“Yep,” Danielle replied, touching her finger to her cheek. “I had a little disagreement over a card game. How’ve you been, Tuck?”
“Fine as can be,” Tuck said, letting his gaze drift from Danielle to Duncan Grago.
“This is Dunc,” Danielle said. “We’re riding together these days.” The way she said it gave Tuck Carlyle an idea that the two were not close friends. “Dunc, this is Tuck Carlyle, a trail buddy of mine.”
Duncan Grago only lifted his chin in a short nod and said nothing, even as Tuck acknowledged him with a howdy and a friendly smile. Tuck turned back to Danielle, saying, “What about you? Are you still—?” Tuck caught himself and reshuffled his words. He was about to ask whether she was still hunting the outlaws who had killed her father, but he changed the question quickly, and asked, “Are you still doing what you were doing the last time I saw you?” The way he said it worked out perfect for Danielle, for it sounded as if Danielle might have been up to something on the sly.
“Yeah, I’m still dodging the law,” Danielle said. “It’s all right to say it in front of Dunc. He’s had some run-ins with the law himself, right, Dunc?”
“Yeah,” Duncan Grago sneered, looking away as he spoke. “And I plan on having some more before I get too old to enjoy it.”
Tuck Carlyle gave Danielle a guarded nod, letting her know he understood. “Hope you’ll be staying for supper, Danny,” Tuck said. “Long as it’s been, I reckon we ought to get caught up.”
“Thanks for the invite,” Danielle said, “but we best be moving along.”
“What’s our hurry?” Grago asked, taking on a bolder tone now that someone was around to see and hear him.
Before Danielle could come up with a reply, Tuck Carlyle cut in, saying, “Sure, Danny, what’s your hurry?” He jerked his head back toward the rest of the drovers strung out along the herd. “Nobody back there knows you.” This was Tuck’s way of letting Danielle know that nobody would slip up and say the wrong thing. “Have supper with us. We’re just a greasy sack outfit,4 but we eat as good as anybody.”
Danielle relented. “Well, why not then? Whose small herd is this anyway?”
“These hide racks belong to the old Scotsman, Connery. He lost them in a poker game to Dubb Macklin in Fort Smith. He’s paying me and the others to deliver them for him. I reckon delivery was part of the bet.” Tuck grinned. “Evidently the age or condition of the animals wasn’t though. There’s a couple in there you’d swear came over with Noah on his ark. I’ll be glad to get shed of them. Keep hoping rustlers will take ’em off our hands, but so far we’ve had no takers.”
Danielle laughed with him, then asked, “How’s your sister, Carrie, and your ma?”
“Ma’s fine, Carrie too.” Tuck lifted a gaze to Danielle, adding about his sister, “She still talks about you all the time. I tried telling her there’s more than one moony-eyed cowhand prowling the range. She won’t hear of it, though.”
“I wish she would,” Danielle said. “There’s no place for her with me.”
Danielle let herself reflect back on the summer past, when there had been a peculiar situation between herself, Tuck Carlyle, and his sister Carrie. Danielle had never let the Carlyles know that she was really a woman disguising herself as a man. Because of it, Carrie Carlyle had become deeply infatuated with the person she knew as Daniel Strange. To make matters worse, Danielle had herself fallen head over heels for Tuck Carlyle for a time. Thinking about it reminded her of how much she’d learned over the past year on the trail. Becoming attracted to a man was the one thing she must avoid at all cost. There would come a day when Danielle would shed her disguise and take up the normal life of a woman. But until that day came, she would be careful not to let her feelings as a woman come between her and what she must do.
“Well, so much for wishful thinking,” Tuck Carlyle said, as if in answer to Danielle’s thoughts.
Danielle gave him a questioning look, and seeing it, Tuck went on to explain, “I mean, about Carrie still wanting you to come back and sweep her off her feet.”
“Yeah,” Danielle said, looking Tuck up and down longingly, then turning her face forward to the open land, “so much for wishful thinking.”
“So, what time will this bunch be stopping to pull down some grub?” Duncan Grago asked, his tone rude and impatient.
Tuck Carlyle passed a glance at Danielle, then replied, “This is no sun-to-sun drive. I reckon we can gather down as soon as we get to the basin up ahead. Can you wait that long?”
“I reckon I can if I have to,” Duncan Grago grumbled under his breath.
