Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Chapter 9

There was a shocked silence. Warnell Prinz, Sal Wooler, and Jasper Witheres made no move toward their guns. Dying, Brice Levan was trying to speak, and Sam knelt over him.

“It was . . . like he said, Pa,” Brice said. “My bunch . . . robbed and hung . . . a man in Indian Territory . . .”

They were his final words. Sam Levan got to his feet and faced Danielle.

“Mount up and ride out,” said Levan.

“I’ll wait until the sheriff comes,” Danielle said. “I want it understood that he was the first to draw.”

“The sheriff won’t be comin’,” Levan said. “Four of us saw it, and it was a clear case of self-defense. That, and Brice confessed. I hate what you’ve done, but I can’t fault you for doin’ it. Now mount up and ride.”

Danielle got on the chestnut mare and, nodding to her former companions, rode away. Eppie Levan had just left the house, and in the distance, Danielle could hear her anguished screams. Before leaving St. Joe, it had all seemed so simple—find the outlaws who had hanged her father and make them pay. Now she had to face the disturbing possibility that these seven other men might have families, just as Brice Levan had. It was a somber thought. She had hired on with Levan to pursue his best interests. Now she felt as if she had betrayed his trust, even though Brice Levan had admitted his guilt. She silently vowed never to sell her gun again, for any reason. She rode south along the Rio Grande, having heard one of the men say they were two days’ ride from El Paso.

El Paso, Texas. October 22, 1870.

Weary, Danielle stabled the chestnut mare, skipped supper and, finding a hotel, slept the night through. As she started through the hotel lobby, the clerk spoke to her.

“Be careful. John Wesley Hardin’s been seen in town.”⁸

“Thanks,” Danielle said. “I’ll try to stay out of his way.”

Danielle had heard of the gunman, for his reputation had been such that newspapers in St. Louis and Kansas City had carried stories about him. He carried two guns, and Danielle recalled a story that made her blood run cold. Inside a gunsmith’s shop, testing a new pair of Colts, Hardin had chosen for a target an innocent man on the boardwalk outside. That was just one of many cruel acts attributed to the legendary gunman. After breakfast, Danielle went back to her hotel room, for few if any of the saloons would be open until noon. At eleven o’clock, she left the hotel and sought out the sheriff’s office.

“I’m Daniel Strange.”

“I’m Buford Powell,” said the lawman. “What can I do for you?”

Danielle decided to tell the truth. She gave the law man the names of the seven men on her death list, and told him of her vow to hunt them down.

“None of those names sounds familiar,” Sheriff Powell said, “but with outlaws, you can’t be sure they aren’t using other names. I know that between here and Laredo, Mex horses are being run across the border and sold in Texas, while Texas horses are being rustled and sold in Mexico. We have no names, and they wait for the dark of the moon. Not even the Texas Rangers have been able to stop them.”

“It might be possible to join them and gather evidence,” said Danielle.

“One of the rangers tried that,” Sheriff Powell said. “He was never seen or heard from again. Was I you, I wouldn’t go gettin’ no similar ideas.”

“Thanks for the information, Sheriff,” said Danielle.

She quickly left the sheriff’s office before the lawman got around to questioning her about her intentions. By then, the saloons were open. The Texas was one of the largest, and she went there first. She walked in, and then as though looking for someone she couldn’t find, she left. There were no poker or faro games in progress, for it was still early, and being a nondrinker, Danielle couldn’t justify her presence. She had to wait until evening. After supper, she found the saloons had come alive. In The Texas, two poker tables and a faro table were busy. The men seemed talkative enough, and hoping to learn something useful, Danielle sat in at the faro table.

“Two-dollar limit,” said the dealer. “Table stakes.”

Danielle quickly lost twenty dollars. Then she began winning, recovering her losses plus thirty dollars more. The rest of the men were looking at her with a mix of respect and anger, for all of them had lost money to her. At least one of the men was broke, and he appealed to the dealer.

