Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare Read Online Free Page B

beans, and some cornmeal. On second thought, sparing her bacon, she bought half a ham, which was all the chestnut mare could comfortably carry.
    The storekeeper eyed her curiously, for he had seen all kinds come and go. They were getting younger all the time, he decided, with a sigh. Danielle continued riding south. Eventually, she came to the village of Paris, Texas. There was a general store, a livery, a hotel, and a sheriff’s office. Adjoining the hotel was a cafe. Already tired of her own cooking, Danielle went to the cafe and ordered a meal. Once finished, she had a question for the owner.
    â€œI’m looking for a gent name of Bart Scovill. His middle name is Dave, and sometimes he goes by that.”
    â€œCan’t help you there,” said the cafe’s cook. “You might try Sheriff Monroe. He knows everybody within two hundred miles.”
    Danielle took a room at the hotel and went looking for Sheriff Monroe, finding him in his office, cleaning his Winchester.
    â€œBarton Scovill is sheriff over to Mineral Wells, in Palo Pinto County. His kid run off up north somewhere to stay out of the war. I ain’t seen him in near ten years. He’d be near thirty by now.”
    â€œI’d hate to ride all the way over there and find out he’s the wrong hombre ,” Danielle said. “Do you know if his middle name is Dave, or David?”
    â€œI got no idea,” said Sheriff Monroe. “To tell the truth, my own son was killed in the war, and I got no respect for them that run off to avoid it.”
    â€œI can’t say I blame you, Sheriff,” Danielle said. “Thanks for your help.”
    Danielle took the chestnut mare to the livery, rubbed her down, and ordered a double portion of grain for her. She then took her saddlebags and Winchester to the small room she had rented. Clouds were building up in the west, and there would be rain before dark. She felt the need of a good night’s rest in a warm bed, with a stall and grain for the chestnut mare. The first thing she did was lock the door, draw the window shade, and strip off all her clothes. She was well endowed enough that the binder was extremely uncomfortable, and she took it off gratefully. She then sat on the bed naked and cross-legged, cleaning and oiling her Colt. Again, she fully loaded it with six shells. Outside, the wind was screaming around the eaves, and there was the first pattering of rain on the windowpane. Danielle delayed supper until the rain subsided, enjoying the comfort of the rickety bed. By the time she reached the cafe, the rain had started again. Dusk was falling as she left the cafe, and that and the rain were all that saved her. Two slugs slammed into the cafe’s wall, just inches from her head. Instantly, Danielle had her Colt out, but with the rain and darkness, there was no target. Reaching her room, she removed only her hat, boots, and gun belt. The Colt she placed under her pillow. But the night was peaceful, and Danielle lay awake wondering who had fired the shots at her the day before. Carefully, she made her way to the cafe for breakfast, and then to her room for her saddlebags and Winchester. She saddled the chestnut mare and rode east toward Dallas.
    Â 
    Dallas, Texas. July 11, 1870.
    Â 
    Dallas was the largest town Danielle had ever visited, and she was somewhat in awe of it. She dismounted before a livery, and the first person she saw was Slack Hitchfelt.
    â€œHold it, kid,” he said, his hands raised. “I don’t want no trouble.”
    â€œYou missed last night,” said Danielle. “Sure you don’t want to try again?”
    â€œI ain’t drawin’ on you, kid, now or ever,” Hitchfelt said.
    â€œWhere’s your scruffy partners, Font and Nations?”
    â€œI dunno,” said Hitchfelt. “We busted up. Said they was ridin’ north. To Dodge City, likely.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that,” Danielle said.