Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Chapter 14

Wichita, Kansas. November 22, 1870.

The eastbound was due at ten o’clock. Danielle had accompanied Ann and Anita to the railroad depot to await the train. Far down the track, they could hear the whistle blowing for the stop at Wichita.

“I can’t believe we’re actually leaving,” Ann said. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“We ain’t gone yet,” said Anita. “I won’t feel safe until we’re on the train and it’s on its way.”

With the clanging of its bell, the eastbound rolled in, and the locomotive began taking on water. The conductor stepped down from the one passenger coach, lowering the metal steps so that the passengers might enter. Up the track, beyond the train’s caboose, there came a horseman at a fast gallop.

“Ma,” Anita cried, “it’s him!”

“Dear God,” said Ann, “it’s Eph Snell.”

“Get aboard the train,” Danielle said. “I’ll delay him until you’re gone.”

“I can’t let you do it,” said Ann. “He’ll kill you.”

“I’ll risk it,” Danielle said. “Now get aboard the train.”

Ann and Anita had just entered the passenger coach when Snell reined up. Dismounting, he started toward Danielle. She spoke quietly.

“That’s far enough, Snell.”

Snell laughed. “So you know me.”

“I know of you,” Danielle said. “You’re a damn yellow-bellied, woman-beating coyote that walks on his hind legs like a man.”

It was the ultimate insult, and Snell drew. He was fast—incredibly fast—but Danielle had her Colt roaring by the time Snell pulled the trigger. His slug spouted dust on the ground in front of him. From the locomotive, the fireman and engineer had watched the entire affair. Suddenly, Ann and Anita were out of the coach, running toward Danielle. At the sound of shooting, the station agent came running from the depot. He eyed Danielle as she reloaded her Colt, directing his question at her.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“Get the sheriff,” Danielle said, “and I’ll explain it all to him. I reckon you’d best keep this train here until the sheriff’s talked to the fireman and engineer. They saw it all.”

“I want to talk to the sheriff, too,” said Ann to Danielle. “I won’t leave until I know the law’s not holding you responsible.”

Others had heard the sound of distant gunfire, and men came on the run. One of them was Sheriff Bart Devlin. He eyed Danielle and spoke.

“Who’s the dead man?”

“Eph Snell, a horse thief and likely a killer,” Danielle said. “This is Ann and Anita Willard. I helped them to escape Snell, but he caught up to us and drew on me.”

“He pulled iron first, Sheriff,” the engineer said. “We saw him, didn’t we, Slim?”

“Yeah,” the fireman said, “and he was a fool. This young gent here could shoot the ears off John Wesley Hardin.”

“Now, ma’am,” Sheriff Devlin said to Ann, “sup pose you tell me where you figure into all this.”

Ann spoke swiftly, her eyes meeting those of Sheriff Devlin. When she paused to catch her breath, Anita spoke.

“He tore all my clothes off, and I had to hide from him in the woods.”

Shouts of anger erupted from the men who had gathered around.

“Sheriff,” said the station agent, “this train needs to be on its way. What more do you need of the fireman and engineer?”

“Probably nothing,” Sheriff Devlin said, “but just in case, write down their names and addresses for me. Then they can go.”

“I’m not going until I know you’re not in trouble for shooting him,” Ann told Danielle.

“Neither am I,” said Anita defiantly.

“I know this young gent,” Sheriff Devlin said, “and from what I’ve heard, I believe I can safely promise you there’ll be no charges filed. In fact, if this dead varmint’s been hiding out in Indian Territory, I may have a wanted dodger on him.”

The fireman and engineer had mounted to the locomotive’s cabin. A clanging of its bell and two blasts from the whistle announced the train’s departure.

“Ann, it’s time for you and Anita to get aboard,” Danielle said. “Go in peace.”

The two mounted the steps into the passenger coach, and as the train pulled out, they waved to Danielle for as long as they could see her. Two men had volunteered to remove Snell’s body, taking it to the carpenter shop, where a coffin would be built. Sheriff Devlin spoke to Danielle.

