Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Chapter 6

Sheriff Edelman’s question took Danielle by surprise, and she recovered as quickly as she could.

“I’m not a bounty hunter, sheriff, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Glad to hear it,” Edelman said, “and the possibility had crossed my mind. All over the frontier, there are men who are man-hunters. They make their living hunting down wanted men with prices on their heads. Texas is willing to pay a thousand dollars for Gib Hunter, dead or alive.”

“From what you’ve told me,” said Danielle, “Hunter had been here several days. If you recognized him, why didn’t you arrest him then?”

“I wanted to be sure,” Sheriff Edelman said, “so I sent telegrams to authorities in Texas, Kansas, and Missouri. It took a while to get answers.”

“Maybe one of the bounty hunters got him,” said Danielle.

“I doubt it,” Sheriff Edelman said. “He was in the cafe last night, and even then, snow was up to a sow’s ear. Something happened to him after he left the cafe and before he reached the hotel. His bed hasn’t been slept in.”

“So I’m a suspect,” said Danielle.

“Frankly, yes,” Sheriff Edelman said. “It has all the earmarks of a bounty killing. You and Gib Hunter were the only strangers in town. Maybe you ain’t a bounty hunter, but this owlhoot had no way of knowin’ that. It could have well been his reason for watching you in the cafe, and reason enough for him to use the storm as cover, bushwhacking you when you left.”

“Well, he’s gone,” said Danielle. “Can’t you be satisfied with that?”

“It ain’t that easy for a lawman,” Sheriff Edelman said. “Wanted men are unpredictable. You never know when they’re goin’ to get suspicious, like Hunter was last night, and it’s damn near impossible to prove one of ’em’s dead if you can’t produce a body. Come on, kid, tell me what happened after you left the cafe last night.”

Danielle sighed. She had fired in self-defense, and Hunter’s Colt would prove it. There seemed little doubt that Sheriff Edelman would not stop short of hearing the truth of it. It was time for a decision, and Danielle made it.

“All right, Sheriff,” said Danielle. “When I left the cafe, it was snowing so hard that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Somebody fired at me, and even through the swirling snow, I could see the muzzle flash, so I returned fire. You’ll find him there just a few feet from the western wall of the hotel. I’d never seen the man until last night, and I’m claiming self-defense.”

“I won’t dispute that,” Sheriff Edelman said. “I just need to find him so we can close the book. There’ll be an inquest in the morning, and you’ll have to testify. But with deep snow and maybe more comin’, you can’t go anywhere. Besides, soon as I can verify that Hunter’s dead, the state of Texas will owe you a thousand dollars.”

“I told you I’m no bounty hunter,” said Danielle, “and I don’t want any reward. All I did was defend myself. Claim the reward in my name, and then see that it goes to a needy cause, such as an orphanage or church.”

“I’ll do that,” Sheriff Edelman said. “I’ll see you at half-past eight tomorrow morning, and we’ll go to the courthouse for the inquest. Now I’d better get some men with shovels to dig out Gib Hunter.”

Somehow, Danielle felt better for having told the lawman the truth. He was right about the snow, and there was no way she could leave until it began to melt. By then, Hunter’s body would have been found. The snow finally ceased in the late afternoon and there was a dramatic drop in the temperature. A big thermometer outside the hotel’s front door said it was ten below zero. Danielle kept to herself, never allowing the fire in her stove to burn too low.

True to his word, Sheriff Edelman was at the hotel the next morning. Danielle was in the hotel lobby, waiting.

“We’d better get started,” Sheriff Edelman said. “Snow’s still mighty deep.”

“I reckon you found him, then,” said Danielle.

“Yeah,” Sheriff Edelman said, “and there’s proof enough of what you told me. His Colt had been fired and was still in his hand. I’ll testify to that.”

