Free Trigger Fast by J. T. Edson

own handkerchief to gag him. Once more the girl proved herself capable of cool and fast thought for neither Dusty nor Mark gave her any sign of needing help.
    What is it?’ she asked.
    Dusty spread open the crumpled torn pile of paper and looked down at it.
    ‘A map of some kind. It’ll take time to fit all this together right and we don’t have time to spare, gal. I’ll take it with me.’
    Fear, hate and worse showed in Mallick’s eyes as he struggled impotently against the taut ropes which held him fast. He felt himself lifted to his feet, hauled into a corner where he could not be seen from the windows, then sat with his back against the wall while Mark lashed his ankles together. Mark knew his business, knew the discovery of Mallick and his crowd might mean death for the girl, Dusty and himself. So Mark aimed to see discovery was less likely. He dragged the now conscious and groaning deputies to where Mallick sat, propped them against the wall and used the last of the Agent’s rope to secure their feet together. They now sat tied in line and it would be unlikely, if not impossible, that they could manage to roll, wriggle or crawl out into view, or even to where by kicking or stamping against the walls they might attract attention.
    Freda crossed the room and looked down at the three bound men.
    ‘We won’t be selling, Mr. Mallick,’ she said.
    ‘Let’s go, gal,’ Dusty drawled, watching Mark lock and bolt the rear door.
    Cautiously Freda started to open the front door, meaning to peer out and make sure their departure would be undetected. This action did not meet with Dusty’s approval.
    ‘Go on straight out, gal,’ he ordered. ‘Act like you’ve been to see Mallick on business, not like you’re robbing the bank.’
    Holding down the comment which bubbled at her lips Freda stepped through the door. She had no sooner got outside than a hand caught her arm and turned her. She gave a muffled squeak, felt herself scooped up into Mark’s arms. His face came down, lips crushing her own in a kiss. The girl struggled, her little hands hitting Mark on the shoulders. Then he released her and she staggered back a pace. Her right hand came around in a slap which jerked his head aside.
    ‘Just because I talk friendly—’ she began hotly.
    ‘When you pair of love-birds have done,’ Dusty put in. ‘I’ve locked the door and we can move off.’
    Freda’s angry outburst faded, contrition came to her face. Then she flushed red and glared at the two men. Mark put a hand to his cheek and grinned.
    ‘That’s a mean right hand you’ve got, gal.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she replied. ‘But you might have warned me. I’ve heard about you.’
    ‘Yeah,’ grinned Mark. ‘I could feel it. Anyway it spoils things when the gal knows what she’s going to get. I’ll see to getting word to Ole Devil and you take care of Russian Olga here, Dusty.’
    ‘Who’s Russian Olga?’ Freda asked, watching Mark walk along the sidwalk making for the Wells Fargo office, while Dusty headed her across the street towards the waiting buckboard.
    ‘She’s a gal we saw one time,’* Dusty replied. ‘Claims to be the female fist fighting champion of the world, only she got licked that time.’
    ‘Girls fist f— You’re jobbing me!’
    ‘Nope. There’s a few of them about. Get the buckboard and head for the store and when we get inside don’t be surprised at how I act. I don’t want anybody thinking we’re friends.’
    ‘Scared I might ruin you socially?’ she asked with a smile.
    ‘Call it that,’ grinned Dusty in reply. ‘That slap you gave Mark’d’ve helped if anybody was watching, wouldn’t make you look real friendly with us. Only we had to stop anybody seeing me lock the door and Mark reckoned kissing you’d be as good a way of hiding me as any.’
    ‘And I slapped his face, poor Mark.’
    ‘He’ll live.’
    Freda remembered where Mark was headed and a thought struck her.
    ‘Won’t your Uncle Devil object