Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare (14 page)

 

 

There was nothing fancy about the Denver House, but its rooms weren't expensive, and Danielle rented two of them.

“You shouldn't of done that,” said Herb Sellers. “We can't repay you until we collect some bounties.”

“Let me look at your list of known outlaws,” Danielle said, “and that will be payment enough.”

“I aim to call on the Pinkertons and talk to my uncle in the morning,” Burris said.

The more Danielle thought about it, the less likely it seemed the Pinkerton listing of known outlaws would be of any value. From what she had heard, the Pinkerton Agency was most often called upon to seek out bank and train robbers. The outlaws who had hanged Daniel Strange in Indian Territory began to seem more and more like a ragtag lot of renegades left over from those infamous days following the war. But Danielle had not a single lead, and a Pinkerton list would be better than nothing. Danielle bought supper for the three of them at a small cafe.

“Jesse and me aim to hit some of the saloons tonight,” Herb said. “Want to come with us?”

“I reckon not,” said Danielle. “I'm tired of sleeping on the ground, and I want to enjoy a warm bed.” If the two were out of grub and low on money, the last place they should be going was to a saloon, Danielle thought. But it was the way of the frontier not to offer advice or opinions unless asked.

After the recent snow, there had been a warming trend and it seemed a shame to retire to her room so early. After Herb Sellers and Jesse Burris had left, Danielle changed her mind. Without taking her chestnut from the livery stable, she would walk to the places of business nearest the hotel. One of them—the Pretty Girl Saloon
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—was across the street from her hotel. The Pretty Girl was a two-story affair, and the bottom floor was well lighted. There was a bar all along one side of the room, while the rest of it was occupied by a roulette wheel, several billiard tables, and more than a dozen tables topped with green felt for poker and black jack. A winding staircase led to the second floor. Waitresses dressed in flowing fancy gowns carried drinks to tables where the different games were in progress. Danielle stopped one of the waitresses.

“What's upstairs?”

“High-stakes poker and faro,” the waitress said. “It'll cost you a hundred dollars to go up there, but you get a hundred dollars' worth of credit at the poker or faro tables.”

While Danielle didn't care for poker, she had played faro—or “twenty-one”—with her father and brothers many times, and she understood the game. She still had more than $3,300, and feeling bold, she took five double eagles from her Levi's pocket and exchanged them for chips.

“First door on the left, at the head of the stairs,” the waitress said.

Danielle climbed the stairs, opened the door, and got the shock of her life. All over the huge gambling hall there were young women who wore nothing except a short jacket that covered the arms and shoulders and red slippers on their feet. Danielle had no interest in naked women and was about to leave, when she recalled she had paid a hundred dollars to come to the second floor. Obviously, the girls were there to take a man's mind off how much he had lost or was likely to lose. Danielle took her handful of five-dollar chips to one of the faro tables.

“Minimum bet five dollars,” said the dealer.

Danielle lost five times in a row, and then she started winning. One of the naked girls was at her side, urging her to visit the bar, but Danielle wouldn't be distracted. Not until she had won more than three hundred dollars did she leave the table. There were some vain attempts to lure her to the poker tables, where the saloon might recover some of its money, but Danielle wasn't tempted. With a last look at the naked women, she stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. Reaching the street, she walked for an hour before returning to the hotel. She secretly hoped Sellers and Burris were as broke as they had implied, so that Burris wouldn't be hung over and sick when it was time to visit the Pinkerton office.

 

Danielle was awake at first light. She was sitting on the bed, tugging on her boots, when there was a knock on her door.

“Who's there?” she inquired.

“Sellers and Burris,” said a voice.

Danielle got up, unlocked the door, and let them in.

“We got in a poker game and, between us, won more'n five hundred dollars,” Jesse Burris said.

“That's risky when you can't afford to lose,” said Danielle.

“Hell, we know that,” Sellers said, “but we had so little, it didn't make much difference between that and stone broke. Let's get breakfast. We're buying.”

After eating, they returned to the hotel, where they paid for another night.

