“I have a problem I never expected,” Herb said. “I feel . . . well . . . guilty, gunning down a man for money.”
“You shouldn’t,” said Danielle. “None of us knew there was a reward when we bought into that fight. We did the right thing, and if we hadn’t taken those thieves by surprise, it might be one or all of us lying dead.”
“That’s right,” Jesse said. “This same bunch robbed the same bank last year, but they won’t ever do it again. Maybe it’ll send a message to the rest of the thieves and killers holed up in Indian Territory.”
The trio reached the hotel. Herb and Jesse waited in the hall while Danielle went into her room for her few belongings and saddlebags. It was time for parting, and Danielle was anxious to be gone. She genuinely liked these two cowboys, and while she didn’t condemn them for bounty hunting, their motivation was entirely different from her own. How often had she read of men like Bill Hickok, John Wesley Hardin, and Ben Thompson, who had become legends as a result of their speed and accuracy with a gun? It was just such a name she didn’t want, and yet the more often she had to use her guns, the more likely she was to find herself with the very same unwanted reputation. Reaching the livery, she paid her bill and saddled Sundown. She rode out quietly, glad to be escaping any further contact with the newspaperman, Casper DeVero. St. Joe wasn’t that far from Kansas City, and for the first time, she wondered what her mother and brothers would think of the ridiculous story DeVero had written.
Indian Territory. December 1, 1870.
Danielle chose not to light a fire. Finding a source of water, she ate jerked beef for her supper. She then fed the chestnut mare a measure of grain. She had no illusions about finding any of the men she sought in Indian Territory, for it was a gloomy, dreary place. A man could remain there only so long, for thieves who had money would be eager to get to a town with saloons and whorehouses. Danielle spread her blankets near where Sundown was picketed, depending on the horse to warn her of any impending danger. But the night passed peacefully, and Danielle then rode south. Despite the difficulties she had experienced in Waco, she still believed some of the outlaws she was hunting were in Texas, and it was there she intended to go. She now regretted having left south Texas so quickly, for there was a good chance some of the fugitives from her list might be there. With only the river between Texas and old Mexico—despite her riding into an ambush while with Joel Votaw’s outfit—she still believed that horse rustling flourished along the border. Done properly, there was little risk from authorities on either side of the river. Suddenly a distant horse nickered, and the chestnut mare answered. It was all the warning Danielle had. A rifle roared, and she rolled out of the saddle, going belly-down. One of the slugs had grazed Sundown, and the animal galloped away.
“All right, hombre,” a voice challenged, “git up, keepin’ your hands high.”
There was no help for it, and Danielle got to her feet, careful to keep her hands away from the butts of her Colts. That these men were outlaws, she had no doubt.
“Now, come on,” said the voice, “and don’t do nothin’ foolish.”
There was a small clearing through which a stream flowed, and four men stood there with their hands near the butts of their revolvers. One of them spoke.
“Come on, Leroy. We got him covered.”
A fifth man stepped out of the brush, carrying a Winchester. He wasted no time. His hard eyes met Danielle’s, and Leroy spoke.
“Who are you, kid, and what are you doin’ here?”
“I’m not the law, if that’s what’s botherin’ you,” Danielle said. “Thanks to you and your damned shooting, my horse ran away. Now get your no-account carcass out there and find her.”
The rest of the outlaws laughed uproariously, and Leroy’s face went bright red.
“Leroy,” one of his companions said, “I never realized your daddy was so young.”
That brought on a new round of laughter, and some violent cursing from Leroy. When they all became silent, Danielle was standing there with her thumbs hooked in her gunbelts just above the butts of her Colts.
“I hope you’re done shootin’, Leroy,” said Danielle, “because I aim to shoot back.”
But Leroy was furious. Dropping the Winchester, he went for his Colt. Danielle waited until he cleared leather and then, with blinding speed, shot the gun out of his hand.
“Anybody else?” Danielle asked, covering them.
Leroy stood there looking unbelievingly at his mangled Colt on the ground, while the other four men regarded Danielle with grudging respect.
“No need to get your tail feathers ruffled, kid,” said one of the strangers warily. “Put away the iron. Sometimes, Leroy’s a mite hard to convince. I’m Cass Herring, and these three gents beside me is Stubbs Potter, Jarvis Brooking, and Watt Slacker. Leroy Lomax you’ve already met.”
Danielle punched out the empty shell casing and reloaded her Colt. Now there was no empty chamber, for the weapon was fully loaded, an observation that meant something to the five men who watched. Holstering the weapon, Danielle spoke.
“I’m Daniel Strange. Who you gents are, and what you’re doing here is of no interest to me. I’m on my way to Texas, and thanks to Leroy here, I have no horse. Whatever you’re riding, Leroy, saddle it and find my horse.”
“Damned if I will,” Leroy snarled.
“You’re damned if you don’t,” said Danielle, her green eyes regarding him coldly. “It’s cost you a Colt, so far. If you’re still not convinced, I can shoot off a finger or a thumb.”
Cass Herring laughed. “Leroy, I think you’d better round up the kid’s horse.”
Leroy stomped off into the brush, cursing as he went. Danielle relaxed. None of the other four men made any hostile moves. Instead, they regarded her curiously. It was Watt Slacker who finally spoke.
“Kid, where in tarnation did you learn to shoot like that?”
“My pa was a gunsmith in St. Joe, and he taught me,” Danielle said. “He was robbed and hanged in Indian Territory last April. Seven of the coyotes that killed him are alive somewhere, and I’m after them.”
“I reckon you got some way of knowin’ who they are, then,” Stubbs Potter said.
“I have their names,” said Danielle. “At least the names they were using.”
“Name them,” Cass Herring said. “We might be of some help to you. We been down to Laredo, where we got into a disagreement over the ownership of some horses.”
Danielle named the men on her death list.
“One of them hombres I’ve heard of,” said Herring. “This Snakehead Kalpana has been down to Brownsville, driving Mex horses across the border into Texas.”
“Yeah,” Stubbs Potter said. “The damn Spaniard loused up everything by gunning down a Texas lawman. They’ll overlook a gent picking up a few Mex horses, but when he kills a man behind the star, he’s in trouble.”
“I’m obliged,” said Danielle.
At that point, Leroy returned, leading Sundown. Without a word, he passed the reins to Danielle.
“We’re bound for North Texas, kid,” Cass Herring said, “and you’re welcome to ride with us. It ain’t safe for a man alone, here in Indian Territory.”
“I’m obliged, and I’ll join you,” said Danielle. “Does that suit you, Leroy?”
“Hell, no,” Leroy snarled. “You humiliated me, and I owe you for that.”
“When you’re ready,” said Danielle. “I’ll give you a head start.”
Chapter 15
Danielle allowed the five men to lead out, for she didn’t trust Leroy behind her out of her sight. She didn’t like the way he had cut down on her with a Winchester, not knowing if she was friend or foe. The other four men seemed of a more even temperament.