Episode 81

An Avenging Angel

He stepped up on the boardwalk and into the saloon to stand just inside the door to make an appraisal of the situation.

Bob Little and Johnny were engaged in a melee with two strangers who looked to be of the party Mr. Withers was so curious about. The big Swede had a dapper looking gent in a chokehold. The man’s face was turning crimson as his windpipe was cut off in the crook of one of Johnny’s massive arms. The man had a split lip that was swelling up fit to burst.

But what drew Cal’s attention away from this struggle was the sight of a Bob Little ducking and weaving as a woman in a blue silk dress swung a heavy beer mug at him like a flail. She held it in a gloved hand by the handle and appeared to be trying to dash Bob’s brains out with the heavy glass bottom. With her free hand she had a grip on her skirts to pull them up so as to make maneuvering easier.

The rest of the Silk Hat’s inhabitants stood at a distance watching with interest. Old Pete and some of the town’s other store-keeps along with a couple of those navvies Mr. Withers had mentioned. Three girls, Molly and two other regulars, stood on the staircase to watch from a better view.

Sam, the barman, stood behind the bar with an axe handle in his fists. He seemed prepared not to intercede unless the struggle threatened the stock of whiskey setting atop the shelves behind the bar.

All this was keeping Cal from his drink and he stepped in to bring it to an end.

“Bob,” he said.

The man turned away from the furious woman in blue to regard him. A sloppy smile of recognition started to crease Bob’s face. A big goose egg lump was raised where he’d been struck in the temple by something. Cal took a hold on Bob’s ears and yanked his head down while bringing a knee up into the miner’s face. Bob dropped to the floor cold-cocked.

Cal turned next to the Swede.

“Come on now, Johnny, this fella’s had enough,” Cal said, not sure how much of it the Swede could understand.

The Swede only grinned at him and tightened his lock on the smaller man’s neck. The victim’s swollen tongue was sticking from between his teeth and turning purple. His eyes were red as berries.

Cal unshipped his Colt and swung the butt hard for the bridge of the Swede’s nose. The only way he made the reach was the that the big man was hunched over to maintain his grip on the stranger.

The cartilage snapped with a pop that made the onlookers suck in their breath. The Swede released his prey to fall gasping to the planking. Blood ran from the the nostrils from his ruined nose to dye his beard crimson. He snarled something Cal imagined was foul in Swedish and lumbered forward, hands out for Cal standing with the barrel of the Colt gripped in his fist.

Behind Johnny, the woman in blue had climbed atop a stool to bring her beer mug down on the crown of the Swede’s head. The mug exploded with a sound like a rifle shot. Johnny took one step, then another, before his eyes rolled up white and his knees went out from under him. He crashed to the boards and the woman in blue, losing her balance atop the stool, tumbled down atop him to roll to the floor where she landed on her ass with a gasp.

Cal stepped forward to take one of her hands in his and help her to her feet. As she rose, she parted the long tresses of silken hair that had fallen across her face. She looked up at him with azure eyes that still blazed with a feral fury.

He drew in a breath at the full sight of her features. She had the face of an angel. An avenging angel, for certain, but still come down from Heaven.

“Are you all right, miss?” he asked.

She jerked her hand from his, her full lips curled in contempt.

“I am perfectly capable of picking myself up,” she said. “And it is not miss. It is Lady Huntoun to you.” She turned from him to crouch down by her companion who was down on his knees sucking air into his starving lungs.

Cal stood watching her help the young man to his feet and take a few sips of whiskey to restore him. One of the whores stepped forward to pick up the English woman’s parasol and hat from where they’d fallen to the floor in the tussle. The lady took the items with a gracious word of thanks. She ran fingers through her hair to brush it back before replacing the hat atop her head. Either not noticing or caring to ignore that the train of her lace hat band dripped with beer from the puddle her hat had landed in.

This had to be a couple of the folks Mr. Withers was so consumed with curiosity about. Cal now shared that fascination and vowed to learn more about this Lady Huntoun whether there was a pay day in it or not.

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