Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare (4 page)

“The rest of you—Font, Nations, and Hitchfelt—are welcome to saddle up and ride,” said Danielle.

“Make the mistake of following me, and now that I know your intentions, I'll gun you down without warning.”

“We ain't about to follow you, kid,” said Caney Font. “At least, I ain't.”

“Me neither,” Nations and Hitchfelt said in a single voice.

“Then saddle up and ride,” said Danielle.

Careful to keep their hands free of their weapons, the trio saddled their horses and rode into the night. Danielle's hands trembled as she reloaded her Colt. While she had a lead toward one of her father's killers, she had already gunned down five men. When and where would it end? She saddled the chestnut mare and was about to mount when it occurred to her that she should search the dead outlaws. As distasteful as the task was, she found a total of a hundred and twenty dollars in the pockets of the dead men. Common sense soon overcame her guilt and she took the money.

Already tired of killing and outlaws, she rode south, toward the Red River and Texas. There was a chance the men she hunted had traveled as far from the scene of their crime as they could, and Texas was by far larger than Indian Territory. Danielle forded the Red at the familiar cattle crossing, near Doan's Store. Taking some of the money she had, she bought supplies she had been doing without, such as a small coffeepot, coffee, a skillet, canned beans, and some cornmeal. On second thought, sparing her bacon, she bought half a ham, which was all the chestnut mare could comfortably carry.

The storekeeper eyed her curiously, for he had seen all kinds come and go. They were getting younger all the time, he decided, with a sigh. Danielle continued riding south. Eventually, she came to the village of Paris, Texas. There was a general store, a livery, a hotel, and a sheriff's office. Adjoining the hotel was a cafe. Already tired of her own cooking, Danielle went to the cafe and ordered a meal. Once finished, she had a question for the owner.

“I'm looking for a gent name of Bart Scovill. His middle name is Dave, and sometimes he goes by that.”

“Can't help you there,” said the cafe's cook. “You might try Sheriff Monroe. He knows everybody within two hundred miles.”

Danielle took a room at the hotel and went looking for Sheriff Monroe, finding him in his office, cleaning his Winchester.

“Barton Scovill is sheriff over to Mineral Wells, in Palo Pinto County. His kid run off up north somewhere to stay out of the war. I ain't seen him in near ten years. He'd be near thirty by now.”

“I'd hate to ride all the way over there and find out he's the wrong
hombre
,” Danielle said. “Do you know if his middle name is Dave, or David?”

“I got no idea,” said Sheriff Monroe. “To tell the truth, my own son was killed in the war, and I got no respect for them that run off to avoid it.”

“I can't say I blame you, Sheriff,” Danielle said. “Thanks for your help.”

Danielle took the chestnut mare to the livery, rubbed her down, and ordered a double portion of grain for her. She then took her saddlebags and Winchester to the small room she had rented. Clouds were building up in the west, and there would be rain before dark. She felt the need of a good night's rest in a warm bed, with a stall and grain for the chestnut mare. The first thing she did was lock the door, draw the window shade, and strip off all her clothes. She was well endowed enough that the binder was extremely uncomfortable, and she took it off gratefully. She then sat on the bed naked and cross-legged, cleaning and oiling her Colt. Again, she fully loaded it with six shells. Outside, the wind was screaming around the eaves, and there was the first pattering of rain on the windowpane. Danielle delayed supper until the rain subsided, enjoying the comfort of the rickety bed. By the time she reached the cafe, the rain had started again. Dusk was falling as she left the cafe, and that and the rain were all that saved her. Two slugs slammed into the cafe's wall, just inches from her head. Instantly, Danielle had her Colt out, but with the rain and darkness, there was no target. Reaching her room, she removed only her hat, boots, and gun belt. The Colt she placed under her pillow. But the night was peaceful, and Danielle lay awake wondering who had fired the shots at her the day before. Carefully, she made her way to the cafe for breakfast, and then to her room for her saddlebags and Winchester. She saddled the chestnut mare and rode east toward Dallas.

 

 

Dallas was the largest town Danielle had ever visited, and she was somewhat in awe of it. She dismounted before a livery, and the first person she saw was Slack Hitchfelt.

