Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron (14 page)

“I just can't stand waiting here doing nothing,” said Dave Waddell. He'd turned even more restless after he'd eaten. While Danielle and Stick had rested for an hour and a half, he'd spent much of the time pacing back and forth, raising a small cloud of dust around his feet.

Stick looked through the barrel of his pistol, blew through it, and wiped it with a worn bandanna. “You were given a choice, Waddell, remember?” he said calmly.

“I know, I know,” said Dave. “I'm just nervous by nature, I suppose. I just can't stand the thought of my poor wife being with a rotten piece of work like Cherokee Earl!”

“Thought you didn't know the man,” said Stick, paying Waddell little interest.

“I don't
personally,”
said Waddell. “But I don't have to personally know a skunk to know how bad it smells.”

Stick nodded. “I agreed with that.” He picked up the cylinder to his pistol and rolled it back and forth slowly between his palms, inspecting it.

Dave Waddell stopped and let out a breath, then said, “Look, I know that neither one of you has much use for me. You don't trust me, and I don't know why. But that doesn't really matter. All I'm after is getting my wife back alive.”

“That's what we're interested in also, Mr. Waddell,” said Danielle. “So what's eating you?”

“I think you could tell me more about what's going on,” said Waddell, “instead of leaving me in the dark until the time comes to decide things.” He jerked a thumb back toward the trail they'd been riding. “Like back there a while ago. I had a right to know why you wanted us to pull off out of the sun. Once I knew it, I went along with it, didn't I?”

Stick and Danielle looked him up and down. “Okay,” said Danielle, “what is it you want to know?”

It took Dave Waddell a moment to realize she meant it. Then he said, “All right, for starters, when these men's trail split up before you followed the five horses to my place, how did you know which set of tracks to follow? What made you think Cherokee Earl was still with the five horses you followed to my front yard instead of the two horses that went up into the hills?”

Danielle took the length of grass from her mouth and tossed it away. “It's an old Apache trick they're doing, Mr. Waddell,” she said. “They'll drop off one and two at a time until you're left looking at an empty trail if you're not careful. In this case, there was only seven of them to begin with. The two that split off had to either draw us off the others' trail or ambush us. They pulled up above us. Then they watched our move. Once they saw we weren't going to split off after them ... they began to look for a good spot to hit us from.” She nodded at the jagged hill line along the trail ahead. “My bet is, that's it.”

Dave Waddell swallowed a dry knot in his throat. “And all we can do is ride into it?”

“Any better ideas?” asked Danielle.

“What about one of us riding up, getting around the hills behind them?” Waddell asked.

“No good,” said Stick, fitting his cleaned pistol back together and wiping it with the bandanna. “On flatland like this, they'll see us split up long before we get into their trap. All they'll do is light out, make us chase them. While we chase these two, the rest get farther away.”

“And so does my wife,” Waddell said, sounding helpless.

“Yep, that would be the case,” said Stick.

“So all we can do is get the sun to our backs and ride in there like tin ducks at a shooting gallery?” Dave asked.

“Well, maybe not,” said Danielle. She looked back and forth between the two men, then said, “I've been giving that some thought while I was sitting here. They'd see us if one of us split off now. But once we get inside the narrow trail between the rocks, it'll be a different story.” She considered something, then said, “I'd sure like to take them alive, hear what they've got to say about your wife.”

Dave Waddell didn't answer, realizing that these two were most likely Billy Boy Harper and Frisco Bonham, and that they had already split off from the rest of the gang before Cherokee Earl came to his spread and took Ellen.

“There's no way a horse can climb off the trail up into that hill line,” said Stick, neither he nor Danielle noticing Waddell's silence.

“No, but a person can on foot,” said Danielle. “If I can find a blind spot along the trail, I can slip up out of the saddle with a rifle and get up along the high ridges before anybody knows what hits them.”

Stick shook his head. “No, Danielle, that's too dangerous. Anybody climbs up there it'll have to be me, or Waddell here.”

“Me?” Dave Waddell looked sick all of a sudden.

“No, I'll do it,” said Stick.