“I got a pair of hosses—matched blacks—that I picked up in Mexico. They’re worth a hundred dollars apiece. Will you take them for security?” Danielle’s eyes shot to the man at the mention of the horses’ origins.

“We don’t usually do this, Black Jack,” said the dealer. “I’ll grant you a hundred in credit for both of them.”

“Done,” Black Jack said. He sighed with relief as he suddenly began winning. When his winnings exceeded his losses, he dropped out and went to the bar. Danielle was ahead by fifty dollars, and when Black Jack left the saloon, she also withdrew from the game. Following Black Jack wasn’t difficult. He had left his horse and the pair of blacks at a livery, and to Danielle’s practiced eye, they indeed were worth a hundred dollars each, if not more. With the pair on lead ropes, Black Jack rode southeast, toward the border. Danielle followed at a safe distance, and not until she had crossed the border did she see Black Jack again. From behind a clump of brush, Black Jack suddenly stepped out, a Winchester leveled at her.

“Why are you followin’ me, kid? Make it good, or I’ll cut you in half.”

“I like the looks of the pair of blacks you picked up in Mexico,” Danielle said, “and I’d like to pick up a few for myself.”

Without warning, with blinding speed, Danielle drew her right-hand Colt and fired. The lead slammed into the muzzle of the Winchester, tearing it out of Black Jack’s hands. Her Colt holstered, Danielle eyed him calmly.

“Damn you,” Black Jack bawled, “if you’ve ruint my Winchester . . .”

Danielle laughed. “You’ll have to get yourself another one.”

Ignoring Danielle, Black Jack retrieved the weapon, examining it critically. Satisfied it wasn’t seriously damaged, he again faced Danielle.

“Tarnation,” said Black Jack, “I never seen such shootin’. Maybe there is as place for you, but it can’t be just on my say-so. You’ll have to prove yourself to my amigos.”

“Lead on,” Danielle said.

The outlaw camp was only a few miles south of the border. As they approached, there was a nicker from a distant horse, and Black Jack’s horse responded. They rode on until they were challenged.

“Identify yourself,” a voice shouted.

“Black Jack,” the outlaw replied, “and I got company.”

“Dismount and leave your horses there,” the voice commanded.

Black Jack and Danielle dismounted. Ahead, in a small clearing beside a stream, stood four men. A coffeepot simmered over a small fire.

“Now,” one of the men said, “who are you, and why are you here?”

“During a faro game, I heard Black Jack talking about picking up that pair of blacks in Mexico,” said Danielle, “and I figured I’d like a hand in the game.”

One of the outlaws laughed. “A kid that ain’t even shaved, packin’ two guns. Boy, one of them Mejicanos will have you for breakfast.”

“I don’t think so,” said Black Jack. “I had the drop, had a Winchester coverin’ him, and without me seein’ him move, he shot the Winchester out of my hands.”

Danielle said nothing, waiting for the outlaws to digest this new revelation. Quickly, they reached a decision, and they nodded at Black Jack.

“Who are you, kid, and where you from?” Black Jack asked.

“I don’t answer to ‘kid,’ ” said Danielle. “I’m Daniel Strange, and I’m from Missouri.”

“I’m Black Jack Landis,” said the outlaw. “The others is Joel Votaw, Revis Bronson, Hez Deshea, and Wes Pryor. Joel’s our segundo.”

“Black Jack,” Votaw said, “I’ve warned you about leading horses through El Paso. With so many Mejicanos there, sooner or later, one of them’s bound to recognize a horse, and then there’ll be hell to pay. From now on, when you got the urge to ride to town, ride from here.”

“Hell, there ain’t nobody wise to me,” said Black Jack.

“Oh?” Votaw said. “Then how come this two-gun man followed you back to camp? If he heard you shootin’ off your mouth, then others heard. Next time, the hombre trailing you could be a ranger.”

