“Oh, I see.” Stick gave her a questioning look. “You loved Tuck that much, and you still do?”
“Yes, I did.... I mean, yes, I still do. For a while I tried to forget about my feelings for Tuck ... even thought I’d fallen in love with another man, Federal Marshal C. F. McCord. But it didn’t work out between us. He’s been gone the past year. Said it was easier getting along with wanted outlaws than it was for us to get along with each other. He was right.... We needed to break it off dean and start over.”
“C. F. McCord?” said Stick. “You mean the man the outlaws along the strip call ‘The Fox?’ ”
“Yep, that was who I took up with,” Danielle said wistfully. “And I can’t fault him a bit. He tried, we both did. But in the end we both decided we was just too much for one another.”
“Too much for one another, eh?” Stick repeated. “I like hearing it put that way. I reckon any man and woman who tried and failed could say the same thing.”
“I suppose so,” said Danielle. She shrugged. “Anyway, C. F. is gone. Tuck’s gone. Now it’s just me, and I don’t reckon I have whatever heart it takes to ever fall in love again. I wouldn’t want to if I could.”
“Careful what you say, ma’am,” said Stick. “I’m fixing to tell you something that might just turn your world upside down.”
“What is it, Stick?” Danielle asked.
“First, tell me this, Miss Danielle. If you love a man the way you claim you love Tuck Carlyle, would you do just about anything you could to see that he never faltered or fell or got so low down that he could never get back on his feet again?”
“What are you talking about, Stick?” Danielle asked, not getting a hint of what he could be leading up to. “Of course I would. What woman wouldn’t, if she truly loved a man? What makes you ask something like that?”
“Well, I just wanted to make sure that once I tell you this we’ll both remember what you just said. You see, I believe Tuck Carlyle could use your help right now. Fact is, if you love the man, that might be exactly what it’ll take to save his ornery life.”
“What is it, Stick?” Danielle demanded. “Is Tuck in trouble? How can I help him?”
“I told you he married Ilene Brennet, but I never told you what happened.” A sad expression came to Stick’s weathered face as he continued. “Ilene up and died last fall.”
“Oh, no, that’s terrible,” said Danielle. “No matter how much I love Tuck, I would never want something like that to happen to his wife.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” said Stick. “If I thought otherwise I’d never tell you what I’m about to.” He paused long enough to sip his coffee, as if it would give him the strength he needed to continue. “Losing Ilene has just about destroyed poor Tuck. He rode off plumb wild and heartbroken no sooner than she was in the ground. I’m afraid he’s turned to rotgut rye and tar opium to heal himself.”
“Couldn’t you stop him, Stick? Wasn’t there something you could have done?” Danielle sank down slowly into her chair, listening intently.
Stick shook his head. “Don’t you know if there was something I could have done, I would have?”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” said Danielle, reaching out and cupping her hand down over the old drover’s hard, bony knuckles. “I know you would have done something if you could. Where is he, Stick? What’s become of him?”
“Last we heard he was up in Greely, staying drunker than a skunk, living on black-tar opium when he can get it and swigging laudanum when he can’t. He’s lost everything, Danny—I mean, Miss Danielle. His cattle’s all gone up in drink, along with his horses and his land. He’s down to what’s hanging on his back, I reckon.” Stick winced, thinking about it. “God, it just tears me up inside, seeing it happen to him.”
“Stick, there’s got to be something I can do,” said Danielle. “There just has to be.”
“I swear, Miss Danielle,” said Stick, “if I thought you could help him any way at all, I’d give anything to see you do it Tuck has been just like a son to me. I’m hoping maybe there was some deeper purpose for you and me meeting in Haley.... Maybe it was meant to be. I’m afraid if somebody doesn’t reach Tuck afore long, he’ll soon be dead in some back alley or muddy street somewhere.”
“Not if I can help it,” Danielle said firmly. “I’ll go to Greely, if that’s where he is. I’ll find him, and I’ll—“She stopped short as if uncertain what to say next.”
“You’ll do what, Miss Danielle?” Stick asked quietly. He paused for a second, letting Danielle consider his words. Then he continued. “You see, it ain’t easy stopping a man bent on drinking himself to death.”
