Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron (17 page)

“How in the world did you end up here?” he asked himself, untying the dusty canvas flap and throwing it open. His eyes moved across the small wooden crates all neatly stacked and tied down, some of them stating their contents in black letters, others leaving it to his imagination.

“Anything to eat back there?” Frisco called out.

“Don't see anything,” Dave replied. “But I'll search around some.” He reached in, untied the rope from the wooden crates, and pulled them down around his feet. Eagerly, he picked up the first one and began loosening its top. Since he was here, he might as well see what this life had to offer.

By the time Danielle had reached the flatlands she sat bowed in her saddle. The pain in her side had grown worse. The bleeding had slowed almost to a stop, but the flesh surrounding the wound had turned puffy and flaming red. The intense heat made matters worse, draining what strength the bullet in her side had not already taken away. It had been up to Sundown to lead them the last few miles to the beginning of the dirt street into town. Danielle sat slumped, suspended on a narrow edge of semi-consciousness and losing ground.

From an alleyway where he'd taken up a regular guard position ever since Cherokee Earl and his gang had raided the town, Leonard Whirley crouched with the 10-gauge shotgun—the same shotgun that had fallen from the dead sheriffs hand. Leonard could tell that this wasn't one of those who had sacked the town, but he remained cautious and slipped back through the alley and down behind the buildings until he reached the rear door of the doctor's office. He knocked sharply and whispered to the wooden door, “Doc, it's Whirley! Open up! A woman's riding in. Looks like she's shot!”

“Shot?” Dr. Callaway slipped the bolt back on the door and stepped out into the alley, hooking his wire-rimmed spectacles behind his ears. “Another woman? This one's shot? What the hell's gotten into women around here?”

“I don't know, Doc,” said Whirley. “I just thought you better know about it.”

“Good thinking, Whirley,” the doctor replied, buttoning his vest as the two hurried along the back alley. On their way, they spotted a buckboard wagon loaded high with furniture and household items headed out of town along a back road. “There goes Orville Jones and his family,” the old doctor said, shaking his head. “They're all leaving here like rats from a sinking ship. This town will be a dusty spot on the trail in another week.”

“I know,” said Whirley. “I'm already thinking of boarding up the New Royal and heading for New Mexico Territory. I'm giving up on Braden Flats.”

“I hate saying it, but me too,” the doctor replied. They rushed along until they reached the spot where Whirley had stood a moment ago. They saw the chestnut mare standing in the middle of the street. On the ground Danielle lay where she had fallen. The mare nudged her gently but got no response. Danielle appeared lifeless in the dirt. Dr. Callaway studied the situation for a moment, rubbing his chin.

“Come on, Leonard, this one looks like she's done in,” said the doctor at length.

“Wait, Doc, this might be a trick,” Whirley replied, his right hand going nervously to his toupee.

“Dang it, Leonard! Why would it be a trick?” He flagged Whirley forward with his hand. “Come on, help me get this poor woman off the street. Worry about your hair later.”

After they rushed to the middle of the street, it took a few tries for Dr. Callaway to shoo the chestnut mare away from Danielle long enough for him and Whirley to scoop her up off the street and carry her back to his office. Sundown loped along behind them, her reins dragging in the dirt. As the men stepped up onto the boardwalk, the mare paced back and forth, shaking her mane and blowing out a restless breath. “Don't you worry ole gal,” Doc Callaway said over his shoulder to Sundown from the open doorway. “We'll take good care of her.”

When they laid Danielle onto a gurney in the room next to the doctor's office, Doc Callaway said to the bar owner, “I'm going to have to undress her, Whirley. You go hitch the mare to the rail and see she gets some water and grain. I'll put her up at my barn tonight, since we've got no town livery barn left.” Thinking about what had happened to the barn, Callaway grumbled under his breath as he unbuckled Danielle's trousers. “The dirty sonsabitches.”

Whirley turned and slipped out the door. The old doctor eased Danielle's trousers down as carefully as he could. But still she moaned in unconscious pain. “Whoo-ie,” said the doctor, seeing the inflamed, swollen flesh surrounding the small bullet hole. “Nothing worse than shooting a body with a dirty little derringer, I always say.”

