Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

“Bring me a double portion of whatever you have.”

“Beef stew, potatoes, apple pie, and coffee,” said the cook “Tequila if you wish.”

“No,” Danielle said. “Coffee.”

It was obvious the three men who had stared at Danielle were drinking tequila, for on their table sat a bottle a third-full of the potent liquor. Danielle watched them out of the corner of her eye and, from their flushed faces, decided they were drunk or close to it. When the cook brought Danielle’s meal, she ate slowly, allowing the trio to finish ahead of her. They did and left the cafe without looking at Danielle again. It was just her and the cook, so she spoke.

“I thought it was illegal for Mexicans to cross the border into Texas, or for Texans to cross over into Mexico.”

“That fool law was wrote in Washington,” said the cook, “and that’s a hell of a long ways from here. If the Mexes want to wade the branch and spend their pesos in Laredo, I ain’t about to complain. I reckon you’ve noticed this ain’t a very big town.”

“I’ve noticed,” Danielle said, “and I’m not concerned with Mexicans. I’m looking for Snakehead Kalpana, an American. I have business with him.”

“Never heard of him,” said the cook.

The furtive look in his eyes told Danielle he was lying. Drinking the last of her coffee, she paid for her meal and left the cafe. Returning to the hotel, she locked the door to her room and placed the back of a chair under the doorknob. Tomorrow she would seek out the sheriff, and for a long while, she lay awake wondering if his attitude toward the border crossings would be the same as those of the man in the cafe. If Kalpana and some of the other men felt safe south of the border, finding them would be all the more difficult.

Danielle arose at dawn, had breakfast, and went looking for the sheriff. There were only two cells in the jail, both empty. The sheriff looked to be in his forties, and he got to his feet when Danielle entered the office.

“Sheriff, I’m Daniel Strange, from St. Joseph, Missouri.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said the lawman. “I’m Tom Carson. What can I do for you?”

“Tell me if you know anything about Snakehead Kalpana,” Danielle said.

“I know he’s an outlaw and a killer, and that the Texas Rangers would dearly love for him to be the guest of honor at a necktie party. What’s your interest in him?”

Quickly, Danielle again told the story of her father’s murder in Indian Territory.

“I can’t say I blame you,” said the sheriff, “but you’re almighty young to be ridin’ the vengeance trail.”

“Maybe,” Danielle said, “but there was nobody else. My two brothers are younger than I am.”

“I’ll help you in any way that I can,” said the sheriff, “but I suspect Kalpana and the bunch he’s ridin’ with have moved on. It was Kalpana who shot two men. One of them was a Mexican officer, and the other was a Texas Ranger.”

“Speaking of the bunch Kalpana’s riding with,” Danielle said, “do you know the names of any of them?”

“No,” said Sheriff Carson. “I’m familiar with Kalpana only because he spent his time in the saloons, gambling. Of course, that was before we learned he was rustling Mex horses and selling them in Texas, and before he shot and killed the Mexican and a ranger. He’s got a hair-trigger temper, and when he loses at the poker table, he has a bad habit of accusing somebody of cheating him. I threatened to arrest him several times, but he would always back down. I reckon it’s lucky for me that he did, because he carries a couple of tied-down Colts. From what I’ve heard, he’s faster than forked lightning.”

Danielle sighed. “I’m obliged, Sheriff Carson. I didn’t really expect Kalpana to still be here, but this trail’s not quite as cold as that I’ve been following. How much border is there between here and Brownsville?”

“A good two hundred miles,” said Carson, “and all manner of little villages where a man on the dodge can hole up. He could even be south of the border. Mexicans are poor, and if an Americano has money, they’ll take him in, whatever he’s done.”

“The border situation being what it is,” Danielle said, “can you suggest anything that might be helpful to me?”

“Maybe,” the lawman said. “As you ride on to Brownsville, follow the river. There’s Del Rio and Eagle Pass, about a day’s ride between them. You probably won’t learn much at Del Rio, but King Fisher has a ranch near Eagle Pass. 13It’s common knowledge that King rides across the border, rounds up wild horses, and drives them into Texas, but you would be wise not to mention that. He might be willing to identify some of the men you’re looking for if he understands your reason. But he’s almighty swift with a pistol, and he don’t like company. Are you familiar with him?”

“Yes,” said Danielle. “I ran into him and Ben Thompson once, when I rode through San Antonio.”

“Drunk, I reckon,” Sheriff Carson said.

“Roostered to the eyeballs,” said Danielle. “They looked just about drunk enough to want to fight, so I avoided them.”

“Good thinking,” Sheriff Carson said. “It’s a damn shame King Fisher walks on both sides of the law. He could use his guns to help rid the border of thieves and killers.”

Del Rio, Texas. December 12, 1870.

It seemed there was nothing more Danielle could learn in Laredo, so she rode along the Rio Grande toward Del Rio. It was, as Sheriff Carson said, a good day’s ride, and the first stars were winking from the heavens when Danielle rode in. The town seemed smaller than Laredo, for Danielle counted only four saloons. For some reason, there were two liveries, and Danielle left Sundown at the one nearest the hotel. She then took a room for the night and went to a cafe for supper. Since it was already dark, she decided to wait until the following morning to seek out Sheriff Lon Guthrie. The cafe was nothing fancy, having a big hanging sign outside that said simply EATS. Besides the cook, there was only one man in the cafe, and he wore a lawman’s star. Danielle ordered her meal, then took a chair across from the lawman. He looked questioningly at her.

“I reckon you’re Sheriff Lon Guthrie,” Danielle said. “Sheriff Carson, in Laredo, said I should talk to you.”

“I’m Guthrie,” said the lawman. “Who are you, and why do you want to talk to me?”

“I’m Daniel Strange, and I’m looking for a varmint that’s been rustling horses south of the border and driving them to Texas. He’s one of ten outlaws who robbed and murdered my pa in Indian Territory. His name, far as I know, is Snakehead Kalpana.”

“I’ve heard the name,” Sheriff Guthrie said, “but I don’t think he’s spent any time here in Del Rio. Seeing as how we’re right on the border, I’m always watching for strangers in the saloons and cafes.”

“I’m obliged for the information,” said Danielle. “In Laredo, Sheriff Carson suggested that on my way to Brownsville, I talk to Sheriff Rim Klady, in Eagle Pass. He told me that I should also talk to King Fisher, since he gathers wild horses in Mexico and drives them across the border into Texas.”

“King Fisher’s a hell-raising coyote that walks on his hind legs like a man,” Sheriff Guthrie said. “I doubt he’d help you if he could, because some of those horses he rounds up in Mexico ain’t wild. They’re wearin’ Mex brands. You’d best avoid him.”

“If I don’t learn anything in Eagle Pass,” said Danielle, “I’ll be riding on to Brownsville. With so much border, I can’t believe these rustlers would give up easy pickings.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Sheriff Guthrie said, “but Sam Duro’s sheriff there, so don’t be expecting too much.”