Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Chapter 10

The Trail to San Antonio. October 24, 1870.

By early afternoon, Danielle judged she was fifty miles out of El Paso, and that sometime during the coming night, she would be in for a soaking. The dark clouds from the west had begun moving in, and the wind was getting stronger. Danielle began looking for a place that might offer a little shelter, but there was nothing. It was then that she heard what sounded like a distant gunshot. She reined up, listening. The single shot was followed by a dozen more in quick succession. Somebody was under siege, and the odds didn’t appear anywhere close to equal.

“Horse,” said Danielle, “we ought to mind our own business, but somebody’s in trouble down yonder toward the border.”

Danielle kicked the chestnut into a slow gallop, reining her down to a walk as they drew nearer the shooting. Reaching a rise, she could see a shack below, and from brush that surrounded the shack, there were puffs of white smoke. There appeared to be three defenders, while the attackers numbered twice that many, perhaps more. Adjoining the shack was a corral, and in it were six horses, nickering in fear. The three men nearest the shack were in poor positions, for the attackers were on the opposite side of a ridge, where there was broken land and huge stones to cover them. From powder smoke, Danielle counted eight riflemen firing toward the cabin. As one of the attackers shifted position, she saw the high crown of a Mexican sombrero. Danielle dismounted and, drawing her Henry rifle from the boot, set out to even up the odds. Her position was far better than that of the three defenders below, for the ridge on which she stood was higher than that on which the attackers were concealed. Her first shot ripped the Mexican’s sombrero from his head, while her second shot slammed into the top of the stone behind which he was hiding, filling his eyes with dust. Danielle’s intervention seemed to have given the three defenders renewed hope, for their firing grew more intense. Danielle held her fire, settling down on the rise, for if the attackers on the opposite ridge moved, she could see them. Suddenly, one of them did, seeking to get nearer the shack. Danielle fired, and the attacker fell, throwing up his hands. Another tried to improve his position, and Danielle’s shot struck him in the shoulder, turning him around. He leaped for the stone behind which he had been concealed. Danielle quickly accounted for a third man, while the three men below continued firing. One of them scored a direct hit, and the four that remained ceased firing. Their attempts to move in closer had proven disastrous. It was time to back off.

“You on the ridge,” shouted a voice from near the cabin, “can you see ’em? Have they retreated?”

“I think so,” Danielle said. “Who were they, and who are you?”

“They’re Mexicans that chased us across the border,” said the voice. “I’m Roy Carnes, and my amigos are Jake Kazman and Maury Lyles.”

“You’ve been rustling horses in Mexico, then, and driving them across the border,” Danielle said.

“Maybe I should have stayed out of it and let them take you.”

“I swear we ain’t rustled nobody’s horses,” Carnes shouted back. “Three of the horses in the corral is our personal mounts. The other three are wild as Texas jacks, without any brands. We trapped ’em wild, and before we could get ’em across the border, the damn Mexicans caught up to us. Come on down. There’ll be a storm pretty quick.”

The invitation was difficult to refuse, for the black clouds out of the west appeared to be dropping lower and lower. Already they had obscured the sun, and it was as though twilight had descended on the land. Leading the chestnut mare, Danielle descended the slope to the cabin below. The three men were waiting for her.

“Not a very good place for a cabin,” Danielle said. “It’s hard to defend.”

“We know,” said Carnes, “but there’s water handy. We never expected them Mexes to foller us across the border. They never have before.”

“Maybe you’d better think long and hard before crossing the border for more horses,” Danielle said.

“I expect we will,” Carnes said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Daniel Strange, bound for San Antonio.”

“You’re welcome to wait out the storm here with us,” said Carnes. “We ain’t got a bunk for you, but we can offer you a dry place to spread your blankets. Turn your horse into the corral with ours.”

“Thanks,” Danielle said. “It’s looking pretty black over there. I’ll accept your invite.”

Removing her saddle and saddlebags, Danielle led the chestnut mare into the corral. It was a good time to see if Carnes had been lying about the newly acquired horses. But the trio appeared wild, and there wasn’t a sign of a brand on any of them. Danielle followed the three men into the shack, finding it larger than she had expected. Danielle dropped her saddle and saddlebags in a corner. Carnes started a fire in the fireplace.

“Kazman,” said Danielle, “your name’s mighty familiar. I spent some time with friends north of Dallas, and I seem to recall having heard your name.”

