Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Chapter 2

Danielle saddled the chestnut mare and rode east to Kansas City. She regretted losing out on Levi Jasper, but she had alerted the sheriff to her presence. Undoubtedly, Jasper had asked for her at the hotel, leaving her wide open to suspicion had anything happened to him. At least she had the names of the rest of the gang that had murdered her father. Levi Jasper would have to wait for another time and place. With her money running low, Danielle made her camp by a stream and picketed the chestnut mare nearby. She had no idea what she would use for money. Worse, if she was lucky enough to find work, the trail she followed would grow colder by the day.

Suddenly, the chestnut mare snorted. Danielle rolled to her left, her Colt in her hand, as the intruder’s weapon roared twice. He had anticipated her move, and both slugs struck the ground just inches from her. There was no moon, but the starlight and muzzle flash was enough. Danielle fired twice. There was a groan and the sound of Jasper’s body striking the ground. What had she said or done that had warned Levi Jasper? After having thought about it, the outlaw had apparently become suspicious, and whatever he had perceived as a mistake on his part, he had tried to undo. But Danielle still had the names—real or fictitious—of the remaining eight outlaws. She wouldn’t need to spend anything more on advertising.

“Since you won’t be needin’ it, Jasper, I’ll just see how much money you have in your pockets.”

There was a considerable roll of bills, and Danielle took it without remorse. Saddling the chestnut mare, she continued east toward Kansas City. She must lose her trail among many others before Levi Jasper’s body was discovered. Two hours later, she reached a little river town whose name she didn’t know. But it had a hotel of sorts, a livery, a cafe, and some other buildings, including a general store. One sleepy old hostler was dozing in a chair before the livery. He sat up and looked around when he heard the chestnut mare coming.

“Stay where you are, old-timer,” said Danielle. “I’ll unsaddle, put her in a stall, and fork down some hay.”

“I’m obliged,” the hostler said.

With the mare safely in the livery, Danielle took a room at the one-story hotel. By the light of a lamp, feeling a little guilty, Danielle separated the roll of bills on the bed and was astounded to find there was more than six hundred dollars! Undoubtedly it was stolen, but from who, when, and where? Her conscience bothered her some, but there was no way to return the money, and besides, Danielle needed it desperately.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways” her mother was fond of saying, and Danielle said a silent prayer of thanks. Slowly, she began changing her mind about riding to Kansas City. She would be very close to St. Joe and home, and getting under way again would be hell without Jed and Tim finding her and following. With that in mind, she changed directions, riding to the southeast. Since she had no idea where to go next, why not New Orleans?

Springfield, Missouri. July 28, 1870.

Reaching Springfield, she left the chestnut mare at a livery and rented herself a modest hotel room. She had lived in Missouri all her life, but had never been south. A huge lump rose in her throat when she recalled what her father had once said.

“Someday, Danielle, when we’ve got money, we’ll all board one of the big steamers and ride all the way to New Orleans.”

But Daniel Strange’s good intentions died with him, and there would be no steamboat ride to New Orleans. Instead, Danielle was riding obscure trails, seeking his cold-blooded killers. Eight of them remained at large, and she had no idea how long her quest would take. Jed and Tim might be grown and her mother dead by the time vengeance was hers, which was a chilling thought.

After supper, there seemed little to do except go to bed or make the rounds of the various saloons. Danielle chose the saloons, and since she didn’t drink, she invested a few dollars in games of chance. A one-dollar bet on a roulette wheel won her ten dollars, more than she had lost all night. There were poker games in progress, and never having played before, Danielle left them alone. She could watch, however, listening to the conversation of the players. One of them mentioned a name that immediately caught her attention.

“Too bad about that killing in Indian Territory a while back. But they got just one of the men. Pete Rizner rode like hell and escaped. The law ain’t done nothin’, and Pete’s mad as hell. He’s swearin’ one of the bunch of renegades was Rufe Gaddis, from right here in Missouri.”

