Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare by Compton Ralph

Author:Compton, Ralph
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2010-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

Danielle felt a moment of guilt, for it had been only an act of providence that had kept her from stepping over the line and becoming a horse thief. She stopped at another saloon, the Rio, where a faro game was in progress. Danielle dragged out a chair and sat down.

“Five-dollar limit, kid,” said the dealer. “No credit.”

“I don’t recall asking for any credit,” Danielle said, dropping five double eagles on the green felt that lined the tabletop.

Several of the men at the table grinned, expecting this arrogant newcomer to soon get what he deserved. But their grins faded as Danielle won five of the next six pots. Every time she lost a pot, she more than recovered her losses by winning the next three or four.

“I’m gettin’ out of this,” one of the gamblers snarled, kicking back his chair. “I think the damn house is slick-dealing cards to the kid. I ain’t never seen anybody win so often.”

“Hank,” said the house dealer, getting to his feet,

“I never slick-deal to anybody. Some folks is just better at the game than others, and if you can’t afford to lose, then just stay the hell away from the tables. Now get out of here.”

“If there’s a problem,” Danielle said, “I’ll drop out.”

“The problem’s leavin’, kid,” said the dealer. “Win or lose, you’re welcome to stay as long as you can cover your bets.”

Danielle recovered her original hundred dollars, and won two hundred more. Leaving the saloon, she walked along the boardwalk. Suddenly a shadow moved from between two deserted buildings, and a voice spoke.

“Turn around, kid, and keep your hands where I can see ’em. I’m taking back all my money.”

Danielle turned around slowly. The disgruntled gambler held a revolver on her. Quickly, she dropped to the ground as the pistol roared, almost in her ear. Before he could fire again, Danielle threw herself at his legs, and off balance, he fell. His head slammed into the strong wood of the boardwalk, and he lay still. The shot had been heard, and the sheriff, Buford Powell, was the first to arrive. Almost immediately, some of the men from the Rio Saloon were there, arriving in time to hear Danielle’s explanation. The sheriff had a lantern, and set it down on the boardwalk.

“Let me see your guns, kid.”

Danielle handed him the weapons. They were fully loaded, and had not been fired. The sheriff then took the gun from Hank’s limp hand and found one load missing. There were many ways a man could fall from favor on the frontier, but there were three that stood head and shoulders above the rest: hitting a woman, mistreating a horse, or being a sore loser.

“The kid’s lucky to be alive, Sheriff,” said one of the men from the saloon. “I think Hank should be told when he wakes up that he’s to stay away from the poker and faro tables in this town. This time, it was the kid. Next time, it could be any one of us.

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