“No,” Kazman said, a little too hurriedly. “I’m from south Texas, near San Antone.”

“We ain’t got much to offer in the way of grub,” said Carnes. “When we break these wild horses, we got to ride into El Paso and stock up on supplies.”

“I bought pretty heavy before leaving there,” Danielle said. “While I’m here, and you’re providing me shelter, I’ll supply the grub. You got a coffeepot?”

“Yeah,” said Maury Lyles, “but we been out of coffee beans for a week.”

“I have some,” Danielle said. “Maybe I can spare you enough to get you to El Paso.”

“We’d be obliged,” said Roy Carnes.

Outside, the wind had risen to a shriek, driving sheets of rain against the side of the cabin. Danielle felt the floor tremble beneath her feet. They all sat on the benches on each side of the table, Danielle covertly watching Jake Kazman. Without appearing to, he shifted his eyes toward Danielle’s saddle and saddlebags, and then looked away. Danielle observed him from the corner of her eye, and realized if he had been in north Texas, he might well know of the trail drive in which Danielle had taken part. He might also suspect that she had earned considerable money when the cattle had been sold in Abilene. Outside, the storm roared on. Using Danielle’s supplies, Carnes prepared supper. After eating, the conversation dribbled away to nothing. While Carnes and Lyles were at ease, Kazman was restless, and more than once Danielle caught him watching her.

“We might as well turn in for the night,” Lyles said, “unless the rest of you want to light the lantern and play some low-stakes poker.”

“Thanks,” said Danielle, “but I don’t play poker.”

“I don’t play for low stakes,” Carnes said, “and these other two jaybirds are likely as broke as I am. Besides, we’ve had a hard day, and I can use the sleep.”

The three retired to their bunks, while Danielle took her place in the corner, her head on her saddle. The fire was allowed to burn itself out, and soon the cabin was in complete darkness. In the early hours of the morning, Danielle awakened, unsure as to what had disturbed her. The storm had ceased, for there was no roar of the wind or the sound of rain on the roof. Danielle lay on her back and, without moving the rest of her body, very slowly moved her right hand until it reached the butt of her Colt. Slowly she drew the weapon, and again she heard the sound that had awakened her. A floorboard creaked.

“You’re covered,” Danielle said. “A step closer, and I’ll shoot.”

“Hell,” said Jake Kazman, “I was just goin’ outside.”

“Then turn around,” Danielle said. “The door’s behind you.”

“Kazman,” said Carnes, who was awake now, “I don’t hold with botherin’ an hombre that’s stood by me or been a help to me in any way.”

“Neither do I,” Lyles added. “Nothin’ but a flea-bitten yellow coyote eats another man’s grub and then tries to rob him.”

“You can’t prove I had any such thing in mind,” Kazman shouted, “and I won’t take a charge from nobody. Nobody, by God!”

“You’ve been watching me ever since I got here,” Danielle said, “and I’m accusing you of coming after me in the dark. When you say you don’t know me, or don’t know of me, you lie. If you’re still here come daylight, be wearing your pistol. You’ll need it.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere without one of them wild horses,” said Kazman. “One of them belongs to me.”

“Then catch one of them, saddle your horse, and get the hell out of here,” Roy Carnes said.

“That goes for me as well,” said Maury Lyles. “I never liked you much, Kazman, and now I know why.”

Carnes stirred up the coals and added some wood to the fire. Without a word, Kazman took his saddle and left the shack.

“You reckon we ought to watch the varmint?” Lyles asked. “He’s likely to take all the horses. Maybe our mounts too.”

“I’ll watch him,” said Carnes, taking his Winchester and stepping out the door.

“I swear we didn’t know what he was when he joined up with us,” said Lyles.

“I don’t fault you and Carnes,” Danielle said. “De spite what Kazman said, I still think he’s from north Texas. A few weeks ago, I joined some Texas ranchers in gathering and getting a trail herd to Abilene. We gunned down four outlaws in Indian Territory, and I’m sure Kazman was one of those who escaped.”

Nothing more was said until Carnes returned to the cabin.

“He’s got his work cut out for him, with that wild horse,” said Carnes.

“That’s his problem,” Lyles said. “I’m glad to be rid of him.”

“He seems like a man that carries a grudge,” said Danielle. “He’s liable to sneak back and bushwhack one or both of you.”

