Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare (31 page)

“I didn't hear you say that,” Jennings said. “Do what you have to do, and good luck.”

Weary from the long ride from Fort Worth, Danielle stabled Sundown and took a room for the night. She lay down and slept awhile after supper, then decided to visit the Alamo Saloon. She had heard it was a favorite watering hole for King Fisher, Ben Thompson, and other gamblers. The saloon was even more luxurious than she had imagined. Instead of sawdust floors, there was deep-pile carpet, drapes on the windows, a mahogany bar, and two dozen tables devoted to poker and faro. Danielle wondered if her lucky streak had played out, or if she could still win. Placing five double eagles on a faro table, she bought in.

“Ten dollars a bet,” the house dealer said.

It was the highest stakes Danielle had ever played for. At ten dollars a throw, she could lose her hundred dollars in a matter of minutes. On the other hand, if she won, the higher stakes put more money in her pocket. She quickly lost fifty dollars before she began winning. She almost immediately recovered her fifty dollars, and for an hour she averaged winning two pots out of three. Her companions at the table took their losses in stride, for they seemed to be affluent men. When Danielle had won three hundred dollars, she withdrew from the game. It didn't pay to win too much, too soon. She couldn't help wondering what these men would have thought or said, had they known she wasn't a man. Thinking back, she was amazed at the changes in her. She had learned to control herself and her emotions so that nothing men said or did caused her to blush. It bothered her, for when she reached the end of her vengeance trail, suppose she had become a hard woman, comfortable in saloons, among drunks and whores? She often thought of Tucker Carlyle, but she dared not ride back to the Carlyle ranch. Her good-byes had been difficult enough, and she didn't want to go through them again. She returned to her hotel, and as usual, she slid the back of a chair under the doorknob.

 

Danielle arose early and had breakfast in a nearby cafe. She then took her saddlebags and headed for the stable where she had left the chestnut mare. During their months on the trail, she had become much closer to Sundown, and the mare nickered her pleasure when Danielle came near. She rode slightly to the southwest, toward Laredo. If there had been trouble on the border at Laredo, it wasn't likely the outlaws were still there, but she couldn't overlook the possibility that they had simply holed up somewhere in the wilds of old Mexico until the incident was forgotten. Rustling horses in Mexico and driving them into Texas had become relatively easy, for as Captain Jennings had pointed out, even the combined efforts of the United States and Mexico were not enough to patrol the hundreds of miles of border.

 

 

Compared to San Antonio, Laredo wasn't much more than a wide place in the trail. The hotel was a single-story affair, the rooms were cheap, and there were only two cafes. But, as Danielle noted with amusement, there were six saloons. Darkness was falling when she reached town, and to her dismay, she found the livery closed. She pounded on the door with the butt of one of her Colts until the door creaked open. An old Mexican peered at Danielle in the fading light. Under his arm was a Winchester rifle.

“What you want,
señor
?”

“I want to stable my horse for the night,” Danielle said. “What the hell's the idea of closing before dark?”

“
Mejicanos
come from across the river and take our horses,” the old one replied.

“Tarnation,” Danielle said, “don't you have a lawman or a sheriff?”

“Sí,”
said the Mexican, “but he is one
hombre.
The border, she be great,
señor
.”

The old man had told her essentially what she had already heard from Captain Sage Jennings, but she had learned something more. Apparently in retaliation, Texas horses were being run across the border into Mexico, or so it seemed. But suppose it wasn't Mexicans stealing Texas horses? Who could say that, after several killings, American outlaws hadn't holed up south of the border and begun running Texas horses into Mexico? Danielle took a room at the hotel and went to the nearest cafe to eat. Tomorrow morning she would seek out the sheriff and question him.

Three men were in the cafe when Danielle entered, and they turned to stare at her. Each wore a high-crowned Mexican sombrero, and their faces were obscured by maybe a week's growth of beard. Their tight-fitting black trousers and their red-embroidered vests showed much trail-dust. Their ruffled, once-white shirts were sweat-stained, and tied low on his right hip, each had a revolver. Danielle paused in the doorway, her eyes on the three, and they hastily resumed eating. The cook looked fearfully from Danielle to the Mexicans, and relaxed. The three were eating, apparently oblivious to Danielle. She spoke.

