Free Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare by RALPH COMPTON Page B

Danielle said.
    â€œI’m good at most everything I’ve tried,” said Tuck. “Of course,” he said, winking, “I got a few things I ain’t tried.”
    â€œOne of them being Katrina, I suppose,” Danielle said.
    â€œHell, I can dream, can’t I?” said Tuck. “I saw her watching you while we were there at the Chadmans. Chadman’s impressed with you. By the time we get to Abilene, you may have already been inside those underpants.”
    â€œMaybe,” Danielle said, for once not blushing, “but I’ll tell everybody else what I’ve told you and Carrie. My pa’s killers come first.”
    Despite the mud, Tuck’s expert handling of the teams managed to keep the wagon on high ground. He continued on until after sundown before unharnessing the tired mules.
    â€œI figure we’re not more than thirty-five miles from the ranch,” said Tuck. “If all goes well, we’ll be there late tomorrow. Not bad, three days to Dallas and four back, returning with a loaded wagon.”
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    â€œWhere are they, Ma?” Carrie complained. “They’ve been gone a week today.”
    Mrs. Carlyle laughed. “Who are you missing? Tuck or Daniel?”
    â€œI miss them both,” said Carrie. “The rest of the ranchers have gathered their five hundred head, and they’re waiting on us.”
    â€œThey’ve also promised to help Tuck and Daniel with our herd,” Mrs. Carlyle said. “It shouldn’t be more than a day, with so many riders.”
    â€œThere was a full night of rain to the south of here, night before last,” said Carrie. “The mud may be deep. They may still be three days away.”
    â€œWe’ll just have to wait and see,” Mrs. Carlyle replied. “I’m sure they’ll be here as soon as they can.”
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    The Carlyle Ranch. North Texas. August 18, 1870.
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    It was late in the evening, sundown not more than an hour away. Despite the scolding of Mrs. Carlyle, Carrie stayed rooted to her spot, continuing to look to the south as far as she could see. Finally, on the horizon, a moving speck became visible. It eventually turned into two teams of mules and a wagon.
    â€œThey’re coming, Ma! They’re coming!” Carrie shouted, running for the house.
    Mrs. Carlyle and Carrie were waiting on the porch when Tuck reined up the tired and sweating teams. He was alone on the wagon box.
    â€œWhere’s Daniel?” Carrie inquired in a quavering voice.
    â€œOh, he met a girl in Dallas and decided to spend a few days with her.”
    â€œNo,” Carrie cried, bursting into tears.
    â€œTuck,” Mrs. Carlyle scolded, “don’t tease your sister. Daniel’s horse is still out there in our barn.”
    The joke was over, and Danielle managed to squeeze out of the wagon, where she had concealed herself.
    â€œDamn you, Tuck Carlyle, I hate you,” Carrie shouted.
    â€œIt was partly my idea,” said Danielle.
    â€œThen I hate you too,” Carrie snarled.
    â€œWe got to find her a man somewhere, Ma,” said Tuck, apparently deadly serious, “else there’s no tel lin’ what will be takin’ her to the hayloft.”
    It was more than Carrie could stand. Speechless, her face flaming red, she ran into the house.

Chapter 4
    The Carlyle Ranch. North Texas. August 19, 1870.
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    â€œThe first thing we’d better do,” Tuck said, “is get the word to Dumont, Baldwin, Chadman, and Flagg that we’re back. If they’ll help us gather our herd, we’ll be on the trail to Abilene tomorrow.”
    â€œThey promised,” said Mrs. Carlyle.
    â€œMaybe we’d better remind them we’re ready to begin,” Danielle said.
    â€œThen let’s go,” said Tuck. “We’re losing more time.”
    Only Carrie said nothing, but stared vacantly out the window.
    Tuck and Danielle weren’t even