“There’s two of us, mister,” Jed answered. “Me and my brother. Can we come down there? We need to finish watering our horses.”
“Both of you come down here real slow-like,” Danielle said. “The light’s failing, so don’t make no sudden moves. I might get the wrong idea.”
“Yes, sir,” Jed called down to her. “We’ll come down with our hands in sight.”
Danielle smiled to herself. She knew how fast her brothers were with a gun. Even with their hands rose a bit from their holsters they could pull iron quicker than most men. In the darkening dusk she rose from behind her cover of rock and waited, hearing the horses’ hooves clack along the ledge, then down onto the softer ground and toward her. Once they were ten yards away, keeping her Stetson brim low across her brow, she said, “That’s close enough,” and looked Jed and Tim up and down, taking note of Tim’s limp, and the bandage around his thigh. “What happened to him, a snakebite?”
“No,” Tim said, speaking for himself, reaching his free hand down and trying to close the gap in his ripped trousers. “I was shot in the leg. A railroad crew mistook me for a wanted outlaw. But they were wrong, mister, just so’s you don’t think we mean you any harm.”
“If I thought you meant me harm, young man,” said Danielle, “the conversation would never have made it this far.” She jerked a thumb toward the run-out stream, saying, “Go on, finish watering your horses, whilst I go get mine and picket it to graze. If you boys want to share a camp here, I have some coffee beans and jerked beef.”
“Lord, mister,” Tim said, “we’d love some hot coffee. We’ve been living hand to mouth on squirrel and possum since we left Tracy Sidings. I’m Tim Strange, this is my twin brother Jed.”
“Twins, eh?” Danielle pretended to eye them closer. “I suppose the light’s too dim to tell it right now. I’m Danny Duggin, a drover up from Texas. Why don’t one of you gather us some fire kindling? I’ll be right back with that coffee. I’d like to hear about these outlaws you had problems with.”
Tim and Jed Strange looked at one another as Danielle walked along the stream to where her mare stood drinking. “He’s sure a trusting sort, Jed,” said Tim.
Jed let out a breath and relaxed. “Yeah. It’s good to know that not everybody is out to rob or kill you.”
Luckily Sundown was streaked with sweat and road dust, or else Tim and Jed might have recognized her right away, Danielle thought as she reached down and gathered the reins. She led the mare away from the stream a few feet and picketed her in a graze of sweet grass. When Danielle had taken down her saddle and saddlebags, she walked back to where Tim and Jed were already busy starting a small fire. “I’ll go picket our horses with yours, mister,” said Jed Strange, taking up both sets of reins. But before he could lead them away, Danielle spoke, stopping him.
“No. My horse is just up from Texas on a trail drive. He’s ornery and cross,” she lied. “Besides, you never know what illness he might be carrying. Do us all a favor and picket your horses closer in, away from him.”
“Thanks for the warning, mister,” Tim said. “Our horses ain’t in the best of shape right now, anyway.”
“Oh?” said Danielle to Tim, watching Jed lead the two gaunt bays to a separate stretch of grass nearer by. “Have you young men been on hard times?”
“Not to complain, Mr. Duggin, but it’s been rougher than a cob the past year,” Tim said, breaking a match loose and bending down to strike it. “We lost our pa to some murderers over a year ago. Jed and I haven’t been able to find work.”
Before Tim could say more, Jed called over to them in the darkening evening light, saying to Danielle,
“Then we ran into those two outlaws no sooner than we left St. Joe. They came near to pinning a murder on us and getting us hung. Lucky for us, the sheriff from St. Joe showed up to vouch for us, and keep a lynch mob off our backs.” He walked back into the growing glow of the small campfire as it fed upward on a pile of cedar and pine twigs.
Not wanting to sound too prying, but still wanting to hear all the news they had from home, Danielle dropped her saddle and gear back out of the coming firelight, and asked, “What about the rest of your family back in St. Joe? Couldn’t they have vouched for you as well?”
“We’ve only got one sister, Mr. Duggin,” Tim said, as Jed walked back with their saddles and dropped them to the ground, “and she left home after Pa’s death. That’s who we’re looking for out here. We’ve got bad news for her, but there’s no telling where she’s at.”