“After the war with Mexico, I’ve heard Americans can’t legally cross the border into Mexico, and that Mexicans can’t cross the border into the United States,” said Danielle.

“That’s the law,” Revis Bronson said, “but it applies only if you get caught. There was at least one ranger that stepped over the line, and he ain’t been seen since.”

“You don’t get shot at very often, then,” said Danielle.

Black Jack Landis laughed. “Almost never. We take the horses at night. By first light, when the Mejicanos find our tracks, we are already across the river, in Texas. Mejicanos raise some very fine horses, but they’re not fools. They don’t consider ’em worth a dose of lead poisoning.”

“I’ve heard talk that some sell Mexican horses in Texas, and Texas horses in Mexico,” Danielle said. “Anything to that?”

“Some do,” said Joel Votaw, “but we don’t. Believe me, there ain’t no love between the state of Texas and Mexico, and most Texans don’t give a damn what happens on the other side of the border. As it is, if things get touchy in Mexico, we can cross the river into Texas, and the Mexes can’t touch us. That could change almighty quick, if we was to run Texas horses across the border into Mexico.”

“Damn right it could,” Hez Deshea said.

“You’re avoiding the law in Texas,” said Danielle, “but what about Mexico?”

“Too much border,” Wes Pryor said. “There’s no way they can watch it all. Mejicanos cross the river into Texas, drivin’ Texas horses into Mexico. They can’t complain to the United States that Texans are violatin’ their boundaries, because they’re violatin’ the Texas boundary. That’s why nobody—not even the rangers—can stop it.”

“Why are you camped in Mexico instead of Texas?” Danielle asked.

“You ain’t earned the right to know that,” said Joel Votaw. “Not until you’ve told us the truth. What’s a younker that ain’t old enough to shave and totin’ two irons doin’ in old Mexico?”

Danielle sighed. None of these men were the killers she sought. She quickly decided to tell them the truth. Or most of it. She told them of her father’s murder and of her vow to track down the killers.

“I need money to continue my search,” Danielle said. “There’s seven more killers, and I’ll never find them if I have to stop regular for a thirty-and-found riding job.”

“That makes sense,” said Joel Votaw, “but how do we know if you throw in with us, you won’t shoot some hombre that’ll attract the attention of the law? We can’t allow that.”

“If there’s ever a possibility of the law stepping in, I’ll vamoose,” Danielle said.

Black Jack laughed. “I think we’d all vamoose if that happened.”

“The men I’m after are outlaws and killers,” said Danielle. “They’re not going to call on the law for help.”

“We been splittin’ the money equal,” Wes Pryor said. “If you join up with us, there’ll be less money, split six ways.”

“Show me what you’re doing,” said Danielle, “and I’ll pull my weight. Your share may be even more.”

“You’ve made a good case for yourself,” Joel Votaw said. “I think we’ll take you in for a while, as long as you don’t get gun-happy and draw attention to us.”

“I’ve never shot anybody except in self-defense,” said Danielle.

“Bueno,” Votaw said. “So far, we’ve took the horses we wanted without us doing any shooting. How good are you with horses?”

“I grew up with them,” said Danielle. “I trained the chestnut mare I’m riding.”

“We don’t take a whole herd of horses,” Votaw said, “because it’s hard to control a herd at night. Each of us will take two lead ropes and lead two horses away. Come first light, when they can follow our tracks, we’ll be across the border, in Texas.”

“Only twelve horses for a night’s work,” said Danielle.

“The right horses will bring a hundred dollars apiece,” Votaw said. “Two hundred for you for one night’s work. At thirty and found, that’s near seven months of line riding. If you can find the work.”

“I’ve already learned the truth of that,” said Danielle. “Where are you finding all these hundred-dollar horses?”

“A rich Spaniard, Alonzo Elfego, owns about half of Mexico,” Votaw said, “and all his horses are blooded stock.”

