Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Chapter 13

As Ebeau Winters slumped to the ground, Jubal bawled like a fresh-cut bull and went for his gun. But Sheriff Barnes had been expecting that.

“Don’t do it, Jubal,” Barnes warned.

Jubal fought the urge to draw, finally dropping his shaking hands to his sides. His old face a mask of grief, he stared at the body of his second son.

“I’ll help you get him in the wagon, Jubal,” said Sheriff Barnes. “Then I’ll ride out and help you bury them.”

“I don’t need no help from the likes of you,” Jubal said.

But he couldn’t handle Ebeau’s body by himself, and he didn’t object when Barnes lent a hand in getting Ebeau into the wagon beside Elmo’s coffin. Wordlessly, Jubal climbed to the wagon seat, took the reins, and clucked to the team. Sheriff Barnes mounted his horse and followed the wagon.

“God, he took it hard,” said Herb Sellers. “I thought you’d likely have to shoot him.”

“I didn’t want to shoot either of them,” Danielle said.

“You didn’t have any choice,” said Herb. “He’d have shot you if he could. I reckon it’s the curse of a man carryin’ a gun. You got to shoot a man, just so’s he don’t shoot you.”

“Let’s get on back to the hotel,” Danielle said. “I want to say adios to Jesse before I ride out.”

“There’s a storm comin’,” said Herb. “Why don’t you wait until tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to have to shoot Jubal Winters,” Danielle said.

But it was already early afternoon, and dark clouds hid the sun. The wind coming out of the southwest had begun to rise. Herb and Danielle had barely reached the hotel when the first drops of rain kicked up puffs of dust in the street.

“It’s gonna blow long and hard,” said Herb. “You’d better reconsider and lay over.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Danielle said. “I’ll likely spend enough time soaked to the hide, so I’d better enjoy a roof over my head while I can.”

Suppertime was two hours away. When Danielle and Herb returned to the room that he shared with Jesse Burris, they found him awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed except for his boots and hat.

“Where in tarnation do you think you’re goin’?” Herb demanded.

“Out of this bed, and out of this hotel,” said Jesse.

“I don’t think so,” Herb said. “The doc says you need a week to heal, and you ain’t had any fever yet.”

“No matter,” said Jesse. “I was the cause of that shootin’ in the saloon, and I reckon if that hombre that was shot has kin, they’ll be ridin’ in to settle up with somebody.”

“You didn’t shoot anybody,” Danielle said. “I did.”

“Elmo’s pa and brother rode in looking for trouble earlier,” said Herb, “and Daniel had to shoot Ebeau. Sheriff Barnes followed Jubal Winters home to help bury Elmo and Ebeau.”

“All this over a damn poker game,” Jesse said. “I wish I’d stayed out of it.”

“You don’t feel any worse than I do,” said Danielle, “but some men have no business at a poker table, and Elmo Winters was one of them. I’m sorry for his pa’s sake.”

“There should be a newspaper out today,” Herb said. “I’ll go to the lobby for one. I’d like to see what’s been written about that shooting at the Kansas-Pacific offices.”

“What shooting?” Jesse asked.

“Tell him about it, Daniel, while I go for the paper,” said Herb.

Quickly, Danielle explained what had happened. By then, Herb had returned with the day’s edition of the newspaper. He read the front page account aloud while Danielle and Jesse listened.

“At least they didn’t print the rest of the names on your death list,” Jesse said.

“No,” said Danielle, “but they figured out the connection between Chancy Burke and Gaddis and Byler. Now the three of them know their names are on my list.”

“Alan Steele died for nothing,” Herb said. “If he had told Daniel the straight of it, he’d have saved the railroad any bad publicity. Now the very thing he tried to hide is printed in the newspaper for everybody to read.”

“Some good may come of that,” said Danielle. “While they printed only the names of Gaddis, Byler, and Burke, that may warn the rest of them they’re being hunted. If I can’t find them, maybe they’ll find me.”

“You’ll need somebody to watch your back,” Jesse said, “and I’m beholden’ to you. If you can wait until the doc lets me get out of this bed, Herb and me can ride with you.”

“I’m obliged,” said Danielle, “but I aim to ride out in the morning, as soon as the storm blows itself out.”

“There won’t be any trail,” Jesse said. “Where do you aim to start?”

“I reckon I’ll ride back through Wichita, and from there into Indian Territory,” said Danielle. “I figure that’s the only place Chancy Burke will feel safe, with a bounty on his head and a murder on his back-trail.”

