Wanted! Belle Starr! (21 page)

The thrashing about on the carpet continued
unabated for several minutes, taking the furiously struggling pair
under the table and from one side to the other three times. Despite
each having tried repeatedly, neither had been able to retain an
ascendancy gained more than briefly before having it wrested from
her. Then, without either having sought consciously to do so, they
came to their knees and their fingers were interlocked. Sucking in
gasping breaths, they engaged in a test of strength which brought
them to their feet. Practically identical in physical attributes,
their powers were equally sapped by previous exertion and they were
in a state of stalemate. Realizing this at the same instant, they
snatched apart their hands. Then, as if acting upon a prearranged
signal, each put all she had into delivering a right cross.

As had happened with the first blows struck
after the discarding of the skirts, the fists arrived almost
simultaneously!

Driven across the room with no control over
her movements, Belle went down by an easy chair. Propelled in the
opposite direction, buckling legs carrying her without conscious
guidance, Drusilla sprawled across and slid from the table.
Although neither was rendered unconscious, they were too far gone
in exhaustion to have any thought of resuming the fight.

Some ten minutes went by before Belle was
able to give any consideration to her position. With a return of
cogent thought, she glanced over her shoulder while using the arm
and seat of the chair to help her rise. Although the blood from her
nose had dried up, she ached from head to toe. However, she
realized her condition might have been far worse. It was obvious
why the Englishwoman had not come to finish her off. With her hair
resembling a well-soaked mop, left cheek discolored by a bruise and
the remnants of her ruined blouse flapping about her torso,
Drusilla was only just hauling herself painfully from the floor
with the arm of the chair she had occupied while playing poker.

“
W—Wait!” the honey blonde
gasped, seeing the lady outlaw turning towards her.

“
H—Had enough?” Belle
inquired, just as breathlessly, hoping the answer would be in the
affirmative.

“
From the way you look and
I feel,” Drusilla estimated, but there was no longer any trace in
her voice of the arrogant bombast which had so annoyed the lady
outlaw ever since their first meeting. “We both have had
enough.”

“
You could be right at
that,” Belle conceded, subsiding in a tired slump on to the easy
chair. “I’ll admit I’ve felt more lively in my time.”

“
You know, old thing, now
you mention it, so have I,” seconded the honey blonde, also sitting
down. “Blast it, I must be getting old.”

“
If you are, honey,” the
lady outlaw drawled, feeling no concern over her former antagonist,
being so close to the Manhattan Navy revolver in her reticule. “I’d
hate to have tangled with you when you were young and
spry.”

“
But I must be!” Drusilla
insisted. “I really believed you were one of those dreadful
women—women who’re infesting the hotel. You were acting so
obnoxiously, I thought you deserved to have your corns
trimmed.”

“
You didn’t do so badly in
that yourself,” Belle confessed. “I had you figured along those
lines myself.”

“
I can’t remember you
making a single slip that might have warned me off,” the
Englishwoman asserted with sincerity. “It wasn’t until I felt my
head starting to go woozy and guessed you’d slipped something nasty
into the port that I realized something might be wrong.”

“
Seeing the room starting
to spin around was what started me to get just a teensy mite
suspicious about you,” the lady outlaw admitted, deciding the honey
blonde had a sense of humor much like her own. “Until then, you
hadn’t done a thing to make me change my mind about you. I just
kept right on thinking you were an unpleasant Limey soft-shell, but
you knew too much about cards for me to chance cheating. So, when
you seemed to be starting to wonder why the rest of the players
hadn’t shown up, I decided to slip you a mickey and get it
over.”

“
Which just goes to prove
mater was right when she said, ‘Great minds think alike’,” Drusilla
asserted, as if imparting information of great importance and,
despite showing signs of exhaustion, her beautiful features were
made pleasant by a warm smile. “I’d been thinking much the same
about you and, as I too doubted whether I could get away with
cheating, I settled upon taking what you had brought with you and
going on my merry way before the rest of your motley crew arrived.”
Touching her bruised cheek gingerly with a finger, she went on,” It
never occurred to me that we might be birds of a
feather.”