“It's my idea. I'm the one who's going to do it,” Danielle insisted.

Dave Waddell looked relieved.

“No, it's a bad idea,” said Stick. “Too risky. Besides, if you climb all the way up and they're not up there, all you've done is worn yourself out for nothing.”

“If that's how it turns out, so be it,” said Danielle. “But I'm going, and that settles it.” She looked back at the sun, gauging it. “It's a half-hour ride to the hill line. By the time we get there, the sun ought to be dropped about right.” She stood up, dusting her trouser seat, and walked away toward the horses.

Waddell and Stick stood looking at one another for a moment. Then Stick said, “Well, you heard her. What are we waiting for?”

Within minutes the three of them had gathered their horses, bridled and saddled them, and readied them for travel. On their way along the flat, dusty trail, Danielle kept a close eye on the level of the sun lowering behind them. “Keep it slow and easy,” she said to the two men. “We've got to time it just right to the foot of the rocks. And remember: if we can, let's take them alive.” They slowed the pace of their horses and rode loosely abreast until the trail tipped slightly up and narrowed into a jagged, rock-lined path barely three horses wide.

“Get ready, Stick, here I go,” Danielle said, easing her mare's reins to him as she rose and posted in her stirrups. As the mare stepped past a crevice snaking upward into clinging mesquite brush and creosote bushes, Danielle slipped her rifle from its boot and moved sleekly from her saddle into the rocky upthrust

“Be careful,” Stick whispered, watching her disappear into the steep hillside as the horse continued without breaking its slow, steady stride. Hearing Stick whisper, Dave Waddell looked around to see what was going on. But in the blink of an eye, it seemed, Danielle's saddle was empty and Stick was staring straight ahead. Looking up along the crevice ledge, Waddell saw a creosote bush tremble as if stirred by a gust of wind. Then Stick said to him in a gruff whisper, “Don't look up! Look ahead!”

“Sorry, I—” Waddell stammered. “I just didn't realize when she would make her move.”

“All the better,” Stick said, his waxen expression giving in a little to a faint smile of pride. “This is one young woman who knows her way around the rough country.” He heeled his horse on, keeping the chestnut mare close beside him.

In the narrow crevice, Danielle climbed until she perched for a moment twenty feet up and looked down along the trail at Stick and Waddell riding forward. Knowing that any moment they could draw fire from the ridge above them, she caught her breath and hurriedly climbed upward, moving as quietly as possible. At the crest of the ridge, thirty feet above the trail, she hurried along across loose rock and buried boulders, looking down as she caught up with Stick and Waddell. Seeing their shadows and the shadows of the horses stretched in front of them on the rocky path, she squinted at the sunlight glaring on their backs.

“That's good, Stick,” Danielle whispered to herself. “Keep it just like that.” Then she slipped along the ridge in a crouch, rifle in hand, scanning back and forth along both high ridges atop the thin trail.

She moved along the ridge, getting ahead of Stick and Waddell on the trail below as the ridgeline sloped upward. At the peak of a higher cliff, she looked just in time to see two riflemen stretched out on a flat rock and looking down their rifle barrels toward the trail. Their appearance came to her so suddenly it caused her to duck down for a second. She leaned against the side of a half-buried boulder and silently eased the lever of her rifle back and forth, chambering a round. Then she leaned slightly and looked down at Stick and Waddell. There was no question the riflemen had seen them. They were only waiting now for the two hapless riders to get beneath them before they opened fire.

Even in an ambush situation, Danielle could not abide shooting the two men without first having them face her. Rising from behind the sunken boulder, she cocked the rifle and called out as she took aim. “Up here, you dry gulches!”

Frisco and Billy Boy Harper knew what was coming as they rolled onto their backs, already taking aim at her. Danielle's first shot nailed Billy Boy in the shoulder and slammed him back down onto the flat rock. He yelped like a kicked dog. His rifle went off as it flew from his hands and out over the edge of the cliff. But Frisco Bonham proved to be quicker than his companion. As Billy Boy rolled back and forth, writhing in pain, Frisco Bonham rolled sidelong over the edge of the cliff onto a dangerously thin ledge. He managed to fire a shot that ricocheted off the boulder in front of Danielle and whined away into the sky. “You're not taking me back alive!” Frisco shouted.

