by J. T. Edson
That proved the wrong way for Belle, being out-weighted by the stocky blonde, although it took almost thirty seconds for the idea to sink home. Dancing clear, Belle avoided a hook aimed at her bust and ripped a hard right to Flo’s cheek before going out of range.
Following her decision, Belle danced around the blonde and tossed long-range punches over the other’s guard. Although the blows reached her opponent, Belle could not land them at full power. However they stung the blonde and Belle hoped to goad the other into some rash move. The hope did not materialise. Despite using the same tactics as male pugilists of the day, Flo clearly used her brains and did not rely on brute force. She quickly realised Belle’s intention and countered it by doggedly ignoring the stinging fists while trying to crowd the other girl into a ring corner.
For almost three minutes Belle managed to avoid being trapped or taking more than the occasional punch. She landed a few hard blows in return and her stinging knuckles homed often enough to leave a reddened patch under Flo’s left eye and to Start the blonde’s nose trickling blood. Each time Belle found herself at close range it came about through her preparing to kick and calling off the move at the last moment.
After sinking a hard left into Flo’s chest, Belle again began to wind up for a kick and held it back. She felt Flo’s left fist rip into her stomach, croaked and began to double over. Across whipped the blonde’s right, colliding with the side of Belle’s head before she had time to recover from the left. Down went Belle, sprawling on to the canvas-covered wooden floor. Dazed, winded and hurt, Belle tried to rise. She felt hands take hold of her arms and lift her erect. Supported by Lucienne and the borrowed second, she was returned to her corner and seated on a stool while receiving treatment.
“That kid’s good,” Paupin remarked to Dusty.
The small Texan did not reply, but his concern grew as he watched Belle rise for the start of the second round. Knowing her, he doubted if she would follow the safe course of avoiding as much punishment as possible while giving the crowd a reasonable show, then fail to toe the line after the end of a round. Unless he missed his guess, she intended to carry the affair through to its conclusion.
So it seemed as Belle began to fight the second round. Some of the crowd had not seen girls fighting in a ring before and came along expecting nothing more than a good laugh. The derision they might have felt rapidly died away as Flo and Belle put on a bout every bit as tough as could any two men.
Belle lost the second round, going down after a dogged pursuit found her trapped against the ropes. In addition to being able to hit hard, Flo could take punishment; and she needed to, for not all Belle’s punches landed at the end of their flight. Yet when she did get within range, Flo handed back as much, if not more than she received.
More than that, Flo knew the game far better than Belle. In the third round, having taken a punch in the right eye which partially blinded her, Flo was wide open and Belle went in to make the most of the chance. Sinking a wicked left into Flo’s bust, the girl drew a moan of agony and sent the blonde stumbling away. Before Belle could do more, Flo slipped to one knee and ended the round. Nor did Flo give Belle a chance to capitalize on the advantage. At the first hint of trouble in the fourth round, the blonde cut her losses and sank down again.
By the time the fifth round started Flo had thrown off the effects. She took Belle by surprise, moving straight in and making a two-handed attack. With punches raining on her body, or jabbing into her face, Belle could not use her footwork or speed. So she hit back~, throwing both hands as fast and hard as she could. Cheers and yells of encouragement rose from the crowd as the girls slugged it out toe to toe, drowning Lucienne’s yelled advice. So Belle did not hear her friend telling her to go down and end the round. Instead she took a beating.
So did Flo. Closing, she locked her arms around Belle’s body and began to squeeze. Belle croaked, feeling as if her rib cage would be crushed at any moment. Yet the referee made no attempt to separate them. Placing her head under Belle’s chin, Flo forced upwards, holding herself so close that the other girl could not use her fists. On other occasions when Flo used that devastating bear-hug, her opponent forgot fist-fighting and grabbed that conveniently fastened hair; to waste valuable energy on something which hurt but did little damage.
