Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron

by Compton, Ralph

  With the craggy hillside rising on her left and the winding stream on her right, she eased the mare along at a slow walk until suddenly, as if out of nowhere, two men appeared on the trail before her. One man held a cocked rifle pointed at her from less than thirty feet away. The other stood confidently, with a pistol hanging loosely in his hand. “Well, well, look here, Brother Daryl,” said the one with the pistol. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “I was just thinking that very same thing myself, Brother Lon!” said the one with the rifle. “You never know who you’re going to come upon up here in these rocks. Could be a snake or a scorpion,” he said, widening his eyes in mock fright.

  “So true,” said the other. “But then again it just might be some tender young dove.”

  Danielle stopped the chestnut mare with the slightest tap of her knees. The mare turned slightly, quarterwise to the men, then stood as still as stone. “Your best hope is for the snakes and scorpions,” Danielle said. “This dove ain’t as tender as you’d like.”

  Both men had spread wolfish smiles, but the smiles melted away at her words. The one with the pistol said to the other without taking his eyes off Danielle, “Well, Brother Daryl, there’s our answer. It’s her, all right. Cherokee Earl said she was a rash, rude, wished-she-was-a-man kind of woman.”

  Danielle felt her senses perk. Immediately, she picked up on the man’s words and replied, “Didn’t you wonder why Cherokee Earl didn’t come looking for me himself? Why’s he so busy he can’t handle his own gun work?”

  “He’s busy sparking his new bride, up in Drake,” the man replied.

  “Shut up, Lon,” said the rifleman, stepping forward. “Can’t you see she’s just trying to milk you for information?”

  “She can milk all day. It suits me,” the other replied. His face turned stonelike, his eyes dark and caged. His voice went flat and iron-hard. “She ain’t going nowhere after today.”

  Danielle felt a cold, calm resolve wash over her. “I take it you two are brothers?”

  “That’s right,” said the one with the pistol. “Daryl and Lon Trabough, at your service.” His death-mask expression remained the same. “I’m Lon,” he added, “the handsomest one.”

  “What’s it to you?” said the one with the rifle.

  Danielle allowed a slight shrug. “Well, Daryl, I’m always curious about those I’m fixin’ to kill.”

  “By God, let’s go on and kill her and be done with it, Lon,” said Daryl, working his fingers restlessly on the rifle stock. “I’ve no tolerance for a sharp-tongued woman!”

  “Easy, Brother Daryl,” said Lon, still keeping his eyes on Danielle. “How often is a man blessed with this kind of situation? Earl wants us to kill her. He never said we couldn’t have a little fun first.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Daryl.

  “Oh, but you will, Brother Daryl, by the time it gets around to you,” said Lon.

  Danielle sat silently, waiting, watching, knowing. Beneath her, the mare hadn’t much more than breathed. Together, horse and rider could have been a statue except for the flutter of a hot breeze as it licked at Danielle’s hat brim.

  “Now lift that pistol, pitch it away, and climb down here,” said Lon. “We’re going to start by getting a good look at you without all them clothes hiding your better nature.”

  Danielle raised her knee and lifted her leg over the saddle slowly. She paused, suspended for a second, looking both men up and down. “You’re about my size, aren’t you, Lon?” She let herself slide down from the saddle and stood with her feet shoulder-width apart.

  Lon Trabough had a hard time containing himself. His lips quivered a bit at her words. “Oh, don’t you worry, you sweet little morsel. I’m just exactly your size!”

  “That’s what I thought,” Danielle said coolly.

  “Now lift that pistol, and let’s get started!” Lon demanded eagerly.

  “Whatever you say, Lon.” Her first shot hit Lon in the dead center of his sweaty forehead, the impact of it flipping his hat backward off his head. The shot came so fast, her pistol only a streak of shiny metal coming up from her holster, that Lon stood staring blankly for a second, a stunned grimace on his face as blood spewed from the back of his head. Then he sank to his knees as if ready for prayer and collapsed forward onto his face.

  “Lon, Jesus!” Daryl Trabough saw the gout of blood and brain matter spray past him. It rattled him long enough for Danielle to almost take her time putting two bullets through his heart. He dropped limply in the dirt. Only then did Sundown seem to ease down and shake out her mane.

