Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron (4 page)

“Well, not exactly,” said Billy. “The woman with him did this to me. She shot me. Then Ronald drew on her, and the old man shot him dead.”

Earl stopped him with a raised hand. “Maybe I'm hearing this wrong,” Earl said. “An old man and a
woman
did this to you and Ronald?”

As Billy Boy nodded his bowed head in shame, Earl turned a cold gaze to Frisco Bonham. “What about you, Frisco? Any holes in your foot? Any wounds you want to show us?”

Frisco's jaw twitched nervously. “Uh, Boss, you had to be there to understand how this all come about. She—the woman that is—shot poor Billy Boy. Then Ronald went crazy all at once, didn't give me a chance to back his play or nothing else! Once he was dead, there was two guns pointed at me.... Damn it, I was in a tight spot, had nobody siding with me.”

“Yeah, I can see how that could unnerve a man all right,” said Earl, “caught between a woman and an old drunken bar swamper.”

“Boss, he didn't handle that Colt like a bar swamper.” Frisco tried to come up with something to help himself. “Fact is, I believe he might have been some kind of gunslinger. You know, one of them hardcore killers from the old days, back before our time?”

“Shut your mouth right now, Frisco,” Earl hissed, “and you might keep me from killing you.” He turned his gaze to Billy Boy Harper. “You and Ronald was good friends, Billy Boy. Is there any truth at all to what Frisco's telling me?”

“Yep, it's the truth, Earl,” said Billy Boy, “bad as I hate admitting it. A woman in a gingham dress and old man who was sweeping out the saloon did all this.”

“A woman in a gingham dress,” Earl growled to himself. “And that's all I get to go on for who killed my poor brother?”

“I heard her say her name is Strange,” Billy Boy offered meekly.

“Strange how?” asked Earl. “Strange-sounding? Strange for a woman? What ?”

“No, Boss,” said Frisco. “He means that is her name. S-t-r-a—”

“I can spell! Damn it!” Earl shouted. He swung his hard gaze toward Dave Waddell.

“Danielle Strange is who they're talking about, Earl,” said Waddell. “I know her, or I should say I
know of
her. She keeps a one-hand spread over somewhere past the mesa.” He nodded off toward a distant upthrust of dark rocky land. Behind it stood a long stretch of hills. “But you'd play hell finding it unless you knew where to start looking.”

“She's got perfect ambush country protecting her,” said Cherokee Earl. “Reckon she was smart enough to know that when she picked the place?”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Dave replied.

“Figures,” Cherokee Earl grumbled. He seemed to dismiss the idea of searching the hills. “Do any of the townsfolk know the way to her place?”

“I'm sure they would,” said Dave Waddell. “She deals horses. There's plenty of folks from town probably been out there.”

“Then they'll tell me how to get there,” said Earl with a slight shrug. “Now, who's this old man they're talking about?”

“Beats me,” said Waddell. “Probably just some drifter passing through, swamping the bar for a meal and a cot in the back.”

“These don't sound like hardened gunslingers to me,” Earl said, narrowing his gaze back coldly in Frisco Bonham's eyes.

“Well ... the fact is, this Danielle Strange is known to be pretty good with a gun,” said Waddell.

“Yeah, I bet she is,” said Earl skeptically.

Dave Waddell shrugged. “I'm just telling you what I've heard, Earl. I ain't saying it's true.”

“She never hesitated a second before putting a bullet through Billy Boy's foot,” said Frisco Bonham. “I reckon that's what took us all by surprise. You don't expect a woman to just up and start shooting hell out of you.”

“Is she one of those women goes around wishing she was born a man?” Earl asked Dave Waddell.

“Far as I know she's not,” Waddell responded, shaking his head.

Earl looked down at his dead brother. “Jesus, what a mess,” he whispered in regret.

Jorge cut in. “Wants us to go kill them pretty good right now, Boss?”

“Yeah, Jorge,” said Earl. “Get on your horse and go kill them both
pretty good.
‘They'll be standing right there in the street where these two idiots left them, just waiting for somebody to come riding in to kill them.”

“Sí, then I go kill them right now!” Jorge sounded excited.