“Pardner,” said Danielle, “my pa was killed by outlaws in Indian Territory not too long ago, and I’m wondering if the outfit you’re talking abut might not be the same lot. I’d like to talk to Pete Rizner. Where can I find him?”

“Likely at the Busted Flush saloon,” one of the men said. “His brother owns it. Good luck, kid.”

The Busted Flush wasn’t doing a thriving business, and all the occupants watched as Danielle entered. She went immediately to the barkeep.

“Where can I find Pete Rizner?” she asked.

“Who wants to know, and why?” asked the barkeep.

“I’m Daniel Strange, and I’m after the bastards that killed my pa in Indian Territory a few months ago. I’d like to know if they’re still there, or if they’ve scattered.”

A man slid his chair back and stood up, and when Danielle looked at him, he spoke.

“I’m Rizner, kid. Take a seat, and I’ll tell you all I know.”

Danielle drew back a chair and sat down at the table.

“Drink?” Rizner asked.

“No, thanks,” said Danielle.

“It was gettin’ on toward dark,” Rizner said. “We seen these riders coming, and they all had their Winchesters out. There was eight of ’em, and I yelled for my pard to mount up and ride. I jumped on my horse and lit out, but my partner grabbed his Winchester and tried to stand ’em off. They rode him down, and he didn’t get a one of ’em. I’d swear on a Bible the lead rider was Rufe Gaddis. You know him?”

“No,” Danielle said, “I’m after the bunch that robbed and murdered my Pa. It looks as though it could be the same outfit. Where were you attacked?”

“Maybe a hundred miles north of Dallas, not too far north of the Red,” said Rizner. “Ride careful, kid, and good luck.”

Danielle didn’t bother with any more saloons. From the information she had received, it seemed almost a certainty that the outlaws she was seeking had never left Indian Territory, or had soon returned. Danielle prepared to ride out at first light. Unless there had been rain in the Territory recently, there still might be tracks.

Indian Territory. August 1, 1870.³

Weary after more than three hundred miles, Danielle was looking for a stream by which she might spend the night when she came upon a grisly scene that made her blood run cold. There was a scattering of human bones, and a skull that still had its hair. There were the ripped, shredded remains of a man’s clothing. The leg bones from the knees down were still shrouded in run-over, knee-length boots. There were tracks in abundance, and they all led south. Sundown, the chestnut mare, snorted, not liking this place of death. It was too late to follow the trail with darkness, but a few minutes away and far to the west, golden fingers of lightning galloped across the horizon. Danielle mounted and rode south, following the trail as long as she could see. There would be rain before dawn, and the trail would be washed out. Danielle made her camp on the north bank of Red River, wondering why the outlaws had suddenly returned to Texas after the killing.

She covered herself with her slicker for some protection against the expected rain, which started about midnight. There was no dry wood for a fire, which was just as well, for the smoke would have announced her presence. Breakfast was a handful of jerked beef, and through a drizzling rain, she crossed the Red River into Texas. She had ridden three or four miles when a voice suddenly spoke from a nearby thicket.

“You’re covered. Rein up and identify yourself.”

Danielle reined up, carefully keeping her hands on her saddle horn.

A young man stepped out with a Winchester, and he looked no older than Danielle.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m Daniel Strange,” said Danielle, “and I’m no outlaw or killer. Last April my pa was robbed and killed in Indian Territory, and I’m after the bastards who did it. I found what I thought was their trail late yesterday, but the rain last night washed it out. They all rode south, and having no trail to follow, I was just taking my chances.”

“I’m Tuck Carlyle,” the young man said, leaning the Winchester against a shrub. “This is our spread, for what it’s worth. I live here with my sister, Carrie, and Audrey, my ma. Pa went off to war and never come back. The damn outlaws from Indian Territory have been rustlin’ us blind. They hit us again night before last and already had the jump on me before I found out what they’d done.”