There were only four other cowhands working the small drive, Tuck Carlyle taking up the roles of trail boss, line-rider, and point man. At supper time, a young man named Curtis Lotts, who doubled as cook, prepared a pot of beans with pork seasoning, and a platter of what he called fried chicken, which was really nothing more than a wishful term for thick bacon rolled in flour and fried to a crisp turn. Around the campfire sat Tuck Carlyle, Curtis Lotts, and an old drover from Abilene known only as Stick. The other two men were a couple of brothers named Clarence and Tolliver Martin, who worked full time for the old Scotsman’s spread. These two sat watch on the small herd, waiting to be relieved for supper by Stick and Curtis Lotts.
As soon as Danielle found a moment alone with Tuck Carlyle, she quickly explained to him about the knife fight she’d had, and how she was going by the name Danny Duggin, hoping the reputation she’d built as Daniel Strange would die down. Inspecting Sundown’s hooves while the two of them stood a few yards away from Duncan Grago and the others, she told Tuck who Duncan was and why she was traveling with him. Tuck Carlyle only shook his head.
“I swear, Dan, the farther you ride this vengeance trail, the less I recognize you, and I’m not talking about just the mustache and the scar on your cheek.”
“I know, Tuck,” Danielle responded, straightening up from Sundown’s hooves and dusting her hands together. “Sometimes I don’t rightly recognize myself. But I’m praying it’ll all be over soon. When it is, I hope to run into you again. There’s things I’d tell you that I can’t tell you now.” She longed for the day when she could reveal her true identity to him, and settle down to a normal life.
“We’re amigos, Dan,” Tuck said, “so anytime you’ve got to tell me, I’ll be ready to listen. Meanwhile, I’ve sure got some news for you. Remember the Flagg family, the ones who threw some of their cattle in on the drive we made last year?”
“Yep, I remember them,” said Danielle. “Good folks as I recall.”
“That’s right they are. Well, ole man Flagg’s sister in St. Louis passed away and her widower husband sent their daughter Ilene to live with the Flaggs whilst he works the steamers.” His eyes got excited as he continued. “The thing is, Dan, she and I have struck up quite a romance. The next time you see me, there’s a good chance she’ll be my wife, that is, if she’ll have me.”
They had turned and started back toward the campfire as Tuck spoke. Now his words stopped Danielle in her tracks. She stood speechless, trying hard to hide the disappointment in her eyes. After a moment of seeing how his words had affected his friend, Tuck Carlyle laughed and said, “Damn, Dan, don’t look so troubled by it! I just told you I might be getting married, not that I was about to get myself snakebit.”
Danielle shook the weight of sadness from her shoulders and forced herself to laugh along with him. “I know, Tuck. It just took me by surprise for a second there. I’m happy for you, real happy. If I’m around, I better get an invitation to the wedding.”
Tuck slapped her on the back. “Hell, that goes without saying. What about you, Dan? Have you met yourself a good woman yet?”
“Naw,” Danielle said, “you know me. I’ve got no time for anything but the hunt for my pa’s killers.”
“Maybe once that’s over, you’ll run into the right person,” Tuck said encouragingly.
“Yes, maybe so,” Danielle said, looking away from him a
s they stepped in closer to the campfire so that he couldn’t see the hurt in her eyes.
All went well throughout the evening meal. Duncan Grago was sullen, and while not the friendliest man the drovers had ever met, he’d at least managed to keep quiet and eat his meal. But about the time Danielle thought the evening might pass without incident, Duncan’s mood took a sharp turn for the worse. Once Stick and Curtis Lotts had left to relieve the Martin brothers, Clarence Martin tried to show an extra stretch of hospitality by pulling out a bottle of rye he’d been saving in his saddlebags.
“Whoa, boys, no drinking on the trail,” said Tuck Carlyle, seeing Clarence hold the bottle up in his hand. Clarence’s intention had been to ask Tuck’s permission before passing the bottle around the campfire. Yet the bottle of rye seemed to strike a chord in Duncan Grago’s brain. He snatched the bottle as he butted in, cutting Tuck Carlyle off.
“Don’t mind if I do, buddy,” Grago said, already pulling the cork from the bottle with his teeth.
Tuck Carlyle saw it was too late to stop him, so he tried instead to alter the course. “Well, one drink each, boys,” he said, “but only because we have a couple of supper guests.”
