“My name’s Danny Duggin, mister,” said Danielle, her hand poised lower now, nearer to her pistol. “What’s yours?”
“Never mind my name,” said Sep Howard. His voice turned to Duncan Grago but his eyes stayed on Danielle. “That’s pretty close, wouldn’t you say, Dunc? His name’s Danny, the gunman’s name was Dan. They both have green eyes, both ride a big chestnut.”
Duncan Grago’s smile faded. “You’re saying this is him?”
“I’m saying everything about him is awfully familiar,” Sep Howard replied. “We all heard that young gunslinger got himself carved to death by Comanche Jack Pierce, but we could have heard wrong.”
“You didn’t hear wrong,” Danielle said. “I heard all about that gunslinger myself. Comanche Jack Pierce cut him to pieces over a card game. He died outside Mobeetie.” Danielle jerked her thumb toward Sundown. “For all I know, that might have been his chestnut. I bought her from a stable owner when her owner never came back for her. Now that’s about all the explaining I plan on doing here. Besides, if I was a gunslinger wanting to hide my name, I could do a lot better than changing it from Dan to Danny, don’t you think?”
“He got you there, Sep,” said Duncan Grago with a short laugh. “I figure he just bumped the pot on you. Now are you going to call him or fold? To tell you the truth, I like the man’s style. He ain’t afraid, standing there, knowing any second we might pin a couple of slugs to his chest.”
“Yeah?” said Sep Howard. “Well, I don’t believe him, and I sure don’t like him. For my money he’s the same one who—”
His words were cut short by the blast of fire from Danielle’s smoking Colt. She’d seen the faintest movement of his hand toward his pistol as he’d spoken. As Sep Howard’s body flew backward from the saddle of his rearing horse, Danielle’s Colt leveled and cocked on Duncan Grago before his hand could even close around his pistol butt. “I wouldn’t do it if I were you, Dunc,” said Danielle, mimicking the name Sep Howard had called him.
Duncan Grago froze, then relaxed as Danielle’s thumb let the Colt’s hammer down to half cock. He shot a glance at Sep Howard lying dead in the dirt, then cut his eyes back to Danielle as she punched the spent cartridge from her Colt and replaced it with a new round. “What the hell did you do that for?” Duncan rasped.
“I could tell he was getting ready to go for his gun,” Danielle said. “Why beat around the bush about it?” She spun the cylinder on her Colt, flipped it around across her palm, and slid it back into her holster. “Anyway, I knew we weren’t going to be friends, he and I,” she added. “Now what about you?”
Duncan Grago had never seen a cross-draw that quick in his life. He sucked a slice of air through his teeth, calmed himself, then said, “I’m Duncan Grago.” He nodded at the body sprawled on the ground. “That was Sep Howard. I don’t think he even saw what hit him, and he was more than a fair hand with a gun.”
“Can’t tell it by looking,” Danielle said. She walked over to Sep Howard’s body, stooped down, and rifled through his shirt pockets, taking out a twist of tobacco and a small fold of sweat-dampened dollar bills. She fanned the bills, then refolded them and stuck them down into her riding duster. “You want his pistol?” she asked.
“Naw, it didn’t do much for him,” Duncan Grago said. “What about that money though?”
Danielle looked up at him and said, “If you wanted his money, you should have shot him yourself.” She pitched Grago the twist of tobacco and watched him chuckle and bite off a plug, working it in his jaw as he spoke.
“No offense, Danny Duggin, but I believe you’re as crazy and wild as I am.” Grago spat a brown stream of juice for emphasis.
“Too bad this fool didn’t see it,” she replied. “It might have saved him a fast ride to hell.” Danielle had only gone through Sep Howard’s pockets for show. She wanted Duncan Grago to see her as a hardcase, and it had worked. She took her time dropping the saddle and bridle from Sep Howard’s horse and slapping it on its rump. She wanted Duncan Grago to have the time he needed to work things out in his mind, for she knew that was exactly what he was thinking.
“What’s your plans now?” Grago asked over his chaw.
