I'm Off to Montana for to Throw the Hoolihan (Code of the West) (9 page)

“Marry? Angelita promised me she wasn’t gettin’ married for twenty years.”

Angelita revealed her straight white teeth in a wide grin. “He’s very possessive.”

Tap slumped in the dark of Selena’s room at the New York Hotel. A blanket was pulled up to his chin like a ba
rber’s sheet. Across the room the brass bedstead was empty.

Empty of people.

The pillows were arranged like a body, and the thick covers were pulled over the top.

All except one blanket.

He sat silently for a good hour.

It’s a cat-and-mouse game. Only I’m not sure if I’m a cat or a mouse. If those two are lookin’ for me, they won’t come here. But if they can’t find me, maybe they’ll come lookin’ for Selena—and I’ll be waitin’. ’Course they might be stone-drunk and lying under a poker table in some saloon. Or at the dance hall. Or maybe they just took a shot at me on their way out of town. They could be hal
fway to Miles City . . . or Bozeman.

’Course I didn’t see them take those shots at me. Reckon that could have been someone else. Which is a cheery thought. Lord, what am I doin’ here anyway? I ought to be with Pepper. I should never have come to town. After this weddin’ I’ll send Odessa in on the errands. If I stay at the ranch, I’ll keep out of trouble.

Lord, I babble a lot when I get tired. Especially when the room is stuffy and smells like perfume.

Lord, take care of Pepper. And Angelita. And Selena.

He figured a fifteen-minute nap would do him a lot of good.

A two-hour nap was even better. He woke up with a stiff neck and heard a scratching, rattling sound that seemed to come from the window.

It’s comfortin’ to know you boys are predictable.

A loud rap sounded on the door.

I open the front door while the other sneaks in the window? Come on, boys, you can do better.

Tap waited until the one at the door called out, “Selena, I need to talk to you. I want to apologize for my earlier beha
vior.” Then Tap scooted toward the door in his stocking feet, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders.

“Open up, Selena. It’s me, Bean. I’ve got money this time.”

Tap turned the cold brass knob on the door and swung the door open into the darkened room a couple of inches. He could hear Jackson tug to raise the warped window.

Bean stuck his head in. “Jackson’s not with me. All that this afte
rnoon was his idee.” He stepped toward the bed. “Miss Selena?”

The iron doorstop was in the shape of a duck decoy. The part that crashed into the back of Bean’s head was flat and cloth-covered so it wouldn’t scratch the hardwood floor. Bean didn’t seem to appreciate that consideration as he dropped to the floor—unconscious.

“Bean?” Jackson called, as he straddled the window, half in, half out.

Tap squatted down, slid Bean’s revolver from its new leather ho
lster, and then crawled toward the bed.

Jackson struck a match. “Bean?” he whispered. “She’s still in bed. Bean, what happened?”

His gun was drawn. In the excitement, in the darkness, Jackson had only pulled the single-action Colt to the first click. His thumb was on the hammer when he heard the second click.

But not from his gun.

From the one behind his ear.

“Don’t bother turnin’ around, Jackson. Just drop the gun on the floor,” Tap ordered.

“You! What are you doin’ here?”

“Target shootin’. But it’s a mighty tame challenge with you two. Like ducks on a pond.”

“You can’t shoot us.”

“Sure I can. You broke into my room, didn’t you?”

“Your room? This is Miss Selena’s room.”

“You think it’s all right to break into a lady’s room?”

“Selena ain’t no lady. She’s a—”

The barrel of Tap’s borrowed revolver crashed down on Jackson’s head. The man dropped to the floor beside Bean.

I didn’t need to do that, Lord. Selena’s right. I just can’t stand it when they run a woman down. Never could. You’ve got to help me act different. When they get started like that, somethin’ inside me lets loose. I know there’s got to be a better way.

I just can’t think of one.

An unconscious 180-pound man weighs a ton. Especially when you have to carry him out the window, across the roof, and down the ladder to the alley.

