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  DANNY

  A Novel by

  William Wayne Dicksion

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 William Wayne Dicksion

  * * *

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recoding, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover art and design by Malia Wisch

  Chapter 1

  Gunfire and a column of black smoke rising in the distance made Danny spur his horse into a full run. Topping the rise, he saw his house engulfed in flames and men shooting into it from all sides. His father was returning fire from an upstairs window, and he heard his mother scream.

  He could see that Sheriff Bodden was one of the men shooting at the house.

  “What’s going on?” Danny screamed. “The mortgage isn’t due until 12 noon, and it’s only 10:30. I’m back in plenty of time!”

  He rushed to the sheriff while holding sixty dollars in his hand. The payment was only fifty, and Danny had sold their last three cows for sixty.

  “Sheriff, stop shooting,” Danny hollered. “I have the money!”

  Sheriff Bodden’s stubby hand snatched the money from Danny.

  “You don’t have it now,” he said. “I do! You’re too late! The banker told me to foreclose on this ranch, and that’s what I’m doing. I asked your folks to leave the house, but they wouldn’t, so we’re burning them out. Now, get out of the way before I shoot you!”

  “It would be a mistake to try, sheriff, and you know it,” Danny hollered back. “Now, damn you, stop shooting at my mother and father, and let them out of that house!”

  “I didn’t chase them in there. They ran in on their own, and I’m going to let them get out on their own,” the sheriff retorted, his short heavyset body wobbled trying to keep his agitated horse under control.

  “But they can’t get out with you shooting at them. I saw Deputy Milroy shooting at the back door as I rode up. Let me go in and lead them out. I’m sure we can settle this.”

  “How do I know you won’t come out shooting? You’re just a kid, but everybody knows you’re good with a gun.”

  Danny jumped off his horse, dropped his holster and revolver at the sheriff’s feet, and said, “Here’s my gun. I’ll throw Dad’s rifle out the window before I lead them out.”

  Sheriff Bodden glared at Danny. “All right, men, the kid’s unarmed, so tie him up and shoot anybody who tries to leave the house.”

  Danny heard his mother screaming and raced for the door, but the deputies grabbed him. He struggled, but the deputies were both big men, and he couldn’t get loose.

  “Sheriff Bodden,” he pleaded, “don’t make me watch them burn. They’re my parents! Let them out! It’s insanity to burn them alive! You’ve got the money; what more do you want?”

  “Money? What money you talking about? I ain’t seen no money,” Bodden lied.

  “You just grabbed it out of my hand. Can’t you hear Mother screaming? She won’t come out without Father!”

  Danny was getting desperate now because time was running out.

  “Throw him in there, too,” Bodden said to his deputies. “Why contend with him any longer?”

  A deputy slammed Danny over the head with his pistol, and that was the last Danny remembered until he woke up with singed hair and a big knot on his head.

  When he opened his eyes, he was lying beside the rock foundation of the house. The house had burned down and lay in ruins. The acrid smell of burned wood assaulted his nostrils—a residue of smoke congested his lungs, and he started to cough.

  Evidently, the fire had been too hot for the deputies to throw him all the way into the burning house, so they left him at the rock base, thinking that he, too, would be destroyed by fire.

  Staggering to his feet, Danny picked up a partially burned plank and stirred through the smoldering ashes. Under the remains of the stairway, he found his parents’ bodies. They had tried to take shelter under the stonework leading to the stairs.

  Danny’s father had tucked his gun under his body, and it was still in working order; cartridges were still in the loops of the gun belt. The belt was badly scorched, but it was still strong enough to hold the gun. The odor of burnt leather hovered around him as he buckled the gun belt to his waist. His own gun that he had dropped at the sheriff’s feet was nowhere to be seen, but he spotted his crumpled hat in the brush.

  He wanted to cry, but anger stifled his sobs. He looked up at the heavens and screamed, “I’m sorry I got back too late, but I’ll make them pay for this if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  * * *

  Danny gathered scorched wood and built a casket. He then carved the names, Dell and Dolly Duncan, on a wooden cross and buried his parents on a knoll under an oak tree overlooking the creek. He had sat on this knoll with his parents many a summer evening watching the sunset—now it was only a memory.

  After sitting beside their grave until it was nearly dark, Danny got up to leave and saw Stamper, his horse, standing behind him with his head down as if sharing Danny’s grief. Somehow Stamper had hidden from the sheriff.

  “Stamper,” Danny sobbed, “you’re the only thing I have left. From now on it’s just you and me.” He put his arms around Stamper’s muzzle and with tears streaming down his face looked at the ruins of what had been his home.

  The barn had burned also, but there was hay in the fields. Danny removed Stamper’s saddle, then fed and watered him. There was nothing for Danny to eat other than fruit growing in their orchard. He ate a ripe pear, then lay down on a stack of freshly cut hay, and cried as darkness came. Memories of his mother’s screams kept him awake—sleep came slowly.

  * * *

  The sound of Stamper drinking from the water trough awakened him. The sky was getting bright, and trees were silhouetted on the hill beyond the creek. He looked at the grave of his parents and shook his head as he realized how great his loss had been.