Only this time she fought a girl skilled in more than one form of self-defence. Remembering a trick Dusty taught her, Belle pressed her thumbs into the sensitive mastoid area under the ears and at the hinge of the jawbones. Although the pain did not incapacitate Flo, it caused her to loosen her hold. With a thrust of her hard body, Flo bellied Belle backwards. Winded, exhausted and body throbbing in pain, Belle doubled over and fell against the ropes. To her amazement, she saw Flo’s foot driving up to catch her in the body. Gagging with nausea, Belle collapsed to the floor.
Half a minute’s seconding was needed before Belle recovered enough to be able to understand what Lucienne said to her. Lying back on the stool, her body a mass of pain, nose bloody, left eye swollen and discoloured, Belle looked up at her friend and the words began to take effect.
“Give it up, Belle,” Lucienne said. “You’ve done enough.”
“Sh—She kicked me!” Belle gasped, indignation preventing her from taking the advice.
“She’s allowed to, and use any standing wrestling holds,” the second put in. “Hell, didn’t you know that?”
“No!” Belle admitted. “But I do now.”
Flo did not expect Belle to come out and toe the line. Even seeing the slim girl approach the ring centre, she doubted if there would be any trouble in ending the fight that round. So she advanced confidently, yet watchful and alert.
So far Belle had only used her fists, giving no sign of either kicking or using any of the standing wrestling holds permitted by the rules. She aimed to change all that. With only the tights covering her feet, she realised kicking with the toe would hurt her more than Flo, but she had other methods at her disposal. Rotating half a turn to the left before Flo reached punching range, Belle tilted her body over from the waist. She drew her right leg up and shot it outwards. Rising up, the bottom of her heel drove into the point of Flo’s jaw with considerable force. Back snapped the blonde head as Flo halted in her tracks, dazed and momentarily helpless. Nor did Belle give her time to recover. Bringing down her leg from the horizontal high kick, Belle used it as a pivot to turn and snap a wicked stamping kick full into the pit of the blonde’s stomach. Although the blonde had taken hard punches down there without any undue distress, the force of the kick doubled her over like a closing jack-knife.
Jumping in close, Belle sent her left knee crashing full into the centre of the blonde’s face. Its force pulped the nose to bloody ruin and lifted Flo erect. Just as when she dealt with the fake preacher in Arkansas, Belle finished the attack with a vicious right cross that exploded her fist against Flo’s jaw and sent the woman sprawling head first into one of the ring posts.
A minute dragged by, with Flo’s seconds doing all they could to revive her. Although they worked hard, she still lay limp and helpless in her corner when time was called.
“I—I’ve won!” Belle gasped to Lucienne.
“You won,” she agreed. “Now let’s get out of here as quick as we can.”
Chapter 12
A Mighty Persuasive Young Man
Although the officers at Cornwall’s table expressed a desire to entertain Belle in honour of her victory, Lucienne insisted that the girl’s injuries must be treated first. Avoiding all other attempts to delay them, the woman hustled Belle across the room. Dusty and Paupin rose, following the women into Cornwall’s office where Lucienne sent the second to collect some of the gear deliberately forgotten on helping Belle from the ring.
“How’d you feel, Belle?” Dusty asked as the girl sank exhaustedly into a chair at the desk and Lucienne closed the door behind the second.
“Not good,” Belle admitted and winced as she touched her ribs. “I don’t think anything�
�s broken, though.”
“Get your blouse and skirt on, Belle!” ordered Lucienne, bolting the door. Then she gathered the remainder of the girl’s property from where it lay on the desk and Went on, “I want to get out of here.”
“Belle needs time to get over that fight,” Dusty objected.
“Only we don’t have time to let her,” Lucienne pointed out. “Look, Dusty, Cornwall can’t just pull out and leave those officers. I want to get clear before he can.”
“How do we get out, Annie?” Paupin asked.
“Through that door there,” Lucienne answered, indicating the room’s second exit. “It leads into the side-alley. Reckon you can unlock it?”
“I’ve yet to see the lock I can’t open,” Paupin stated calmly. Watching the man cross the room and bend to examine the lock, Lucienne grinned and said, “I bet Cornwall didn’t know Saul and I’re good friends. He’d’ve tried to get somebody else if he had known.”