  Danielle walked forward, reloading her Colt. When she reached out a boot toe and rolled Lon Trabough’s head to the side, she saw only a minimal amount of blood on the back of his shirt collar and none down the back of the shirt itself. “Yep, you’re just about my size,” she said quietly to herself. She holstered her pistol, stooped down, and began undressing him.

  Stripping Lon Trabough down to his long johns, Danielle carried his clothes out into the shallow stream and scrubbed them with a small bar of lye soap she carried in her saddlebags. She rinsed them, soaped them again, rinsed them again, and hung them to dry over the rounded tops of scrub juniper and mesquite bushes. While she waited on the wet clothes to dry, she took down the lariat from Sundown’s saddle, looped it around the corpses’ feet, and dragged them both downstream amid jumbled piles of rocks and spilled boulders that years of wind and rain had washed down from the hillside.

  She loosened the rope, looked down at the two bodies, and dusted her hands together. She stood silent for a moment and took off her hat in reflection. The mare stood close by her side. “Lord,” Danielle said, bowing her head slightly, “I know it’s not right taking another person’s life, and I wish I hadn’t had to do it. But you saw how it played out. They couldn’t have made their intentions any plainer and it still be fit for Christian ears.” She paused for a moment with her hat in her hand. “I doubt these two snakes ever did anybody any good in this life. So whatever you do with them is fine by me and better than they deserve. Amen.”

  Danielle placed her hat back down on her head, tightened it, and turned and walked away, leading the mare back across the rocky ground to the trail. Having missed a lot of sleep the night before and breakfast early that morning, Danielle ate some jerked beef and dried biscuits, then napped for the next couple of hours. When she awakened she gathered the clothes, feeling where the trousers were still a bit damp, and walked off into the cover of rocks and brush. While Sundown waited, Danielle unwound the binder she’d carried for the past year in her saddlebags. She took off her women’s clothes and wrapped the binder firmly around her, flattening the curve of her breasts.

  Once she had changed into the men’s clothing, she took her time folding her doeskin skirt, her bell-sleeved blouse, and her long soft leather riding vest. Back at Sundown’s side, Danielle placed her women’s clothing carefully down into her saddlebags, strapped the saddlebags shut, and patted them with her hands. “I hope this is not for long,” she said absently to the chestnut mare. “Looks like the only way to get respect in a man’s world is to be a man.”

  Danielle unstrapped the rolled-up riding duster from behind her saddle, shook it out, and put it on. Then she stuffed her hair up under her hat, stepped up into her saddle, and patted the mare on the neck. “Let’s go, Sundown,” she said. “We’ve been down this trail before.”

  Drake, New Mexico Territory

  Cherokee Earl sat atop his horse and spoke down to Buck Hite, an outlaw gangleader he’d met upon arriving in town. Earl had decided that Buck Hite and his gang would fit nicely into his plans. Buck stood holding the reins to Ellen Waddell’s horse. Ellen sat stone-faced, staring straight ahead. “Don’t wait around too long for Daryl and Lon Trabough, Buck,” Earl said. “I need you and your gang in Cimarron as soon as you can get there.”

  “What day do you need us there, Earl? We’ll make sure we get there on time.”

  Cherokee
Earl gave him a blank stare. “If you knew what day the main silver load comes in, you wouldn’t need me at all, now would you, Buck?”

  “I meant nothing by it, Earl,” said Buck. He tried to hand Earl the reins to Ellen’s horse, but Earl refused to take them. Instead, he flagged Avery McRoy forward and gestured for him to take them. McRoy looked put out at the task.

  “Just make sure you get there soon,” Earl said gruffly to Buck Hite. “I only need men I can count on.”

  As Earl spoke to Buck Hite, Dirty Joe slipped his horse forward ahead of McRoy, saying to him in a guarded voice, “I’ve got her reins, Avery.”

  “Much obliged,” McRoy whispered in reply. “Leading her has made my arm sore as a boil.”

