Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare (28 page)

“You are so kind,” said Ann. “I fear we can never repay you.”

“You already have,” Danielle said. “It's me that'll never be able to repay
you,
because you saved my life.”

“You need food,” said Ann. “I'll make you some chicken soup.”

She started toward the kitchen, but not before Danielle saw the tears on her cheeks. It was an opportune time for nine-year-old Anita to speak to this strange girl who dressed like a man and carried tied-down Colts. She sat down on the foot of the bed and spoke.

“Ma didn't tell you all of it. The last time Eph Snell came in drunk, he said I was old enough to be a woman, and he tore off all my clothes. Ma tried to stop him, and he beat her so bad, she couldn't get up off the floor.”

“A poor excuse for a man,” said Danielle. “Did he . . . bother you?”

“He was going to,” Anita said, “but I ran outside and hid in the brush, naked. When he saddled his horse and rode away, I went back to take care of Ma.”

“He won't lay a hand on either of you as long as I'm alive,” said Danielle.

“Oh, I'm so glad you found us,” Anita said. “The next time, I might not be able to get away from him.”

Ann returned with a bowl of soup and a wedge of corn bread. Sore as Danielle was, she sat up long enough to eat, and immediately felt better.

“Now,” said Ann, “we're going to leave you alone so you can sleep off that fever.”

Danielle slept all day and part of the night. She awakened, sweating. Ann sat on the foot of the bed, and she spoke.

“The fever's broken. Now all you have to do is heal.”

“I'm obliged,” Danielle said. “You've done all this for me without knowing whether I've told you the truth about myself or not.”

“I saw the truth in your eyes,” said Ann, “but I'd have helped you even if you were an outlaw. The Good Book says we should not judge as we be not judged. It wasn't up to me to decide if you were deserving or not. All I saw was the need.”

“You're a good woman, Ann Willard,” Danielle said.

“I'm a sinful woman,” said Ann, her hands covering her face. “For five years I've been with Eph Snell because Anita and me were starving. I thought anything was better than that, but I don't anymore. Snell's a thief and a killer, and I fear what he may do if he comes back and finds you here.”

“Put my guns where I can reach them,” Danielle said, “and I'll promise you he'll get the surprise of his life.”

“It's none of my business,” said Ann, “but can you tell me who shot you, and why?”

“It's something I'm not proud of,” Danielle said, “but I'll tell you the story.”

For the next few minutes she told of having to shoot Elmo and Ebeau Winters, and finally of the necessity of killing old Jubal, after he had bushwhacked her.

“You didn't shoot anybody that didn't deserve it,” said Anita, from behind the door.

“You're supposed to be in bed asleep,” Ann said.

“I'm too excited to sleep,” said Anita. “When can we leave?”

“Not until Danielle heals enough to ride,” Ann said.

“Three more days,” said Danielle. “Just so I'm healed enough that the wounds won't start bleeding again.”

The three days came and went without a sign of Eph Snell. Danielle was up and limping about, again with her binder in place, dressed like a man.

“It's time we were going,” Danielle said. “Do you have saddles for your horses?”

“No,” said Ann, “but I'd crawl from here to Wichita on my hands and knees. We can ride bareback.”

Ann gathered her own and Anita's few belongings, stuffing them in a gunnysack. The trio then rode north toward Wichita.

“I'll stay with you in Wichita until there's an eastbound train,” Danielle said. “Once we reach town, you can sell the horses you're riding. That'll give you some extra money. I'll buy your train tickets from Wichita to St. Louis.”

“You're too generous,” said Ann. “I'd gladly sell the horses, but I don't have any bills of sale. I'm sure Eph stole them somewhere.”

“I'll write you some bills of sale,” Danielle said. “By the time Snell figures it all out, you'll be on your way to St. Louis, and well out of his reach.”

The trio reached Wichita. Inquiring, Danielle learned the next eastbound from the end-of-track wouldn't reach Wichita until the following morning. Danielle bought two tickets to St. Louis, and Ann Willard wept for her generosity.

