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  Calinda was about to ask Cyrus about Rankin Cardone when shots rang out behind the stagecoach. The driver whipped the team of horses into a swift run, his shouts encouraging the animals to move faster. The two male passengers were nearly tossed into the laps of the two females as the stage thundered precariously down the road. The guard and outlaws exchanged ominous gunfire as the bandits closed in on their target. The combined din of metal, wood, gunfire, and hooves nearly drowned out the driver’s commands to the six-horse team. The landscape flashed by so rapidly that it became a blur of abundant ecru and scanty green.

  As Calinda turned to glance out the window, Cyrus grabbed her shoulder and shouted to keep her hands off the windows or she might lose a finger or two. Calinda’s dark emerald eyes widened. “They’re shooting at us?” she asked incredulously.

  “Keep your head down; don’t give them an easy target!” Bill Farns, a Fort Worth merchant, yelled at her as he slumped in the wooden seat, silently praying the baggage bound to the rear would prevent a lethal bullet from entering his back.

  As if this were a common occurrence, the two men began looking for hiding places for their money and valuables. Neither man drew his weapon. Apparently, they had no desire to fight. Everything seemed predestined: the exchange of gunfire, the futile and mandatory flight of the stagecoach, and the inevitable surrender.

  The other female passenger didn’t panic—she had nothing worth stealing. Calinda had even given her money for food at their last stop. Twenty-year-old Callie O’Hara was heading for her new job at the Red Satin Saloon in Fort Worth. Calinda had tried to converse with the remote and haughty Irish lass several times during their trip, but Callie was decidedly cold. Now she just stared straight ahead, seemingly unfazed by the danger they all faced.

  Several bullets smashed into the fleeing stagecoach. The mingled noises of horses’ hooves and gunfire drew closer. Above the clamor, the guard shouted, “I’m hit!,” then his Winchester was silent.

  But the stubborn driver continued his hasty fight toward town. As the perilous drama raged on, Calinda stared at the two men inside the coach. “Why aren’t you shooting at them?” she demanded.

  “Won’t do any good,” Bill vowed fearfully. He had stuffed his money into his boot and covered it with his pants leg. Pale and shaky, he was clinging to the seat for dear life.

  Calinda tried once more. “They’re shooting at us; we could get killed! Why won’t you defend us? You heard the guard—he’s wounded. This stage can’t outrun their horses. We’ll be robbed!”

  “Robbed is better than murdered,” Cyrus informed the naive Calinda. “If we fire at them, they’ll make us pay when we’re stopped. It’s best to give in and let them take what they want.”

  “Give me your gun. I’m not afraid to defend myself. I’m not a coward. They won’t rob me without a fight,” she bravely shouted.

  “You gonna kill ’em?” Bill Farns sneered. “That’s the only way to stop ’em. All you have to do is wound one of them and they’ll fight like crazed cocks. You ain’t gonna get us killed playing heroine.”

  Before Calinda could voice her outrage, the stage slowed to a halt. The exhausted team was lathered and wheezing; it was time to surrender. The stage was instantly surrounded by a masked gang of eight men. Each bandit had two pistols pointing at the driver and his anxious charges. When one outlaw demanded that their guns be tossed to the ground, all four men complied.

  Next, the stage occupants were ordered to step outside. The driver and wounded guard remained on their lofty perch. The two male passengers descended to the dusty ground, then helped the two women out. One outlaw, probably their leader, prodded his horse forward to within a few feet of the small group. Above his black bandanna, his eyes showed cold amusement as they viewed the terror of the two men, mild indifference as they drifted over Callie, and visible pleasure as they slowly raked over the auburn-haired treasure.

  Calinda trembled, but her face appeared impassive and her poise unruffled. She didn’t like the way the bandit leader was staring at her. For an instant, she was relieved she hadn’t shot at them and drawn their anger. Then she decided that armed resistance might have driven them away.

  Two outlaws remained on their horses as guards while the others dismounted to carry out their plans. The driver was ordered to hand down the U.S. mail and a strongbox with money. The male passengers were searched and relieved of their money and watches. Callie convinced the bandit before her that she was penniless and jewel-free. The self-assured leader then approached Calinda, holding out his hand for her drawstring purse and jewelry.

