Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare (22 page)

Danielle left the barbershop and returned to the hotel, where she took a table in the dining room. She had not even been served when King Fisher entered. With him was a smaller man, dressed all in black, with a frock coat and black silk top hat. The two took a table next to Danielle's, and she couldn't help hearing their talk.

“The kid at the next table pulled a gun and run me out of the barbershop,” said King Fisher, loud enough for Danielle to hear.

Fisher's companion found that uproariously funny, pounding the table with his fist, but when he spoke, his voice was like cold steel.

“Nobody drives Ben Thompson away if he wants to go on living.”

Danielle tried her best to ignore the pair, taking her time with her meal. As she got up to leave, Thompson spoke.

“I never seen a man with a butt-forward pistol who had any speed with a cross-hand draw.”

In an instant, he found himself facing the barrel end of the butt-forward Colt from Danielle's left hip.

“There are exceptions,” Danielle said coldly. She border-shifted the Colt back to her left hand, deftly slipping the weapon back into its holster, again butt forward.

It was King Fisher's turn to laugh. “Who
are
you, kid?”

“My name is not ‘kid.' I'm Daniel Strange.”

“I'm King Fisher, and the little
hombre
in the stovepipe hat is Ben Thompson. Let word of this get around, and Thompson may have to go back to England.”

“I've never seen a fancy pair of irons like that,” Thompson said. “May I see one?”

“Look all you like,” said Danielle, “but they stay where they are.”

Thompson's ruddy face turned ugly, but King Fisher took the edge off his anger.

“Come on, Thompson, let's go play some poker. This two-gun man's too tough for a pair of old dogs like us.”

Danielle waited, allowing the pair to leave ahead of her. Referring to her youth, King Fisher had been just as insulting as Ben Thompson, and she didn't like either of them. The evening was still young, and there was little to occupy one's time except gambling tables in the various saloons. Danielle still had almost four thousand dollars, thanks to her success at the faro tables, and a town like San Antonio had many saloons. With a self-imposed limit of a hundred dollars, she set out to make the rounds. She had learned that the fancier the saloon, the higher the stakes. The first place she entered was called The Oro Palace and the faro dealer was asking for—and getting—ten-dollar bets. When a player left the table, Danielle sat down, dropping five double eagles on the felt-topped table before her. The other players paid her no attention until she won three pots in a row. She still had sixty dollars of her original hundred, plus her winnings. She lost two pots, and then won four in a row. The dealer had been watching her suspiciously but it was he, after all, who was dealing the cards. After winning back her initial hundred dollars and taking another two hundred from the house, Danielle dropped out. The house dealer seemed relieved.

Danielle found most saloons unpleasant, with brash, insensitive women determined to lead her upstairs. But the saloons were where men gathered, and as she sat at the faro table, she listened to talk around her, hoping for some word of the men who had killed her father. Quickly tiring, she returned to her hotel. In the lobby was a stack of newspapers.

“Take one,” the clerk invited. “They're fresh in from Dallas.”

Danielle took one, finding it to be larger than the average frontier newspaper. With news items from all over, one in particular caught her eye. It was date-lined Wichita, and concerned the robbery of a Kansas-Pacific train. She read the article twice, grinding her teeth.

Both the men were on Danielle's death list, but after their brush with the law, they would be long gone from Wichita. The Kansas town was almost at the edge of Indian Territory, and the pair might have gone there to hide. On the other hand, they might have gone west, or perhaps back east, toward St. Louis. Danielle lay down to sleep, wondering if she was wasting her time in south Texas.

 

The next morning, after breakfast, Danielle found the Texas Ranger office. A ranger sat at a battered desk, reading a newspaper. He looked up as she entered.

“I'm Daniel Strange.”

“I'm Sage Jennings,” said the ranger.

