Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Chapter 15

Danielle allowed the five men to lead out, for she didn’t trust Leroy behind her out of her sight. She didn’t like the way he had cut down on her with a Winchester, not knowing if she was friend or foe. The other four men seemed of a more even temperament.

“I figure we’re maybe two hundred and fifty miles north of Fort Worth,” Cass Herring said when they had made camp for the night.

“You’re bound for Fort Worth, then,” said Danielle.

“Yeah,” Herring replied. “For the time being, anyway. It gets God-awful cold here in the Territory when them snowstorms blow down from the high plains.”

“Hell, it snows in Texas, too,” said Leroy sullenly.

“Not near as much as it does to the north,” Herring replied. “If it gets bad enough, we can always ride farther south.”

“I don’t like south Texas,” said Leroy. “Too damn many rangers there.”

“You can always strike off on your own and go any place you damn please,” Herring said, “but if you get gun-happy in Texas and get us in trouble with the rangers, then I’ll personally gut-shoot you.”

While none of them had admitted it, Danielle believed they had been in Laredo—on the Mexican border—rustling Mexican horses and selling them in Texas. They had then rode into Indian Territory to avoid any retribution for the lawman who had been shot. Danielle wondered if Leroy had done the killing, but there was no way of finding out unless she asked. For her own well-being, she couldn’t afford to show too much interest in these men, who were undoubtedly on the dodge.

“We used the last of our coffee this morning,” Cass Herring said. “How are you fixed for grub, kid?”

“I have enough coffee to see us through to Fort Worth,” said Danielle. “I’ve got some jerked beef, bacon, and hardtack I’ll share.”¹²

“That’s generous of you,” Jarvis Brooking said. “We’re near ’bout out of everything.”

They rode on, stopping only to rest their horses, making night camp near a spring or a stream. At the end of the second day, Danielle estimated they were within fifty miles of Fort Worth. She had no reason for returning to the fort, since Captain Ferguson—the post commander—had refused her any help. Still, the sutler’s store would be the nearest source of supplies, and sharing with her five companions had all but emptied her saddlebags. With much of the frontier still unsettled, civilians were allowed to buy supplies and goods from a military outpost’s store.

Fort Worth, Texas. December 4, 1870.

In back of the sutler’s store was a saloon, and Danielle’s five companions went there first. Danielle had no intention of remaining at the fort overnight and, in the sutler’s store, began replenishing her supplies. The very last person she wished to see was Captain Ferguson, but she soon heard footsteps behind her, and there he was. His manner was different, and when he spoke, there was some friendliness in his voice.

“You’ve been busy, young man. I received the Kansas City newspaper that told of the killing of a Kansas-Pacific railroad man. He refused to cooperate with you, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Danielle said. “He didn’t want any bad publicity for the railroad, but he got it anyway. One of the men on my list is Chancy Burke, and I was told by Alan Steele that Burke didn’t work for the railroad. Steele confronted Burke himself, and after he shot and killed Steele, Burke escaped.”

“I suppose I owe you an apology,” said Ferguson. “If you had gone to Kansas City knowing Burke was with the railroad and feeding information to his outlaw friends, Steele might be alive today. I’m sorry I didn’t make some effort to get that list of railroad men for you.”

“We all make mistakes, Captain,” Danielle said. “Your apology is accepted. Now I want to ask you something. Did you know Rufe Gaddis, Julius Byler, and Chancy Burke are all from Waco, and that they have families there?”

“No,” said Ferguson. “It’s news to me. Perhaps that’s where they are now.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Danielle said, “but a lot of good it’ll do me. I visited the Gaddis, Byler, and Burke families, and was ordered out of town. I couldn’t stable my horse, buy a meal, or rent a room.”

“Waco has an elected sheriff,” said Ferguson. “You got no help there?”

“None, and no promise of any,” Danielle said. “The sheriff’s concerned only with the next election, and it was him that told the town I was looking for Gaddis, Byler, and Burke. He also made it a point to warn the families of the three outlaws, and their kin were waiting for me with guns.”

“I can’t promise you any help,” said Captain Ferguson. “I suspect there are outlaws all over Texas, but there’s nothing the military can do. We’re already undermanned, and with Quanah Parker and his Coman che followers raising hell, local lawmen and the rangers will have to deal with the outlaws.”

“I understand,” Danielle said, “but even the rangers have failed in Waco.”

