The Shadow of a Noose

by Ralph Compton

  “Sounds good to me,” Duncan Grago said, stepping back and swinging up onto his copper barb. “What do you say, Danny?”

  “I’m right beside you,” Danielle responded, nudging Sundown forward, giving Chancy Burke a cold, lingering stare as she stepped the mare past him.

  As the whole motley collection of gunmen moved back toward the shack, Newt Grago said to Chancy Burke, “Kill that son of a bitch so quick he won’t know what hits him. You hear me?”

  “I hear you,” said Burke. “But what about Dunc? He seems real taken by this Danny Duggin. I don’t want Dunc coming down on me over it.”

  Newt grinned. “That’s why we want it to be just one more part of the shooting contest. That way Dunc can’t blame nobody.”

  “Good thinking,” said Chancy Burke. “You figure this is that gunslinger from last summer, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know. He fits the description. But whether he’s that gunslinger or not, there’s no mistaking that mare. Remember the man we left hanging from the tree last year? The big chestnut I wanted, before it managed to get away?” He nodded toward the chestnut mare as Danielle slow-stepped it toward the shack. “If that’s not the same animal, I’ll eat my shirt.”

  Chancy Burke nodded slowly. “If that’s him, and the rumors we heard are true, he’s after me the same as he is you and the rest of us.”

  “That’s right,” Newt Grago said in a grim tone. “So that’s something you better keep in mind when you face him tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow hell, what’s wrong with tonight?” Chancy Burke asked.

  “Because if he really is that gunslinger, you’ll need the rest of the evening to go somewhere and practice your draw. I don’t want no slipups here. I want him dead the first time he toes the mark.”

  “He’s dead right now, Newt.” Burke chuckled confidently, watching the chestnut mare move away in a low stir of dust. “He just don’t realize it yet.”

  On their way to the shack, Danielle cast a sidelong glance at the body of Ollie Blanford lying in the dirt, a rope looped around one ankle leading to a saddle horn on a dusty paint horse standing obediently waiting. Danielle looked farther across the flat clearing out front of the shack, at the other body in the dirt. “Your brother likes some pretty tough games,” she said to Duncan Grago, riding beside her. “Is he as keen on participating as he is on promoting?”

  “Ha!” Duncan laughed. “Newt is the best gunman I ever saw, and I’ve seen plenty. The thing is he don’t have to do his own gun-handling anymore, unless he wants to. Newt’s the man on top now. He can get somebody else to do his shooting for him. But that don’t make him soft.” Duncan grinned. “That just makes him smart. I already see what he’s doing here. He’s getting rid of the deadwood. I figure he’s making something on it at the same time. By the time this is over, he’ll have the damndest bunch of killers you ever saw working for him. Then the world better step aside. Won’t you be proud, pulling iron with a gang like this?”

  “Yeah,” said Danielle. “I can hardly wait.”

  At dark, Danielle slipped away from Duncan Grago long enough to go to the crowded rope corral where she had left Sundown after watering, graining, and rubbing her down with a handful of dried wild grass. To remove the temptation of anybody stealing the big chestnut, Danielle led her nearly fifty yards away from the encampment and left her at the mouth of a dry wash where long strands of clumped grass leaned in the night breeze. She didn’t hobble the mare, but left her free to roam and graze, knowing Sundown would stay close by, unless someone or something came upon her. In such an event it would be better to leave the mare free of any restraints.

  Returning to the camp, Danielle walked to the glow of lanterns spilling out through open tent flies. The tent on her right appeared less crowded than the one on her left, so she veered over to it and stepped inside to the sound of both profane curses and drunken laughter as the outlaws stood lined along the banks of a row of battered faro tables. Past the tables, Danielle saw Duncan and two other outlaws drinking at a bar, which was merely a long pine plank lying across two wooden whiskey casts. Seeing Danielle, Duncan motioned her forward with his whiskey bottle in his hand.

  “Where’ve you been?” Duncan asked in a friendly tone. “You’re way behind on your drinking! Newt will be here any minute. We’ll go to his shack, drink some more rye, and talk about old times.” He pushed the half-full bottle of rye into her hand, then gestured with a nod toward the two men beside him. “This here is Morgan Goss and Cincinnati Carver. Boys, this is Danny Duggin, my best pal.”

