The Shadow of a Noose

by Ralph Compton

  Newt Grago laughed thinly as he took the money.

  “Hell, okay then, even money on Burke and Danny Duggin. We’ll be starting as soon as Duggin shows up. Meanwhile, have you seen Dunc?”

  “Nope,” Mather said. “He hasn’t shown his face after what happened over at Lulu’s earlier.”

  “What happened at Lulu’s?” Grago asked in stunned surprise.

  Before Mather could answer, they recognized the voice of Danny Duggin calling out from forty yards away. “Chancy Burke! Let’s get to it!”

  The men gathered in the clearing stepped away at the sound of the voice. They formed a wide path for Danielle to walk through. She came forward slowly but steadily, her right hand passing close to the big Colt on her hip with each step. Among the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Tim and Jed standing beside Arno Dunne. Jed stepped forward, saying, “Danny? Danny Duggin? Remember us?”

  “Not now,” Danielle said, staring straight ahead. “There’s killing to be done.” Tim reached out and pulled Jed back, while Arno Dunne shook his head in disgust at Jed’s action.

  “You’ve been wanting it, Burke, now come and get it!” Danielle said with finality, stopping at ten yards and planting her feet a shoulder-width apart. A few feet to one side of the crowd, Bill Longley sipped back the last of his coffee and moved forward, watching with keen interest.

  Beside Newt and Chancy Burke, Dave Mather chuckled, saying to Burke, “Well, Chancy, here’s where the bullet meets the bone. Don’t let the fact that you’re about to die throw you off your game none.”

  “Go to hell, Mather,” Chancy Burke hissed, stepping past him, and starting a wide, slow half circle to his left, wanting to get to where he could put the sun in this young gunman’s eyes.

  “Take your time, Burke, get it where you want it,” Danielle called out to him. “It’s a high-noon sun, so it won’t help you much. Get your hand steady and your mind clear. I’m ready when you are.”

  “That’s real obliging of you,” Burke replied, moving sidelong, one slow step at a time, putting wide clearance between himself and Newt Grago and the others. Then he stopped, seeing the noon sun was indeed no help to him at all. “This will do just fine for me, Duggin.” But Burke raised a hand toward Danielle, putting the fight off for a moment as he half turned to Newt Grago, calling out to him, “Are all the bets in place, Newt?”

  Newt Grago nodded. “That’s all I wanted to know,” Burke said, keeping his left hand raised toward Danielle. Without lowing his left hand, Chancy Burke spun suddenly, his hand coming up with his pistol, cocking it on the upswing. The crowd gasped, unprepared for his surprise move. But Danielle was ready. She’d known his play when he’d raised his hand and turned toward Grago. Her Colt exploded before Burke even got his pistol all the way up.

  One loud burst of fire filled the clearing, followed by a grunt from Chancy Burke as he staggered backward, turned a full circle, then sank to his wobbling knees. Danielle could tell his world was spinning around him as she stepped forward with her Colt hanging in her hand.

  “That’s what it feels like, Burke,” Danielle said, bending down with him as he rocked back flat on the ground. His pistol spilled from his hand, and his fingers tried clawing at it. “Go ahead, pick it up. Die with it in your hand.” She bent down face-to-face, and whispered in his ear, “That was my pa you and your rats killed last year. You left him hanging from a tree. I just wanted you to die knowing that there’s one killing you didn’t get away with.”

  “You . . . you son of a bitch,” Chancy Burke gasped. His fingertips managed to wrap around the butt of the pistol, struggling to raise it.

  “Wrong again,” Danielle said. “I’m no son at all. I was his daughter.” She paused for a second letting it sink into his fading eyes. Then she said, “Be sure and tell the devil it was a woman who sent you to hell.” Straightening and taking a short step back, she waited until the pistol in his hand moved forward, shaky, trying to level up on her. She fired a round down into his forehead, then opened the cylinder on her Colt, punching out to the two spent cartridges and replacing them. As she closed the cylinder and spun it down her forearm, Newt Grago, Dave Mather, and Merlin Haas stepped in beside her.

  “You didn’t have to do that!” Newt Grago said angrily. “You could see he was dying!”