  There was still a glow in his eyes which Calinda noticed and dreaded. Still, she moved her purse behind her slender back and obstinately shook her head, tawny red curls shimmering over her shoulders with her defiant movement. The leader’s eyes registered surprise, then humor.

  “The money, Ma’am,” he demanded as he holstered his weapon, placed his hands on his hips and assumed a confident stance.

  “No,” Calinda refused. “It’s mine.”

  “You’ll have your life if you obey before my patience wears out,” he retorted mirthfully.

  He was playing with her. She was sure he was grinning beneath that triangular mask and her chin jutted out in continued rebellion. “I’ve never heard of outlaws murdering innocent women over a small amount of money,” she boldly bluffed.

  “Give it to him, Miss Braxton,” Cyrus anxiously en@@@couraged.

  “No,” Calinda recklessly stood her shaky ground. Violence was an unknown force to her, one she failed to recognize or wisely respect.

  “Need some help with that little filly?” another bandit offered, laughing. A chorus of chuckles filled the stuffy air, altering the mood of the leader.

  “I’m in a hurry, Miss B. I don’t normally go around roughing up beautiful women, but I can if you force me. The jewelry and money,” he demanded imperiously, his voice and gaze now chilly.

  Calinda took a few steps backward and shook her head. If she were going to be robbed, it wouldn’t be with her cooperation! Besides, she needed what little money there was in the purse. She would be in a terrible state if her father had left this area. She tried to reason with him. “Please, it’s all I have until I can locate my father. I don’t have any friends or relatives here. If you take the money, how will I survive? Surely my meager cash cannot be that vital to you?”

  A curious look filled the insolent stranger’s eyes. He almost appeared tempted not to rob her. “Sorry, Miss B,” he finally said, then reached for the purse she clutched tightly behind her.

  Calinda struggled for possession of the purse. Within moments, she found herself breathless, her dress torn, and her purse in the hands of the leader. One man held her securely while the leader removed a sapphire ring and an inexpensive cameo brooch.

  Finally realizing she was helpless, Calinda ceased her resistance. But her torn dress had revealed a hidden treasure, more precious to Calinda than the money or other jewelry—a locket with her parents’ picture. The bandit snatched it, leaving a gradually reddening streak on her ivory neck. Calinda fought with renewed determination and strength.

  “Take the money and jewels, but not the locket. Please…”

  The outlaw eyed the gold locket in his sweaty palm, then the beseeching look on the girl’s face. He flipped it open, and saw the reason for her battle. “Your folks dead?” he unexpectedly asked.

  Hoping her answer would convince him to return the prized locket, she nodded, her entrancing eyes misty. “Please don’t steal it,” she pleaded softly.

  “If you hadn’t cost me so much time and trouble, I wouldn’t.” After checking her purse, he glanced at her and asked, “This all the money you have? Any hidden? Maybe I should search you.”

  His words sent shivers of alarm over Calinda. She went rigid and silent, wondering if he would carry out his petrifying threat. “No,” he said then. “You wouldn’t have fought for this measly bit of money if you had more.” He chuckled
when she exhaled loudly in relief. “Let ’er go.”

  As she was released, Calinda surged forward to snatch the locket. When the outlaw instinctively reacted to her unexpected attack, she was shoved backwards and landed with a loud thud against the stage. This harsh treatment instantly spurred the injured guard into action; he reached for a concealed rifle. One of the outlaws shot him before he could take aim.

  Calinda screamed and ran to kneel over the fallen man. The locket hadn’t been worth a man’s life. She looked up at the masked leader in disbelief, her face white and her expression frozen. For a moment, no one spoke or moved as Calinda Braxton stared at the notorious Sam Bass. What shocked her most was the outlaw’s total lack of remorse or concern, which he flaunted with a cocky stance and laughing eyes. Clearly and belatedly, she knew this man was lethal and ruthless.

  Driven beyond all caution and wisdom, Calinda stood up and squared her shoulders proudly. Glaring coldly at the bandit, she held our her hand. “Give me the locket; he paid for it with his life.”

  “You’re a stupid girl, Miss B. I’ve killed more men than you have fingers and toes. Don’t tempt me to add a female notch to my gun,” he warned.

