Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

“Let Herb stay, Sheriff,” said Danielle. “I’ll answer your questions.”

“I know you were in Alan Steele’s office at Kansas-Pacific earlier this morning. Why?”

“I wanted a favor from him, which he denied,” Danielle said. “You knew I believed there might be an outlaw on the railroad payroll, feeding information to train robbers. I wanted Steele to let me go over a list of men who work for the railroad, but he refused. He requested that I give him a list of the suspects, which I did. He assured me that none of them worked for the railroad.”

“Is this the list?” Sheriff Barnes asked, holding out the sheet of paper.

“It is,” said Danielle. “Where did you get it?”

“I found it on the floor behind Steele’s desk,” Sheriff Barnes said. “After you left, he had a freight handler, Chancy Burke, report to his office. Burke shot and killed him, and then ran for it.”

Danielle looked at Herb, and he seemed pleased. Danielle’s suspicions had just been confirmed. But Sheriff Barnes wasn’t finished. His eyes on Danielle, he came up with the question she had been expecting.

“The men on this list—why are you hunting them?”

“They robbed and murdered my pa in Indian Territory last spring,” Danielle said. “On my pa’s grave, I swore I’d track them down, and that they’d all die.”

“What give you the idea that one of them worked for the railroad?” the sheriff asked.

“When I learned Rufe Gaddis and Julius Byler robbed a Kansas-Pacific train,” Danielle said. “Gad dis, Byler, and Burke are all from Waco, Texas, and usually ride together. I had an idea Burke had a hand in the robbery, and the only logical answer seemed that he must be working for the railroad.”

“Good thinking,” Sheriff Barnes said. “It’s a damn shame Steele didn’t use what he had learned to a better advantage. After that robbery, the railroad’s a mite skittish, afraid of more bad publicity.”

“There’ll be plenty of it now,” said Danielle. “There’ll be no hiding the fact that the railroad hired a thief and a murderer. It won’t help the confidence of the military if they aim to ship future payrolls.”

“I expect future payrolls to Dodge will go by wagon, with a military escort,” Barnes said. “It won’t be as quick as by train, but the military can protect it better. How much of what you’ve told me do you intend to tell the newspapers?”

“None of it, if it can be avoided,” said Danielle.

“I’m afraid it can’t,” Sheriff Barnes said. “Indi rectly, you were responsible for Steele’s death, but it wasn’t your fault that he used your information as he did. Still, it’s expected of the law to come up with a motive for the killing, and I can’t do that without you. The newspaper people are already at Kansas-Pacific, and they’re going to be told that you were in Steele’s office just before he sent for Chancy Burke. What will you tell them?”

“The truth, I reckon,” Danielle said. “You have the list that I gave Steele, and Chancy Burke’s name is on it. We can piece together the rest.”

“Except for one thing,” said Sheriff Barnes. “Why did Burke shoot Steele? Being fired is one thing, but I can’t understand the need to kill a man. Steele wasn’t even armed. I’m at a loss to explain why Burke didn’t accept his dismissal and just quietly ride away. It seems that’s probably what Steele expected. Now there’ll be a murder charge against him.”

There came a knock on Danielle’s door.

“Who is it?” Danielle asked.

“Newspaper reporter,” said the voice.

“You might as well get it over with,” Sheriff Barnes said.

Danielle went to the door and let the man in. He was tall and thin, and had a nervous twitch. His head darted back and forth like that of an inquisitive rooster. But there was nothing slow about him.

“I’m Jud Dubose,” he said, “and I’m here regarding the shooting of Alan Steele earlier today. You were in Steele’s office just ahead of Chancy Burke, and we believe something you said or did caused Steele to summon Burke to the office. Would you tell me just how you fit into all this?”

“Yes,” said Danielle, and she repeated everything she had told Sheriff Barnes.

“So Steele tried to cover it up, handling Burke on his own,” Dubose said, “and Burke shot and killed him. May I see that death list you gave Steele to compare with names of employees on the railroad’s payroll?”

“No,” said Danielle. “Why should I allow you to publish it in the newspaper when it would only make things more difficult for me? These outlaws would change their names.”

“That’s suppressing evidence,” Dubose said.

“Wrong,” said Sheriff Barnes. “You can mention the list, and that Chancy Burke is one of the names on it, and it was he who did the shooting. But the rest of the names aren’t any of your business. You know the motive, and you know the killer.”

Clearly, Dubose didn’t like it, but even without the rest of the names on the list, he had his story. Bowing to them all, he got up and left the hotel room.

“I’m obliged, Sheriff,” Danielle said.

“You got enough trouble already,” Sheriff Barnes said. “I rode out this morning to the Winters’s place. Jubal and Ebeau are killing mad and are vowing revenge. Was I you, I’d stay close to the hotel for a while.”

Chancy Burke rode to the outskirts of town, where he had a room in a cheap boardinghouse. To his surprise, he found his door unlocked. Drawing and cocking his Colt, he then kicked the door open. Rufe Gaddis and Julius Byler sat on the bed.

“What are you doin’ here so early in the day?” Gaddis inquired.

“They got wise to me,” said Burke, “and I had to shoot the varmint that fired me.”

“Had to, or wanted to?” Byler asked.

“He knew too damn much,” said Burke. “Some body’s huntin’ all of our old gang. The death list he showed me included hombres we rode with in Indian Territory. Three names was missing. Bart Scovill, Levi Jasper, and Brice Levan wasn’t on it, but I was, along with both of you.”

“If somebody had the names of seven of us, he had them all,” Gaddis said. “I reckon Scovill, Jasper, and Levan are dead.”

“I think so, too,” said Byler, “and thanks to you shootin’ that railroad man, we’ll likely have every damn bounty hunter and Pinkerton in the country after us.”

“Then I’ll just go my way, and you gents can go yours,” Burke said, “but I won’t be leavin’ until I get my share of that twenty-five thousand you took from the train.”

“You’ll get it,” said Gaddis, “and whether or not you go your own way is up to you. We know somebody’s after us, maybe a bounty hunter, and we might be safer not ridin’ alone.”

“I’ll likely have a price on my head before the day’s done,” Burke said. “Let’s get out of here and head for Indian Territory for a while.”

“We’ll have to,” said Byler. “That’s where the gold’s hid.”

“I think we ought to wait until dark,” Gaddis said. “There’s a storm building, and it’ll be raining by tonight. Somebody might discover our trail and decide to track us.”

“I’m going down to the parlor for an evening paper,” said Burke. “I’d like to see just how much they know about me, and if there’s a price on my head.”

The story was on page one, and they all gathered around to read it.

“Damn,” Burke said, “there’s a five-thousand-dollar bounty on me.”

Gaddis laughed. “If they raise it to ten thousand, I’ll take you in myself.”

“Whoa,” said Byler, “this ain’t so damn funny. That death list the sheriff found on the floor of Steele’s office come from a young gunman who’s looking for us. Somehow, he’s found out we’re ridin’ together.”