“It’s a hell of a place for one man to ride alone,” Herb said.

“I have no choice,” said Danielle, “and I have no right to ask you and Jesse to risk your lives for a cause that will gain you nothing but a bullet in the back.”

Sheriff Barnes showed up at the hotel, water dripping off his slicker. He knocked on Danielle’s door.

“Who is it?”

“The sheriff,” Barnes said.

Danielle unlocked and opened the door, allowing the sheriff to enter.

“Remove your slicker and sit down,” Danielle invited.

“I won’t be here that long,” said Barnes. “I just want to know how long you aim to stay in town.”

“Until the storm blows itself out,” Danielle said. “Why?”

“I got me a gut feeling Jubal Winters ain’t finished with you,” said Sheriff Barnes. “All the time I was with Jubal, helpin’ him bury his boys, he didn’t say a word. Something’s on his mind, and I think it involves you.”

“The last thing I want is to have to shoot Jubal Winters, Sheriff,” said Danielle. “I aim to ride out in the morning, storm or not.”

“You’ve been a decent hombre, and I hate to rush you, but I think it’s for the best.”

“So do I, Sheriff,” Danielle said.

Jesse Burris was able to join Herb and Danielle at breakfast. There was little talk, for these young men had grown fond of Danielle, and she of them.

“Before you go,” said Jesse, “write out the names of those seven men you’re hunting. If we learn anything about them, we’ll telegraph the Texas Ranger outpost in San Antonio.”

“Bueno,” Danielle said. “Send it to Captain Sage Jennings. He knows me and what I have to do. I aim to cross Indian Territory and spend some tine in south Texas. Chancy Burke, Rufe Gaddis, and Julius Byler have kin there, and sooner or later, they’ll be going back.”

The sky was overcast with the threat of more rain as Danielle saddled the chestnut mare. Having already bid farewell to Herb and Jesse, she mounted and rode toward Wichita by simply following the Kansas-Pacific tracks.

But vengeful eyes had watched Danielle ride out of the livery. When she finally rode out of sight, Jubal Winters mounted his horse and followed. In his saddle boot was a fully loaded Winchester.

Wichita, Kansas. November 15, 1870.

Danielle estimated the distance to Wichita at close to a hundred and fifty miles. Taking her time and sparing the chestnut mare, she rode what she felt was halfway, and there made camp for the night. She picketed the horse so that the mare might warn her of any approaching danger. After a day of cold, miserable drizzle, the rain had finally ceased, and stars in the purple sky overhead were a welcome sight. Having no dry wood for a fire, Danielle ate jerked beef for breakfast, washing it down with water from a spring. She quickly fed the mare a measure of grain, and when the horse had eaten, she saddled up and rode on toward Wichita. She arrived in the late afternoon of the second day and decided to spend the night there, for she was not more than twenty miles from Indian Territory. She hadn’t bothered talking to the sheriff of Wichita before riding on to Kansas City. She thought the sheriff might supply some additional details about the train robbery and the thieves, so she went looking for him.

“I didn’t know a thing about the robbery,” said Sheriff Bart Devlin. “By the time the engineer backed the train from end-of-track to here, the thieves were long gone. A posse and me followed ’em as far as Indian Territory, and it was comin’ on dark.”

“What about the woman you captured?” Danielle asked.

“Her horse went lame, and they left her behind,” said Sheriff Devlin. “She was furious at them for leaving her, and she told me their names. She didn’t seem to know anything else, so I let her go. What’s your interest in this? Are you with the railroad?”

“No,” Danielle said. “This is personal.”

She then told the lawman of tracking the men who had murdered her father.

“I read about you in the Kansas City paper,” said Devlin, “but they didn’t say exactly why you were hunting the outlaws. They did say you was responsible for rooting out one of the varmints that worked for the railroad, passing along information on gold shipments.”

“His name is Chancy Burke,” Danielle said, “and like Gaddis and Byler, he’s from near Waco.”

“That would be a good place to go looking for them,” said Sheriff Devlin.

“I’ve already been there,” Danielle said. “If they’re riding together, it seemed like a good idea to see if Chancy Burke might be working for the railroad. If the railroad hadn’t called Burke’s hand, he might have been captured or killed.”

“The sheriff in Waco was of no help to you?”

“None,” said Danielle. “He went out of his way to warn the kin of Gaddis, Byler, and Burke that I was there, and I was practically run out of town.”

“Damn such a lawman,” Sheriff Devlin muttered. “It’s enough to give us all a bad name.”

