Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

There was laughter, some of it from strangers who had overheard the conversation. For a second, Danielle’s eyes met Leroy’s, and she knew if their trails again crossed on the frontier, one of them would die. Danielle rode out slightly to the southwest so that she might avoid Waco, which lay due south of Fort Worth. She had no doubt that eventually she would be riding back to Waco, for with the whole town, including the sheriff, looking out for Gaddis, Byler, and Burke, it was a safe enough haven for the outlaws. She took heart in the possibility that Kalpana might not have been working alone, that some of the other killers she sought might be riding with him. From what she had learned at Fort Worth, Laredo, Texas was a border town some three hundred miles to the south. Since San Antonio was along the way, Danielle decided to stop and talk to the old ranger, Sage Jennings.

San Antonio, Texas. December 7, 1870.

Captain Jennings had heard of the killing of Alan Steele, of the Kansas-Pacific. Danielle filled in the details, and shaking his head, Jennings spoke.

“No damn wonder the frontier’s neck-deep in outlaws. I reckon you’ve been to Waco?”

“I have, right after I left here before,” Danielle said. She explained her run-ins with the sheriff and the Gaddis, Byler, and Burke families.

“I frankly don’t know what we’re going to do about that situation,” said Jennings. “If we had some way of knowing when those three varmints slip back into Waco, I reckon we could take a posse and go after them. But it would be hell, trying to buffalo a whole town the size of Waco. Somebody would die, and not necessarily the outlaws.”

“I got word that Snakehead Kalpana, one of the men I’m hunting, has been rustling on the other side of the border and bringing the horses into Texas. Do you know anything about that?”

“I didn’t know the last time you were here,” said Jennings, “but I do now. Kalpana has three men riding with him. He killed two men. One of them a Mexican officer, and the other a Texas Ranger. We want him, and we want him bad. He’s worth twenty-five hundred dollars, dead or alive.”

“If I find him,” Danielle said, “you won’t be getting him alive. I’m bound for Laredo.”

“He hasn’t been heard from around there since the killings,” Captain Jennings said.

“I’m not surprised,” said Danielle, “but there’s a lot of border from Laredo south to Brownsville. I aim to ride all of it if I have to.”

“I could swear you in as a ranger,” Jennings said, “but it might hurt you more than it would help. A varmint that’s killed one ranger couldn’t hang any higher for killing another one. Just be careful, and remember, it’s against federal law for you to cross the border into Mexico.”

“Wherever Kalpana is, that’s where I’m going,” said Danielle, “and that includes south of the border.”

“I didn’t hear you say that,” Jennings said. “Do what you have to do, and good luck.”

Weary from the long ride from Fort Worth, Danielle stabled Sundown and took a room for the night. She lay down and slept awhile after supper, then decided to visit the Alamo Saloon. She had heard it was a favorite watering hole for King Fisher, Ben Thompson, and other gamblers. The saloon was even more luxurious than she had imagined. Instead of sawdust floors, there was deep-pile carpet, drapes on the windows, a mahogany bar, and two dozen tables devoted to poker and faro. Danielle wondered if her lucky streak had played out, or if she could still win. Placing five double eagles on a faro table, she bought in.

“Ten dollars a bet,” the house dealer said.

It was the highest stakes Danielle had ever played for. At ten dollars a throw, she could lose her hundred dollars in a matter of minutes. On the other hand, if she won, the higher stakes put more money in her pocket. She quickly lost fifty dollars before she began winning. She almost immediately recovered her fifty dollars, and for an hour she averaged winning two pots out of three. Her companions at the table took their losses in stride, for they seemed to be affluent men. When Danielle had won three hundred dollars, she withdrew from the game. It didn’t pay to win too much, too soon. She couldn’t help wondering what these men would have thought or said, had they known she wasn’t a man. Thinking back, she was amazed at the changes in her. She had learned to control herself and her emotions so that nothing men said or did caused her to blush. It bothered her, for when she reached the end of her vengeance trail, suppose she had become a hard woman, comfortable in saloons, among drunks and whores? She often thought of Tucker Carlyle, but she dared not ride back to the Carlyle ranch. Her good-byes had been difficult enough, and she didn’t want to go through them again. She returned to her hotel, and as usual, she slid the back of a chair under the doorknob.

Danielle arose early and had breakfast in a nearby cafe. She then took her saddlebags and headed for the stable where she had left the chestnut mare. During their months on the trail, she had become much closer to Sundown, and the mare nickered her pleasure when Danielle came near. She rode slightly to the southwest, toward Laredo. If there had been trouble on the border at Laredo, it wasn’t likely the outlaws were still there, but she couldn’t overlook the possibility that they had simply holed up somewhere in the wilds of old Mexico until the incident was forgotten. Rustling horses in Mexico and driving them into Texas had become relatively easy, for as Captain Jennings had pointed out, even the combined efforts of the United States and Mexico were not enough to patrol the hundreds of miles of border.

Laredo, Texas. December 10, 1870.

Compared to San Antonio, Laredo wasn’t much more than a wide place in the trail. The hotel was a single-story affair, the rooms were cheap, and there were only two cafes. But, as Danielle noted with amusement, there were six saloons. Darkness was falling when she reached town, and to her dismay, she found the livery closed. She pounded on the door with the butt of one of her Colts until the door creaked open. An old Mexican peered at Danielle in the fading light. Under his arm was a Winchester rifle.

“What you want, señor ?”

“I want to stable my horse for the night,” Danielle said. “What the hell’s the idea of closing before dark?”

“ Mejicanos come from across the river and take our horses,” the old one replied.

“Tarnation,” Danielle said, “don’t you have a lawman or a sheriff?”

“Sí,” said the Mexican, “but he is one hombre. The border, she be great, señor .”

The old man had told her essentially what she had already heard from Captain Sage Jennings, but she had learned something more. Apparently in retaliation, Texas horses were being run across the border into Mexico, or so it seemed. But suppose it wasn’t Mexicans stealing Texas horses? Who could say that, after several killings, American outlaws hadn’t holed up south of the border and begun running Texas horses into Mexico? Danielle took a room at the hotel and went to the nearest cafe to eat. Tomorrow morning she would seek out the sheriff and question him.

Three men were in the cafe when Danielle entered, and they turned to stare at her. Each wore a high-crowned Mexican sombrero, and their faces were obscured by maybe a week’s growth of beard. Their tight-fitting black trousers and their red-embroidered vests showed much trail-dust. Their ruffled, once-white shirts were sweat-stained, and tied low on his right hip, each had a revolver. Danielle paused in the doorway, her eyes on the three, and they hastily resumed eating. The cook looked fearfully from Danielle to the Mexicans, and relaxed. The three were eating, apparently oblivious to Danielle. She spoke.