Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
STREET JUSTICE
Danielle felt the tension in her trigger finger. There was no question she was as fast as ever. And she had no doubt that her aim was still as deadly as the strike of a rattlesnake. “Now all three of you get off the street,” she said.
Frisco Bonham shook his head. “We ain’t making no noise, we ain’t disturbing no peace. We’ll stand where we damn well please. You run along now, before we lose our tempers.”
“Yeah,” Billy Boy sneered. “What do you think of that?”
“I think you’ve all three had your chance,” said Danielle. “I’m through talking.” The rifle barrel swung down from her cradling arm and exploded.
Billy Boy’s pistol stopped on its upswing from his holster and flew from his hand as the impact of Danielle’s slug hammered his foot to the ground, then slung him backward onto the hard dirt....
Fourth in the bestselling series, including
Death Rides a Chestnut Mare,
The Shadow of a Noose,
and Riders of Judgment
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First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, January 2003
Copyright © The Estate of Ralph Compton, 2003
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eISBN : 978-1-440-67376-4
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Chapter 1
Haley Springs, Texas
When the first pistol shot rang out from the dirt street, Danielle Strange didn’t flinch. As she stood at the counter of McCreary’s General Mercantile Store, her hand dropped instinctively to her hip even though she knew she wasn’t wearing a gun. In fact she wasn’t even wearing her customary riding clothes—her doeskin skirt, her bell-sleeved women’s blouse, or her long brush-scarred riding vest. But old habits died hard, she reminded herself, easing her gun hand away from where her holster would ordinarily have been. She smoothed out her gingham dress as if doing so had been her intention in the first place.
Martin McCreary didn’t see her gesture. He had ducked down too quickly behind the counter to have seen much of anything. Then, just as quickly, he rose up, embarrassed and shaken, feeling he needed to explain his fearful response.
“I’m—I’m sorry, Miss Danielle,” McCreary stammered. “I shouldn’t have ducked down and left you standing there all alone. My nerves just ain’t what they should be these days.” He wiped a trembling hand across his forehead. “Ever since Sheriff Casey got himself killed, I just can’t stand the sound of—”
His words cut short as another pistol shot exploded. “Lord God!” he shrieked, ducking down again.
“I’m going to see what this is all about,” said Danielle, turning and walking toward the door.
“Don’t go out there, Miss Danielle!” McCreary warned her. “There’s a wild bunch in town. It won’t make a bit of difference to them that you’re a lady.”
“I hope it doesn’t,” Danielle said, swinging the door open, then closing it soundly behind herself, leaving the bell atop the door jingling on its tin spring. Outside, a third shot exploded. Martin McCreary only flinched this time. He stood for a second, staring at the closed door, then looked around the empty store and said aloud to himself, “Well, shoot ... I might just as well get myself a little look-see. ” Almost on tiptoe, he crossed the floor to the front window and peeped out guardedly from one comer.
At the far end of the dirt street, forty yards away, Danielle saw three men standing wobbly drunk, their smoking Colts in their hands. In the street a few feet from them lay the shattered glass remnants of the whiskey bottles they’d been shooting. These were young men, around the same age of her brothers, Tim and Jed, she noted to herself. Yet there was an aura of trouble surrounding these men as thick as smoke, and sensing it caused her steps to sway over to her buckboard at the hitchrail.
“Easy, Sam,” Danielle said to the nervous horse hitched to her wagon. She ran a soothing hand down its white muzzle. “Nothing to get yourself spooked about,” she whispered. “They’re just drunk and loud.”
The anxious horse settled, blowing out a tense breath. Danielle reached a hand into the buckboard and, with no wasted motion, slid the Winchester repeater rifle from its boot beneath the wooden seat. She levered a round up into the chamber and carried the rifle loosely. In the street out front of Waldrip’s Saloon one of the drunken young men nudged the other two.
“Ronald, Frisco, look what’s coming here,” he said, directing his companions’ attention toward Danielle as she approached. “It’s about time this little pig-apple town sent somebody to welcome us.”
“Hush up
, Billy Boy,” said Frisco Bonham, laughing in a lowered voice, “before you scare her away.” He ran a tightly gloved finger along his thin mustache.
“She ain’t looking too scared to me,” said Ronald Muir, his drunken grin fading as Danielle came closer.
