Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Chapter 5

Indian Territory. August 24, 1870.

The riders found no more of the outlaws, and sundown wasn’t more than an hour distant. Wallace Flagg spoke.

“We’d better get back to the wagons if we want supper. We can’t afford a fire after dark. We haven’t seen any of that bunch, but that don’t mean they won’t be throwing lead our way.”

“It’s cloudy in the west,” Danielle said, “and there’s the smell of rain. It’ll wash out all the tracks by morning.”

“Probably,” said Flagg, “but it’ll be dark soon. We can’t trail them at night.”

Disappointed as Danielle was, there was no denying the truth of Flagg’s words. When they returned to the wagons, supper was almost ready.

“I think we’d all better stand watch all night,” Enos Chadman said. “It’d be just like the varmints to wait for the rain, and using it for cover, storm the camp.”

“I agree with that,” said Elmer Dumont. “I’d feel safer wide awake, with my old Henry rifle cocked and ready.”

“We have a dozen men,” Cyrus Baldwin said. “That’s a pretty strong defense.”

“Don’t forget the women,” said Teresa, his wife. “There’s not a woman among us who can’t shoot. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m staying awake with my rifle.”

All the women—even Katrina—added their voices to the clamor.

“Then it’s settled,” Wallace said. “Every one of us will be waiting, weapons ready for a possible attack.”

Danielle said nothing, hoping the outlaws would attack. It might be her last chance, for ahead of her might lie long, hopeless trails. Two hours into the night, the rain started. It came down in torrents, but still there was no sign of the outlaws.

Kazman and his remaining eight men were quarrel ing among themselves as to what their next move would be.

“Using the rain for cover, we can fire into their camp,” Kazman argued.

“Yeah,” said Rufe Gaddis. “Givin’ ’em a muzzle flash to shoot at. We already lost four men, without saltin’ down one of them. I don’t aim to become the fifth.”

“Me neither,” Julius Byler said. “I’m gettin’ out of here now, while I got this rain to cover my tracks. Trail herdin’ cattle is hard work, at best. They can have it.”

Quickly, the rest of the outlaws agreed to the proposal.

“Upton Wilks ain’t gonna like this,” Kazman warned. “For fifty and found, he expects a lot of a man.”

“Don’t make a damn to me what Wilks thinks,” said Chancy Burke, “ ’cause I won’t be goin’ back there. Fifty dollars a month, my aching hindquarters. I need ten times that just to live like I want to.”

There were shouts of approval from the other seven outlaws, and they began saddling their horses. They rode west, across Indian Territory, toward the little panhandle town of Mobeetie, Texas. Kazman stood there cursing them, dreading to face Upton Wilks. Finally, he mounted his horse and, riding wide of the cow camp, used the storm as cover to return to the Wilks place. Kazman reached Wilks’s bunkhouse well after midnight. The house was dark, and in the morning he would have to face the wrath of Upton Wilks. He unsaddled his horse in the barn and went to the bunkhouse to get what sleep he could.

“So the bastards walked out on me,” Wilks stormed, “and you let them go?”

“What the hell was I supposed to do?” Kazman demanded. “There was eight of them and one of me, and they’d just seen them shirttail ranchers gun down four of our outfit. I come back to tell you, which was all I could do. While I’m at it, I might as well tell you I ain’t ridin’ back to Indian Territory to round up more killers. This is a hell-for-leather outfit you sent us after. There’s nineteen of ’em, and even the women can shoot. And I got a little more to say to you. What you want calls for gun wages, and you’re just too damn cheap to pay.”

“Are you finished?” Wilks inquired in a dangerously low voice.

“I am, and in more ways than one,” said Kazman. “I’ve had more than enough of you and your dirty work. I’m drifting.”

Kazman started for the door, but some sixth sense warned him. When Kazman turned, Wilks already had his pistol in his hand. Kazman drew and fired twice, and not until he was sure Wilks was dead did he make a move. He then proceeded to rip apart the Wilks house, eventually finding three hundred dollars.