“Come on to the office with me, and let’s see if there’s a dodger on Snell. Might even be a reward.”

“I’m not concerned with a reward, Sheriff,” Danielle said. “I shot him only to save my friends.”

“A fine piece of work and a noble reason,” said Sheriff Devlin, “but if there’s a reward, it belongs to you.”

Danielle waited while Sheriff Devlin fanned through a stack of wanted dodgers.

“Ah,” Devlin said, “here he is. He’s wanted in Missouri and Texas for murder. There’s a five-hundred-dollar reward, but it’ll take me a few days to collect it.”

“When you do,” said Danielle, “send it to Ann Willard, in St. Louis. Send it to this address.”

“I will,” Devlin said, “and it’s a fine thing you’re doing. Ride careful, kid.”

Danielle genuinely liked the old sheriff and didn’t object to him calling her “kid.” She had not completely healed from her wounds, and the drawing and firing of the Colt had somehow inflamed the wound in her right side. She felt a dull, throbbing ache, and after leaving the sheriff’s office, she took a room at a hotel, for she dared not go to a doctor. First, she stabled Sundown. She then went to a saloon and, as much as she hated the stuff, bought a quart of whiskey. At the mercantile she bought a bottle of laudanum and returned to the hotel. She was hungry, but in no mood to eat. She didn’t yet have a fever, and dosing herself with the laudanum, she went to bed and slept far into the night. When she awakened, her throat was dry and inflamed, and her face felt like it was afire. She drank a third of the bottle of whiskey and returned to the bed. When she again awakened, the sun beamed in through the room’s single window, for she had slept well into the day. Her fever had broken, and her body was soaked with sweat. The ache of the wound in her side was gone, allowing her to sit up without pain. On the dresser was a porcelain pitcher half full of water, and she drank it all, right from the pitcher. Her belly grumbled, reminding her she had eaten nothing since her meager breakfast with Ann and Anita the day before. Taking her time, she went to a cafe. After a satisfying meal of ham, eggs, biscuits, and hot coffee, she felt much better. She was tempted to ride on, but after having the wound in her side flare up again, she was reluctant to go until she had completely healed. She paid for another night at the hotel and spent most of the day stretched out on the bed, resting. In the late afternoon, there was a knock on her door.

“Who is it, and what do you want?”

“I’m Casper DeVero, and I want to talk to you,” said a voice outside the door.

“About what?” Danielle asked, suspecting she already knew.

“About the heroic thing you did yesterday,” said DeVero.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Danielle said.

“Damn it,” said DeVero, “the sheriff said you’d left town, and I had a hell of a time finding you. I’m a stringer for one of the Kansas City newspapers, and this is just the kind of human interest story they’ll like. You’ll be famous.”

“I don’t want to be famous,” Danielle shouted. “Now leave me alone.”

“Your choice,” said DeVero. “Talk to me, and you’ll get a sympathetic ear. But I can piece the story together if I have to, and you may not like some of the turns it takes. I will see that the story’s published, with or without your help.”

“Then do it without my help,” Danielle shouted, “and leave me alone.”

Later feeling better, Danielle went out for supper, encountering Sheriff Devlin in the cafe.

“I didn’t know you were still in town,” said Devlin. “We got a gent here name of DeVero, and he sells stories to the Kansas City newspapers. He’s been looking for you.”

“Unfortunately, he found me,” Danielle said, “but I refused to talk to him. I’m still here only because I decided to rest a couple of days before riding on.”

“I don’t usually give advice unless it’s asked for,” said Devlin, “but it might have been better if you had talked to DeVero. There’s certain gossipy folks in town that are likely to give you a reputation you won’t like.”

“Then they lie,” Danielle said. “I did what was right.”

“I believe you,” said Sheriff Devlin, “but don’t be surprised if DeVero hints at some funny business between you and this woman, Ann Willard.”

“My God,” Danielle said, “Ann’s old enough to be my mother. If that yellow-bellied, two-legged coyote prints anything close to that, I’ll kill him.”