Danielle turned from watching the horse run freely away in a drifting wake of dust and said, “Well, I thought I might go invest this money in a bottle of rye, maybe see if I can double it on a faro table. What about you? Where were you two headed before I stopped his clock?”
“I just pulled me a bunch of prison time in Arizona,” replied Grago, “so naturally I’ve been wandering here and there, taking the long way around, raising myself a little hell.” He nodded at the bodies of the old teamster and the mules. “But I’ve got a brother waiting on me down in the Territory. He has a good-size gang riding with him off and on. If you really want to double that money, you might want to ride along with me. We’ll be making some easy cash, quick enough. He’s always looking for good gunmen.”
Danielle felt her heart leap in her chest at the prospect of finding Newt Grago and perhaps all the other killers in one spot. But she hid her eagerness, and said, “No thanks. I work better alone.” She looked up at him with a cool, level stare and decided to see just how far she could push him. “We might not get along, you and me. Then I’d have to be going through your pockets too.” She offered a tight trace of a smile, watching his eyes for any sign of a come-back. If he was smart, she thought, he wouldn’t stand still for this game of big dog little dog she was playing on him. Danielle was going to ride with him; there was no doubt in her mind. But first she wanted to knuckle him under a little, just enough to let him know she was going to be in charge.
“Hell, I ain’t hard to get along with,” Duncan Grago said, as if having not heard her veiled threat. “Ride on down with me. We’ve got a stop to make along the way. Sep and I was supposed to meet one of my brother’s men, a fellow by the name of Julius Byler, outside of Fort Smith. After that we’ll all three head down and join my brother. It’ll be worth it to you, I can guarantee it.”
That’s the wrong way to respond, Dunc, Danielle thought to herself, staring up at him. He should have come back with something tougher, letting her know he wasn’t the least bit intimidated by this Danny Duggin with his fast draw and his sharp tongue. But it was too late now. Duncan Grago had just rolled over and shown his belly. She was the big dog now.
“Well . . .” Danielle paused as if considering it for a second. Then she turned and stepped up into her saddle and reined Sundown around beside him, letting him see her palm brush past the butt of her Colt. He almost flinched at the sight of it. “I hope you’re right, Dunc,” she said, watching him settle as her hands dropped harmlessly down onto her saddle horn. “I hate being disappointed.”
“You won’t be,” he said, nudging his horse forward. “Once we hook up with Newt and his boys, there’ll be action aplenty. You can count on it.”
“I already am,” Danielle said, nudging the big chestnut mare along beside him. “Just lead me to him.”
The Arkansas River, June 26, 1871
Julius Byler had grown cross and restless waiting for Sep Howard and Newt’s younger brother, Duncan Grago. He’d been holed up in a shack eighteen miles out of Fort Smith for most of the winter, and had run out of supplies over two weeks ago. His last trip into Fort Smith had ended in a shoot-out at a mercantile store when he’d stolen a new Winchester while the owner wasn’t looking. He’d been afraid to show his face there ever since. With Judge Parker holding court there, the town swarmed with marshals and deputies. If a man didn’t want to end up on the end of Maledon’s3 rope, Byler thought, Fort Smith was a good place to avoid.
Julius Byler had been watching the river trail through the dirty window, and at the sight of the two horsemen coming up into sight through a sparse pine thicket, he snatched the stolen Winchester from its spot inside the door and levered a round into the chamber.
Danielle was the first to see the movement through the dingy window glass and, upon s
eeing the pane raise two inches, she stopped Sundown and said to Duncan Grago, “If this is the place, you best get ready to explain yourself, Dunc.”
Duncan Grago caught sight of the rifle barrel slip across the windowsill and level toward him. He called out from twenty feet away, “Don’t shoot! I’m Duncan Grago. If you’re Julius Byler, my brother Newt sent me and Sep Howard to meet you.”
From inside the window, Julius Byler called out, “Then where’s Sep? I been expecting yas the past week.”
“Sep’s dead,” said Duncan Grago, “but I’m here. If I wasn’t who I say I am, I’d never have found this place.”
