Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

“I’m obliged, Sheriff,” said Danielle.

Sheriff Guthrie had finished his meal. He slid back his chair and stood up.

“Good luck, kid.”

Danielle nodded, for the cook had just brought her supper. She ate, mulling over what Sheriff Guthrie had told her. While he hadn’t really told her anything about the sheriff at Brownsville, he had implied much. Among the many good lawmen on the frontier, there was always an occasional one—if the price was right—who would turn his back on rustlers, outlaws, and killers. Danielle paid for her meal and returned to the hotel. Having already talked to Sheriff Guthrie, in the morning she could get an early start to Eagle Pass.

Eagle Pass, Texas. December 13, 1870.

The border town of Eagle Pass wasn’t that much different from Del Rio. There were the same weather-beaten saloons, but only four this time. Danielle arrived before dark and, finding a livery, stabled Sundown. She then set out to find the sheriff’s office. The door was locked, and peering through a window, Danielle could see no sign of life inside. There was an hour of daylight remaining, so Danielle decided to make the rounds of the saloons. In the third one, called the Eagle’s Claw, she found the sheriff, involved in a poker game.

“Sheriff,” Danielle said, “I have some business with you.”

Sheriff Rim Klady turned and looked her over, his eyes pausing when they reached the two tied-down Colts on Danielle’s hips. Finally, he spoke.

“Have you been robbed or shot somebody?”

“No,” said Danielle. “I’m Daniel Strange, and it’s about another matter.”

“Then see me at the office in the morning,” Sheriff Klady said.

The lawman had just won another pot. Dismissing Danielle, he raked in his winnings. Danielle left the saloon, furious. She took a room at the hotel. Tomorrow she might or might not be questioning the sheriff. It seemed that a talk with King Fisher might be far more beneficial, if she could get to him.

The next morning, Danielle was sitting on the steps to the sheriff’s office and the jail when the lawman arrived. She got up, allowing him to mount the steps and unlock the door. She followed him into the office.

“All right,” said the sheriff, “I’m Rim Klady. Sit down and have your say.”

Klady sat down in his chair behind his desk while Danielle took a ladder-back chair facing him. She quickly told her story, and by the time she was finished, the sheriff was shaking his head.

“The name ‘Kalpana’ don’t mean nothing to me,” Sheriff Klady said. “There’s hundreds of miles of border, and rustlers ain’t likely to drive stock across the border where there’s a town with a lawman.”

“I understand King Fisher has a ranch near here,” said Danielle, “and that he rounds up wild horses in Mexico, driving them back into Texas.”

Sheriff Klady’s manner changed abruptly, and there was something in his eyes akin to fear. Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t bother King Fisher, and he don’t bother me. I don’t see nothin’ wrong with him capturing wild horses in Mexico.”

“Except that the United States government has a law against him going there,” Danielle said. “That doesn’t concern you?”

“Hell, no,” said the lawman. “The federals passed that damn law. Let them enforce it. If Mexicans want to come into Texas or Texans want to go into Mexico, there ain’t enough lawmen on both sides of the border to stop ’em.”

“You haven’t been much help, Sheriff,” Danielle said, “and I’m going to ask just one more favor of you. How do I find King Fisher’s place?”

“Just ride along the river toward Brownsville,” Sheriff Klady said. “The Rio borders his place to the south, and you’ll see a sign pointin’ toward the ranch. Just don’t complain to me if he greets you with a Winchester and orders you to get the hell off his property.”

“I’d never think of bothering you over a small matter like that, Sheriff,” said Danielle. “I’m armed, and I’m not afraid to shoot back. Adios. ”

The sheriff said nothing, and Danielle left, closing the door behind her. Mounting Sundown, she rode south, keeping the Rio in sight. As Sheriff Klady had said, there soon was a fork in the trail. A board with crude lettering had been nailed to a tree. It said:

This is King Fisher’s road. Take the other.

Chapter 16

Ignoring the warning, Danielle took King Fisher’s road. Of her welcome, she was very uncertain, for the only times she had seen King Fisher had been in San Antonio, when he and Ben Thompson had been very drunk. She finally rode out into a clearing and could see the ranch house in the distance. The place seemed deserted, but suddenly the stillness was shattered by a gunshot.

“Don’t come any closer,” a voice shouted. “You’re not welcome here.”

“I only want to talk to you,” Danielle said. “I’m not the law.”

“You’re still not welcome here,” said the distant voice.

Gritting her teeth, Danielle rode on. Would the man shoot her out of the saddle? She eventually reined up forty yards from the front porch. King Fisher stepped past the door, a Winchester under his arm. His dress could only be described as gaudy. His trousers were black with pinstripes, and over a white ruffled shirt, he wore a bright red tie. Around his middle was a red sash that matched the tie. His boots were fancy, and a white Stetson hat was tipped low over his eyes. On each hip in a tied-down holster was a revolver.

“I could have shot you dead and been within my rights,” he snapped. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere?”

“In San Antonio,” said Danielle. “You and Ben Thompson were drunk.”

“Since you’re here,” Fisher said, “who are you, and what the hell do you want of me?”

“I want some information,” said Danielle, “and it in no way concerns you. I am Daniel Strange, and I’m hunting some men who robbed and hanged my pa in Indian Territory in the spring. One of those still alive—Snakehead Kalpana—has been rustling horses in old Mexico and driving them across the border into Texas. He killed a Mexican and a ranger near Laredo, but I doubt that he’s given up rustling. I think he’s just moved to another location along the border.”

“Well, if you think he’s here, or that I’d have any dealings with the likes of him, then you’re barking up the wrong damn tree,” Fisher said.

“I’ve been told that you trap wild horses in Mexico and drive them into Texas,” said Danielle. “I was hoping you might have seen or heard of Kalpana.”

“I want nothing to do with the kind that rustles another man’s stock,” Fisher said. “I’ve shot some hombres that was needful of it, but I’ve never stole a horse or a cow.” 14

“If you know nothing about Kalpana,” said Danielle, “maybe you’ll recognize some of these other varmints I’m looking for.”

Quickly, she told him the names of the other six men, and Fisher shook his head.

“I’m obliged anyway,” Danielle said.

“You got sand in your craw, kid,” said King Fisher. “How old are you?”

“Old enough,” Danielle said.

Fisher laughed. “A regular two-gun man, huh? Can you use them irons, or do you just carry ’em to scare hell out of folks?”

In a lightning cross-hand draw, Danielle drew the butt-forward Colt from her left hip. She fired once, the slug kicking up splinters from the porch. Then she spoke.

“I could have shot your ears off, but you’ve been decent to me. Adios. ”

Holstering the Colt, she wheeled the chestnut mare and rode away. King Fisher stood there watching her until she was out of sight. Then he laughed to himself.

“You’ll do, kid. You’ll do.”