“
Or me,” Belle seconded,
removing the ruined blouse and, tossing it to the floor, indicating
the knees which showed through her torn tights. “We could have
saved losing some of our feathers if we’d told each other our real
names in the first place. The one you’re using ought to have warned
me off. I know it sounds ‘teddibly British, don’t you know’, but
nobody could really have a name like ‘the Honorable Drusilla St.
John-Bellweather’.”

“
I’ll have to tell the
Honorable Drusilla that the next time we take tea together,” the
honey blonde commented. “She’ll be rather miffed.”

“
I’d be more than rather
miffed if I’d been saddled with a name like that,” the lady outlaw
stated. “Although some folks might say the same about mine.
Disappointing as it must be, happen you’ve heard tell of me, I’m
Belle Starr.”

“
I’d say you made me see
stars, old thing, but you’ve probably heard something like it so
many times before,” the Englishwoman replied. “Yes, I do believe I
may have heard of you. But, if you think ‘Drusilla St.
John-Bellweather’ sounds too British to be true, my full name is
Amelia Penelope Diana Benkinsop. It’s far too much of a mouthful,
though, so my friends call me ‘Benkers’.”

“
Hi, Benkers,” Belle
greeted and, rising from the easy chair as the honey blonde stood
up, they walked forward to shake hands.

“
Gracious, Florence,”
Belle Starr ejaculated, needing only one glance to realize
something of a very disturbing and serious nature must be
responsible for the hurried arrival of her visitor. Rising from the
dressing-table at which she had been writing a letter, she went on,
“Whatever’s wrong?”

“
It’s Miss Benkers!” the
newcomer replied in a voice which, although devoid of any
discernible regional accent, established her origins as being
British working class.

Five foot four inches in height, close to
buxom, with tightly curled yellowish-red hair taken up in a neat
pile on top of her head, Florence Drakefield was in her late
twenties. Her normally cheerful attractive features were redolent
of distress. Cut in a style calculated to enhance her curvaceous
‘hour glass’ figure, the colorful dress she had on gave no
indication that she was the maid who “Drusilla St.
John-Bellweather’ had implied was not deserving of trust. While
this was the capacity in which she was employed, the lady outlaw
was neither surprised nor puzzled by the obvious concern she was
displaying.

“
What’s happened to her?”
Belle demanded.

“
S—She’s been done to
rights,” Florence gasped, the heaving of her imposing bosom caused
as much by deep emotion as the exertion of hurrying to deliver the
news.

“
Done to rights?” Belle
repeated, the term being new to her.

“
She’s had her collar felt
and not a chance to take stoppo!” the maid explained. Then, seeing
no sign of comprehension, she realized the British criminal jargon
she was using in her perturbation was not understood, she
continued, “She’s been arrested.”

“
The hell you say!” the
lady outlaw snapped. “When did it happen?”

“
About half an hour ago!”
the maid replied, looking close to tears. “I—I—!”

“
Come and sit down,
honey,” Belle suggested, crossing to take the distressed red head
by the arm and leading her gently towards the bed. “Then take your
time and tell me how it happened.”

Four days had elapsed since the lady outlaw
had learned the true identity of the beautiful honey blonde
Englishwoman she had selected as, by her standards, deserving to be
fleeced!

Not only had Belle heard of Amelia Penelope
Diana ‘Benkers’ Benkinsop, but European criminals she had met gave
the Englishwoman credit for having acquired a fame on their side of
the Atlantic Ocean which equaled her own. Nevertheless, the
discovery had come as a surprise. Usually news passed quickly
through the criminal element. In fact, even though she had stayed
east of the Mississippi River, word of the last visit paid by
Benkers to the United States had reached the lady outlaw. On this
occasion, there had not been so much as a rumor of her presence
from the gathering places for outlaws in Kansas or on the way to
Austin.

