Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“Get the sheriff,” Danielle said, “and I’ll explain it all to him. I reckon you’d best keep this train here until the sheriff’s talked to the fireman and engineer. They saw it all.”

“I want to talk to the sheriff, too,” said Ann to Danielle. “I won’t leave until I know the law’s not holding you responsible.”

Others had heard the sound of distant gunfire, and men came on the run. One of them was Sheriff Bart Devlin. He eyed Danielle and spoke.

“Who’s the dead man?”

“Eph Snell, a horse thief and likely a killer,” Danielle said. “This is Ann and Anita Willard. I helped them to escape Snell, but he caught up to us and drew on me.”

“He pulled iron first, Sheriff,” the engineer said. “We saw him, didn’t we, Slim?”

“Yeah,” the fireman said, “and he was a fool. This young gent here could shoot the ears off John Wesley Hardin.”

“Now, ma’am,” Sheriff Devlin said to Ann, “sup pose you tell me where you figure into all this.”

Ann spoke swiftly, her eyes meeting those of Sheriff Devlin. When she paused to catch her breath, Anita spoke.

“He tore all my clothes off, and I had to hide from him in the woods.”

Shouts of anger erupted from the men who had gathered around.

“Sheriff,” said the station agent, “this train needs to be on its way. What more do you need of the fireman and engineer?”

“Probably nothing,” Sheriff Devlin said, “but just in case, write down their names and addresses for me. Then they can go.”

“I’m not going until I know you’re not in trouble for shooting him,” Ann told Danielle.

“Neither am I,” said Anita defiantly.

“I know this young gent,” Sheriff Devlin said, “and from what I’ve heard, I believe I can safely promise you there’ll be no charges filed. In fact, if this dead varmint’s been hiding out in Indian Territory, I may have a wanted dodger on him.”

The fireman and engineer had mounted to the locomotive’s cabin. A clanging of its bell and two blasts from the whistle announced the train’s departure.

“Ann, it’s time for you and Anita to get aboard,” Danielle said. “Go in peace.”

The two mounted the steps into the passenger coach, and as the train pulled out, they waved to Danielle for as long as they could see her. Two men had volunteered to remove Snell’s body, taking it to the carpenter shop, where a coffin would be built. Sheriff Devlin spoke to Danielle.

“Come on to the office with me, and let’s see if there’s a dodger on Snell. Might even be a reward.”

“I’m not concerned with a reward, Sheriff,” Danielle said. “I shot him only to save my friends.”

“A fine piece of work and a noble reason,” said Sheriff Devlin, “but if there’s a reward, it belongs to you.”

Danielle waited while Sheriff Devlin fanned through a stack of wanted dodgers.

“Ah,” Devlin said, “here he is. He’s wanted in Missouri and Texas for murder. There’s a five-hundred-dollar reward, but it’ll take me a few days to collect it.”

“When you do,” said Danielle, “send it to Ann Willard, in St. Louis. Send it to this address.”

“I will,” Devlin said, “and it’s a fine thing you’re doing. Ride careful, kid.”

Danielle genuinely liked the old sheriff and didn’t object to him calling her “kid.” She had not completely healed from her wounds, and the drawing and firing of the Colt had somehow inflamed the wound in her right side. She felt a dull, throbbing ache, and after leaving the sheriff’s office, she took a room at a hotel, for she dared not go to a doctor. First, she stabled Sundown. She then went to a saloon and, as much as she hated the stuff, bought a quart of whiskey. At the mercantile she bought a bottle of laudanum and returned to the hotel. She was hungry, but in no mood to eat. She didn’t yet have a fever, and dosing herself with the laudanum, she went to bed and slept far into the night. When she awakened, her throat was dry and inflamed, and her face felt like it was afire. She drank a third of the bottle of whiskey and returned to the bed. When she again awakened, the sun beamed in through the room’s single window, for she had slept well into the day. Her fever had broken, and her body was soaked with sweat. The ache of the wound in her side was gone, allowing her to sit up without pain. On the dresser was a porcelain pitcher half full of water, and she drank it all, right from the pitcher. Her belly grumbled, reminding her she had eaten nothing since her meager breakfast with Ann and Anita the day before. Taking her time, she went to a cafe. After a satisfying meal of ham, eggs, biscuits, and hot coffee, she felt much better. She was tempted to ride on, but after having the wound in her side flare up again, she was reluctant to go until she had completely healed. She paid for another night at the hotel and spent most of the day stretched out on the bed, resting. In the late afternoon, there was a knock on her door.

“Who is it, and what do you want?”

“I’m Casper DeVero, and I want to talk to you,” said a voice outside the door.

“About what?” Danielle asked, suspecting she already knew.

“About the heroic thing you did yesterday,” said DeVero.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Danielle said.

“Damn it,” said DeVero, “the sheriff said you’d left town, and I had a hell of a time finding you. I’m a stringer for one of the Kansas City newspapers, and this is just the kind of human interest story they’ll like. You’ll be famous.”

“I don’t want to be famous,” Danielle shouted. “Now leave me alone.”

“Your choice,” said DeVero. “Talk to me, and you’ll get a sympathetic ear. But I can piece the story together if I have to, and you may not like some of the turns it takes. I will see that the story’s published, with or without your help.”

“Then do it without my help,” Danielle shouted, “and leave me alone.”

Later feeling better, Danielle went out for supper, encountering Sheriff Devlin in the cafe.

“I didn’t know you were still in town,” said Devlin. “We got a gent here name of DeVero, and he sells stories to the Kansas City newspapers. He’s been looking for you.”

“Unfortunately, he found me,” Danielle said, “but I refused to talk to him. I’m still here only because I decided to rest a couple of days before riding on.”

“I don’t usually give advice unless it’s asked for,” said Devlin, “but it might have been better if you had talked to DeVero. There’s certain gossipy folks in town that are likely to give you a reputation you won’t like.”

“Then they lie,” Danielle said. “I did what was right.”

“I believe you,” said Sheriff Devlin, “but don’t be surprised if DeVero hints at some funny business between you and this woman, Ann Willard.”

“My God,” Danielle said, “Ann’s old enough to be my mother. If that yellow-bellied, two-legged coyote prints anything close to that, I’ll kill him.”

“Then I’d have to arrest you,” said Devlin. “It’s kind of a Mexican standoff. While he can’t prove there was anything goin’ on, you can’t prove there wasn’t. Writers have a way of hinting at things without actually accusing anybody, and this Ann Willard is an almighty handsome woman.”

Sheriff Devlin departed, leaving Danielle alone with her thoughts. No longer hungry, she forced herself to eat, knowing her body had to gain strength. As she thought of DeVero and the lies he might tell, she decided to remain in Wichita long enough to read what he had to say. While she couldn’t stop him from making her look bad in the press, she had no intention for it to appear she was running away.