“If it’s the same bunch I’m after,” said Danielle, “there’s eight of them. That’s a hell of an outfit for just you to be trailing them.”

Tuck laughed. “Then there’s at least one more gent that’s as big a fool as I am, and that’s you. You’re trailing them, too.”

“There wasn’t anyone else,” Danielle said. “My two brothers are barely fourteen.”

“You don’t look much older than that yourself,” said Tuck.

“I’m just barely eighteen,” Danielle said, “but I can ride, rope, and shoot.”

“I believe you,” said Tuck. “Have you caught up to any of the killers yet?”

“Two of them,” Danielle said, “and I know the names of the others. Or at least the names they’re using.”

Tuck Carlyle whistled long and low. Westerners did not ask or answer foolish questions, and this young rider being alive was proof enough that two outlaws were dead.

“Trailing the varmints after last night’s rain is a waste of time,” Tuck said. “Why don’t you ride on back to the house with me? You can meet Ma and my sister, Carrie, and have some breakfast.”

“You talked me into it,” said Danielle. “All I’ve had is a little jerked beef.”

“Let’s ride then,” Tuck said. “God, could I use a cup of hot coffee, but we haven’t had any since before the war.”

“The war’s been over for five years,” said Danielle.

“No money,” Tuck said gloomily. “Texans don’t have a damn thing to sell except cows, and us little ranchers can’t get ’em to market. We’d have to drive to Abilene, right across Indian Territory. Them damn outlaws would love having them delivered, instead of having to come and get ’em.”

“Are other small ranchers having the same problem getting their cows to market?”

“All I know of,” said Tuck. “Nobody has money for an outfit, and they can’t afford the riders they’d need for a gather.”

“If maybe half a dozen small ranchers went in together,” Danielle said, “you might have enough riders to gather everybody’s cows, one ranch at a time. With the gather done, you could take a rider or two from every ranch and drive the herd to Abilene.”

“By God, that might work,” said Tuck. “I can think of four others that’s as desperate as we are.”

“How big is your spread?” Danielle asked.

“A full section,” said Tuck. “It’s 640 acres.”

“Hell’s bells,” Danielle said, “if that’s a small ranch, how large is a big one?”

Tuck laughed. “When I call us a small outfit, I mean we don’t have that much stock.”

“You could sell some of the land if you had to,” said Danielle.

“We may have it taken from us,” Tuck said, “but we’ll never sell. This section of land has been in our family for four generations. It has an everlasting spring, with the best water for fifty miles around. The only potential buyer is Upton Wilks. He owns sections to the east and west of ours, and he’s sittin’ back like a damned old buzzard, just waitin’ for us to default on our taxes.”

“If it’s not improper for me to ask,” Danielle said, “how are you paying your taxes?”

“My aunt in St. Louis—Ma’s sister—married well,” said Tuck. “She’s kept our taxes paid, God bless her, so we wouldn’t lose the place. Now this damned Upton Wilks is tired of waiting. He’s trying to force my sister, Carrie, to marry him, and that would just about amount to giving him our spread.”

“How does Carrie feel about him?”

“She hates his guts,” Tuck said. “He’s old enough to be her daddy, drinks like a fish, and goes to a whorehouse in Dallas every Saturday night. That’s his good points.”

Danielle laughed, in spite of herself.

“I’d give the place up before I’d have her marry that sorry old bastard,” said Tuck.

“I don’t blame you,” Danielle said. “A girl shouldn’t have to make a sacrifice like that. There must be some other way. Since we’re both after the same gang, maybe I’ll stick around for a few days, if I won’t be in the way.”

“You won’t be,” said Tuck. “We don’t have a bunkhouse, but we have a big log ranch house. There’s plenty of room.”

“I’ll contribute something toward my keep,” Danielle said. “I don’t have a lot of money, but I do have a five-pound sack of coffee beans.”

“Merciful God,” said Tuck, “if you was a girl, I’d marry you for that.”

