim. to,’ Calamity snapped back. ‘I’m getting sick to my guts of you!’

‘The feeling is quite mutual!’ snorted Eileen, turning her back and continuing her drying.

Calamity tried to peel the sodden shirt and undershirt from her, but the already tight material stuck. Giving a harder tug, she jerked them over her head but the force of the pull sent them slapping on to Eileen’s back. A squeal of fury left Eileen’s lips and she swung around, dropping the towel.

‘You did that deliberately!’ she hissed and drew back her hand.

‘Don’t try it!’ Calamity warned angrily. ‘You start slapping and I’ll take you apart, you Boston hoity-toity.’

Commonsense warned Eileen that Calamity spoke the truth. While Eileen could more than hold her own in a slanging match, she knew that Calamity had the advantage in any other kind of brawl. Then she realised how she was—or was not— dressed. Blushing, she bent hurriedly and grabbed up the towel, rubbing herself savagely with it. Once dry, she dressed and pushed by Calamity, leaving the wagon. Calamity stared after Eileen, gave an angry snort and finished her drying, then put on dry clothing and went in search of Beau Resin.

Once again a chance mishap had ruined their hopes of peace for both girls had formed a respect for the other during the day. With luck they might have ended their feud in the wagon, but things went wrong and both were pot-boiling mad at the other.

Leaving the wagon, Eileen went in search of Bigelow, but he was at supper with the Johnsons. In her loneliness, Eileen fell into conversation with Muldoon who she met on his way to inspect pickets. While walking through the camp, he told her much of Calamity, expressing his admiration for a number of most unfeminine talents shown by the girl.

‘Now there’s an outfit for you, ma’am,’ Muldoon remarked as they passed the rat-faced dude’s wagon. ‘You’d never guess what they do.’

‘Are they actresses of some kind?’ she replied.

On hearing of how the outfit made its living, Eileen first thought that Muldoon must he joking. Then she saw he appeared to be very serious and listened to what he said about the blonde in particular. Nothing might have come of it, but after separating from Muldoon and walking back to her wagon Eileen saw the blonde away from her friends hanging clothes to dry.

For a few minutes, Eileen tried to fight down the temptation, then she gave an angry snort. Calamity had asked for it, and needed to lose some of her conceit. With that in mind, Eileen walked over to the blonde and started talking. It seemed that Muldoon told the truth about the blonde, and she was willing to help Eileen out.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE wagonmaster and Bigelow declared the day after the rains a rest period in order to allow the travellers a chance to dry out their belongings. Men went out to cut timber and the women did their chores.

During the morning, after having slept on the matter all night, Eileen felt tempted to call off the arrangement she had made with the blonde. However, a trivial incident which neither of them could be blamed for sparked off a blazing quarrel and so Eileen went to see the blonde, taking money with her to finalise the arrangements. In these Eileen showed considerable planning skill that might have been worthy if applied to a better cause.

In the late afternoon Eileen walked over to where Calamity sat cleaning her carbine, watched by a couple of admiring youngsters.

‘There’s some trouble down at the stream, Miss Canary,’ she said. ‘Molly—’

‘Is Molly needing help?’ asked Calamity, laying aside the carbine. ‘I’ll go right along.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘That’ll be as much help as an udder on a bull,’ Calamity sniffed.

While listening to Calamity’s haste to go to Molly’s aid, Eileen had come almost to the verge of calling off her scheme, but Calamity’s sneer changed her mind. Tight-lipped and angry, Eileen turned and walked off through the camp. Behind her, Calamity told the two boys to ‘scat and keep out of mischief’ then followed on Eileen’s heels.

The boys headed back to their wagons and on the way they met Molly returning from conducting a class.

‘Gee, Miss Johnson,’ one said. ‘We thought you was in trouble.’

‘Now what gave you that idea?’ Molly smiled.

‘Mrs. Tradle told Calamity you was and they went out of camp together.’

