Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

“Only twelve horses for a night’s work,” said Danielle.

“The right horses will bring a hundred dollars apiece,” Votaw said. “Two hundred for you for one night’s work. At thirty and found, that’s near seven months of line riding. If you can find the work.”

“I’ve already learned the truth of that,” said Danielle. “Where are you finding all these hundred-dollar horses?”

“A rich Spaniard, Alonzo Elfego, owns about half of Mexico,” Votaw said, “and all his horses are blooded stock.”

“Why doesn’t he have riders watching them at night?” Danielle asked.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re scattered,” said Votaw. “Besides, he has no idea when we’re coming to visit him. We’ll go tonight, and then give him a rest. There are other ranchos with plenty of good horses.”

“Black Jack,” said Hez Deshea, “why did you bring that pair of blacks with you? They should of brought top dollar in Texas.”

“Cheap old bastard that was interested in ’em tried to knock my askin’ price down to seventy-five dollars,” Black Jack said. “That, and he got a little too interested in them Mex brands. I mounted up, rode out, and left him standin’ there.”

“You done right,” said Votaw. “Brands are none of his damn business as long as he’s gettin’ a bill of sale.”

“Where do you get bills of sale?” Danielle asked.

“A jackleg printer in El Paso makes ’em up for us,” said Votaw.

Danielle nodded, digesting the information. Horse stealing was a hanging offense, but it seemed that these thieves had it down to a fine art. The only question in her mind was whether or not her alliance with the horse thieves would enable her to find any of the remaining men on her death list. Again Votaw spoke.

“Black Jack, you’d better take that pair of blacks back across the border, where we’ll meet after tonight’s raid. The rest of you get what sleep you can.”

Black Jack mounted his horse, and with the pair of blacks following on lead ropes, he rode north. Danielle picketed the chestnut mare and, resting her head on her saddle, tipped her hat down over her eyes. After the blizzards on the high plains, the mild climate of old Mexico and the warm sun were welcome. She drifted off to sleep, rousing only when she heard a horse coming. Black Jack was returning. Shortly afterward, one of the bunch got a supper fire going. It was small, under a tree so the leaves would dissipate the smoke, and as soon as the coffee was hot, Revis Bronson put out the fire.

“When will we be going?” Danielle asked.

“Midnight,” said Joel Votaw. “We ain’t more than fifteen miles away.”

Black Jack laughed. “Hell, we may be camped on Elfego’s holdings right now.”

The horse thieves all laughed, finding such a possibility amusing. Danielle had nothing more to say, and except for an occasional comment from one of the others, there was only silence. Danielle watched the stars, unable to sleep, thinking of the changes in her life. She might easily step over the line, becoming an outlaw, but how else was she to ever find the outlaws who had murdered her father, without associating with outlaws herself? Finally, Votaw gave an order.

“It’s near midnight. Time to saddle up and ride.”

Votaw gave each of them a pair lead ropes. They then saddled their horses, mounted, and rode south. There was no moon, and riding behind the others, Danielle could barely see them. They took their time, eventually reining up in the shadow of a stand of trees.

“We go from here on foot,” Votaw said. “Once you’ve taken your horses, bring them here until we’re all ready to ride.”

Danielle had to concede that the thieves were smart. By starlight, it would be difficult to see men afoot, even if the herd was being watched. Dark as it was, they could still see the dim shapes of grazing horses. The horses raised their heads and snorted as they were approached. Danielle began to speak softly in a soothing tone that had proven effective in her handling of the chestnut mare. Suddenly, the night came alive with gunfire. Winchesters blazed from three different directions. There were entirely too many defenders. Danielle did not return the fire, for muzzle flashes would have been the finish of her. Besides, she had no intention of killing men for defending what was theirs. She reached the stand of trees where the horses had been picketed without being hit. Black Jack Landis hadn’t been quite so lucky. He lay on the ground, groaning.

“Hard hit?” Danielle asked.

“My thigh,” said Black Jack. “I can’t mount my horse.”

“Here, I’ll help you,” Danielle said.

By the time Black Jack was mounted, the rest of the horse thieves were galloping away to the north. None of them had horses except the ones they rode. Black Jack knew where they were headed, and Danielle followed him. There was a shallows in the river, and there they crossed the border into Texas. They reined up before a shack that had seen better days. The roof sagged in the middle, and what had once been a front porch had fallen in.

“All right,” said Joel Votaw, “who’s been hit, and how bad?”

“In the thigh,” Black Jack said, “and it hurts like hell.”

None of the others had been wounded.

“Bronson,” said Votaw, “get a fire going in the fireplace. Then put some water on to boil so we can take care of Black Jack’s wound.”

“This is the first time we ever been shot at by old Alonzo Elfego’s outfit,” Black Jack said. “What the hell went wrong?”

“We got too damn overconfident,” said Votaw. “It’s been only a week since we took ten of Elfego’s horses. Now we got to stay away until he’s convinced we’ve backed off. I’d say he had a dozen men staked out with Winchesters. One of us could of been shot right through the head just as easy as Black Jack took one through his thigh.”

“But Elfego’s is the biggest horse ranch in Mexico,” said Hez Deshea. “If we can’t take horses from there, where else can we go?”

“I didn’t say we can’t go there again,” Votaw said. “We’ll just have to wait a month or so, until Elfego takes away them Mexes with Winchesters.”

“Damn it,” said Wes Pryor, “I’m near broke. I can’t wait a month or two.”

“Neither can I,” Revis Bronson said as he stepped out of the dilapidated cabin. “When we started doin’ this, we was selling horses every week.”

“I need money too,” said Joel Votaw, “but I don’t need it bad enough to be shot dead. Any of you that can’t wait a few days until Elfego’s cooled down, feel free to ride out on your own.”

“I ain’t wantin’ to bust up the outfit,” Bronson said. “I reckon I can wait a few days.”

“Then I’ll stay on, too,” said Pryor.

“I reckon I’ll ride on,” Danielle said, “but I won’t be competing with any of you. I’ll be riding to south Texas, looking for the bunch that killed my pa.”

“Good luck,” said Votaw. “Watch your back.” Votaw went into the shack. The water was boiling, and after cleansing Black Jack’s leg wound, he bound it tight. Danielle stretched out, her head on her saddle, awaiting first light. Votaw came out, took a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag, and returned to the cabin. Like Danielle, Bronson, Deshea, and Pryor tried to rest. Danielle lay awake, unsure as to the effect of her decision to ride on. As the eastern horizon began to gray with the first light of dawn, Danielle saddled the chestnut mare.

“Good luck,” called Danielle to the others as she rode away.

Until she was out of sight, chills ran up and down her spine. It would have been easy for one of them to shoot her in the back, taking the chestnut mare and the money in her saddlebag. But there were no shots. Danielle rode back to El Paso. Stabling the chestnut mare, she took a hotel room and slept until late afternoon. After supper, she again visited some of the saloons. Every saloon seemed to have a poster in the window, and Danielle stopped to read one. It was simple and to the point.