Free Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare by RALPH COMPTON

pretty,” Danielle said, trying mightily to hide her jealousy.
    â€œShe’s also just sixteen,” said Tuck. “From what I hear, I think her ma dresses her in cast-iron underpants.”
    Danielle laughed, slapping her thighs with her hat, as a man would do.
    â€œGive her another year or two,” Tuck continued, “and some varmint will have his loop on her. Barney Dumont, Eric Chadman, Abram and Clement Baldwin, and the Flagg boys, Floyd and Edward, are all makin’ eyes at her. What chance would I have?”
    â€œNone, if you don’t get off your hunkers and make a bid,” said Danielle. “You could always take her swimming. You don’t look too bad in your bare hide.”
    â€œI might have known if anybody ever said that to me, it’d be some hombre ,” Tuck said.
    â€œYou have fifty dollars,” said Danielle. “While you’re here, you could always buy yourself a heavy hammer and a good chisel.”
    â€œWhat for?” Tuck demanded.
    Danielle chuckled. “For the cast-iron underpants.”
    Tuck laughed in spite of himself. They reined up before the mercantile, where the other two mules were tied to a hitch rail. The canvas on their wagon had been raised, and one look told them the loading—or most of it—had been done. Barrels of flour sat on the floor of the wagon bed, while lighter goods were piled as high as the wagon bows would permit.
    â€œMy God,” said Tuck, “I hope we can pay for all this.”
    â€œWe might as well find out,” Danielle said. “Come on.”
    â€œThree hundred and thirty-five dollars,” said the storekeeper. “I had to cut back to half the sugar and coffee beans you wanted, so’s I’d have some for my regular customers.”
    Wordlessly, Tuck handed Danielle thirty-five dollars with a wink while she counted out the three hundred. It was ironic that the fifty dollars he had won in the saloon had paid for the needed gun parts, with enough left to pay the mercantile.
    They harnessed the mules, and only when they mounted the wagon box did Tuck say anything.
    â€œWell, I’m broke. There goes the hammer and chisel.”
    Danielle laughed. “Maybe you won’t need it until we reach Abilene. By then, you’ll have the money. Or maybe you can get in solid enough with Enos Chadman, he’ll let you have the key.”
    Tuck Carlyle actually blushed, and Danielle laughed. She had learned much in the ways of men, and when it came to cowboy humor, she was giving as good as she got.
    â€œThere’ll be rain sometime tonight,” said Tuck, changing the subject.
    â€œAt least we have a wagon canvas to protect the load,” Danielle said. “I reckon we’ll get wet, but we’ll be wet many more times before we get to Abilene.”
    Â 
    North of Dallas. August 14, 1870.
    â€œWe’re making good time,” said Tuck. “All the way from our ranch to Dallas and back to here in four days. We’ve come a good twenty-five miles today. If the rain don’t bring mud hub-deep, we’ll be home in another two days.”
    But the rain started just before dark and didn’t diminish until the next morning.
    â€œDamn,” Tuck groaned, “we ain’t going anywhere with this load. Not until there’s been a couple of days of sun.”
    They picketed the mules and sat down on the wagon tongue, allowing the morning sun to dry their sodden hats, boots, and clothing.
    By way of conversation, Danielle spoke.
    â€œIf we find and gun these varmints down, there may be others who’ll continue rustling your cattle. What of them?”
    â€œIf we make this drive successfully,” Tuck said, “we’ll have money to hire riders and protect our stock. With cows selling for three dollars a head in Texas, we might actually buy some. Three thousand dollars would buy a thousand head. That many cows driven to the railroad in Kansas,