“Then I’d have to arrest you,” said Devlin. “It’s kind of a Mexican standoff. While he can’t prove there was anything goin’ on, you can’t prove there wasn’t. Writers have a way of hinting at things without actually accusing anybody, and this Ann Willard is an almighty handsome woman.”

Sheriff Devlin departed, leaving Danielle alone with her thoughts. No longer hungry, she forced herself to eat, knowing her body had to gain strength. As she thought of DeVero and the lies he might tell, she decided to remain in Wichita long enough to read what he had to say. While she couldn’t stop him from making her look bad in the press, she had no intention for it to appear she was running away.

Wichita, Kansas. November 27, 1870.

When the story appeared in the Kansas City newspaper, it was even worse than Sheriff Devlin had suggested it might be. Danielle was furious, and one particular paragraph made her killing mad. It said:

It appears the young gunman, Daniel Strange, may have gunned down Eph Snell over a woman they both wanted. Had Strange been consorting with a woman of questionable morals, when Eph Snell caught them?

There was much more, but Danielle refused to read it. A companion piece exploited the killing of Elmo and Ebeau Winters in Kansas City, suggesting that their father, Jubal, was also dead, since he had apparently disappeared. The only redeeming feature was a few lines quoting Sheriff Barnes, in which he stated flatly that Danielle had fired in self-defense. Grinding her teeth in frustration, Danielle went to supper. Tomorrow she would ride out, but the day wasn’t over, and she expected the worst. It wasn’t long in coming. There were half a dozen men in the cafe, and they grinned openly at her. Ordering her supper, she sat down to wait. In the distance there was a locomotive whistle, as the train neared Wichita on its way to the end-of-track. She had just begun to eat when the door opened and she was confronted by Herb Sellers and Jesse Burris.

“We put our horses in a boxcar and come here on the train,” Jesse said. “We didn’t know if you’d still be here or not.” Uninvited, the two pulled out chairs and sat down.

“You read about me in the paper, I reckon,” said Danielle bitterly. “Believe it if you like. I don’t give a damn anymore.”

“We’ll believe it like you tell it,” Herb said, “and we’ll stomp hell out of anybody that makes anything more of it.”

“I’m obliged,” said Danielle, “but I don’t want either of you in trouble with the law because of me. The sheriff’s already told me I can’t shoot the no-account bastard that wrote the story, and that’s the only thing that would give me any real satisfaction.”

“We’ll hit ’em where it hurts,” Jesse Burris said. “When we’ve had supper, we’ll make the rounds of all the saloons and win a pile of their money.”

“You and Herb go ahead,” said Danielle. “I’m going back to the hotel and rest. I aim to ride out early tomorrow.”

After supper, Danielle parted company with the two genial bounty hunters. Her wound seemed to have healed, but there was still some weakness in her right arm. The wound in her left thigh had healed to the extent that she no longer limped. Locking her door and placing a ladder-back chair under the doorknob, she stripped off her clothes and got into bed. It was a blessed relief, being rid of the hated binder, and she suspected the pressure of it had slowed the healing of the wound in her right side. But there was no help for that. She thought fondly of Ann and Anita Willard, and the secret that they kept.

Wichita, Kansas. November 29, 1870.

Danielle was awakened by a knock on her door.

“Who is it, and what do you want?” she asked.

“Jesse and me,” said Herb Sellers. “We was big winners last night, and we’ll buy your breakfast.”

“I’ll eat with you,” Danielle said, “but I’m barely awake. Wait for me in the lobby.”

Danielle got up, feeling stronger. With the binder back in place, she was soon ready. She tipped her hat low over her eyes, buckled on her gun belts, and removed the back of the chair from beneath the doorknob. It was later than Danielle had believed, for the sun was already several hours high, its rays beaming through the lobby’s open door.

“Herb and me slept late,” Jesse said. “We won a pile last night, and we had to give the varmints a chance to win their money back.”