“You want to go with us to the Pinkerton office?” Jesse Burris asked.

“I reckon not,” said Danielle. “You'll likely be more successful if they don't think you have a gang of bounty hunters. I'll be here when you return.”

Danielle waited for almost four hours before the young bounty hunters returned.

“We got a list of thirty men with prices on their heads,” Jesse Burris said. “Look at it and see if any of the names sound familiar.”

Eagerly, Danielle took the list, reading it twice.

“Well,” said Herb, “have you found any of 'em?”

“Just two,” Danielle said. “Rufe Gaddis and Julius Byler.”

“Since you already knew their names, and the same names are on the Pinkerton list, it sounds like they're using their real names,” said Jesse Burris.

“It does seem that way,” Danielle said. “I just wonder if some of the others on this list are the men I want, using different names.”

“One thing I learned from the Pinkertons might be helpful to you,” Jesse Burris said. “In southern New Mexico, southern Arizona, and other territories where there's a lot of silver and gold mining going on, there's plenty of outlaws.”

“I'm surprised the Pinkertons would tell you that,” said Danielle. “Seems to me they'd be anxious to cover that territory themselves.”

“They've tried,” Burris said. “Three Pinkerton men were sent there almost six months ago, and they haven't been heard from. They're presumed dead.”

“Damn,” said Danielle, “I can't believe the Pinkertons would take that without fighting back. I thought they were tougher than that.”

“They're plenty tough and dedicated,” Burris said, “but they bleed just like anybody else when they're bushwhacked or shot in the back.”

Danielle sighed. “I don't know where to start.”

“Neither do we,” said Herb Sellers. “Now that we got a stake, we're gonna stay here one more night and try our luck at the poker tables.”

“Don't risk all you have,” Danielle cautioned. “These outlaws may be scattered from here to yonder, and it may take some time to collect a bounty.”

“That's good advice,” said Jesse Burris. “I think we'll do well to take it.”

“I think so, too,” Herb Sellers said. “You've been a lot of help to us, Dan. In a way, I reckon we're all in the same business. If you ever get your tail caught in a crack, be sure we'll side you till hell freezes.”

“I'm obliged,” said Danielle. “If I'm there, and you need me and my gun, you got it.”

Danielle had supper with Sellers and Burris. Afterward, the pair set out for the saloons and poker tables. Danielle, still two hundred dollars ahead after the previous night at the Pretty Girl Saloon, decided to return there. It seemed immoral to her, naked women wandering among the tables, fetching drinks. More and more, however, Danielle was becoming accustomed to this man's world. The naked girls drew men like flies drawn to a honey jug. She wondered how a man kept his mind on the game, with a naked female to distract him. Suppose they discovered she wasn't a man? Would she be asked to leave?

Reaching the saloon, Danielle paid her hundred dollars, received her credit in chips, and made her way up the stairs. She opened the door into the gambling hall, and immediately a pair of the naked women were there to greet her.

“I remember you from last night, cowboy,” said one of the women. “You won big.”

“I reckon,” Danielle said. “You just have to keep your mind on the game.”

Danielle headed for a faro table, while the two naked women looked at one another questioningly. It had been their specific duty to watch for the return of this stranger who seemed to have no interest in naked women and kept his mind on the game. The naked pair hurried to the faro table and watched Danielle win the first three hands. She lost one and then won the next two. Occasionally she lost a hand, but won more often than she lost. So engrossed was she in the game, she failed to see the man with a tied-down revolver quietly leave the hall. Danielle decided it was time to back off after she had won four hundred dollars.

“You're on a roll, cowboy,” one of the girls said. “Don't be in a hurry.”

“Thanks,” Danielle said, “but it's past my bedtime.” She had taken seven hundred dollars of the saloon's money in two days, and she fully understood the hard looks she had received from the dealers as she prepared to leave. She had ignored the naked women, defied the odds, and she had won. Now she had only to cross the street to her hotel. She felt like her luck had run out at the Pretty Girl Saloon. Her feeling was confirmed when, from the darkness between the hotel and the building adjoining it, there came a blaze of gunfire. The first slug ripped through Danielle's left arm between wrist and elbow, but it didn't affect her aim. Lightning quick, she drew her Colt and fired twice. Once to the left and then once to the right of the muzzle flash. Three men—one of them the desk clerk—rushed out of the hotel.

