Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

Wichita, Kansas. November 27, 1870.

When the story appeared in the Kansas City newspaper, it was even worse than Sheriff Devlin had suggested it might be. Danielle was furious, and one particular paragraph made her killing mad. It said:

It appears the young gunman, Daniel Strange, may have gunned down Eph Snell over a woman they both wanted. Had Strange been consorting with a woman of questionable morals, when Eph Snell caught them?

There was much more, but Danielle refused to read it. A companion piece exploited the killing of Elmo and Ebeau Winters in Kansas City, suggesting that their father, Jubal, was also dead, since he had apparently disappeared. The only redeeming feature was a few lines quoting Sheriff Barnes, in which he stated flatly that Danielle had fired in self-defense. Grinding her teeth in frustration, Danielle went to supper. Tomorrow she would ride out, but the day wasn’t over, and she expected the worst. It wasn’t long in coming. There were half a dozen men in the cafe, and they grinned openly at her. Ordering her supper, she sat down to wait. In the distance there was a locomotive whistle, as the train neared Wichita on its way to the end-of-track. She had just begun to eat when the door opened and she was confronted by Herb Sellers and Jesse Burris.

“We put our horses in a boxcar and come here on the train,” Jesse said. “We didn’t know if you’d still be here or not.” Uninvited, the two pulled out chairs and sat down.

“You read about me in the paper, I reckon,” said Danielle bitterly. “Believe it if you like. I don’t give a damn anymore.”

“We’ll believe it like you tell it,” Herb said, “and we’ll stomp hell out of anybody that makes anything more of it.”

“I’m obliged,” said Danielle, “but I don’t want either of you in trouble with the law because of me. The sheriff’s already told me I can’t shoot the no-account bastard that wrote the story, and that’s the only thing that would give me any real satisfaction.”

“We’ll hit ’em where it hurts,” Jesse Burris said. “When we’ve had supper, we’ll make the rounds of all the saloons and win a pile of their money.”

“You and Herb go ahead,” said Danielle. “I’m going back to the hotel and rest. I aim to ride out early tomorrow.”

After supper, Danielle parted company with the two genial bounty hunters. Her wound seemed to have healed, but there was still some weakness in her right arm. The wound in her left thigh had healed to the extent that she no longer limped. Locking her door and placing a ladder-back chair under the doorknob, she stripped off her clothes and got into bed. It was a blessed relief, being rid of the hated binder, and she suspected the pressure of it had slowed the healing of the wound in her right side. But there was no help for that. She thought fondly of Ann and Anita Willard, and the secret that they kept.

Wichita, Kansas. November 29, 1870.

Danielle was awakened by a knock on her door.

“Who is it, and what do you want?” she asked.

“Jesse and me,” said Herb Sellers. “We was big winners last night, and we’ll buy your breakfast.”

“I’ll eat with you,” Danielle said, “but I’m barely awake. Wait for me in the lobby.”

Danielle got up, feeling stronger. With the binder back in place, she was soon ready. She tipped her hat low over her eyes, buckled on her gun belts, and removed the back of the chair from beneath the doorknob. It was later than Danielle had believed, for the sun was already several hours high, its rays beaming through the lobby’s open door.

“Herb and me slept late,” Jesse said. “We won a pile last night, and we had to give the varmints a chance to win their money back.”

Herb laughed. “They didn’t win none of it back. Fact is, they lost some more, and we didn’t run out. We stayed until the saloon closed.”

The trio had breakfast at one of the cafes alongside the Kansas-Pacific tracks. There was little talk until they finished eating, and it was Herb who spoke.

“Would you take kindly to Jesse and me ridin’ with you? We got nothing to hold us here, and I think we’d better avoid that saloon tonight.”

“I reckon you’re welcome to ride with me,” said Danielle, “but I want one thing understood. Bounty or not, when I find these yellow coyotes I’m looking for, they’ll belong to me. Then you’re welcome to any bounty. All I want is their scurvy hides.”

“When you find ’em, Herb and me will stand aside and let you get your satisfaction,” Jesse said.

The bank was across the railroad tracks from the hotel, and as Danielle, Herb, and Jesse neared the hotel entrance, Herb stopped.

“What is it?” Jesse asked.

“Them three hombres that’s headin’ for the bank’s front door just left their horses behind the building, and the hitch rail’s out front,” said Herb.

“No law against that,” Jesse said.

“No,” said Herb, “but somethin’ about this don’t look right. Let’s wait a minute.”

Across the tracks, the three men entered the bank. Facing the tellers, they drew their guns.

“Don’t nobody try nothin’ foolish,” yelled one of the thieves, “and nobody gets hurt. We want them cash drawers opened, and we want only the big bills.”

But one of the tellers had a Colt in his cash drawer. When he drew it, one of the outlaws shot him. The teller’s slug went wild, shattering the bank’s front window with a tinkling crash. Fearfully, the other two tellers had emptied their cash drawers of large bills, and the outlaws scooped them up.

“The varmints are robbin’ the bank!” Herb shouted as the echo of the shots faded.

Of a single mind, Herb, Jesse, and Danielle drew their Colts. Seconds later, the three robbers swung the bank’s front door open, but before they could make a break for their horses, Herb challenged them.

“Halt, you varmints. You’re covered.”

But the three went for their guns. Danielle’s Colt was roaring, and when Herb and Jesse began firing a second later, it sounded like rolling thunder. The three bank robbers went down as men poured from nearby saloons and businesses. A man stepped through the bank’s front door with a shotgun under his arm, just as Sheriff Bart Devlin arrived. Devlin paid no attention to anybody except the three men who had been gunned down after leaving the bank. He found the trio dead, with the bills they had taken scattered about. The sheriff then turned his attention to the trio in front of the hotel. They were calmly reloading their Colts. The banker who had stepped out the door with the shotgun was the first to speak.

“Jenkins, one of my tellers, is hard-hit, Sheriff. But for those three young men before the hotel, these thieves would have escaped.”

The sheriff said nothing, then crossing the street, he spoke to Danielle.

“I know you, but who are your friends?”

“Herb Sellers and Jesse Burris,” Danielle said. “We just had breakfast, and it was Herb who thought there was something unusual about those three men leaving their horses behind the bank. When we heard the shots, we knew they were robbing the bank.”

“A fine piece of work you gents have done,” said Sheriff Devlin. “You just gunned down the Fenner gang. Three brothers gone bad, wanted for robbery and murder. I want to talk to all of you in my office, after these dead men are removed.”

Some of the same men who had laughed at the cruel story in the Kansas City paper no longer laughed at Danielle. They moved aside respectfully, allowing Danielle, Herb, and Jesse to proceed along the boardwalk to Sheriff Devlin’s office.

“There’s a reward for them three hombres, ” Sheriff Devlin said, when he returned to his office, “but I don’t know how much. I’ll have to look it up, and it’ll take a few days to collect the money.”