Herb laughed. “They didn’t win none of it back. Fact is, they lost some more, and we didn’t run out. We stayed until the saloon closed.”

The trio had breakfast at one of the cafes alongside the Kansas-Pacific tracks. There was little talk until they finished eating, and it was Herb who spoke.

“Would you take kindly to Jesse and me ridin’ with you? We got nothing to hold us here, and I think we’d better avoid that saloon tonight.”

“I reckon you’re welcome to ride with me,” said Danielle, “but I want one thing understood. Bounty or not, when I find these yellow coyotes I’m looking for, they’ll belong to me. Then you’re welcome to any bounty. All I want is their scurvy hides.”

“When you find ’em, Herb and me will stand aside and let you get your satisfaction,” Jesse said.

The bank was across the railroad tracks from the hotel, and as Danielle, Herb, and Jesse neared the hotel entrance, Herb stopped.

“What is it?” Jesse asked.

“Them three hombres that’s headin’ for the bank’s front door just left their horses behind the building, and the hitch rail’s out front,” said Herb.

“No law against that,” Jesse said.

“No,” said Herb, “but somethin’ about this don’t look right. Let’s wait a minute.”

Across the tracks, the three men entered the bank. Facing the tellers, they drew their guns.

“Don’t nobody try nothin’ foolish,” yelled one of the thieves, “and nobody gets hurt. We want them cash drawers opened, and we want only the big bills.”

But one of the tellers had a Colt in his cash drawer. When he drew it, one of the outlaws shot him. The teller’s slug went wild, shattering the bank’s front window with a tinkling crash. Fearfully, the other two tellers had emptied their cash drawers of large bills, and the outlaws scooped them up.

“The varmints are robbin’ the bank!” Herb shouted as the echo of the shots faded.

Of a single mind, Herb, Jesse, and Danielle drew their Colts. Seconds later, the three robbers swung the bank’s front door open, but before they could make a break for their horses, Herb challenged them.

“Halt, you varmints. You’re covered.”

But the three went for their guns. Danielle’s Colt was roaring, and when Herb and Jesse began firing a second later, it sounded like rolling thunder. The three bank robbers went down as men poured from nearby saloons and businesses. A man stepped through the bank’s front door with a shotgun under his arm, just as Sheriff Bart Devlin arrived. Devlin paid no attention to anybody except the three men who had been gunned down after leaving the bank. He found the trio dead, with the bills they had taken scattered about. The sheriff then turned his attention to the trio in front of the hotel. They were calmly reloading their Colts. The banker who had stepped out the door with the shotgun was the first to speak.

“Jenkins, one of my tellers, is hard-hit, Sheriff. But for those three young men before the hotel, these thieves would have escaped.”

The sheriff said nothing, then crossing the street, he spoke to Danielle.

“I know you, but who are your friends?”

“Herb Sellers and Jesse Burris,” Danielle said. “We just had breakfast, and it was Herb who thought there was something unusual about those three men leaving their horses behind the bank. When we heard the shots, we knew they were robbing the bank.”

“A fine piece of work you gents have done,” said Sheriff Devlin. “You just gunned down the Fenner gang. Three brothers gone bad, wanted for robbery and murder. I want to talk to all of you in my office, after these dead men are removed.”

Some of the same men who had laughed at the cruel story in the Kansas City paper no longer laughed at Danielle. They moved aside respectfully, allowing Danielle, Herb, and Jesse to proceed along the boardwalk to Sheriff Devlin’s office.

“There’s a reward for them three hombres,” Sheriff Devlin said, when he returned to his office, “but I don’t know how much. I’ll have to look it up, and it’ll take a few days to collect the money.”

“I aim to ride out this morning,” said Danielle. “See that Herb and Jesse get the reward. If Herb hadn’t been suspicious, all of us would have been in the hotel when the robbery took place.”

Sheriff Devlin sat down at his desk and began going through wanted dodgers. He found the one he was seeking and spread it out on the desk. The trio had been wanted for murder and robbery in Kansas, Missouri, and Texas. The combined rewards were more than six thousand dollars.