  “It’s your contest, not mine, Grago,” Danielle said. “One man dies, one man wins. What’s next on today’s events?” She turned, facing him up close, resisting the urge to unload her Colt into his belly. Grago held her stare. She could see he was on the verge of going for his pistol, and she almost hoped he would.

  “Well, now,” Dave Mather said, seeing trouble about to erupt between them and moving forward to stop it, “I believe you owe me a thousand dollars, Newt.” He snapped his fingers, grinning at Newt Grago. “I’ll have it now, if you please.”

  Newt Grago pulled back a step and forced his eyes away from Danielle to Mather. He took out a huge roll of bills and counted them off into Mather’s palm. The crowd sifted forward toward Chancy Burke’s body. Tim and Jed looked up from the bullet hole in Burke’s head, and stared at Danielle. “Lord, Danny Duggin,” Jed whispered, shaking his head slowly. Danielle could not face him, so she turned and walked away toward Lulu’s tent.

  “So I guess that’s that,” said Bill Longley, giving Newt Grago a sarcastic smile. “We all see who’s the man to beat now, don’t we?”

  “You’re up with Danny Duggin anytime you want it, Longley,” Newt Grago growled. “Just say the word. I want that man dead, for reasons I ain’t even going to explain.”

  But Longley only laughed, taking half of the thousand dollars Dave Mather handed to him.

  “What for, Newt? I just made half of the amount I came here for without having to fire a shot. I might double it up at Lulu’s tonight and head out come morning. Never let it be said that I ain’t a man of peace.”

  Bill Longley turned to walk away with Dave Mather, but Grago stopped him, calling out, “Don’t rush off, Bill, I might have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh?” Longley turned back, smiling toward him. “Why, Newt, I’m always pleased to listen to anything you’ve got to say. Go on to Lulu’s, Mysterious Dave . . . I’ll be along directly.”

  Chapter 15

  Danielle had Lulu’s tent to herself for a few moments while all the outlaws and gunmen milled around the body of Chancy Burke. The first person to arrive a few minutes behind her was Dave Mather, and he did so with a look of respect in his dark eyes as he sidled up to the bar and tipped his hat back. “You’re not drinking, I see,” Mather said to Danielle, flagging down Lulu to order himself a whiskey with a beer chaser.

  “No,” Danielle said in a flat tone, standing with her back against the bar and a boot propped up behind her. “You might not want to stand too close to me, Mysterious Dave. I’ve got a feeling Newt Grago ain’t real happy with the outcome of the first match of the day. There could be a hail of gunfire come through this tent any minute.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Mather said, raising the whiskey and sipping it. “But you’re right, Newt ain’t at all pleased.” He savored the taste of the whiskey for a second then took a drink of beer and wiped his hand across his mustache. “I have no doubt he’s out there right now, trying to get Bill Longley to challenge you into a match.”

  “Bill Longley can challenge all he wants to, I’m not fighting him,” Danielle said.

  “They’ll goad you down, Danny Duggin, and you know how that goes.” Mather smiled. “They’ll call you a coward, try to get under your skin.”

  “Yep, they can do that.” Danielle cocked her head toward Dave Mather. “But I don’t fall for kid games. Newt Grago made threats on Chancy Burke’s behalf, and Burke made some on his own. I didn’t do it for the money or the name of doing it. I did it because I was told by both of them that I would have to if I ever wanted to leave here alive. Now Burke’s dead and I’m still standing. That’s as simple as I can call it. To hell with Newt Grago and wh
at he wants.” She wasn’t about to tell Mather the truth—that she had come here for the sole purpose of killing not only Burke, but Grago and the others as well.

  “I’ll say something to Bill Longley if he goes for Grago’s deal, whatever it is,” Mather said. “If I can, I’ll keep him from raining down your back.”

  “I appreciate your offer, Dave, but don’t worry about my back, it’s rainproof. I know Bill Longley’s reputation. If he makes a move on me, I’ll burn him down—same as I did Chancy Burke, same as I would anybody else.”

  “By God, you sure ain’t short on confidence, are you, Danny Duggin?” Mather chuckled.

  “Nope. If I was, I’d have been dead a long time ago.” Danielle turned her head and spoke down the bar to Lulu. “Maybe I’ll take a beer, after all. Bring Dave another one, too.”