  “Yeah, so we heard,” said Cincinnati Carver, a ratty-looking outlaw with a sawed-off shotgun slung over his left shoulder, and a small hatchet riding in his belt. “We was there when you rode in, remember?” Both outlaws gave Danielle a cautious but respectful nod, then attended to the dirty shot glasses of rye in their hands. Danielle knew nothing about the two men, yet she recalled Bob Dennard mentioning them the day she got the drop on him on the trail out of Fort Smith.

  Morgan Goss stood well over six feet tall and was slim as a rake handle. He wore a tall black Mexican sombrero that had a bullet hole in its crown, an aged bloodstain surrounding it. His wrists were girded with tall silver-studded leather gauntlets. Bandoleers of pistol ammunition crisscrossed his chest. He leaned forward along the plank bar and spoke to Danielle in a guarded voice. “Don’t want to say this too loud, but I hope to hell you shoot Chancy Burke’s head off in the morning. Me and Cincinnati is putting our whole bankroll on you.”

  Danielle gave Duncan a surprised look, and he raised a hand in defense. “Don’t ask me, Danny,” he said. “I had nothing to do with it. The way you and Burke nearly locked horns earlier has got everybody speculating, I reckon. Everybody figures you two will be going at it.”

  Nothing would please me more, Danielle thought. But she didn’t want to seem too eager about it at first. “I didn’t come here for this kind of business,” she said. “In fact, if I knew what was going on, I might not have come at all.” She raised the bottle of rye, appearing to take a long drink, but actually only taking a short sip. “If this is what you had in mind, Dunc, I might just take my leave come morning and clear out of here.”

  “I didn’t know nothing about this, Danny, I swear,” said Duncan Grago. “But you have to admit, if there’s some money to be made drawing and shooting that big Colt, why not make it?”

  “He’s telling you right, Danny Duggin,” said Cincinnati Carver. “If a man can spin a bullet out faster than the next, he’ll fare well here.”

  “What about you?” Danielle asked him. “Are you going to be facing anybody?”

  “Me? Hell no!” Cincinnati Carver patted the side of his trousers, showing he had no sidearm. “I don’t even trust myself to carry a pistol, I’m so bad with one.” His hand went to the stock of the sawed-off shotgun slung over his shoulder. He stroked it lovingly. “Now if they’d let me use Little Milly here, I’d be game as a wild mustang.”

  Beside Cincinnati Carver, Morgan Goss laughed and said, “The trouble is, one blast from Little Millie would not only kill his opponent, it’d also wipe out half the spectators.”

  “What about you?” Danielle asked Morgan Goss. “Are you going to face anybody out there?”

  “I ain’t a fancy gunslinger,” Goss responded. “I don’t kid myself about it. I can shoot as straight as the next man, but I’m not fast on the draw.” He tossed back a shot of rye and wiped the back of a leather wrist gauntlet across his mouth. “Besides, I’ve been outlawing too long to have to prove myself, and I’m slick enough at stealing horses that I’m never scarce of cash.”

  “You figure that’s what this is all about, money or fame?” asked Danielle. She offered a trace of a smile looking into Morgan Goss’s large, watery eyes.

  Morgan Goss shrugged, saying, “That’s all most things are about, ain’t it? A man steps up to kill another man in a shooting contest, it’s because he either needs to line his pockets, or wants to broaden his
name.”

  “Or both,” Cincinnati Carver added, raising his glass of rye.

  “What the hell do you two horse old thieves know about any damn thing?” Duncan Grago snapped at them, somehow finding a way to take offense at what the men said. “My brother organized this whole thing. I won’t have you bad-mouthing it.” As he spoke, Danielle noticed the wild gleam that was back in his eyes, brought on no doubt by the whiskey and the excitement of being back among his own kind.

  Morgan Goss and Cincinnati Carver both shied back a step, seeing Duncan Grago’s hand drop to the butt of his pistol. “Hold on, Dunc,” Goss said, “we weren’t speaking ill of Newt. Hell, we’re just speculating on why a man—”

  “Don’t tell me to hold on.” Duncan seethed, cutting Goss off. Eyes turned from the faro tables toward the sound of Duncan Grago’s raised voice. “So what if a man wants to gain himself a reputation shooting some sonsabitches? So what if he wants to make himself money for doing it? This is a free country!” The longer Duncan raged, the more Danielle could see that he was spinning out of control. His hand had gripped the butt of his Colt, his fingers tightened around it. She saw him start to jerk the gun from his holster, and as quick as the snap of a whip, she drew her own Colt and swung the barrel sidelong against his forehead.