“How did you find it?” Byler asked, still aiming down the rifle barrel.
“My brother Newt brought me here years ago. We spent a month hiding out from a bunch of detectives out of Tennessee.”
Byler hesitated, eyeing them through the dirty glass. Finally he asked, “Who’s that with you? What happened to Sep Howard?”
“It’s a long story, what happened to Sep Howard,” Duncan Grago replied, “but this is Danny Duggin. He’s a friend of mine.”
Danielle smiled to herself and sat still, letting Duncan Grago set things up for her. She was back on the killer’s trail now, the very air around her thick with their scent, she thought. She’d take Julius Byler down and cross off his name from her list before they ever left this place. She just had to figure a way to do it without spooking Duncan Grago.
The two of them watched the rifle barrel draw back inside the window, then they heard a bolt lift from the plank door. They stepped their horses closer as Julius Byler came out, hooking his galluses up over his shoulders, the rifle still in his hand and pointed loosely in their direction. “I don’t like waiting, never did.” As he spoke to Duncan Grago, he eyed Danielle, taking close note of the dust-streaked chestnut mare. “And you,” he said, turning his words to her, “I don’t know you from Adam. Far as I’m concerned, you can turn tail and follow your tracks out of here.”
“I don’t turn tail real easy,” Danielle said in a low tone. She stepped the mare closer. The rifle raised in Julius Byler’s hands. But Duncan Grago moved his horse sidelong in between them, speaking down to Byler in a harsh voice.
“Listen to me, Byler. Sep Howard said my brother wanted us to bring you along. Now I don’t give a damn if you come or not. But you best think twice before you go shoving iron at Danny Duggin. He’s with me. If he don’t kill you, I will.”
“You’re vouching for this man?” Byler asked. “Be cause if you are, I’ll take it your brother, Newt, is vouching for him too.”
“Damn right I vouch for him!” Grago snapped. “Think I’d ride with a man I wouldn’t vouch for?”
“All right, then, take it easy,” said Byler, backing off. “Once you get to know me, you’ll realize I’m a cautious man.”
“That’s good to know, Byler,” Danielle said. She swung down from her saddle, slow and easy. “Now you suppose we could get some hot grub and coffee before we head down to the Territory?”
“We could, except I don’t have the makin’s of a hot meal, and no coffee either. I been stored out over two weeks, living on hardtack and water, unless I can shoot a muskrat on the riverbank.”
“Damn,” said Duncan Grago, swinging down from his saddle and stretching his legs. “You expect me and my partner to eat a stinking muskrat? We’ll have to get some supplies before we head out of here.”
We’re partners now? Danielle smiled to herself, liking the way Duncan Grago was implying that they were friends. She’d kept him good and buffaloed ever since she shot Sep Howard. The night before last, when Duncan had told her his grisly story of why he’d gone to prison, she hadn’t shrunk from his knife fight story the way Sep Howard had. Instead, when Duncan had finished telling her, she’d only told him in a calm voice that had she been that Mexican she would have hunted him and killed him. His jaw had twitched, but he hadn’t rebutted her threat in any way. His attitude would probably change once he was reunited with his brother and had more guns around to protect him. But for now, Danielle had him where she wanted him. With someone who was his match, Duncan Grago was a coward, she thought. A coward who would take her where she wanted to go.
“Me and Danny will rest here a day while you go into Fort Smith and pull up some supplies, Byler,” Duncan Grago said, taking charge now that everything seemed to be settled.
“I can’t do it.” Byler shook his shaggy head. “I stole a rifle and shot a store owner in the leg. They see my face in Fort Smith, they’ll likely blow it off my shoulders.”
“Well, hell’s bells,” said Duncan Grago, letting out an exasperated breath. “Is there anyplace else around here? Damned if I want to ride back that way.”
Danielle cut in, saying, “I’ll go, since you’re both too afraid.”
“I never said I’m afraid,” Duncan Grago sneered, careful not to come back too strong at Danielle’s cutting remark. “I just hate back-tracking myself.”