“I know,” said Danielle. “I’ve seen it happen to men in every board-front town and cow camp I’ve been through.” She stood up and paced back and forth restlessly. Finally she said, “Well, I’ll figure out what to do when I get to him. Right now I’ll have to take it one step at a time. Are you game for a ride up to Greely?”
“I’m always game for a ride anywhere,” said Stick, “especially if it might straighten out Tuck and get him thinking right again.”
“Good. We’ll get ourselves a good night’s sleep, be in Haley before sunup, sell off my string of horses, get us some traveling money, then strike out for Greely. Does that sound right to you?”
“Sounds right to me,” Stick agreed. Then he looked at her a bit dubiously. “You won’t be wearing those men’s clothes will you?”
“No,” said Danielle. “I’ll be wearing what I usually wear these days on the trail. My doeskin skirt, my riding blouse, and my vest.”
“Not that I mind what you wear.” Stick smiled. “I’m just pleased to have something to do. I’ve been wandering about like a homeless dog.”
“I’ll keep you busy, Stick,” said Danielle. “I think I can promise you that.”
Darkness had fallen by the time Cherokee Earl Muir and his men rode into Haley Springs. The street lay empty except for a skinny hound who came scooting his way from beneath the boardwalk and began barking loudly. “Shoot that loudmouth sumbitch!” Earl demanded of his men. A shot rang out, and the dog let out a short yelp as a bullet hit the ground and dirt kicked up against his bony legs. The mutt turned and disappeared, barking as he fled. “I said shoot him,” said Earl, over his shoulder, “not shoot at him.”
Dirty Joe slipped his pistol back into his holster and whispered sidelong to Avery McRoy, “Ain’t nothing going please him till we catch Ronald’s killers.”
“I know,” Avery whispered in reply. “And like as not, Ronald was asking for what he got.”
“I wouldn’t let anybody hear me say that if I was you,” said Turley, his whisper growing even softer.
“I already let you hear it,” said Avery. “Do I have to kill you now to keep you quiet?” He chuckled under his breath.
“Don’t be kidding around about this,” Turley warned.
“All right, I’ll stop,” said Avery McRoy, chuckling even louder.
“What’s so funny back there?” Earl asked, sounding none too friendly. Faces turned to Turley and McRoy in the darkness.
“Nothing, Boss,” said Turley. “Just laughing at the hound.” Behind dusty windows along the dark boardwalk, a small number of kerosene lamps came to life. From the saloon a half block away, three heads stuck out above the batwing doors, staring toward the sound of the gunshot. “Get ready, boys. Here comes our welcoming committee,” said Earl Muir.
The three men from the saloon stepped down from the boardwalk and hurried along the dirt street. Two more men appeared out of the darkness, one from behind a door where a woman stood watching with her sleeping gown held tight at her throat.
“What’s the shooting about out here?” asked one of the townsmen, sounding cross and hooking his suspenders up over his shoulders. “It’s the middle of the night for God sakes!”
Stepping down from his saddle with his rifle in his hands, Earl slammed the rifle butt into the townsman’s stomach. The townsman hit the ground an
d rolled into a ball, both arms wrapped across his middle. From the doorway the woman came screaming, her gown and robe fluttering in the darkness. “Robert! Robert!”
Earl grabbed her and threw her to the ground. “Shut up, woman, or you’ll get the same thing!” She crawled sobbing to her fallen husband and tried to lift him to his feet. But with his breath still knocked out of him, all he could do was make tight gurgling sounds as he squirmed in the dirt.
Seeing what had happened, the three men from the saloon came to a sharp halt and turned around, ready to slip away into the night. But Earl saw them and called out in a threatening voice. “Get over here, you cowardly peckerwoods, before I kill the lot of you!”
As more townsfolk appeared from behind doors, Earl’s men jumped down from their saddles and hurriedly rounded them up in the middle of the street. The frightened faces looked down at Robert Blanchard lying in the dust, and at his wife, Annabelle, who knelt sobbing beside him. One townsman stepped forward to help the Blanchards, but Earl shoved him back. “You stay put. He’s doing fine on his own!”
