Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron by RALPH COMPTON

she noted to herself. Then she leveled her gaze into Dave Waddell’s eyes and said, “This Cherokee Earl is known as a cattle rustler. How many head of cattle are you running now, Mr. Waddell?”
    Dave Waddell made the mistake of not holding her gaze as he answered. Instead, he ducked his eyes for a second and said, “It’s been a while since I pulled a head count. Must have upward of three, four hundred head maybe.”
    â€œThe cattle business has gotten so good a man don’t need to keep track of his holdings anymore?” Danielle asked, not even hiding her skepticism.
    â€œWell. Miss Danielle, you know how it is,” said Dave, holding the wet towel to the back of his head. “Cattle come and go on the breaks and high grasslands. But if I was held to it, I’d say I’ve got three hundred head, easy enough.”
    â€œYou’ve had quite a run of luck then,” said Danielle. On a bluff, she added, “Last year when I talked to Ellen in town, she said you only had about half that many.”
    â€œShe did, huh?” said Dave, looking as if he couldn’t understand why. He offered a weak, patient smile that Danielle saw through right away. “My Ellen’s a fine wife, but she never knew beans about my cattle business. My fault, I suppose.... I should have told her more, I reckon. But the only gains I made this year are a couple of range strays wandering in, plus my calves, of course.”
    â€œI see,” said Danielle. Noticing Stick top the rise with the string of horses in tow, Danielle decided not to pursue any more questions right then. Instead, she flipped the Whitney around in her hand and handed it to Dave Waddell, butt first. “If this is what you carry, you best load it up. If you want to borrow a big Colt .45, I’ve got an extra in my saddlebags.”
    â€œMuch obliged. I’ll take you up on the offer,” said Dave, shoving the small Navy Whitney into his belt. “I normally carry a Colt, but Cherokee Earl took it after he knocked me out.”
    Danielle only nodded, but Dave could tell she had just asked herself how a man with two loaded guns could allow himself to be so easily caught off guard. “Look, Miss Danielle, I know how bad this looks on my part. But all I can say is that it happened so fast I never got a chance to act. There’s nothing in this world I want more than to get my wife back safe and sound. After that, I don’t care what anybody thinks of me.”
    â€œTake it easy, Mr. Waddell,” said Danielle. “We’re both on the same side here. I want Earl Muir for the killings in town, but saving your wife is all the more important.” Her gaze narrowed as she added, “Anything we need to talk about can wait. Fair enough?”
    â€œFair enough for me, Miss Danielle,” said Dave.
    â€œAll right then.” Danielle stepped down and opened the saddlebags behind Sundown’s saddle. She pulled out a thick cloth, unfolded it, and took out a large Colt. She checked the gun, made sure it was loaded, then passed it to Dave. “Here you go. And now that we’re gong to be working together for a while, I want you to drop the Miss.... Just call me Danielle.” She looked up at Stick and said, “That goes for you too, Stick, all right?”
    Stick blushed at such an informality but nodded in agreement. “All right then, Miss—” He caught his error and quickly said, “I mean, Danielle.”

Braden Flats, Indian Territory
    Outside the New Royal Saloon, Sheriff Oscar Matheson stepped down from the boardwalk and moved out into the dirt street, getting a better look at the five men and one woman who had just ridden in from the glittering stretch of sand. It took a second for him to see that one of the men held a short lead rope to the woman’s horse. What was this about? he wondered. The riders had now stopped in a low cloud of dust. They sat abreast at