Shaking his head in frustration, Captain Ferguson walked away. When Danielle had her purchases bought and wrapped, she took them outside and stowed them in her saddlebags. She tied a sack of grain for Sundown to her bedroll behind the saddle. Feeling that she at least owed her five companions an adios, she went looking for them in the saloon behind the store. They did, after all, tell her that Snakehead Kalpana had been in south Texas, running horses across the border. If he had killed someone, especially a lawman, he might be long gone. She found all five of the men were gathered around a table, playing poker.

“I’m ridin’ out,” Danielle announced. “I just came to say adios.”

“Watch your back, kid,” said Cass Herring. It was an underhanded compliment, for no man was likely to face her down when she drew with blinding speed. Potter, Brooking, and Slacker had words of farewell. Leroy Lomax glared at her murderously, for he was a big loser, having few chips before him.

“Don’t expect nothin” from Leroy,” Stubbs Potter said. “His ma weaned him on sour pickles, and he’s went downhill from there.”

There was laughter, some of it from strangers who had overheard the conversation. For a second, Danielle’s eyes met Leroy’s, and she knew if their trails again crossed on the frontier, one of them would die. Danielle rode out slightly to the southwest so that she might avoid Waco, which lay due south of Fort Worth. She had no doubt that eventually she would be riding back to Waco, for with the whole town, including the sheriff, looking out for Gaddis, Byler, and Burke, it was a safe enough haven for the outlaws. She took heart in the possibility that Kalpana might not have been working alone, that some of the other killers she sought might be riding with him. From what she had learned at Fort Worth, Laredo, Texas was a border town some three hundred miles to the south. Since San Antonio was along the way, Danielle decided to stop and talk to the old ranger, Sage Jennings.

San Antonio, Texas. December 7, 1870.

Captain Jennings had heard of the killing of Alan Steele, of the Kansas-Pacific. Danielle filled in the details, and shaking his head, Jennings spoke.

“No damn wonder the frontier’s neck-deep in outlaws. I reckon you’ve been to Waco?”

“I have, right after I left here before,” Danielle said. She explained her run-ins with the sheriff and the Gaddis, Byler, and Burke families.

“I frankly don’t know what we’re going to do about that situation,” said Jennings. “If we had some way of knowing when those three varmints slip back into Waco, I reckon we could take a posse and go after them. But it would be hell, trying to buffalo a whole town the size of Waco. Somebody would die, and not necessarily the outlaws.”

“I got word that Snakehead Kalpana, one of the men I’m hunting, has been rustling on the other side of the border and bringing the horses into Texas. Do you know anything about that?”

“I didn’t know the last time you were here,” said Jennings, “but I do now. Kalpana has three men riding with him. He killed two men. One of them a Mexican officer, and the other a Texas Ranger. We want him, and we want him bad. He’s worth twenty-five hundred dollars, dead or alive.”

“If I find him,” Danielle said, “you won’t be getting him alive. I’m bound for Laredo.”

“He hasn’t been heard from around there since the killings,” Captain Jennings said.

“I’m not surprised,” said Danielle, “but there’s a lot of border from Laredo south to Brownsville. I aim to ride all of it if I have to.”

“I could swear you in as a ranger,” Jennings said, “but it might hurt you more than it would help. A varmint that’s killed one ranger couldn’t hang any higher for killing another one. Just be careful, and remember, it’s against federal law for you to cross the border into Mexico.”

“Wherever Kalpana is, that’s where I’m going,” said Danielle, “and that includes south of the border.”

“I didn’t hear you say that,” Jennings said. “Do what you have to do, and good luck.”

Weary from the long ride from Fort Worth, Danielle stabled Sundown and took a room for the night. She lay down and slept awhile after supper, then decided to visit the Alamo Saloon. She had heard it was a favorite watering hole for King Fisher, Ben Thompson, and other gamblers. The saloon was even more luxurious than she had imagined. Instead of sawdust floors, there was deep-pile carpet, drapes on the windows, a mahogany bar, and two dozen tables devoted to poker and faro. Danielle wondered if her lucky streak had played out, or if she could still win. Placing five double eagles on a faro table, she bought in.

“Ten dollars a bet,” the house dealer said.

It was the highest stakes Danielle had ever played for. At ten dollars a throw, she could lose her hundred dollars in a matter of minutes. On the other hand, if she won, the higher stakes put more money in her pocket. She quickly lost fifty dollars before she began winning. She almost immediately recovered her fifty dollars, and for an hour she averaged winning two pots out of three. Her companions at the table took their losses in stride, for they seemed to be affluent men. When Danielle had won three hundred dollars, she withdrew from the game. It didn’t pay to win too much, too soon. She couldn’t help wondering what these men would have thought or said, had they known she wasn’t a man. Thinking back, she was amazed at the changes in her. She had learned to control herself and her emotions so that nothing men said or did caused her to blush. It bothered her, for when she reached the end of her vengeance trail, suppose she had become a hard woman, comfortable in saloons, among drunks and whores? She often thought of Tucker Carlyle, but she dared not ride back to the Carlyle ranch. Her good-byes had been difficult enough, and she didn’t want to go through them again. She returned to her hotel, and as usual, she slid the back of a chair under the doorknob.

