Ralph Compton Double: Rough Justice #1

Chapter 1

Danielle spent her second night in Indian Territory unmolested. As she lay looking at the glittering stars, it occurred to her she might actually have to join a band of outlaws to find the men she sought. Somewhere, one of the killers carried her father's 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.

Indian Territory. July 8, 1870.

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 woodsmoke. Dismounting, leading the mare, she called out a challenge.

"Hello, the camp!"

A rustling in the brush was proof enough that one or more of the outlaws were preparing to cover her.

"Come in closer where we can see you," a voice shouted. "Strangers ain't welcome."

"I'm Dan Strange," Danielle shouted back, "and my grub's running low. I was hoping for an invite to supper."

"Come 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.

"Hell," said one of the men, "it's a shirttail kid that ain't old enough to shave."

"What are you doin' in the Territory, kid?" a second outlaw asked. "You won't find nobody here to change your diapers."

"I 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.

"You'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?"

"I have no idea," Danielle said. "They came after me with guns drawn, so I shot them."

"You shot them while they had the drop on you?"

"I did," said Danielle. "Wouldn't you?"

"If 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.

"I'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."

"I've already told you my name," said Danielle.

"That's an unusual iron you're carryin'," Kirby said. "Mind if I have a look at it?"

"Nobody takes my Colt," said Danielle.

"The kid's smarter than he looks," Cude Nations said.

"Hell," 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."

"Well, it's not." Danielle said. "A gunsmith in St. Joe made only four of these."

"I 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.

"That don't make sense," Hargis Cox said. "Bart Scovill's got no 'D' in his name."

"You ain't knowed him as long as I have," said Caney Font. "His middle name is David, and there's times he calls himself Bart Davis."

"Where are you bound, kid?" Cude Nations asked.

"Away from Fort Smith," said Danielle.

The outlaws laughed. Her answer had told them nothing, and it was the kind of humor they could appreciate.

"We don't eat too high on the hog, kid," Caney Font said, "but you're welcome to stay to what there is."

The food was bacon, beans, and sourdough biscuits, washed down with coffee. Danielle was ravenous, having had no breakfast.

"Kid," Caney Font said after they had eaten, "we might could use that fast gun of yours. That is, if you ain't playin' games."

"Pick a target," said Danielle.

"What about this tin the beans was in?" Slack Hitchfelt said.

Without warning, Hitchfelt threw the tin into the air. In a split second, Danielle fired twice, drilling the can with both shots before it touched the ground.

"My God, that's some shootin'," said Caney Font. "How'd you learn to shoot like that, kid?"

"Practice," Danielle said, punching out the empty casings and reloading.

"How'd you like to ride with us to Wichita on a bank job?" asked Caney Font.

"I don't think so," Danielle said. "I have other business."

Cletus Kirby laughed. "What business is more important than money?"

"Killing the bastards that murdered my father," said Danielle.

"Then I reckon you ain't interested in joinin' us," Slack Hitchfelt said.

"No," said Danielle.

"Then I reckon it's unfortunate for you, kid," said Caney Font. "One word to the law in Wichita, and it'll all be over for us."

"I'm not going to Wichita," Danielle said.

"You're a sure enough killer, but you ain't no outlaw," said Peavey Oden.

Danielle saw it coming. She had refused to throw in with them, and having revealed their plans, they had to kill her. If they all drew simultaneously, she was doomed. But they had no prearranged signal. Peavy Oden drew first, with Hargis Cox and Cletus Kirby a second behind. Danielle fired three times in a drumroll of sound, while the men who had drawn against her hadn't even gotten off a shot. The remaining three outlaws were careful not to move their hands.

"The rest of you-Font, Nations, and Hitchfelt-are welcome to saddle up and ride," said Danielle. "Make the mistake of following me, and now that I know your intentions, I'll gun you down without warning."

"We ain't about to follow you, kid," said Caney Font. "At least, I ain't."

"Me neither," Nations and Hitchfelt said in a single voice.

"Then saddle up and ride," said Danielle.

