Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

“I reckon you got proof,” said Sheriff Rucker.

“To my satisfaction,” Danielle said. “I’ve tracked down three of them, and the second one gave me the names of the others. Where do you stand?”

“Right here in this county,” said Sheriff Rucker. “I got no jurisdiction anywhere else, and unless some hombres ride in here to raise hell, I leave ’em alone.”

“Even if they’re wanted by the rangers for crimes in other places?”

“Even then,” Rucker said. “Hell, the rangers ain’t been sanctified. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve gone after the wrong men.”

“How well are the Gaddis, Byler, and Burke families known around here?” Danielle asked.

“They’re known and respected all over the county,” said Rucker, “and they look after their own. They’re clannish, and when you cut one, they all bleed.”

“And they all vote,” Danielle said.

“Yeah,” said Sheriff Rucker, his face going red. “I won this office ten years ago, and an hombre like you could lose it for me in one day.”

“Oh, I won’t drag you into it,” Danielle said in disgust.

She turned and left the office. When the liveryman brought her the chestnut mare, she had a question for him.

“I’m looking for work. Who are the most prominent ranchers in these parts?”

“Silas Burke, Damon Byler, and Luke Gaddis,” said the liveryman, “but they won’t be hiring. They can’t afford no riders.”

“Give me some directions anyway,” Danielle said, “and I’ll see for myself. I’m needin’ to hire on somewhere for the winter.”

It wasn’t an unusual request from an unemployed, drifting rider, and the liveryman gave Danielle directions. The Burke spread was the closest, and she rode there first. When Danielle rode in, a man with graying hair and a body gone to fat stood on the front porch, a Winchester under his arm. Danielle reined up a few yards away.

“Who are you and what do you want?” the man growled.

“I’m Daniel Strange, and I’m looking for some line riding to see me through winter.”

“I’m Silas Burke, and I ain’t hiring. If I was, I wouldn’t hire no two-gun stranger. We got too many cowboys here in the county that’s needin’ work. Had you asked, you could of learned that in town.”

Two young men—Benjamin and Monroe—looking like younger versions of Silas, came out and stood beside their father.

“He looks like one of them damn rangers, Pa.” said Benjamin. “Two guns.”

“A mite unusual for a line rider,” Silas said. “Boy, are you the law?”

“No,” said Danielle, “and I’m not a bounty hunter. Why are you afraid of the law?”

“I ain’t afraid of the law,” Silas growled, “and if I was, it wouldn’t be no business of yours. Now turn that horse around and ride.”

There was no help for it. Danielle wheeled the chestnut mare, riding back the way she had come. After she was well out of sight, a horseman rode out of a thicket where he had been waiting, and rode on to the Burke place. Sheriff Rucker had some news for old Silas Burke.

Danielle rode on to the Byler spread, where she received the same cold reception.

“I ain’t hiring,” said Damon Byler, “and if I was, it wouldn’t be no two-gun shavetail passin’ through. Ride on.”

Reaching the Gaddis ranch, Danielle prepared herself for yet another rebuff, and it wasn’t long in coming. Luke Gaddis was waiting for her to ride in, and before she had a chance to speak, Gaddis shifted the shotgun under his arm.

“I ain’t hiring,” said Gaddis bluntly.

“You don’t even know me,” Danielle said.

“No,” said Gaddis, “but I know of you and your kind. Sheriff Rucker’s told me about you. Now turn your horse around and ride.”

Danielle rode away, furious. Sheriff Rucker had violated a confidence, knowing well the effect it would have on the Burke, Byler, and Gaddis families. There was nothing more to do except ride back to town, and Danielle did so, unsure as to what her next move would be. If the three men she sought did return to Texas, they would immediately learn that they were being hunted. But Danielle still had some unpleasant surprises ahead. She reined up and dismounted at the livery.

“I got no room for another horse,” the liveryman said.

Danielle made up her mind to remain in Waco one more night. Returning to the hotel, she requested a room.

“Sorry,” the desk clerk said. “We’re full.” Danielle received the same treatment at other hotels and boardinghouses. She stopped at the cafe where she had eaten breakfast, and before she could sit down, one of the cooks spoke.

“You’re not welcome here. Move on.”

Danielle left, mounted the chestnut mare, and rode to the mercantile to replenish her supplies, including a bag of grain for the chestnut mare. She would sleep on the ground and prepare her own meals. But the store owner, looking embarrassed, turned her away.

“I got to live in this town,” he said, “and I can’t afford havin’ them that don’t like you comin’ down on me. Sorry.”

“The whole damn bunch of you deserve one another,” spat Danielle in disgust.

She considered riding back to San Antonio and reporting the sheriff’s behavior to Sage Jennings, the Texas Ranger, but changed her mind. Jennings had almost surely been to this town and, beyond a doubt, had met with the same hostility. Recalling that Fort Worth was only a few miles north, Danielle decided to go there. If the gold taken from the train by Gaddis and Byler had been a government payroll, surely the post commander at Ft. Worth would know. He might even be sympathetic to her cause.

Fort Worth, Texas. November 5, 1870.

Arriving in Fort Worth, Danielle asked to speak to the post commander. Following a Sergeant Waymont, she was taken through the orderly room. Sergeant Waymont knocked on a door, and from inside the office, a voice spoke.

“Yes, who is it?”

“Sergeant Waymont, sir, and I have someone with me who wants to talk to you.”

“Come in, Sergeant,” the officer said.

Waymont entered, saluted, and had it returned. He stepped out the door, closing it behind him. Danielle was on her own. She spoke.

“I’m Daniel Strange, from St. Joe, Missouri.”

“I’m Captain Ferguson. Sit down and tell me what you want of me.”

“Maybe you can help me track down three killers I’m looking for,” said Danielle.

“The military does not assist bounty hunters,” Ferguson said.

“I’m not a bounty hunter,” said Danielle. “The men I’m searching for were part of a gang that robbed and murdered my pa in Indian Territory.”

“You are justified in your search for them, then,” Ferguson said, “but I don’t understand what you want of me. I presume you have no evidence.”

“Only the confession of one of the men,” said Danielle.

“Oh,” Ferguson said. “Where is he?”

Danielle sighed. “He’s dead.”

“Then we’re right back where we started,” said Ferguson.

“Not quite,” Danielle said. “When I was in San Antonio, in a Dallas newspaper I found a story about a train robbery near Wichita. Gaddis and Byler, two of the men I’m after, were involved in that holdup. They stole a military payroll, didn’t they?”

After a long moment of silence, and just when Danielle had decided Ferguson wasn’t going to reply, he did.

“I don’t think I’m violating any rules, telling you this. Yes, it was a military payroll, bound for Fort Dodge. A military escort was to have intercepted it at the end-of-track.” 11

“Those outlaws were successful in one train robbery,” said Danielle, “and it’s a safe bet they’ll plan another one. How can I find out when there’ll be another shipment?”