Danielle arose early and had breakfast in a nearby cafe. She then took her saddlebags and headed for the stable where she had left the chestnut mare. During their months on the trail, she had become much closer to Sundown, and the mare nickered her pleasure when Danielle came near. She rode slightly to the southwest, toward Laredo. If there had been trouble on the border at Laredo, it wasn’t likely the outlaws were still there, but she couldn’t overlook the possibility that they had simply holed up somewhere in the wilds of old Mexico until the incident was forgotten. Rustling horses in Mexico and driving them into Texas had become relatively easy, for as Captain Jennings had pointed out, even the combined efforts of the United States and Mexico were not enough to patrol the hundreds of miles of border.

Laredo, Texas. December 10, 1870.

Compared to San Antonio, Laredo wasn’t much more than a wide place in the trail. The hotel was a single-story affair, the rooms were cheap, and there were only two cafes. But, as Danielle noted with amusement, there were six saloons. Darkness was falling when she reached town, and to her dismay, she found the livery closed. She pounded on the door with the butt of one of her Colts until the door creaked open. An old Mexican peered at Danielle in the fading light. Under his arm was a Winchester rifle.

“What you want, señor?”

“I want to stable my horse for the night,” Danielle said. “What the hell’s the idea of closing before dark?”

“Mejicanos come from across the river and take our horses,” the old one replied.

“Tarnation,” Danielle said, “don’t you have a lawman or a sheriff?”

“Sí,” said the Mexican, “but he is one hombre. The border, she be great, señor.”

The old man had told her essentially what she had already heard from Captain Sage Jennings, but she had learned something more. Apparently in retaliation, Texas horses were being run across the border into Mexico, or so it seemed. But suppose it wasn’t Mexicans stealing Texas horses? Who could say that, after several killings, American outlaws hadn’t holed up south of the border and begun running Texas horses into Mexico? Danielle took a room at the hotel and went to the nearest cafe to eat. Tomorrow morning she would seek out the sheriff and question him.

Three men were in the cafe when Danielle entered, and they turned to stare at her. Each wore a high-crowned Mexican sombrero, and their faces were obscured by maybe a week’s growth of beard. Their tight-fitting black trousers and their red-embroidered vests showed much trail-dust. Their ruffled, once-white shirts were sweat-stained, and tied low on his right hip, each had a revolver. Danielle paused in the doorway, her eyes on the three, and they hastily resumed eating. The cook looked fearfully from Danielle to the Mexicans, and relaxed. The three were eating, apparently oblivious to Danielle. She spoke.

“Bring me a double portion of whatever you have.”

“Beef stew, potatoes, apple pie, and coffee,” said the cook “Tequila if you wish.”

“No,” Danielle said. “Coffee.”

It was obvious the three men who had stared at Danielle were drinking tequila, for on their table sat a bottle a third-full of the potent liquor. Danielle watched them out of the corner of her eye and, from their flushed faces, decided they were drunk or close to it. When the cook brought Danielle’s meal, she ate slowly, allowing the trio to finish ahead of her. They did and left the cafe without looking at Danielle again. It was just her and the cook, so she spoke.

“I thought it was illegal for Mexicans to cross the border into Texas, or for Texans to cross over into Mexico.”

“That fool law was wrote in Washington,” said the cook, “and that’s a hell of a long ways from here. If the Mexes want to wade the branch and spend their pesos in Laredo, I ain’t about to complain. I reckon you’ve noticed this ain’t a very big town.”

“I’ve noticed,” Danielle said, “and I’m not concerned with Mexicans. I’m looking for Snakehead Kalpana, an American. I have business with him.”

“Never heard of him,” said the cook.

The furtive look in his eyes told Danielle he was lying. Drinking the last of her coffee, she paid for her meal and left the cafe. Returning to the hotel, she locked the door to her room and placed the back of a chair under the doorknob. Tomorrow she would seek out the sheriff, and for a long while, she lay awake wondering if his attitude toward the border crossings would be the same as those of the man in the cafe. If Kalpana and some of the other men felt safe south of the border, finding them would be all the more difficult.

Danielle arose at dawn, had breakfast, and went looking for the sheriff. There were only two cells in the jail, both empty. The sheriff looked to be in his forties, and he got to his feet when Danielle entered the office.