Danielle laughed, feeling more at ease with him all the time. She was truly amazed that she had adapted so well to the ways of men. They were generally crude, and without even a shred of modesty among their own kind. She no longer blushed at anything said or done in her presence. She had already acquired enough swear words to hold her own with the best of them. Prior to leaving home, she hadn’t been around men except for her father and brothers. She recalled the time when she had been fifteen and her brothers Jed and Tim were thirteen. She had followed them to the creek that July, watched them strip and splash around. But to her horror, the boys discovered her. When they told her mother, Margaret Strange caught the tail of Danielle’s skirt, lifted it waist-high, and spanked her bare bottom. Jed and Tim had never let her forget it. She now felt old and wise in the ways of men, her childhood gone forever.

The Carlyle ranch house, when they reached it, was truly grand, the product of a bygone era. A huge wraparound porch covered the front and each side of the house. Danielle had a sudden attack of homesick ness. Tuck’s mother stood on the porch, watching them ride up, reminding the girl of her own mother.

“I brought some company, Ma,” said Tuck. “This is Daniel Strange. He’s hunting that same bunch of outlaws that’s stealing our cattle.”

“Welcome, Daniel,” Mrs. Carlyle said. “Get down and come in.”

A young girl—obviously Tuck’s sister, Carrie—stepped out on the porch. She looked at Danielle with obvious interest, making Danielle nervous.

“Daniel,” said Tuck, “this is my sister, Carrie. We’re trying to marry her off to somebody so Upton Wilks will leave her alone.”

The implication was obvious, and Carrie hung her head, blushing furiously.

“Tuck,” said Mrs. Carlyle, “don’t tease your sister about that. You and Daniel come on into the house, and I’ll scare up some breakfast. We have bacon, ham, and eggs, but we’ve been out of coffee for years.”

“Flour too,” Carrie added.

“I have some supplies, including flour and coffee,” said Danielle. “It’s risky, building a fire to cook, when you’re tracking outlaws in the Territory.”

“We surely will appreciate the coffee and flour,” said Mrs. Carlyle, “and you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you like, sharing what we have.”

“Lord,” Danielle said, “I haven’t had an egg since I left St. Joe, Missouri.”

“Your home is there?” Mrs. Carlyle asked.

“Yes,” said Danielle. “My mother and two brothers are there.”

“You’re so young, your mother must be worried sick,” Mrs. Carlyle said. “What have those outlaws done to bring you this far from home?”

“They robbed and murdered my pa in Indian Territory,” said Danielle. “Jed and Tim, my twin brothers, are only fourteen.”

“You don’t look much older than that, yourself,” Mrs. Carlyle said.

“I’m a little past seventeen,” said Danielle, “and there was nobody else to track down Pa’s killers.”

“He’s already killed two of them and learned the names of the others,” Tuck said.

Danielle spread out the provisions from her saddlebags on the big kitchen table. Every eye was on the five-pound bag of coffee beans, and Danielle was glad she had bought them.

“Ma,” said Carrie, “I’ll make us some coffee. The rest can wait.”

“It sure can,” Tuck said. “Do we even have a coffeepot anymore?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Carlyle, “but I have no idea where it is.”

“You can search for it later,” Tuck said. “For now, boil it in an open pot, and we’ll add some cold water to settle the grounds.”

“I’ll go ahead and start breakfast,” said Mrs. Carlyle. “Carrie and I have already eaten, but I’d dearly love to have a biscuit.”

“Ma,” Tuck said, “I’ve told Daniel our problems here, and he’s come up with a way we can get our cows to market at Abilene. Tell her what you told me, Daniel.”

“Dear God, yes,” said Mrs. Carlyle.

Quickly, Danielle repeated what she had suggested to Tuck as they had ridden in.

“But we have no money for an outfit,” Carrie said.

“I have some money,” said Danielle. “It would buy enough grub to get you there with your herds.”