“I'm looking for some men—outlaws—who robbed and murdered my pa in Indian Territory,” Danielle said. “There are seven of them still alive, and although I've managed to learn their names, I don't know that they aren't using other names by now. Do you have any wanted dodgers that I'd be allowed to see?”

“You're welcome to look through what I have,” Jennings said, “but I doubt they'll be of much help. These are only outlaws wanted by the state of Texas.”

“I'd like to look at them anyway,” said Danielle.

Jennings brought out the dodgers, many of them yellowed with age. Some of them had a rough sketch of the wanted man, but the majority had only a name, the nature of the crime, and the reward, if any. Almost immediately, Danielle found a pair of yellowed pages with the names of Rufe Gaddis and Julius Byler. There was a thousand dollars on the heads of each of them.

“This is two of them on my list,” said Danielle.

“Those dodgers are mighty old,” Jennings said. “Chances are, they're using some other names by now.”

“No,” said Danielle. “Yesterday, I saw both their names in a story in a Dallas newspaper. Gaddis and Byler were suspected of robbing a Kansas-Pacific train, but were let go for lack of evidence. The law in Wichita had them.”

“By now they're somewhere in Indian Territory,” Jennings said.

Danielle thumbed through the rest of the wanted dodgers without finding the names of any more of the men she sought.

“Just those two,” said Danielle. “I'm obliged.”

“A ranger keeps records of his own,” Jennings said. “I'll check out Bible Two.”
¹⁰

From his shirt pocket, he took a small notebook and began thumbing through it.

“Here's something that might be of interest to you,” said Jennings, “and it brings back some unpleasant memories for me. Gaddis and Byler didn't take part in the war. They're both Texans, and they stayed here and raised hell. When they finally stepped over the line to become thieves and killers, we haven't seen them since. Another
hombre
known to the rangers as Chancy Burke generally rode with them.”

“Burke's on my list with Gaddis and Byler,” said Danielle. “If they're all Texans, then I may not be wasting my time in Texas after all. What part of Texas did they call home?”

“In and around Waco,” Jennings said, “and you may be right. They still have families—law-abiding folks—living there, and I wouldn't be surprised if all of them don't slip back home for an occasional visit.”

“I'm obliged to you for the information,” said Danielle. “Maybe I'll ride to Waco and see what I can find.”

“Then take some advice from somebody that's been there,” Jennings said, “and don't tell anybody why you're in town. Everybody in the county is loyal to them three young varmints, and hostile as hell toward the rangers and other lawmen.”

“I reckon they didn't do their hell-raising close to home,” said Danielle.

“They didn't,” Jennings said. “Their kin will admit they're wild, but they won't lift a hand to help the law track them down.”

“Thanks,” said Danielle. “I'll keep my silence.”

“If you're successful in finding any or all three of them, I'd appreciate your sending me word,” Jennings said.

“I will,” said Danielle.

On the way to her hotel, Danielle met King Fisher and Ben Thompson walking unsteadily along the boardwalk. The pair looked as though they might have been up all night.

“Well, by God,” King Fisher said, slapping his thigh with his hat, “it's the kid with the two big guns.”

“He'll bleed like anybody else with a slug in him,” said Thompson, fixing his bloodshot eyes on Danielle.

Danielle walked around them, chills racing up and down her spine. Would the drunken Thompson shoot her in the back? Nothing happened, and she began to relax.

Danielle saw no advantage to remaining in San Antonio. Remaining there, she might be confronted with either Ben Thompson or King Fisher, a confrontation that would profit her nothing. So taking her bedroll and saddlebags, she went to the livery where she had left the chestnut mare. Saddling the animal, she mounted and rode north, toward Waco.

Chapter 11

 

 

Reaching Waco, Danielle stabled the chestnut mare and took a hotel room not too far away. Danielle found a cafe and had supper. While Waco wasn't nearly as large as San Antonio, it had its share of saloons. Recalling the warning from Sage Jennings, the Texas Ranger in San Antonio, she would make the rounds of the saloons first. Only then, if she learned nothing, would she speak to the county sheriff.