“What's going on out here?” the desk clerk demanded.

“Somebody tried to bushwhack me,” replied Danielle, “and I shot back. I reckon you'd better send for the sheriff.”

Sheriff Hollis arrived soon after with a lantern. Scarcely looking at Danielle, Hollis headed for the dark area between the hotel and the adjoining building. There he hunkered down, and in the pale light from the lantern, it became obvious he was examining the body of a man. Slowly the sheriff returned to the street where Danielle stood, blood dripping off the fingers of her left hand.

“Come on,” said Sheriff Hollis. “We'll have Doc take care of your wound. Then you'll go to my office and tell me what this is all about.”

“It's about me being bushwhacked,” Danielle said. “I fired back.”

“Two hits in the dark,” said Sheriff Hollis. “I don't often see shooting like that.”

Danielle said nothing. When they reached the doctor's house, he quickly cleaned and bandaged Danielle's wounded arm. Danielle then followed Sheriff Hollis back to his office.

“Now,” Sheriff Hollis said, “you have some talking to do. Start with your name.”

“Daniel Strange. I had just left the Pretty Girl Saloon and was on my way back to my hotel. I didn't fire until somebody fired at me.”

“I believe you,” said Sheriff Hollis. “This is not the first time this has happened here, but it's the first time anybody's nailed a bushwhacker. His name is Belk Sanders. Have you heard of him?”

“Not until just now,” Danielle said. “I'd just won four hundred dollars playing blackjack at the Pretty Girl Saloon. Sanders must have been there, leaving ahead of me. But the cost of going upstairs is a hundred dollars' worth of gambling chips. I doubt anyone would be able to afford that very often, and it makes me wonder if the saloon didn't hire him to bushwhack the winners and take back the money.”

“I've thought of that, myself,” Sheriff Hollis said, “but there's no proof. Tonight's the fourth time a winner from the Pretty Girl has been bushwhacked. The first three weren't as sudden with a pistol as you.”

“How long has this Belk Sanders been around here?” Danielle asked. “What does he do besides hang around in saloons?”

“Nothing, as far as I know,” said Sheriff Hollis, “but he always seemed to be flush. I think maybe you solved one of my problems tonight.”

“Will you need me for an inquest?” Danielle asked. “I'm claiming self-defense.”

“You'll have no trouble with the court,” said Sheriff Hollis, “and I don't think you'll have to be here. Three men in the hotel, including the desk clerk, saw the muzzle flash from Sanders's gun before you fired. I've never seen a more obvious case of self-defense.”

“I'll be at the hotel tonight, and until sometime tomorrow, if you need me,” Danielle said. “I want to be sure this wound is going to heal before I ride on.”

“Good thinking,” said Sheriff Hollis. “Get yourself a quart of whiskey. It'll take care of a fever and kill any infection.”

Danielle returned to the Pretty Girl Saloon, but only for some whiskey, which she was able to buy at the downstairs bar. From there, she returned to her hotel. By then, her wounded arm had begun to hurt, and she took a dose of the laudanum the doctor had given her. The quart of whiskey she placed on the table beside the bed. She awakened the next morning with a temperature, and forced herself to drink some of the liquor. It was a terrible experience, for Danielle had never tasted whiskey before. She choked the stuff down, wondering if it wouldn't do more harm to her insides than the bullet had done to her arm. She counted her blessings, for Sanders had fired twice. Had his second shot hit her, it might have been necessary for the doctor to undress her in order to treat the wound. That would have given the lawman and the town something to talk about, and would explain why the Pretty Girl Saloon's naked women hadn't taken her mind off her game of twenty-one. Danielle was soon sick from the whiskey, and long before she was ready to get up, there was a knock on her door.