Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Chapter 16

Ignoring the warning, Danielle took King Fisher’s road. Of her welcome, she was very uncertain, for the only times she had seen King Fisher had been in San Antonio, when he and Ben Thompson had been very drunk. She finally rode out into a clearing and could see the ranch house in the distance. The place seemed deserted, but suddenly the stillness was shattered by a gunshot.

“Don’t come any closer,” a voice shouted. “You’re not welcome here.”

“I only want to talk to you,” Danielle said. “I’m not the law.”

“You’re still not welcome here,” said the distant voice.

Gritting her teeth, Danielle rode on. Would the man shoot her out of the saddle? She eventually reined up forty yards from the front porch. King Fisher stepped past the door, a Winchester under his arm. His dress could only be described as gaudy. His trousers were black with pinstripes, and over a white ruffled shirt, he wore a bright red tie. Around his middle was a red sash that matched the tie. His boots were fancy, and a white Stetson hat was tipped low over his eyes. On each hip in a tied-down holster was a revolver.

“I could have shot you dead and been within my rights,” he snapped. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere?”

“In San Antonio,” said Danielle. “You and Ben Thompson were drunk.”

“Since you’re here,” Fisher said, “who are you, and what the hell do you want of me?”

“I want some information,” said Danielle, “and it in no way concerns you. I am Daniel Strange, and I’m hunting some men who robbed and hanged my pa in Indian Territory in the spring. One of those still alive—Snakehead Kalpana—has been rustling horses in old Mexico and driving them across the border into Texas. He killed a Mexican and a ranger near Laredo, but I doubt that he’s given up rustling. I think he’s just moved to another location along the border.”

“Well, if you think he’s here, or that I’d have any dealings with the likes of him, then you’re barking up the wrong damn tree,” Fisher said.

“I’ve been told that you trap wild horses in Mexico and drive them into Texas,” said Danielle. “I was hoping you might have seen or heard of Kalpana.”

“I want nothing to do with the kind that rustles another man’s stock,” Fisher said. “I’ve shot some hombres that was needful of it, but I’ve never stole a horse or a cow.”¹⁴

“If you know nothing about Kalpana,” said Danielle, “maybe you’ll recognize some of these other varmints I’m looking for.”

Quickly, she told him the names of the other six men, and Fisher shook his head.

“I’m obliged anyway,” Danielle said.

“You got sand in your craw, kid,” said King Fisher. “How old are you?”

“Old enough,” Danielle said.

Fisher laughed. “A regular two-gun man, huh? Can you use them irons, or do you just carry ’em to scare hell out of folks?”

In a lightning cross-hand draw, Danielle drew the butt-forward Colt from her left hip. She fired once, the slug kicking up splinters from the porch. Then she spoke.

“I could have shot your ears off, but you’ve been decent to me. Adios.”

Holstering the Colt, she wheeled the chestnut mare and rode away. King Fisher stood there watching her until she was out of sight. Then he laughed to himself.

“You’ll do, kid. You’ll do.”

When Danielle reached the river, she rode southeast. She had no idea how far she was from Brownsville and decided not to attempt to reach it in what was left of the day. She was rapidly running out of trails and needed to think. There was always a chance, she concluded, that she had miscalculated. Suppose Kalpana had left Laredo, but instead of riding deeper into south Texas, he had ridden west, toward El Paso? He might even have gone to southern Arizona, for there he would be just across the river from Mexico. There were so many possibilities, Danielle had to rest to put them all out of her mind.

Brownsville, Texas. December 16, 1870.