“Daniel, it ain’t fair, Jesse and me takin’ all that,” said Herb. “Part of it’s yours.”

“No,” Danielle said. “There’s only one thing I want. If this Casper DeVero comes asking questions, don’t tell him anything about me. I don’t like him or his habits.”

“There’ll likely be no avoiding him,” said Sheriff Devlin, “but I’ll see that nothing is said to him that will be damaging to you. Anything he says about you in print is goin’ to leave him looking like a fool, after that last piece he wrote. These varmints the three of you gunned down took twenty thousand dollars from that same bank last year. Morrison, the bank president, is grateful to you. He saw the whole thing as it happened. I’ll see that Morrison gives DeVero a firsthand account.”

Danielle, Herb, and Jesse left the sheriff’s office and started back toward the hotel.

“I reckon the two of you made a pretty good start at bounty hunting,” said Danielle.

“It’s still not fair, us taking all the bounty,” Jesse said.

“It is as far as I’m concerned,” said Danielle. “I’m not of a mind to stay here longer than it takes to saddle my horse. That bounty will be enough eating money until you can track down some more outlaws with a price on their heads.”

“I have a problem I never expected,” Herb said. “I feel . . . well . . . guilty, gunning down a man for money.”

“You shouldn’t,” said Danielle. “None of us knew there was a reward when we bought into that fight. We did the right thing, and if we hadn’t taken those thieves by surprise, it might be one or all of us lying dead.”

“That’s right,” Jesse said. “This same bunch robbed the same bank last year, but they won’t ever do it again. Maybe it’ll send a message to the rest of the thieves and killers holed up in Indian Territory.”

The trio reached the hotel. Herb and Jesse waited in the hall while Danielle went into her room for her few belongings and saddlebags. It was time for parting, and Danielle was anxious to be gone. She genuinely liked these two cowboys, and while she didn’t condemn them for bounty hunting, their motivation was entirely different from her own. How often had she read of men like Bill Hickok, John Wesley Hardin, and Ben Thompson, who had become legends as a result of their speed and accuracy with a gun? It was just such a name she didn’t want, and yet the more often she had to use her guns, the more likely she was to find herself with the very same unwanted reputation. Reaching the livery, she paid her bill and saddled Sundown. She rode out quietly, glad to be escaping any further contact with the newspaperman, Casper DeVero. St. Joe wasn’t that far from Kansas City, and for the first time, she wondered what her mother and brothers would think of the ridiculous story DeVero had written.

Indian Territory. December 1, 1870.

Danielle chose not to light a fire. Finding a source of water, she ate jerked beef for her supper. She then fed the chestnut mare a measure of grain. She had no illusions about finding any of the men she sought in Indian Territory, for it was a gloomy, dreary place. A man could remain there only so long, for thieves who had money would be eager to get to a town with saloons and whorehouses. Danielle spread her blankets near where Sundown was picketed, depending on the horse to warn her of any impending danger. But the night passed peacefully, and Danielle then rode south. Despite the difficulties she had experienced in Waco, she still believed some of the outlaws she was hunting were in Texas, and it was there she intended to go. She now regretted having left south Texas so quickly, for there was a good chance some of the fugitives from her list might be there. With only the river between Texas and old Mexico—despite her riding into an ambush while with Joel Votaw’s outfit—she still believed that horse rustling flourished along the border. Done properly, there was little risk from authorities on either side of the river. Suddenly a distant horse nickered, and the chestnut mare answered. It was all the warning Danielle had. A rifle roared, and she rolled out of the saddle, going belly-down. One of the slugs had grazed Sundown, and the animal galloped away.

“All right, hombre,” a voice challenged, “git up, keepin’ your hands high.”

There was no help for it, and Danielle got to her feet, careful to keep her hands away from the butts of her Colts. That these men were outlaws, she had no doubt.

“Now, come on,” said the voice, “and don’t do nothin’ foolish.”