“You’d better watch your back trail,” Carnes said. “He knows where you’re headed, and I wouldn’t put it past him, trailing you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Danielle. “There’s still time to get some sleep before first light. But I think we should shove the table up against the door.”

It was still dark outside when the nickering of a horse awakened Danielle. She pulled on her boots, aware that Carnes and Lyles were moving about. Nobody spoke. Danielle heard her companions cocking their Winchesters, and she followed them outside. There was a frightened nicker from the chestnut mare, for a shadowy rider was attempting to mount the animal. Danielle whistled once, and the mare broke into a frenzy of bucking, flinging the would-be thief to the ground.

“Get up, you thieving bastard,” Carnes shouted.

But there was a muzzle flash, and Carnes stumbled back against the cabin wall. In only a split second, Danielle drew and fired twice, to the right and the left of the muzzle flash. For a moment none of them moved, lest the intruder still lived. Finally, Maury Lyles spoke.

“How hard was you hit, Roy?”

“Shoulder,” said Carnes.

“I’ll get the lantern,” Lyles said, “but I think we all know who the coyote is.”

Lyles lighted the lantern, and they found themselves looking into the dead face of Jake Kazman. He had been shot twice.

“Tarnation, that’s some shootin’ in the dark,” said Lyles to Danielle. “That skunk really had it in for you.”

“Do you know if Kazman was his real name?” Danielle asked.

“That’s the name he gave us,” said Lyles. “I’d better patch up your shoulder, Roy.”

After dragging Kazman away from the corral, they returned to the cabin. Lyles stirred up the fire and put on a pot of water to boil.

“I have a quart of whiskey in my saddlebag,” Danielle said, “and I’ll leave it with you. There may be infection.”

“We’re obliged,” said Carnes. “We won’t be ridin’ to town until we break those three wild horses.”

After dressing Carnes’s wound, Lyles built up the fire and started breakfast, since first light wasn’t far away. In the brightening sky, the stars had begun to retreat into the distant heavens. By the time they finished breakfast, the eastern horizon was illuminated with the first light of dawn.

“I have plenty of coffee beans,” Danielle said. “I’ll leave some with you to last until you can get to town. Do you want me to bury Kazman before I go?”

“No,” said Lyles, “I’ll take care of it. You’ve done us some mighty big favors, and we are obliged.”

Carnes added, “If you hadn’t come along and spooked Kazman, he might have shot us both in the back and took all the horses. You sure you can’t stay and join in our horse hunting?”

“No,” said Danielle. “My pa was robbed and murdered in Indian Territory by outlaws, and I aim to track them down. There’s seven of them still alive, unless Kazman was one of them, using another name.”

“Before you leave, I’ll search Kazman,” Lyles said. “You never know what you’ll find in a dead man’s pockets.”

Lyles took a little more than an hour, digging a shallow grave and burying Kazman. He returned to the cabin and dropped six gold double eagles on the table.

“That’s all he had on him,” said Lyles. “I reckon it’s yours, Daniel, since you gave him what he deserved.”

“I don’t want it,” Danielle said. “Use it to stock up on grub and coffee beans.”

Shortly afterward, Danielle rode away. She genuinely hated leaving the two genial cowboys, but she wanted nothing more to do with taking horses—wild or gentled—from old Mexico. She had thought at first that some of the killers she sought might have crossed the border into Mexico, and were hiding there. But now, with Mexicans so hostile toward all Americans, it seemed unlikely. Texas itself was large enough to hide the whole bunch, and she rode on toward San Antonio.

San Antonio, Texas. October 30, 1870.

Danielle took a room on the second floor of the Cattleman’s Hotel. It was the exception among frontier hotels, for there was a dining room on the first floor. Every room had a deep pile carpet on the floor, with matching drapes at the window. Danielle sat down on the bed, which was firm enough that it didn’t sag under her weight. It would be a welcome comfort, after four nights on the ground. There was a washbasin and a porcelain pitcher of water, and she took advantage of it, washing away the trail dust. One look in the mirror told her that her hair was getting entirely too long. She had to visit a barbershop, and soon. Since there was still daylight left, she decided to go for a hair-cut and be done with it. It was nearing the supper hour, and there were no other patrons in the shop.

“Cut it short,” Danielle said. “I’m having trouble getting my hat to fit.”

“Shave?” the barber asked.

“No,” Danielle said. “Just cut my hair.”

“There’s a bathhouse in back, with plenty of soap and hot water,” the barber said.