“The woman you captured told you nothing except the names of the thieves? Where did she team up with Gaddis and Byler?”

“In St. Louis,” said Sheriff Devlin, “and she was goin’ back there.”

“She didn’t tell you where Gaddis and Byler were holed up before the robbery?”

“She didn’t seem to know,” Sheriff Devlin said. “She wasn’t familiar with the country, and from her description, it sounded like Indian Territory. She said they rode less than an hour before reaching the Kansas-Pacific tracks.”

“I’m obliged, Sheriff,” said Danielle.

“Good luck,” Sheriff Devlin said. “I hope you find them. The railroad’s on my back because I can’t catch the thieves, but I’m just a county sheriff. I can’t watch their damn railroad all the way from Kansas City to end-of-track.”

“They may get as far from here as they can,” said Danielle. “After killing that Kansas-Pacific man, Burke’s got a price on his head, just like Gaddis and Byler.”

Danielle stabled Sundown and took a room in one of the hastily built hotels that faced the Kansas-Pacific tracks. She entered a cafe, had supper, and it was already dark when she left. The Railroad Saloon was ablaze with light. Lighted lanterns had been hung along the eaves of the building, and across the top of its false front. There was a distant jangling of a piano that was sorely in need of tuning. From within the saloon, shouts mingled with the clinks of glasses and bottles. Danielle went in, finding the place packed, a large number of the men appearing to have come in from end-of-track. Three poker games were in progress, but only one faro game. Danielle waited until one of the men kicked back his chair and left the table.

“I’m buying in,” Danielle said.

“Welcome, kid, long as you got money,” said the dealer. “Five-dollar bets.”

Danielle dropped her five double eagles on the table and, in ten straight hands, lost half her stake.

“We know one thing for damn sure,” said one of the players, “the kid ain’t cheatin’.”

Danielle kept her silence and, within an hour, had won back her stake and more than two hundred dollars additional. She then withdrew from the game.

“I’ve never seen such a run of luck,” one of the gamblers said, his eyes on the house dealer. “It’s almost like you was slick-dealing to the kid.”

It was an open invitation to a fist-fight or a shooting, so Danielle hurriedly left the saloon and returned to her hotel room. She might well meet one of the disgruntled gamblers on the street and be forced into another senseless killing. Already, the Kansas City paper had referred to her as a “fast gun artist,” and “a killer riding a vengeance trail.”

Danielle arose early, had her breakfast, and rode out. She was only a few miles north of Indian Territory, but chose to ride west, toward the end-of-track. She would learn nothing from the railroad men, for they would surely be hostile toward her for indirectly being the cause of Alan Steele’s death. However, before reaching end-of-track, she would ride south toward Indian Territory. There would be no tracks, no trail, and little chance of her finding any of the men she sought. But they were all Westerners, and she fully expected them to be holed up in Indian Territory or in Texas. At this moment, the trio responsible for the train robbery might be at home, in Waco.

As Danielle entered Indian Territory, chills crept up her spine, for it was a massive tangle of vines, thickets, brush, and tall trees. It was gloomy even when the sun was shining, for only a little sunlight filtered through the dense foliage. She reined up to rest the chestnut mare and stood beside the horse, looking back the way she had come. She saw nothing and, mounting, rode on. But something was bothering her, a strange foreboding that dug its claws into her and wouldn’t let go. Again she reined up, dismounted, and walked a ways along her back-trail, without seeing anyone. She was about to mount and ride on, when the stillness was shattered by the roar of a rifle just ahead of her. The lead tore its way through her left thigh, and a second slug ripped into her right side, making a ragged exit wound. She fell on her back, remaining still, for she believed the bushwhacker would come close enough to be sure she was dead. She was losing blood, but dared not move. Finally she heard cautious footsteps approaching and, through half-closed eyes, could see the haggard, grinning face of Jubal Winters.

“You damn gun-slick,” he snarled. “Kill my boys, will you?”

Jacking a shell into the chamber of the Winchester, he was about to shoot Danielle a third time when Danielle drew her right-hand Colt and fired twice. The slugs struck Jubal in the chest, and he died with a look of total surprise on his face. Danielle struggled to her feet and, using a rawhide thong from her saddle, wrapped and tied it tightly above the bleeding wound in her left thigh. But there was little she could do about the wound in her right side. The chestnut mare, spooked by the smell of blood, back-stepped.