“Thanks, you cheap old bastard,” said Kazman. “This will see me through to somethin’ better.”

Kazman rode out, elated when the storm started again. When Wilks was discovered, the rain would have washed away the tracks of Kazman’s horse. The law might be suspicious of him, but suspicion wasn’t proof. Besides, it was a big land, this frontier, and the law would never find him in Arizona or California.

“I think they’ve given up on us,” said Wallace Flagg. “It’s rained all night without a shot bein’ fired, and they couldn’t ask for better cover than this rain.”

“There’s a muzzle flash, even in the rain,” Elmer Dumont said. “They’d have been some mighty good targets for return fire.”

“It looks like the rain’s set in for the rest of the day,” said Cyrus Baldwin, “and I’m not the kind to set here and wait on outlaws who may or may not still be around. I say we begin gathering the herd and get on with the drive.”

“By God, I’m with Cyrus,” Wallace Flagg said.

The women kept their silence, while the rest of the men agreed to continue the drive as soon as the herd could be rounded up. There was enough dry wood in the possum belly of one of the wagons, so they had breakfast with hot coffee.

“It’s unlikely any of the herd would have run far enough to cross the Red River,” Elmer Dumont said, “so we should find them between here and there. Barney, you stay here, and stay off that wounded leg.”

“Aw, hell,” said Barney, “I ain’t hurt that bad.” But he obeyed his father. The others saddled up, mounted, and rode south.

“Cows have a habit of drifting with a storm,” Wallace Flagg said. “I think we should be riding toward the east.”

Accepting Flagg’s suggestion, they rode southeast, and were soon rewarded by finding their first small bunch of cattle.

“We can pick these up on our way back,” said Enos Chadman. “We should find the rest of ’em a mite farther down, maybe grazing alongside the Red.”

Chadman’s optimism was justified, for the grass was good along the north bank of the Red, and the cattle hadn’t crossed the river. But the small herd had the wind and rain at their backs, and they resisted all efforts to turn them around.

“Damn it,” Wallace Flagg said, “as long as the wind’s blowing that rain out of the west, this bunch of critters ain’t of a mind to go with us.”

“But somehow we got to turn ’em around,” said Tuck Carlyle. “If we don’t, they’ll just drift with the storm, taking them farther and farther away.”

“There’s maybe three hundred in that bunch,” Enos Chadman said. “Let’s get ahead of them and start firing our rifles. We got to make them more afraid of us than they are of the storm.”

When the dozen men began firing their rifles, the cattle bawled in confusion. Finally, they turned and, facing the storm, galloped west.

“She’s clearin’ up back yonder to the west,” said Cyrus Baldwin. “Give it another hour or so, and the rain will be done.”

Baldwin’s prediction proved accurate, and before noon the wind had died to a whisper and the rain had ceased entirely.

“No way we’ll round up the rest of ’em today,” Tuck said.

“We couldn’t move out tomorrow, even if we had ’em all rounded up,” said Wallace Flagg. “After all this rain, our supply wagon would soon be hub-deep in mud. While we gather the herd, the sun may dry the ground enough for us to start the day after tomorrow.”

The riders continued their gather until almost sundown.

“Let’s run a tally,” Tuck Carlyle suggested. “I’d like to know how many more we got to find.”

“Go to it,” said Flagg. “Elmer, you and Cyrus run tallies too, and we’ll take whatever is the low count.”

Tuck had the low count of seven hundred head. “Not bad, considerin’ the storm,” Enos Chadman said. “That’s almost a third of ’em. I expect we’ll get the rest tomorrow.”

It was too late to ride after another bunch of cows, and supper would soon be ready. The riders unsaddled their horses, rubbed them down, and turned them loose to graze. The sun had been shining since noon, and much of the standing water had begun to dry up. As the riders settled down to supper, Katrina made it a point to sit next to Tuck Carlyle. For all the good it did her, she might as well not have existed.