“Me neither,” said Frisco Bonham, his leer growing more wary. From between Frisco and Ronald, Billy Boy. Harper took a firm step forward, hoping this action would bring this brash young lady to a halt. It didn’t.
“Excuse me, little miss,” Billy Boy called out to Danielle, his pistol still dangling in his hand, curling smoke. “Can we help you some way?”
“Fun’s over, boys,” Danielle called out, finally stopping fifteen feet away, her rifle coming up from her side into the cradle of her left arm. All three men noticed that her right thumb lay across the hammer, her finger on the trigger. “Holster those shooters and get off the street.”
“Well now, what have we here, boys?” Frisco Bonham whispered. He took a step forward and stood beside Billy Boy. Ronald Muir did the same. Not one of the three made an effort to holster their Colts. Noting it, Danielle cocked the rifle hammer and prepared herself for whatever was to come.
“You sure are a pretty little thing to be talking so bold this hour of the day,” said Frisco, his smile returning, this time appearing more sober and with no humor to it.
“Yeah,” said Ronald Muir, “and we don’t see no badge on your chest.”
“Not that badges mean a whole lot to us one way or the other,” Billy Boy piped in.
“We’re without a sheriff right now,” said Danielle in a resolved tone. “My name is Danielle Strange. I’m a citizen here, and I’m speaking on behalf of the town. You’d do well to holster up and get off the street. I won’t tell you again.”
“Oh, I see, Miss Danielle Strange, citizen of the town,” said Frisco Bonham with a sarcastic twist to his voice as the other two snickered drunkenly. “And what if we don’t?”
“Then somebody will have to scrape you up and carry you off,” Danielle replied quickly, her voice steady and low.
The snickering stopped short as silence set in for a moment before Frisco Bonham spoke. “Then I reckon we better do as we’re told, hadn’t we, boys? We surely don’t want to get scraped up and carried off this dirt street.”
“Sounds right to me,” Ronald Muir said.
“Me too,” replied Billy Boy Harper.
But Danielle wasn’t buying their act. She knew what was about to happen. “Good then,” she said firmly, going along with their charade. “Holster those shooters and let’s all go our own way.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am,” said Frisco Bonham. The three men looked back and forth at one another slowly, expressionless. “You two heard the little lady,” Frisco said. “Now holster up before she has to sternly raise a hand to us.”
Lifting their pistols slowly and dropping them into their holsters, the three stared long and hard at Danielle. “I might enjoy a hand raised to me,” said Ronald Muir, “depending on where it’s raised to.”
They were toying with her like three big cats teasing a helpless mouse. Danielle knew that had she been a man the fight would have already commenced. They were counting her short because she was a woman. Well, that was all right with her. She’d been treated this way before. She knew how to use her being a woman to her advantage. These men standing before her didn’t realize who they were about to face off with.
For the better part of three years, Danielle Strange had passed herself off as a man in order to hunt down the outlaws who had killed her father and left his body hanging from the bough of a tree. Going under the name Danny Duggin, Danielle had acquired a reputation as a cold-blooded gunman across Indian Territory, Texas, and the Mexican hill country. But that was then and this was now, she reminded herself. A gunslinger was only as good as his or her last fight. Danielle hadn’t raised a gun toward a man for over a year now. She hoped he hadn’t lost her edge.
She felt the tension in her trigger finger. There was no question she was as fast as ever. And she had no doubt that her aim was still as deadly as the strike of a rattlesnake. But she knew that a year was a long time for a gun handler to go untested. But there was nobody else in Haley Springs to keep the peace. She had to do it. She hoped this could be settled without serious bloodshed.
With their pistols back in their holsters, the three men just stared at her. Frisco Bonham hooked both thumbs into his belt and rested his weight on one side, standing with belligerent bearing. “Now what?” he said flatly.
Here it came, Danielle thought to herself. “Now all three of you get off the street,” she said.
“Huh-uh.” Frisco Bonham shook his head. “We ain’t making no noise, we ain’t disturbing no peace. We’ll stand where we damn well please. You run along now, before we lose our tempers.”
“Yeah,” Billy Boy sneered. “What do you think of that?”
“I think you’ve all three had your chance,” said Danielle. She knew they believed they could draw their Colts whenever they felt like it. She knew they felt like they had all the time in the world. “I’m through talking,” Danielle added. The rifle barrel swung down from her cradling arm and exploded.
Billy Boy’s pistol stopped on its upswing from his holster and flew from his hand as the impact of Danielle’s rifle slug hammered his foot to the ground, then slung him backward onto the hard dirt.
