Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

“You’re awful damn sudden with that iron, kid,” said the man who had been about to draw. “Put it away. I was just testin’ you. Part of our business is bein’ suspicious. Who was the two hombres you gunned down?”

“I have no idea,” Danielle said. “They came after me with guns drawn so I shot them.”

“ You shot them while they had the drop on you?”

“I did,” said Danielle. “Wouldn’t you?”

“If I was fast enough,” the outlaw said.

The rest of the men laughed and relaxed. It was the kind of action they could relate to, and the outlaw who had just been outdrawn introduced the bunch.

“I’m Caney Font. To your left is Cude Nations, Slack Hitchfelt, and Peavey Oden. The two varmints that just come out of the brush is Hargis Cox and Cletus Kirby.”

“I’ve already told you my name,” said Danielle.

“That’s an unusual iron you’re carryin’,” Kirby said. “Mind if I have a look at it?”

“Nobody takes my Colt,” said Danielle.

“The kid’s smarter than he looks,” Cude Nations said.

“Hell,” said Kirby, “I never seen but one pistol like that, and I wanted a closer look. It looks like the same gun Bart Scovill had.”

“Well, it’s not.” Danielle said. “A gunsmith in St. Joe made only four of these.”

“I reckoned Scovill likely stole the one he had,” said Kirby. “He ain’t the kind to lay out money on a fancy iron. He claimed he had it made special, just for him, and it did have a letter ‘D’ inlaid in the butt plates.” Danielle’s ears pricked up at the mention of the gun.

“That don’t make sense,” Hargis Cox said. “Bart Scovill’s got no ‘D’ in his name.”

“You ain’t knowed him as long as I have,” said Caney Font. “His middle name is David, and there’s times he calls himself Bart Davis.”

“Where are you bound, kid?” Cude Nations asked.

“Away from Fort Smith,” said Danielle.

The outlaws laughed. Her answer had told them nothing, and it was the kind of humor they could appreciate.

“We don’t eat too high on the hog, kid,” Caney Font said, “but you’re welcome to stay to what there is.”

The food was bacon, beans, and sourdough biscuits, washed down with coffee. Danielle was ravenous, having had no breakfast.

“Kid,” Caney Font said, after they had eaten, “we might could use that fast gun of yours. That is, if you ain’t playin’ games.”

“Pick a target,” said Danielle.

“What about this tin the beans was in?” Slack Hitchfelt said.

Without warning, Hitchfelt threw the tin into the air. In a split second, Danielle fired twice, drilling the can with both shots before it touched the ground.

“My God, that’s some shootin’,” said Caney Font. “How’d you learn to shoot like that, kid?”

“Practice,” Danielle said, punching out the empty casings and reloading.

“How’d you like to ride with us to Wichita on a bank job?” asked Caney Font.

“I don’t think so,” Danielle said. “I have other business.”

Cletus Kirby laughed. “What business is more important than money?”

“Killing the bastards that murdered my father,” said Danielle.

“Then I reckon you ain’t interested in joinin’ us,” Slack Hitchfelt said.

“No,” said Danielle.

“Then I reckon it’s unfortunate for you, kid,” said Caney Font. “One word to the law in Wichita, and it’ll all be over for us.”

“I’m not going to Wichita,” Danielle said.

“You’re a sure enough killer, but you ain’t no outlaw,” said Peavey Oden.

Danielle saw it coming. She had refused to throw in with them, and having revealed their plans, they had to kill her. If they all drew simultaneously, she was doomed. But they had no prearranged signal. Peavy Oden drew first, with Hargis Cox and Cletus Kirby a second behind. Danielle fired three times in a drumroll of sound, while the men who had drawn against her hadn’t even gotten off a shot. The remaining three outlaws were careful not to move their hands.

“The rest of you—Font, Nations, and Hitchfelt—are welcome to saddle up and ride,” said Danielle.

