“I’ll do that,” Sheriff Edelman said. “I’ll see you at half-past eight tomorrow morning, and we’ll go to the courthouse for the inquest. Now I’d better get some men with shovels to dig out Gib Hunter.”
Somehow, Danielle felt better for having told the lawman the truth. He was right about the snow, and there was no way she could leave until it began to melt. By then, Hunter’s body would have been found. The snow finally ceased in the late afternoon and there was a dramatic drop in the temperature. A big thermometer outside the hotel’s front door said it was ten below zero. Danielle kept to herself, never allowing the fire in her stove to burn too low.
True to his word, Sheriff Edelman was at the hotel the next morning. Danielle was in the hotel lobby, waiting.
“We’d better get started,” Sheriff Edelman said. “Snow’s still mighty deep.”
“I reckon you found him, then,” said Danielle.
“Yeah,” Sheriff Edelman said, “and there’s proof enough of what you told me. His Colt had been fired and was still in his hand. I’ll testify to that.”
With Danielle’s story and Sheriff Edelman’s testimony, the inquest lasted not more than a quarter hour. Hunter’s death was ruled self-defense. With some relief, she started back toward the hotel. There was little to do until the snow began to melt, and not until the following day did the clouds begin to break up enough for the sun to emerge. Danielle was thoroughly sick of the hotel and the cafe next door, silently vowing to ride out if some of the snow had melted.
Mobeetie, Texas. September 25, 1870.
The eight outlaws who had deserted Upton Wilks had reached Mobeetie just in time to hole up in the hotel before the snow storm had begun.
“If we ain’t goin’ back to Indian Territory,” Rufe Gaddis said, “I think we should split up. Eight of us in a bunch attracts too much attention. I’ve already heard talk here in the hotel. Somebody’s wonderin’ who we are and why we’re here.”
“I think you’re right,” said Julius Byler. “We’d better split.”
Chancy Burke, Saul Delmano, Newt Grago, Snakehead Kalpana, Blade Hogue, and Brice Levan quickly agreed.
“I crave warm weather,” said Snakehead Kalpana. “I’m bound for south Texas.”
“Yeah,” Newt Grago said. “You aim to run them Mex horses across the border into Texas. Better men than you have been strung up for that.”
When the snow had finally melted enough to permit travel, the eight outlaws split up, each going his separate way.
Hays, Kansas. September 25, 1870.
Danielle judged the snow had melted enough for her to continue her journey to Denver. Before riding out, she paused at the sheriff’s office to tell Edelman she was leaving.
“Good luck, kid,” Sheriff Edelman said. “Don’t turn your back on strangers.”
The hotel clerk had told Danielle it was just a little under three hundred miles to Denver, so Danielle took her time. There were still snow drifts so deep, it was necessary to dismount and lead the chestnut mare. An hour before sundown, Danielle found a secluded canyon where there was water. The canyon rim was high enough to keep out the cold night wind. After a hurried supper, she put out her fire. The chestnut mare had been picketed near the stream, where there was still some graze. Confident that the horse would warn her of any danger, Danielle rolled in her blankets at the foot of the canyon rim, where the snow had melted and the ground was dry. She slept undisturbed, awakening as the first gray light of dawn crept into the eastern sky. After a quick breakfast, she again rode west. Much of the snow had melted, being replaced with mud as the sun thawed the ground and sucked up the moisture. About two hours before sundown she came upon two sets of horse tracks leading from the southeast. While catching up to them could possibly be dangerous, they might be two of the very outlaws she sought. Her first warning came when the chestnut mare nickered and a distant horse answered. Danielle reined up.
“Hello, the camp!” Danielle shouted. “I come in peace.”
“Come on,” said a cautious voice. “Just keep your hands where I can see ’em.”
Both men stood with their revolvers cocked and ready.
“My name is Dan Strange, and I’m from St. Joe, Missouri, on my way to Denver.”
The men were young, in their early twenties, Danielle judged, and they looked like out-of-work, line-riding cowboys. Danielle had made no threatening moves, and the pair slid their weapons back into their holsters.
“I’m Herb Sellers,” said the rider who had called out the challenge. “My amigo here is Jesse Burris. Our grub’s running low and we’re out of coffee, but you’re welcome to take part in what there is.”
“I just left a trail drive in Abilene,” Danielle said, “and I stocked up on supplies. Why don’t you let me supply the grub for supper? I have coffee, too.”
“That’s the best offer I’ve had lately,” said Sellers. “We holed up in Dodge, waiting out the storm, and town living just about busted us.”
“Yeah,” Burris said. “We done been starved out of Texas. Where in tarnation did you find a trail herd bound for Abilene? Ain’t no money in Texas. It’s been picked clean, and the buzzards is still there.”
“Five small ranchers risked everything they had, driving 2,600 head to Abilene,” said Danielle. “Come spring, they’ll have money enough to take a larger herd.”
“Straight across Indian Territory,” said Sellers. “Any trouble with rustlers?”
“Some,” Danielle admitted. “After we killed four of them, the others decided to ride on to other parts.”
The two men laughed, appreciating the droll humor.
“We aim to do some bounty hunting,” said Sellers. “Catching outlaws pays rewards, and I don’t know of nobody needin’ it worse than we do. We heard that Gib Hunter had been seen in Dodge and might be headed for Denver. That’s a thousand-dollar bounty.”
“No more,” Danielle said. “Hunter tried to bushwhack somebody during the storm, and was gunned down in Hays. I was waiting out the storm myself.”
“Damn the luck,” said Sellers. “We’re having trouble getting the names of outlaws with prices on their heads. Lawmen don’t like bounty hunters.”
“That’s one reason we’re bound for Denver,” Burris said. “I got an uncle there, and he’s working for the Pinkertons. We’re hoping he can supply us a list of outlaws and the bounties on their heads.”
While Danielle wasn’t concerned with the bounty, the possibility of a list of the names of outlaws on the dodge appealed to her. These two down-at-the-heels cowboys seemed to be exactly as they had described themselves. Danielle decided to take a chance and, after supper, told the pair of her search for the outlaws who had murdered her father.
“I’m not after these men for the bounty,” Danielle said. “I don’t know if there’s bounty on them, but of the ten of them still loose, I can tell you the names they were using in Indian Territory.”
“Then maybe we can work out a trade,” Burris said. “If my uncle in Denver can get us a list of wanted men with bounties on their heads, you can compare the names you have to the names on the list.”
“I’d be obliged,” said Danielle. “I’m hunting them down because I don’t want any of them to go free. If there’s money on their heads, then you’re welcome to it. I just want them dead.”
On a page from a small notebook, Danielle wrote down the names of the outlaws that she remembered.
“Nobody on here I’ve ever heard of,” Jesse Burris said, “but that don’t mean anything. Outlaws change their names like the rest of us change our socks. It’ll be something to compare to our list if we’re lucky enough to get one.”