Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

“There’s thirteen of us,” Flagg said. “Let’s split up into two groups, with each group tracking one rider. Unless they all come together in a bunch, we’ll nail at least two of them.”

Again Danielle was denied an opportunity to ride with Tuck, for he was on the first watch with Katrina. The sun was an hour high when they reached the point where the herd had begun to scatter. None of the tracks of shod horses continued south, but turned east or west.

“Damn it,” said Elmer Dumont, “they’re expecting us. They’ll be holed up somewhere in Indian Territory.”

“Give me one rider,” Tuck said, “and if it’s an ambush, we’ll spring it.”

“I’ll go,” said Danielle.

“You got it,” Tuck said. “Ride a mile east of here, and then ride north. Look for the tracks of a rider who may have doubled back. I’ll ride west and then north, doin’ the same as you. As long as they’re split up, they’re at the same disadvantage we are.”

Danielle rode east for almost a mile before turning north. Her Henry was cocked and ready, and she carried it under her arm. For several miles, there was no sign. Suddenly, she saw the tracks of a shod horse coming from the southeast. The tracks were fresh. It had to be one of the renegades, bound for a rendezvous somewhere to the north.

To the west, Tuck Carlyle had made a similar discovery. His rifle ready, he cautiously followed the trail of the single horse. His first and only warning came almost too late. His horse suddenly nickered, and somewhere ahead, another answered. There was a blaze of gunfire, barely missing him, and Tuck rolled out of the saddle. There was no sound of hoofbeats, which meant his man was holed up within rifle range.

“Come on,” shouted Wallace Flagg. “Tuck’s flushed somebody.”

To the west, Danielle had no warning. The first slug snatched the hat from her head, and the second whipped through the baggy front of her shirt, leaving her thankful she had an uncomfortable binder around her chest. She rolled out of the saddle as though she had been hit, taking her Henry with her. She lay still, counting on her adversary to show himself. When she heard footsteps, she resisted the temptation to turn her head. Whoever was coming to see if she was alive or dead must soon come within her view. He did, finally.

“Just a damn kid,” he said aloud.

“With a gun,” said Danielle. She drew her Colt from flat on her back and fired twice.

She waited a few minutes, Colt in her hand, until she decided the bushwhacker had been alone. She then knelt beside him and began going through his pockets. She found only a bill of sale for a horse and an envelope addressed to Mitch Vesper. There was nothing in the envelope. On the back of it had been scribbled meaningless numbers. She then mounted the chestnut mare and rode back to meet her comrades. They had joined Tuck and were all looking at the bushwhacker he had shot.

“Did you find a name on him?” Danielle asked.

“Elihu Dooling,” said Tuck. “Is he one of the bunch you’re after?”

“No,” Danielle said, “and neither is the one I shot. Either I’m barking up the wrong tree, or this bunch has added some new faces.”

“They had more than eight men last night,” said Tuck. “That means they’ve added to their gang.”

“Daniel and Tuck,” Elmer Dumont said, “that was a good piece of work. The rest of the varmints will have to come together sooner or later. I say we run ’em down, one at a time if we have to.”

“It could become a Mexican standoff,” said Cyrus Baldwin. “If they’re after the herd, they can’t round ’em up while they’re dodgin’ lead. Neither can we.”

“It all comes down to who can hold out the longest,” Wallace Flagg said. “This bunch will be just as aware as we are that we’re not much more than a month away from snow. Every day we spend tracking them is one day less before snow flies.”

“Well, damn it,” said Enos Chadman, “what choice do we have? We know this bunch of owlhoots stampeded the herd with one thought in mind. They’re countin’ on us to split up in ones and twos, gathering the herd. That’s when they’ll come gunning for us.”

“Then we have no choice except to track them down first,” Danielle said.

“That’s how it looks to me,” said Chadman, his grateful eyes on Danielle.

“I’ll agree with that,” Wallace Flagg said. “Hell, I’d rather make the drive through the snow than to dodge bushwhacker bullets from here to Abilene.”

It was a sentiment they all shared, and they again began seeking tracks of shod horses that belonged to the outlaws. Elmer Dumont and his son, Barney, were the next to flush out one of the rustlers. Barney took a slug through his left thigh, while Elmer was unscathed. It was he who had killed the bushwhacker. Quickly, the rest of the outfit gathered. Elmer went through the dead man’s pockets, finding only a pocket knife and a few dollars.

“No name, then,” said Danielle, disappointed.

“None,” Elmer said. “Barney, you’d better ride back to the wagons and have your ma take care of that leg wound.”

“There’s a medicine kit and a gallon jug of whiskey in the wagon,” said Tuck. “Barney, can you make it alone?”

“I can make it,” the white-faced Barney said. “Go after the others.”

Danielle sneaked a look at Katrina, and the girl’s face was ashen. Tuck helped Barney mount his horse, and when he had ridden away, the others mounted, leaving the dead outlaw where he lay.

“The buzzards and coyotes will eat well,” Wallace Flagg said. “If we can gun down two or three more, it might make believers of the others.”

Losing Barney Dumont, they had twelve riders.

“We’re at a disadvantage,” said Tuck, “because they can be holed up under cover. For that reason, I think we should ride in pairs.”

“I’ll vote for that,” Danielle replied. “With two of us after the same bushwhacker, he’ll be forced to divide his attention.”

“Katrina rides with me,” stated Enos Chadman.

Nobody disagreed or complained, for Katrina was still pale and obviously afraid. She gripped her saddle horn with both hands, keeping her head down, refusing to look at any of them. Danielle felt sorry for her, but she thought Tuck looked a little disgusted.

Floyd and Edward Flagg rode into the next ambush, coming out of the fight unscathed. They were searching the dead outlaw when the rest of their outfit arrived.

“Does he have a name?” Danielle asked anxiously.

“Yeah,” said Floyd. “It’s in his wallet. Chunk Peeler.”

“Damn,” Danielle said, “four of them, and not one of the eight I’m looking for.”

“All of these might be the killers you’re looking for,” said Tuck. “The names you have may not even be their real names.”

“I know,” Danielle said softly. “I know. But I won’t give up the search until I’m certain each of the men who killed my father is dead.”

Chapter 5

Indian Territory. August 24, 1870.

The riders found no more of the outlaws, and sundown wasn’t more than an hour distant. Wallace Flagg spoke.

“We’d better get back to the wagons if we want supper. We can’t afford a fire after dark. We haven’t seen any of that bunch, but that don’t mean they won’t be throwing lead our way.”

“It’s cloudy in the west,” Danielle said, “and there’s the smell of rain. It’ll wash out all the tracks by morning.”

“Probably,” said Flagg, “but it’ll be dark soon. We can’t trail them at night.”

Disappointed as Danielle was, there was no denying the truth of Flagg’s words. When they returned to the wagons, supper was almost ready.

“I think we’d all better stand watch all night,” Enos Chadman said. “It’d be just like the varmints to wait for the rain, and using it for cover, storm the camp.”