  “You murder men, then boast about it? You’re an animal,” she sneered.

  Sam’s eyes appraised this girl who was as stubborn and brave as any of his men. He respected courage, except when it was a hindrance. To end this crazy stand-off, he shoved Calinda aside. She fell backward and struck her head against the stage wheel, then slid unconscious to the ground. Sam resisted the urge to check her injury and ordered his gang to search the baggage.

  More money and valuables were added to the gang’s pile as they looted the men’s luggage. When they opened Calinda’s, the thieves were delighted with the expensive gowns and frilly lingerie and took Calinda’s baggage as gifts for their women.

  When Calinda awoke, all she had was the dirty, torn dress she wore. Unable to stem her anger, she berated the two men for their cowardice, but was told she had only herself to blame for her injuries and losses. Callie O’Hara remained silent and watchful. She was glad to see the gently-reared beauty defeated, but didn’t dare show her viciousness before the men who might be her customers. The driver carried the guard’s body on the stage, shaking his head at the rash loss of life; still he felt a begrudging respect for Calinda’s courage. Bill, however felt no such admiration.

  “If you hadn’t fought them, they probably wouldn’t have searched our baggage. Or stolen yours for spite. If that guard hadn’t tried to help you, he wouldn’t be dead,” Bill angrily heaped his charges on Calinda to ease his own humiliation. It galled any man to play a coward, even if he was one.

  “If you two had helped the guard shoot at them, we might have scared them off!” she shouted back at him. “Those outlaws wouldn’t be so bold if they weren’t allowed to rob people like us so easily!”

  “You fought ’em, and what did it get you?” Bill scoffed.

  “One person couldn’t battle eight, but four could have. Besides, at least I have some pride.”

  “That’s all you have left, girly,” the driver added sullenly.

  “Stop this bickering. We’ve got to get to town and tell the sheriff,” Cyrus interrupted their quarrel. “Maybe the posse can help us.”

  Calinda sat in the corner as they made their pensive trip into Fort Worth. At least she could get that much closer to her father and the Cardone Ranch. She would contact the sheriff and have him send word to Rankin Cordone of her arrival, if her letters hadn’t already reached him. But what would she do until help reached her? She felt vulnerable, doubtful, and afraid. She certainly couldn’t ask Bill or Cyrus for assistance, not after her brazen tirades and insults. Perhaps they had been wiser after all. Perhaps it was best to swallow pride and allow the bandits their way until the law could pursue them. It was clear her resistance had been futile and costly.

  After their late arrival in Fort Worth, Calinda’s problems mounted by the hour. The town was rough and the men rowdy, just like the descriptions in the paper novels. She didn’t know anyone, except the passengers, who had all disappeared. Even the stage office was closed by the time she discovered that the sheriff and his deputies had been out pursuing bank robbers since that morning. Most of the stores were closed.

  Dusk was gradually enveloping the town, and the streets were slowly filling with noisy men and horses. She could hear music, but it was coming from rundown saloons. Calinda had approached two boarding houses and one hotel, to learn none of them would accept her presence with only the promise of repayment when her father arrived. To her further alarm, Calinda discovered that her father’s name was unknown in town. And when she mentioned Rankin Cordone, she was met with skepticism. It was apparent her father was not that powerful man’s partner. Her claims only inspired mistrust and her apprehensions and doubts increased with the shadows.

  Calinda stood on the wooden walkway pondering her next move. Angry and frightened, she had no place to go. Several men paused to offer crude solutions to her predicament. What kind of place was this? Would no one help a young woman in terrible straits, a woman robbed near their town, a woman without family or money? Did they feel no concern or responsibility toward her? Soon, any hope for assistance vanished as family people went home for their evening meal. Only saloon girls and cowpokes were on the street. Calinda honestly didn’t know what to do or where to turn. She berated herself for her dwindling courage, independence, and resourcefulness.

  “You be Miss Braxton?” a gruff voice inquired from behind.

  Calinda turned and nodded, tears misting her eyes. A hefty woman with faded blonde hair and a painted face stepped forward. Her scarlet dress was snug-fitting over her round body. Yet there was a gentleness in her expression as she smiled at Calinda.