Molly stared at’ the boy in horror. ‘Quick, Pete!’ she said. ‘Which way did they go?’

‘Down by the edge of the stream, following it down river.’

‘The fools! But Eileen Tradle wouldn’t—’

‘Wouldn’t what, Miss Molly?’

‘Nothing. You boys had better go back to your wagons and see if there are any chores for you.’

Leaving the boys, Molly hurried out of the camp and through the woods, keeping to the banks of the stream. She covered almost a mile, well past the last working party and began to wonder if she was the victim of a schoolboy prank. Then she heard noises ahead. Moving forward, Molly saw there really was trouble on the bank of the small stream.

Neither Calamity nor Eileen spoke as they walked through the trees along the bank of the stream. Eileen had learned the futility of trying to appear well-groomed and attired to the height of Eastern fashion and she wore a cheap old gingham dress instead of her fancy outfit; apart from her wedding ring, she had stored away all her jewellery, and her hair hung in a tidy fashion instead of being piled up in formal style.

‘Are you sure it’s this far?’ asked Calamity after they had passed the last of the train’s working parties.

‘I’m sure.’

‘I hope I’ll not need my medicine bag,’ Calamity went on, looking down at the buckskin bag containing various herbs and items for rough-and-ready frontier doctoring.

‘You probably will,’ Eileen answered.

‘I hope to hell you haven’t got lost,’ Calamity sniffed. ‘I haven’t. It’s just around the bend here.’

Turning the bend, they came through the bushes into a clearing. Calamity saw a blonde woman sitting under a tree, but it was not Molly. On seeing Calamity and Eileen, the blonde rose, a long, flowing black robe hanging around her from neck to ankle.

‘What is this?’ Calamity growled. ‘Where’s Molly?’

‘I don’t know,’ Eileen replied.

‘But you said—’

‘I started to say that Molly wasn’t involved, but you never gave me a chance. Anyway, I thought you’d jump at a chance of meeting Miss Petrosky.’

‘So who the hell is she?’ asked Calamity, looking at the buxom blonde who had aroused her interest earlier.

‘Her professional name is Russian Olga,’ Eileen replied. ‘She’s a lady pugilist.’

‘A what?’

‘Fist lighter, girlie,’ the blonde answered. ‘I’m champion of the world and never been licked.’

Then Calamity saw what had been worrying Killem and the reason he changed the subject every time she mentioned the rat-faced dude’s outfit. Killem thought that if Calamity learned of Russian Olga’s claim to fame, she would go hell-blatting out looking for a chance to disprove the blonde’s statement. Calamity had heard of girl fist-fighters—they enjoyed a vogue much as girl wrestlers in later years—but had never connected the buxom blonde with the name Russian Olga.

‘Never been licked, huh?’ said Calamity thoughtfully, remembering something she had heard some time before.

‘Never, girlie.’

‘How’s about with that German gal up to Quiet Town?’

A scowl creased Olga’s face at the mention of the incident, for her defeat still rankled. Yet she had met a defeat at the hands of an erstwhile member of the troupe while supposed to be fighting a fixed bout to cheat a rich miner out of his wager money.*

‘I just aimed to whup you a mite, girlie,’ Olga growled, unfastening her cloak. ‘But now you’ve riled me and I’m going to lick you good.’

On removing the cloak, Olga showed that she had come prepared for a fight, for she wore the outfit used in the ring. Calamity studied the woman, noting the powerful fat legs in black tights, the firm condition of her torso under the upper part, which resembled a man’s sleeveless undershirt, and the muscular state of her arms. There might be fat around Olga’s middle, but under the fat lay hard muscles or Calamity missed her guess.

‘You fixing to tangle with me?’ Calamity asked.

‘If you don’t shoot me first,’ Olga answered.

‘I’ll soon settle that,’ Calamity said, the light of prospective battle glowing in her eyes.