Clearly, nobody was enforcing federal law in Brownsville, for Mexicans were virtually everywhere. From the saloons there were drunken shouts in Spanish, and as Danielle rode along the main street, she saw many dark-eyed señoritas with their hair tied back, and some peons with colorful serapes about their shoulders. It appeared that most of the cafes and restaurants, if not Mexican owned, were at least Mexican operated. Before most of them, in colorful clothing and a high-crowned sombrero, a young boy praised his establishment’s bill of fare in rapid Spanish. It looked like a wide-open town, Danielle thought, and might well be just the kind of place where Snakehead Kalpana would try to lose himself. Getting past the saloons, cafes, and street vendors, Danielle reached a quiet street down which she rode. She came upon a huge old house, and above the front door was a neatly painted sigm that read AMERICAN HOTEL. Reining up, she dismounted and knocked on the door. When it was eventually opened, there stood a gray haired old man.

“I just rode through town,” Danielle said, “and I like the look of your sign. I’ll need a room for maybe two or three days.”

“Come in,” said her host. “My name is Ephiram Delaney. My wife, Ethel, is upstairs. I’ll get her. Make yourself at home.”

He proceeded to summon Ethel by shouting for her at the top of his voice.

“Damn it,” Ethel shouted back, “do you have to wake the dead? I’m coming.”

She came down the stairs, taking her time, a wisp of a woman as gray as old Ephiram. She looked at Danielle, a question in her eyes. Danielle spoke.

“I’m Daniel Strange, and I’ll need a room for maybe three nights.”

“Two dollars a night for the room,” said Ethel, “or three-fifty if you want some grub twice a day.”

“I’ll take the room and the grub,” Danielle said, handing her a gold eagle.

“Good choice,” said Ephiram. “In these Mex cafes and cantinas, they load everything with chili peppers ’cept the coffee.”

“Now,” Danielle said, “is there a place close by where I can stable my horse?”

“Behind the house across the alley,” Ephiram said, “but we can’t afford no hostler.”

“I won’t need one,” said Danielle.

“I’ll get you a room ready while you’re gone,” Ethel said. “Just come on up. It’ll be at the head of the stairs on the right.”

Danielle led Sundown around the house and into the stable. It appeared to be empty, and Danielle chose a stall for the mare. She unsaddled the horse and, seeing hay in the loft above, climbed up and forked some down.

“Chew on that awhile, Sundown,” said Danielle. “I’ll be back before dark and bring you some grain.”

Danielle found Ephiram seated on the front porch. Nodding to him, she again entered the house and mounted the stairs.

“In here,” Ethel said.

The room could only be described as luxurious. There was a thick gray carpet on the floor, with rose-colored drapes at the window. The bed was brass with a multicolored coverlet. There were several extra chairs, upholstered in rose, and a wide dresser on which stood a porcelain water pitcher and matching basin. On the back of the door was a mirror, full length and uncracked.

“The chamberpot’s under the bed,” said Ethel with a wink.

“I’m obliged,” Danielle said. “You have a fine place. I’ve never had better.”

“Thank you,” said Ethel, pleased. “We cater to Americans. Ephiram says one day we’ll wake up and there won’t be anybody but Mejicanos as far as the eye can see.”

“It already looks that way uptown,” Danielle said.

“It just about is,” said Ethel. “Don’t let ’em sell you any of that Mex whiskey, either. It’s about a hundred and forty proof. Then when you’re layin’ there stiff as a post and can’t get up, them human turkey buzzards—Anglos or Mejicanos—will pick your pockets clean.”

“I’m obliged for the information,” Danielle said, “but I don’t drink or smoke.”

“Praise be,” said Ethel. “Last time we had a drinking man in here he passed out and his cigarette set the bed afire. Supper’s at five, breakfast at seven.”

As Danielle left the house, Ephiram sat nodding on the front porch. The Delaneys were in a residential section of quiet homes, and the area seemed a world apart from the center of town with its noisy Mejicanos and shifty-eyed Anglos. Danielle had already been warned not to expect too much of Brownsville Sheriff Sam Duro, but she went looking for the lawman anyway. She found his office and he was there, his booted feet on the desk and his hat tipped over his eyes. From somewhere came the sound of three rapid gunshots and a cry of anguish, but the sheriff remained where he was.

“Draw, you lazy varmint,” Danielle shouted, kicking the desk.