“Why doesn’t he have riders watching them at night?” Danielle asked.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re scattered,” said Votaw. “Besides, he has no idea when we’re coming to visit him. We’ll go tonight, and then give him a rest. There are other ranchos with plenty of good horses.”

“Black Jack,” said Hez Deshea, “why did you bring that pair of blacks with you? They should of brought top dollar in Texas.”

“Cheap old bastard that was interested in ’em tried to knock my askin’ price down to seventy-five dollars,” Black Jack said. “That, and he got a little too interested in them Mex brands. I mounted up, rode out, and left him standin’ there.”

“You done right,” said Votaw. “Brands are none of his damn business as long as he’s gettin’ a bill of sale.”

“Where do you get bills of sale?” Danielle asked.

“A jackleg printer in El Paso makes ’em up for us,” said Votaw.

Danielle nodded, digesting the information. Horse stealing was a hanging offense, but it seemed that these thieves had it down to a fine art. The only question in her mind was whether or not her alliance with the horse thieves would enable her to find any of the remaining men on her death list. Again Votaw spoke.

“Black Jack, you’d better take that pair of blacks back across the border, where we’ll meet after tonight’s raid. The rest of you get what sleep you can.”

Black Jack mounted his horse, and with the pair of blacks following on lead ropes, he rode north. Danielle picketed the chestnut mare and, resting her head on her saddle, tipped her hat down over her eyes. After the blizzards on the high plains, the mild climate of old Mexico and the warm sun were welcome. She drifted off to sleep, rousing only when she heard a horse coming. Black Jack was returning. Shortly afterward, one of the bunch got a supper fire going. It was small, under a tree so the leaves would dissipate the smoke, and as soon as the coffee was hot, Revis Bronson put out the fire.

“When will we be going?” Danielle asked.

“Midnight,” said Joel Votaw. “We ain’t more than fifteen miles away.”

Black Jack laughed. “Hell, we may be camped on Elfego’s holdings right now.”

The horse thieves all laughed, finding such a possibility amusing. Danielle had nothing more to say, and except for an occasional comment from one of the others, there was only silence. Danielle watched the stars, unable to sleep, thinking of the changes in her life. She might easily step over the line, becoming an outlaw, but how else was she to ever find the outlaws who had murdered her father, without associating with outlaws herself? Finally, Votaw gave an order.

“It’s near midnight. Time to saddle up and ride.”

Votaw gave each of them a pair lead ropes. They then saddled their horses, mounted, and rode south. There was no moon, and riding behind the others, Danielle could barely see them. They took their time, eventually reining up in the shadow of a stand of trees.

“We go from here on foot,” Votaw said. “Once you’ve taken your horses, bring them here until we’re all ready to ride.”

Danielle had to concede that the thieves were smart. By starlight, it would be difficult to see men afoot, even if the herd was being watched. Dark as it was, they could still see the dim shapes of grazing horses. The horses raised their heads and snorted as they were approached. Danielle began to speak softly in a soothing tone that had proven effective in her handling of the chestnut mare. Suddenly, the night came alive with gunfire. Winchesters blazed from three different directions. There were entirely too many defenders. Danielle did not return the fire, for muzzle flashes would have been the finish of her. Besides, she had no intention of killing men for defending what was theirs. She reached the stand of trees where the horses had been picketed without being hit. Black Jack Landis hadn’t been quite so lucky. He lay on the ground, groaning.

“Hard hit?” Danielle asked.

“My thigh,” said Black Jack. “I can’t mount my horse.”

“Here, I’ll help you,” Danielle said.

By the time Black Jack was mounted, the rest of the horse thieves were galloping away to the north. None of them had horses except the ones they rode. Black Jack knew where they were headed, and Danielle followed him. There was a shallows in the river, and there they crossed the border into Texas. They reined up before a shack that had seen better days. The roof sagged in the middle, and what had once been a front porch had fallen in.

“All right,” said Joel Votaw, “who’s been hit, and how bad?”

“In the thigh,” Black Jack said, “and it hurts like hell.”