“Hold it, kid,” he said, his hands raised. “I don't want no trouble.”

“You missed last night,” said Danielle. “Sure you don't want to try again?”

“I ain't drawin' on you, kid, now or ever,” Hitchfelt said.

“Where's your scruffy partners, Font and Nations?”

“I dunno,” said Hitchfelt. “We busted up. Said they was ridin' north. To Dodge City, likely.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Danielle said. “You deserved one another.”

Danielle kept her eye on Hitchfelt until he rode away. She then left the chestnut mare at the livery, taking her saddlebags and her Winchester. The rain had continued most of the day, with every indication it would last the night. Danielle got herself a cheap room in an out-of-the-way hotel, returning to it after supper. She propped a ladder-back chair under the doorknob and slept with her Colt in her hand.

 

 

It wasn't difficult to find the sheriff's office. Danielle had bought a second Colt, and she placed the gun her father had given her in her saddlebag, replacing it with the ordinary Colt in her holster. If Bart—or Dave—Scovill was around, the fancy weapon would immediately arouse his suspicion. She would use her mother's maiden name if there was a chance her true family name might reveal her mission to the killers.

“Sheriff,” she said, “I'm Daniel Faulkner, and I'm looking for work of just any kind. Do you know of anybody that's hiring?”

“Not a soul, kid,” said the sheriff. “The war chewed everybody up and spit 'em out. Nobody has anything but a few cows, and they're all but worthless unless you can get 'em to the railroad, and it takes money to do that.”

While Danielle was in the sheriff's office, a young man reined up outside and came in. Two things about him immediately caught Danielle's attention. A lawman's star was pinned on his vest, and in his holster was the silver-mounted Colt with a “D” on the grip. This man was one of her father's killers!

“Excuse my poor manners,” said the sheriff. “I'm Barton Scovill, and this is my son, Dave, who's also my deputy. Dave, this is Daniel Faulkner.”

The younger Scovill nodded. Not trusting herself to speak, Danielle stepped out the door, closing it behind her. She paused by the chestnut mare, seeking to calm herself and ease her shaking hands. The irony of it struck her, and it might have been amusing under different circumstances, but as things stood, the first of the men she must kill to avenge her father was a deputy sheriff. There was no mistaking the pistol that had belonged to her father, and no doubt she'd get the rope if she were captured for killing Scovill. She had to devise a plan, and so she went looking for a livery for the chestnut mare, and an obscure hotel for herself. Finding both, she took her saddlebags and Winchester to her room, where she stretched out on the bed to think.

“Damn it,” she said aloud, “I must get close enough to do the job, and still manage to escape without being seen.”

Just then she recalled seeing a notice posted on the hotel's front window. Saturday night there was to be a Palo Pinto County dance. She got up and went downstairs.

“What about that Palo Pinto dance?” she asked the desk clerk. “Would it be worth my time, staying over for it?”

“If you like pretty girls,” said the desk clerk. “They'll be here from all over.”

“Then I reckon I'll stay,” Danielle said.

 

 

Danielle hated to part with the money, but she needed some fashionable female clothes, and she couldn't afford to be seen buying them in Mineral Wells. In Dallas, her first item was a bonnet to conceal her short-cropped hair. It wasn't uncommon for a cowboy to buy clothing for his intended, and nobody gave this “cowboy” a second look. Danielle bought a divided riding skirt in pale green to match her eyes, and a white blouse with fancy white ruffles. Finally, she bought a pair of fancy half-boots. She bought no underclothing, and the blouse was the actual size she wore. The “jiggle” that so amused her brothers suited her purpose, and other women would brand her a brazen hussy, but she must intrigue her intended victim enough to draw him away from the dance. Taking her purchases, she rode back to Mineral Wells. She entered the rear door to the hotel, making her way up the back stairs. In her room, she tried on the clothes, tying the bonnet so as to best conceal her short hair. Finally, she stood admiring herself in a cracked mirror on the dresser.

“Danielle Strange,” she said aloud, “you look like a whore, but to a man that's a killer lowdown enough to have hanged my pa, a whore would be just his style.”