Danielle's eyes opened for a moment. “Who—who are you? Where am I?” she asked, reaching to grasp the doctor's wrist as he pressed his fingertip gently against the tortured flesh.

“Nobody you need fear,” the doctor replied. He pushed her weak hand aside. “I'm Dr. Callaway. This is Braden Flats ... what's left of it, anyway. That's as much as you need to know for now. You got a nasty little bullet lodged in ya.” He probed gently with his fingers. “We need to get it out of there before it festers up any worse. I'll have to do some cutting.”

Danielle looked around the room with bleary eyes. “Is my mare all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I'd say she's right enough. She gave us a hard time when we went to move you here.”

Danielle gave a weak smile. “That's my mare for sure,” she whispered. Then she lowered her head back to the pillow on the gurney and said with resolve, “Cut away, Doctor. I'm all yours.”

Seeing she had slipped back into unconsciousness, Dr. Callaway rubbed her hair back off her damp forehead. “I'll make it as painless as I can, young lady,” he whispered to her. “You look like you've been through plenty enough already.”

For the next half hour, Whirley waited in the doctor's office, pacing to the window every few minutes and keeping an eye on the road leading out of town. While he stood at the window, he shook his head as he saw another heavily loaded wagon amble into the distance across the rolling flatlands.

“She's all stitched up now,” said the doctor's voice from the door to the next room.

“Did she ever wake up, Doc?” Whirley asked, straightening his crooked toupee.

“Yep,” said Dr. Callaway. “She woke up before I started, then again when I was closing the incision.

“Well, what did she tell you?” Whirley asked. “Had she run into the same bunch that raided us? Did they do that to her?”

“She said it was different men, but from the same bunch,” said the doctor. “She's on their trail for doing the same in Haley Springs that they did here. They killed an old drover who rode with her.... They kidnapped that woman who was with Cherokee Earl.” Considering the situation, he added, “I thought right off that there was something wrong there. I hate thinking that man took advantage of that woman right here in Braden Flats, and we never lifted a finger to stop him.”

“Hell, Doc, we didn't know,” said Whirley. “Besides, what good would we have done anyway? Our sheriff is dead from trying to stop them. What chance would we have had?”

“I don't know,” said the doctor. “None, I suppose. I ain't got it in me to kill. Some men are born with a killing trait, but some of us ain't. Sometimes I wish it was otherwise, but I can't deny how I am.”

“Then we did all we could,” said Whirley. “So put it out of your mind and think no more about it.”

“I reckon you're right,” said the doctor. He looked off across the barren land to the slight rise of dust still stirred up from the wagon, which was long gone from sight. “This is a hateful, cussed place, Whirley. I wish to God I'd never laid eyes on it.”

A silence passed. Then Whirley straightened his toupee and smoothed it down again with both palms of his hands. “Me too, Doc,” he said as if in defeat.

 

For the next week, Danielle, following the doctor's orders, was forced to rest and keep the wound treated in order to arrest any further infection. She did so grudgingly. She took her meals and lodging in the same small room where Dr. Callaway had treated her. She began moving around slowly with the help of a cane on the third day. Leonard Whirley managed to be close by her side every waking hour. Danielle could see the saloon owner was taken with her, and she tried to treat him as a casual friend, hoping that was as far as it would go. But Whirley grew more smitten as each day passed.

On the fourth day, having loosened the stiffness in her side, Danielle moved about the room and the doctor's office without the cane, limping slightly. The swelling had begun to dissipate from her wound. On the fifth day, when Whirley went to the doctor's barn to feed and water Sundown, Danielle was in her boots and went with him. She wore her gun belt to get used to the weight of it again, her Colt tied down to her right thigh.

“You sure heal quick,” said Whirley, noting that she no longer limped as they crossed the empty street and walked toward the doctor's house on the outskirts of town.