With Danielle’s story and Sheriff Edelman’s testimony, the inquest lasted not more than a quarter hour. Hunter’s death was ruled self-defense. With some relief, she started back toward the hotel. There was little to do until the snow began to melt, and not until the following day did the clouds begin to break up enough for the sun to emerge. Danielle was thoroughly sick of the hotel and the cafe next door, silently vowing to ride out if some of the snow had melted.

Mobeetie, Texas. September 25, 1870.

The eight outlaws who had deserted Upton Wilks had reached Mobeetie just in time to hole up in the hotel before the snow storm had begun.

“If we ain’t goin’ back to Indian Territory,” Rufe Gaddis said, “I think we should split up. Eight of us in a bunch attracts too much attention. I’ve already heard talk here in the hotel. Somebody’s wonderin’ who we are and why we’re here.”

“I think you’re right,” said Julius Byler. “We’d better split.”

Chancy Burke, Saul Delmano, Newt Grago, Snakehead Kalpana, Blade Hogue, and Brice Levan quickly agreed.

“I crave warm weather,” said Snakehead Kalpana. “I’m bound for south Texas.”

“Yeah,” Newt Grago said. “You aim to run them Mex horses across the border into Texas. Better men than you have been strung up for that.”

When the snow had finally melted enough to permit travel, the eight outlaws split up, each going his separate way.

Hays, Kansas. September 25, 1870.

Danielle judged the snow had melted enough for her to continue her journey to Denver. Before riding out, she paused at the sheriff’s office to tell Edelman she was leaving.

“Good luck, kid,” Sheriff Edelman said. “Don’t turn your back on strangers.”

The hotel clerk had told Danielle it was just a little under three hundred miles to Denver, so Danielle took her time. There were still snow drifts so deep, it was necessary to dismount and lead the chestnut mare. An hour before sundown, Danielle found a secluded canyon where there was water. The canyon rim was high enough to keep out the cold night wind. After a hurried supper, she put out her fire. The chestnut mare had been picketed near the stream, where there was still some graze. Confident that the horse would warn her of any danger, Danielle rolled in her blankets at the foot of the canyon rim, where the snow had melted and the ground was dry. She slept undisturbed, awakening as the first gray light of dawn crept into the eastern sky. After a quick breakfast, she again rode west. Much of the snow had melted, being replaced with mud as the sun thawed the ground and sucked up the moisture. About two hours before sundown she came upon two sets of horse tracks leading from the southeast. While catching up to them could possibly be dangerous, they might be two of the very outlaws she sought. Her first warning came when the chestnut mare nickered and a distant horse answered. Danielle reined up.

“Hello, the camp!” Danielle shouted. “I come in peace.”

“Come on,” said a cautious voice. “Just keep your hands where I can see ’em.”

Both men stood with their revolvers cocked and ready.

“My name is Dan Strange, and I’m from St. Joe, Missouri, on my way to Denver.”

The men were young, in their early twenties, Danielle judged, and they looked like out-of-work, line-riding cowboys. Danielle had made no threatening moves, and the pair slid their weapons back into their holsters.

“I’m Herb Sellers,” said the rider who had called out the challenge. “My amigo here is Jesse Burris. Our grub’s running low and we’re out of coffee, but you’re welcome to take part in what there is.”

“I just left a trail drive in Abilene,” Danielle said, “and I stocked up on supplies. Why don’t you let me supply the grub for supper? I have coffee, too.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve had lately,” said Sellers. “We holed up in Dodge, waiting out the storm, and town living just about busted us.”

“Yeah,” Burris said. “We done been starved out of Texas. Where in tarnation did you find a trail herd bound for Abilene? Ain’t no money in Texas. It’s been picked clean, and the buzzards is still there.”

“Five small ranchers risked everything they had, driving 2,600 head to Abilene,” said Danielle. “Come spring, they’ll have money enough to take a larger herd.”

“Straight across Indian Territory,” said Sellers. “Any trouble with rustlers?”

“Some,” Danielle admitted. “After we killed four of them, the others decided to ride on to other parts.”

The two men laughed, appreciating the droll humor.