“Bring me a double portion of whatever you have.”

“Beef stew, potatoes, apple pie, and coffee,” said the cook “Tequila if you wish.”

“No,” Danielle said. “Coffee.”

It was obvious the three men who had stared at Danielle were drinking tequila, for on their table sat a bottle a third-full of the potent liquor. Danielle watched them out of the corner of her eye and, from their flushed faces, decided they were drunk or close to it. When the cook brought Danielle's meal, she ate slowly, allowing the trio to finish ahead of her. They did and left the cafe without looking at Danielle again. It was just her and the cook, so she spoke.

“I thought it was illegal for Mexicans to cross the border into Texas, or for Texans to cross over into Mexico.”

“That fool law was wrote in Washington,” said the cook, “and that's a hell of a long ways from here. If the Mexes want to wade the branch and spend their
pesos
in Laredo, I ain't about to complain. I reckon you've noticed this ain't a very big town.”

“I've noticed,” Danielle said, “and I'm not concerned with Mexicans. I'm looking for Snakehead Kalpana, an American. I have business with him.”

“Never heard of him,” said the cook.

The furtive look in his eyes told Danielle he was lying. Drinking the last of her coffee, she paid for her meal and left the cafe. Returning to the hotel, she locked the door to her room and placed the back of a chair under the doorknob. Tomorrow she would seek out the sheriff, and for a long while, she lay awake wondering if his attitude toward the border crossings would be the same as those of the man in the cafe. If Kalpana and some of the other men felt safe south of the border, finding them would be all the more difficult.

 

Danielle arose at dawn, had breakfast, and went looking for the sheriff. There were only two cells in the jail, both empty. The sheriff looked to be in his forties, and he got to his feet when Danielle entered the office.

“Sheriff, I'm Daniel Strange, from St. Joseph, Missouri.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said the lawman. “I'm Tom Carson. What can I do for you?”

“Tell me if you know anything about Snakehead Kalpana,” Danielle said.

“I know he's an outlaw and a killer, and that the Texas Rangers would dearly love for him to be the guest of honor at a necktie party. What's your interest in him?”

Quickly, Danielle again told the story of her father's murder in Indian Territory.

“I can't say I blame you,” said the sheriff, “but you're almighty young to be ridin' the vengeance trail.”

“Maybe,” Danielle said, “but there was nobody else. My two brothers are younger than I am.”

“I'll help you in any way that I can,” said the sheriff, “but I suspect Kalpana and the bunch he's ridin' with have moved on. It was Kalpana who shot two men. One of them was a Mexican officer, and the other was a Texas Ranger.”

“Speaking of the bunch Kalpana's riding with,” Danielle said, “do you know the names of any of them?”

“No,” said Sheriff Carson. “I'm familiar with Kalpana only because he spent his time in the saloons, gambling. Of course, that was before we learned he was rustling Mex horses and selling them in Texas, and before he shot and killed the Mexican and a ranger. He's got a hair-trigger temper, and when he loses at the poker table, he has a bad habit of accusing somebody of cheating him. I threatened to arrest him several times, but he would always back down. I reckon it's lucky for me that he did, because he carries a couple of tied-down Colts. From what I've heard, he's faster than forked lightning.”

Danielle sighed. “I'm obliged, Sheriff Carson. I didn't really expect Kalpana to still be here, but this trail's not quite as cold as that I've been following. How much border is there between here and Brownsville?”

“A good two hundred miles,” said Carson, “and all manner of little villages where a man on the dodge can hole up. He could even be south of the border. Mexicans are poor, and if an
Americano
has money, they'll take him in, whatever he's done.”

“The border situation being what it is,” Danielle said, “can you suggest anything that might be helpful to me?”

