Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

“Get up, you thieving bastard,” Carnes shouted.

But there was a muzzle flash, and Carnes stumbled back against the cabin wall. In only a split second, Danielle drew and fired twice, to the right and the left of the muzzle flash. For a moment none of them moved, lest the intruder still lived. Finally, Maury Lyles spoke.

“How hard was you hit, Roy?”

“Shoulder,” said Carnes.

“I’ll get the lantern,” Lyles said, “but I think we all know who the coyote is.”

Lyles lighted the lantern, and they found themselves looking into the dead face of Jake Kazman. He had been shot twice.

“Tarnation, that’s some shootin’ in the dark,” said Lyles to Danielle. “That skunk really had it in for you.”

“Do you know if Kazman was his real name?” Danielle asked.

“That’s the name he gave us,” said Lyles. “I’d better patch up your shoulder, Roy.”

After dragging Kazman away from the corral, they returned to the cabin. Lyles stirred up the fire and put on a pot of water to boil.

“I have a quart of whiskey in my saddlebag,” Danielle said, “and I’ll leave it with you. There may be infection.”

“We’re obliged,” said Carnes. “We won’t be ridin’ to town until we break those three wild horses.”

After dressing Carnes’s wound, Lyles built up the fire and started breakfast, since first light wasn’t far away. In the brightening sky, the stars had begun to retreat into the distant heavens. By the time they finished breakfast, the eastern horizon was illuminated with the first light of dawn.

“I have plenty of coffee beans,” Danielle said. “I’ll leave some with you to last until you can get to town. Do you want me to bury Kazman before I go?”

“No,” said Lyles, “I’ll take care of it. You’ve done us some mighty big favors, and we are obliged.”

Carnes added, “If you hadn’t come along and spooked Kazman, he might have shot us both in the back and took all the horses. You sure you can’t stay and join in our horse hunting?”

“No,” said Danielle. “My pa was robbed and murdered in Indian Territory by outlaws, and I aim to track them down. There’s seven of them still alive, unless Kazman was one of them, using another name.”

“Before you leave, I’ll search Kazman,” Lyles said. “You never know what you’ll find in a dead man’s pockets.”

Lyles took a little more than an hour, digging a shallow grave and burying Kazman. He returned to the cabin and dropped six gold double eagles on the table.

“That’s all he had on him,” said Lyles. “I reckon it’s yours, Daniel, since you gave him what he deserved.”

“I don’t want it,” Danielle said. “Use it to stock up on grub and coffee beans.”

Shortly afterward, Danielle rode away. She genuinely hated leaving the two genial cowboys, but she wanted nothing more to do with taking horses—wild or gentled—from old Mexico. She had thought at first that some of the killers she sought might have crossed the border into Mexico, and were hiding there. But now, with Mexicans so hostile toward all Americans, it seemed unlikely. Texas itself was large enough to hide the whole bunch, and she rode on toward San Antonio.

San Antonio, Texas. October 30, 1870.

Danielle took a room on the second floor of the Cattleman’s Hotel. It was the exception among frontier hotels, for there was a dining room on the first floor. Every room had a deep pile carpet on the floor, with matching drapes at the window. Danielle sat down on the bed, which was firm enough that it didn’t sag under her weight. It would be a welcome comfort, after four nights on the ground. There was a washbasin and a porcelain pitcher of water, and she took advantage of it, washing away the trail dust. One look in the mirror told her that her hair was getting entirely too long. She had to visit a barbershop, and soon. Since there was still daylight left, she decided to go for a hair-cut and be done with it. It was nearing the supper hour, and there were no other patrons in the shop.

“Cut it short,” Danielle said. “I’m having trouble getting my hat to fit.”

“Shave?” the barber asked.

“No,” Danielle said. “Just cut my hair.”

“There’s a bathhouse in back, with plenty of soap and hot water,” the barber said.

“Maybe later,” said Danielle. “It’s near suppertime, and I’m hungry.”

The door opened, and a lanky man entered. A Colt was tied low on each hip.

“Haircut,” said the stranger.

“You’re next,” the barber replied.

“King Fisher don’t like to wait,” said the new arrival. “I’ll get in that other chair, and you take care of me. Then you can get back to the shavetail you’re working on now.”

“I was here first,” Danielle said, “and he’s goin’ to finish with me. If you don’t like it, wait until I’m out of this chair and settle with me.”

Under her barber’s cloth, there was the ominous sound of a Colt being cocked. There was no fear in Danielle’s cold green eyes as they bored into King Fisher’s.

“I’ll come back another time,” said King Fisher. Turning, he walked out the door.

“My God,” the barber said, “do you know who that was?”

“I believe he said his name is King Fisher,” Danielle said. “It means nothing to me.”

“It should,” said the barber. “He don’t carry them two guns just for show, and at this particular time, Ben Thompson’s in town. Him and King Fisher are friends. Sober, they’re decent, but let ’em get drunk, and the devil couldn’t ask for no better disciples.” 9

Danielle left the barbershop and returned to the hotel, where she took a table in the dining room. She had not even been served when King Fisher entered. With him was a smaller man, dressed all in black, with a frock coat and black silk top hat. The two took a table next to Danielle’s, and she couldn’t help hearing their talk.

“The kid at the next table pulled a gun and run me out of the barbershop,” said King Fisher, loud enough for Danielle to hear.

Fisher’s companion found that uproariously funny, pounding the table with his fist, but when he spoke, his voice was like cold steel.

“Nobody drives Ben Thompson away if he wants to go on living.”

Danielle tried her best to ignore the pair, taking her time with her meal. As she got up to leave, Thompson spoke.

“I never seen a man with a butt-forward pistol who had any speed with a cross-hand draw.”

In an instant, he found himself facing the barrel end of the butt-forward Colt from Danielle’s left hip.

“There are exceptions,” Danielle said coldly. She border-shifted the Colt back to her left hand, deftly slipping the weapon back into its holster, again butt forward.

It was King Fisher’s turn to laugh. “Who are you, kid?”

“My name is not ‘kid.’ I’m Daniel Strange.”

“I’m King Fisher, and the little hombre in the stovepipe hat is Ben Thompson. Let word of this get around, and Thompson may have to go back to England.”

“I’ve never seen a fancy pair of irons like that,” Thompson said. “May I see one?”

“Look all you like,” said Danielle, “but they stay where they are.”

Thompson’s ruddy face turned ugly, but King Fisher took the edge off his anger.

“Come on, Thompson, let’s go play some poker. This two-gun man’s too tough for a pair of old dogs like us.”

Danielle waited, allowing the pair to leave ahead of her. Referring to her youth, King Fisher had been just as insulting as Ben Thompson, and she didn’t like either of them. The evening was still young, and there was little to occupy one’s time except gambling tables in the various saloons. Danielle still had almost four thousand dollars, thanks to her success at the faro tables, and a town like San Antonio had many saloons. With a self-imposed limit of a hundred dollars, she set out to make the rounds. She had learned that the fancier the saloon, the higher the stakes. The first place she entered was called The Oro Palace and the faro dealer was asking for—and getting—ten-dollar bets. When a player left the table, Danielle sat down, dropping five double eagles on the felt-topped table before her. The other players paid her no attention until she won three pots in a row. She still had sixty dollars of her original hundred, plus her winnings. She lost two pots, and then won four in a row. The dealer had been watching her suspiciously but it was he, after all, who was dealing the cards. After winning back her initial hundred dollars and taking another two hundred from the house, Danielle dropped out. The house dealer seemed relieved.