She covered herself with her slicker for some protection against the expected rain, which started about midnight. There was no dry wood for a fire, which was just as well, for the smoke would have announced her presence. Breakfast was a handful of jerked beef, and through a drizzling rain, she crossed the Red River into Texas. She had ridden three or four miles when a voice suddenly spoke from a nearby thicket.
“You’re covered. Rein up and identify yourself.”
Danielle reined up, carefully keeping her hands on her saddle horn.
A young man stepped out with a Winchester, and he looked no older than Danielle.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m Daniel Strange,” said Danielle, “and I’m no outlaw or killer. Last April my pa was robbed and killed in Indian Territory, and I’m after the bastards who did it. I found what I thought was their trail late yesterday, but the rain last night washed it out. They all rode south, and having no trail to follow, I was just taking my chances.”
“I’m Tuck Carlyle,” the young man said, leaning the Winchester against a shrub. “This is our spread, for what it’s worth. I live here with my sister, Carrie, and Audrey, my ma. Pa went off to war and never come back. The damn outlaws from Indian Territory have been rustlin’ us blind. They hit us again night before last and already had the jump on me before I found out what they’d done.”
“If it’s the same bunch I’m after,” said Danielle, “there’s eight of them. That’s a hell of an outfit for just you to be trailing them.”
Tuck laughed. “Then there’s at least one more gent that’s as big a fool as I am, and that’s you. You’re trailing them, too.”
“There wasn’t anyone else,” Danielle said. “My two brothers are barely fourteen.”
“You don’t look much older than that yourself,” said Tuck.
“I’m just barely eighteen,” Danielle said, “but I can ride, rope, and shoot.”
“I believe you,” said Tuck. “Have you caught up to any of the killers yet?”
“Two of them,” Danielle said, “and I know the names of the others. Or at least the names they’re using.”
Tuck Carlyle whistled long and low. Westerners did not ask or answer foolish questions, and this young rider being alive was proof enough that two outlaws were dead.
“Trailing the varmints after last night’s rain is a waste of time,” Tuck said. “Why don’t you ride on back to the house with me? You can meet Ma and my sister, Carrie, and have some breakfast.”
“You talked me into it,” said Danielle. “All I’ve had is a little jerked beef.”
“Let’s ride then,” Tuck said. “God, could I use a cup of hot coffee, but we haven’t had any since before the war.”
“The war’s been over for five years,” said Danielle.
“No money,” Tuck said gloomily. “Texans don’t have a damn thing to sell except cows, and us little ranchers can’t get ’em to market. We’d have to drive to Abilene, right across Indian Territory. Them damn outlaws would love having them delivered, instead of having to come and get ’em.”
“Are other small ranchers having the same problem getting their cows to market?”
“All I know of,” said Tuck. “Nobody has money for an outfit, and they can’t afford the riders they’d need for a gather.”
“If maybe half a dozen small ranchers went in together,” Danielle said, “you might have enough riders to gather everybody’s cows, one ranch at a time. With the gather done, you could take a rider or two from every ranch and drive the herd to Abilene.”
“By God, that might work,” said Tuck. “I can think of four others that’s as desperate as we are.”
“How big is your spread?” Danielle asked.
“A full section,” said Tuck. “It’s 640 acres.”
“Hell’s bells,” Danielle said, “if that’s a small ranch, how large is a big one?”
Tuck laughed. “When I call us a small outfit, I mean we don’t have that much stock.”
“You could sell some of the land if you had to,” said Danielle.
“We may have it taken from us,” Tuck said, “but we’ll never sell. This section of land has been in our family for four generations. It has an everlasting spring, with the best water for fifty miles around. The only potential buyer is Upton Wilks. He owns sections to the east and west of ours, and he’s sittin’ back like a damned old buzzard, just waitin’ for us to default on our taxes.”
“If it’s not improper for me to ask,” Danielle said, “how are you paying your taxes?”
“My aunt in St. Louis—Ma’s sister—married well,” said Tuck. “She’s kept our taxes paid, God bless her, so we wouldn’t lose the place. Now this damned Upton Wilks is tired of waiting. He’s trying to force my sister, Carrie, to marry him, and that would just about amount to giving him our spread.”
“How does Carrie feel about him?”
“She hates his guts,” Tuck said. “He’s old enough to be her daddy, drinks like a fish, and goes to a whorehouse in Dallas every Saturday night. That’s his good points.”
Danielle laughed, in spite of herself.
“I’d give the place up before I’d have her marry that sorry old bastard,” said Tuck.
“I don’t blame you,” Danielle said. “A girl shouldn’t have to make a sacrifice like that. There must be some other way. Since we’re both after the same gang, maybe I’ll stick around for a few days, if I won’t be in the way.”
“You won’t be,” said Tuck. “We don’t have a bunkhouse, but we have a big log ranch house. There’s plenty of room.”
“I’ll contribute something toward my keep,” Danielle said. “I don’t have a lot of money, but I do have a five-pound sack of coffee beans.”
“Merciful God,” said Tuck, “if you was a girl, I’d marry you for that.”
Danielle laughed, feeling more at ease with him all the time. She was truly amazed that she had adapted so well to the ways of men. They were generally crude, and without even a shred of modesty among their own kind. She no longer blushed at anything said or done in her presence. She had already acquired enough swear words to hold her own with the best of them. Prior to leaving home, she hadn’t been around men except for her father and brothers. She recalled the time when she had been fifteen and her brothers Jed and Tim were thirteen. She had followed them to the creek that July, watched them strip and splash around. But to her horror, the boys discovered her. When they told her mother, Margaret Strange caught the tail of Danielle’s skirt, lifted it waist-high, and spanked her bare bottom. Jed and Tim had never let her forget it. She now felt old and wise in the ways of men, her childhood gone forever.
The Carlyle ranch house, when they reached it, was truly grand, the product of a bygone era. A huge wraparound porch covered the front and each side of the house. Danielle had a sudden attack of homesick ness. Tuck’s mother stood on the porch, watching them ride up, reminding the girl of her own mother.
“I brought some company, Ma,” said Tuck. “This is Daniel Strange. He’s hunting that same bunch of outlaws that’s stealing our cattle.”
“Welcome, Daniel,” Mrs. Carlyle said. “Get down and come in.”
A young girl—obviously Tuck’s sister, Carrie—stepped out on the porch. She looked at Danielle with obvious interest, making Danielle nervous.
“Daniel,” said Tuck, “this is my sister, Carrie. We’re trying to marry her off to somebody so Upton Wilks will leave her alone.”