“We aim to do some bounty hunting,” said Sellers. “Catching outlaws pays rewards, and I don’t know of nobody needin’ it worse than we do. We heard that Gib Hunter had been seen in Dodge and might be headed for Denver. That’s a thousand-dollar bounty.”

“No more,” Danielle said. “Hunter tried to bushwhack somebody during the storm, and was gunned down in Hays. I was waiting out the storm myself.”

“Damn the luck,” said Sellers. “We’re having trouble getting the names of outlaws with prices on their heads. Lawmen don’t like bounty hunters.”

“That’s one reason we’re bound for Denver,” Burris said. “I got an uncle there, and he’s working for the Pinkertons. We’re hoping he can supply us a list of outlaws and the bounties on their heads.”

While Danielle wasn’t concerned with the bounty, the possibility of a list of the names of outlaws on the dodge appealed to her. These two down-at-the-heels cowboys seemed to be exactly as they had described themselves. Danielle decided to take a chance and, after supper, told the pair of her search for the outlaws who had murdered her father.

“I’m not after these men for the bounty,” Danielle said. “I don’t know if there’s bounty on them, but of the ten of them still loose, I can tell you the names they were using in Indian Territory.”

“Then maybe we can work out a trade,” Burris said. “If my uncle in Denver can get us a list of wanted men with bounties on their heads, you can compare the names you have to the names on the list.”

“I’d be obliged,” said Danielle. “I’m hunting them down because I don’t want any of them to go free. If there’s money on their heads, then you’re welcome to it. I just want them dead.”

On a page from a small notebook, Danielle wrote down the names of the outlaws that she remembered.

“Nobody on here I’ve ever heard of,” Jesse Burris said, “but that don’t mean anything. Outlaws change their names like the rest of us change our socks. It’ll be something to compare to our list if we’re lucky enough to get one.”

Danielle had no cause to doubt the sincerity of the two young bounty hunters, but she slept with her Colt in her hand. Danielle supplied the food and coffee for breakfast, and the trio set out for Denver. Except for deep canyons where the sun didn’t often shine, the snow had melted, leaving a quagmire of mud.

Denver, Colorado. September 27, 1870.

There was nothing fancy about the Denver House, but its rooms weren’t expensive, and Danielle rented two of them.

“You shouldn’t of done that,” said Herb Sellers. “We can’t repay you until we collect some bounties.”

“Let me look at your list of known outlaws,” Danielle said, “and that will be payment enough.”

“I aim to call on the Pinkertons and talk to my uncle in the morning,” Burris said.

The more Danielle thought about it, the less likely it seemed the Pinkerton listing of known outlaws would be of any value. From what she had heard, the Pinkerton Agency was most often called upon to seek out bank and train robbers. The outlaws who had hanged Daniel Strange in Indian Territory began to seem more and more like a ragtag lot of renegades left over from those infamous days following the war. But Danielle had not a single lead, and a Pinkerton list would be better than nothing. Danielle bought supper for the three of them at a small cafe.

“Jesse and me aim to hit some of the saloons tonight,” Herb said. “Want to come with us?”

“I reckon not,” said Danielle. “I’m tired of sleeping on the ground, and I want to enjoy a warm bed.” If the two were out of grub and low on money, the last place they should be going was to a saloon, Danielle thought. But it was the way of the frontier not to offer advice or opinions unless asked.

After the recent snow, there had been a warming trend and it seemed a shame to retire to her room so early. After Herb Sellers and Jesse Burris had left, Danielle changed her mind. Without taking her chestnut from the livery stable, she would walk to the places of business nearest the hotel. One of them—the Pretty Girl Saloon⁴—was across the street from her hotel. The Pretty Girl was a two-story affair, and the bottom floor was well lighted. There was a bar all along one side of the room, while the rest of it was occupied by a roulette wheel, several billiard tables, and more than a dozen tables topped with green felt for poker and black jack. A winding staircase led to the second floor. Waitresses dressed in flowing fancy gowns carried drinks to tables where the different games were in progress. Danielle stopped one of the waitresses.