  Lulu quickly filled two mugs and slid them down the plank bar. Danielle hooked one and raised it to her lips. When she lowered it, she looked at Mather curiously, asking, “Why would you do that for me, Dave?”

  “What? Speak to Bill Longley on your behalf?” Dave Mather shrugged, raising his fresh beer. “Hell, I don’t know. If I needed a reason, I reckon I’d say it’s because you strike me as a man on a mission. I don’t believe you belong here in this bunch, and I don’t believe you’re here by choice. Something brought you here, Danny Duggin, some task you can’t let go of till it’s finished.” He sipped his beer and sat it down. “Am I right?”

  Danielle didn’t answer right away. Instead she looked off for a moment. “If I was here on some sort of mission like you say, do you think I’d admit it?”

  “Of course not,” Mather said, getting the message. He raised his beer in salute. “But all the same, here’s to missions, and those of us who carry them out.”

  They drank their beer as others began arriving at the tent in twos and threes, talking about the shooting, and speculating on the matches coming up. Lulu got busy behind the bar, setting up bottles of whiskey and sliding frothing beer mugs into eager hands. When Bill Longley came in, he walked straight to Danielle and Dave Mather. A few drinkers scooted away, giving him plenty of elbow room, something Longley had grown accustomed to, owing to his deadly reputation. “I don’t know what the trouble is between you and Newt Grago,” Longley said to Danielle, “but he’s sure bent on seeing you dead.”

  Danielle stared at him for second, then said, “I notice he’s not bent enough to come do it himself.”

  Bill Longley laughed under his breath. “I noticed that myself. Still, the fact remains, you are the man to beat now. If I’m the only one here who has the grit to challenge you, I reckon that means it’s you and me, first thing in the morning. That’ll give these boys the rest of today to kill each other off.” He nodded toward the other drinkers, who were hurrying with the beer, some of them headed back out into the clearing with a mug in one hand and a bottle of whiskey under their arm.

  “What if I say no?” Danielle asked.

  Bill raised a finger as if trying to work something out in his mind. “See, that’s the same thing I just asked Newt Grago. He said if you refused to face me, he’d go ahead and pay me to shoot you down where you stand.”

  “Whoa now, Bill,” Dave Mather said, seeing that Danielle wasn’t backing down an inch. In fact, she straightened from against the bar with her hand poised near her Colt. “Danny and I were just talking about that. Danny Duggin here won’t admit it, but there’s something between him and Grago that we don’t know about. I told him if he wanted to drop out of the contest, that was his business. Don’t you agree?”

  Longley looked as if he couldn’t understand why on earth a gunman with the skill he’d just witnessed would turn down a chance to better himself. He glanced at Mysterious Dave Mather, then looked back at Danielle. “Didn’t you come here for the contest?”

  “I came here with Duncan Grago because he said his brother was looking for new men to ride with him. I had no idea about this contest.” Danielle looked hard at Mather, adding, “And I never admitted there was anything between me and Newt Grago.”

  “Well, it’s easy enough to see,” said Bill Longley. “Speaking of Dunc Grago, that’s one more thing that’s got Newt Grago all worked up in a latter. He ain’t been able to find his brother since he came back. Seems to think you might have dealt ol’ Dunc some dirt.”

  Danielle shook her head. “Then he should be standing here asking me about it, instead of you. Fact is, I haven’t seen Dunc myself, not since you tossed him out of here earlier. The shape he’s in, he might have rode out, not wanting anybody to see him. But that’s no concern of mine. What about this offer Newt made you, Longley? Did you take him up on it?” She stood firm, knowing she was looking into the eyes of one the fastest, most cold-blooded gunmen in the West.

  Longley rubbed his neck with his left hand, apparently having a hard time deciding. “Damn,” he said finally, “I knew if I turned it down, Newt’ll have no trouble at all getting a few of his regulars to gang up on you. I hated turning down hard cash.” He looked at Dave Mather. “Do you see my point, Mysterious Dave?”

  “Yep”—Dave Mather nodded—“but you’re the one who always says you have no respect for a man who hires somebody to do his fighting for him. Danny Duggin here says he don’t want to fight you, and we both saw it ain’t because he don’t know how. Turn it loose, Bill. We made some money. It’s not as much as you wanted, but once some of the other gunmen show up, you might still get your chance at your thousand-dollar mark.” He smiled, polishing off the last drink from his mug and added, “Meanwhile, if you want to do something that makes good sense, buy us all a beer.”