She removed her bandana, a simple precaution for a saloon girl once almost choked her by grabbing it in a brawl, and placed it in the crown of her kepi, putting them under a tree. Next Calamity removed her shirt, figured that if Olga could fight in an undershirt, so should she, and lastly she unfastened the pigging thong and unbuckled her gunbelt, placing it by her hat.

Turning to face Olga, Calamity grinned. ‘Ready or not, here I come!’ she said, then looked at Eileen. ‘Is this how you do your fighting in Boston, with somebody else to take the bruises?’

A flush crept into Eileen’s cheeks. ‘I—I thought you might like to show me how tough you were and I wouldn’t be a match for you.’

‘Which you wouldn’t. But when I’ve whupped the champeen here, I’m going to whale the tar out of you.’

Eileen felt that she deserved the ‘whaling,’ although she doubted if Calamity would be in any condition to do it. Standing under the tree by Calamity’s clothes, Eileen watched the red-head move towards the blonde.

Much to Calamity’s surprise and amusement, Olga adopted the fighting stance used by male boxers of the period. Calamity had tangled with several saloon-girls at different times in her hectic young life, she had never seen one adopt such a posture.

The amusement did not last for long!

Out stabbed Olga’s left fist to crash under Calamity’s unprotected and offered chin. Taken by surprise both by the speed and force of the blow, Calamity went back on her heels. Olga came in fast, her left slugging Calamity in the stomach and folding the gasping girl over to take a right behind the ear. Down went Calamity in a winded, dazed heap on her face, Through the whirling mists that filled her head she heard Eileen and Russian Olga talking.

‘That will be enough, Miss Petrosky.’

‘Like hell. She reckons she’s tough. I aim to see how tough.’

A hand gripped Calamity by the waistbelt and another dug into her hair. She felt herself being dragged along and then dropped. The ice-cold shock of landing face down in the stream drove the mists from her head and she rolled over, sitting up. Standing on the bank, hands on hips and a grin on her face, Russian Olga looked down at Calamity.

‘Had enough. girlie?’

Slowly, Calamity rose, spitting out a mouthful of water. She put up a hand to feel at her chin and winced. Then she climbed from the water and swung a punch which ripped into Olga’s cheek. On the heels of the first, Calamity brought around a second blow, and the blonde staggered back putting up her hands again.

Watched by Eileen. Calamity and Olga slugged it out like two men for almost three minutes. Although Calamity landed good punches, she lacked Olga’s skill and training, which gave the blonde a distinct advantage. Twice Calamity went down and each time, much to her surprise. Olga moved back to let her rise. While on their feet and slugging, Olga’s skill went against her in one way; when she threw a feint to draw Calamity’s guard, the girl ignored it for Calamity had never learned such tactics. Blood trickled from the blonde’s nose and Calamity’s left eye was swelling when Olga sent the girl down for the third time. Rolling on to her face, Calamity tried to force herself up and shook her mist-filled head.

‘Calam. gal!’ she told herself. ‘You’ve got to fight her your style, not her’n, or get the licking of your young life.’

With that in mind Calamity levered herself up into a one-knee crouch. She saw Olga advancing and flung herself forward, head ramming into the blonde’s middle and arms locking around the fat thighs. To the accompaniment of Olga’s gasp of pain, they went backwards and crashed to the ground. Now Calamity held the advantage for Olga was not used to all-in roll-around bar-room fighting. For all that the blonde gave a fair account of herself in. the hair-tearing, thrashing session, but soon she realised it would be to her advantage to be on her feet. Unfortunately, Calamity also understood Olga’s point and determined to keep the fight on the ground.

Eileen watched the fight with growing horror. For the first time she realised just what she had started—although to be fair to her, she had expected to see Calamity decline the challenge or be speedily defeated. Back Bay, Boston, being rather sheltered from the rawer side of life, Eileen had never seen two women fight before and had no conception of how rough they could get. Suddenly scared, she moved forward to try to stop them; which showed a considerable lack of experience on her part.