“That thought never crossed my mind,” Danielle called out, ready for her shot when Frisco raised up to take aim at her. On the trail below, Stick and Waddell had both dropped from their saddles as Frisco Bonham's discarded rifle thudded to the trail in front of them. Stick was also ready for Frisco's move. He raised his rifle and took aim.

“It's that damned woman again!” Frisco raged aloud, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. He started to squeeze off a shot, but seeing him level his rifle, both Danielle and Stick fired at once, catching the outlaw in a cross fire from above and below. Dave Waddell squatted behind the cover of a rock, holding the reins to the horses. He winced, seeing the two shots hit Frisco Bonham and twirl the outlaw like a top.

“Ayiiii—!”
Frisco screamed. He spun off the slim ledge and pummeled and bounced and slid and rolled until he spilled onto the path beside the rock where Dave Waddell sat holding the horses. Not knowing if the outlaw was dead or alive and not wanting to take a chance, Stick stepped over and planted a boot firmly on Frisco's back, pinning him to the dirt. Blood flowed from a wound in Frisco's right shoulder and another in his left side.

“Lay still now,” said Stick, “or I'll put the next one in the worst place you can think of.”

“You've ... got ... the wrong : . . man,” Frisco managed to gasp into the dirt.

Stick grinned wryly. “You've said them words so often they've become second nature to you.” He jostled his boot against the wounded outlaw. “Now shut up and lay still till we get your partner.”

Atop the ridgeline, Danielle worked her way down to Billy Boy Harper. He sat squeezing his bleeding shoulder, his wounded foot swollen to twice its size beneath a dirty bandage. “Damned if you ain't gone and shot me again,” he seethed, staring at Danielle with hate-filled eyes. “If I could draw this pistol, I swear I'd blow you to kingdom come!”

“You already would have if you and that snake you ride with could have gotten the drop on us,” said Danielle, stepping down onto the flat rock, lowering her rifle, and drawing her pistol from her holster.

“What?” Billy Boy looked incensed by her suggestion. “Woman, you don't know what you're talking about! We had no idea you was even on this trail. We was just watching, making sure some road agents weren't trailing us. That's the God's honest truth.”

Danielle laid the rifle flat as he spoke, keeping him covered with her Colt. Then she reached over and lifted his pistol from his holster and shoved it down behind her gun belt. “Now listen close, because I'm only going to ask one time. Where is Cherokee Earl headed with Dave Waddell's wife?”

Billy looked genuinely bewildered. “Hunh? His
wife?”

“You heard me,” said Danielle. “Earl has Waddell's wife. Where would he be headed with her?”

“Dang ... !” Billy Boy turned loose of his wounded shoulder long enough to scratch his head with his bloody hand. “I knowed Cherokee had a powerful hankering for that little redheaded woman, but I never thought he'd go so far as to snatch her up.” He spread a bemused half-smile. “I was wondering what ole Dave was doing fanning our trail that way.”

“Keep your voice down,” said Danielle. “I don't want Waddell hearing you.” She craned her neck enough to look down over the edge to where Stick stood with his boot on Frisco's back thirty feet below. Stick stared up toward her, his pistol cocked at arm's length and pointed down at the wounded outlaw.

“Now what's the story?” she asked. “How do two birds like Waddell and Cherokee Earl come to light on the same limb?”

“What kind of break do I get if I tell you?” Billy Boy cocked his head to one side, looking smug.

Danielle swung her pistol barrel across his forehead, not hard, but hard enough to raise a welt. “You better worry about the
break
you'll get if you don't tell me,” she said, drawing the pistol back for another swipe.

“All right! Take it easy!” Billy Boy pleaded. “I'll tell you whatever I can.” He ducked his head slightly. “I never seen a woman so prone to acts of violence!”

“And we've only just started.” Danielle gave him a cold stare.