But when he turned, Sherman Fentress grabbed his arm and whispered close to his ear, “Jorge, he don't mean it. Just stand still here and keep your mouth shut. Give him a minute or two to let things settle.”

Hearing Fentress, Earl swung around toward him, saying, “Settle? There ain't a damn thing going to settle! Not until my brother's killers are both laying dead in the dirt!”

“I know, Boss! I agree with you!” Sherman raised his hands chest high as if Earl might attack him. “I'm ready to ride into hell with you if that's what it takes. We all are! Right, boys?” He stepped away from Earl and looked to the others for support.

Earl turned to Dave Waddell. “You're going to ride into town with us ... point out the best person to take us to this woman's spread.”

“Me?” Waddell looked stunned. “Earl, I can't ride into town with you and these men.”

“The hell you can't,” Earl barked. “You're going with me! Don't think you get a free ride around here, Dave! Everybody does their part!”

Waddell stared wide-eyed and speechless. They'd just gone over all this. He wasn't supposed to have to ride with this gang of rustlers. Where did Earl suddenly get that idea? “Earl, I can't go. My wife's expecting me back at the house for supper!”

“Not tonight, Dave. If you're going to be part of this bunch, you might just as well get started.”

“This makes no sense, Earl,” Waddell coaxed, “me riding into town with you. How are you going to lay low here after letting everybody see that we ride together? That'll ruin any chance of you using this place for a hideout.”

“He's right, Boss,” Dirty Joe Turley offered in a quiet tone.

Earl simmered down and took a deep breath, giving some thought to Waddell's words. “All right, Dave, you get on back to your house. Enjoy your supper,” he added with a sneer. “Me and the boys will go take care of this matter and ride by your place afterward.”

“Why?” Dave Waddell asked. “There's no reason for you to come by where I—”

“Just to let you know how we did,” said Earl, cutting him off. “Don't worry. We won't be staying for tea.” He slid a knowing glance across the faces of the gathered men and added, “Or nothing else we ain't welcome to.”

Waddell felt his face tighten with embarrassment. “I was only trying to keep your being here as quiet as I can. What good's a hideout if everybody knows you're there? That's all I'm getting at.” He shrugged.

“Well, thanks for looking out for us, Davey,” Earl said, a sarcastic grin coming to his face. “I believe we'll be all right.”

The men let out a nervous laugh, then cut it short as Earl looked at each of them in turn. “Get some shovels and get Ronald in the ground good and deep. I better not come by here in a day or two and find him strung all over the ground with some varmint chewing on his innards.”

“Sí,
Boss, we take good care of him right now,” said Jorge.

“Then get to it,” said Earl. “Soon as Ronald's planted properlike, be ready to ride into Haley Springs. We'll snatch us up a trail guide, then head out to those hills. We've got killing to do!”

By the time Danielle and Stick had finished eating, the sun had moved over to the western sky, beginning its fiery descent toward the flat horizon. Owing to his powerful hunger, Stick had spoken very little throughout the meal. Now he finished his cup of coffee and stifled a belch. “Ma'am,” he said, “I can't remember the last sit-down meal I et ... but I swear it seems like forever.”

Danielle looked down at the small portion of leftover biscuits, beans, and beef. “You're welcome to finish them up, Stick,” she offered.

“Much obliged, but thank you, ma'am,” Stick replied. “I'm full enough to falter as it is.”

“Yet you didn't eat that much,” Danielle commented.

“I always thought it an odd thing,” said Stick, “that the more hungry a man goes over a period of time, the less he can eat when he sits down to big meal.”

Danielle nodded her understanding. “I've got a mason jar of apricots if you'd like a helping.”

“No, please,” said Stick, raising a hand. “Don't tempt me. I got some wood to split 'twixt now and sundown.”

“Not here you don't,” said Danielle, reaching out, picking up the coffeepot, and refilling Stick's tin cup. “I've got plenty of firewood for the cookstove, enough to last the next month.”

Stick looked at her firmly. “Then I've got fence to mend or stalls to clean or something, ma‘am. Where I come from no man eats 'less he earns his keep some way or another. I can't stay around someplace without plenty to do. It wouldn't be right.”