Looking at Danielle, Byler said, “I’d prefer keeping you in my sight for a while, Danny Duggin, till I know you better.”
“You don’t want to know me any better, Byler,” Danielle said in warning.
“Cut it out, both of you,” Duncan Grago demanded. “I’ll go round up supplies. Think you two can get along till I get back?”
“We’ll be fine,” Danielle said, keeping a cold stare on Byler. “Ain’t that right, Julius?”
It was later that evening when Danielle decided to make her move on Julius Byler. It would take Duncan Grago most of the night to ride back from Fort Smith, if he didn’t decide to spend the night camped along the river and head back in the morning. After rubbing Sundown with a handful of straw and picketing her on a hilly rise behind the shack, Danielle had sat down on a cedar stump in the dusty front yard and took her time cleaning and oiling her pistols one at a time, making sure to keep one ready and loaded across her lap.
The look she’d last seen on Julius Byler’s face before he’d gone inside and bolted the door told Danielle he knew something was up between them. She kept an eye on the closed window for any sign of him or his rifle barrel. When she’d finished with her pistols, she stood up and swung her gun belt around her waist, buckled it, and adjusted it, taking her time, knowing full well that Byler was watching through a crack somewhere in the sun-bleached walls.
For a moment Danielle only stared at the shack, knowing the moment to wreak her vengeance was at hand. She let the long controlled anger inside her come to the surface now, preparing for her task. Only yards away inside the shack stood another of the men who had killed her father, and like the other murderers she had found over the past year, she would see him dead. Danielle swallowed back the bitter taste in her throat, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She reached down at her feet and picked up a small rock.
“Julius Byler, it’s time you pay up for murder,” she called out, tossing the rock against the door of the shack.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Julius Byler called out. Inside the shack, his face was streaked with sweat. “I’ve never seen you before in my life!” He stood with his back pressed to the wall, his eyes fixed on the front door. “I never should have let you ride in with Grago! That’s what I get for being hospitable!”
“You’ve never seen me before, but you know who I am,” Danielle said. “You had me pegged as soon as you saw the chestnut mare. I’m that gunslinger who was killing you bastards last summer. Come on out—it’s time we reckoned up, just the two of us, the way it was with Bart Scovill, Snakehead Kalpana, Levi Jasper, and Brice Levan. They all died by my hand. Now you’ll do the same.”
“What’s this about? Don’t I have a right to know?” Julius Byler demanded.
“You don’t have a right to nothing, far as I’m concerned.” Danielle stepped sideways in the dusty yard, then took a fighting stance twelve feet from the plank door. “But I’ll tell you anyway. Remember the man you and your outlaw friends robbed and hung in In
dian Territory, back last year?” She paused, waiting for a response.
A silence passed, then Byler called out, “Hell, I don’t remember. That’s a long time ago. He weren’t the only man we killed, whoever he was.”
Danielle felt her jaw tighten, her teeth clench. “That was my pa, you murdering son of a bitch. Now wipe the sweat off you palms, keep your hands from trembling near your guns, and get on out here!”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Byler said, stalling as he stepped quietly over to the door, lifting the latch ever so slowly. “I remember you now. That’s the reason all those boys died last summer, huh?” He opened the door just a sliver of an inch, looking out at the figure of the gunfighter, standing to the left in shadows.
“That’s the reason, Byler. That front door is the only way out for you. Let’s not put it off any longer.”
“So you’re his son, huh?”
“No . . .” Danielle let her words trail. Then she said with an air of finality, “I’m his daughter.”
Her words stopped Byler short and left him stunned for a second. He shook his head in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be. All this time, the green-eyed gunslinger everybody talked about was just a girl? Now that’s one worth telling about.” He felt bolder now, and he grinned to himself, peeping through the crack. “Bart Scovill and the others, killed by a girl. They ought to have been ashamed of themselves.” He took a deep breath, leaned the rifle against the wall inside the door, and loosened his pistol in his holster.
When Danielle made no response, Byler added,
The Shadow of a Noose Page 9