With Olga trying to rise and Calamity struggling to get her back on the ground, the fighters had almost made their feet when Eileen reached them.

‘Stop it!’ Eileen gasped, trying to push them apart. ‘St—’ Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Calamity swung at its owner, driving her bunched fist into Eileen’s nose. The force of the blow brought a squeal of pain from Eileen and she staggered back. Freed of the hindrance, Calamity hooked a leg behind Olga and tripped her, dropping to kneel astride her. Holding her nose, Eileen howled in fury. Her Back Bay training left her and she became a primeval, hurt woman. Springing forward, she grabbed a double handful of Calamity’s hair and heaved at it. Calamity squealed, feeling as if she was being scalped. Just as she was about to turn and deal with the fresh menace, Olga, bucking wildly to free herself, grabbed hold of Calamity’s waistbelt and prevented Eileen from dragging the red-head from her.

At that moment Molly came on to the scene. What she saw brought her to a shocked and sudden halt. Like Eileen, Molly had been brought up in an area where women fought with catty remarks not fists and Molly made Eileen’s mistake.

‘Eileen, Calam!’ Molly said, running forward and catching Eileen’s arm. ‘Stop it, bot—!’

Releasing Calamity’s hair with the arm Molly held, Eileen thrust the smaller girl away. Then Eileen used the free hand to land a slap that Calamity would remember for some time across the red-head’s ear. Once more Molly came forward and caught the back-hand swing from Eileen’s blow at Calamity. It landed hard enough to stagger Molly back again.

Then Molly changed from a pacifist to an active and enraged belligerent. With a wild squall of pain and fury, she threw herself bodily at Eileen, landing with flailing fists and hair-grabbing fingers. Locked together, Eileen and Molly sprawled over Calamity and went down together. For a Boston-bred officer’s lady and a sedately-reared college-educated New England schoolmarm, Eileen and Molly put on a highly spirited rendition of a hand-scalping bar-room brawl. Nothing fancy like the Calamity Jane—Russian Olga fracas, but fast, lively and with plenty of spirited hair-tearing, slapping, kicking and general female battling tactics.

For almost ten minutes the two separate fights carried on, then the four of them rolled into an unholy mixed-up tangle during which Olga gave Eileen a black eye, Eileen tore one shoulder strap from Olga’s outfit, Calamity completed the destruction of Molly’s blouse and Molly sank her teeth into Calamity’s leg as it waved before her face; all this in addition to whatever they did to their opponents.

Somehow they managed to untangle themselves still fighting the same opponent and Calamity gained a momentary advantage on Olga. A wild-swung punch sent the fat blonde sprawling on her back and Calamity dropped down to sit on Olga’s belly to end the battle.

Whether by accident or a desire to help, Eileen lashed out with a bare foot, she and Molly having lost their shoes earlier. The kick caught Calamity at the side of the head and knocked the girl off balance just as Olga gave a heave. Lurching up, Olga reversed the position by diving on to the dazed Calamity.

Shoving Eileen backwards, Molly was about to attack when she saw Olga knelt on Calamity, one knee on the red-head’s belly and a hand dragging her head up to be hit. Dazedly, Calamity saw what was coming and waited for the end. The blow never came. Instead Olga suddenly let out a screech and jerked backwards, dragged by the double handful of hair Molly held.

Freed from Olga. Calamity started to rise, saw Eileen rushing forward and tackled her around the waist. Down they went and for a couple of minutes got a whole belly-full of dislike out of their systems. Give Boston her due, Calamity thought as they thrashed over and over fighting, she had sand to burn and could sure fight. Nothing fancy mind, but she packed a mean slap, could punch, kick, yank hair and use her knees as good as many a saloon-girl who had had the advantages of a correct upbringing in such matters.

However, Back Bay social life did not compare with western freighting as a training ground for a fight and Calamity would have finished Eileen off had she not seen that Molly needed help.