“What’s upstairs?”

“High-stakes poker and faro,” the waitress said. “It’ll cost you a hundred dollars to go up there, but you get a hundred dollars’ worth of credit at the poker or faro tables.”

While Danielle didn’t care for poker, she had played faro—or “twenty-one”—with her father and brothers many times, and she understood the game. She still had more than $3,300, and feeling bold, she took five double eagles from her Levi’s pocket and exchanged them for chips.

“First door on the left, at the head of the stairs,” the waitress said.

Danielle climbed the stairs, opened the door, and got the shock of her life. All over the huge gambling hall there were young women who wore nothing except a short jacket that covered the arms and shoulders and red slippers on their feet. Danielle had no interest in naked women and was about to leave, when she recalled she had paid a hundred dollars to come to the second floor. Obviously, the girls were there to take a man’s mind off how much he had lost or was likely to lose. Danielle took her handful of five-dollar chips to one of the faro tables.

“Minimum bet five dollars,” said the dealer.

Danielle lost five times in a row, and then she started winning. One of the naked girls was at her side, urging her to visit the bar, but Danielle wouldn’t be distracted. Not until she had won more than three hundred dollars did she leave the table. There were some vain attempts to lure her to the poker tables, where the saloon might recover some of its money, but Danielle wasn’t tempted. With a last look at the naked women, she stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. Reaching the street, she walked for an hour before returning to the hotel. She secretly hoped Sellers and Burris were as broke as they had implied, so that Burris wouldn’t be hung over and sick when it was time to visit the Pinkerton office.

Danielle was awake at first light. She was sitting on the bed, tugging on her boots, when there was a knock on her door.

“Who’s there?” she inquired.

“Sellers and Burris,” said a voice.

Danielle got up, unlocked the door, and let them in.

“We got in a poker game and, between us, won more’n five hundred dollars,” Jesse Burris said.

“That’s risky when you can’t afford to lose,” said Danielle.

“Hell, we know that,” Sellers said, “but we had so little, it didn’t make much difference between that and stone broke. Let’s get breakfast. We’re buying.”

After eating, they returned to the hotel, where they paid for another night.

“You want to go with us to the Pinkerton office?” Jesse Burris asked.

“I reckon not,” said Danielle. “You’ll likely be more successful if they don’t think you have a gang of bounty hunters. I’ll be here when you return.”

Danielle waited for almost four hours before the young bounty hunters returned.

“We got a list of thirty men with prices on their heads,” Jesse Burris said. “Look at it and see if any of the names sound familiar.”

Eagerly, Danielle took the list, reading it twice.

“Well,” said Herb, “have you found any of ’em?”

“Just two,” Danielle said. “Rufe Gaddis and Julius Byler.”

“Since you already knew their names, and the same names are on the Pinkerton list, it sounds like they’re using their real names,” said Jesse Burris.

“It does seem that way,” Danielle said. “I just wonder if some of the others on this list are the men I want, using different names.”

“One thing I learned from the Pinkertons might be helpful to you,” Jesse Burris said. “In southern New Mexico, southern Arizona, and other territories where there’s a lot of silver and gold mining going on, there’s plenty of outlaws.”

“I’m surprised the Pinkertons would tell you that,” said Danielle. “Seems to me they’d be anxious to cover that territory themselves.”

“They’ve tried,” Burris said. “Three Pinkerton men were sent there almost six months ago, and they haven’t been heard from. They’re presumed dead.”

“Damn,” said Danielle, “I can’t believe the Pinkertons would take that without fighting back. I thought they were tougher than that.”

“They’re plenty tough and dedicated,” Burris said, “but they bleed just like anybody else when they’re bushwhacked or shot in the back.”

Danielle sighed. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Neither do we,” said Herb Sellers. “Now that we got a stake, we’re gonna stay here one more night and try our luck at the poker tables.”