“Damn it, Sundown,” Danielle gasped, “hold still.” Three times she tried to mount the horse, and three times her left leg failed her. Using her right leg for support, she mounted from the off-side. She felt cold all over, and there was a growing weakness in her body. She turned the chestnut mare back the way she had come, hoping to reach Wichita before bleeding to death. She blacked out, holding to the saddle horn with both hands. Danielle had raised Sundown from a colt, and the horse knew something was terribly wrong. The animal stopped, perking up her ears. In the distance, a dog barked. The mare listened a moment and then, as though making up her mind, turned and trotted back into Indian Territory, toward the sound of the barking dog. The dog barked furiously as Sundown neared a run-down cabin.

“That awful man is coming back, Ma,” said nine-year-old Anita Willard.

“Perhaps not,” said her mother, Ann. “It doesn’t sound like his horse.”

The cabin’s windows had no glass, and she had to open a shutter to see outside. Even with the threat of the dog, the chestnut mare waited patiently at the front stoop, seeking help for her young rider. Even as Ann Willard watched, Danielle fell from the saddle and lay still.

“Come on,” said Ann. “He’s hurt, and we must get him inside.”

Once they had Danielle inside and stretched out on a bunk, Anita unsaddled the mare and led her to a corral where there were two other horses. Returning to the house, she found Ann Willard had stripped the injured rider and simply stood there staring.

“He . . . he’s a woman,” Anita said aghast.

“Yes,” said Ann, “and we must do what we can for her and get her out of here before Eph Snell returns. Stir up the fire and put some water on to boil.”

When the water was hot, Ann cleansed the wounds as best she could, disinfecting them with whiskey from a jug Eph Snell kept under his bunk. There was no other medicine, and Danielle moaned in her sleep. She didn’t awaken until near dawn of the next day, her face flushed and her eyes bright with fever.

“Water,” she begged.

Anita brought a tin cup of water, and Danielle drank it gratefully. Again she spoke.

“Where . . . am I, and who . . . are you?”

“I’m Ann Willard, and this is my daughter, Anita.”

“I . . . I’m Danielle Strange. Do you . . . live here alone?” Danielle asked.

“Only when Eph Snell’s gone,” said Ann.

“Eph Snell’s a damn horse thief, and when he’s here, he’s always drunk. I hate him,” Anita said.

“Anita,” said Ann, “that’s no way for a young lady to talk.”

“Then I ain’t a young lady,” Anita said. “I want to grow up and carry a gun so’s I can shoot the varmints I don’t like.”

Despite being racked with fever and pain, Danielle laughed.

“Anita,” said Ann, “go get the jug of whiskey.”

“I’ll get it,” Anita said, “but old Eph’s gonna raise hell when he finds we’ve been into his jug.”

“God help us,” said Ann with a sigh. “She’s picking up Snell’s bad habits.”

“Why are the two of you living with such a man?” Danielle asked.

“My husband never returned from the war, and Anita and me were starving back in New Orleans. I met Snell, and he promised me a better life. Am I permitted to know why you dress as a man?”

But Anita returned with the jug of whiskey just then, and Danielle was forced to drink a cupful. Then, as Ann and Anita listened, she told them her story and of becoming Daniel Strange.

“Dear God,” Ann said, “how old are you, Danielle?”

“Just past seventeen,” said Danielle.

“See, Ma?” Anita cried. “She’s only eight years older than me.”

“I’m trusting the two of you to keep my secret,” said Danielle. “As soon as I’m able to ride, I’ll move on. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“There’ll be trouble whether you’re here or not,” Anita said. “Last time, he beat Ma up something terrible.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else you can go?” Danielle asked.

“I have a sister in St. Louis who would take us in, but I don’t know how we’d ever get there,” said Ann.

“I’ll help you as soon as I’m able,” Danielle said. “Do you have horses?”

“Two, but only because Eph hasn’t sold them,” said Ann. “He’s gone after more.”

“He steals them in Texas,” Anita said helpfully.

“That’s a long ride from here,” said Danielle. “When do you expect him to return?”

“Perhaps in another week,” Ann said. “He’s usually away for two weeks, and he’s been gone only six days.”

“Then maybe I can get the two of you on the way to St. Louis before he returns,” said Danielle.

“But we have no money,” Ann said.

“I do,” said Danielle, “and all we have to do is reach Wichita. From there, you can take the train to Kansas City, and another on to St. Louis.”

“You are so kind,” said Ann. “I fear we can never repay you.”

“You already have,” Danielle said. “It’s me that’ll never be able to repay you, because you saved my life.”

“You need food,” said Ann. “I’ll make you some chicken soup.”