Saying that was also a mistake, Danielle thought, watching the words sink into Duncan Grago’s mind. Knowing it was going to be his only drink for the night, Duncan took a long, deep pull that drew everybody’s rapt attention until he lowered the bottle and blew out a tight breath. “Lord, that’s good!” he exclaimed, his face glowing red in a instant from the rush of alcohol.
Danielle had no desire for a drink. Her only purpose in reaching for the bottle was to get it out of Duncan’s hand before he threw back another long guzzle. “Then let us in on it,” she said, snatching the bottle from him.
“Dang it,” Clarence Martin said in a half-joking tone, “I didn’t mean for yas to drink it all.”
“Then you shouldn’t have brought it out,” Duncan Grago shot back at him. There was no mistaking the lack of humor in Duncan’s voice.
Danielle saw the long drink of whiskey wrap its tentacles around Duncan Grago’s mood, and she almost held her breath at what she knew could turn ugly as quick as a streak of heat lightning.
“I was only joshing,” said Clarence Martin, taking the bottle back and rubbing his hand across the top of it. “Whiskey’s meant to be drunk, is what I always say.”
But Duncan Grago took Clarence’s words as a sign of weakness and gave him a look of contempt. “Is that so, huh? Then give me that bottle and watch me drink it.”
“I said one drink each,” Tuck Carlyle cut in. Being the trail boss, Tuck knew it was up to him to clamp down before things got out of hand. “I never allow my drovers to drink on the trail. It’s a bad practice.” He held his hand out for the bottle, but Duncan only looked at it with a dark chuckle as he spoke.
“I ain’t one of your drovers, and I don’t need no practice. I been drinking right handily for years.” He raised the bottle to his lips and threw back a shot, but Danielle’s hand shot out and once again snatched it from his lips. Whiskey spilled. Clarence Martin muttered under his breath in disapproval.
“Here you go, Tuck,” Danielle said in a low tone, keeping her eyes on Duncan Grago as she picked the cork up from the ground, wiping it on her thigh and shoving it down into the bottle. She pitched the bottle up to Tuck, who stood above the rest of them seated around the fire. “It’s time we shove off, Dunc,” she added to Duncan Grago, seeing his eyes fixed coldly on Tuck Carlyle.
“Why?” Duncan asked, the heat of the whiskey boiling inside his head and chest. “No need in us going somewhere and making a camp when there’s one right here.” His eyes were still locked on Tuck Carlyle, and Tuck hadn’t backed down an inch. Danielle knew Tuck wouldn’t, not for Duncan Grago or anybody else. She acted quick, reaching out with her boot and nudging Duncan.
“I said, it’s time we go. Now come on, or I’ll leave you where you’re sitting.” As she spoke, her hand rested poised near her pistol butt.
Duncan Grago hesitated a second longer, then he let out a breath and said grudgingly, “Hell, all right then.” Rising up and dusting off the seat of his trousers, he gave a smug parting glance to Tuck Carlyle, then turned it to Clarence Martin. “You ever need me to show you how to drink whiskey, just come looking.”
The words stung Clarence Martin’s pride, and as Duncan and Danielle turned to walk to their horses, Clarence rose from the ground, muttering under his breath, “By Gawd if he didn’t spill as much as he drunk.”
Duncan Grago let out a sarcastic laugh over his shoulder, saying in a belittling voice, “If you’re going to weep over it like a woman, send me a bill for it, you steer-licking peckerwood.”
That did it. Clarence Martin threw his hand to his pistol, shouting as he raised it, shouting, “You belligerent bastard!” Three shots resounded as Duncan Grago ducked to one side, turning, drawing, and firing back at the flashes of muzzle fire in the graying evening light. All Danielle could do at that split second was move aside, crouching as the bullets flew. Tuck Carlyle and Tolliver Martin did the same, for no matter what kind of man Duncan Grago was, and no matter how he’d provoked the fight, at that moment he was within his rights to defend himself.
A total of eight shots were fired between them. Clarence Martin’s shots went wild as he sank backward to the ground, one of Duncan Grago’s first bullets nailing his chest. Tolliver Martin had recovered from his shock and went for his pistol, but one of Duncan’s shots sliced deep into his shoulder. He flew backward across the campfire with flames licking at his wool shirt.