“Don’t risk all you have,” Danielle cautioned. “These outlaws may be scattered from here to yonder, and it may take some time to collect a bounty.”

“That’s good advice,” said Jesse Burris. “I think we’ll do well to take it.”

“I think so, too,” Herb Sellers said. “You’ve been a lot of help to us, Dan. In a way, I reckon we’re all in the same business. If you ever get your tail caught in a crack, be sure we’ll side you till hell freezes.”

“I’m obliged,” said Danielle. “If I’m there, and you need me and my gun, you got it.”

Danielle had supper with Sellers and Burris. Afterward, the pair set out for the saloons and poker tables. Danielle, still two hundred dollars ahead after the previous night at the Pretty Girl Saloon, decided to return there. It seemed immoral to her, naked women wandering among the tables, fetching drinks. More and more, however, Danielle was becoming accustomed to this man’s world. The naked girls drew men like flies drawn to a honey jug. She wondered how a man kept his mind on the game, with a naked female to distract him. Suppose they discovered she wasn’t a man? Would she be asked to leave?

Reaching the saloon, Danielle paid her hundred dollars, received her credit in chips, and made her way up the stairs. She opened the door into the gambling hall, and immediately a pair of the naked women were there to greet her.

“I remember you from last night, cowboy,” said one of the women. “You won big.”

“I reckon,” Danielle said. “You just have to keep your mind on the game.”

Danielle headed for a faro table, while the two naked women looked at one another questioningly. It had been their specific duty to watch for the return of this stranger who seemed to have no interest in naked women and kept his mind on the game. The naked pair hurried to the faro table and watched Danielle win the first three hands. She lost one and then won the next two. Occasionally she lost a hand, but won more often than she lost. So engrossed was she in the game, she failed to see the man with a tied-down revolver quietly leave the hall. Danielle decided it was time to back off after she had won four hundred dollars.

“You’re on a roll, cowboy,” one of the girls said. “Don’t be in a hurry.”

“Thanks,” Danielle said, “but it’s past my bedtime.” She had taken seven hundred dollars of the saloon’s money in two days, and she fully understood the hard looks she had received from the dealers as she prepared to leave. She had ignored the naked women, defied the odds, and she had won. Now she had only to cross the street to her hotel. She felt like her luck had run out at the Pretty Girl Saloon. Her feeling was confirmed when, from the darkness between the hotel and the building adjoining it, there came a blaze of gunfire. The first slug ripped through Danielle’s left arm between wrist and elbow, but it didn’t affect her aim. Lightning quick, she drew her Colt and fired twice. Once to the left and then once to the right of the muzzle flash. Three men—one of them the desk clerk—rushed out of the hotel.

“What’s going on out here?” the desk clerk demanded.

“Somebody tried to bushwhack me,” replied Danielle, “and I shot back. I reckon you’d better send for the sheriff.”

Sheriff Hollis arrived soon after with a lantern. Scarcely looking at Danielle, Hollis headed for the dark area between the hotel and the adjoining building. There he hunkered down, and in the pale light from the lantern, it became obvious he was examining the body of a man. Slowly the sheriff returned to the street where Danielle stood, blood dripping off the fingers of her left hand.

“Come on,” said Sheriff Hollis. “We’ll have Doc take care of your wound. Then you’ll go to my office and tell me what this is all about.”

“It’s about me being bushwhacked,” Danielle said. “I fired back.”

“Two hits in the dark,” said Sheriff Hollis. “I don’t often see shooting like that.”

Danielle said nothing. When they reached the doctor’s house, he quickly cleaned and bandaged Danielle’s wounded arm. Danielle then followed Sheriff Hollis back to his office.

“Now,” Sheriff Hollis said, “you have some talking to do. Start with your name.”

“Daniel Strange. I had just left the Pretty Girl Saloon and was on my way back to my hotel. I didn’t fire until somebody fired at me.”

“I believe you,” said Sheriff Hollis. “This is not the first time this has happened here, but it’s the first time anybody’s nailed a bushwhacker. His name is Belk Sanders. Have you heard of him?”