Danielle smiled. “Ordinarily I'd agree with you, but by siding with me in town, let's consider this meal as earned in advance.”

“Just this once.” Stick smiled brokenly and raised a finger for emphasis. “And just because you're twisting my arm. I'll not allow myself to be kept and pampered in my old age.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” said Danielle. “Believe me, I'll find plenty for you to do.” She stood up and collected the empty tin plates and set them aside as she continued to speak. “Now, I know you're too polite to ask me again where I come from, so I'll go ahead and tell you.”

“Much obliged, ma'am. I hoped you would,” said Stick.

Danielle stepped back from the table into the middle of the small room with both hands on her hips. “Do you recall a couple years back, you were riding with Tuck Carlyle and some others, pushing a small herd of cattle across Indian Territory?”

“Well, yeah, was as best I recollect,” said Stick. “Fact is, I've left lots of hoofprints back and forth across the Territory.”

“But on this drive, a friend of Tuck's showed up and took the evening meal with you. Remember that?”

“Why, sure I do,” said Stick. “That was Danny Duggin who showed up. Danny was as fine a young man as I ever met.... Had a little trouble with the law if I remember correct, not that I fault him for that It happens to the best of us when we're young and full of vinegar.” Stick stopped and contemplated for a second. “There was a real troublemaker with Danny though, a fella called Dunc.”

“Yep, that was Duncan Grago,” said Danielle.

“Yes, so it was,” said Stick, eyeing her with curiosity. “Dunc picked a gunfight with one of our drovers and shot him dead.” Stick took another second as if to go over the picture of the gunfight in his mind. Then he asked, “But what's all that to do with where you know me from?”

“I'm getting to it.” Danielle nodded. “First, answer this one question for me. Tuck Carlyle had fallen in love with a young woman named Ilene Brennet.” Danielle stepped closer, deeply interested in what his answer would be. “Did he ever go back to the Flagg Ranch and marry her?”

“Yep, he sure enough did,” said Stick.

With Stick's answer, Danielle felt her heart sink. For one hopeful moment she had imagined there might still be a chance for her and Tuck Carlyle. Meeting Stick in town had brought it on. But now she knew better. “Oh, I see,” she said, trying to keep her voice from sounding like her breath had just been stolen from her.

“Now then,” said Stick, his curiosity having gotten the better of him, “are you gong to tell me or not?”

“They say a picture is worth a thousand words.” Danielle's voice softened, the eagerness in it not as sharp as a moment before. She stepped back toward a narrow doorway and pushed aside a worn blanket. “Drink your coffee.... I'll be back right back.”

In the small bedroom, Danielle stepped out of her dress and into her road clothes, her faded denim trousers, and her boots. Then she opened a drawer in the stand beside her bed and took out the wound-up cloth binder she had used to conceal her womanly proportions. She unrolled it and wrapped it around her chest. As she watched herself in a dusty mirror, her firm young breasts seemed to vanish before her eyes. She sighed at the memories both good and bad that posing as a man had left with her. Then she strapped her gun belt around her waist, slipped into her long riding duster, and took her battered Stetson from a peg on the wall.

At the sight of her stepping back into the room, Stick gasped and half rose from his chair, his right hand going instinctively to his pistol butt before she caught herself.

“Take it easy, Stick,” Danielle said, holding her voice lower, her broad Stetson brim blacking out most of her face. “You wanted an answer, and I figured I could tell you all day ... but it wouldn't do no good unless you saw for yourself.” As she spoke, her pistol streaked up from her holster and twirled expertly on her finger, first forward, then backward. Then it slid quietly back into her holster. Stick's jaw had dropped. He shook his head as if trying to clear it.

“Miss—Miss Danielle?” The old drover couldn't hide the surprise and bewilderment in his voice. “Is that you?” But before she could answer, he added, “What am I saying? Of course it's you! But danged if you don't look and sound more like Danny Duggin than—” He stopped short, the truth sinking in. Then he dropped back into his chair with a low chuckle. “You mean to tell me, all that time, the young gunslinger Danny Duggin was really you?”