“Make the mistake of following me, and now that I know your intentions, I’ll gun you down without warning.”

“We ain’t about to follow you, kid,” said Caney Font. “At least, I ain’t.”

“Me neither,” Nations and Hitchfelt said in a single voice.

“Then saddle up and ride,” said Danielle.

Careful to keep their hands free of their weapons, the trio saddled their horses and rode into the night. Danielle’s hands trembled as she reloaded her Colt. While she had a lead toward one of her father’s killers, she had already gunned down five men. When and where would it end? She saddled the chestnut mare and was about to mount when it occurred to her that she should search the dead outlaws. As distasteful as the task was, she found a total of a hundred and twenty dollars in the pockets of the dead men. Common sense soon overcame her guilt and she took the money.

Already tired of killing and outlaws, she rode south, toward the Red River and Texas. There was a chance the men she hunted had traveled as far from the scene of their crime as they could, and Texas was by far larger than Indian Territory. Danielle forded the Red at the familiar cattle crossing, near Doan’s Store. Taking some of the money she had, she bought supplies she had been doing without, such as a small coffeepot, coffee, a skillet, canned beans, and some cornmeal. On second thought, sparing her bacon, she bought half a ham, which was all the chestnut mare could comfortably carry.

The storekeeper eyed her curiously, for he had seen all kinds come and go. They were getting younger all the time, he decided, with a sigh. Danielle continued riding south. Eventually, she came to the village of Paris, Texas. There was a general store, a livery, a hotel, and a sheriff’s office. Adjoining the hotel was a cafe. Already tired of her own cooking, Danielle went to the cafe and ordered a meal. Once finished, she had a question for the owner.

“I’m looking for a gent name of Bart Scovill. His middle name is Dave, and sometimes he goes by that.”

“Can’t help you there,” said the cafe’s cook. “You might try Sheriff Monroe. He knows everybody within two hundred miles.”

Danielle took a room at the hotel and went looking for Sheriff Monroe, finding him in his office, cleaning his Winchester.

“Barton Scovill is sheriff over to Mineral Wells, in Palo Pinto County. His kid run off up north somewhere to stay out of the war. I ain’t seen him in near ten years. He’d be near thirty by now.”

“I’d hate to ride all the way over there and find out he’s the wrong hombre ,” Danielle said. “Do you know if his middle name is Dave, or David?”

“I got no idea,” said Sheriff Monroe. “To tell the truth, my own son was killed in the war, and I got no respect for them that run off to avoid it.”

“I can’t say I blame you, Sheriff,” Danielle said. “Thanks for your help.”

Danielle took the chestnut mare to the livery, rubbed her down, and ordered a double portion of grain for her. She then took her saddlebags and Winchester to the small room she had rented. Clouds were building up in the west, and there would be rain before dark. She felt the need of a good night’s rest in a warm bed, with a stall and grain for the chestnut mare. The first thing she did was lock the door, draw the window shade, and strip off all her clothes. She was well endowed enough that the binder was extremely uncomfortable, and she took it off gratefully. She then sat on the bed naked and cross-legged, cleaning and oiling her Colt. Again, she fully loaded it with six shells. Outside, the wind was screaming around the eaves, and there was the first pattering of rain on the windowpane. Danielle delayed supper until the rain subsided, enjoying the comfort of the rickety bed. By the time she reached the cafe, the rain had started again. Dusk was falling as she left the cafe, and that and the rain were all that saved her. Two slugs slammed into the cafe’s wall, just inches from her head. Instantly, Danielle had her Colt out, but with the rain and darkness, there was no target. Reaching her room, she removed only her hat, boots, and gun belt. The Colt she placed under her pillow. But the night was peaceful, and Danielle lay awake wondering who had fired the shots at her the day before. Carefully, she made her way to the cafe for breakfast, and then to her room for her saddlebags and Winchester. She saddled the chestnut mare and rode east toward Dallas.