  Duncan Grago crumbled, but Danielle swooped down, looping him across her back as he fell, then raised him up on her shoulders. She turned with her pistol still out, letting the crowd see it, saying, “Everybody stay calm. No harm done. My buddy Dunc just got a little too much rye in him.” The weight of Duncan Grago on her shoulders was staggering, yet she managed to stand straight, and turn toward the fly of the tent. The faro players chuckled, dismissing it, and turned back to the tables.

  “Damn, Danny Duggin,” said Morgan Goss, “we both owe you our thanks. Dunc always was crazy as a June bug once he got to drinking.”

  “I know,” said Danielle, “I’ve seen it before.” She didn’t know how long she could stand the weight on her back, and she wasn’t about to let anybody see her have to drop him. “Tell his brother he’s all right. He just needs to sleep it off a couple of hours.”

  “We’ll tell him,” said Cincinnati Carver.

  Danielle forced herself to walk steady and upright beneath the crushing load until she’d left the tent and gotten out of the glow of lantern light. She staggered a few yards farther to the spot where the two of them had pitched their saddles and gear on a clear spot of ground. Dropping Duncan to the ground, her breath heaving in her chest, she dragged him by his ankles the few remaining feet to his rolled-up blanket. “I don’t know . . . why I’m wasting my . . . time on you,” she whispered, out of breath.

  When she’d finished spreading Duncan’s blanket and rolling him over onto it, Danielle wet her bandanna with tepid water from her canteen and pressed it to the welt on Duncan’s forehead. He groaned, and she sat down and adjusted his head over into her lap. “What—? What hit me?” he asked in a dazed voice.

  “Damn it, Dunc, I hit you, you fool,” she said.

  “But . . . why?” he asked, closing his eyes and relaxing in her lap.

  “Because you were about to kill a couple of your brother’s men, Carver and Goss.” She pressed the wet rag gently with one hand while she held her other hand beneath his chin.

  “Oh, I see,” Duncan said, his mind drifting. In his addled state he nuzzled his cheek against her stomach. Danielle smiled to herself, knowing that once he came to enough to realize what he was doing, this would jolt him the rest of the way to his senses. Not wanting to confuse his already unstable mental condition, she started to shift herself out from underneath him. But he managed to stop her by raising a limber arm and holding her in place.

  “Don’t go,” he said in a dreamy half-conscious voice. “I—I could lay here . . . all night. Couldn’t you?”

  Danielle smiled again to herself without answering. She sat still for a few minutes longer, touching the wet rag to his swollen forehead. When Duncan Grago finally opened his eyes and looked up at her face with some clarity, he gasped at the realization of where he was lying and how comfortable he’d been there. “Oh, my God,” he rasped. Yet Danielle noted that he still made no attempt to raise up.

  “It’s all right, Dunc,” Danielle said, shifting her weight once more in order to move from beneath him. But before she could free herself and stand up, Newt Grago’s voice called out in the moonlight.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Newt bellowed. He stomped closer as Duncan flung himself upward to his unsteady feet and hurriedly dusted the seat of his trousers. Danielle stood up as well, the wet bandanna hanging from her hand. She quickly raised her fingers to her mustache, making sure it was in place.

  “Nothing, Newt,” Duncan said, his words sounding shaky. “Danny here was just tending this bump on my head.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that bump and how it got there.” Newt’s eyes narrowed on Danielle. “I don’t know what kind of man you are, Danny Duggin. But by God, my brother’s coming with me to the shack, right now!” He reached out, grabbed Duncan’s wrist, and yanked him away from beside her. Behind Newt Grago, Danielle caught sight of Chancy Burke standing with his hand on his pistol, a wizened grin on his face.

  “Jesus, Newt!” Duncan Grago cut in, taking a wide, staggering step away from his brother. “What the hell are you thinking? Danny and me are pals! My God! You don’t think we—?”