“Tuck,” Katrina said softly, “I’m sorry for the . . . things I said.”

“Don’t be,” said Tuck. “I say what I think, and you have the same right.”

The conversation immediately stopped, for Katrina feared she would drive him even further away if she said anything more. Because of Barney Dumont’s wound, he soon had a fever, and Danielle was moved to the first watch. As they circled the gathered herd, it was only a matter of time before Danielle found Katrina riding beside her.

“Tuck’s angry with me,” said Katrina. “Has he said anything . . . about me?”

“Not to me,” Danielle said. “I think he’s the kind to settle his own problems. Maybe you should talk to him.”

“He won’t talk to me,” said Katrina miserably. “I was scared silly when the shooting started, and everybody was watching me. I’m a disgrace.”

“It’s a good time to be scared, when the lead starts flying,” Danielle said. “Besides, you’re just a girl, and it’s not your place to be gunning down rustlers.”

“That’s the trouble,” said Katrina. “Everybody sees me as a foolish girl who can’t do much of anything, and I’ve proven them right. In case you haven’t heard what the other men are saying, I wear cast-iron underpants.”

Danielle laughed. “Do you?”

“Hell, no,” Katrina said. “There’s nothing under my Levi’s but my own hide. They call me names because I won’t go into the hayloft with any two-legged critter that asks me.”

“It’s a woman’s right to refuse,” said Danielle.

“You sure don’t talk like the rest of the men around here,” Katrina said. “I thought Tuck was different, but I’m changing my mind. I like you better than I do him. You’re good with a gun, but there’s a gentle side to you. Something only a woman would notice.”

Danielle’s heart beat fast, for she was treading on dangerous ground. All she needed was for poor confused Katrina to develop a romantic interest in her, if only to make Tuck jealous.

Weighing her words carefully, Danielle spoke. “Why don’t you just leave Tuck Carlyle alone for a while? He’s still young, and so are you. Besides Tuck’s sister, Carrie, you’re the only unattached female on this drive. Leave Tuck be, and it’ll worry the hell out of him.”

Katrina laughed. “Thanks. I’ll do that, and if you don’t mind, perhaps I’ll build a fire under him by talking to you.”

“That might work,” said Danielle, “but don’t push him too far.” Katrina walked away grinning.

Danielle felt sick to her stomach. She saw herself as a hypocrite, telling Katrina how to win Tucker Carlyle while she—Danielle—was interested in Tuck herself. But Katrina had an edge. She would be there long after Danielle had ridden away in search of her father’s killers. Danielle bit her lower lip and said some words under her breath that would have shocked her mother beyond recovery. Danielle didn’t know Tuck was nearby, until he spoke to her from the darkness.

“Well, amigo, did you get the key to the cast-iron underpants?”

“Tuck,” Danielle said, “it’s cruel of you to keep repeating that. She needs a friend.”

“And now she has one,” said Tuck. “You.”

“Only if you play the part of a damn fool and drive her away,” Danielle said. “But I’ll be riding on, once we reach Abilene. I can’t afford to have Katrina interested in me, for a number of reasons.”

“We still may run into that bunch of outlaws,” said Tuck, changing the subject.

“I’m doubting it more and more,” Danielle said. “There’s too many of us, and we’re all armed. The bunch I’m lookin’ for is the kind who would kill and rob one man, like they did my pa. If the odds aren’t favoring them, they’ll back off.”

Indian Territory. August 26, 1870.

The next morning the outfit set out downriver, seeking the rest of their herd. Their women would stand watch over the seven hundred cattle they had gathered the day before. When the sun had been up an hour, both riders and horses were sweating. The cattle, when they began finding them, were scattered. Single cows grazed alone.

“We got our work cut out for us,” Enos Chadman said. “It’ll be one damn cow at a time. We’ll be lucky if we find the rest of ’em in two or three days.”