Double that when there are two of them. It was almost da
ylight by the time Tap completed the job and crawled through the window back into Selena’s room. He lit the kerosene lamp and poured water into the basin. After scrubbing his face, neck, hands, and arms, he pulled his razor out of his saddlebag and shaved. Leaning close to the mirror, he could see the creases around his eyes. He noticed several flecks of gray hair on the left side of his head.

You’re gettin’ too old for this, Andrews. Time to retire to the ranch. Just get this weddin’ over with.

He splashed his clean-shaven face with a little water.

All right, Mr. Tapadera Andrews .
 . . that’s about the best you can do. At least you’re cleaner than you were on your own weddin’ day.

Tap hiked down the stairs of the New York Hotel carrying saddlebags and rifle in his right hand and a big bundle of clot
hing in his left. Stopping by the livery, he left his gear with his saddle and headed to the sheriff’s office.

A groggy sheriff’s deputy finally came to the door, bar
efooted and hatless, after several minutes of Tap’s banging on the door.

“The office is closed. What do you want?”

“Jackson and Bean are in the alley between the hotel and—”

“Are they dead?”

“No. The sheriff took away my gun. But when they wake up, they’ll have some bad headaches. They’re tied back to back wearin’ nothing but their long johns.”

“Their what?”

“Here’s their gear . . . and their sidearms. I’d greatly appreciate it if you would just hold the belongin’s here until they come lookin’ for ’em.”

“How did you—”

“I got some help from a duck.”

“You got help from where?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be by about 2:00 for my gun.”

“You leavin’ town?”

“Yep, but first we’ve got a weddin’ to take care of. Can you keep ahold of those two revolvers until I leave town?”

“Yeah, we’ll keep ’em until they ride out. You know, mi
ster,” the deputy drawled, “we’re goin’ to be mighty happy to see you go.”

“So am I, partner .
 . . so am I.”

Tap ate a late breakfast with Selena and Angelita at the En
gland House. Then he walked them to the New York Hotel. He inspected the alley. Jackson and Bean were gone.

There’s nothin’ I need to do in this town except wait for Pe
pper and Lorenzo. They should roll in around noon. They’ll stop at the livery. I might as well wait for them there. Besides, it’ll keep me out of trouble.

The livery owner, a big Dutchman, was saddling a tall black gel
ding as Tap approached. “Mr. Vanderwyck, I need to catch up on some sleep. Can I panhandle a corner of the loft for a nap?”

“Are you an honest, God-fearin’ man?” Vanderwyck boomed.

Tap stared at the man’s round face and eyes, trying to figure out the nature of the question. “Don’t know where you’re comin’ from, but me and the Lord have things squared up, if that’s what you mean. But what does that have to do with a nap in your barn?”

“I’ve got an emergency. Folks rented a rig this morning, and it got away from them up in the hills. I’ve got to go chase it down. I hired a new man to help out. This was to be his first day, but he didn’t show. Too much rotgut whiskey, I reckon. I don’t have time to go find him. Can I get you to watch the place until noon? We’ll call your livery bill a wash.”

“You got it, partner. Go on, catch your ponies. If you aren’t back by 12:30, I’ve got to close the door and walk off. Got a weddin’ to attend.”

“That’s fair enough. I’m obliged to you, mister. .
 . . Eh, what was your name?”

“Andrews. Tap Andrews. What should I do if your helper shows up?”

“Tell him he’s fired.”

The Dutchman mounted the saddle horse and then rode over to him. He leaned over and stuck out his massive, ca
llused hand. “Take good care of the place. And thanks.”

Tap strolled back into the barn. The office was a small room just inside the door to the left. The door stood open. Ledgers were sca
ttered across the desk. Keys hung on a peg near the door. The upper left-hand drawer of the battered oak desk was pulled open. He glanced into the drawer. An open cigar box revealed gold eagle coins and folded greenbacks. He closed the box, slid the drawer shut, and closed the office door behind him.

He checked on Onespot and Roundhouse and then climbed into the loft, opened the big front doors, and lay back on a stack of hay.