None of the others had been wounded.

“Bronson,” said Votaw, “get a fire going in the fireplace. Then put some water on to boil so we can take care of Black Jack’s wound.”

“This is the first time we ever been shot at by old Alonzo Elfego’s outfit,” Black Jack said. “What the hell went wrong?”

“We got too damn overconfident,” said Votaw. “It’s been only a week since we took ten of Elfego’s horses. Now we got to stay away until he’s convinced we’ve backed off. I’d say he had a dozen men staked out with Winchesters. One of us could of been shot right through the head just as easy as Black Jack took one through his thigh.”

“But Elfego’s is the biggest horse ranch in Mexico,” said Hez Deshea. “If we can’t take horses from there, where else can we go?”

“I didn’t say we can’t go there again,” Votaw said. “We’ll just have to wait a month or so, until Elfego takes away them Mexes with Winchesters.”

“Damn it,” said Wes Pryor, “I’m near broke. I can’t wait a month or two.”

“Neither can I,” Revis Bronson said as he stepped out of the dilapidated cabin. “When we started doin’ this, we was selling horses every week.”

“I need money too,” said Joel Votaw, “but I don’t need it bad enough to be shot dead. Any of you that can’t wait a few days until Elfego’s cooled down, feel free to ride out on your own.”

“I ain’t wantin’ to bust up the outfit,” Bronson said. “I reckon I can wait a few days.”

“Then I’ll stay on, too,” said Pryor.

“I reckon I’ll ride on,” Danielle said, “but I won’t be competing with any of you. I’ll be riding to south Texas, looking for the bunch that killed my pa.”

“Good luck,” said Votaw. “Watch your back.” Votaw went into the shack. The water was boiling, and after cleansing Black Jack’s leg wound, he bound it tight. Danielle stretched out, her head on her saddle, awaiting first light. Votaw came out, took a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag, and returned to the cabin. Like Danielle, Bronson, Deshea, and Pryor tried to rest. Danielle lay awake, unsure as to the effect of her decision to ride on. As the eastern horizon began to gray with the first light of dawn, Danielle saddled the chestnut mare.

“Good luck,” called Danielle to the others as she rode away.

Until she was out of sight, chills ran up and down her spine. It would have been easy for one of them to shoot her in the back, taking the chestnut mare and the money in her saddlebag. But there were no shots. Danielle rode back to El Paso. Stabling the chestnut mare, she took a hotel room and slept until late afternoon. After supper, she again visited some of the saloons. Every saloon seemed to have a poster in the window, and Danielle stopped to read one. It was simple and to the point.

Señor Alonzo Elfego of Mexico will pay one thousand pesos for any hombre, dead or alive, who steals his horses.

Danielle felt a moment of guilt, for it had been only an act of providence that had kept her from stepping over the line and becoming a horse thief. She stopped at another saloon, the Rio, where a faro game was in progress. Danielle dragged out a chair and sat down.

“Five-dollar limit, kid,” said the dealer. “No credit.”

“I don’t recall asking for any credit,” Danielle said, dropping five double eagles on the green felt that lined the tabletop.

Several of the men at the table grinned, expecting this arrogant newcomer to soon get what he deserved. But their grins faded as Danielle won five of the next six pots. Every time she lost a pot, she more than recovered her losses by winning the next three or four.

“I’m gettin’ out of this,” one of the gamblers snarled, kicking back his chair. “I think the damn house is slick-dealing cards to the kid. I ain’t never seen anybody win so often.”

“Hank,” said the house dealer, getting to his feet,

“I never slick-deal to anybody. Some folks is just better at the game than others, and if you can’t afford to lose, then just stay the hell away from the tables. Now get out of here.”

“If there’s a problem,” Danielle said, “I’ll drop out.”

“The problem’s leavin’, kid,” said the dealer. “Win or lose, you’re welcome to stay as long as you can cover your bets.”

