The Shadow of a Noose Page 7

  “Grago, you said? What was his first name?” Her intense stare was unsettling. The name Grago was the name on the top of her list of her father’s killers.

  Lee Tate was taken aback by this young stranger with the thin wispy mustache, the scarred cheek, and cold verdant eyes. “Why, his first name is Duncan, like I just said,” Tate answered with a bemused expression. “Why, do you know him?”

  “No,” Danielle said, easing back into her chair, “but I’ve heard of Newt Duncan, and wondered if they might be kin.”

  As Lee Tate considered it, a whiskey drummer named Bob Dennard cut in, saying “Humph, they’re kin, all right, like two rattlesnakes from under the same rock.” Eyes turned to him as he continued. “I came across those two years back in El Paso. They were both young then, Newton being the oldest. They killed an old Mexican couple near there that never harmed a soul in their life. The Gragos punched their ticket for a bag of coffee and an old silver broach the woman wore.” He sucked a tooth and set his coffee mug down beside his plate. “Texas has had a price of five hundred dollars on their heads for the longest time. I hope you’ve got no truck with the likes of them, Mr. Duggin. If I thought you did, I’d have to call you a rotten, killing animal, no different than they are.”

  A tense hush fell about the table. Danielle looked at Bob Dennard and realized in an instant that he was not the whiskey drummer he had introduced himself as. What was he then? she asked herself, staring into his hard gray eyes. A bounty hunter? She thought about it as she spoke.

  “No, I have no truck with them—none that’s your concern anyway. But you might have asked in a less insulting manner.” Danielle set her coffee mug down as well, and kept both palms flat on the table edge.

  “I might have . . . but I didn’t,” said Dennard, his face pinching red as he spoke. “I saw what you are the minute you came in, Mr. Duggin, if indeed that is your name.”

  The tension thickened around the table. Chairs scooted back, the other men ready to distance themselves from what looked like a coming storm between the two. Dennard continued. “You come in here unarmed, but where you wear your holster is the only spot on your trousers that ain’t bleached out from the sun. Drover, you say? Hell, I know better. That ain’t no brush cut on your face, and you didn’t get them backed-out eyes staring up cattle’s rumps. Who are you, Duggin? Why all the questions about ex-convicts?”

  As Dennard spoke, Norena Chapin had stepped into the room with a fresh bowl of potatoes. She saw the trouble brewing and stopped in her tracks. “Now, see here, both of you. I don’t allow quarreling and such at my table—”

  “Easy, Norena,” said Dennard, who was well known at the boardinghouse from years of frequent lodging there, “this young man is about to explain something to all of us. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

  Danielle held Dennard’s stare, and thought about the derringer in her boot well. She could get to it if she needed it. That was not an issue. Her first concern was for the innocent people around the table. Her second concern was for Dennard himself. He was rude and short with her, but only because he’d mistaken her for the very kind of person she herself was hunting for. There was irony here, but she wasn’t about to explain herself to this man. She did not want to blow her new name, uncovering once again her intent. “You don’t want to hear the only thing I’ve got to say to you, mister,” she said in a calm, even tone. “I came to this table unarmed, in respect for this woman’s home. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am,” she added with a nod toward Norena Chapin, “I’ll take my leave.”

  “Not without answering me first, you won’t,” Dennard said insistently.

  Leaving half her plate of food uneaten, Danielle scooted her chair back, stood up, and turned from the table. The sound of a pistol cocking caused her to freeze in her tracks, her hand poised, ready to drop down to her boot. But before she made her move, Dennard said in warning, “Hear that sound? The next time you hear it will be when your pistol is riding your hip. You’ll answer me today, civilly, or you’ll answer me tomorrow on the outskirts of town.”

  Without turning, Danielle said over her shoulder, “Will that sound I hear tomorrow be coming at my back? Or will you have the guts to cock it head-on?” She walked out of the room without another word, and retired to her room for the night.

  Fort Smith, Arkansas, June 21, 1871

  Norena Chapin was up before daylight and met Danielle as she came down the stairs with her gear over her shoulder. “Mr. Duggin,” Norena said, “I just couldn’t let you leave without first apologizing for Mr. Dennard’s behavior last evening. You poor dear, you didn’t even get to finish your supper.”