  “Today is the day I will avenge you!” Danny yelled; his voice echoed from the hill.

  Danny saddled Stamper and rode into town. When he put his hand inside his vest pocket, he found the receipt for sixty dollars that the cattle buyer had given him. It proved that he had the money, which the sheriff snatched from him, and it also proved that his parents were killed senselessly.

  He wanted to be at the sheriff’s office when it opened at 8 o’clock. He needed someone of authority to go to, but this was Indian Territory, and the sheriff was the only authority in Videll. The sheriff said the banker ordered him to foreclose on the farm; therefore, the banker was the real murderer.

  Sheriff Bodden and his deputies had burned Danny’s parents alive, but would they admit to what they had done? The sheriff had denied taking the money, and if he stuck to his story, he was sixty dollars richer, the banker now owned the ranch, and Danny was homeless.

  * * *

  The sun had been up for only two hours and already it was hot. Danny tied Stamper in the shade of an oak tree at the outskirts of town and was walking toward the sheriff’s office when his mother’s friend, Myrtle, ran from her restaurant with her arms open.
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  “Oh, my goodness, Danny,” she cried. “You’re alive! We were told that you burned to death when you ran into your house trying to save your parents. I can see burns on your face and hands. Come on in here, so I can put some salve on you.” She led him to the kitchen. “I’ll fix you some breakfast. Do you want to wash up a bit?”

  “Thanks, Myrtle,” Danny said as he took off his hat to wash his hands at the sink.

  “Oh, your hair is badly singed! You’ll have trouble combing it, and there’s a gash on your head. Oh, Danny, does it hurt? Let me wash the blood off and wrap the wound.”

  “Guess I must have hit my head when the deputies pushed me. No, it doesn’t hurt. I’m on my way to see the sheriff.”

  “You’ll have time for breakfast,” Myrtle said. “The sheriff can wait. The bank doesn’t open until 8, and Mr. Strimforth, the banker, doesn’t get in until about 8:20. Sit here, Danny, and tell me what happened. The sheriff and his deputies said all of you were dead. They said that a fire started somewhere in your house, and they got there too late to rescue any of you.”

  Myrtle placed a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits, and apple juice in front of Danny, which he devoured ravenously.

  “The sheriff lied,” Danny said, trying to control his emotions. “They burned the house down with my parents in it. They hit me on the head and left me for dead. I buried my parents on that knoll by the creek. I want to face Sheriff Bodden and charge him for murdering my parents. I also want to see Banker Strimforth and make sure he got the mortgage money. When I told the sheriff I had the money, he grabbed the whole sixty and still wouldn’t let me save Mom and Dad.” Tears ran down his cheeks. “Myrtle, if the sheriff has kept the money, and that’s what I think he’s done, and then getting hanged for killing him is a chance I’ll have to take. I told my parents that I’d make this right. It’s the last promise I made to them, and I’ve got to keep it.”

  “You know, Danny,” Myrtle replied as she shook her head, “I thought there was something funny about the sheriff’s story.”

  Myrtle put salve on his burns and bandaged his head.

  “Thank you, Myrtle, that feels better,” he said as he picked up his hat. “Now I’ve got to see the sheriff and the banker. And thanks for breakfast; it was delicious.”

  Myrtle watched Dan as he walked toward the sheriff’s office. He’s only a boy, but he has to do a man’s job, she thought.

  * * *

  Danny walked into the sheriff’s office. Deputy Melvin Milroy stared at him. You should be dead, Milroy thought.

  “Sherriff Bodden ain’t here,” he stammered. “He’s at the bank.”

  Danny quickly walked across the street to the bank and when he entered the front door, the people all stopped what they were doing. A quiet settled over the bank because they had heard the story of the Duncan home burning and were told that everyone died in the fire.

  A woman teller ran into Strimforth’s office to tell her boss that Danny had just walked in. Sheriff Bodden had been sitting in the big, stuffed chair smoking a cigar looking proud. Banker Strimforth, with his shiny black hair combed back, had his feet on the desk and was smiling gleefully at what the sheriff was telling him. They both straightened up at the teller’s message.

  “I thought you said that Danny was dead,” Strimforth said, glaring at Bodden. “We’ve got to arrest him for something and make it look good—everybody is watching.”

  “I’ll handle it,” Sheriff Bodden said. He jumped to his feet and called out loud enough for everyone to hear, “He’s got a gun, and he’s come to rob the bank!”

  Dan had expected the sheriff to deny taking the money, but he hadn’t expected this.

  Sheriff Bodden fired a shot at Danny that just missed his head and smashed the front window of the bank.

  Danny dashed to the counter seeking cover as the sheriff continued firing. Danny drew his father’s pistol, but he didn’t fire it until Strimforth fired from behind his desk. The bullet whizzed past Danny’s head and embedded in the side wall. The frightened customers ran for cover.

  Deputy Melvin Milroy had followed Danny into the bank and began shooting also.

