Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron (34 page)

Danielle ignored the outlaw's rolling, jumbled echo and sat with her back against the rock. While Earl went on, shouting his enticements, she raised the long-range sight on the rifle, rubbed it clean with her fingertips, raised it to the five-hundred-yard mark, and tightened it into place. Satisfied, she turned around, laying the rifle barrel up over the top of the rock.

“Duggin, listen to me,” Earl called out. “This ain't no small amount of money! You can go anywhere in the world with this kind of money!”

Danielle half closed her eyes for a few seconds, looking down within the circling shadow of her hat brim on the rock, keeping her eyes relaxed, avoiding any strain from the sun glare. Even when she opened her eyes and adjusted the rifle into the pocket of her shoulder, she didn't look down the sights just yet.
Save it for the shot,
she told herself.

“Duggin, are you listening to me?” Cherokee Earl shrieked. Then he said in a lowered tone to himself, “All right, by God, you want to play this way? I can play this way. You want a shoot-out, boy, you're going to get a shoot-out!” He snatched the rifle up and stared down through the harsh sun glare. “I wanted to do this different ... get you off guard, kill you unexpecting like and take that horse. But no,” he said, making a face, “you won't do it that way. All right, suit yourself.... I can do it this way. Makes me no difference!

“Duggin!” Cherokee Earl bellowed, even louder than before, looking out and seeing the riders now. They were tiny black dots in the wavering heat, yet with every passing second Earl knew they were drawing closer. “Duggin! Damn it to hell! Will you answer me?” He raised up above the rock, exposing himself from the waist up. With one gloved hand cupped to his mouth, he screamed even louder. “We've got to get this settled! Before they get here!”

I've got you,
Danielle thought to herself, looking down the long-range rifle sight at the third button on Cherokee Earl's dusty shirt. She had to make her move quick, before the sun glare got to her, or before Earl dropped back down out of sight. She took a breath, let it out, then cut it off. The rifle settled dead still in her hands. She began to squeeze the trigger, but at the last second moved the sight up his chest and a bit to the left. Through the recoil of the rifle, she could see the puff of dust as the bullet nailed through his shoulder. There was a spray of blood that seemed to hang in the air after Earl had already flown backward and down out of sight. His hat, too, seemed suspended in the air for a second. Then it fell zigzagging to the ground.

Danielle stood up and dusted her knees, her seat, and leveled her hat down onto her forehead. She looked back toward the oncoming riders, then walked to the mare, took up the reins, mounted, and rode to where Cherokee Earl lay bleeding into the dirt. When she reached the spot where the downed horse lay breathing heavily in the thin trail, she stepped down and coaxed the winded animal up onto all fours. The horse stood wobbling for a moment while Danielle slipped off its saddle and bridle. A bit more rested now, and carrying only its own weight, the horse shook itself out and walked away, down to the flatlands.

Danielle left Sundown on the trail and stepped up among the rocks where she'd seen Cherokee Earl fall. She knew she'd hit him good and hard, yet she used caution until she stood up on a rock, saw the smear of blood, and looked down to where he lay on the rocky ground. His rifle lay a few feet away, but looking up at her, he made no move for it. That told her something. She waited for a second then leaped down easily and stood over him, her rifle in hand. “That was ... nothing but a lucky shot, Duggin,” Earl rasped. “You'd never do it again. No man shoots that good.”

“You might be right, Earl,” said Danielle. “But then, I'm not a man.”

“Hunh?” Earl stared in stunned silence as Danielle reached up, pulled off her hat, and shook out her long, flowing hair. “You're not a man? You're not Danny Duggin?” he asked, appearing completely dumbfounded.

“That's right, Earl. I'm not a man. I'm not Danny Duggin,” Danielle said.

“Then who or what the hell are you?” Earl asked, his weakened voice growing stronger all of a sudden.

Danielle saw his right hand crawl beneath his back, but she glanced away as if not seeing his move. “I'm just a woman, Earl, a woman no different than Ellen Waddell or any other woman you've mistreated your whole worthless life. This is for Ellen,” she said. She cocked the big Colt with her thumb.