“Now I'll get us a hotel room for the night,” said Danielle, “and we'll see about selling those two horses.”

The bills of sale were not questioned, and Danielle collected seventy-five dollars for each of the horses.

“Here,” Danielle said, handing the money to Ann. “The horses brought a hundred and fifty dollars, and I've added some to that.”

Ann Willard was completely overwhelmed, and Anita's eyes sparkled like stars.

 

Leading three horses, Eph Snell reached the deserted cabin in Indian Territory. He swore when he found the corral empty, and it took him only a few minutes to find tracks of three horses heading north. Leaving the three newly arrived horses in the corral, he mounted his horse and rode north, toward Wichita. He also carried a pair of tied-down Colts, and he had killing on his mind.

Chapter 14

 

 

The eastbound was due at ten o'clock. Danielle had accompanied Ann and Anita to the railroad depot to await the train. Far down the track, they could hear the whistle blowing for the stop at Wichita.

“I can't believe we're actually leaving,” Ann said. “I feel like I'm dreaming.”

“We ain't gone yet,” said Anita. “I won't feel safe until we're on the train and it's on its way.”

With the clanging of its bell, the eastbound rolled in, and the locomotive began taking on water. The conductor stepped down from the one passenger coach, lowering the metal steps so that the passengers might enter. Up the track, beyond the train's caboose, there came a horseman at a fast gallop.

“Ma,” Anita cried, “it's him!”

“Dear God,” said Ann, “it's Eph Snell.”

“Get aboard the train,” Danielle said. “I'll delay him until you're gone.”

“I can't let you do it,” said Ann. “He'll kill you.”

“I'll risk it,” Danielle said. “Now get aboard the train.”

Ann and Anita had just entered the passenger coach when Snell reined up. Dismounting, he started toward Danielle. She spoke quietly.

“That's far enough, Snell.”

Snell laughed. “So you know me.”

“I know
of
you,” Danielle said. “You're a damn yellow-bellied, woman-beating coyote that walks on his hind legs like a man.”

It was the ultimate insult, and Snell drew. He was fast—incredibly fast—but Danielle had her Colt roaring by the time Snell pulled the trigger. His slug spouted dust on the ground in front of him. From the locomotive, the fireman and engineer had watched the entire affair. Suddenly, Ann and Anita were out of the coach, running toward Danielle. At the sound of shooting, the station agent came running from the depot. He eyed Danielle as she reloaded her Colt, directing his question at her.

“What's the meaning of this?”

“Get the sheriff,” Danielle said, “and I'll explain it all to him. I reckon you'd best keep this train here until the sheriff's talked to the fireman and engineer. They saw it all.”

“I want to talk to the sheriff, too,” said Ann to Danielle. “I won't leave until I know the law's not holding you responsible.”

Others had heard the sound of distant gunfire, and men came on the run. One of them was Sheriff Bart Devlin. He eyed Danielle and spoke.

“Who's the dead man?”

“Eph Snell, a horse thief and likely a killer,” Danielle said. “This is Ann and Anita Willard. I helped them to escape Snell, but he caught up to us and drew on me.”

“He pulled iron first, Sheriff,” the engineer said. “We saw him, didn't we, Slim?”

“Yeah,” the fireman said, “and he was a fool. This young gent here could shoot the ears off John Wesley Hardin.”

“Now, ma'am,” Sheriff Devlin said to Ann, “sup pose you tell me where you figure into all this.”

Ann spoke swiftly, her eyes meeting those of Sheriff Devlin. When she paused to catch her breath, Anita spoke.

“He tore all my clothes off, and I had to hide from him in the woods.”

Shouts of anger erupted from the men who had gathered around.

“Sheriff,” said the station agent, “this train needs to be on its way. What more do you need of the fireman and engineer?”

“Probably nothing,” Sheriff Devlin said, “but just in case, write down their names and addresses for me. Then they can go.”

“I'm not going until I know you're not in trouble for shooting him,” Ann told Danielle.

“Neither am I,” said Anita defiantly.