Now there was nothing to do except wait four days for the planned dance. Meanwhile, Danielle learned it was to be a street dance at the farthest end of town, near a second livery across from a general store. A visit to the livery revealed overhead beams that were suited to Danielle's purpose.

 

 

Danielle waited until the dance was in full swing before slipping out the hotel's back door and down the stairs. Soon she was mingling with the crowd. A bandstand had been built in front of the livery, and besides the caller, there were four musicians. One played a guitar, the second a banjo, the third a fiddle, and the fourth a mouth harp. A sixth man was beating time with the straws on the fiddle.
²

The moment the men spotted Danielle, there was almost a fist fight over who was to have the first dance. It was a while before Scovill got his chance.

“Tarnation,” said Scovill, “where have you been all my life?”

“Around,” Danielle said coolly. “Where have
you
been?”

“I was in the war,” said Scovill, lying.

“The war ended five years ago,” Danielle said. “Did you get home crawling on your belly?”

“By God, if you was a man, I wouldn't take that.”

Danielle laughed tauntingly. “If I was a man, folks would be wondering if you stand or squat.”

“You brazen bitch,” he said, shoving her away from him.

But there were a dozen men waiting to take his place, and despite Danielle's macabre reason for being there, she was beginning to enjoy the dance. As she had expected, Scovill couldn't stay away.

“Do you drink whiskey?” he asked.

Danielle laughed. “What do you think?”

Danielle had never tasted whiskey in her life, but it might be her only chance to get Scovill away from the crowd.

“I got a bottle stashed in a rear stall in the livery barn,” Scovill said. “Give me a few minutes and come on back. Be careful you ain't seen. Whiskey ain't allowed.”

After Scovill had been gone for what she judged ten minutes, Danielle ducked into the shadow of the barn roof's overhang. The two swinging front doors of the livery were closed. Only a full moon lighted the wide open doors in the rear.

“Here,” said Scovill. “Have a drink.”

“Not yet,” Danielle said.

She loosened the waist of her divided skirt, allowing it to drop to the ground. She wore nothing beneath it, and Scovill caught his breath.

Scovill laughed. “The drink can wait. There's an empty stall over there with some hay.”

In the stall, he quickly shucked his gun belt and was bent over, tugging at his boots. Danielle took the opportunity to grab her father's Colt from Scovill's holster and struck him across the back of the head with it. He folded like an empty sack. Quickly, Danielle dressed herself and, taking a rope hanging outside the stall door, fashioned a noose. She had never tied one before, but the result would serve the purpose. Once she had the business end of it around Scovill's neck, she threw the loose end over an overhead beam. It took all her strength to hoist Scovill off the ground. She then tied the loose end of the rope to one of the poles separating the stalls and, with a leather thong, tied Scovill's hands behind his back. He began to groan as he came to his senses. His eyes began to bulge, and he kicked as the cruel rope bit into his throat.

“Now you know how my father felt when you hanged him in Indian Territory,” Danielle said.

Taking her father's gun belt, holster, and the silver-mounted Colt, she slipped out the livery's back door. Keeping to darkened areas, she hurried back to her hotel. Going up the back stairs to her room, she saw nobody. Everybody was still at the dance. Once in her room, she locked the door and stripped off her female finery. She placed it all in her saddlebags and donned her cowboy clothing. Carefully, she placed her father's gun belt and Colt with her female clothes and her own initialed silver-mounted Colt. Again, the Colt she placed in her holster was the plain one. Being caught with either of the silver-mounted Colts would brand her as Scovill's killer.

Danielle lay awake, unable to sleep, in her mind's eye watching Dave Scovill strangle to death. Near midnight, the dance broke up. Suddenly, there were three distant shots. It was a signal for trouble, and it was from the livery where Scovill had been hanged. Obviously, he had been found when the livery closed. Come the dawn, Danielle went to the mercantile and bought a knee-length duster. Returning to her hotel room, she buckled the Colt her father had made for her on her right hip. She then buckled her father's belt around her waist, so that the weapon was butt forward, for a cross-hand draw. Trying on the knee-length duster, she found it adequately concealed the two fancy weapons.