For just a split second the other two gunmen stood stunned at the suddenness of her attack. She hadn’t hesitated. She hadn’t offered any further warning. She’d simply said she was through talking, and then she’d shot Billy Boy down without a blink of her eye.
“Damn you, woman! Kill her, Frisco!” shouted Ronald Muir, his hand streaking up with his pistol in it. But Frisco Bonham, staring at Billy Boy as the wounded man lay wallowing in the dirt holding his foot, didn’t move as quickly as Ronald Muir.
Danielle swung her rifle toward Ronald Muir, cocking it on the way. But before she got the shot off, another pistol shot resounded, this one from the boardwalk behind her. She saw Ronald Muir fall backward as a ribbon of blood streamed from his chest. She had no idea who had fired the shot, but she was grateful for the help. It gave her time to swing the rifle toward Frisco Bonham just in time to see his pistol raise halfway from his holster. Seeing that the rifle had him cold, Frisco froze for a second, considering his chances.
Behind Danielle a gravelly voice said to the stunned gunman, “Be real careful what you decide. This ground is full of bad decisions.”
“You killed him,” said Frisco, glancing at Ronald Muir’s body. Blood spewed from the large hole in the dead man’s chest.
“Deader than hell,” said the gravelly voice. “And you’ll be too, if you don’t flip that gun over onto the ground real easylike.”
Danielle only stared at Frisco Bonham. She had no idea who was standing behind her, but she’d seen whose side he was on. For now, that was good enough.
Frisco’s gloved hand rose slowly, then dropped the pistol on the ground at his feet. “You both just made one bad mistake,” he hissed. “That boy happens to be the brother of my boss—Cherokee Earl Muir!”
Billy Boy Harper had struggled to his feet, blood pouring from his left boot. “Earl’s going to go wild-ape crazy when he hears about this!” Billy Boy said in a strained voice. “He won’t abide his brother getting took down by a woman and an old bar swamper.”
“He’ll have to work it out the best he can,” said Danielle. “Get his body across a saddle and get out of town.”
“Come on, Billy Boy, give me a hand,” Frisco demanded.
“Damn it, Frisco, I’m shot all to hell here,” Billy Boy whined, limping over toward the hitchrail where their horses stood.
“You’ll be worse than shot when Earl hears you didn’t help me bring back poor Ronald’s body,” shouted Frisco.
Danielle stepped back and to the side as the pair struggled with the dead body and dragged it to the horses. “Hope you’re a
ll right, ma’am,” said the rough voice from the boardwalk behind her.
“I’m fine,” Danielle reassured her benefactor. She looked away from the two gunmen long enough to get a look at the man who had helped her. It took a moment for her to recognize him. When she did, she smiled to herself, knowing that he wasn’t going to recognize her in return. “How about yourself?” she asked.
“I’ll do,” said the old man. “I ain’t no saloon swamper like that fool said, though.”
Danielle recognized the man as an old cattle drover known only as Stick, whom she hadn’t seen in over two years. The last time she’d seen Stick he was working as cook and cowhand for Tuck Carlyle, the young man who had stolen her heart back when she was on the trail of her father’s killers. Danielle was eager to ask about Tuck, but she knew she had to bide her time and first explain to Stick who she was and how the last time he’d seen her she was the feared gunman Danny Duggin.
“I knew better than that, Stick,” Danielle said. She turned to face the old man as, squinting warily in the direction of Frisco and Billy Boy while they rode out of town, he stepped down off the boardwalk. “I know you’re a top hand and a better-than-most trail cook.”
“Huh? What’s that?” Stick turned to face her, taken aback by the fact that she knew his name. “Where do you know me from, young lady?” As he spoke, he eyed her closely. Danielle only smiled, cradling the rifle in her arm once again, this time taking her hand down from the trigger guard.
Stick stepped closer, looking her up and down curiously, then studying her face. “You do look familiar ... but for the life of me, I swear I can’t place you.”
“It’ll come to you, Stick,” said Danielle. “Meanwhile, I’m much obliged to you for backing my play.”
“Backing your play?” Stick chuckled and spit a stream of tobacco juice. “You’re talking like a gunman yourself, young lady.” He nodded toward the bloody footprint Billy Boy had left behind. “Looked to me like you would’ve done all right anyways.”
Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron Page 1