Careful to keep their hands free of their weapons, the trio saddled their horses and rode into the night. Danielle's hands trembled as she reloaded her Colt. While she had a lead toward one of her father's killers, she had already gunned down five men. When and where would it end? She saddled the chestnut mare and was about to mount when it occurred to her that she should search the dead outlaws. As distasteful as the task was, she found a total of a hundred and twenty dollars in the pockets of the dead men. Common sense soon overcame her guilt and she took the money.

Already tired of killing and outlaws, she rode south, toward the Red River and Texas. There was a chance the men she hunted had traveled as far from the scene of their crime as they could, and Texas was by far larger than Indian Territory. Danielle forded the Red at the familiar cattle crossing, near Doan's Store. Taking some of the money she had, she bought supplies she had been doing without, such as a small coffeepot, coffee, a skillet, canned 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 were a general store, a livery, a hotel, and a sheriff's office. Adjoining the hotel was a café. Already tired of her own cooking, Danielle went to the café and ordered a meal. Once finished, she had a question for the owner.

"I'm looking for a gent name of Bart Scovill. His middle name is Dave, and sometimes he goes by that."

"Can't help you there," said the café'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.

"Barton 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."

"I'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?"

"I 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."

"I 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 café, the rain had started again. Dusk was falling as she left the café, and that and the rain were all that saved her. Two slugs slammed into the café'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 café for breakfast, and then to her room for her saddlebags and Winchester. She saddled the chestnut mare and rode east toward Dallas.

Dallas, Texas. July 11, 1870.

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.

"Hold it, kid," he said, his hands raised. "I don't want no trouble."

"You missed last night," said Danielle. "Sure you don't want to try again?"

"I ain't drawin' on you, kid, now or ever," Hitchfelt said.

"Where's your scruffy partners, Font and Nations?"

"I dunno," said Hitchfelt. "We busted up. Said they was ridin' north. To Dodge City likely."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Danielle said. "You deserved one another."

Danielle kept her eye on Hitchfelt until he rode away. She then left the chestnut mare at the livery, taking her saddlebags and her Winchester. The rain had continued most of the day, with every indication it would last the night. Danielle got herself a cheap room in an out-of-the-way hotel, returning to it after supper. She propped a ladder-back chair under the doorknob and slept with her Colt in her hand.

Mineral Wells, Texas. July 13, 1870.

It wasn't difficult to find the sheriff's office. Danielle had bought a second Colt, and she placed the gun her father had given her in her saddlebag, replacing it with the ordinary Colt in her holster. If Bart-or Dave-Scovill was around, the fancy weapon would immediately arouse his suspicion. She would use her mother's maiden name if there was a chance her true family name might reveal her mission to the killers.

"Sheriff," she said, "I'm Daniel Faulkner, and I'm looking for work of just any kind. Do you know of anybody that's hiring?"

"Not a soul, kid," said the sheriff. "The war chewed everybody up and spit 'em out. Nobody has anything but a few cows, and they're all but worthless unless you can get 'em to the railroad, and it takes money to do that."

While Danielle was in the sheriff's office, a young man reined up outside and came in. Two things about him immediately caught Danielle's attention. A lawman's star was pinned on his vest, and in his holster was the silver-mounted Colt with a "D" on the grip. This man was one of her father's killers!

"Excuse my poor manners," said the sheriff. "I'm Barton Scovill, and this is my son, Dave, who's also my deputy. Dave, this is Daniel Faulkner."

The younger Scovill nodded. Not trusting herself to speak, Danielle stepped out the door, closing it behind her. She paused by the chestnut mare, seeking to calm herself and ease her shaking hands. The irony of it struck her, and it might have been amusing under different circumstances, but as things stood, the first of the men she must kill to avenge her father was a deputy sheriff. There was no mistaking the pistol that had belonged to her father, and no doubt she'd get the rope if she were captured for killing Scovill. She had to devise a plan, and so she went looking for a livery for the chestnut mare, and an obscure hotel for herself. Finding both, she took her saddlebags and Winchester to her room, where she stretched out on the bed to think.

"Damn it," she said aloud, "I must get close enough to do the job, and still manage to escape without being seen."

Just then she recalled seeing a notice posted on the hotel's front window. Saturday night there was to be a Palo Pinto County dance. She got up and went downstairs.

"What about that Palo Pinto dance?" she asked the desk clerk. "Would it be worth my time, staying over for it?"