  With Milroy at the front door and Strimforth behind the desk, Sheriff Bodden was emboldened and stepped through the office door shooting. That was a fatal mistake.

  Seeing Bolden fall, Strimforth panicked and frantically fired again, missing Danny and almost killing Deputy Milroy. Danny then whorled and settled the score with the banker. . . . Deputy Milroy was alone now and rode out of town at a run.

  Danny walked calmly back to Myrtle’s, and she dressed a bullet wound on his arm. A girl Danny knew as Doe came running into the restaurant to warn him that the other deputy was organizing a posse.

  Myrtle knew Danny would have to run. He couldn’t fight the whole town, so she quickly handed him flint and striker for building fires, a bag of biscuits, and some fried bacon.

  Danny ran to his horse and rode west into the Chickasaw Nation because it had no major rivers to cross, and the Chickasaws were peaceful Indians. He had had all of the killings he wanted, so he rode fast all day, slept in the cold, ate the biscuits and bacon until they ran out, and then ate whatever he could gather.

  His followers were relentless. Hoping to see the glow of his campfire, they chased him even after dark. One night, the posse rode within a stone’s throw of his camp. Luckily, Danny had erased Stamper’s tracks and had hid in a thicket.

  Chapter 2

  When Danny’s father, Dell, was still a child, his father Drew, who was the first white man to settle in the area, brought Dell with him into what is now Indian Territory before the land was divided into Indian Nations. Then Dell married Dotty, who was the daughter of another frontiersman, and they settled in Videll. Danny was about ten when Dell took him into the land of the Comanche, so Danny was familiar with the land and knew he was near the unmarked boundary of the Chickasaw and Comanche nations.

  Danny did what most white men would never do. He crossed into Comanche territory hoping the posse wouldn’t follow him into hostile land.

  The Comanche were bad Indians, but Danny had played with their children while he was growing up and knew a few words of their language. His chances were better with the Indians than with the posse, and if he could just get to the Comanche settlement, he might be safe. The Comanche stronghold was on the Red River, so Danny followed the river into Comanche territory, but before he reached their village, he stopped for the night and shot an elk. He was roasting a select portion over an open fire when he looked up and saw three Comanche warriors watching him. The warriors were debating what they should do with this white man who had so brazenly ridden into their land.

  The smaller of the warriors said, “Let’s kill him and take the elk back to our tribe.”

  The biggest warrior shook his head. “You see where he shoot elk?” he asked the smaller warrior. “He shoot right between eyes. That mean he very good with gun, and notice he look right at us. He not afraid. We can kill him, but one of us will die while we do it. You want to be the one who die? We hunted for three days before we got close enough to kill elk with arrow, but he killed one with ease with his gun. I say we use him to get meat for our tribe. We can find elk, and he can kill it.”

  Danny held up his right hand as a sign of peace and beckoned the warriors to join him for a meal. They each cut a chunk of elk and began roasting it over Danny’s fire. The warriors were well mounted, but they were eying Danny’s horse.

  Danny looked calmly but sternly at the biggest warrior and shook his head, then patted the carcass of the elk and nodded, indicating that the warriors were welcome to take the remainder of the meat, but they had better leave his horse alone.

  Indians admire bravery, so the lead warrior nodded. After eating what they had cooked, the warriors loaded the rest of the elk on their horses and welcomed Danny to accompany them.

  Going with them was risky, but being that he had no

  other options, he acce
pted their invitation. A white man riding alone into a Comanche camp was more than a little unusual, so the Indians were suspicious and watched him day and night.

  The Comanche camp was where the two red rivers join. Soldiers at Fort Cobb restricted the Comanche’s movement north, soldiers at Fort Sill restricted their movement east, and the Texas Rangers restricted their movement south. Consequently, the Comanche’s restricted hunting grounds limited their food supply. Being a white man, Danny was able to move about freely, and his skill with his guns helped enormously. He went with the braves on expeditions and learned their art of hunting.

  * * *

  After living with the Comanche for about a year, Danny decided to move on. To go west, he had to pass through Arapaho hunting grounds. So he lived with them for a while and made a few friends, but since he didn’t want to become an Indian, he rode on into what was known as “No-Man’s Land.” It was called No Man’s Land because the boundary was in dispute between Oklahoma and Texas. There was no law there except the law of the six-gun; therefore, it was a place of outlaws, renegades, and rebels. Danny didn’t like the company so he moved on again.

  He really had no place in mind to go, but he was compelled to go somewhere. Fearing the posse, he lived under the assumed name of Danaher, punched a few cattle for small ranchers, and stayed away from towns.

  During the 1880s, men on the run were not unusual in the panhandle of Texas, and a few made their way by using their guns. On occasions they challenged Danahur, so by necessity, he remained proficient with his gun.

  Chapter 3

  Another two years passed, and Danahur was a man now, tall with clean features, his body strong, his mind quick, and his eyes were always searching for a place to call home. Danny saw no one hunting him, and no rewards were posted for his arrest, so he stopped running and resumed his given name and went by Dan instead of Danny. He earned his living doing whatever ranchers, farmers, or shopkeepers would pay him to do.