Now don’t get yourself dirty, Andrews. You’ve got to stand up for Lorenzo and Selena. They deserve to have you clean. ’Course that’s what you said about your own weddin’.

You know, Lord, there’s a lot about this Western country I like. Men like Vanderwyck. He asks if you’re God-fearin’, shakes hands, and rides off leaving the business and cash box. Bet they don’t do that back in the States.

That’s the way it ought to be. Neighbors helpin’ neighbors. Ever’one treatin’ the other man square. It doesn’t happen near often enough. But when it does, it feels good. I’d like to run the ranch that way.

Pay and bonuses for the hired men.

Cut of the herd to the foreman.

Meal and a bed to those in need.

I don’t need to make a lot of money, Lord. Just enough to live right. And maybe a little extra to help build a school or a church. That’s what I want out of this ranch deal.

’Course I reckon that’s pretty much all anyone wants.

The hay was soft. Even with the upper door open, the barn walls blocked the chill of the October air. Two weeks of fitful sleep. It all rolled together and hit Tap in the middle of his ranch philosophizing.

“Hey, does anyone work here? What kind of business is this?”

Tap woke up in Arizona.

Or Colorado.

Or Wyoming.

“You’ve got a customer out here.”

Montana! Come on, Andrews. You promised Vanderwyck.

“I’ll be right down,” he called out.

Reaching the top of the ladder to the barn floor, Tap spotted a dark-complected man with thick, drooping mustache and stove-top-crowned, round black hat. He had a holster reversed on the right side and a Bowie knife slung on the left. His wool vest was buttoned tight at the top next to his ruffled tie.

As Tap’s boot heels spur-jingled to the ground, he could see a brightly painted drummer’s wagon parked in front of the livery.
“Dr. Antoine Bejeaux’s Famous Female Remedy.” This ol’ boy must be a smooth talker to get anyone to buy that stuff.

“Are you Vanderwyck?” the man asked. “I want to talk to som
eone who knows horses, not just to a flunky.”

“Are you Dr. Antoine Bejeaux, the famous medicinal e
xpert from New Orleans?”

“Huh? What? .
 . . Oh, yes, certainly. . . . So you’ve heard of me?”

“Come on, Doc, ever’body in the West has heard of your F
amous Female Remedy. Now what can I do for you?”
That ought to get him thinkin’. Anyone named Bejeaux has to be from somewhere in south Louisiana.

The man looked Tap up and down. “Say, I don’t have a distrib
utor in Billings yet. I just pulled into town, in fact. I’ll give you first crack at the whole territory.”

“Doc, I couldn’t do that. Not enough women come into the li
very.”

Bejeaux stepped closer. “Just between you and me, the F
emale Remedy makes excellent horse liniment.”

“Sorry. Can’t help you there. Did you have some livery bus
iness?” Tap walked with the man toward the wagon.

Bejeaux hung his thumbs in his belt. “I’m about to make you the best deal you’ll have this year. Two days back I stopped at a hom
estead near the Dakota line. I did some business, but they were cash poor. So I traded for a foal. Yesterday I pull into a ranch, and what do you suppose? They want to trade me another yearling. Now what am I going to do with two ponies—even though they are obvious champions.”

Tap pushed his hat to the back of his head and strolled to the back of the wagon where the young horses were tied. “So you want to sell them?”

“That’s right. I’ve got a dynamite deal.”

Oh, I bet you do.

The long-legged palomino colt sported three white socks and a thick flaxen mane and tail.

“How are you doin’?” he asked the horse. “Gettin’ kind of tired of trailin’ a dusty wagon? Probably miss your mama a little.” He stroked the colt’s back. “Can you give me a foot?” Tap slid his hand down the horse’s legs and the colt lifted his hoof. “That-a-boy.” Tap stepped around and looked the colt in the eyes.
Someone’s been takin’ mighty good care of you. I could train you for a couple years. Then Lil’ Tap will be ready to ride.