“You damn gun-slick,” he snarled. “Kill my boys, will you?”
Jacking a shell into the chamber of the Winchester, he was about to shoot Danielle a third time when Danielle drew her right-hand Colt and fired twice. The slugs struck Jubal in the chest, and he died with a look of total surprise on his face. Danielle struggled to her feet and, using a rawhide thong from her saddle, wrapped and tied it tightly above the bleeding wound in her left thigh. But there was little she could do about the wound in her right side. The chestnut mare, spooked by the smell of blood, back-stepped.
“Damn it, Sundown,” Danielle gasped, “hold still.” Three times she tried to mount the horse, and three times her left leg failed her. Using her right leg for support, she mounted from the off-side. She felt cold all over, and there was a growing weakness in her body. She turned the chestnut mare back the way she had come, hoping to reach Wichita before bleeding to death. She blacked out, holding to the saddle horn with both hands. Danielle had raised Sundown from a colt, and the horse knew something was terribly wrong. The animal stopped, perking up her ears. In the distance, a dog barked. The mare listened a moment and then, as though making up her mind, turned and trotted back into Indian Territory, toward the sound of the barking dog. The dog barked furiously as Sundown neared a run-down cabin.
“That awful man is coming back, Ma,” said nine-year-old Anita Willard.
“Perhaps not,” said her mother, Ann. “It doesn’t sound like his horse.”
The cabin’s windows had no glass, and she had to open a shutter to see outside. Even with the threat of the dog, the chestnut mare waited patiently at the front stoop, seeking help for her young rider. Even as Ann Willard watched, Danielle fell from the saddle and lay still.
“Come on,” said Ann. “He’s hurt, and we must get him inside.”
Once they had Danielle inside and stretched out on a bunk, Anita unsaddled the mare and led her to a corral where there were two other horses. Returning to the house, she found Ann Willard had stripped the injured rider and simply stood there staring.
“He . . . he’s a woman,” Anita said aghast.
“Yes,” said Ann, “and we must do what we can for her and get her out of here before Eph Snell returns. Stir up the fire and put some water on to boil.”
When the water was hot, Ann cleansed the wounds as best she could, disinfecting them with whiskey from a jug Eph Snell kept under his bunk. There was no other medicine, and Danielle moaned in her sleep. She didn’t awaken until near dawn of the next day, her face flushed and her eyes bright with fever.
“Water,” she begged.
Anita brought a tin cup of water, and Danielle drank it gratefully. Again she spoke.
“Where . . . am I, and who . . . are you?”
“I’m Ann Willard, and this is my daughter, Anita.”
“I . . . I’m Danielle Strange. Do you . . . live here alone?” Danielle asked.
“Only when Eph Snell’s gone,” said Ann.
“Eph Snell’s a damn horse thief, and when he’s here, he’s always drunk. I hate him,” Anita said.
“Anita,” said Ann, “that’s no way for a young lady to talk.”
“Then I ain’t a young lady,” Anita said. “I want to grow up and carry a gun so’s I can shoot the varmints I don’t like.”
Despite being racked with fever and pain, Danielle laughed.
“Anita,” said Ann, “go get the jug of whiskey.”
“I’ll get it,” Anita said, “but old Eph’s gonna raise hell when he finds we’ve been into his jug.”
“God help us,” said Ann with a sigh. “She’s picking up Snell’s bad habits.”
“Why are the two of you living with such a man?” Danielle asked.
“My husband never returned from the war, and Anita and me were starving back in New Orleans. I met Snell, and he promised me a better life. Am I permitted to know why you dress as a man?”
But Anita returned with the jug of whiskey just then, and Danielle was forced to drink a cupful. Then, as Ann and Anita listened, she told them her story and of becoming Daniel Strange.
“Dear God,” Ann said, “how old are you, Danielle?”
“Just past seventeen,” said Danielle.
“See, Ma?” Anita cried. “She’s only eight years older than me.”
“I’m trusting the two of you to keep my secret,” said Danielle. “As soon as I’m able to ride, I’ll move on. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“There’ll be trouble whether you’re here or not,” Anita said. “Last time, he beat Ma up something terrible.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else you can go?” Danielle asked.
“I have a sister in St. Louis who would take us in, but I don’t know how we’d ever get there,” said Ann.
“I’ll help you as soon as I’m able,” Danielle said. “Do you have horses?”
“Two, but only because Eph hasn’t sold them,” said Ann. “He’s gone after more.”
“He steals them in Texas,” Anita said helpfully.
“That’s a long ride from here,” said Danielle. “When do you expect him to return?”
“Perhaps in another week,” Ann said. “He’s usually away for two weeks, and he’s been gone only six days.”
“Then maybe I can get the two of you on the way to St. Louis before he returns,” said Danielle.
“But we have no money,” Ann said.
“I do,” said Danielle, “and all we have to do is reach Wichita. From there, you can take the train to Kansas City, and another on to St. Louis.”
“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.