  Bill Longley looked Danielle up and down again, then spread a thin, crafty smile. “I turned Newt’s offer down. I just wanted to see how you reacted. I came here for the match, not to get into Newt Grago’s favor. Let him do his own shooting. I never liked the coyote that much to begin with.” He looked past Danielle, to Lulu behind the bar, waving her over to them to order a round. At the tent fly, Cincinnati Carver stuck his head in and said to the remaining outlaws still waiting to be served, “Better get a move on, boys. Cotton Pate and Little Joe Anderson are getting ready to face off!” As the men hurried out through the fly, Cincinnati Carver stuck his head back in and said to Mather, Longley, and Danielle, “What about ya’ll? Ain’t you gonna watch it?”

  “Naw, get on out of here, Cincinnati,” Longley said in a bored tone. “Once you’ve seen one hog killing, you’ve seen them all.”

  The sound of distant pistol fire caused the horses to twitch their ears, but the six riders only passed knowing glances back and forth at one another as they rode on slowly between the two slim buttes and turned off the main trail toward the encampment. Once off the narrow trail they rode abreast, Rufe Gaddis in the center. On his right rode Blade Hogue; on his left, Saul Delmano. The other three men were Jack Pitch, Max Dupre, and Billy Joe Earls, hardcase gunmen who’d been riding with them in South Texas the past few weeks and welcomed the chance to throw in with Newt Grago’s gang. When word of a shooting contest had reached them, Jack Pitch had bought himself a new customized model Remington, and had been practicing with it at every opportunity. Seeing they were turning off the main trail and eager to get to the encampment, Jack Pitch asked the others, “What the hell are we being so cautious for? There’s nobody there but ole boys like ourselves. Nobody could have snuck past the guards.”

  Rufe Gaddis barely turned a glance at him, saying, “I’m always cautious. I’d rather swing wide by a mile than ride with the sun to my face. Have you got a problem with that?”

  “Just asking,” Jack Pitch said, spurring his horse forward.

  They rode on, circling wide of the encampment and turning back toward it from the west once the afternoon sun was at their backs. They rode in silence until they entered a stretch of scrub oak surrounding a small basin. The riders fell back into a line as they rounded the edge of a tall stand of rock. Then, where the stand of rock ended and the trail began t
o widen again, Rufe Gaddis stopped his horse short with a jerk on its reins and said in a stunned voice, “Good God almighty!”

  Staring at the body hanging from the rope tied to an overhead branch of a white oak tree, the men pressed their horses close together. “That poor hombre ain’t been hanging there long,” Blade Hogue said under his breath, scanning the area. “Reckon them lawmen we heard about managed to slip in here?”

  Rufe Gaddis stepped his horse to one side, looked around at the other riders, and said gruffly, “Damned if I know. But the way we’re squeezed up here, one shot would just about hit every one of us.”

  Billy Joe Earls and Blade Hogue traded confused looks with one another for a second.

  Rufe Gaddis swung an arm through the air impatiently. “I mean, spread out some, damn it! Take some cover somewhere.”

  The men yanked their horses apart as Rufe Gaddis stepped down from his saddle. Drawing his rifle from its boot, he said over his shoulder to Saul Delmano and Jack Pitch, “You two come with me. Watch my back.”

  The three men walked the twenty-yard distance slowly, casting glances all around the small clearing surrounding the white oak. When they stopped ten feet back and looked up once more at the body swaying in the air, its blue hands hanging limp at its sides, Rufe Gaddis reached down and drew a knife from his boot well and pitched it over to Saul Delmano, saying in a low guarded tone, “Get over there, Saul, and cut him down.” He nodded to where the rope led down from the limb and was drawn tight, tied off around the bottom of the trunk.

  Gaddis and Pitch took a step backward, watching as Saul Delmano sliced through the rope. When the body thudded on the ground at their feet, Rufe Gaddis leaned down close and looked at the purple swollen face, its black tongue bulging.

  “Who is it, Rufe? You recognize him?” Jack Pitch asked, seeing the look on Rufe Gaddis’s face as he pushed up his hat brim and shook his head.