She started toward the kitchen, but not before Danielle saw the tears on her cheeks. It was an opportune time for nine-year-old Anita to speak to this strange girl who dressed like a man and carried tied-down Colts. She sat down on the foot of the bed and spoke.

“Ma didn’t tell you all of it. The last time Eph Snell came in drunk, he said I was old enough to be a woman, and he tore off all my clothes. Ma tried to stop him, and he beat her so bad, she couldn’t get up off the floor.”

“A poor excuse for a man,” said Danielle. “Did he . . . bother you?”

“He was going to,” Anita said, “but I ran outside and hid in the brush, naked. When he saddled his horse and rode away, I went back to take care of Ma.”

“He won’t lay a hand on either of you as long as I’m alive,” said Danielle.

“Oh, I’m so glad you found us,” Anita said. “The next time, I might not be able to get away from him.”

Ann returned with a bowl of soup and a wedge of corn bread. Sore as Danielle was, she sat up long enough to eat, and immediately felt better.

“Now,” said Ann, “we’re going to leave you alone so you can sleep off that fever.”

Danielle slept all day and part of the night. She awakened, sweating. Ann sat on the foot of the bed, and she spoke.

“The fever’s broken. Now all you have to do is heal.”

“I’m obliged,” Danielle said. “You’ve done all this for me without knowing whether I’ve told you the truth about myself or not.”

“I saw the truth in your eyes,” said Ann, “but I’d have helped you even if you were an outlaw. The Good Book says we should not judge as we be not judged. It wasn’t up to me to decide if you were deserving or not. All I saw was the need.”

“You’re a good woman, Ann Willard,” Danielle said.

“I’m a sinful woman,” said Ann, her hands covering her face. “For five years I’ve been with Eph Snell because Anita and me were starving. I thought anything was better than that, but I don’t anymore. Snell’s a thief and a killer, and I fear what he may do if he comes back and finds you here.”

“Put my guns where I can reach them,” Danielle said, “and I’ll promise you he’ll get the surprise of his life.”

“It’s none of my business,” said Ann, “but can you tell me who shot you, and why?”

“It’s something I’m not proud of,” Danielle said, “but I’ll tell you the story.”

For the next few minutes she told of having to shoot Elmo and Ebeau Winters, and finally of the necessity of killing old Jubal, after he had bushwhacked her.

“You didn’t shoot anybody that didn’t deserve it,” said Anita, from behind the door.

“You’re supposed to be in bed asleep,” Ann said.

“I’m too excited to sleep,” said Anita. “When can we leave?”

“Not until Danielle heals enough to ride,” Ann said.

“Three more days,” said Danielle. “Just so I’m healed enough that the wounds won’t start bleeding again.”

The three days came and went without a sign of Eph Snell. Danielle was up and limping about, again with her binder in place, dressed like a man.

“It’s time we were going,” Danielle said. “Do you have saddles for your horses?”

“No,” said Ann, “but I’d crawl from here to Wichita on my hands and knees. We can ride bareback.”

Ann gathered her own and Anita’s few belongings, stuffing them in a gunnysack. The trio then rode north toward Wichita.

“I’ll stay with you in Wichita until there’s an eastbound train,” Danielle said. “Once we reach town, you can sell the horses you’re riding. That’ll give you some extra money. I’ll buy your train tickets from Wichita to St. Louis.”

“You’re too generous,” said Ann. “I’d gladly sell the horses, but I don’t have any bills of sale. I’m sure Eph stole them somewhere.”

“I’ll write you some bills of sale,” Danielle said. “By the time Snell figures it all out, you’ll be on your way to St. Louis, and well out of his reach.”

The trio reached Wichita. Inquiring, Danielle learned the next eastbound from the end-of-track wouldn’t reach Wichita until the following morning. Danielle bought two tickets to St. Louis, and Ann Willard wept for her generosity.

“Now I’ll get us a hotel room for the night,” said Danielle, “and we’ll see about selling those two horses.”

The bills of sale were not questioned, and Danielle collected seventy-five dollars for each of the horses.

“Here,” Danielle said, handing the money to Ann. “The horses brought a hundred and fifty dollars, and I’ve added some to that.”

Ann Willard was completely overwhelmed, and Anita’s eyes sparkled like stars.

Leading three horses, Eph Snell reached the deserted cabin in Indian Territory. He swore when he found the corral empty, and it took him only a few minutes to find tracks of three horses heading north. Leaving the three newly arrived horses in the corral, he mounted his horse and rode north, toward Wichita. He also carried a pair of tied-down Colts, and he had killing on his mind.