Working slowly, for each move cost her plenty in pain to her aching, bruised body, Belle drew on her blouse, shirt and shoes over the borrowed bodice and tights. By the time she had dressed, Paupin straightened from the lock and pulled the door open. Dressed, Belle looked passable. The second had managed to stop her nose and mouth bleeding during the rests between the final two rounds, so only the girl’s enlarged upper lip and swollen eye gave visible signs of the fight. That would not be noticeable once on the streets, although Belle could not move at any speed.
With Belle’s parasol in one hand and underclothing tucked under her arm, Lucienne stepped cautiously into the alley separating the Green Peacock from the neighbouring building. Dusty and Paupin took the girl’s arms and helped her along as Lucienne led them to the rear of the building.
“Where’d you keep your tools, Saul?” she asked. ‘We’ll collect them and you can spend the night with us.”
“It’d be best,” he admitted. “Watch we’re not followed, Annie. I’ve a room not far from here.”
Taking Paupin’s advice, Lucienne kept a careful watch as the safe-breaker led them to his home. She saw nothing to disturb her and felt certain that leaving so soon after the fight took Cornwall by surprise. At last Paupin halted and indicated a small rooming house as his home. Telling the others to wait, he entered the building.
“Reckon you can trust him, Lucienne?” asked Dusty.
“Like I trust Jim Bludso, or you two,” she answered. “Enough to take him back to the Busted Boiler with us and tell him the truth.”
“Is that wise?” Belle inquired, leaning against Dusty’s arm.
“Saul lost his brother and son fighting the Yankees. He’s no love for them.”
The subject lapsed, for both Belle and Dusty knew they could rely on Lucienne’s judgement. Soon after, Paupin came from the house and joined them with a leather bag in his hand.
“Have you everything you’ll need, Saul?” Lucienne said.
“Sure,” he replied. “Let’s go.” Then as he turned, a change came over him. “Keep walking and talking,” he ordered.
With the bag in his hand Paupin could not help Belle, and Lucienne took his place. At first he strolled along with them, but dropped back as soon as they turned a corner. Flattening himself against the wall, he peeped cautiously around in the direction from which they came. Satisfied that his early view had been correct, Paupin followed and caught up to the others.
“Cornwall’s smarter than you figured, Annie,” he declared. “When I came out of the house, I caught a glimpse of Slippery Sid watching me from up the street.”
“I should’ve figured on it,” the woman answered. “Cornwall would know we’d come here to collect your tools. We’ll have to stop Slippery following us.”
“Happen we can find the right sort of place,” Dusty drawled. “I’ll see if I can persuade him to leave us be.”
“You’d best not start shooting, Dusty,” Lucienne warned.
“Don’t figure to,” Dusty replied.
“Slippery’s not the biggest, nor toughest jasper Cornwall hires,” Paupin put in, “but he’s good with a razor and he’s got Latour to back him up. They’re a rough handful.”
“I’ll mind it,” promised Dusty. “Let’s find the right kind of place.
“Tell us what you want and we’ll try to find It for you,” Belle stated, having the advantage of knowing Dusty’s ability in the art of bare-handed defence.
The two men following Dusty’s party knew their work and kept well back in their attempts at avoiding being seen. Much to their annoyance, Slippery and Latour noticed their victims turn off into almost deserted streets which did not make for easy dogging. However the emptiness worked two ways in that they could hear the other party ahead of them even when out of sight. When the opportunity presented itself, the two men moved into visual range. They saw Lucienne and Paupin on either side of the girl, with Dusty walking ahead and carrying the safe-breaker’s bag. After winding about for a time, the quartet turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Realising that the others had entered an alley and might be lost, Slippery increased his pace and Latour followed obediently. Turning the corner, both men saw the bulk of the party ahead of them.
Standing flattened against the wall just around the corner, Dusty watched his friends walk away and listened to the sound of approaching feet. With Belle so exhausted, there would be no chance of losing the following men any other way. So he prepared to make his move.