“Hold on now! I never mistreated that woman—that's just a damn lie! All I've ever done to any woman is what she wanted done to her. I'm a man.... Don't blame me for doing what any man does. I never forced myself on Ellen Waddell.... Well, not that much anyway,” he said. “There was no harm done! I never hit her! She's got nothing to complain about.”

“You stupid bastard. You really believe that, don't you?”

“Damn right I do!” said Earl. “Anyway, look at me now. What chance have I got to defend myself? You women are all alike: you only listen to what you want to hear! What chance has a man got? I reckon I'm at your mercy....” His words trailed off hopelessly. But Danielle saw that his hand under his back had found something there. She saw his arm tighten as he grasped the hidden pistol butt.

But before drawing the pistol from behind his back, Earl saw the look in Danielle's eyes and stopped short. “Huh-uh,” he said. “I'm giving myself up. I see what you're waiting for—I see what you want.”

“Do it, Earl,” Danielle whispered, stepping in close and standing astraddle of him, her feet spread apart. She looked down at him, her hand holding the big Colt. “Pull it out, Earl,” she whispered, her voice sounding almost seductive. “Pull it out and show me what you can do.” Without her hat on, the wind swept her long hair across her face like a veil.

Staring up at her, Earl imagined her smiling at him behind that veil. Smiling? No: laughing! Laughing at him.

“Why, you man-teasing, no-account little bitch!” he shouted. His gun hand came out quickly from under his back. But not quickly enough. He saw her eyes, cold, haunting, and without mercy, like the reflection of his own eyes in the face of every woman he'd ever seen this close and under these circumstances. “No!” he said. “No, please!
Please!”

Danielle didn't seem to hear him.

 

“My God!” said Angus O'Dell. “What's going on up there?” As one, the townsmen reined their horses to a halt and stared at the hills lying ahead of them in the afternoon heat. They listened as the big Colt fired steadily, one shot after another until, after the sixth shot, it fell silent.

“Whoo-ee!” said another of the townsmen. “I'd hate to have been on the wrong end of that gun battle!”

“I hope Mr. Duggin is all right,” said O‘Dell, heeling his horse forward again now that the shooting had stopped. He looked back at one of the townsmen leading the donkey. Over the donkey's back lay Frisco's body, flopping up and down with each bouncing step, his blue-veined hands still tied behind his back, a black, gaping bullet hole glistening on his forehead. “Hundley,” said O'Dell, “You can't hurry that little donkey. We're going to ride on ahead in case Duggin needs our help. You catch up as you can.”

“Yeah, why not?” said Hundley, the town auditor. “Go on ahead. I'm in no hurry to get shot at anyway.” He watched the others gallop ahead while behind him the little donkey took its time carrying Frisco Bonham's body. After a while, Hundley grew impatient and jerked hard on the lead rope. “Come on, you little varmint! I'll see to it you get up some speed!” But the donkey went wild, kicking and braying until it jerked the lead rope loose from its bridle and took off out across the open wilderness, the body of Frisco Bonham appearing to stare back at the bewildered auditor. “Well, I'll be,” said Hundley to himself. “Now what do I do?” He stared after the donkey for a moment, then shrugged, heeled his horse forward, and rode hard to catch up with the other townsmen.

By the time O'Dell led the townsmen to the spot along the upper trail where the chestnut mare stood pulling at a mouthful of tall wild grass, Danielle had tucked her hair back up under her hat and stood replacing the six spent cartridges in her Colt.

“We heard a bunch of shooting up here, Duggin,” said O'Dell. “Are you all right?”

Danielle only nodded. “I thought I heard a shot back there a while ago,” she said. “Did you find that outlaw tied to a fence pole where I left him for you?”

The townsmen looked at one another, avoiding Danielle's eyes. Finally, Angus O'Dell said, “Aye, we found him. But the belligerent arse that he was, he tried to put up a fight. One of us had to shoot him.”

“One
of you had to shot him?” asked Danielle. “You know who?”

“As long as we can't remember who,” said O'Dell, “we won't have to worry about getting anyone in trouble, now, will we?”

“I don't know,” said Danielle. “In this case, I don't expect the law will press too hard.”

