“Thanks,” Danielle said.
Stage fares were expensive, so Danielle dismissed that possibility. It was a hot, dusty, and uncomfortable way to travel. She would ride, allowing the chestnut mare to take her time. Checking her saddlebags, Danielle found she was low on some items and rode by a mercantile to replenish them. To her dismay, as she was leaving the store, she met Hank, the sore loser from the saloon the night before. He had a bandage around his head, and his holster was empty. Apparently Sheriff Powell had kept his revolver.
“You young coyote,” the gambler snarled, “nobody treats Hank Marshall like you done. One day, we’ll meet up where you can’t hide behind the law. Then you’ll pay.”
“Then you’d better shoot me in the back,” said Danielle, “because you don’t have the guts to face me. Try it, and I’ll kill you.”
Without a word, Marshall went on into the mercantile. Danielle mounted the chestnut mare and rode eastward. She was soon out of El Paso, and the plains before her looked bleak. There was no sign of human habitation for as far as she could see. As barren as the land appeared, there was water, but little or no wood for a fire. Danielle had a cold supper without coffee. There was no graze for the chestnut mare, and Danielle fed the animal a ration of grain she had brought along for that purpose. Picketing the mare nearby, she rolled in her blankets, her head on her saddle.
When Danielle arose the next morning, the weather was still mild, but far to the west, there was a dirty smudge of gray on the horizon. She saddled and mounted the chestnut mare and rode on toward San Antonio.
Chapter 10
The Trail to San Antonio. October 24, 1870.
By early afternoon, Danielle judged she was fifty miles out of El Paso, and that sometime during the coming night, she would be in for a soaking. The dark clouds from the west had begun moving in, and the wind was getting stronger. Danielle began looking for a place that might offer a little shelter, but there was nothing. It was then that she heard what sounded like a distant gunshot. She reined up, listening. The single shot was followed by a dozen more in quick succession. Somebody was under siege, and the odds didn’t appear anywhere close to equal.
“Horse,” said Danielle, “we ought to mind our own business, but somebody’s in trouble down yonder toward the border.”
Danielle kicked the chestnut into a slow gallop, reining her down to a walk as they drew nearer the shooting. Reaching a rise, she could see a shack below, and from brush that surrounded the shack, there were puffs of white smoke. There appeared to be three defenders, while the attackers numbered twice that many, perhaps more. Adjoining the shack was a corral, and in it were six horses, nickering in fear. The three men nearest the shack were in poor positions, for the attackers were on the opposite side of a ridge, where there was broken land and huge stones to cover them. From powder smoke, Danielle counted eight riflemen firing toward the cabin. As one of the attackers shifted position, she saw the high crown of a Mexican sombrero. Danielle dismounted and, drawing her Henry rifle from the boot, set out to even up the odds. Her position was far better than that of the three defenders below, for the ridge on which she stood was higher than that on which the attackers were concealed. Her first shot ripped the Mexican’s sombrero from his head, while her second shot slammed into the top of the stone behind which he was hiding, filling his eyes with dust. Danielle’s intervention seemed to have given the three defenders renewed hope, for their firing grew more intense. Danielle held her fire, settling down on the rise, for if the attackers on the opposite ridge moved, she could see them. Suddenly, one of them did, seeking to get nearer the shack. Danielle fired, and the attacker fell, throwing up his hands. Another tried to improve his position, and Danielle’s shot struck him in the shoulder, turning him around. He leaped for the stone behind which he had been concealed. Danielle quickly accounted for a third man, while the three men below continued firing. One of them scored a direct hit, and the four that remained ceased firing. Their attempts to move in closer had proven disastrous. It was time to back off.
“You on the ridge,” shouted a voice from near the cabin, “can you see ’em? Have they retreated?”
“I think so,” Danielle said. “Who were they, and who are you?”
“They’re Mexicans that chased us across the border,” said the voice. “I’m Roy Carnes, and my amigos are Jake Kazman and Maury Lyles.”
“You’ve been rustling horses in Mexico, then, and driving them across the border,” Danielle said.
“Maybe I should have stayed out of it and let them take you.”
“I swear we ain’t rustled nobody’s horses,” Carnes shouted back. “Three of the horses in the corral is our personal mounts. The other three are wild as Texas jacks, without any brands. We trapped ’em wild, and before we could get ’em across the border, the damn Mexicans caught up to us. Come on down. There’ll be a storm pretty quick.”
The invitation was difficult to refuse, for the black clouds out of the west appeared to be dropping lower and lower. Already they had obscured the sun, and it was as though twilight had descended on the land. Leading the chestnut mare, Danielle descended the slope to the cabin below. The three men were waiting for her.
“Not a very good place for a cabin,” Danielle said. “It’s hard to defend.”
“We know,” said Carnes, “but there’s water handy. We never expected them Mexes to foller us across the border. They never have before.”
“Maybe you’d better think long and hard before crossing the border for more horses,” Danielle said.
“I expect we will,” Carnes said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Daniel Strange, bound for San Antonio.”
“You’re welcome to wait out the storm here with us,” said Carnes. “We ain’t got a bunk for you, but we can offer you a dry place to spread your blankets. Turn your horse into the corral with ours.”
“Thanks,” Danielle said. “It’s looking pretty black over there. I’ll accept your invite.”
Removing her saddle and saddlebags, Danielle led the chestnut mare into the corral. It was a good time to see if Carnes had been lying about the newly acquired horses. But the trio appeared wild, and there wasn’t a sign of a brand on any of them. Danielle followed the three men into the shack, finding it larger than she had expected. Danielle dropped her saddle and saddlebags in a corner. Carnes started a fire in the fireplace.
“Kazman,” said Danielle, “your name’s mighty familiar. I spent some time with friends north of Dallas, and I seem to recall having heard your name.”
“No,” Kazman said, a little too hurriedly. “I’m from south Texas, near San Antone.”
“We ain’t got much to offer in the way of grub,” said Carnes. “When we break these wild horses, we got to ride into El Paso and stock up on supplies.”
“I bought pretty heavy before leaving there,” Danielle said. “While I’m here, and you’re providing me shelter, I’ll supply the grub. You got a coffeepot?”
“Yeah,” said Maury Lyles, “but we been out of coffee beans for a week.”
“I have some,” Danielle said. “Maybe I can spare you enough to get you to El Paso.”
“We’d be obliged,” said Roy Carnes.
Outside, the wind had risen to a shriek, driving sheets of rain against the side of the cabin. Danielle felt the floor tremble beneath her feet. They all sat on the benches on each side of the table, Danielle covertly watching Jake Kazman. Without appearing to, he shifted his eyes toward Danielle’s saddle and saddlebags, and then looked away. Danielle observed him from the corner of her eye, and realized if he had been in north Texas, he might well know of the trail drive in which Danielle had taken part. He might also suspect that she had earned considerable money when the cattle had been sold in Abilene. Outside, the storm roared on. Using Danielle’s supplies, Carnes prepared supper. After eating, the conversation dribbled away to nothing. While Carnes and Lyles were at ease, Kazman was restless, and more than once Danielle caught him watching her.