  Not expecting anyone to be up this early, Danielle had placed her Stetson atop her head before leaving her room. She removed it in deference to Norena’s presence and said with a smile, “It was not your fault, ma’am, nor was it the fault of the cooking. The meal was excellent, and I’ll be stopping here anytime I’m in Fort Smith.”

  “I certainly hope so,” said Norena. She raised a bag from behind her back and held it out. “Here, I prepared something for you, for the road. I couldn’t bear to see you leave here shortchanged. I even thought about giving you back your money, but I knew you’d be too proud to take it.”

  “You’re right, ma’am,” said Danielle. “I can’t hold you responsible for the rudeness of one of your guests.” Danielle took the offered bag. “But I’ll accept this and thank you for your kindness.”

  Norena Chapin smiled. “I don’t know what got into Mr. Dennard. I’ve never see him act that way.”

  “Well, let’s hope that’s the end of it,” Danielle said. She left through the front door in the gray light of dawn and looked back to return Norena Chapin’s wave on her way to the livery barn.

  At the barn, Danielle found the stable boy already going about his chores, tending a pile of hay with a pitch fork. Once Danielle had prepared her chestnut mare for the road and led it out into the main bay of the barn, she flipped the boy a silver dollar and asked, “Tell me, young man, does a whiskey drummer by the name of Bob Dennard keep his horse here?”

  “Yes, sir, he does,” the boy said, pointing a dirty finger at an empty stall, “but it’s not there now. He rode out of here over an hour ago. He woke me up to let him in.”

  “I see,” said Danielle, “and what kind of horse does he ride?”

  “A big dapple gray. Not what you’d expect a whiskey drummer to ride, is it?” the boy added. “Most drummers travel by coach or buggy. But not Dennard. He carries a lot of weaponry too.” The boy grinned. “My pa says maybe Dennard don’t want to be sassed by some saloon keeper.”

  “Your pa might be more right than he thinks,” Danielle said, leading the chestnut mare out the front door. Looking down at the set of fresh tracks, she stepped up into the saddle. Turning the mare and following the prints out to the main street, she headed north, but not before seeing the hoofprints lead off across the street to an alley. It was the perfect place for Dennard to sit and wait for her, she thought. She heeled the mare forward, knowing that before she rode out of sight, Dennard would be on her trail.

  Chapter 5

  The Old Pike Road, June 21, 1871

  Headed northwest, Danielle kept the chestnut mare at a steady clip on the hard dirt and stone as the first thin line of sunlight mantled the sky. Topping a low rise in the road, she reined the mare up sharply, then held the animal still and listened to the sound of a single horse’s hooves closing behind her. Danielle batted her boots to the chestnut’s sides and raced forward another two hundred yards until she topped another rise and started down the other side, out of sight where the road turned through a stretch of rock. Upon entering the waist-high rocks and brush, Danielle slowed the mare down, swung from the saddle, and stepped down into cover as the mare galloped on.

  She waited in the brush and rock and, in less than five minutes, saw the big dapple gray come into sight, moving at a slow trot. Dennard was looking down in the pale morning light,
keeping an eye on the hoofprints of Danielle’s mare. So intent was he in his tracking, he didn’t see Danielle jump in front of his horse, causing the big dapple to rear up beneath him

  “Damn it!” Dennard cursed as his horse’s hooves touched down. His hand had gone instinctively to the pistol on his hip, but it froze there at the sight of Danielle covering him with both of her Colts drawn and cocked at him from less than six feet away.

  “Raise your gun with two fingers and drop it, Dennard,” Danielle demanded. Seeing the hesitancy in his eyes, Danielle added, “Try anything and I’ll clip your thumb off.”

  Dennard replied in defiance, “I’m not going to die out here in the dirt, killed by some lousy outlaw.” His pistol streaked upward, but the shot from Danielle’s Colt lifted it spinning from his hand. The dapple gray shied back a step, whinnying as Dennard clasped his left hand around his now bleeding right hand.