The riders split up, each going after one or two cows. Danielle watched Katrina as she went after the wandering cattle. Danielle felt some envy. While Katrina had been frightened during the gunfire, she was adept at gathering the strays. With doubled lariat, she swatted the behinds of troublesome steers and cows, bending them to her will. She would make some proud rancher a worthy wife, Danielle thought gloomily.

“Time for another tally, before we herd these in with what we got yesterday,” Wallace Flagg said.

Enos Chadman had the low count of six hundred and twenty-five.

“Just barely half of them,” said Cyrus Baldwin. “Two more days, if the rest are all over hell, like those we found today.”

“We’re just almighty lucky they stopped shy of crossin’ the Red,” Enos Chadman said. “Otherwise, and we might have been trailing them all the way to their home range, starting this drive from the very beginning.”

“We might have been deeper into Indian Territory at the time of the stampede,” said Tuck. “I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard it’s hell, tracking stampeded cattle. The deeper you are into the Territory, the more danger.”

“I’ve ridden across it,” Danielle said, “and parts of it are wilderness. A cow—or a man—could hide there forever without being found.”

Their day’s gather was driven back to camp and bedded down with those gathered the day before. Barney Dumont was still feverish, and would have to drink some of the whiskey during the night. Danielle remained on the first watch, and wasn’t in the least surprised when she again found Katrina riding alongside her.

“I’ve been watching how well you handle cattle,” Danielle said. “My pa was a gunsmith, and I’m having to learn this business by watching the rest of you.”

“Thank you,” said Katrina. “You’re better at it than you think. I remember what you said about leaving Tuck alone, and I caught him watching me all day.”

Danielle laughed uneasily. “He thought he had you hooked, and now he’s not quite so sure. Most men don’t like it when things don’t work out the way they’ve planned.”

“You say some curious things, to be a man,” Katrina said. “Most men will fight until hell freezes, even when they know they’re wrong. I have the feeling you’re not like that at all.”

“I try not to be,” said Danielle. “Ma tried to change my pa’s mind about selling his gunsmithing business and going to Texas for a herd of cattle. The more she tried, the more stubborn he became. All his pride and stubbornness got him was a lonely grave here in Indian Territory.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t riding with him,” Katrina said. “If it had been my pa, my brother, Eric, would have been hell-bent on going along.”

Danielle thought fast. “He didn’t want my mother left here alone. Then, after we knew Pa was dead, Ma changed her mind about me going, because she knew I’d be going anyway.”

Katrina laughed. “You just described yourself the same way you have described most other men. Pride ful and stubborn.”

“Damn.” said Danielle, “you’ve discovered my secret. I’m just like all the others.”

“No,” Katrina said. “There’s something strangely different about you.”

Danielle sighed. Was this curious girl seeing through her disguise, looking beyond her lowered voice, her man’s clothing, and fast gun? She made a silent resolution to avoid Katrina as much as she could, hoping—yet dreading—that Tuck Carlyle’s interest in her might be renewed.

Indian Territory. August 28, 1870.

Gathering the remainder of the herd required two more days.

“We started with 2,625 head,” said Wallace Flagg, “and we now have 2,605. I think we’d better end this gather, take our small loss, and head for Abilene. I’d hate to be here looking for those twenty cows when the first snow flies.”

Flagg’s suggestion was met with unanimous approval, and the next morning, the drive again headed north. The hot August sun had sucked up standing puddles of water, there was no mud, and the wagons followed the herd without difficulty. The first and second watches were continued, and there was no further sign of the expected outlaws. Danielle was glad for the sake of the small ranchers, but disappointed with her own position. She had been virtually certain the outlaws would try to take the herd. Now, having seen four of their number quickly shot down, the others had apparently given up. Tuck had barely spoken to her since she had begun talking to Katrina, and Danielle was surprised to find him riding beside her, in drag position.