“Not until just now,” Danielle said. “I’d just won four hundred dollars playing blackjack at the Pretty Girl Saloon. Sanders must have been there, leaving ahead of me. But the cost of going upstairs is a hundred dollars’ worth of gambling chips. I doubt anyone would be able to afford that very often, and it makes me wonder if the saloon didn’t hire him to bushwhack the winners and take back the money.”

“I’ve thought of that, myself,” Sheriff Hollis said, “but there’s no proof. Tonight’s the fourth time a winner from the Pretty Girl has been bushwhacked. The first three weren’t as sudden with a pistol as you.”

“How long has this Belk Sanders been around here?” Danielle asked. “What does he do besides hang around in saloons?”

“Nothing, as far as I know,” said Sheriff Hollis, “but he always seemed to be flush. I think maybe you solved one of my problems tonight.”

“Will you need me for an inquest?” Danielle asked. “I’m claiming self-defense.”

“You’ll have no trouble with the court,” said Sheriff Hollis, “and I don’t think you’ll have to be here. Three men in the hotel, including the desk clerk, saw the muzzle flash from Sanders’s gun before you fired. I’ve never seen a more obvious case of self-defense.”

“I’ll be at the hotel tonight, and until sometime tomorrow, if you need me,” Danielle said. “I want to be sure this wound is going to heal before I ride on.”

“Good thinking,” said Sheriff Hollis. “Get yourself a quart of whiskey. It’ll take care of a fever and kill any infection.”

Danielle returned to the Pretty Girl Saloon, but only for some whiskey, which she was able to buy at the downstairs bar. From there, she returned to her hotel. By then, her wounded arm had begun to hurt, and she took a dose of the laudanum the doctor had given her. The quart of whiskey she placed on the table beside the bed. She awakened the next morning with a temperature, and forced herself to drink some of the liquor. It was a terrible experience, for Danielle had never tasted whiskey before. She choked the stuff down, wondering if it wouldn’t do more harm to her insides than the bullet had done to her arm. She counted her blessings, for Sanders had fired twice. Had his second shot hit her, it might have been necessary for the doctor to undress her in order to treat the wound. That would have given the lawman and the town something to talk about, and would explain why the Pretty Girl Saloon’s naked women hadn’t taken her mind off her game of twenty-one. Danielle was soon sick from the whiskey, and long before she was ready to get up, there was a knock on her door.

“It’s Herb and Jesse,” a voice said. “We’re invitin’ you to breakfast.”

“I can’t eat,” said Danielle. “I had some whiskey last night, and I’m sick. I reckon I’ll be here another night. If you’re still here at suppertime, I’ll join you.”

The day dragged on, and it was late afternoon before Danielle felt like getting up. But when there was a knock on her door, she was ready.

“Burris and Sellers,” said a voice through the door. “It’s suppertime.”

Danielle let them in, and although her shirt sleeve concealed her bandaged arm, the two of them looked at her with renewed interest.

“We heard what happened last night,” Jesse Burris said. “The desk clerk’s talking about it to anybody who’ll listen.”

“My God, that was some shootin’,” said Herb Sellers enthusiastically. “You nailed the varmint twice, with only a muzzle flash to shoot at. When you start teachin’ lessons for using a sixgun, I aim to sign up.”

Danielle laughed. “My pa was the best gunsmith in all of Missouri. He taught me to draw and shoot.”

“Maybe there’s a reward on this gent you shot last night,” Jesse Burris said.

“If there is, I don’t want it,” said Danielle. “I shot him because he shot at me. Now tell me about your night at the poker tables.”

“Nothin’ to brag about,” Herb Sellers said. “Be tween us, we lost a hundred dollars, and when we managed to win it back, we quit. Is that Pretty Girl Saloon all it’s cracked up to be?”

“I don’t know about the poker,” said Danielle, “but the faro game is honest. You have to play with a naked woman beside you.”