  “I’m not an outlaw, Dennard, but you will die here in the dirt if you don’t do like you’re told.” Danielle cocked the pistol again.

  As Dennard stepped down grudgingly from his saddle, Danielle whistled up the chestnut mare and by the time Dennard had turned to face her, still holding his bleeding hand, the mare came cantering up to Danielle’s side. Danielle holstered her left Colt and raised a hand to the mare’s muzzle, saying, “Good horse, Sundown.” Then she said to Dennard, “I know you think you were tracking an outlaw. That’s the only reason you’re still alive. But you called this one wrong, Dennard. I’m not on the dodge. I’m on a manhunt myself.”

  “Yeah?” Dennard said, skeptically. “I know a hardcase when I see one. You look like one, you even smell like one. You got the jump on me, now go ahead and shoot, get it over with. I won’t beg for my life.”

  “It’s starting to sound tempting, Dennard,” Danielle said. “Hold your coat open, show me what else you’re packing.” As she spoke, Danielle circled around him to his horse and pulled his Henry rifle from the saddle boot.

  “I’m clean,” Dennard said, opening his lapels with his bloody hands. “I never need a hideout gun. I face a man straight-up, or I don’t face him at all.”

  “Is that the way you were planning to do with me?” Danielle asked, stepping back to pick Dennard’s pistol up off the ground. “You were going to follow me, then ride in and invite me to a shoot-out?”

  “No. I was going to get the jump on you, hog-tie you, and make you tell me everything you know about Newt and Duncan Grago, or any other outlaws you ride with.”

  “Then you’re sure in for a disappointing day, mister,” Danielle said. “Now get your boots off and pitch them to me.” She reached down and took up the reins to the dapple gray.

  “You can’t leave me out here afoot,” Dennard said, steadying himself on one foot as he yanked off a boot and pitched it over on the ground. “Horse theft is still a hanging offense, young man,” he said, taking off his other boot.

  “Not when somebody’s on your trail, about to dry-gulch you,” Danielle said.

  “I’m a bounty hunter,” Dennard said with a scowl, getting bolder now that he saw his life was not in danger. “I’ve got a right to do my job.”

  “Not on me, you don’t. There’s no bounty on my head. I’ve got business to take care of. I’m not going to have you hounding me out here.”

  “Then you explain yourself, young man,” said Dennard. “Why were you asking about the Grago brothers?”

  “I’m not explaining a damn thing to you, Dennard,” Danielle said, stepping toward her chestnut mare, leading the dapple gray. “But you’re going to tell me what you know about the Gragos.”

  “Like hell I will,” Dennard said, defiantly.

  “Oh, you will, Dennard.” Danielle aimed the Colt at his left foot. “You can tell me now while you’ve got ten toes, or you can tell me five seconds from now when you’ve only got nine.”

  “All right, hold on!” Dennard placed one foot over the other, as if to protect them. “Newt Grago is holed up down in the Territory, gathering himself a gang. He’s hard to get to. Some gunman killed off four of his buddies. I believe he thinks that gunman is looking for him, too.”

  “Name some men who ride with him,” Danielle demanded, “and don’t lie. I already know some of their names.”

  Dennard hesitated, then let out a breath and said, “There’s Leo Knight, Morgan Goss, Sep Howard, Chancy Burke, Julius Byler, Rufe Gaddis, Saul Delmano, Cincinnati Carver, and Blade Hogue. There’s others, too. They come and go down in the Territory. But that’s all I can think of with a gun pointed at my toes.”

  “Forget Goss, Knight, Howard, and Carver,” said Danielle. “Where can I find the others when they’re not with Grago?”

  “If I knew the answer to that, they’d already be dead,” said Dennard. He thought about it for a second. “But I heard tell that Rufe Gaddis and Saul Delmano were tossing Mexican horses down near Laredo, what time they’re not robbing stagecoaches and raising hell.”

  “And the others?” Danielle probed.