“I see,” said Danielle quietly, cutting him off for the moment, for she already knew there was bad news coming about her mother. She prepared herself for it, wanting to postpone hearing it for as long as she could. Her heart had leapt at the sight of her brothers, the two of them looking a little more like men since last she’d seen them. She had missed them terribly and it had taken much control to keep from revealing who she was and throwing her arms around them. Yet, for their sake, she thought, Danielle held her feelings in check, and took the small bag of coffee beans and the battered pot from her saddlebags. Pitching the bag to Jed, she said to him, “Bust us up some beans. I’ll get us some water, and we’ll brew up a pot.”
It was a few minutes later when Danielle heard the news of her mother’s death. As they sipped their hot coffee, Tim went on to say that he and Jed had buried their mother before leaving home. When Danielle heard it, she could not let on how terribly crushed she was. But as unbearable as the news was, all she could do was keep her hat brim tipped forward and down, hiding her eyes from them in the glow of the fire. Even more crushing was the fact that she could take no comfort from her brothers, nor could she offer them any in return. For all the twins knew, they were strangers here on a lone frontier trail. She dared not reveal herself to them, tempting though it was, for while she had long grown accustomed to this terrible vengeance trail, she did not wish it for her brothers. She managed to keep her tears hidden beneath her hat brim. When she could speak without her voice betraying her, she did so with a harder edge than she’d intended.
“Boys, I’m sorry to hear about your troubles. But has it occurred to you that maybe your sister wouldn’t want you joining her? Has it occurred to you that maybe she isn’t even in the country? If she left home hunting those kind of men, she could be halfway across Mexico by now.”
“Then that’s where we’ll find her, Mr. Duggin,” Tim said with determination. “We’re not turning back, if that’s what you’re getting at. There’s nothing for us back there.”
Danielle considered it, then said, “No, that’s not what I’m getting at. It’s none of my business what you do. But for all you know, maybe your sister already found the men who killed your pa. Maybe they’re all dead by now.” She hesitated for a second, then added, “Maybe she’s even dead herself.”
After a silence, Jed said, “Then we won’t stop until we find where she’s buried. We have to tell her about Ma, even if we have to say it to a grave marker.”
Danielle felt the tears well in her eyes again, and she fought them back. Nothing was going to stop these two and she knew it. The best she could hope for was to get some miles between them and continue her search. Hopefully she would rid the world of the remaining men on her list before her brothers ever had to face any of them. For her money, it was even odds that one of the outlaws the boys had encountered was Duncan Grago. She wasn’t about to let an opportunity like this slip by. She was too close to be dissuaded now. Come morning, she would find the outlaws’ trail and stick to it.
“Well then, boys,” she said in a softer tone of voice, “all I can tell you is, be careful in Indian Territory. If you think it’s tough here, you ain’t seen nothing yet. There’s outlaws there who’ll cut your throat just to see which way you’ll fall. Don’t trust anybody. Don’t ever let your guards down.”
‘Thanks, mister,” said Tim. “We don’t intend to.”
As Tim spoke, Jed eyed Danielle’s half-hidden face in the licking flame
s. “Mr. Duggin, I can’t help thinking that you look familiar. Have you ever been to St. Joseph?”
Danielle thought about it quickly. Deciding it would better to give him some reason for recognition than to deny it altogether, she said, “Yes, indeed I have, several times over the past few years. There’s a gunsmith there who did some work for me on my pistols. Did some fine custom work. Can’t remember his name though.”
“Well, I’ll be danged!” exclaimed Tim. “That was our pa, for sure. Pa was known as the best gunsmith in Missouri. If he did some custom work on your Colts, you’ve got some good ones.” He leaned slightly forward. “Can I take a look at them?”
With her riding dust still on, Danielle had made it a point to keep her father’s Colt handles out of sight. Now she adjusted her duster across herself and said,
“Out here, you never hand your gun to a stranger, young man, no matter how friendly the circumstance.”
“Sorry,” said Tim, “I should have learned better by now.”
“No apology necessary, young man,” said Danielle. “I only mentioned it for your own good.” She finished her coffee, then slung the grounds from her cup. “I reckon we best all get some shut-eye. It’s been a long day.”
