“This is two of them on my list,” said Danielle.
“Those dodgers are mighty old,” Jennings said. “Chances are, they’re using some other names by now.”
“No,” said Danielle. “Yesterday, I saw both their names in a story in a Dallas newspaper. Gaddis and Byler were suspected of robbing a Kansas-Pacific train, but were let go for lack of evidence. The law in Wichita had them.”
“By now they’re somewhere in Indian Territory,” Jennings said.
Danielle thumbed through the rest of the wanted dodgers without finding the names of any more of the men she sought.
“Just those two,” said Danielle. “I’m obliged.”
“A ranger keeps records of his own,” Jennings said. “I’ll check out Bible Two.”10
From his shirt pocket, he took a small notebook and began thumbing through it.
“Here’s something that might be of interest to you,” said Jennings, “and it brings back some unpleasant memories for me. Gaddis and Byler didn’t take part in the war. They’re both Texans, and they stayed here and raised hell. When they finally stepped over the line to become thieves and killers, we haven’t seen them since. Another hombre known to the rangers as Chancy Burke generally rode with them.”
“Burke’s on my list with Gaddis and Byler,” said Danielle. “If they’re all Texans, then I may not be wasting my time in Texas after all. What part of Texas did they call home?”
“In and around Waco,” Jennings said, “and you may be right. They still have families—law-abiding folks—living there, and I wouldn’t be surprised if all of them don’t slip back home for an occasional visit.”
“I’m obliged to you for the information,” said Danielle. “Maybe I’ll ride to Waco and see what I can find.”
“Then take some advice from somebody that’s been there,” Jennings said, “and don’t tell anybody why you’re in town. Everybody in the county is loyal to them three young varmints, and hostile as hell toward the rangers and other lawmen.”
“I reckon they didn’t do their hell-raising close to home,” said Danielle.
“They didn’t,” Jennings said. “Their kin will admit they’re wild, but they won’t lift a hand to help the law track them down.”
“Thanks,” said Danielle. “I’ll keep my silence.”
“If you’re successful in finding any or all three of them, I’d appreciate your sending me word,” Jennings said.
“I will,” said Danielle.
On the way to her hotel, Danielle met King Fisher and Ben Thompson walking unsteadily along the boardwalk. The pair looked as though they might have been up all night.
“Well, by God,” King Fisher said, slapping his thigh with his hat, “it’s the kid with the two big guns.”
“He’ll bleed like anybody else with a slug in him,” said Thompson, fixing his bloodshot eyes on Danielle.
Danielle walked around them, chills racing up and down her spine. Would the drunken Thompson shoot her in the back? Nothing happened, and she began to relax.
Danielle saw no advantage to remaining in San Antonio. Remaining there, she might be confronted with either Ben Thompson or King Fisher, a confrontation that would profit her nothing. So taking her bedroll and saddlebags, she went to the livery where she had left the chestnut mare. Saddling the animal, she mounted and rode north, toward Waco.
Chapter 11
Waco, Texas. November 3, 1870.
Reaching Waco, Danielle stabled the chestnut mare and took a hotel room not too far away. Danielle found a cafe and had supper. While Waco wasn’t nearly as large as San Antonio, it had its share of saloons. Recalling the warning from Sage Jennings, the Texas Ranger in San Antonio, she would make the rounds of the saloons first. Only then, if she learned nothing, would she speak to the county sheriff.
The first saloon she entered was The Bull’s Horn, and except for a poker game, there was nothing going on. She watched for a few minutes, but nobody spoke, except for an occasional grunt of satisfaction as one of the men won a hand and raked in the money. The rest of the saloons in town proved to be much like the first. There were faro games going on in several of them, but Danielle avoided them, lest she draw attention to herself. People in Waco seemed especially closemouthed, and she expected some hostility when she had to ask questions. Since it seemed there was no other way, the next morning after breakfast, she set out to find the sheriff’s office. It was small, with a pair of barred cells behind it.
“Sheriff, I’m Daniel Strange, and I need to ask a favor.”
The lawman had gray hair, and the years had taken their toll on his body. A Colt was tied down on his right hip. He looked Danielle over carefully before he spoke.
“I’m Sheriff Rucker. The last two-gun man through here got strung up. Now what do you want of me?”
“I’m looking for some word of Rufe Gaddis, Julius Byler, and Chancy Burke. They’re from this area, I’m told.”
“Far from here,” Rucker said. “I ain’t seen any of ’em for three years. Mind telling me why you’re interested in them?”
There it was. There was no holding back the truth, which Rucker likely suspected already. Danielle sighed, then spoke.
“They were part of a group of men who robbed and hanged my pa in Indian Territory last spring.”
“I reckon you got proof,” said Sheriff Rucker.
“To my satisfaction,” Danielle said. “I’ve tracked down three of them, and the second one gave me the names of the others. Where do you stand?”
“Right here in this county,” said Sheriff Rucker. “I got no jurisdiction anywhere else, and unless some hombres ride in here to raise hell, I leave ’em alone.”
“Even if they’re wanted by the rangers for crimes in other places?”
“Even then,” Rucker said. “Hell, the rangers ain’t been sanctified. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve gone after the wrong men.”
“How well are the Gaddis, Byler, and Burke families known around here?” Danielle asked.
“They’re known and respected all over the county,” said Rucker, “and they look after their own. They’re clannish, and when you cut one, they all bleed.”
“And they all vote,” Danielle said.
“Yeah,” said Sheriff Rucker, his face going red. “I won this office ten years ago, and an hombre like you could lose it for me in one day.”
“Oh, I won’t drag you into it,” Danielle said in disgust.
She turned and left the office. When the liveryman brought her the chestnut mare, she had a question for him.
“I’m looking for work. Who are the most prominent ranchers in these parts?”
“Silas Burke, Damon Byler, and Luke Gaddis,” said the liveryman, “but they won’t be hiring. They can’t afford no riders.”
“Give me some directions anyway,” Danielle said, “and I’ll see for myself. I’m needin’ to hire on somewhere for the winter.”
It wasn’t an unusual request from an unemployed, drifting rider, and the liveryman gave Danielle directions. The Burke spread was the closest, and she rode there first. When Danielle rode in, a man with graying hair and a body gone to fat stood on the front porch, a Winchester under his arm. Danielle reined up a few yards away.
“Who are you and what do you want?” the man growled.
“I’m Daniel Strange, and I’m looking for some line riding to see me through winter.”
“I’m Silas Burke, and I ain’t hiring. If I was, I wouldn’t hire no two-gun stranger. We got too many cowboys here in the county that’s needin’ work. Had you asked, you could of learned that in town.”