  “Well”—Dennard thought some more—“Chancy Burke is border trash, a killer and a drifter. What time he’s not riding with Grago, you’re apt to find him in any Mexican whorehouse that’ll have him. As far as Blade Hogue and Julius Byler”—Dennard shrugged—“that’s anybody’s guess, I reckon.” Dennard eyed Danielle closely. “I’ll tell you one thing, young man. If you’re really not an outlaw, you best not go horning into my business. I make a living killing these dogs. Nobody messes with my livelihood.”

  Danielle nodded, running the names through her mind and realizing most of these men were on her list. “I’m no bounty hunter, Dennard.” She’d never heard of Leo Knight, Morgan Goss, or Cincinnati Carver, but the others were the men who’d had a hand in killing her father. For a moment she was tempted to ask Dennard to join her, him taking the bounty on their heads, and her taking her vengeance. Yet she had sworn at her father’s grave that she would track down his killers one by one, and this was not the time to change her tactics.

  “I’m taking your horse a mile up the road with me,” Danielle said. “You’ll find it tied beside the trail, along with your shooting gear. I’m throwing your boots away. I figure by the time you get there, then get back to town and get yourself some boots and a hat, I’ll be cleared out of here. If you’re smart, you’ll stay off my back. Now give me your hat.”

  Dennard swore under his breath, yanked his bowler hat from his head, and sailed it to her. Danielle caught it and tucked it up under her arm, turning sideways to him just enough to step up into her saddle. “What if somebody passes by before I get there and steals my horse and guns?” Dennard said.

  “Then you better walk quick, Dennard,” Danielle said with a thin smile. She turned the chestnut mare and heeled it forward, leading the dapple gray. If her brothers Jed and Tim were headed this way, she would find them.

  Danielle left the dapple gray where she’d said she would, and taking the trail through the rocky brush country, she rode on. At noon she only stopped long enough to rest the mare while she partook of the vittles Norena Chapin had given her. Then she pressed north for the rest of the day. Evening shadows were drawing long across the land when she stopped to water her mare and make camp at a run-out spring beneath a low rock ledge.

  She saw the tracks of four horses as she stepped down to fill her canteen. Two sets of tracks were older than the others. These led off upward and off the trail. The other two sets of tracks circled away from the water and wound upward toward the ledge above her. She could feel eyes on her back as she capped the canteen, stood up, and looked around while the chestnut mare drew its fill. “Easy, Sundown,” she whispered, running a hand along the mare’s dust-streaked side.

  Danielle knew this was no time for any sudden moves. She draped the canteen strap over her saddle horn and walked slowly around the mare as if inspecting her saddle and tack. On the other side of the animal, Danielle stooped down pretending to inspect the mare’s forelegs, and in doing so managed to scan
the rocky slope above her. The slightest rustle of brush along the narrow ledge caught her attention. On her way back around the mare, she stopped short, yanked the rifle from her saddle boot with one hand, and as quick as a whip slapped her other hand on the mare’s rump, sending the animal darting away along the stream bank as she flattened to the ground behind a low stand of rock.

  Danielle aimed deliberately high, two shots from her rifle kicking up chips of rock from the terraced ledge, her third shot going low into a scrub cedar sapling. “The next shot will take some bone with it!” she called out to rustling brush where she could tell someone had just hugged the dirt, taking cover.

  “Whoa now! Take it easy, mister,” a nervous voice called down to her, “we mean you no harm!”

  It had been over a year since Danielle had heard the sound of her brother Jed’s voice, yet she recognized it instantly, and her heart leapt for joy. But she stilled herself and called back to him, lowering her voice back into a husky tone, “Then why are you up there watching me, like a bushwhacker?”

  “I—That is, we are sorry, mister,” Jed Strange replied, rising slowly from the mound of brush, his hands chest-high in a show of peace. “We thought you were somebody else. There’s two outlaws on this trail. That’s their hoofprints leading up into the hills. We already had trouble with them once. We weren’t taking any chances.”

  “Whose we?” Danielle demanded of him, already knowing, but playing her role as a wary traveler. She had to fight herself to keep from running upward along the ledge and throwing her arms around her brothers. “How many of you are up there?”