“Maybe,” the lawman said. “As you ride on to Brownsville, follow the river. There's Del Rio and Eagle Pass, about a day's ride between them. You probably won't learn much at Del Rio, but King Fisher has a ranch near Eagle Pass.
¹³
It's common knowledge that King rides across the border, rounds up wild horses, and drives them into Texas, but you would be wise not to mention that. He might be willing to identify some of the men you're looking for if he understands your reason. But he's almighty swift with a pistol, and he don't like company. Are you familiar with him?”

“Yes,” said Danielle. “I ran into him and Ben Thompson once, when I rode through San Antonio.”

“Drunk, I reckon,” Sheriff Carson said.

“Roostered to the eyeballs,” said Danielle. “They looked just about drunk enough to want to fight, so I avoided them.”

“Good thinking,” Sheriff Carson said. “It's a damn shame King Fisher walks on both sides of the law. He could use his guns to help rid the border of thieves and killers.”

 

 

It seemed there was nothing more Danielle could learn in Laredo, so she rode along the Rio Grande toward Del Rio. It was, as Sheriff Carson said, a good day's ride, and the first stars were winking from the heavens when Danielle rode in. The town seemed smaller than Laredo, for Danielle counted only four saloons. For some reason, there were two liveries, and Danielle left Sundown at the one nearest the hotel. She then took a room for the night and went to a cafe for supper. Since it was already dark, she decided to wait until the following morning to seek out Sheriff Lon Guthrie. The cafe was nothing fancy, having a big hanging sign outside that said simply EATS. Besides the cook, there was only one man in the cafe, and he wore a lawman's star. Danielle ordered her meal, then took a chair across from the lawman. He looked questioningly at her.

“I reckon you're Sheriff Lon Guthrie,” Danielle said. “Sheriff Carson, in Laredo, said I should talk to you.”

“I'm Guthrie,” said the lawman. “Who are you, and why do you want to talk to me?”

“I'm Daniel Strange, and I'm looking for a varmint that's been rustling horses south of the border and driving them to Texas. He's one of ten outlaws who robbed and murdered my pa in Indian Territory. His name, far as I know, is Snakehead Kalpana.”

“I've heard the name,” Sheriff Guthrie said, “but I don't think he's spent any time here in Del Rio. Seeing as how we're right on the border, I'm always watching for strangers in the saloons and cafes.”

“I'm obliged for the information,” said Danielle. “In Laredo, Sheriff Carson suggested that on my way to Brownsville, I talk to Sheriff Rim Klady, in Eagle Pass. He told me that I should also talk to King Fisher, since he gathers wild horses in Mexico and drives them across the border into Texas.”

“King Fisher's a hell-raising coyote that walks on his hind legs like a man,” Sheriff Guthrie said. “I doubt he'd help you if he could, because some of those horses he rounds up in Mexico ain't wild. They're wearin' Mex brands. You'd best avoid him.”

“If I don't learn anything in Eagle Pass,” said Danielle, “I'll be riding on to Brownsville. With so much border, I can't believe these rustlers would give up easy pickings.”

“Maybe you're right,” Sheriff Guthrie said, “but Sam Duro's sheriff there, so don't be expecting too much.”

“I'm obliged, Sheriff,” said Danielle.

Sheriff Guthrie had finished his meal. He slid back his chair and stood up.

“Good luck, kid.”

Danielle nodded, for the cook had just brought her supper. She ate, mulling over what Sheriff Guthrie had told her. While he hadn't really told her anything about the sheriff at Brownsville, he had implied much. Among the many good lawmen on the frontier, there was always an occasional one—if the price was right—who would turn his back on rustlers, outlaws, and killers. Danielle paid for her meal and returned to the hotel. Having already talked to Sheriff Guthrie, in the morning she could get an early start to Eagle Pass.

 

 

The border town of Eagle Pass wasn't that much different from Del Rio. There were the same weather-beaten saloons, but only four this time. Danielle arrived before dark and, finding a livery, stabled Sundown. She then set out to find the sheriff's office. The door was locked, and peering through a window, Danielle could see no sign of life inside. There was an hour of daylight remaining, so Danielle decided to make the rounds of the saloons. In the third one, called the Eagle's Claw, she found the sheriff, involved in a poker game.