“Sheriff, I’m Daniel Strange, from St. Joseph, Missouri.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said the lawman. “I’m Tom Carson. What can I do for you?”

“Tell me if you know anything about Snakehead Kalpana,” Danielle said.

“I know he’s an outlaw and a killer, and that the Texas Rangers would dearly love for him to be the guest of honor at a necktie party. What’s your interest in him?”

Quickly, Danielle again told the story of her father’s murder in Indian Territory.

“I can’t say I blame you,” said the sheriff, “but you’re almighty young to be ridin’ the vengeance trail.”

“Maybe,” Danielle said, “but there was nobody else. My two brothers are younger than I am.”

“I’ll help you in any way that I can,” said the sheriff, “but I suspect Kalpana and the bunch he’s ridin’ with have moved on. It was Kalpana who shot two men. One of them was a Mexican officer, and the other was a Texas Ranger.”

“Speaking of the bunch Kalpana’s riding with,” Danielle said, “do you know the names of any of them?”

“No,” said Sheriff Carson. “I’m familiar with Kalpana only because he spent his time in the saloons, gambling. Of course, that was before we learned he was rustling Mex horses and selling them in Texas, and before he shot and killed the Mexican and a ranger. He’s got a hair-trigger temper, and when he loses at the poker table, he has a bad habit of accusing somebody of cheating him. I threatened to arrest him several times, but he would always back down. I reckon it’s lucky for me that he did, because he carries a couple of tied-down Colts. From what I’ve heard, he’s faster than forked lightning.”

Danielle sighed. “I’m obliged, Sheriff Carson. I didn’t really expect Kalpana to still be here, but this trail’s not quite as cold as that I’ve been following. How much border is there between here and Brownsville?”

“A good two hundred miles,” said Carson, “and all manner of little villages where a man on the dodge can hole up. He could even be south of the border. Mexicans are poor, and if an Americano has money, they’ll take him in, whatever he’s done.”

“The border situation being what it is,” Danielle said, “can you suggest anything that might be helpful to me?”

“Maybe,” the lawman said. “As you ride on to Brownsville, follow the river. There’s Del Rio and Eagle Pass, about a day’s ride between them. You probably won’t learn much at Del Rio, but King Fisher has a ranch near Eagle Pass.¹³ It’s common knowledge that King rides across the border, rounds up wild horses, and drives them into Texas, but you would be wise not to mention that. He might be willing to identify some of the men you’re looking for if he understands your reason. But he’s almighty swift with a pistol, and he don’t like company. Are you familiar with him?”

“Yes,” said Danielle. “I ran into him and Ben Thompson once, when I rode through San Antonio.”

“Drunk, I reckon,” Sheriff Carson said.

“Roostered to the eyeballs,” said Danielle. “They looked just about drunk enough to want to fight, so I avoided them.”

“Good thinking,” Sheriff Carson said. “It’s a damn shame King Fisher walks on both sides of the law. He could use his guns to help rid the border of thieves and killers.”

Del Rio, Texas. December 12, 1870.

It seemed there was nothing more Danielle could learn in Laredo, so she rode along the Rio Grande toward Del Rio. It was, as Sheriff Carson said, a good day’s ride, and the first stars were winking from the heavens when Danielle rode in. The town seemed smaller than Laredo, for Danielle counted only four saloons. For some reason, there were two liveries, and Danielle left Sundown at the one nearest the hotel. She then took a room for the night and went to a cafe for supper. Since it was already dark, she decided to wait until the following morning to seek out Sheriff Lon Guthrie. The cafe was nothing fancy, having a big hanging sign outside that said simply EATS. Besides the cook, there was only one man in the cafe, and he wore a lawman’s star. Danielle ordered her meal, then took a chair across from the lawman. He looked questioningly at her.

“I reckon you’re Sheriff Lon Guthrie,” Danielle said. “Sheriff Carson, in Laredo, said I should talk to you.”

“I’m Guthrie,” said the lawman. “Who are you, and why do you want to talk to me?”

“I’m Daniel Strange, and I’m looking for a varmint that’s been rustling horses south of the border and driving them to Texas. He’s one of ten outlaws who robbed and murdered my pa in Indian Territory. His name, far as I know, is Snakehead Kalpana.”

“I’ve heard the name,” Sheriff Guthrie said, “but I don’t think he’s spent any time here in Del Rio. Seeing as how we’re right on the border, I’m always watching for strangers in the saloons and cafes.”