Duro’s swivel chair went over backward, coming to rest on top of him. He cursed as he fought to draw his revolver, and Danielle laughed. Finally, he sat up, shoving the chair off him, and began beating his crushed Stetson back into shape. Danielle stood there chuckling, allowing the disgruntled lawman to get to his feet and right his swivel chair.

“Damn you,” Duro shouted, “that’s a good way to get yourself shot dead. Who the hell are you, and what business do you have here?”

“Killing business when I find the right man,” said Danielle. “I’m after an outlaw and a killer. You being the law here, I reckoned I’d better talk to you first.”

“The law hereabouts don’t work with bounty hunters,” Sheriff Duro said.

“I’m not a bounty hunter,” said Danielle. “I’m after the yellow coyotes who robbed and murdered my pa in Indian Territory. One of them in particular is Snakehead Kalpana, and I have reason to believe he’s here. Do you know him, or know of him?”

“No,” Sheriff Duro said, “and I won’t tolerate vigilantes any more than I’ll tolerate the bounty hunters. The first damn sign of trouble that involves you, I’ll lock you in the jail till hell freezes. You got that?”

“If I find the hombre I’m looking for, I aim to do what I came here to do,” Danielle said steadily, “and if you try to stop me, you’d better be pretty damn sudden with a pistol. You got that?”

Danielle turned and left the sheriff’s office, not even bothering to ask Duro about the rest of the men on her death list. There were more gunshots from the area where most of the saloons were. She decided that Duro was even more useless than Sheriff Rucker in Waco. She had little choice except to make the rounds of the saloons, hoping to gather a bit of information that might suggest a new trail. The biggest and noisiest of the saloons seemed to be a place appropriately called the Border Saloon. There were poker and faro games in progress, but Danielle didn’t like the looks of the men gathered around the tables. She watched a faro game for a while and learned her suspicions had been well founded. A bearded man suddenly leaped to his feet, drew a Bowie knife, and lunged across the table. But the Mexican he had gone after was just as resourceful with his own blade, and under their weight the table collapsed. They rolled around on the floor, each man seizing the wrist of the other’s knife hand. Two bouncers arrived to break up the fight, and their method was simple. Each of them seized a chair, slamming it down on the head of one of the men on the floor. When the two knife-wielders were beaten bloody and unconscious, the bouncers carried them outside, one at a time, and flung them into the street. By then, another table had been set up, and the interrupted faro game was again in progress. Danielle was about to leave when a woman screamed. It was one of the saloon girls. She lay on her back on the floor while a man astraddle her was ripping her clothes off. Danielle looked for the bouncers, but they were nowhere in sight. Nobody tried to help the unfortunate girl, and some of the men had gathered around to watch, laughing. Danielle drew her Colt, crossed the room, and slammed the muzzle of the weapon against the back of the attacker’s head. He tumbled over, allowing the terrified girl to get to her feet. Drawing the remnants of her torn dress together, she ran up the winding stairway that led to the second floor. The saloon had become deathly silent, and not a man among them could meet Danielle’s eyes. She holstered her Colt, awaiting she knew not what. Slowly, the man she had buffaloed got to his hands and knees, shaking his head. He then got unsteadily to his feet.

“Which one of you sons of bitches hit me?” he snarled.

“I did,” said Danielle, “and I’m only sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”

He went for his gun, only to find himself covered by Danielle’s Colt. Baring his teeth like a wolf, he snarled at her.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No,” Danielle said calmly, “but I know what you are. You’re a woman-beating coward, a yellow-bellied coyote that walks on his hind legs like a man.”

“I’ll kill you for that!” he shouted. “Reece McCandless swears it.”

“I’m obliged for the warning,” said Danielle. “I’ll watch my back. Now get out of here, and the next time you reach for a gun, I’ll kill you.”

McCandless was a big man, and given a choice, he would have preferred being gut-shot to the humiliation he had endured. His face flaming red, he stumbled out of the saloon. As Danielle stepped out onto the boardwalk, she encountered Sheriff Sam Duro.