“He’s hurt, and I’m the town doctor!” the man said, pointing a finger down at Robert Blanchard.
“You’ll be treating yourself if you don’t stand back and shut the hell up,” Earl growled. He shoved the old doctor back, then called out. “Everybody listen close to what I’m saying. I ain’t about to repeat myself.” As he spoke, he drew his pistol and flashed it back and forth. “This morning an old man and a young woman killed my brother right here on the street in this hog-wallow of a town! I’m holding everybody here responsible! I know the woman has a spread out in the hills beyond the mesa. Who wants to be the first to tell me how to get there?”
A grizzly old teamster stepped forward and spit in the dirt at Cherokee Earl’s feet. “Your brother got what he deserved. He started the whole thing. So you and him both can go straight to—”
A shot exploded from Earl’s pistol barrel. The man flew backward with the blast and fell dead on the ground, a gout of blood rising from his chest. A woman screamed. The rest of the townsfolk looked on, horrified.
“Now then, who among you good folks wants to be next?” Earl called out. “I got all night and a saddlebag full of bullets. I’ll kill everybody here if I have to.”
Chapter 4
In the predawn light, a thick layer of smoke loomed above the smoldering remains of Haley Springs. From atop her favorite mount, a chestnut mare named Sundown, Danielle led her eight-horse string cautiously as she and Stick rode into town from the outer darkness of a sandy stretch of flatland. At the far end of the street, short flames licked at the remaining framework of the livery barn. Danielle and Stick had hurried from the moment they’d first spotted the fiery glow from a distance across the rolling land. But even pushing their horses as hard as they dared to, it had still taken them over an hour to get here. By now the raging inferno had run its course. Except for a few charred hulls, the plank buildings that had made up the main street of Haley Springs were gone.
“Lord have mercy,” Stick murmured, looking around at the devastation. Embers crackled peacefully like some large animal whose hunger had been satisfied. The empty street lay as silent as stone.
Danielle brought her mare to a halt and sat studying the scene in stunned disbelief as her string of horses bunched up and stopped beside her. She shot Stick a glance, their eyes meeting for only a second, but long enough for Stick to get an idea what she was thinking.
“We don’t know for sure it was Cherokee Earl and his bunch,” Stick said, “and even if it was, there was no way you could have known he was coming back here.” As Stick spoke, he sidestepped his horse a few feet away from Danielle as he looked around and shook his head. “But I got to say, given what happened earlier, things sure point in his direction.”
“Oh, it was him all right,” said Danielle. “And I should have seen it coming. When we left here after the shooting, I should have expected the unexpected.”
“But all the same,” said Stick, “there was no reason to—”
His words cut short beneath a blast of rifle fire coming from the direction of the fallen livery barn.
Danielle spun the lead rope around her saddle horn quickly and jumped down from the saddle. “Move ‘em out, Sundown!” she shouted, slapping a gloved hand on her chestnut mare’s rump, shooing the animal out of the street. The big mare knew what was expected of her. She bolted away to the right, pulling the frightened string of horses into the shadows. “Take cover, Stick!” Danielle shouted instinctively, already realizing she needn’t worry about the old drover. Stick knew how to take care of himself. She saw that he had jumped down from his saddle almost in unison with her.
The rifle shot had kicked up dirt ten yards short. Danielle dropped into a crouch and hurried toward the shelter of a water trough, snatching up her Colt and firing a quick shot just to draw any incoming rifle fire away from the fleeing horses. The horses bunched up around Sundown when the mare slid to a halt twenty yards away. They nickered in fright and jerked against the lead rope. But Sundown stood firmly, keeping the animals under control.
Danielle reached the water trough as another shot whistled through the air. Stick had pulled down a well-worn Spencer rifle from its boot before his horse bolted away with Sundown and the others. Danielle heard the big rifle cock from across the street. Something didn’t feel right about all this, she told herself. A third shot flashed from the dark alley. The bullet hit the ground a full five yards short and three yards to the left. A wild shot. Too wild, she thought to herself. Knowing that any second Stick would draw a bead on the muzzle flash, she called out, “Stick, hold your fire!”