“But you’ll need what you have as you search for those killers,” Mrs. Carlyle said. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“I believe it would be more than fair,” Danielle said. “I think that bunch of outlaws in Indian Territory will come after the herd. So you see, I have a selfish reason for wanting you to make that drive to Abilene. I’ll be going with you.”

“God bless you for making the offer,” Mrs. Carlyle said. “Tuck, what do you think?”

“I think we’d better talk to Elmer Dumont, Cyrus Baldwin, Enos Chadman, and Wallace Flagg,” said Tuck. “It’ll take all of us, I think, and since Daniel has offered to stake us with the necessary grub, the first hundred head of cattle we gather should be his.”

“No,” Danielle said. “You’ll need your money. Besides, your herd will be bait enough to attract that bunch of outlaws I’m trailing.”

“No matter,” said Mrs. Carlyle. “You’ve brought us hope, and there will be five of us small ranchers. Any one of us can spare you twenty head. Tuck, when you talk to the others, be sure you tell them Daniel has a stake in this drive.”

“But I feel guilty, taking some of your stock,” Danielle protested.

“Without your help, we couldn’t raise enough money for the drive, and neither could the others,” said Tuck. “I’ll want you to go with me and talk to the others. This sounds like the makings of a miracle, and I’m not sure they’ll take me serious.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Danielle said. “We must have a couple of pack mules, and each rider will need spare horses. We must see how many can be had.”

“Damn the luck,” said Carrie, “we won’t have enough horses, and I don’t know of anybody with mules.”

“We’ll find them,” Danielle replied. “First, let’s see if we can line up those other ranchers for the drive.”

“I’d like to go,” said Carrie, “but there won’t be enough horses.”

“Somebody must have a wagon,” Danielle said. “We could fix it up with seats for some of you, and still have room for our grub.”

“That’s a better idea than pack mules,” said Tuck. “I doubt the others will be willing to leave their families behind.”

“Besides the three of you,” Danielle said, “how many other people will be involved?”

“Elmer Dumont has a wife and a son about my age,” said Tuck. “Cyrus Baldwin has a wife and two sons old enough to work cattle. Enos Chadman has a wife, a daughter, and a son. Wallace Flagg has a wife and two sons.”

“Including me, there’ll be nineteen of us,” Danielle said. “For those who don’t have a horse, the wagon will have to do.”

“Every girl my age can tend cattle,” said Carrie. “The wives can go in the wagon.”

“We’ll suggest that,” Tuck added. “With us so close to Indian Territory, a man would object to leaving his wife and daughters behind. We’ll need plenty of ammunition, too.”

“I thought Texans weren’t allowed to have guns during Reconstruction,” said Danielle.

“Only those who served in the war against the Union,” Tuck said. “I have a Colt and a Henry rifle. I’m sure the others will be armed, but they may lack ammunition.”

“I have three hundred dollars to buy what we’ll need,” said Danielle.

“That should be more than enough,” Tuck said, “but we may have to go to Dallas for the ammunition.”

“Then take a wagon and go to Dallas after everything,” said Mrs. Carlyle. “None of us are that well known in Dallas, while going to a smaller town would be like telling everybody what we intend to do.”

“Everybody will know anyway, Ma,” Tuck explained. “You can’t keep a roundup secret, but we can try. We’ll buy supplies in Dallas, and the way I see it, we have four weeks to get the herd together. It’s already the first week in August. If we can’t get away from here by September first, there’ll be snow before we can reach Abilene.”

“Then let’s pay a visit to those other four ranchers today,” Danielle said. “If each of the five of you can get cattle to market this fall, you’ll have the money for a much bigger drive next spring.”

“Bless you, son,” Mrs. Carlyle beamed. “It will be our salvation.”

“There’s a rider coming,” Carrie announced. “Oh, God, it’s Upton Wilks. Please, Tuck, don’t you or Daniel leave while he’s here.”