  Earl leaned slightly down to Buck Hite and said, “Buck, I’ll tell you this much.... Your boys Daryl and Lon killing that woman and old man for me has gotten you a top spot in my operation. Once we pull this bank job you’ll wonder why we didn’t get together years before now.” He gave a thin, quick smile, then straightened in his saddle and leveled his hat. Looking back and forth along the street, he shook his head. “This whole damned town is made of mud. I’m glad you talked us out of burning it.”

  Buck Hite only nodded, tipping his hat as Earl, McRoy, and Dirty Joe backed their horses and rode away, Joe leading Ellen’s horse, which stayed right up beside his. “There goes trouble in the making,” Buck Hite murmured to himself, seeing the flushed and aroused look on Dirty Joe’s face and the guarded smile the woman passed to him. Buck shook his head and walked back to the Ace High Saloon, where his men awaited him.

  At the edge of town, Ellen Waddell slowed her horse back a step, deliberately making Dirty Joe fall behind with her while McRoy and Cherokee Earl rode on ahead. “Come on, Miss Ellen!” Joe whispered warily. “He’s going to suspect something.” He jerked her horse forward.

  “All right,” Ellen replied in a hushed tone, “but can’t you see he’s already tiring of me? He’ll soon pass me off to McRoy or one of those men back there, or anyone he feels like—”

  “Shhh, don’t say that, Ellen! I’m not going to let that happen to you.... I swear I won’t.”

  “Then you better do something quick,” Ellen said, letting her horse ride sidled against his, “or it’s going to be too late, and you and I will never be together.” She gazed deep into his eyes and said, “I can’t stand the thought of us never being together, can you?”

  “God, no!” he said, a slight tremor in his voice. “But what can I do about it right now?”

  She moved her eyes from Dirty Joe’s slowly, making sure that his eyes followed hers to McRoy and Cherokee Earl’s backs. “You know what to do, Joe,” she whispered with finality.

  Dirty Joe stared at the two men for a moment, the tendons in his neck drawn tight at the thought running through his mind. “Soon, Ellen.... Soon, I promise.”

  Back in Drake at the Ace High Saloon, Eddie Ray Moon, Clifford Reed, and Fat Cyrus Kerr stood huddled at the bar and listened to Buck Hite talk about their newly formed alliance with Cherokee Earl and the plans for meeting him and his men for the upcoming bank robbery up in Cimarron. “I’d feel better about everything if Daryl and Lon was already back here with us,” said Fat Cyrus. As he spoke, he hiked his baggy trousers up under his belly, the weight of his gun belt constantly working them downward.

  “Me too,” Clifford Reed agreed. “I’m a little spooked about it, to tell the truth.”

  “Spooked?” said Buck Hite, showing an amount of contempt for Reed’s words.

  Reed wasn’t a bit embarrassed. “Damn right, spooked,” he said with conviction. “It ain’t natural, what Earl told us about this woman, and it was a mistake sending two of our men back to ambush her. How long should it take two men like the Trabough brothers to gun down her and one old man?”

  “When you start running things, Clifford, you can ask them kind of questions,” Buck Hite said, jutting his chin, not liking the way Reed questioned his judgment in front of the other men. “But right now I’m still the top bull of this herd.” He tapped a thumb on his broad chest. “I sent them because I told Cherokee Earl I would. You don’t throw in with a man like Cherokee Earl Muir unless you’ve got something to offer.”

  Fat Cyrus tossed back a shot of whiskey and wiped his thick hand across his mouth. “Earl was down to only two men and himself,” he said, “not counting the fact that he’s riding around with a woman draped across his lap. Looks to me like we’re holding the most cards in this game.”

  “Yeah,” said Buck Hite, “we might be holding the most ... but the most ain’t always the best. I don’t care if he’s got a woman and her house cat on his lap. We’ve thrown in with him.” He looked at each of the three men’s faces in turn. “Boys, Cherokee Earl is an old hand at this business. He knows the upper country and every hiding place up there. He knows ranchers who’ll hide him out and crooked sheriffs who’ll tip him off when the law’s gotten too close.” He leaned in closer and said almost in a whisper, “He’s even got inside information on the bank in Cimarron ... knows when there’s a big shipment of money coming in to pay for silver from the silver mines all across the Territory.”

  “When is it?” Fat Cyrus asked.