Jed and Tim looked at one another. “But Mr. Duggin, we’ve been doing all the talking. What about you? What are you doing out here?”
“Just passing through, boys,” Danielle said, reaching around and adjusting her blanket. “There’s nothing much to tell you about myself. I’m a drover, working the spreads up from Texas. Of course if you’re looking for work, I can give you some names of ranchers and trail bosses.”
“Would you, please?” Tim asked, he and Jed both leaning forward eagerly. “We’ll be needing work whether we find our sister or not.”
This was a good way to get them off the trail for a while, Danielle thought. “Ever worked a herd?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“No, but we handle a horse as well as the next, and we ain’t afraid of a day’s work, no matter how hard,” said Jed.
“Then go down to Mobeetie, Texas, to the Riley spread,” Danielle said. “Tell Jason Riley you’re new at droving but you need work. Better not waste any time getting there. He’ll be pushing a big herd to Dodge before long. Jobs fill up quick.”
“We’ll head there tomorrow,” Tim said, excited about the prospect of work. “Which way is it from here?”
“Swing west from here,” Danielle said. “Pick up the Arkansas River the other side of Fort Smith towards the Canadian, then follow the Canadian past the grasslands into Texas. After about a day’s ride into East Texas, head due south across the Washita. Follow the cow tracks from there. Ask anybody where the Jacob Riley spread is, if you have trouble finding it.”
“But what about hunting for Danielle?” Jed asked his brother.
“We need to eat, don’t we?” Tim replied. “Besides, Mobeetie might be as good a place as any to look for her. Right, Mr. Duggin?”
“I would think so,” said Danielle. “One trail’s as good as the next when you’ve no destination to begin with.”
“But we were headed down to Fort Smith, to talk to a marshal by the name of Buck Jordan,” Jed cut in. “He’s the one who sent us Pa’s belongings. We figured maybe he could tell us something about our sister.”
“I’ll save you both some time,” Danielle said glumly. “Buck Jordan is dead. I heard about it coming through Fort Smith. The Hanging Judge loses about one marshal a month to badlands outlaws. Last month it was Buck Jordan.” Danielle offered a thin, sad smile beneath the cover of her hat brim and her fake mustache. “That tells you something about Indian Territory, I reckon.” She smoothed her blanket, lay back with her head on her saddle, and flipped half the blanket across herself. “Go on to Mobeetie, boys. Get yourself a stake of money. Then go hunt for your sister.” She pulled her hat brim farther down over her face. “That’s my advice. Good night, boys,” she added with finality.
During the night while the twins slept, Danielle raised her brim and looked from one to the other of them. The news of her mother’s death still stung her down deep. For a long moment she watched her two brothers sleep, longing to gather them both into her arms. She thought of happier times on their Missouri farm, and saw visions of the entire family gathered around the kitchen table. Her eyes watered again, but she caught herself and rubbed her eyes dry with her knuckles. She stood up silently, gathering her gear. From inside her saddlebags, she took out her only other pair of jeans, and slipping over closer to her sleeping brothers, laid them near Tim’s head. Then she took out most of her jerked beef and the bag of coffee beans and laid the supplies atop the folded trousers. “God be with you both,” she whispered to herself, resisting the urge to place a hand on their cheeks. Then, like a passing breath of night wind, she was gone.
The Old Pike Road, June 22, 1871
At dawn, Jed shook his brother’s shoulder, saying, “Wake up, Tim. Duggin is gone.”
“Gone?” Tim sat up and rubbed sleep from his face. “Where? Why?” He looked all around, acquainting himself with the campsite in the early light.
“I don’t know,” Jed replied, standing back a step. “But he left us food and coffee . . . and look.” He held up the jeans and shook them out. “He’s even left you a pair of blue jeans.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Tim stood up stiffly on his wounded leg then snatched the trousers from Jed’s hand, looking at them in disbelief. “For all his tough tone of voice, I reckon Danny Duggin is surely—” Tim’s voice failed him for a moment, and he swallowed a tight knot in his throat.
“I know,” said Jed, looking at the bag of coffee beans and jerked beef in his hand. “There’s some decent folks out here. It just takes some sifting to find them I reckon.”
