Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare (19 page)

Danielle got on the chestnut mare and, nodding to her former companions, rode away. Eppie Levan had just left the house, and in the distance, Danielle could hear her anguished screams. Before leaving St. Joe, it had all seemed so simple—find the outlaws who had hanged her father and make them pay. Now she had to face the disturbing possibility that these seven other men might have families, just as Brice Levan had. It was a somber thought. She had hired on with Levan to pursue his best interests. Now she felt as if she had betrayed his trust, even though Brice Levan had admitted his guilt. She silently vowed never to sell her gun again, for any reason. She rode south along the Rio Grande, having heard one of the men say they were two days' ride from El Paso.

 

 

Weary, Danielle stabled the chestnut mare, skipped supper and, finding a hotel, slept the night through. As she started through the hotel lobby, the clerk spoke to her.

“Be careful. John Wesley Hardin's been seen in town.”
⁸

“Thanks,” Danielle said. “I'll try to stay out of his way.”

Danielle had heard of the gunman, for his reputation had been such that newspapers in St. Louis and Kansas City had carried stories about him. He carried two guns, and Danielle recalled a story that made her blood run cold. Inside a gunsmith's shop, testing a new pair of Colts, Hardin had chosen for a target an innocent man on the boardwalk outside. That was just one of many cruel acts attributed to the legendary gunman. After breakfast, Danielle went back to her hotel room, for few if any of the saloons would be open until noon. At eleven o'clock, she left the hotel and sought out the sheriff's office.

“I'm Daniel Strange.”

“I'm Buford Powell,” said the lawman. “What can I do for you?”

Danielle decided to tell the truth. She gave the law man the names of the seven men on her death list, and told him of her vow to hunt them down.

“None of those names sounds familiar,” Sheriff Powell said, “but with outlaws, you can't be sure they aren't using other names. I know that between here and Laredo, Mex horses are being run across the border and sold in Texas, while Texas horses are being rustled and sold in Mexico. We have no names, and they wait for the dark of the moon. Not even the Texas Rangers have been able to stop them.”

“It might be possible to join them and gather evidence,” said Danielle.

“One of the rangers tried that,” Sheriff Powell said. “He was never seen or heard from again. Was I you, I wouldn't go gettin' no similar ideas.”

“Thanks for the information, Sheriff,” said Danielle.

She quickly left the sheriff's office before the lawman got around to questioning her about her intentions. By then, the saloons were open. The Texas was one of the largest, and she went there first. She walked in, and then as though looking for someone she couldn't find, she left. There were no poker or faro games in progress, for it was still early, and being a nondrinker, Danielle couldn't justify her presence. She had to wait until evening. After supper, she found the saloons had come alive. In The Texas, two poker tables and a faro table were busy. The men seemed talkative enough, and hoping to learn something useful, Danielle sat in at the faro table.

“Two-dollar limit,” said the dealer. “Table stakes.”

Danielle quickly lost twenty dollars. Then she began winning, recovering her losses plus thirty dollars more. The rest of the men were looking at her with a mix of respect and anger, for all of them had lost money to her. At least one of the men was broke, and he appealed to the dealer.

“I got a pair of hosses—matched blacks—that I picked up in Mexico. They're worth a hundred dollars apiece. Will you take them for security?” Danielle's eyes shot to the man at the mention of the horses' origins.

“We don't usually do this, Black Jack,” said the dealer. “I'll grant you a hundred in credit for both of them.”

“Done,” Black Jack said. He sighed with relief as he suddenly began winning. When his winnings exceeded his losses, he dropped out and went to the bar. Danielle was ahead by fifty dollars, and when Black Jack left the saloon, she also withdrew from the game. Following Black Jack wasn't difficult. He had left his horse and the pair of blacks at a livery, and to Danielle's practiced eye, they indeed were worth a hundred dollars each, if not more. With the pair on lead ropes, Black Jack rode southeast, toward the border. Danielle followed at a safe distance, and not until she had crossed the border did she see Black Jack again. From behind a clump of brush, Black Jack suddenly stepped out, a Winchester leveled at her.