“Maybe later,” said Danielle. “It’s near suppertime, and I’m hungry.”

The door opened, and a lanky man entered. A Colt was tied low on each hip.

“Haircut,” said the stranger.

“You’re next,” the barber replied.

“King Fisher don’t like to wait,” said the new arrival. “I’ll get in that other chair, and you take care of me. Then you can get back to the shavetail you’re working on now.”

“I was here first,” Danielle said, “and he’s goin’ to finish with me. If you don’t like it, wait until I’m out of this chair and settle with me.”

Under her barber’s cloth, there was the ominous sound of a Colt being cocked. There was no fear in Danielle’s cold green eyes as they bored into King Fisher’s.

“I’ll come back another time,” said King Fisher. Turning, he walked out the door.

“My God,” the barber said, “do you know who that was?”

“I believe he said his name is King Fisher,” Danielle said. “It means nothing to me.”

“It should,” said the barber. “He don’t carry them two guns just for show, and at this particular time, Ben Thompson’s in town. Him and King Fisher are friends. Sober, they’re decent, but let ’em get drunk, and the devil couldn’t ask for no better disciples.”⁹

Danielle left the barbershop and returned to the hotel, where she took a table in the dining room. She had not even been served when King Fisher entered. With him was a smaller man, dressed all in black, with a frock coat and black silk top hat. The two took a table next to Danielle’s, and she couldn’t help hearing their talk.

“The kid at the next table pulled a gun and run me out of the barbershop,” said King Fisher, loud enough for Danielle to hear.

Fisher’s companion found that uproariously funny, pounding the table with his fist, but when he spoke, his voice was like cold steel.

“Nobody drives Ben Thompson away if he wants to go on living.”

Danielle tried her best to ignore the pair, taking her time with her meal. As she got up to leave, Thompson spoke.

“I never seen a man with a butt-forward pistol who had any speed with a cross-hand draw.”

In an instant, he found himself facing the barrel end of the butt-forward Colt from Danielle’s left hip.

“There are exceptions,” Danielle said coldly. She border-shifted the Colt back to her left hand, deftly slipping the weapon back into its holster, again butt forward.

It was King Fisher’s turn to laugh. “Who are you, kid?”

“My name is not ‘kid.’ I’m Daniel Strange.”

“I’m King Fisher, and the little hombre in the stovepipe hat is Ben Thompson. Let word of this get around, and Thompson may have to go back to England.”

“I’ve never seen a fancy pair of irons like that,” Thompson said. “May I see one?”

“Look all you like,” said Danielle, “but they stay where they are.”

Thompson’s ruddy face turned ugly, but King Fisher took the edge off his anger.

“Come on, Thompson, let’s go play some poker. This two-gun man’s too tough for a pair of old dogs like us.”

Danielle waited, allowing the pair to leave ahead of her. Referring to her youth, King Fisher had been just as insulting as Ben Thompson, and she didn’t like either of them. The evening was still young, and there was little to occupy one’s time except gambling tables in the various saloons. Danielle still had almost four thousand dollars, thanks to her success at the faro tables, and a town like San Antonio had many saloons. With a self-imposed limit of a hundred dollars, she set out to make the rounds. She had learned that the fancier the saloon, the higher the stakes. The first place she entered was called The Oro Palace and the faro dealer was asking for—and getting—ten-dollar bets. When a player left the table, Danielle sat down, dropping five double eagles on the felt-topped table before her. The other players paid her no attention until she won three pots in a row. She still had sixty dollars of her original hundred, plus her winnings. She lost two pots, and then won four in a row. The dealer had been watching her suspiciously but it was he, after all, who was dealing the cards. After winning back her initial hundred dollars and taking another two hundred from the house, Danielle dropped out. The house dealer seemed relieved.

Danielle found most saloons unpleasant, with brash, insensitive women determined to lead her upstairs. But the saloons were where men gathered, and as she sat at the faro table, she listened to talk around her, hoping for some word of the men who had killed her father. Quickly tiring, she returned to her hotel. In the lobby was a stack of newspapers.

“Take one,” the clerk invited. “They’re fresh in from Dallas.”

Danielle took one, finding it to be larger than the average frontier newspaper. With news items from all over, one in particular caught her eye. It was date-lined Wichita, and concerned the robbery of a Kansas-Pacific train. She read the article twice, grinding her teeth.