Sometimes the subject of spies had come up for discussion in the Regiment’s mess, with many a comment on the easy life such people must lead being passed among the younger officers. Dusty now realised just how wrong they had been. None of his friends back at the Regiment even started to think of the numerous details a spy needed, at his, or her fingertips. Nor would any of them have guessed at the kind of things that could go wrong on a spy’s assignment. Not the least being that the spies had aroused the avarice and interest of a dangerous criminal. It fell on Dusty to remove the menace from their tracks.
One thing Dusty knew for sure, he could not act in a sporting manner when dealing with the two men. Too much hung in the balance for him to give Slippery Sid and Latour an even break. So he waited, tense and ready, as the men turned the corner. Slippery Sid stood six foot, with a lean, gaunt frame, while Latour was a couple of inches smaller and stocky. Which meant both of them possessed a considerable height-weight advantage over the small Texan. However Dusty had surprise on his side.
Lunging forward, Dusty heard a startled expression break from Latour, and struck at Slippery Sid. While most Occidental men of the period would have crashed a fist into Slippery’s jaw, Dusty knew a far more effective way of handling him. The small Texan struck with a clenched fist, but not in the accepted manner. Instead he used the hitosashiyubi-ipponken, the forefinger-fist, with the forefinger’s knuckle projecting beyond the others. Such a blow could be directed against the solar-plexus, or the jinchu collection of nerve centres in the centre of the top lip, with devastating effect; but Dusty aimed for neither. His hand struck home under Slippery’s chin, smashing into his prominent adam’s apple. In striking, Dusty tried to land his blow hard enough to create a temporary paralysis and unconsciousness, but not so as to seriously injure or kill the man. A croak of agony broke from Slippery and he stumbled backwards, feeling as if somebody had thrust an iron knob into his throat.
Already Latour began to turn and face Dusty, right hand fanning to his pocket. Having thought ahead, Dusty did not need to plan further action. From striking Slippery, he whipped straight into a mae keri forward kick that slammed his boot full into the pit of Latour’s stomach. Letting out a winded screech, Latour doubled over. His hands clawed at his middle though he still retained enough control over himself to stagger forward in an attempt to avoid a knee to the face. Although Dusty had hoped to end the matter with his knee, he wasted no time in trying to move to a position where he could. Bending his right arm, he swung it up and down. His elbow struck home right where it would do mo
st good, at the base of the skull, and Latour went down like a back-broken rabbit.
Only just in time Dusty heard the sound of Slippery’s muffled gasping draw nearer. In his desire not to strike too hard, Dusty had erred the other way. While feeling half-strangled, the thin man was still on his feet and, if anything, even more dangerous than before. Around lashed the open cutthroat razor in Slippery’s hand in a wicked downwards slash. The steel missed, but by a very slender margin, to be whipped back upwards again. Such a blow had succeeded on other occasions when the first slash missed and the victim tried to close with Slippery. It might have again, for Dusty had begun to move forward. Seeing his danger, Dusty thrust himself rearwards and once more avoided the murderous blade.
Up went the razor and Dusty moved as If to try to block it. Having witnessed the small Texan’s speed, Slippery hurried his roundhouse cut just as Dusty hoped. Checking his forward motion, Dusty swayed his torso out of the radius of the razor’s swing. Unable to stop himself, Slippery bent over and the razor pointed towards the ground away from Dusty. Even as the man prepared to cut up again, Dusty pivoted into a stamping kick which thudded home against the other’s rib cage. Slippery cried out in pain as two ribs broke and the force of the kick propelled him into the wall of the nearer building. Leaping over the razor, which had fallen from its owner’s hand when the kick landed, Dusty drove a tegatana chop with the edge of his hand against the back of the man’s neck. Down went Slippery, and Dusty heard a footstep behind him. Whipping around, he prepared to deal with whoever made it.
“Dusty!” gasped Lucienne’s voice urgently. “It’s me. Are you all right?”