Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

The third day on the trail, the cattle had begun to settle down. The drive reached the Red River, making camp on the Texas side.

“This could be our last peaceful night,” Cyrus Baldwin warned. “From here on, it could be Indians, outlaws, or both.”

The night was still, and Danielle lay in her blankets, unable to sleep. She kept hearing Katrina laugh, and had no doubt Tuck Carlyle was keeping her amused. On Danielle’s mind was the sobering realization that unless that murdering pack of outlaws died somewhere in Indian Territory, she would have to ride away and leave Tuck to the wiles of Katrina. At midnight, when it was time to change watches, Danielle spoke to Tuck.

“Well, did you get the key?”

“Not tonight,” Tuck said cheerfully. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

“Damn it,” said Danielle, “like most men, you have only one thing on your mind.”

“Then I reckon you don’t,” Tuck said. “Are you one of them fool hombres that prefers other hombres to women?”

“Tuck Carlyle, if we weren’t on watch, I’d pistol-whip you for saying that.”

“Just watch your damn tongue,” said Tuck. “You’re startin’ to sound like a jealous female, and anytime you’re of a mind to pistol-whip me , just keep in mind that I have a pistol too.”

It silenced Danielle. Already, Tuck was suspicious of her. It was difficult, playing the part of a man when she most yearned to be a woman, but her resolve to find her father’s killers was just as strong as ever. She would have to keep her silence, whatever Tuck and Katrina did. Danielle didn’t realize it, but Tuck and Katrina were actually talking about her.

“I’d like to know Dan Strange a little better,” Katrina said. “He keeps watching me, and he seems so nice.”

“I reckon I’m not,” said Tuck grimly.

“Sometimes you are,” Katrina said, “and other times you’re not. You think I haven’t heard all the talk about my cast-iron underpants?”

“I didn’t start that,” said Tuck.

“I wouldn’t expect you to admit it,” Katrina said angrily, “but you repeated it.”

“Hell, it’s a reputation you created for yourself,” said Tuck. “Your look-at-me-but-don’t-touch attitude scares hell out of men.”

“Everybody except you,” Katrina said.

“And I’m gettin’ exactly nowhere,” said Tuck angrily. “Build yourself a reputation as a man-hater, and you won’t need them cast-iron underpants.”

Katrina laughed. “I’ll give the key to the right man. Just don’t get your hopes up too high, Tuck Carlyle.”

Indian Territory. August 23, 1870.

The Red River crossing had been used many times before, and there was a shallows that allowed even the wagons to cross without difficulty. There was a trail of sorts, left by previous drives, and they followed it closely. Tuck was the point rider, and with the herd still behaving, he rode far ahead, seeking out a possible ambush. But all during their first day in Indian Territory, they saw nobody.

“From here on,” said Elmer Dumont, “all of you on watch mustn’t let anybody through your guard. Our lives and the herd are depending on you. No talking and no smoking, and when it’s your turn to sleep, keep your horses saddled and picketed.”

At the Wilks ranch, Kazman had just returned from Indian Territory. With him were four men, and he introduced them.

“These gents is Mitch Vesper, Elihu Dooling, Burt Keleing, and Chunk Peeler. I done told them what we got to do.”

“Nothin’ ain’t been said about the pay,” Dooling said. “This ain’t one of them thirty-and-found jobs, is it?”

“Forty and found,” said Wilks.

“Fifty and found,” Dooling said. “If I got to shoot somebody, it’d better be worth my while.”

There was quick agreement from Vesper, Keleing, and Peeler.

“Fifty and found, then,” said Wilks, “but damn it, I want results.”

“We can leave now and be in Indian Territory by midnight,” Kazman said.

“I want you to get ahead of the herd and stampede them south,” said Wilks. “There’ll be no moon tonight, so don’t go after the riders. Scatter the herd, and the riders will have to split up, looking for them. That’s when we pick them off one or two at a time.”

“Thirteen of us,” Chunk Peeler said. “That’s an unlucky number.”

“Only if you don’t do what you been hired to do,” said Wilks. “Now get the rest of the bunch out of the bunkhouse, Kazman, and ride.”

Within minutes, thirteen heavily armed men rode north toward Indian Territory.

Danielle noticed there was not much conversation between Tuck and Katrina, and she wasn’t sure if it was by command or by choice. She was awake an hour before the second watch took to the saddle, and lay there listening. There was nothing to disturb the silence of the night except the occasional bawling of a cow.

An hour after the second watch had gone on duty, the raiders struck, riding in from the north. Bending low over the necks of their horses, they fired their pistols until it sounded like a small war in progress. The second watch fired at the elusive targets, their own shooting spooking the cattle all the more. The herd was on its feet in an instant, running south, seeking to escape these demons who swooped after them from the north. Tuck Carlyle and Wallace Flagg got ahead of the running longhorns, but they wouldn’t be headed off, and the two cowboys had to ride for their lives to escape being trampled. The stampede thundered on, while those responsible for it fell back and vanished into the darkness. Slowly, the night watch made its way back to camp.

“Damn it,” said Enos Chadman, “we didn’t get a one of ’em.”

“Well, at least they didn’t get any of us, either,” Elmer Dumont said. “That tells me that when we split up to gather the scattered herd, they’ll try to gun us down.”

“That bein’ the case,” said Tuck, “maybe we’d better let the cows go for a couple of days and trail the varmints that stampeded ’em.”

“That’s good thinking, up to a point,” Wallace Flagg said, “but there’s two problems. There must have been a dozen or more of the varmints, and you can be sure they’ll split up, making it necessary for us to divide our forces. That will make it easy enough for them to gun us down from ambush.”

“He’s dead right,” Cyrus Baldwin said.

“Damn it, we have to do something ,” said Tuck. “If we go after the cattle or rustlers, we’re goin’ to be split up. If it takes the whole outfit to pick up one cow at a time, we’ll still be here next August.”

“I think they stampeded the herd south so it’ll be easier rounding them up, once they have disposed of us,” Enos Chadman said. “When the herd begins to scatter, the riders will split up and get ahead of us, somewhere in Indian Territory.”

“Maybe,” said Wallace Flagg, “but I don’t think so. Why scatter the herd all to hell and gone, unless they aim to scatter us for bushwhacking purposes during the gather?”

“Mr. Flagg’s talking sense,” Tuck Carlyle said. “I think if we separate while gathering the herd, that we’ll be picked off one at a time.”

“You think we should go after the rustlers, then,” said Walter Flagg. “So do I. After we’ve gathered the herd, what’s to stop them from stampeding it all over again? I think where we find one of these varmints, we’ll find them all.”

The argument raged back and forth until a decision was reached. Those from the first and second watches would trail the outlaws. The women—except for Katrina—would stay with the wagons. The tracks of shod horses were plain enough in the wake of the stampede, and as Flagg had predicted, once the herd had scattered, so had the riders.