Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Indian Territory. August 28, 1870.

Gathering the remainder of the herd required two more days.

“We started with 2,625 head,” said Wallace Flagg, “and we now have 2,605. I think we’d better end this gather, take our small loss, and head for Abilene. I’d hate to be here looking for those twenty cows when the first snow flies.”

Flagg’s suggestion was met with unanimous approval, and the next morning, the drive again headed north. The hot August sun had sucked up standing puddles of water, there was no mud, and the wagons followed the herd without difficulty. The first and second watches were continued, and there was no further sign of the expected outlaws. Danielle was glad for the sake of the small ranchers, but disappointed with her own position. She had been virtually certain the outlaws would try to take the herd. Now, having seen four of their number quickly shot down, the others had apparently given up. Tuck had barely spoken to her since she had begun talking to Katrina, and Danielle was surprised to find him riding beside her, in drag position.

“What are you doing with the drag?” Danielle asked. “You think these cows will find their way to Abilene without you leading them?”

Tuck laughed. “They’ll have about as much chance with me leading ’em. I’ve never been to Abilene. I just hope we can avoid any more outlaws and stampedes.”

“I just wish I knew whether or not the bunch of outlaws that stampeded the herd is the same outfit that murdered my pa. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that the killers aren’t using their real names. The names I have may mean exactly nothing.”

“Yet, when we reach Abilene, you still aim to go looking for them,” Tuck stated.

“Yes,” said Danielle. “I made a promise, and I’ll live or die by it.”

Tuck’s sister, Carrie, had said virtually nothing to Danielle since the drive had begun, and it came as a surprise when she found Carrie riding along beside her during the first watch.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Carrie said. “What does Katrina Chadman have that I don’t have? Besides the cast-iron underpants, of course.”

“She has feelings for that thick-headed brother of yours,” said Danielle. “She needs somebody to tell her there’s nothing wrong with her. She needs a friend, and I haven’t seen any of the rest of you being overly friendly.”

“I’ve never been her friend, because she seemed snooty and stuck up,” Carrie said. “I can’t see that she has anything I don’t have, but she acts like she does.”

“It’s a defense against the way she’s been treated,” said Danielle. “How would you feel if men started spreading the word that you have cast-iron underpants?”

“I think I’d be flattered,” Carrie said. “Nobody notices me except Barney Dumont, and he’s about as romantic as a corral post.”

Danielle laughed. “Do you want me to spread the word that you have cast-iron underpants too?”

Carrie sighed. “I suppose not. Perhaps someday a man will see me for what I am. Whatever that may be. Do you still plan to leave us when we reach Abilene?”

“I must,” said Danielle, “unless somewhere between here and there, I run into those outlaws who murdered my pa.”

“I’ll hate to see you go,” Carrie said. “You’re too nice to be shot in the back by some devil of an outlaw.”

“I’ve learned to watch my back,” said Danielle, “but I appreciate the kind words.”

Abilene, Kansas. September 15, 1870.

The outfit reached Abilene without further stampede, Indian attacks, or outlaw trouble. There were two cattle buyers who hadn’t left town, and Wallace Flagg called on both of them.

“I got us a deal,” Flagg said. “We’re definitely the last herd of the season, and all our beef is prime. We’re getting thirty-five dollars a head.”

Flagg collected the money, and the first thing he did was count out $3,500 of it to Danielle. He then divided what was left by five, and the five ranchers each had a little more than $18,000.

“Dear God,” said Wallace Flagg’s wife, weeping, “I never expected to see so much in my whole life.”

“We have Dan Strange to thank for suggesting this drive,” Tuck Carlyle said. “All of us, on our own, were sittin’ there starving, waiting for the rustlers to drive off the cattle we had left. Now we’ll have enough to make a bigger drive next year.”

Amid shouting and cheering, Danielle felt a little guilty. She had taken $3,500 of their money, after investing only $300. But she was grateful, and told them so.

“I don’t feel like I’ve earned this money,” Danielle said, “but God bless every one of you for it. Now I won’t have to always sleep on the ground, living on jerked beef.”

The time had come for Danielle to say good-bye, and she found it far more difficult than she had expected. Carrie and Katrina further dampened her enthusiasm by weeping, while all she got from Tuck was a handshake. Mounting the chestnut mare, she rode west, having no destination in mind. Far beyond the Kansas plains lay Colorado. She had heard Denver was a thriving town, and being so far west, it might be the very place that would appeal to outlaws ready to hole up for the winter. She would go there, but her progress was interrupted by a blizzard that had blown in from the high plains. She fought snow and howling wind for the last few miles, before reaching the little town of Hays.

Hays, Kansas. September 20, 1870.

With the Union Pacific railroad coming through Hays, there were many cafes, hotels, and boardinghouses. After leaving her horse at a nearby livery, Danielle took a room on the first floor of one of the hotels. There was already a foot of snow on the ground, and a man from the restaurant was shoveling a path to the hotel. Danielle decided to go ahead and eat before the storm became more intense. In the cafe sat a man she had seen in the hotel lobby. He wore at least a three-day beard and a pair of tied-down Colts, and he eyed Danielle as he had in the hotel lobby. He left the cafe before Danielle finished her meal. When she left, darkness had fallen, and the swirling snow blinded her. There was a sudden muzzle flash in the whiteout, and quickly returning the fire, Danielle dropped to her knees, unhurt. She heard the unmistakable sound of a body thudding to the ground. She waited to see if anyone had been drawn by the shooting, although she was unable to see the front of the cafe or the hotel. Minutes passed and nobody appeared. She approached the inert form and saw that it was the man from the cafe, his intense eyes now rolled back. Searching the dead man quickly, Danielle found only a worn wallet. She placed it in the pocket of her Levi’s and hurried on to the hotel. She found a fire had already been started in the stove in her room, and that it was comfortably warm. Locking the door, she lighted a lamp and sat down on the bed to find out whom she had killed. The dead man’s wallet contained no identification. There was a hundred dollars, however, and she took it. From the man’s behavior, she was virtually certain he was on the dodge, but why had he come after her? She was leaving yet another dead man along her back-trail, without the slightest idea why he had tried to kill her. She added more chunks of wood to the already glowing stove and prepared for bed. She thought of the many nights she had slept in her clothes and, despite the risk, stripped them all off. She had worn the binder around her chest so tight, her ribs were sore, and she sighed in blessed relief when she was without the bothersome binder. When she lay down for the night, the howling wind whipped snow against the window, and she was doubly thankful for a soft bed and a warm room.