“Why are you followin' me, kid? Make it good, or I'll cut you in half.”

“I like the looks of the pair of blacks you picked up in Mexico,” Danielle said, “and I'd like to pick up a few for myself.”

Without warning, with blinding speed, Danielle drew her right-hand Colt and fired. The lead slammed into the muzzle of the Winchester, tearing it out of Black Jack's hands. Her Colt holstered, Danielle eyed him calmly.

“Damn you,” Black Jack bawled, “if you've ruint my Winchester . . .”

Danielle laughed. “You'll have to get yourself another one.”

Ignoring Danielle, Black Jack retrieved the weapon, examining it critically. Satisfied it wasn't seriously damaged, he again faced Danielle.

“Tarnation,” said Black Jack, “I never seen such shootin'. Maybe there
is
as place for you, but it can't be just on my say-so. You'll have to prove yourself to my
amigos.
”

“Lead on,” Danielle said.

The outlaw camp was only a few miles south of the border. As they approached, there was a nicker from a distant horse, and Black Jack's horse responded. They rode on until they were challenged.

“Identify yourself,” a voice shouted.

“Black Jack,” the outlaw replied, “and I got company.”

“Dismount and leave your horses there,” the voice commanded.

Black Jack and Danielle dismounted. Ahead, in a small clearing beside a stream, stood four men. A coffeepot simmered over a small fire.

“Now,” one of the men said, “who are you, and why are you here?”

“During a faro game, I heard Black Jack talking about picking up that pair of blacks in Mexico,” said Danielle, “and I figured I'd like a hand in the game.”

One of the outlaws laughed. “A kid that ain't even shaved, packin' two guns. Boy, one of them
Mejicanos
will have you for breakfast.”

“I don't think so,” said Black Jack. “I had the drop, had a Winchester coverin' him, and without me seein' him move, he shot the Winchester out of my hands.”

Danielle said nothing, waiting for the outlaws to digest this new revelation. Quickly, they reached a decision, and they nodded at Black Jack.

“Who are you, kid, and where you from?” Black Jack asked.

“I don't answer to ‘kid,' ” said Danielle. “I'm Daniel Strange, and I'm from Missouri.”

“I'm Black Jack Landis,” said the outlaw. “The others is Joel Votaw, Revis Bronson, Hez Deshea, and Wes Pryor. Joel's our
segundo.
”

“Black Jack,” Votaw said, “I've warned you about leading horses through El Paso. With so many
Mejicanos
there, sooner or later, one of them's bound to recognize a horse, and then there'll be hell to pay. From now on, when you got the urge to ride to town, ride from here.”

“Hell, there ain't nobody wise to me,” said Black Jack.

“Oh?” Votaw said. “Then how come this two-gun man followed you back to camp? If he heard you shootin' off your mouth, then others heard. Next time, the
hombre
trailing you could be a ranger.”

“After the war with Mexico, I've heard Americans can't legally cross the border into Mexico, and that Mexicans can't cross the border into the United States,” said Danielle.

“That's the law,” Revis Bronson said, “but it applies only if you get caught. There was at least one ranger that stepped over the line, and he ain't been seen since.”

“You don't get shot at very often, then,” said Danielle.

Black Jack Landis laughed. “Almost never. We take the horses at night. By first light, when the
Mejicanos
find our tracks, we are already across the river, in Texas.
Mejicanos
raise some very fine horses, but they're not fools. They don't consider 'em worth a dose of lead poisoning.”

“I've heard talk that some sell Mexican horses in Texas, and Texas horses in Mexico,” Danielle said. “Anything to that?”

“Some do,” said Joel Votaw, “but we don't. Believe me, there ain't no love between the state of Texas and Mexico, and most Texans don't give a damn what happens on the other side of the border. As it is, if things get touchy in Mexico, we can cross the river into Texas, and the Mexes can't touch us. That could change almighty quick, if we was to run Texas horses across the border into Mexico.”