. . . two men—Rufe Gaddis and Julius Byler—were believed to be involved, but they had none of the gold, and refused to talk. They were released for lack of evidence.

Both the men were on Danielle’s death list, but after their brush with the law, they would be long gone from Wichita. The Kansas town was almost at the edge of Indian Territory, and the pair might have gone there to hide. On the other hand, they might have gone west, or perhaps back east, toward St. Louis. Danielle lay down to sleep, wondering if she was wasting her time in south Texas.

The next morning, after breakfast, Danielle found the Texas Ranger office. A ranger sat at a battered desk, reading a newspaper. He looked up as she entered.

“I’m Daniel Strange.”

“I’m Sage Jennings,” said the ranger.

“I’m looking for some men—outlaws—who robbed and murdered my pa in Indian Territory,” Danielle said. “There are seven of them still alive, and although I’ve managed to learn their names, I don’t know that they aren’t using other names by now. Do you have any wanted dodgers that I’d be allowed to see?”

“You’re welcome to look through what I have,” Jennings said, “but I doubt they’ll be of much help. These are only outlaws wanted by the state of Texas.”

“I’d like to look at them anyway,” said Danielle.

Jennings brought out the dodgers, many of them yellowed with age. Some of them had a rough sketch of the wanted man, but the majority had only a name, the nature of the crime, and the reward, if any. Almost immediately, Danielle found a pair of yellowed pages with the names of Rufe Gaddis and Julius Byler. There was a thousand dollars on the heads of each of them.

“This is two of them on my list,” said Danielle.

“Those dodgers are mighty old,” Jennings said. “Chances are, they’re using some other names by now.”

“No,” said Danielle. “Yesterday, I saw both their names in a story in a Dallas newspaper. Gaddis and Byler were suspected of robbing a Kansas-Pacific train, but were let go for lack of evidence. The law in Wichita had them.”

“By now they’re somewhere in Indian Territory,” Jennings said.

Danielle thumbed through the rest of the wanted dodgers without finding the names of any more of the men she sought.

“Just those two,” said Danielle. “I’m obliged.”

“A ranger keeps records of his own,” Jennings said. “I’ll check out Bible Two.”¹⁰

From his shirt pocket, he took a small notebook and began thumbing through it.

“Here’s something that might be of interest to you,” said Jennings, “and it brings back some unpleasant memories for me. Gaddis and Byler didn’t take part in the war. They’re both Texans, and they stayed here and raised hell. When they finally stepped over the line to become thieves and killers, we haven’t seen them since. Another hombre known to the rangers as Chancy Burke generally rode with them.”

“Burke’s on my list with Gaddis and Byler,” said Danielle. “If they’re all Texans, then I may not be wasting my time in Texas after all. What part of Texas did they call home?”

“In and around Waco,” Jennings said, “and you may be right. They still have families—law-abiding folks—living there, and I wouldn’t be surprised if all of them don’t slip back home for an occasional visit.”

“I’m obliged to you for the information,” said Danielle. “Maybe I’ll ride to Waco and see what I can find.”

“Then take some advice from somebody that’s been there,” Jennings said, “and don’t tell anybody why you’re in town. Everybody in the county is loyal to them three young varmints, and hostile as hell toward the rangers and other lawmen.”

“I reckon they didn’t do their hell-raising close to home,” said Danielle.

“They didn’t,” Jennings said. “Their kin will admit they’re wild, but they won’t lift a hand to help the law track them down.”

“Thanks,” said Danielle. “I’ll keep my silence.”

“If you’re successful in finding any or all three of them, I’d appreciate your sending me word,” Jennings said.

“I will,” said Danielle.

On the way to her hotel, Danielle met King Fisher and Ben Thompson walking unsteadily along the boardwalk. The pair looked as though they might have been up all night.

“Well, by God,” King Fisher said, slapping his thigh with his hat, “it’s the kid with the two big guns.”

“He’ll bleed like anybody else with a slug in him,” said Thompson, fixing his bloodshot eyes on Danielle.

Danielle walked around them, chills racing up and down her spine. Would the drunken Thompson shoot her in the back? Nothing happened, and she began to relax.

Danielle saw no advantage to remaining in San Antonio. Remaining there, she might be confronted with either Ben Thompson or King Fisher, a confrontation that would profit her nothing. So taking her bedroll and saddlebags, she went to the livery where she had left the chestnut mare. Saddling the animal, she mounted and rode north, toward Waco.