“What are you doing with the drag?” Danielle asked. “You think these cows will find their way to Abilene without you leading them?”

Tuck laughed. “They’ll have about as much chance with me leading ’em. I’ve never been to Abilene. I just hope we can avoid any more outlaws and stampedes.”

“I just wish I knew whether or not the bunch of outlaws that stampeded the herd is the same outfit that murdered my pa. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that the killers aren’t using their real names. The names I have may mean exactly nothing.”

“Yet, when we reach Abilene, you still aim to go looking for them,” Tuck stated.

“Yes,” said Danielle. “I made a promise, and I’ll live or die by it.”

Tuck’s sister, Carrie, had said virtually nothing to Danielle since the drive had begun, and it came as a surprise when she found Carrie riding along beside her during the first watch.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Carrie said. “What does Katrina Chadman have that I don’t have? Besides the cast-iron underpants, of course.”

“She has feelings for that thick-headed brother of yours,” said Danielle. “She needs somebody to tell her there’s nothing wrong with her. She needs a friend, and I haven’t seen any of the rest of you being overly friendly.”

“I’ve never been her friend, because she seemed snooty and stuck up,” Carrie said. “I can’t see that she has anything I don’t have, but she acts like she does.”

“It’s a defense against the way she’s been treated,” said Danielle. “How would you feel if men started spreading the word that you have cast-iron underpants?”

“I think I’d be flattered,” Carrie said. “Nobody notices me except Barney Dumont, and he’s about as romantic as a corral post.”

Danielle laughed. “Do you want me to spread the word that you have cast-iron underpants too?”

Carrie sighed. “I suppose not. Perhaps someday a man will see me for what I am. Whatever that may be. Do you still plan to leave us when we reach Abilene?”

“I must,” said Danielle, “unless somewhere between here and there, I run into those outlaws who murdered my pa.”

“I’ll hate to see you go,” Carrie said. “You’re too nice to be shot in the back by some devil of an outlaw.”

“I’ve learned to watch my back,” said Danielle, “but I appreciate the kind words.”

Abilene, Kansas. September 15, 1870.

The outfit reached Abilene without further stampede, Indian attacks, or outlaw trouble. There were two cattle buyers who hadn’t left town, and Wallace Flagg called on both of them.

“I got us a deal,” Flagg said. “We’re definitely the last herd of the season, and all our beef is prime. We’re getting thirty-five dollars a head.”

Flagg collected the money, and the first thing he did was count out $3,500 of it to Danielle. He then divided what was left by five, and the five ranchers each had a little more than $18,000.

“Dear God,” said Wallace Flagg’s wife, weeping, “I never expected to see so much in my whole life.”

“We have Dan Strange to thank for suggesting this drive,” Tuck Carlyle said. “All of us, on our own, were sittin’ there starving, waiting for the rustlers to drive off the cattle we had left. Now we’ll have enough to make a bigger drive next year.”

Amid shouting and cheering, Danielle felt a little guilty. She had taken $3,500 of their money, after investing only $300. But she was grateful, and told them so.

“I don’t feel like I’ve earned this money,” Danielle said, “but God bless every one of you for it. Now I won’t have to always sleep on the ground, living on jerked beef.”

The time had come for Danielle to say good-bye, and she found it far more difficult than she had expected. Carrie and Katrina further dampened her enthusiasm by weeping, while all she got from Tuck was a handshake. Mounting the chestnut mare, she rode west, having no destination in mind. Far beyond the Kansas plains lay Colorado. She had heard Denver was a thriving town, and being so far west, it might be the very place that would appeal to outlaws ready to hole up for the winter. She would go there, but her progress was interrupted by a blizzard that had blown in from the high plains. She fought snow and howling wind for the last few miles, before reaching the little town of Hays.

Hays, Kansas. September 20, 1870.