“I’m obliged for the information,” said Danielle. “In Laredo, Sheriff Carson suggested that on my way to Brownsville, I talk to Sheriff Rim Klady, in Eagle Pass. He told me that I should also talk to King Fisher, since he gathers wild horses in Mexico and drives them across the border into Texas.”

“King Fisher’s a hell-raising coyote that walks on his hind legs like a man,” Sheriff Guthrie said. “I doubt he’d help you if he could, because some of those horses he rounds up in Mexico ain’t wild. They’re wearin’ Mex brands. You’d best avoid him.”

“If I don’t learn anything in Eagle Pass,” said Danielle, “I’ll be riding on to Brownsville. With so much border, I can’t believe these rustlers would give up easy pickings.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Sheriff Guthrie said, “but Sam Duro’s sheriff there, so don’t be expecting too much.”

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

Sheriff Guthrie had finished his meal. He slid back his chair and stood up.

“Good luck, kid.”

Danielle nodded, for the cook had just brought her supper. She ate, mulling over what Sheriff Guthrie had told her. While he hadn’t really told her anything about the sheriff at Brownsville, he had implied much. Among the many good lawmen on the frontier, there was always an occasional one—if the price was right—who would turn his back on rustlers, outlaws, and killers. Danielle paid for her meal and returned to the hotel. Having already talked to Sheriff Guthrie, in the morning she could get an early start to Eagle Pass.

Eagle Pass, Texas. December 13, 1870.

The border town of Eagle Pass wasn’t that much different from Del Rio. There were the same weather-beaten saloons, but only four this time. Danielle arrived before dark and, finding a livery, stabled Sundown. She then set out to find the sheriff’s office. The door was locked, and peering through a window, Danielle could see no sign of life inside. There was an hour of daylight remaining, so Danielle decided to make the rounds of the saloons. In the third one, called the Eagle’s Claw, she found the sheriff, involved in a poker game.

“Sheriff,” Danielle said, “I have some business with you.”

Sheriff Rim Klady turned and looked her over, his eyes pausing when they reached the two tied-down Colts on Danielle’s hips. Finally, he spoke.

“Have you been robbed or shot somebody?”

“No,” said Danielle. “I’m Daniel Strange, and it’s about another matter.”

“Then see me at the office in the morning,” Sheriff Klady said.

The lawman had just won another pot. Dismissing Danielle, he raked in his winnings. Danielle left the saloon, furious. She took a room at the hotel. Tomorrow she might or might not be questioning the sheriff. It seemed that a talk with King Fisher might be far more beneficial, if she could get to him.

The next morning, Danielle was sitting on the steps to the sheriff’s office and the jail when the lawman arrived. She got up, allowing him to mount the steps and unlock the door. She followed him into the office.

“All right,” said the sheriff, “I’m Rim Klady. Sit down and have your say.”

Klady sat down in his chair behind his desk while Danielle took a ladder-back chair facing him. She quickly told her story, and by the time she was finished, the sheriff was shaking his head.

“The name ‘Kalpana’ don’t mean nothing to me,” Sheriff Klady said. “There’s hundreds of miles of border, and rustlers ain’t likely to drive stock across the border where there’s a town with a lawman.”

“I understand King Fisher has a ranch near here,” said Danielle, “and that he rounds up wild horses in Mexico, driving them back into Texas.”

Sheriff Klady’s manner changed abruptly, and there was something in his eyes akin to fear. Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t bother King Fisher, and he don’t bother me. I don’t see nothin’ wrong with him capturing wild horses in Mexico.”

“Except that the United States government has a law against him going there,” Danielle said. “That doesn’t concern you?”

“Hell, no,” said the lawman. “The federals passed that damn law. Let them enforce it. If Mexicans want to come into Texas or Texans want to go into Mexico, there ain’t enough lawmen on both sides of the border to stop ’em.”

“You haven’t been much help, Sheriff,” Danielle said, “and I’m going to ask just one more favor of you. How do I find King Fisher’s place?”

“Just ride along the river toward Brownsville,” Sheriff Klady said. “The Rio borders his place to the south, and you’ll see a sign pointin’ toward the ranch. Just don’t complain to me if he greets you with a Winchester and orders you to get the hell off his property.”

“I’d never think of bothering you over a small matter like that, Sheriff,” said Danielle. “I’m armed, and I’m not afraid to shoot back. Adios.”

The sheriff said nothing, and Danielle left, closing the door behind her. Mounting Sundown, she rode south, keeping the Rio in sight. As Sheriff Klady had said, there soon was a fork in the trail. A board with crude lettering had been nailed to a tree. It said:

This is King Fisher’s road. Take the other.