I'm Off to Montana for to Throw the Hoolihan (Code of the West) (18 page)

“They won’t talk to anyone but you. Are they friends of yours?”

Tap glanced at the stairs. “How about you boilin’ some co
ffee for me?”

“Why don’t you go up and see Mama?” Angelita offered. “I’ll get some coffee boilin’.”

They both grinned. “I did hear what you were sayin’,” Tap insisted.

She tilted her head and rubbed her wide brown nose with the palm of her hand. “I know it. It’s like a game. Now go on before our conversation starts making sense.”

Tap poked his head into the bedroom. Pepper was in bed somewhere under a pile of quilts. She had a white lace afghan pulled over her head.

Tap glanced around the room. High ceiling. White lace cu
rtains. Polished wood floor. Braided throw rug. Wardrobe closet. Large, gold-framed picture of Yosemite Valley on the wall. Dresser with combs and brushes carefully laid out. Night stands with lanterns on both sides of the bed. A leather-seated side chair by his side. A velvet-covered bench by her side, with robe and slippers neatly in place.

In the southwest corner of the room a bassinet and small war
drobe. The big oak bedposts rose up like massive tree trunks.

When Stack said he’d provide the furnishin’s, he didn’t cut any corners. She got exactly what she wanted. Everything in its place,  except .
 . .

Tap stared at the floor-length swivel mirror pointed at the wall, with nothing but varnished walnut facing the room.
Oh, one of those “no-mirror” days.

Pepper’s voice filtered out from under the covers. “Are you going to come in or just stand there gaping?”

“I was admirin’ the view.” Tap stepped lightly toward the bed. “Ever’thin’s so perfect. Only one thing missin’.”

“What’s that?” She stayed hidden under the comforter.

“Where’s that pretty yellow-haired Mrs. Andrews?”

“She went away.”

“When?”

“Almost nine months ago.”

“Is she comin’ back?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

“If you see her, tell her I’m still crazy about her.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“You wouldn’t like her now.”

“Why’s that?”

“I hear she’s fat and ugly.”

“She’s still the purdiest thing I ever laid eyes on. And I hope she comes home soon.”

“Keep talkin’, cowboy. I think I hear her rig pullin’ up.”

“Good, 'cause I was thinkin’ last night about how I’m so happy it’s scary.”

“Scary?”

“Yep. About a year ago I didn’t worry about nothin’. I didn’t have nothin’. No ranch. No beautiful wife. No baby on the way. Now I’m gettin’ it all, and I have to worry about losin’ it. So last night I started figurin’ just how much of this I could really live without if bad times came.”

“What did you decide?”

“Just you, darlin’. I couldn’t survive a day without you.”

“I think that blonde-haired beauty just came back home.”

“Good. Is she plannin’ on gettin’ up?”

“No.”

“Are you goin’ to pull down those covers so I can see those sparklin’ green eyes?”

“No.”

“How do I know it’s my Pepper-girl in there? Maybe some old gal snuck in here and is pullin’ a trick on me.”

“Trust me.”

Tap walked around to his side of the bed and sat down on the leather-seated chair and tugged at his boots. “I’ve been thinkin’ about takin’ you and Angelita into Billings and have you stay at the London House until the baby’s born. That way there will be a doctor handy in case you need some help.”

“I’m not leavin’ this bed until the baby’s born.”

“You’re funnin’ me, right?”

Pepper sighed. “Sort of. But I want the baby born on the ranch, Tap. I’m serious about that.”

“I warned you, I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I’ve delivered calves, foals, and pigs, but I don’t reckon it’s the same.”

“Mrs. Miller has delivered babies and mid-wifed for years. She said she would stay until the baby’s born.”

The muscles in the back of Tap’s neck began to relax. “She did? Honey, that’s wonderful.”

“How’s Mr. Miller and young Peter?”

“Do you feel like comin’ down to breakfast? I’ll fill you in on ever’thing while we eat.”

“Okay, I’ll get myself ready.”

Tap padded over to the wardrobe in his stocking feet and pulled out a shirt folded and stacked on the top shelf, identical to the one he wore. Only clean. “Did you know we’ve got a lodge of Crow Indians in the south pasture?”

“They came in last night and asked for you by name.”

“Kind of strange, isn’t it? Did you know we’ve got a couple of bank robbers chained to a post in the barn?”

Pepper lowered the knitted white afghan. Her green eyes peeked out. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll have to get them to Billings.” He leaned closer to the bed. “Darlin’, have you had your mornin’ kiss?”

“You kiss fat girls?”

“Not if they have an afghan over their mouth.”

Pepper slipped the afghan down to her neck. “That’s it, cowboy. Everything else stays covered up.”

He leaned cold, chapped lips against her soft, warm ones.

Pepper relaxed some more.
Lord, thanks for Tap. I can never figure out how he could love me.

“After I pull on some clean duckin’s, I think I’ll go talk to the Indians. You be down for breakfast?”

“You have to promise you won’t look at me.”

“Darlin’, since the day you first rode up in Bob McCurley’s ca
rriage, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you. There’s no way I could start today.”

“You’re one sweet-talking cowboy. Now go on. I’m surely not going to get up with you standing there gawkin'.”

He laid his rough hand against her soft face. “You doin’ okay, darlin’?”

“Just tired. Very tired.”

The cold wind drifted from the west. Tap turned up the collar of his canvas coat as he hiked across the yard toward the south pasture. He stopped for a moment in front of the cottage and thought briefly about rapping on the door.

“Mr. Andrews?”

It was a quiet, yet firm voice that called from the porch of the bunkhouse across the barren dirt yard. He abandoned any idea of checking on Lorenzo and Selena. “Good mornin’, Mrs. Miller.” He tipped his hat toward the short woman with brown hair pulled back behind her head.