“We’ll wait awhile then,” said Tuck. “He would show up now.”

From his very attitude, Danielle decided she didn’t like Upton Wilks. He wore a fancy silk shirt and new boots. As though he owned all of Texas, he reined up, dismounted, and pounded on the door. He had the ruddy face of a drinking man, and most of his hair was gone. Tuck opened the door.

“What do you want, Wilks?” Tuck demanded. “You know you’re not welcome here.”

“Maybe I’ll wait for Miss Carrie to tell me that,” retorted Wilks. “I’m here to call on her.”

Carrie rose to the occasion, responding in a manner that shocked them all, especially Danielle.

“I choose not to see you, Mr. Wilks. This young man, Daniel Strange, is now working for us, and I prefer his company to yours. Now please go.”

Wilks’s eyes narrowed and fixed on Danielle. “What Upton Wilks wants, Upton Wilks gets,” he said.

“Not necessarily,” said Danielle, her cold green eyes boring into his. “Carrie’s told you to leave. Now go, while you still can.”

“I don’t take orders from no snot-nosed kid,” Wilks said. “You want me to go, why don’t you make me?”

With blinding speed, Danielle drew her right-hand Colt. Wilks’s left earlobe vanished with a spurt of blood.

“Damn you,” Wilks bawled. “You shot me!”

He clawed for his Colt and Danielle held her fire until he cleared leather. Then she shot the gun from his hand. Ruined, it clattered to the floor. Wilks’s ear had bled heavily down his face, so that it looked as though his throat had been cut. With a deathly white face, he backed toward the door, his voice shaking with anger. “You’d better go back to where you come from, you young fool. I’ll have you hunted down like a yellow coyote.”

“Mr. Wilks pays others to do what he’s not man enough to do himself,” Carrie said. “Just be sure you watch your back, Daniel.”

Speech failed Wilks. He mounted his horse and, spurring the animal cruelly, galloped away.

“Carrie,” scolded Mrs. Carlyle, “you shouldn’t have antagonized him. Having him think Daniel’s here to see you wasn’t the truth. You might have gotten him killed.”

Tuck laughed. “I don’t think so, Ma. I saw John Wesley Hardin draw once, and he was slow as molasses compared to Daniel.”

“I’m sorry, Daniel,” said Carrie, “but what I said was the truth. Everybody that’s ever been on the outs with Upton Wilks has ended up dead. He hires a lot of men, some of them no better than outlaws.”

“Carrie,” Danielle said, “if you have to stomp a snake, don’t put it off till the varmint bites you. I wouldn’t be surprised to find Wilks behind the rustling.”

“He has enough riders,” said Tuck.

“No matter,” Danielle said. “We’ll go ahead with our plans. If Wilks is on the prod, I’ll take care of him when the time comes. Tuck, you and me had better have some of that hot coffee and go calling on those other ranchers.”

The first of the four ranchers they called on was Elmer Dumont. All of them—including Dumont’s son, Barney, and his, wife Anthea—gathered around the dining table. Danielle and Tuck, speaking by turns, revealed the proposed plan to the Dumont family.

“Count us in,” Elmer Dumont said. “If somethin’ ain’t done, we can’t last the winter.”

“We got maybe seven hundred head left, Pa,” said Barney.

“I think we’d better limit the drive to five hundred head per outfit,” Daniel said. “We’ll be shy on remuda horses. Twenty-five hundred head will be more than enough to see all of you through the winter and provide enough money for another drive in the spring.”

“With Daniel puttin’ up money for grub and ammunition, I aim to see that he gets the first hundred head when we reach Abilene,” Tuck said. “Does anybody disagree with that?”

“My God, no,” said Dumont. “I’d give fifty head, myself.”

“We’ll be back,” Tuck said. “We’re callin’ on Cyrus Baldwin, Enos Chadman, and Wallace Flagg. Then we’ll all meet together and lay some plans.”