“You all saw it!” Duncan Grago screamed, backing toward his horse, his pistol fanning back and forth between Tuck and Danielle. “He tried back-shooting me! I had to kill him!”
Danielle and Tuck Carlyle gritted their teeth and fought the urge to go for their Colts. But they knew they couldn’t dispute Duncan Grago. Clarence Martin had done the unthinkable, and it had left him dead on the ground. His brother Tolliver rolled back and forth on the ground, smothering the fire from his wool shirt, his pistol lying a foot from his hand. He tried lifting himself to his feet, his left hand clenched tight to his wounded shoulder.
“Nobody move!” Duncan Grago shouted, backing farther away to his horse. “Don’t nobody try to follow me!”
“Wait, Dunc,” Danielle called out to him, stepping forward. But Duncan Grago was wild and scared, not even hearing her. He swung up into his saddle with his pistol still pointed at them and batted his horse away from the campsite at a fast clip.
“Help me find my pistol,” Tolliver Martin cried out, his voice strained against the pain in his bleeding shoulder. He staggered, in place. Tuck Carlyle caught him as he fell, and helped sit him on the ground as blood poured freely. “I’m going after him! I’ll kill him. Look what he done to my brother!”
“Easy now, Toll,” said Tuck, trying to console him as he tore open his shirtsleeve to inspect the wound. “I hate saying it, but that man was in his rights. I don’t know what got into Clarence, doing a thing like that. But you getting yourself killed ain’t going to change a thing.”
Hearing the gunfire from camp, the small herd of cattle milled in a spreading circle, spooked. Stick and Lotts pressed their horses dangerously close to the frightened beasts, keeping a firm hold on them, folding the circle back upon itself. “Thank the Lord these old dowds ain’t breech-loaded!5” Stick called across the restless tangle of horns, “They’re too old to run or they’d be gone by now!”
“Reckon you’ve got them?” Lott called back to him. “I’ll go see what’s the matter!”
“Go on! These hides have no run in ’em! I’ll join you once they ’plete down!”
Lotts turned, booting his horse toward camp. As he slid his horse to a halt, dropping from its back before it had settled, he saw Clarence Martin’s body, and saw Tuck and Danielle leaning down over Tolliver. “What’s happened?” Lotts shouted.
“Just what it looks like,” Danielle said s
tiffly. “Clarence and Dunc went at it. Dunc killed him and wounded his brother.” Even as Danielle spoke, she took a step back and gazed off at the lingering dust left by Duncan Grago’s horse. “Damn, I’m awful sorry, Tuck,” she said. “It was a mistake thinking that lunatic could go a meal without causing trouble.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Tuck said, looking up from tending to Tolliver’s wound. “Things got said that couldn’t be made right. You’re wanting to get right after him, ain’t ya?”
“I won’t leave you short-handed, Tuck,” she replied. “It ain’t my style.”
“I know it ain’t, Dan,” Tuck said with a grimace, “but go on. If there’s anything good to come of this, it’ll be you taking care of that bastard once and for all.” Tuck looked around at Curtis Lotts and asked, “How’s the herd?”
“Stick’s got ’em steadied. He’s coming directly.”
“No, he ain’t,” said Tuck. “Get out there and tell him to hold tight. You too. Nothing you can do here. This is done.” When he looked back toward Danielle, she had taken another step back toward her chestnut mare, a questioning look in her eyes, until Tuck nodded hard, saying, “Yes, go on. This ain’t changed nothing between us. We’re still amigos.”
“Thanks, Tuck,” Danielle said in a quiet voice, taking another slow step before breaking into a run toward Sundown. In a second she was mounted and gone, Sundown’s hooves pounding the hard earth beneath them.
Chapter 9
Indian Territory, July 21, 1871
Duncan Grago had gotten a good head start, and with no regard whatsoever for his horse’s safety, he’d kept a good distance between himself and Danielle throughout most of the night. Danielle, keeping Sundown at a steady but safe pace in the rugged rock and brushland, kept on Duncan’s trail by following the looming dust in the night air. From time to time she dropped down from her saddle and found his horse’s hoofprints in the pale moonlight.
Around an hour before dawn, Danielle heard the distant sound of a horse nickering long and loud in pain. Knowing it had to be Duncan’s horse, she pushed her chestnut mare a little harder toward the sound until at last she found the horse limping in a slow circle beside the narrow trail.
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