“How is Mr. Miller and my Peter?”

“Doin’ fine, Mrs. Miller. They caught most of the animals and are working on rebuilding the house and barn.”

“Have they had any trouble?”

“Not too much.”

“Did he get angry about you comin’ to help?”

“I reckon he didn’t appreciate it. Said I was interferin'.”

“What kind of trouble did they have?”

“That bunch at the Pothook-H shot your calf. That’s about all . . . so far. I offered to stick around, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said my guns attract too much gunfire. He could be right about that.”

Lucinda Miller wrapped her arms around her chest and held he
rself tight. “We probably should be there with them.”

“I’ll be happy to take you back over if that’s what you want, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

“I can’t leave. I promised to help Mrs. Andrews deliver that baby of yours.”

“I’m surely grateful for that, ma’am. We could use the help. But you have to do what’s best for your family. We can make it if you need to go.”

“Mr. Andrews, having your wife need me and the thought of bringing a new life into the world gives me an excuse to keep my other children out of danger. Don’t you see?” Narrow, frightened dark eyes searched for Tap’s approval. “For your wife’s sake, for our sake, I need to stay here.”

“I’m sure Ezra will send for you all when it’s safe. Until then we surely do need you here.”

“That’s what neighbors are for."

“I’ve got a couple bank robbers chained up in the barn. Tell the children I don’t want any of them goin’ in there unless me, Howdy, or Lorenzo are with them.”

“Certainly. By the way, how are Mr. and Mrs. Odessa? Angelita’s told us about them, but we haven’t met.”

“Now I can’t rightly say, ma’am. I haven’t seen ’em since they got home. But neither of them have commenced to co
mplain, so I surmise ever’thin’s just fine.”

“And what about those Indians? Should I keep the chi
ldren away from them too?”

“I don’t think that’s a problem, but I’m headin’ out to check on them. I expect they’ll move on today. Is ever’thin’ all right in the bunkhouse?”

“It’s very sufficient. Your Angelita converted one end of it to a schoolhouse. She has all the children counting to ten in Spanish.”

“She’s probably the only eleven-year-old schoolteacher in the te
rritory.”

“Or the nation.”

“Good day, Mrs. Miller.”

“Good day, Mr. Andrews. Thank you for looking in on my Ezra and Peter.”

The tall, bleached deer-hide covered tepee was pitched about twenty feet on the south side of the split-rail fence that surrounded the whole headquarters area. The opening faced east. Two buckskins and a paint pony were tethered west of the tepee. A small fire blazed out in front of the flap. A buffalo-robed woman scurried back inside as Tap approached.

He had just climbed the fence when a man stepped out of the t
epee and stalked toward him. The Indian was tall and thin but strong-shouldered. His coal-black hair was cut straight and hung to his collar, his bangs almost reached his eyes. A beaded leather band was wrapped around his head. He wore tan canvas duckings like Tap and a long blue U.S. Cavalry coat over his deerskin shirt. His moccasins were laced up to his knees. He had a knife strapped to his braided horsehair belt, but no visible firearm.

Tap guessed his age beween twenty-five and fifty. "Are you T
apadera Andrews?” he asked in a deep voice.

“Yep.” Tap reached out his right hand. The Indian grasped his arm halfway up to the elbow, and Tap returned the gree
ting.

“I’m Jesse Savage.”

“Savage?”

“I like the name. For fifteen years I was called a savage. Then I went to Indian school down in Texas. I found out savage meant wild, fierce, and free. So I take it as a co
mpliment. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Tap glanced at a blue enameled tin pot near the fire.

“It’s Arbuckles,” Savage continued. “The Agency coffee isn’t worth drinking.”

Tap and Savage squatted down next to the fire and sipped stea
ming coffee.

“What can I do for you?”

“We’ve got a problem over on the Reserve. A group of white outlaws have been giving us a bad name.”

“This Yellow Sash gang?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard they use the reservation for a horse relay and hide up in the Bull Mountains.”

“So you know about that?”

“I just found out yesterday.”

“Everyone thinks they stay on the Reserve. So we have posses, lawmen, bounty hunters, and would-be gang members combing the hills looking for them. Their horses eat on our grazing land. They shoot our antelope and what’s left of the buffalo and stir up trouble among the people.”

“Won’t the Agency do anything about it?”

“I think the agent wants the problem to continue so they can take this land away from us too. I hear talk of moving us to Wind River. Peace is not always as financially profitable as trouble.”

“How about the U.S. Marshal’s office?”

“They claim we are in partnership with the outlaws and are hiding them. They just laughed when I told them to look in the Bull Mountains.”

Tap leaned closer to the fire. “Why did you come to me?”

“When I went to Indian school to learn to read, write, and grow tasteless white-people food like potatoes and beans, I made friends with a wild, fierce, and free half-breed Comanche warrior.”

“Wade Eagleman?”

“His name was Two Coyotes at the time. After several years at the school, we got jobs as scouts for General Crook. Then Two Coyotes went back to Texas to read law with some judge in San Angelo, and I came home to the Yellowstone. When I couldn’t get anyone to help us, I wrote to Eagleman and asked if we could sue the government to keep the outlaws off our land.”

“What did Wade tell you?”

“Three days ago I got a letter from him advising the best way to handle it was to capture the Yellow Sash Gang and turn them over to the authorities. But since they were hiding off the reservation, I should recruit the best gunman in the territory, by the name of Tapadera Andrews, who just took over the Slash-Bar-4.”

Tap took a stick and idly stirred the fire. “Do you know how many are in the gang?”

“I know there are around twelve, because that’s the number of relay horses they keep on our land. They are led by one named Sugar Dayton.”