Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare Read Online Free

Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare
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Colt, and it was a unique piece that a man who lived by the gun would remember. Could she pass herself off as an outlaw among killers and thieves? It seemed the only way. She remembered Buck Jordan sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing only his undershirt. She realized she had led a sheltered life, and that men on the frontier were likely more crude than she even imagined. The kind of men she must associate with would soon become suspicious of her furious blushing. She drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow she would begin looking for a band of outlaws. The distressing thought crossed her mind that she might die the same senseless death as her father had, but that was the chance she had to take.
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    Indian Territory. July 8, 1870.
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    Three days into Indian Territory, Danielle encountered a group of men who could only be outlaws. It was late in the day when she smelled wood smoke. Dismounting, leading the mare, she called out a challenge.
    â€œHello, the camp!”
    A rustling in the brush was proof enough that one or more of the outlaws were preparing to cover her.
    â€œCome in closer, where we can see you,” a voice shouted. “Strangers ain’t welcome.”
    â€œI’m Dan Strange,” Danielle shouted back, “and my grub’s running low. I was hoping for an invite to supper.”
    â€œCome on in,” the voice invited, “but don’t get too busy with your hands. We got you covered.”
    There were four men in camp, and two more who came out of the brush.
    â€œHell,” said one of the men, “it’s a shirttail kid that ain’t old enough to shave.”
    â€œWhat are you doin’ in the Territory, kid?” a second outlaw asked. “You won’t find nobody here to change your diapers.”
    â€œI shot two hombres near Fort Smith,” said Danielle, “and they had friends. It seemed like a good idea to move on.”
    It was time for a test, and one of the outlaws reached for his Colt. He froze before he cleared leather, for Danielle already had him covered.
    â€œYou’re awful damn sudden with that iron, kid,” said the man who had been about to draw. “Put it away. I was just testin’ you. Part of our business is bein’ suspicious. Who was the two hombres you gunned down?”
    â€œI have no idea,” Danielle said. “They came after me with guns drawn so I shot them.”
    â€œ You shot them while they had the drop on you?”
    â€œI did,” said Danielle. “Wouldn’t you?”
    â€œIf I was fast enough,” the outlaw said.
    The rest of the men laughed and relaxed. It was the kind of action they could relate to, and the outlaw who had just been outdrawn introduced the bunch.
    â€œI’m Caney Font. To your left is Cude Nations, Slack Hitchfelt, and Peavey Oden. The two varmints that just come out of the brush is Hargis Cox and Cletus Kirby.”
    â€œI’ve already told you my name,” said Danielle.
    â€œThat’s an unusual iron you’re carryin’,” Kirby said. “Mind if I have a look at it?”
    â€œNobody takes my Colt,” said Danielle.
    â€œThe kid’s smarter than he looks,” Cude Nations said.
    â€œHell,” said Kirby, “I never seen but one pistol like that, and I wanted a closer look. It looks like the same gun Bart Scovill had.”
    â€œWell, it’s not.” Danielle said. “A gunsmith in St. Joe made only four of these.”
    â€œI reckoned Scovill likely stole the one he had,” said Kirby. “He ain’t the kind to lay out money on a fancy iron. He claimed he had it made special, just for him, and it did have a letter ‘D’ inlaid in the butt plates.” Danielle’s ears pricked up at the mention of the gun.
    â€œThat don’t make sense,” Hargis Cox said. “Bart Scovill’s got no ‘D’ in his name.”
    â€œYou ain’t knowed him as long as I
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