“I know this young gent,” Sheriff Devlin said, “and from what I've heard, I believe I can safely promise you there'll be no charges filed. In fact, if this dead varmint's been hiding out in Indian Territory, I may have a wanted dodger on him.”

The fireman and engineer had mounted to the locomotive's cabin. A clanging of its bell and two blasts from the whistle announced the train's departure.

“Ann, it's time for you and Anita to get aboard,” Danielle said. “Go in peace.”

The two mounted the steps into the passenger coach, and as the train pulled out, they waved to Danielle for as long as they could see her. Two men had volunteered to remove Snell's body, taking it to the carpenter shop, where a coffin would be built. Sheriff Devlin spoke to Danielle.

“Come on to the office with me, and let's see if there's a dodger on Snell. Might even be a reward.”

“I'm not concerned with a reward, Sheriff,” Danielle said. “I shot him only to save my friends.”

“A fine piece of work and a noble reason,” said Sheriff Devlin, “but if there's a reward, it belongs to you.”

Danielle waited while Sheriff Devlin fanned through a stack of wanted dodgers.

“Ah,” Devlin said, “here he is. He's wanted in Missouri and Texas for murder. There's a five-hundred-dollar reward, but it'll take me a few days to collect it.”

“When you do,” said Danielle, “send it to Ann Willard, in St. Louis. Send it to this address.”

“I will,” Devlin said, “and it's a fine thing you're doing. Ride careful, kid.”

Danielle genuinely liked the old sheriff and didn't object to him calling her “kid.” She had not completely healed from her wounds, and the drawing and firing of the Colt had somehow inflamed the wound in her right side. She felt a dull, throbbing ache, and after leaving the sheriff's office, she took a room at a hotel, for she dared not go to a doctor. First, she stabled Sundown. She then went to a saloon and, as much as she hated the stuff, bought a quart of whiskey. At the mercantile she bought a bottle of laudanum and returned to the hotel. She was hungry, but in no mood to eat. She didn't yet have a fever, and dosing herself with the laudanum, she went to bed and slept far into the night. When she awakened, her throat was dry and inflamed, and her face felt like it was afire. She drank a third of the bottle of whiskey and returned to the bed. When she again awakened, the sun beamed in through the room's single window, for she had slept well into the day. Her fever had broken, and her body was soaked with sweat. The ache of the wound in her side was gone, allowing her to sit up without pain. On the dresser was a porcelain pitcher half full of water, and she drank it all, right from the pitcher. Her belly grumbled, reminding her she had eaten nothing since her meager breakfast with Ann and Anita the day before. Taking her time, she went to a cafe. After a satisfying meal of ham, eggs, biscuits, and hot coffee, she felt much better. She was tempted to ride on, but after having the wound in her side flare up again, she was reluctant to go until she had completely healed. She paid for another night at the hotel and spent most of the day stretched out on the bed, resting. In the late afternoon, there was a knock on her door.

“Who is it, and what do you want?”

“I'm Casper DeVero, and I want to talk to you,” said a voice outside the door.

“About what?” Danielle asked, suspecting she already knew.

“About the heroic thing you did yesterday,” said DeVero.

“I don't want to talk about it,” Danielle said.

“Damn it,” said DeVero, “the sheriff said you'd left town, and I had a hell of a time finding you. I'm a stringer for one of the Kansas City newspapers, and this is just the kind of human interest story they'll like. You'll be famous.”

“I don't
want
to be famous,” Danielle shouted. “Now leave me alone.”

“Your choice,” said DeVero. “Talk to me, and you'll get a sympathetic ear. But I can piece the story together if I have to, and you may not like some of the turns it takes. I will see that the story's published, with or without your help.”

“Then do it without my help,” Danielle shouted, “and leave me alone.”

Later feeling better, Danielle went out for supper, encountering Sheriff Devlin in the cafe.

“I didn't know you were still in town,” said Devlin. “We got a gent here name of DeVero, and he sells stories to the Kansas City newspapers. He's been looking for you.”