With the Union Pacific railroad coming through Hays, there were many cafes, hotels, and boardinghouses. After leaving her horse at a nearby livery, Danielle took a room on the first floor of one of the hotels. There was already a foot of snow on the ground, and a man from the restaurant was shoveling a path to the hotel. Danielle decided to go ahead and eat before the storm became more intense. In the cafe sat a man she had seen in the hotel lobby. He wore at least a three-day beard and a pair of tied-down Colts, and he eyed Danielle as he had in the hotel lobby. He left the cafe before Danielle finished her meal. When she left, darkness had fallen, and the swirling snow blinded her. There was a sudden muzzle flash in the whiteout, and quickly returning the fire, Danielle dropped to her knees, unhurt. She heard the unmistakable sound of a body thudding to the ground. She waited to see if anyone had been drawn by the shooting, although she was unable to see the front of the cafe or the hotel. Minutes passed and nobody appeared. She approached the inert form and saw that it was the man from the cafe, his intense eyes now rolled back. Searching the dead man quickly, Danielle found only a worn wallet. She placed it in the pocket of her Levi’s and hurried on to the hotel. She found a fire had already been started in the stove in her room, and that it was comfortably warm. Locking the door, she lighted a lamp and sat down on the bed to find out whom she had killed. The dead man’s wallet contained no identification. There was a hundred dollars, however, and she took it. From the man’s behavior, she was virtually certain he was on the dodge, but why had he come after her? She was leaving yet another dead man along her back-trail, without the slightest idea why he had tried to kill her. She added more chunks of wood to the already glowing stove and prepared for bed. She thought of the many nights she had slept in her clothes and, despite the risk, stripped them all off. She had worn the binder around her chest so tight, her ribs were sore, and she sighed in blessed relief when she was without the bothersome binder. When she lay down for the night, the howling wind whipped snow against the window, and she was doubly thankful for a soft bed and a warm room.

When Danielle awakened next morning, the fire in the stove had apparently gone out, for the room was cold. She lay there dreading to get up. Finally wrapping a blanket about herself, she got up and looked out the window. There was an unbroken expanse of snow, and it was still falling. Some buildings had drifts all the way up to the windowsills. The room was colder than Danielle had imagined, and hurrying back to the bed, she lay there shivering. Unanswered questions still galloped through her mind. Who was the gunman she had been forced to shoot, and why had he tried to kill her? An obvious answer was that he was probably an outlaw who feared being followed by a lawman. But Danielle had said or done nothing to lead the stranger to suspect she represented the law. It would be to her advantage to leave town before the melting snow revealed the dead man, but she dared not attempt it with snow up to a horse’s belly. She considered the possible ways the law might connect her to the killing, and decided there was only one. While she had been in the cafe, the man had scarcely taken his eyes off her. There had been others in the cafe, including several cooks. Had any of them noticed the dead man’s interest in the stranger with a tied-down Colt?

Resuming her identity as a man, Danielle donned the sheep-skin-lined coat and gloves she had bought in Abilene. She then left the hotel for the cafe. She was dismayed when she discovered the only other person in the cafe wore a lawman’s star. One of the cooks spoke to the sheriff, and he stood up, coming toward Danielle’s table.

“I’m Sheriff Edelman,” said the lawman. “Yester day, there was a killer in town name of Gib Hunter, wanted in Texas, Missouri, and Kansas. When he left the cafe, he never went back to his hotel room. His horse is still at the livery. Do you know anything about him?”

“Only what you’ve just told me,” Danielle said. “I’m Dan Strange, from St. Joe, and I got caught in this blizzard on my way west. Why would you expect me to know anything about this Gib Hunter?”

“I’ve been told Hunter had his eyes on you last night, after you came in for supper,” said the lawman. “Since I have no other clues, I thought there might be a connection.”

“I saw him watching me,” Danielle said, “and I can’t imagine why, unless he mistook me for somebody else. He left the cafe ahead of me, and I went straight to the hotel.”

“Snowin’ like it was, a man with killing on his mind could stage one hell of an ambush, couldn’t he?”