“I have to heal quick,” Danielle replied. “The longer I wait here, the colder the trail.” She had filled in both Whirley and Doc Callaway on everything that had happened. “I owe it to the Waddell woman to find her and free her from Cherokee Earl. It makes no difference what her husband has done. I've got to help her. I'll deal with him when the time comes.”

Whirley nodded as they walked along. Lifting a hand to his toupee out of habit, he said, “Miss Danielle, if I might be so bold, I think you are about the prettiest woman I ever laid eyes on.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Whirley,” said Danielle, seeing where this might be headed and wishing she could stop it before it got there. But it was no use.

“The thing is,” he continued, “I'll soon be leaving this shi—I mean, mud-hole ... and I'm going somewhere clean and sophisticated. Maybe Santa Fe. Maybe Tombstone. I ain't sure.” He stopped and turned to her, touching her arm gently and stopping her also. “But wherever I go ... I'd be honored to have you by my side.” He swallowed and ventured, “That is to say, as my lawful wife, Miss Danielle.... Everything would be on the up and up, of course.”

“That certainly is a gentleman's proposal, Mr. Whirley,” said Danielle, “and I appreciate it. But I'm afraid I must turn you down. I'm on the trail of these murderers, and I don't plan on stopping until I've finished what I started.” She gestured toward the doctor's barn, and together they continued walking.

Whirley looked let down but at the same time relieved. “Well, at least I got a chance to ask,” he said in all earnestness. “Some fellows never get this close to a respectable woman.”

“I'm flattered you feel that way, Mr. Whirley.” They walked on.

“Can I ask you, Miss Danielle, is it me, or are you just not interested in marrying at this time?” Whirley's eyes turned soft, almost pleading for the right answer.

“It's nothing against you, Mr. Whirley, although you have to admit we hardly know each other. It's just that I'm not interested in marrying anybody right now. Someday maybe, but not now. If I was, there's a man in Colorado ...”

“Well, I'm glad to hear that,” said Whirley good-naturedly. “For a minute I wondered if maybe there was something wrong with you.”

“You mean if I'm not interested in marriage, there must be something wrong with me?” Danielle felt the tightness in her voice and tried to shake it off.

“I didn't mean that the way it sounded,” said Whirley. “Of course there's nothing wrong with you.”

Danielle offered a smile of reconciliation. “That's good to hear,” she said.

Whirley shrugged. “But if you don't mind me saying so, Miss Danielle, I believe it's awful foolish of you ... going out there after Cherokee Earl and his bunch.”

“Oh, really? Foolish, you say?” Danielle cocked an eye.

“Well, yes, foolish,” Whirley said with finality. “Doggone it, Miss Danielle, it don't make sense, a little woman like yourself trying to do a man's job. Heck, most men wouldn't attempt to go after Cherokee Earl even with a posse backing them up! You're talking about going after him alone.”

“And because I am, it's foolish of me,” Danielle said flatly, staring straight ahead.

“Please don't take offense,” said Whirley, “but let's face it. That Colt is almost bigger than you are. If you ever had to draw and shoot at somebody, how do you expect to ever get it—”

The Colt streaked upward too fast for Leonard Whirley to see it clearly. All his eyes caught was a flash of sunlight on polished steel. Then four shots exploded as quickly as she could cock and fire. With each shot, a short length of chain holding a long wooden sign above the New Royal Saloon disappeared form one comer after the other until the sign collapsed to the street in a large puff of dust. Leonard watched, hunkering farther down with each shot, his arms rising and wrapping across his head as if to protect his toupee, his mouth agape.

“One thing's for sure—you know what to say to turn a girl's head.” Danielle opened her Colt, dropped out the spent cartridges, and replaced them while smoke still curled from the barrel.

“Wait, Miss Danielle!” Leonard called out, staring at his downed wooden sign for a moment in disbelief as he hurried to catch up to her. “I didn't mean nothing by it, honest! I wouldn't say something to offend you for nothing in this world.”

“I believe you, Mr. Whirley. I really, truly do,” said Danielle. “It's just the way things are in this world. The only time I feel foolish is when I start making myself believe things might have changed.” She walked on, still without facing him.