Now they had met, considering the events of
the evening, Belle had been willing to agree that the comparison
between the Englishwomen and herself was justified!

Furthermore, in spite of the
means by which they had become acquainted, a warm friendship had
developed between the two far from law-abiding beauties!
^xxv

After shaking hands, Benkers had offered to
help tidy up the sitting room of the mansion. Learning she was
correct in her assumption of how Belle had obtained access to such
a location, the obvious respectability of which was calculated to
lessen suspicion, she had insisted upon sharing the cost of hiring
it, pointing out they could recoup the money by working together,
using the premises to lure genuine victims into a game of poker.
The offer had been accepted without hesitation. In addition of
having taken a liking to the Englishwoman and feeling sure the
association would prove profitable, the lady outlaw had not been
averse to having an opportunity to show her skill and see how well
the honey blonde could manipulate cards for the purposes of
cheating.

With the room returned to the condition in
which they had found it, Belle and Benkers had done what they could
to repair the ravages caused to their appearances during the fight.
Washing and tidying their hair had made passable improvements in
that direction, although nothing could be done about the bruise on
the Englishwoman’s cheek. Nor, while the discarded skirts had
served to conceal the holes in tights and stockings, was there any
way in which the ruined blouses could be made to pass unnoticed in
public. However, the lady outlaw had claimed these would not prove
an insurmountable obstacle. Explaining why this was, she and the
honey blonde had retrieved their money and left the mansion.

Having intended to walk back to the hotel
from which she and Benkers had come, Belle had not arranged for the
cab to collect them and the return journey was made on foot.
Selecting a route which avoided lighted areas where the
discrepancies of their attire might have attracted unwanted
attention, she had taken her companion to the boarding house owned
by her aunt. While on the way, remarking she had the means to
protect them against molestation if the need should arise, she had
learned the honey blonde too was armed. Benkers had also disclosed
that, since commencing her present visit to the United States, she
had been taught by members of Ole Devil Hardin’s floating outfit to
draw and fire from a Western style gunbelt and holster the Webley
Royal Irish Constabulary revolver she was carrying in her reticule.
Having explained how she had made their acquaintance, she had
confirmed Belle’s supposition that it was she who had swindled Owen
O’Brien in Dallas. Reaching the lady outlaw’s room without
incident, the loan of a blouse and make up to cover the bruise had
made it possible for the Englishwoman to return to the hotel
without anything untowards being noticeable about her
appearance.

Meeting in the suite occupied by Benkers the
following morning, Belle had been introduced to Florence Drakefield
and learned that, far from being untrustworthy, she was a loyal and
devoted employee. This had been a contradiction of the conclusion
drawn previously by the lady outlaw regarding their relationship.
In keeping with the role she was playing, the honey blonde had
treated her maid with harsh severity in public and, when not
required for her duties, Florence was staying in more humble
accommodation elsewhere.

Having discovered they had much in common,
particularly in their outlook on life, the more Belle and Benkers
had seen of each other, the stronger had grown the bond between
them. They had also found their association lucrative.

Approached with the proposition, the butler
had been amenable and the pair had held two more poker games at the
mansion. On each occasion, such was their individual and combined
expertise, the victims had gone away without suspecting the losses
sustained had resulted from anything other than an unfortunate run
of the cards. Concluding it would be inadvisable to use the
premises again, but enjoying their happy and profitable partnership
too much to want to bring it to an end so soon, they had elected to
work a confidence trick upon a wealthy, less than scrupulous,
businessman who had come to their attention.

“
Did some of the women we
took in the poker games have it done?” Belle asked, feeling sure
that Benkers would not have risked jeopardizing their latest
proposition by indulging in a private criminal activity and falling
foul of the law as a result.