  Buck looked at him in disbelief. “Well, now, Cyrus,” he said wryly, “if I knew when it was coming, I reckon I wouldn’t need Cherokee Earl at all, would I?”

  “Oh,” said Cyrus, nodding. “I see what you mean.”

  Buck Hite shook his head, then said to everybody, “Don’t ever think I enjoy giving my gang over to somebody else. But for now, if we ever plan on getting ahead, Cherokee Earl is the best way to do it. Sure, he’s short of men right now ... got somebody dogging his trail. But why else would he be taking us in?” He looked at each of them again, his eyes asking if they were with him.

  Clifford Reed nodded. “I had complaints, Buck. I just needed some filling in.”

  “All right.” Buck stared at him, his hand resting on his pistol butt. “Are you properly filled in?”

  “Sure.” Clifford shrugged, reaching for the whiskey bottle that stood on the bar. “I’m good.”

  “What about you, Cyrus?” Buck asked. “Anything else I need to fill you in on? I had eggs and potatoes for breakfast ... went to the jake about an hour ago ... been going pretty regularly the past few weeks.”

  Fat Cyrus looked away from Buck’s cold stare.

  “What about you, Eddie Ray?” Buck asked the thin, hollow-eyed gunfighter with a pointed chin.

  Eddie Ray Moon had been rolling himself a smoke while Buck spoke to the other two men. Now he ran the cigarette in and out of his mouth, wetting it, and let it hang from his lips as he spoke, taking a long match from his shirt pocket. “Do I look like I give a rattling bag full of dry horse shit?”

  Fat Cyrus and Clifford Reed chuckled as Eddie Ray struck the match and lit the cigarette. Turning his eyes to Buck Hite, he let go of a long stream of smoke and shook out the match. “Makes no difference to me who we ride with, long as the money’s right.” He shot Clifford Reed a look of contempt. “I’ll try not to get too spooked by this woman and her grandfather or whoever the hell the old man is.” He made a show of flipping the burnt match away, then leaned back against the bar as if getting comfortable. “You figure out what you want done, then just let me know. I’ll kill them so quick they’ll forget they was ever bom.”

  Chapter 13

  Cherokee Earl and his party had been gone from Drake for three days when Danielle rode in on the chestnut mare. Dressed in the clothes she’d taken off of Lon Trabough, she looked exactly as she’d intended, a young gunman on the move: lean, wily, and sizing up everyone who passed before him. To Buck Hite and the others, the young gunman looked no different from any other saddle tramp coming in off the high range. Yet, watching the mare pass by the Ace High Saloon, seeing the young gunman with his duster opened in front, revealing the big tied-down Colt perched on his hip, something strikingly familiar caught Fat Cyrus’s attention. H
e just couldn’t put his finger on it.

  “What have we got here?” Cyrus said to Clifford Reed, the two of them standing on the boardwalk of the Ace High.

  “Beats me,” said Clifford. “But he sure carries himself like he’s cock of the walk.” Both men watched in silence for a moment as the young gunman rode by. “Nice mare though,” Clifford offered under his breath.

  “Think I ought to go get Buck?” Fat Cyrus asked, hiking up his trousers.

  “Why?” said Clifford Reed. “Alls he’ll do is what we’re doing—staring and asking questions.”

  From behind the batwing doors of the Ace High, Eddie Ray said, “Don’t you suppose it would be a good idea if somebody went and asked this new-comer what he’s doing here in Drake? Don’t know about you boys, but I always like to have an idea who might or might not be carrying a badge.”

  “That’s no lawman,” said Cyrus. “I’ll wager you on it.”

  “No, I don’t think so either,” said Clifford. “There’s something about a lawman you can always spot ... too well fed or something. This boy is a straight-up gunman, an outlaw just like us, far as I’m concerned.”

  Eddie Ray stepped out onto the boardwalk and let the doors flap behind him. “One thing’s for sure: neither one of yas would ever know what he is if it meant walking your lazy behinds over and asking him.”

  “I’ll go if Buck asks me to,” said Fat Cyrus, both him and Clifford Reed watching the rider ease the mare up to a hitchrail out front of a low adobe and stone hotel.