The first saloon she entered was The Bull's Horn, and except for a poker game, there was nothing going on. She watched for a few minutes, but nobody spoke, except for an occasional grunt of satisfaction as one of the men won a hand and raked in the money. The rest of the saloons in town proved to be much like the first. There were faro games going on in several of them, but Danielle avoided them, lest she draw attention to herself. People in Waco seemed especially closemouthed, and she expected some hostility when she had to ask questions. Since it seemed there was no other way, the next morning after breakfast, she set out to find the sheriff's office. It was small, with a pair of barred cells behind it.

“Sheriff, I'm Daniel Strange, and I need to ask a favor.”

The lawman had gray hair, and the years had taken their toll on his body. A Colt was tied down on his right hip. He looked Danielle over carefully before he spoke.

“I'm Sheriff Rucker. The last two-gun man through here got strung up. Now what do you want of me?”

“I'm looking for some word of Rufe Gaddis, Julius Byler, and Chancy Burke. They're from this area, I'm told.”

“Far from here,” Rucker said. “I ain't seen any of 'em for three years. Mind telling me why you're interested in them?”

There it was. There was no holding back the truth, which Rucker likely suspected already. Danielle sighed, then spoke.

“They were part of a group of men who robbed and hanged my pa in Indian Territory last spring.”

“I reckon you got proof,” said Sheriff Rucker.

“To my satisfaction,” Danielle said. “I've tracked down three of them, and the second one gave me the names of the others. Where do you stand?”

“Right here in this county,” said Sheriff Rucker. “I got no jurisdiction anywhere else, and unless some
hombres
ride in here to raise hell, I leave 'em alone.”

“Even if they're wanted by the
rangers
for crimes in other places?”

“Even then,” Rucker said. “Hell, the
rangers
ain't been sanctified. It wouldn't be the first time they've gone after the wrong men.”

“How well are the Gaddis, Byler, and Burke families known around here?” Danielle asked.

“They're known and respected all over the county,” said Rucker, “and they look after their own. They're clannish, and when you cut one, they all bleed.”

“And they all vote,” Danielle said.

“Yeah,” said Sheriff Rucker, his face going red. “I won this office ten years ago, and an
hombre
like you could lose it for me in one day.”

“Oh, I won't drag you into it,” Danielle said in disgust.

She turned and left the office. When the liveryman brought her the chestnut mare, she had a question for him.

“I'm looking for work. Who are the most prominent ranchers in these parts?”

“Silas Burke, Damon Byler, and Luke Gaddis,” said the liveryman, “but they won't be hiring. They can't afford no riders.”

“Give me some directions anyway,” Danielle said, “and I'll see for myself. I'm needin' to hire on somewhere for the winter.”

It wasn't an unusual request from an unemployed, drifting rider, and the liveryman gave Danielle directions. The Burke spread was the closest, and she rode there first. When Danielle rode in, a man with graying hair and a body gone to fat stood on the front porch, a Winchester under his arm. Danielle reined up a few yards away.

“Who are you and what do you want?” the man growled.

“I'm Daniel Strange, and I'm looking for some line riding to see me through winter.”

“I'm Silas Burke, and I ain't hiring. If I was, I wouldn't hire no two-gun stranger. We got too many cowboys here in the county that's needin' work. Had you asked, you could of learned that in town.”

Two young men—Benjamin and Monroe—looking like younger versions of Silas, came out and stood beside their father.

“He looks like one of them damn rangers, Pa.” said Benjamin. “Two guns.”

“A mite unusual for a line rider,” Silas said. “Boy, are you the law?”

“No,” said Danielle, “and I'm not a bounty hunter. Why are you afraid of the law?”

“I ain't afraid of the law,” Silas growled, “and if I was, it wouldn't be no business of yours. Now turn that horse around and ride.”