“Where the hell have you been?” Danielle asked. “The brute that just left here had a woman down on the floor, ripping her clothes off.”

“I reckon you stepped in and saved her,” said Sheriff Duro.

“I did,” Danielle said, “and I only regret that I didn’t shoot him.”

“God help you if you had,” Duro said. “That’s Reece McCandless. Old Simon, his pa, owns half of Brownsville.”

“Does he own you along with it?” Danielle asked.

“Kid,” said Sheriff Duro, “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that, because you’re in enough trouble already. With any luck, you can mount your horse and be long gone from here before Simon McCandless learns what you’ve done.”

“Sheriff,” Danielle said, “I’ll go when I’m ready, and I’m not ready. I called McCandless a woman-beating coward and a yellow-bellied coyote walking on his hind legs like a man, and I don’t regret a word of it. I’m sticking to what I said, and I don’t care a damn if old Simon McCandless is nine feet tall and feeds on raw meat.”

Danielle left Sheriff Duro speechless. She went into one of the smaller cantinas, where a faro game was in progress, and decided to sit in.

“Five-dollar limit,” said the dealer.

Danielle lost fifty dollars and was about to quit the game when one of the men across the table spoke to his companion.

“I’m tired of this damn town, neck-deep in Mejicanos. If Kalpana don’t show up by tomorrow night, I’m ridin’ on.”

The other laughed. “After what he done in Laredo, he’ll likely have to spend the rest of his life south of the river.”

Danielle listened eagerly, hoping to hear more, but the conversation took a new turn and Kalpana’s name wasn’t mentioned again. The reference to what Kalpana had done in Laredo led Danielle to believe it might have been him who had killed the Texas Ranger. After losing most of her hundred-dollar stake, Danielle began to go over her options. She wanted to remain in the game so that when the two strangers left, she could follow them. Their reference to Kalpana was the only mention of the man’s name she had heard after many months on the trail. It wasn’t a common name, and she believed it was the outlaw she sought. The two strangers had a run of extremely bad luck, and to cut their losses, they withdrew from the game and started toward the bar. Danielle won another hand just as the pair finished their drinks and were about to leave the saloon. She waited until they were outside on the boardwalk before following them. Eventually, they reached a two-story building, the bottom floor of which was a saloon. A faded sign said ROOMS FOR RENT UPSTAIRS. Danielle watched the pair ascend the outside stairs, waiting for a lamp to be lighted in one of the rooms. Lamplight soon flooded one of the front rooms facing the street. Since the two had returned to their room instead of going on to other saloons, Danielle didn’t expect them to leave again before the next morning. When they did, she would be waiting for them. She returned to the Delaney house, finding Ethel on the front porch.

“Come set with me awhile,” Ethel Delaney invited.

“Maybe later,” said Danielle. “I promised my horse some grain.”

She walked on around the house to the stable, and the chestnut mare nickered as she drew near. She grained Sundown and then drew enough water from the well to half fill the horse trough. She then returned to the front porch and sat down in a cane-bottom rocking chair.

“I thought I heard shooting a while ago,” Ethel said.

“You likely did,” said Danielle. “A couple of drunks. I reckon nobody got hurt.”

“Wouldn’t be nothin’ done about it if somebody had been killed,” Ethel said. “You met Sam Duro?”

“Yes,” said Danielle cautiously.

“He’s a disgrace to the star that he wears,” Ethel said. “Outlaws get run out of other towns, and they come here.”

“I heard that,” Ephiram said, joining them.

“I don’t care,” said Ethel. “It’s the truth. I think they pay Sam Duro to leave them be. I wish a company of rangers would come here and clean up this town.”

“Would do no good,” Ephiram said. “Damn outlaws would just ride into Mexico and hole up there until the rangers were gone. Who are you after, son? Maybe we’ve heard of him.”

He had caught Danielle entirely by surprise, and she was forced to gather her thoughts before she replied.