  “Shut up, Dunc!” Newt spat at him. “Get to the shack, damn it to hell, before somebody else comes along here.” Before Duncan could offer anything more in his and Danielle’s defense, Newt moved in and shoved him away toward the path. As Duncan staggered out of sight, Newt spun back to Danielle. But he reined himself down at the sight of her drawn Colt cocked toward him and Chancy Burke.

  “Settle down, Newt Grago,” she said, knowing how easy it would be right then to kill him and Chancy Burke on the spot. Yet in doing so she also knew she would be throwing away her chance at getting the rest of her father’s killers once they’d all arrived. “Whatever you’re thinking, put it out of your mind. I cracked Dunc’s head because I figured you wouldn’t want him killing a couple of good horse thieves. I was soaking his head and nothing more, when you came in here.”

  Newt Grago only stood broiling in his rage and shock. Finally he said in a voice barely under control, “Come morning, you’re going to face Chancy Burke. We’ll see what you are, once and for all.”

  “What if I say no?” Danielle asked, not wanting to appear too anxious. “What if I just ride out of here tonight?”

  “I hope you try riding out of here,” Newt Grago warned. “I’ve got guards at every trail in and out. You’re here, and you’ll die here, come morning. Don’t let me see your face near my brother again.” He wheeled around and left, calling over his shoulder to Chancy Burke, “Come on, Burke, leave this sorry coyote to think about it all night.”

  “Right, Newt,” Chancy Burke said. Before turning away from Danielle, Burke said to her in a lowered tone, “See you in the morning, Danny boy.”

  “My pleasure, Burke,” Danielle whispered to herself as they stepped out of sight. Before the sound of their boots faded, Danielle gathered her blanket and saddle and moved away in the moonlight, not about to sleep here where they would expect her to be. At any time these men could change their minds and slip up on her in the night.

  Newt Grago stomped back to his shack, Duncan staggering forward a few feet in front of him and Chancy Burke moving up beside him. “Don’t you ever breathe a word of this to a soul,” Newt said without facing Burke, “or I’ll rip your tongue out. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you, Newt,” said Burke. “But I’ve got to ask, just between you and me, is poor Dunc gone crazy on us? Maybe from being in prison too long?”

  “There ain’t a damn thing wrong with Dunc!” Newt stopped in midstride and grabbed Chancy Burke by his shirt, raging close to his face, “It’s that bastard Danny Duggin, or whoever the hell that pansy
really is! He’s got Dunc’s mind all twisted out of shape. Can’t you see that?”

  “Sure, Newt, I see it, take it easy,” Chancy Burke replied quickly, although deep down he had some doubts about Duncan Grago after seeing the way he’d acted back there.

  “I want that man dead in the dirt, Burke. And I don’t want to hear another word about something being wrong with my brother!” He turned Burke’s shirt loose and huffed away.

  Burke stood for a second grinning to himself, casting a glance back toward the spot where they had left Danielle. “Hell,” Burke said aloud to himself in the darkness, “you ain’t fooling me, Danny Duggin. You might be quick, you might even shoot straight. But I’ve got you pegged now, Danny boy. This is going to be too damn easy.”

  Chapter 13

  Robber’s Rock, Indian Territory, July 25, 1871

  Before daylight, Danielle got up from her blanket, having slept on and off throughout the night without a campfire, and carried her saddle and gear to the place where she’d left Sundown. She saddled the mare, walking her closer to the encampment but not bringing her all the way in. Instead, she left the mare hitched to a white oak tree several yards away from the rope corral where all the other horses were kept. There were more horses there now. All through the night, Danielle had heard the sound of drunken laughter emanating from the big gambling tents. More than once she’d heard the sound of pistol fire. She hoped the men on her list were among the outlaws that had arrived in the night.

  The clearing in front of the plank shack was almost empty now in the early dawn light. Across from the shack, three men sat on the ground out front of one of the big tents with a bottle of rye, passing it back and forth between them. Danielle recognized Morgan Goss as one of the men, his tall sombrero now slumped forward. One of Lulu’s girls sat on his lap with her arms around his neck. As Danielle came closer, one of the other men gigged Goss in his ribs. Morgan Goss looked up at Danielle and blinked his large bloodshot eyes. “Danny Duggin, you best clear out of here for your own good,” he said in a whiskey-slurred voice.