Tim collected himself, holding the trousers tight against his chest. “It’s charity, no matter how you look at it. He must’ve known that if we’d been awake, I’d never accepted him giving me these trousers.” He squeezed the jeans tighter. “But damn, I’m awfully glad he did it!”
Jed looked off toward where the chestnut mare had been picketed before Danny Duggin had slipped away in the night. “I swear, Tim,” he said, “there was something I liked about that man. I know we never met him before, but he seemed almost like kin, didn’t he?”
“Yep, I felt that way too.” Tim gazed off with his brother, the two of them feeling small against the magnitude of the land. “If we ever get back on our feet and run into him again, I want to repay Mr. Danny Duggin for these jeans, and thank him for his kindness.”
Chapter 6
Indian Territory, June 24, 1871
The hoofprints Danielle followed led her on a three-day meandering loop, southwest around Fort Smith and deeper toward the heart of Indian Territory. On the third evening she’d heard distant gunfire and followed the sound of it. Then she spotted a black rise of smoke, which guided her to the burnt hull of an abandoned wagon. The bodies of an old teamster and his four mules lay scattered among the ruins. Danielle took note of the jagged upthrust of rock standing above a sunken basin of brush and sage. The hoofprints she’d been tracking led in that direction. While there was no reason for the riders to have tarried here, she still played it safe, swinging fifty yards to the west so that she would ride in with the sinking sun to her back.
At the crackling embers that were once the wagon bed, Danielle kicked through the teamster’s load of scattered bolts of cloth and hand tools. She shook her head at the pillaged remains. Whatever the old man had carried in his pockets were all the outlaws could have found any use for. What had this gotten them? she wondered—a twist of tobacco, a few dollars, maybe the old man’s rifle or pistol? The senselessness of it angered her, and she kicked at the spoilage on the dusty trail.
Above the smoldering coals and the whir of the wind, Danielle hadn’t heard the two horses slip in close at a silent walk until the sound of a rifle cocking behind her caught her attention. Before she could turn and draw, th
e voice of Duncan Grago said with the low hiss of a rattlesnake, “Go on and try it, peckerwood. We ain’t above shooting you in the back.”
Danielle froze for a second, then turning her head slightly, she said over her shoulder, “I’m surprised you haven’t already. From the looks of that ole man, back-shooting is your strongest suit.”
“There’s only one reason we haven’t,” Duncan Grago said. “I want to know who you are, and why you’ve been breathing down our necks the past three days. I don’t like people following me. It always spells law dog or bounty hunter to me.”
“Following you?” Danielle chuckled, taking her chances on turning a bit farther around. Facing them now, her hands were poised chest-high, but still able to get a fast grab on her Colts. “I wasn’t following you, I was leading you from behind.” She leveled her gaze at them, inching her hands down as she spoke. “I figured if there was any bushwhackers or renegades running loose, I’d hear them killing you and get myself a head start out of here.” She shrugged. “Better you than me, I always say.”
Sep Howard only stared suspiciously, taking note of the cold green eyes, and the big dust-streaked chestnut mare. But after the second it took for Danielle’s words to sink in, Duncan Grago allowed a grin to form on his parched lips. “Well, hell, I can’t argue with that kind of thinking,” he said. “There was a couple of plow jockeys back along the trail. Don’t suppose you ran into them, did you?”
Danielle thought about it, then said, “Yeah, our paths crossed. They told me what you did to them back in St. Joe, then again in Tracy Sidings.”
“No kidding?” Now Duncan Grago grinned openly. “What did you tell them?”
“I told them they better kill you the first chance they get, or else you’d be causing them trouble the rest of their lives,” said Danielle.
Duncan Grago laughed aloud, but Sep Howard still sat staring, his hard, unyielding gaze leveled on Danielle. Finally he cut in, saying to Duncan Grago, “I never mentioned it to you, Dunc, but last summer there was a young gunslinger kicking up dust across the Territory. He had green eyes, went by the name Daniel Strange, and he rode a big chestnut, just like that one right there.” Sep Howard nodded at Sundown without taking his eyes off Danielle. “What’s your name, mister?”
The Shadow of a Noose Page 8