“Who says I’m looking for anybody?”

Ephiram laughed. “I do. You don’t pack them two guns for show. I figure you got to be a peace officer or a bounty hunter. In either case, this is your kind of town.”

“Ephiram,” said Ethel, “when are you goin’ to learn to mind your own business?”

“No offense intended,” Ephiram said sheepishly.

“None taken,” said Danielle, “but you’re wrong. I’m no lawman and no bounty hunter.”

She had already told Sheriff Sam Duro her purpose for being in town, and could think of no reason why she shouldn’t tell these friendly people the truth. Quickly, she did.

“I can’t do nothin’ about it,” Ephiram said, “but I hear things. This Snakehead Kalpana was here, but he’s spooked after shootin’ that ranger in Laredo. He’s somewhere on the other side of the border, and God only knows how many other outlaws are with him. You don’t aim to ride into Mexico after him, do you?”

“Not unless there’s no other way,” said Danielle. “I overheard two men talking in one of the saloons a while ago, and Kalpana’s name was mentioned. They’re waiting for him, and startin’ tomorrow, I aim to follow them.”

“Watch your back, son,” Ephiram said. “There’s talk around town that the McCandless boy’s gunning for you.”

“Reece McCandless?” Ethel asked. “What on earth for?”

Ephiram laughed. “I forgot to tell you. Our young friend Daniel here was in one of the saloons where Reece McCandless was mistreating a saloon woman. Old Reece got himself buffaloed with the muzzle of a Colt, and he was laughed out of the saloon.”

“I have no patience with women who work in saloons,” said Ethel. “She was likely just getting what she deserved.”

“Sorry,” Danielle said, “but no woman deserves being mistreated by a bully.”

“The McCandless family is a vicious flock of buzzards,” aid Ephiram. “Reese is the only son, and it’s shameful what he gets by with in this town. Long as you’re here, you’d better ride carefully.”

“I aim to,” Danielle said. “I may have a long day tomorrow, so I think I’ll turn in.”

Brownsville, Texas. December 18, 1870.

Danielle was up and about well before breakfast time at the Delaney’s, so she stopped to eat at one of the many cafes. While she was eating, she felt eyes upon her. Looking up quickly, she recognized the face at the window as that of the girl she had rescued from Reece McCandless. Just as quickly, the face was gone. Danielle paid for her breakfast and left the cafe, looking in both directions along the deserted street. She started along the main street’s boardwalk to the old house to which she had followed the outlaws the night before.

“Look out, cowboy,” a voice shouted.

Danielle went down on her left side, rolling off the boardwalk into the dusty street as shots ran out. She drew her right-hand Colt as she fell and, belly-down, began returning fire. But her assailant was firing from cover, the slugs kicking up dust all around her. Lead splintered the hitch rail over her head, while others slammed into the front wall of a store that had not yet opened for the day. It was a shoot-or-be-shot situation, and Danielle’s only hope lay in rooting the bushwhacker out into the open. He had a Henry or a Winchester, for slugs kept coming, screaming closer with each volley. Danielle rolled to her knees and sprang to her feet. She ran, zigzagging her way toward the gunman’s position. From the powder smoke, she found him firing from the window of a vacant building that faced the street. Danielle fired twice, and her lead came close enough to spook the bushwhacker. The firing from the window ceased. Danielle reloaded and holstered her Colt. The girl who had warned her stood fearfully in a doorway.

“I’m obliged to you,” Danielle said. “I don’t suppose you know who that was.”

“Reece McCandless,” said the girl. “He’s been telling everybody who will listen that he intends to kill you.”

“He won’t if I kill him first,” Danielle said. “What’s your name?”

“Mary,” said the girl. “If you kill him, old Simon McCandless will have every gunman in town after you. You’d better ride away while there’s still time.”

“When I’m ready, Danielle said, “and I’m not ready.”

