Ralph Compton - Death Rides a Chestnut Mare

“Now you know how my father felt when you hanged him in Indian Territory,” Danielle said.

Taking her father’s gun belt, holster, and the silver-mounted Colt, she slipped out the livery’s back door. Keeping to darkened areas, she hurried back to her hotel. Going up the back stairs to her room, she saw nobody. Everybody was still at the dance. Once in her room, she locked the door and stripped off her female finery. She placed it all in her saddlebags and donned her cowboy clothing. Carefully, she placed her father’s gun belt and Colt with her female clothes and her own initialed silver-mounted Colt. Again, the Colt she placed in her holster was the plain one. Being caught with either of the silver-mounted Colts would brand her as Scovill’s killer.

Danielle lay awake, unable to sleep, in her mind’s eye watching Dave Scovill strangle to death. Near midnight, the dance broke up. Suddenly, there were three distant shots. It was a signal for trouble, and it was from the livery where Scovill had been hanged. Obviously, he had been found when the livery closed. Come the dawn, Danielle went to the mercantile and bought a knee-length duster. Returning to her hotel room, she buckled the Colt her father had made for her on her right hip. She then buckled her father’s belt around her waist, so that the weapon was butt forward, for a cross-hand draw. Trying on the knee-length duster, she found it adequately concealed the two fancy weapons.

Wearing the duster, Danielle sought out a cafe for breakfast. She passed the sheriff’s office and was astounded to find the place packed and men milling around outside.

“What’s happened?” she innocently asked a bystander.

“Last night during the dance, some bastard hanged Sheriff Scovill’s kid in the livery barn, right while the dance was goin’ on.”

“Any idea who did it?”

“The sheriff figures it might have been some men back from the war. Dave Scovill run off up north until the war was over and didn’t come back until a few days ago. There’s a lot of folks that lost kin in the war, and they didn’t like Scovill. Trouble is, they all got alibis. Wasn’t robbery. He still had money in his pockets, but whoever done him in, took his fancy silver-mounted pistol.”

It was time for Danielle to saddle up and ride on. Looking back, she realized she had made one bad mistake. In her hurry to hang Scovill, she had neglected to force from him the names of his nine companions. From now on, her task would be doubly hard. Finished with breakfast, she saddled the chestnut mare and rode northwest toward Dodge. Scovill had returned to Texas because it was his home. With Reconstruction going on in Texas, might not the rest of the outlaws have ridden to Dodge, Abilene, or Wichita?

Dodge City, Kansas. July 24, 1870.

Danielle reached Dodge late in the afternoon and, taking a room at the Dodge House, went to Delmon ico’s for supper. Afterward, she found the sheriff’s office. Sheriff Harrington was a friendly man, well liked by the town.

“Sheriff,” said Danielle, “I’m Daniel Faulkner. I’m looking for men returned from the war. Some of them knew my father, and I owe them.”

“If they don’t have names,” Harrington said, “you won’t have much luck.”

“No, I don’t have any names,” said Danielle, “but I owe them.”

“Why not run some ads in the weekly newspaper?” Harrington suggested. It was a brilliant idea.

Danielle found the newspaper office, asked for pencil and paper, and carefully composed an ad that read:

To whom it may concern; am interested in finding men who rode with Bart Scovill in Indian Territory recently. Payment involved. Ask for Faulkner, at Dodge House.

There was a three-day wait until the paper came out on Saturday, with a few more days to see if anybody went after the bait. The stay in Dodge had eaten a hole in Danielle’s wallet. In another two weeks, she would be forced to find work, just to eat. Thursday came and went with no response to her advertising. Not until Friday was there a nibble.

“Who’s there?” Danielle asked in response to a knock on her door.

“I’m answerin’ your ad,” said a voice. “Do I come in, or not?”

Danielle unlocked and opened the door.

The man had the look of a down-and-out cowboy, with a Colt tied down on his right hip. He stood in the doorway, looking around, as though expecting a trap.

“There’s nobody here but me,” Danielle said. “Shut the door.”

He closed the door and stood leaning against it, saying nothing.

“I’m Daniel Faulkner,” said Danielle. “Who are you?”

“I’m Levi Jasper, and it’s me that’s entitled to ask the questions. Why are you looking for Scovill’s friends?”

“Scovill and me had a job planned. He claimed he could get a gang together that he used to ride with. Then the damn fool got himself killed by some bounty hunter looking for draft dodgers. Now there’s still a twenty-five-thousand-dollar military payroll that will soon be on its way to Fort Worth, and I can’t handle it alone. Can you find the rest of the outfit?”

“I dunno,” said Jasper, “and don’t know that they’ll be interested. They’re scattered all over the West. They could be in St. Louis, New Orleans, Kansas City, Denver, and God knows where else.”

“Are you interested?”

“Maybe, after I learn more about it. You ramrod-din’ the deal?”

“Not necessarily,” Danielle said. “I just want a piece of it.

“Good,” said Jasper. “I ain’t sure the boys would ride with a shirttail segundo , even if we can find ’em. You aim to advertise in more newspapers?”

“If I had some specific names, I would,” Danielle said. “Scovill never told me the names of the men he had in mind. I took a long chance, advertising for you. Tell me the names of the hombres I’m looking for, so I can ask for them by name.”

“I dunno. . . .”

“Oh, hell,” said Danielle, “just forget it. I’m just seventeen years old, and if you’re so afraid of me, I don’t want you on this job. I’ll find somebody else.”

“Damn it, nobody accuses Levi Jasper of bein’ afraid. I can give you the names of the Scovill gang, and we’ll pull this damn job of yours. One thing, though. I’m the segundo . When you find these varmints, tell ’em about Scovill, and that you’re part of the gang. Let ’em believe I planned the thing.”

“I will,” said Danielle. “Now write down those names and where you expect me to find them. We don’t have that much time.”

Chapter 2

Danielle saddled the chestnut mare and rode east to Kansas City. She regretted losing out on Levi Jasper, but she had alerted the sheriff to her presence. Undoubtedly, Jasper had asked for her at the hotel, leaving her wide open to suspicion had anything happened to him. At least she had the names of the rest of the gang that had murdered her father. Levi Jasper would have to wait for another time and place. With her money running low, Danielle made her camp by a stream and picketed the chestnut mare nearby. She had no idea what she would use for money. Worse, if she was lucky enough to find work, the trail she followed would grow colder by the day.

Suddenly, the chestnut mare snorted. Danielle rolled to her left, her Colt in her hand, as the intruder’s weapon roared twice. He had anticipated her move, and both slugs struck the ground just inches from her. There was no moon, but the starlight and muzzle flash was enough. Danielle fired twice. There was a groan and the sound of Jasper’s body striking the ground. What had she said or done that had warned Levi Jasper? After having thought about it, the outlaw had apparently become suspicious, and whatever he had perceived as a mistake on his part, he had tried to undo. But Danielle still had the names—real or fictitious—of the remaining eight outlaws. She wouldn’t need to spend anything more on advertising.