buffalo hunt the day before the O.D. Connected herd arrived—he said. Calamity had taken his word for it, content to bask in Hickok's reflected glory. Only now she came to think about it, there had been no buffalo herds seen around Hays at that time. Even the professional hunters had commented on the lack of the shaggy critters on the range.
No matter that she was hot-headed, Calamity could cook up a meal fit to set a man's mouth to watering. One of the few things the nuns at the St. Louis convent—where Calamity's mother left her children before disappearing into the unknown—had managed to teach the girl was how to cook.
They ate their meal without much talk. Then, after cleaning up the dishes, Calamity walked to where her guest stood. She reckoned it was high time they had a show-down and learned who was boss around the camp-fire.
"You sure cook good, Calamity," he said, grinning down at her. "Don't tell me Wild Bill taught youT'
"I'm Wild Bill's gal," she replied and whipped the flat of her hand across his cheek with all her strength.
It was a good slap, Calamity admitted to herself, maybe even a little harder than she ought—
Mark's hands shot out, clamping on her shoulders and jerking her forward. He bent his head and his lips crushed down on hers. With a muffled gasp, Calamity tried to twist her head away. Her hard little fists beat at his shoulders, but Mark ignored them. Twisting his body, he took her knee on his thigh as it drove up. Then he released her, shoving her backwards. For a moment Calamity stood gasping for breath. Then she came forward with another slap and a repetition of the fiction that she was Wild Bill's girl.
Again Mark caught her, hauled her to him and crushed a kiss on her lips. She struggled, though not as hard as before. On being released, she staggered a pace or so to the rear and stood gasping for breath.
"I'm Wild Bill's gal!" she said, her breasts heaving, and she
lashed out another slap, only it did not have the power of the first two.
On the fourth, fifth and sixth kisses and slaps Calamity's struggles grew weaker. The slaps became more feeble and on the sixth time she found herself starting to kiss back.
"I—I'm st—still W—Wild Bill's g—gal!" she gasped after the seventh kiss, staggering on wobbly legs and landed a slap which barely touched his cheek.
Once more Mark scooped her into his arms. This time her lips sought his, hungrily answering the kiss. Her tongue crept through his lips. Her arms, no longer flailing, crept around him. Clinging to Mark, her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back, Calamity threw all she had into her kiss.
The night was dark. The stars shone brightly in trie heavens. Only the range noises broke the silence; the stamping of Mark's big stallion as it heard the distant scream of a cougar; the thrashing as one of Calamity's team horses rolled in the grass; the squeaking of insects.
Under the wagon a large black mound separated into two smaller black mounds. A masculine voice spoke from the larger of the mounds.
"What do you think of Wild Bill Hickok now?' it asked.
A feminine voice, dreamy, satisfied and contented came from the smaller.
"Wild Bill Hickok," it said. "Who is Wild Bill Hickok?'
The sun crept up and peeped over the horizon. A cold grey light of dawn began to creep out into the blackness of the night sky.
Beneath Calamity's wagon, Mark Counter opened his eyes and lifted his head from the pillow he always carried in his bedroll. Beside him, the girl stirred sleepily, her bare arm around his equally bare shoulders. Putting up his hand, Mark felt at the oval lump on the right side of his neck. Well, the bandana would hide it and he reckoned he was big enough to handle any adverse comments on his honourable wounds.
Two arms closed around his neck and a hot little mouth crushed against his, worked across his cheek and to his ear.
"Mark!" Calamity breathed into his ear.
"It's time we was up and on our way," he