  “I be Nelle O’Hara, Callie’s cousin. Callie told me ’bout yore troubles on the stage and the money you give her. Women like us don’t git such kindness from ladies like you. I owns the Red Satin Saloon down the street. You be welcomed ta stay there till you kin locate yore kinfolk. The place’s noisy, but she’s clean and safe. Won’t nobody harm you whilst you’re under my roof.” Nelle kept it to herself that the ungrateful and cold-hearted Callie had laughed at Calinda’s predicament.

  “I…” Calinda started to refuse her generous invitation, but fell silent. How could she stay in such a place. How could she not? It was the only help she had been offered. She couldn’t stand here all night in this dangerous cowtown. “I don’t have any money to pay you.” Calinda was beginning to understand the full extent of the danger she was in today. Still, she had to stay until she could locate Rankin.

  “Don’t you be worryin’ yore pretty head none. You kin stay with us till the sheriff gits back, then he kin help you. I knows it ain’t the kind of place you’re used to, but you’ll be safe. I seed you standin’ here alone and scared; folks ‘round these parts don’t take ta strangers, not without some price I doubts you’d be wantin’ ta pay. Decent folks, me big toe. Can’t even help a lady in trouble,” Nelle muttered. As she awaited the girl’s answer, Nelle shifted uneasily. Maybe this girl reminded her too much of her own daughter who was back East in school, away from the crude life in a saloon.

  “But how can I repay your kindness?” Calinda fretted anxiously.

  “No need. Jus’ come along. We’ll git you a hot bath and some warm victuals. I’ll have Maggie stitch yore dress fur you. By mornin’ you’ll be feelin’ sunny,” she said confidently, taking Calinda in tow.

  Nelle and Calinda made their way to the Red Satin Saloon and went inside. They walked through the noisy crowd of working girls, appropriately attired in red satin dresses trimmed in black lace, and roughlooking men. Calinda’s face flamed as men approached them to check on Darlin’ Nelle’s newest girl. Nelle quickly and cheerfully corrected the bewitched cowboys and fancy gamblers. Embarrassed and vexed, Calinda cautiously held her tongue and temper, not daring to offend her only source of help.

 
; Calinda tightly gripped her torn dress as the two women wove through tables and chairs in the cluttered room, then climbed the stairs and walked down a long hallway. Nelle halted before a door and unlocked it. She went inside and motioned for Calinda to follow her. Nelle lit two lanterns and turned to smile genially at the exhausted girl. Calinda was glancing around, pleased and surprised to find the room was nicely furnished and exceptionally clean.

  “See, tain’t so bad,” the older woman encouraged.

  Calinda smiled at her and nodded.

  “You makes yoreself at home, Miss Braxton,” Nelle said. “I’ll fetch you some hot food and a bath. Jus’ rest and calm yourself. You’ve had a rough day.”

  As Nelle was leaving, Calinda said, “Thank you, Nelle, and please thank Callie for me.”

  Nelle chuckled and smiled again. After she’d gone, Calinda dropped into a plush chair and stared into space, trying to relax her tense mind and body. She hadn’t moved when Nelle and a black man appeared with her food and a wooden tub. Nelle chatted freely while Calinda ate and the man hauled in hot water for the tub. Nelle actually blushed when she handed Calinda a red satin dancehall dress like ones they’d seen below and a fiery-colored flimsy nightgown edged with what looked like wicked ebony lace.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Braxton, but that’s all the clothes I has ta offer here at the saloon. I’ll have yours repaired and washed and I’ll return ‘em in the mornin’.” They talked a while longer and Calinda told her about the robbery and her motives for coming West alone, touching the tender-hearted Nelle with her plight and courage.

  Calinda thanked her again before Nelle left her. After the bath, Calinda slipped into the seductive dress that exposed the upper portion of her creamy bosom, unable to put on the revealing nightgown. Soon, a knock sounded at her door. Apprehensive, she asked who was there. It was a drunken customer at the wrong room. For a time, he was determined to come inside and he rattled the doorknob and bumped the door with his shoulder. As he spouted curses at the delay, the besieged girl cringed against the wall, trying to shut out his vulgar words. For a horrifying moment, she feared he was going to break down the door and assault her, but Nelle came along and pointed him in the right direction, then entered to calm Calinda’s distraught nerves.