“Damn right it could,” Hez Deshea said.

“You're avoiding the law in Texas,” said Danielle, “but what about Mexico?”

“Too much border,” Wes Pryor said. “There's no way they can watch it all.
Mejicanos
cross the river into Texas, drivin' Texas horses into Mexico. They can't complain to the United States that Texans are violatin' their boundaries, because they're violatin' the Texas boundary. That's why nobody—not even the rangers—can stop it.”

“Why are you camped in Mexico instead of Texas?” Danielle asked.

“You ain't earned the right to know that,” said Joel Votaw. “Not until you've told us the truth. What's a younker that ain't old enough to shave and totin' two irons doin' in old Mexico?”

Danielle sighed. None of these men were the killers she sought. She quickly decided to tell them the truth. Or most of it. She told them of her father's murder and of her vow to track down the killers.

“I need money to continue my search,” Danielle said. “There's seven more killers, and I'll never find them if I have to stop regular for a thirty-and-found riding job.”

“That makes sense,” said Joel Votaw, “but how do we know if you throw in with us, you won't shoot some
hombre
that'll attract the attention of the law? We can't allow that.”

“If there's ever a possibility of the law stepping in, I'll vamoose,” Danielle said.

Black Jack laughed. “I think we'd all vamoose if that happened.”

“The men I'm after are outlaws and killers,” said Danielle. “They're not going to call on the law for help.”

“We been splittin' the money equal,” Wes Pryor said. “If you join up with us, there'll be less money, split six ways.”

“Show me what you're doing,” said Danielle, “and I'll pull my weight. Your share may be even more.”

“You've made a good case for yourself,” Joel Votaw said. “I think we'll take you in for a while, as long as you don't get gun-happy and draw attention to us.”

“I've never shot anybody except in self-defense,” said Danielle.

“Bueno,”
Votaw said. “So far, we've took the horses we wanted without us doing any shooting. How good are you with horses?”

“I grew up with them,” said Danielle. “I trained the chestnut mare I'm riding.”

“We don't take a whole herd of horses,” Votaw said, “because it's hard to control a herd at night. Each of us will take two lead ropes and lead two horses away. Come first light, when they can follow our tracks, we'll be across the border, in Texas.”

“Only twelve horses for a night's work,” said Danielle.

“The right horses will bring a hundred dollars apiece,” Votaw said. “Two hundred for you for one night's work. At thirty and found, that's near seven months of line riding. If you can find the work.”

“I've already learned the truth of that,” said Danielle. “Where are you finding all these hundred-dollar horses?”

“A rich Spaniard, Alonzo Elfego, owns about half of Mexico,” Votaw said, “and all his horses are blooded stock.”

“Why doesn't he have riders watching them at night?” Danielle asked.

“There's too many of them, and they're scattered,” said Votaw. “Besides, he has no idea when we're coming to visit him. We'll go tonight, and then give him a rest. There are other
ranchos
with plenty of good horses.”

“Black Jack,” said Hez Deshea, “why did you bring that pair of blacks with you? They should of brought top dollar in Texas.”

“Cheap old bastard that was interested in 'em tried to knock my askin' price down to seventy-five dollars,” Black Jack said. “That, and he got a little too interested in them Mex brands. I mounted up, rode out, and left him standin' there.”

“You done right,” said Votaw. “Brands are none of his damn business as long as he's gettin' a bill of sale.”

“Where do you get bills of sale?” Danielle asked.

“A jackleg printer in El Paso makes 'em up for us,” said Votaw.

Danielle nodded, digesting the information. Horse stealing was a hanging offense, but it seemed that these thieves had it down to a fine art. The only question in her mind was whether or not her alliance with the horse thieves would enable her to find any of the remaining men on her death list. Again Votaw spoke.

“Black Jack, you'd better take that pair of blacks back across the border, where we'll meet after tonight's raid. The rest of you get what sleep you can.”