There was a small clearing through which a stream flowed, and four men stood there with their hands near the butts of their revolvers. One of them spoke.

“Come on, Leroy. We got him covered.”

A fifth man stepped out of the brush, carrying a Winchester. He wasted no time. His hard eyes met Danielle’s, and Leroy spoke.

“Who are you, kid, and what are you doin’ here?”

“I’m not the law, if that’s what’s botherin’ you,” Danielle said. “Thanks to you and your damned shooting, my horse ran away. Now get your no-account carcass out there and find her.”

The rest of the outlaws laughed uproariously, and Leroy’s face went bright red.

“Leroy,” one of his companions said, “I never realized your daddy was so young.”

That brought on a new round of laughter, and some violent cursing from Leroy. When they all became silent, Danielle was standing there with her thumbs hooked in her gunbelts just above the butts of her Colts.

“I hope you’re done shootin’, Leroy,” said Danielle, “because I aim to shoot back.”

But Leroy was furious. Dropping the Winchester, he went for his Colt. Danielle waited until he cleared leather and then, with blinding speed, shot the gun out of his hand.

“Anybody else?” Danielle asked, covering them.

Leroy stood there looking unbelievingly at his mangled Colt on the ground, while the other four men regarded Danielle with grudging respect.

“No need to get your tail feathers ruffled, kid,” said one of the strangers warily. “Put away the iron. Sometimes, Leroy’s a mite hard to convince. I’m Cass Herring, and these three gents beside me is Stubbs Potter, Jarvis Brooking, and Watt Slacker. Leroy Lomax you’ve already met.”

Danielle punched out the empty shell casing and reloaded her Colt. Now there was no empty chamber, for the weapon was fully loaded, an observation that meant something to the five men who watched. Holstering the weapon, Danielle spoke.

“I’m Daniel Strange. Who you gents are, and what you’re doing here is of no interest to me. I’m on my way to Texas, and thanks to Leroy here, I have no horse. Whatever you’re riding, Leroy, saddle it and find my horse.”

“Damned if I will,” Leroy snarled.

“You’re damned if you don’t,” said Danielle, her green eyes regarding him coldly. “It’s cost you a Colt, so far. If you’re still not convinced, I can shoot off a finger or a thumb.”

Cass Herring laughed. “Leroy, I think you’d better round up the kid’s horse.”

Leroy stomped off into the brush, cursing as he went. Danielle relaxed. None of the other four men made any hostile moves. Instead, they regarded her curiously. It was Watt Slacker who finally spoke.

“Kid, where in tarnation did you learn to shoot like that?”

“My pa was a gunsmith in St. Joe, and he taught me,” Danielle said. “He was robbed and hanged in Indian Territory last April. Seven of the coyotes that killed him are alive somewhere, and I’m after them.”

“I reckon you got some way of knowin’ who they are, then,” Stubbs Potter said.

“I have their names,” said Danielle. “At least the names they were using.”

“Name them,” Cass Herring said. “We might be of some help to you. We been down to Laredo, where we got into a disagreement over the ownership of some horses.”

Danielle named the men on her death list.

“One of them hombres I’ve heard of,” said Herring. “This Snakehead Kalpana has been down to Brownsville, driving Mex horses across the border into Texas.”

“Yeah,” Stubbs Potter said. “The damn Spaniard loused up everything by gunning down a Texas lawman. They’ll overlook a gent picking up a few Mex horses, but when he kills a man behind the star, he’s in trouble.”

“I’m obliged,” said Danielle.

At that point, Leroy returned, leading Sundown. Without a word, he passed the reins to Danielle.

“We’re bound for North Texas, kid,” Cass Herring said, “and you’re welcome to ride with us. It ain’t safe for a man alone, here in Indian Territory.”

“I’m obliged, and I’ll join you,” said Danielle. “Does that suit you, Leroy?”

“Hell, no,” Leroy snarled. “You humiliated me, and I owe you for that.”

“When you’re ready,” said Danielle. “I’ll give you a head start.”