She continued along the boardwalk until she was across the street from the old house to which she had followed the two outlaws the night before. It would be far simpler if Kalpana came to them, she thought. Otherwise, she might have to trail them across the border. Danielle took up a position behind a vacant building. From there she could observe the stairway to the second floor of the house across the street. When the duo finally left, Danielle followed them, only to find they had gone out for breakfast. Finished, they returned to their room and Danielle saw no more of them the rest of the day. Not being in a mood for further conversation with the Delaneys, she returned to the American Saloon, where her trouble with McCandless had begun. It was barely dark outside, but the place seemed unusually crowded. Sheriff Sam Duro was there, and to her surprise, so was Reece McCandless. It was he who was shouting angrily.

“Damn you, I’ll have your badge for this. I’ve been here all afternoon, and I got plenty of witnesses to prove it.”

“Maybe,” said Sheriff Duro, “but somebody slit that girl’s throat, and I can’t think of anybody with more reason than you.”

“Whose throat’s been slit?” Danielle asked.

“Mary,” said a bystander. “You saved her from McCandless last night.”

It was more than Danielle could stand. She approached Reece McCandless, and everybody backed away, including Sheriff Duro. When she spoke, her voice was like ice.

“You’ve been threatening to kill me, and you tried to back-shoot me this morning. All that saved me was Mary’s shouted warning, and you got even with her for that, didn’t you?”

“I don’t have to answer your damn questions,” McCandless said. “You ain’t the law.”

“No,” said Danielle, “and for that reason, I only have to answer to my own conscience. I hear you’ve been threatening to kill me, and I’m going to offer you the chance. But this time you won’t be under cover, trying to shoot me in the back. It’s light enough outside. I’ll meet you in the street.”

“I won’t do it,” McCandless bawled. “I didn’t shoot you this morning, and I ain’t said nothin’ about shootin’ you.”

“The hell you ain’t,” a salty-looking bystander said.

There were shouts of agreement from other men, and not liking the turn the situation was taking, Sheriff Duro yelled for quiet. Then he spoke to Danielle.

“You can’t accuse a man of trying to bushwhack you without evidence, and you have only your suspicions. Get out of here and go about your business.”

“I’m getting out,” Danielle said, “but McCandless has threatened to kill me. Now I aim to offer him the satisfaction of doing just that if he’s man enough to face me.”

It became an intolerable situation for Reece McCandless as men shouted their approval. If a man was called out and refused to go, he was branded for evermore a coward. Those in the saloon began to bull-rag him, while Sheriff Duro tried in vain to stop it. Danielle stepped out on the boardwalk, looking over the saloon’s batwing doors. McCandless was literally shoved toward the door and out onto the boardwalk. Danielle waited on the other side of the street, then issued a challenge.

“When you’re ready, McCandless, make your play.”

“I’m no gunfighter,” McCandless whined. “I won’t do it.”

“You cowardly, back-shootin’ coyote,” said Danielle, “the next time you come after me, you’d better make it good, or I’ll kill you.”

It was a calculated risk, and Danielle took it. For a split second, she turned her back on Reece McCandless, and then she did something none of the onlookers had ever witnessed before. She whirled, drawing her right-hand Colt as she did so, and dropped to one knee. Three times McCandless fired, the slugs zipping over Danielle’s head. She fired once, and the force of it slammed McCandless back against a hitch rail. The rail broke, and McCandless fell to the boardwalk on his back.

“Damn you,” Sheriff Duro shouted, “I ought to lock you up for forcing a gunfight.”

“I don’t think so, Sheriff,” said Danielle. “Would you have jailed McCandless if I’d let him back-shoot me?”

It was a question Sheriff Sam Duro dared not answer. Red-faced, he started up the boardwalk toward his office. But as he rounded a corner and, out of sight of those who had witnessed the gunfight, he headed straight for the town’s bank and the office of old Simon McCandless. Somebody had to tell McCandless that his cowardly son had been gunned down while trying to shoot another man in the back. Sheriff Duro sighed. Hell was about to break loose, with the lid off and all the fires lit, and there was nothing he could do.