“Just dandy then.” O'Dell grinned. “And what about the one you chased here? I presume he is dead?”

“Deader than he ever hoped to be,” said Danielle.

“What happened with him—more of that same outlaw belligerence, I take it?” asked O'Dell.

“Yeah, you might say so,” said Danielle. “He went for a gun. I wasn't in the mood for it.” She nodded upward toward the rocks where she'd left him. “I was just getting ready to go drop a loop on his ankle and drag him down here.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Duggin,” said O'Dell. “You take yourself a breather. We'll take over from here.”

“Much obliged then,” said Danielle. “I've got somebody I need to have a long talk with back in town.” She smiled, touching her fingertips to her hat brim, then walked to the chestnut mare, stepped up into the saddle, and rode back toward Cimarron. On the way, she passed Hundley on the trail. When he excitedly told her what had happened to Frisco's body, Danielle shook her head and looked all around the vast, empty land.

“I don't know what I should do,” said Hundley. “I don't want to get out there and get lost. This can be dangerous country, especially at night.” The two looked around, noting how their shadows had grown long on the ground.

“Wait here for the others and don't worry about it,” said Danielle. “That donkey has probably kicked itself free of the body by now. If not, it will soon enough.”

“Goodness, I hope so,” said Hundley. “There are settlers scattered out through there. What a terrible surprise that would be, finding something like that in their front yard.”

Danielle thought about it for a moment, then shook her head to clear it of such a thought. “Let's hope for the best,” she said. “I'm going back to town.” She nudged the mare forward and didn't look back.

Danielle was not prepared for what she met upon her return to Cimarron. The first person she saw was Ellen Waddell, who came running to her as soon as Danielle had guided Sundown to a hitchrail. “Mr. Duggin, something terrible has happened,” Ellen said.

“What is it, ma'am?” Danielle asked, swinging down from the saddle and spinning Sundown's reins around the rail. She didn't like the tragic look in Ellen's eyes.

“It's your friend, the deputy. He's at the doctor's. I'm afraid he's been badly shot!”

“Oh, no,” said Danielle. Without another word, she rushed to the doctor's office, barely aware of Ellen Waddell beside her, still talking.

“Did you find Cherokee Earl?” Ellen asked, running out of breath in keeping up with Danielle.

“Yes,” said Danielle absently. “Earl's dead. He won't be bothering you anymore.” Then, without missing a beat, Danielle asked, “Who shot Tuck?”

“It was one of those outlaws. He stayed behind and hid in the bank vault. The deputy killed him, but not before getting shot himself. Are you sure Cherokee Earl is dead?”

“Without a doubt,” said Danielle, still hurrying.

“Thank God,” said Ellen, and with that, she stopped in the street and just stood there as Danielle continued on to the doctor's office. Once inside the office, she walked right on into the back room, where Tuck lay unconscious.

“Mr. Duggin! Sir!” said the doctor. “You shouldn't be in here right now! I've given your friend the deputy something to make him sleep. He'll need plenty of rest.”

“How bad is he, Doctor?” Danielle asked, going straight to Tuck's side and easing down into a chair close to the bed.

“Well, he's lucky,” said the doctor. “The bullet went through him, so I haven't had to do any cutting. What bleeding he's done has been good and red, so it looks as if nothing vital has been damaged.”

“Thank God!” said Danielle. “Then he's going to be all right?”

“Unless he takes some unforeseeable bad turn, yes, I believe he'll pull through just fine. He'll need rest and healing.”

“I'll see to it he gets plenty of both,” said Danielle. She reached a hand over and placed it gently on Tuck's forehead. The doctor gave her a peculiar look.

“Mr. Duggin, is there something about you and the deputy you'd like to tell me?” he asked carefully.

“No, Doctor,” said Danielle. “It's just that I love him so much ... and I was afraid I was going to lose him again.”

“Oh, I see....” The doctor stood dumbfounded, not knowing quite how to respond.

At the touch of Danielle's hand on his forehead, Tuck Carlyle stirred, opening his eyes slightly. “Is that you, Danny?” he asked, barely above a whisper.