Danielle recovered her original hundred dollars, and won two hundred more. Leaving the saloon, she walked along the boardwalk. Suddenly a shadow moved from between two deserted buildings, and a voice spoke.

“Turn around, kid, and keep your hands where I can see ’em. I’m taking back all my money.”

Danielle turned around slowly. The disgruntled gambler held a revolver on her. Quickly, she dropped to the ground as the pistol roared, almost in her ear. Before he could fire again, Danielle threw herself at his legs, and off balance, he fell. His head slammed into the strong wood of the boardwalk, and he lay still. The shot had been heard, and the sheriff, Buford Powell, was the first to arrive. Almost immediately, some of the men from the Rio Saloon were there, arriving in time to hear Danielle’s explanation. The sheriff had a lantern, and set it down on the boardwalk.

“Let me see your guns, kid.”

Danielle handed him the weapons. They were fully loaded, and had not been fired. The sheriff then took the gun from Hank’s limp hand and found one load missing. There were many ways a man could fall from favor on the frontier, but there were three that stood head and shoulders above the rest: hitting a woman, mistreating a horse, or being a sore loser.

“The kid’s lucky to be alive, Sheriff,” said one of the men from the saloon. “I think Hank should be told when he wakes up that he’s to stay away from the poker and faro tables in this town. This time, it was the kid. Next time, it could be any one of us.”

“A couple of you tote him over to the jail,” Sheriff Powell said. “I’ll have some strong talk with him in the morning.”

The sheriff took the gambler’s revolver and followed the two men who lugged the still unconscious gambler. Some of the men from the saloon seemed inclined to further discuss the incident, but Danielle walked away. It seemed a good time to return to her room at the hotel.

“Well,” said the desk clerk, “I see you didn’t meet up with John Wesley Hardin. It’s generally peaceful enough, except when he’s in town.”

For a long time Danielle lay awake, considering what her next move should be. When she had joined the horse thieves, she had felt there was a chance that one or more of the men she had sworn to kill might be in old Mexico. But after the raid on Elfego’s horses had gone sour, she was forced to change her opinion. Not only was it illegal for persons from the United States to cross into Mexico, any American south of the border might be considered a horse thief, and shot on sight. She was convinced the men she sought were still scattered across the Southwest.

Returning from breakfast the next morning, Danielle stopped to question the young man at the lobby desk.

“How far is it to San Antonio?”

“Well over five hundred miles, and nothing much in between,” said the desk clerk. “If you’re ridin’, you’d best take plenty of grub. But there’s a stage once a week.”

“Thanks,” Danielle said.

Stage fares were expensive, so Danielle dismissed that possibility. It was a hot, dusty, and uncomfortable way to travel. She would ride, allowing the chestnut mare to take her time. Checking her saddlebags, Danielle found she was low on some items and rode by a mercantile to replenish them. To her dismay, as she was leaving the store, she met Hank, the sore loser from the saloon the night before. He had a bandage around his head, and his holster was empty. Apparently Sheriff Powell had kept his revolver.

“You young coyote,” the gambler snarled, “nobody treats Hank Marshall like you done. One day, we’ll meet up where you can’t hide behind the law. Then you’ll pay.”

“Then you’d better shoot me in the back,” said Danielle, “because you don’t have the guts to face me. Try it, and I’ll kill you.”

Without a word, Marshall went on into the mercantile. Danielle mounted the chestnut mare and rode eastward. She was soon out of El Paso, and the plains before her looked bleak. There was no sign of human habitation for as far as she could see. As barren as the land appeared, there was water, but little or no wood for a fire. Danielle had a cold supper without coffee. There was no graze for the chestnut mare, and Danielle fed the animal a ration of grain she had brought along for that purpose. Picketing the mare nearby, she rolled in her blankets, her head on her saddle.

When Danielle arose the next morning, the weather was still mild, but far to the west, there was a dirty smudge of gray on the horizon. She saddled and mounted the chestnut mare and rode on toward San Antonio.