Another rifle shot rang out, but then a woman’s voice called out from farther away in the smoky darkness. “Is that you, Danielle Strange?”
“Yes, it’s me, Mrs. Blanchard,” said Danielle, recognizing the voice. “Don’t shoot.”
“Oh dear, Miss Danielle! I’m so sorry,” Annabelle Blanchard cried in a shaky voice. “Are you all right, child?”
“I’m all right, Mrs. Blanchard,” Danielle replied. “Aim your rifle at the ground and come on out where I can see you.” Danielle wasn’t about to be the first to step out from behind her cover. Instead, she scanned the smoky shadows and the glittering embers and saw no one else. “What’s gone on here? Is there anybody else around?” she called out, wanting to make sure that anyone who might be listening would hear her voice and recognize it.
Across the street, Stick kept his Spencer rifle aimed into the darkness as Annabelle Blanchard stepped out cautiously, wearing a long sleeping gown with a long wool coat over it. Annabelle began to hurry forward when Danielle showed herself and kept her Colt down by her side in her gloved hand. “Here I am, Mrs. Blanchard,” said Danielle.
“Oh, Miss Danielle!” Annabelle sobbed, letting her rifle slump down to her side. “It’s been just awful here! They killed poor Klute Kinsky, the ole teamster... and Milton Shirley, our telegraph clerk!” She let out a tortured sigh and shuddered. “They just killed everybody.” Her eyes were large and shiny with fear. Touched with madness, Danielle thought to herself, looking Annabelle up and down. “They would have killed my Robert too,” Annabelle continued, “but I dragged him out of the street and hid him from them.”
Danielle saw the woman was nearly delirious. She stepped beside her, giving Stick a look, and said, “Come on, Annabelle, take me to Robert. Then we’ll get you something warm to drink and get you out of the morning chill.”
Annabelle shivered slightly. “Yes ... I’ll take you to Robert, but I must warn you he isn’t himself this morning.” She looked around at the burned shamble of a town. “Not that I can blame him though, with all this going on.”
With Danielle guiding her along the empty dirt street, Annabelle murmured to herself about the condition of the destroyed town. A few yards down the street, they came upon the bodies of two men who had been the first ones Earl Muir had asked for directions to Danielle’s spread.
When they had refused to tell him what he wanted to know, Earl and Frisco Bonham had shot them dead.
“Excuse us, gentlemen,” Annabelle said to the bloody corpses as if they were still alive. Danielle continued helping her along, casting a glance over her shoulder long enough to see that Stick was gathering their horses. “I’m afraid it will take some time for this town to recover from a mess such as this,” Annabelle said, stepping daintily around the bodies.
Danielle was not surprised when they approached the blank dead face of Robert Blanchard staring off toward the sky as he lay slumped against the side of a small plank shack, the only building Earl Muir and his men had overlooked in their rampage. “I was concerned about Robert at first,” said Annabelle. “But now I think he’s going to be all right, don’t you, Miss Danielle?”
Seeing the two ragged bullet holes in Robert’s chest, Danielle took a deep breath and placed a consoling arm across Annabelle’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Annabelle,” she said as gently as she could. “Robert is dead.... So are those two men in the street.”
“Oh, dear,” said Annabelle, raising a hand to her lips. Danielle saw the woman’s eyes begin to well up with tears as reality tried to sink in.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Danielle said, firming her arm around the trembling woman’s shoulders. “And I’m going to have to ask you to be strong, Annabelle, and accept the fact that Robert and all these people are dead. Can you do that for me?”
“I-I’ll try,” Annabelle replied softly, but with resolve.
“Good,” said Danielle. She bent down long enough to close Robert Blanchard’s eyes, then stood silently with Annabelle for a moment until Stick walked up leading the horses.
“It’s pretty bad over past where the saloon stood,” Stick said, lowering his voice to shield Annabelle from his words.
“How bad?” Danielle asked. “You can talk in front of Annabelle. She’s promised me she’s going to be real strong and help us out.”
Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron Page 4