It's Your Misfortune and None of My Own (Code of the West) (3 page)

The four men eased toward his table. He spied out the e
xits.

“Say, mister,” a deep voice boomed out.

Tap reached over and clasped Sassy’s arm with his left hand. At the same time he slowly pulled back the hammer on his Colt with his right thumb.

Sassy grinned at the four. “Why, Zachariah, I think they’re talkin’ to you.”

Tap glanced up. "You boys sure are interrupting some important business here between me and this beautiful lady—if you catch my drift.”

“You headin’ north?”

“Yes, he is, but so what?” Sassy answered. “Who are you lookin’ for?”

“An escaped murderer called Tapadera Andrews. Broke out of A.T.P. a few weeks ago. We figure he’s runnin’ this way.”

“It don’t seem likely to me that anyone would escape from Yuma and not go down into Mexico.” She scooted her broken chair over next to Tap's and slipped her arm around his waist. “What’s this fella look like?”

“Like this old boy eatin’ the stew, that’s what.”

Sassy straightened the bust line of her dress and leaned her left elbow on the table. She rested her chin in her hand. “What has he done to stir up so many brave and deadly deputy marshals?”

“He shot and killed a banker down in Globe City who ha
ppened to find him in a hotel with his wife.”

“Whose wife?”

“The banker’s wife.”

“That certainly wasn’t very sporting of either of them. But this ain’t Andrews. This here’s Zachariah Hatcher. He’s got this big ol’ ranch up in Colorado. Or Wyoming. Ain’t that right, Zach?”

“Look, lady—and I use the term generously—I don’t really give a hoot what you think—”

“You callin’ this sweet darlin’ a liar, are you?” Tap pressed.

The man glowered at Tap and turned toward Sassy. “You know this man?”

“Yep. He came down to buy some bulls from Stuart Brannon. He told me last time he was through. And I never forget a man who turns me down cold.”

“Turned you down, did he?”

“He wouldn’t even buy me a drink nor dance with me.”

“That sure don’t sound like Andrews. I hear he always had an eye for the ladies,” one of the deputies reported.

“See,” she said, “look at his saddlebags. Z.H. That stands for Zachariah Hatcher.”

“You know Brannon?” another deputy asked.

“I bought the bulls, but Brannon was gone from the ranch at the time.”

“So you did business with Billy? Or was it Reynoso?”

“Eh .
 . . ”

The man slipped his hand to the handle of his revolver.

“I don’t remember the name. It was the short one.”

“That’s Billy. And the reason Brannon wasn’t home is
’
cause he’s out chasin’ down this Andrews fellow too. I pity the man that has to go up against Brannon when he’s on the prowl.”

Tap faked a smile. “I hear he’s quite the shootist. Too bad I didn’t get a chance to meet him.”

“You’re in luck, Hatcher. Brannon’s due in here within a couple hours. He knows Andrews, too. He’s brought him in before. Wait around and I’ll get you properly introduced.”

“I’d like to oblige you, but I’ve got to get to Fort Collins to meet my fiancée.”

“I thought you said you might forget about her,” Sassy pouted. She stood up and plunked her hands on wide hips.

Tap forced an apologetic smiled. “It would never work. You’re too exciting of a woman for me. I’m really kind of a bo
ring fellow and—”

Sassy whirred around. “You see? You think some man who’s been locked up in Yuma is going to turn me down like that?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t reckon he would.” One of the deputies frowned. “Hatcher, you take it careful riding north. This Andrews character is a desperate killer. Don’t get tangled up with the likes of him.”

“No, sir, I won’t.”

“Is that stew any good?” the shortest of the men asked.

“Depends on how long it’s been b
etween meals and whether someone as pretty as Sassy is sittin’ at your table. Since I’ve got to ride, why don't you men sit here?"

“Obliged. Sorry for grillin’ ya, Hatcher. We been trailin’ six days. If Brannon’s horse hadn’t lamed up, we’d have caught up with him last night.”

Tap rose up, grabbed for his Winchester leaning against the back wall, and sauntered toward the door.

“Mighty fancy sight you got on that
’
73,” one of the deputies called. “You could pick off a man from seven hundred yards away.”

Tap felt his neck stiffen. “Or a bull elk from a thousand.”

“So you’re leavin’ me without even a little kiss?” Sassy followed him to the door.

“I don’t ever give a pretty woman a
little
kiss.” Tap  winked.

“Prove it.”

Tap hugged the girl hard, leaned her back, and pressed his lips into hers.

When he lifted her back up, she squealed. “Whew-eee! That lucky old Suzy Cedar.”

“Suzanne,” Tap corrected. “She hates to be called Suzy.”

He left the cantina, tossed the saddlebags over the horn, mounted the brown horse and rode north.
A good hour later he stopped to glance over his shoulder. He began to relax.

“Zachariah Hatcher, you saved my skin back there. Thank heaven for dance-hall girls who can’t remember one man from another.

"’
Course, maybe we do sort of look alike. Just a tad. If he had been taller, a little more beefed up, and his hair a little longer. I should get mine cut. My old beard probably kept her from telling the difference.

She don’t like to be called Suzy.

"Tap, you started believin’ it yourself there for a minute. But you about blew it with that kiss. Too bad that Kentucky woman wouldn’t be as easy to fool as Sassy."

Three hours later he camped on the ou
tskirts of a small Utah farm town. Sitting cross-legged next to the fire, he chewed on some dried beef. He kept mulling over the thoughts that had occupied him all afternoon.

If I ride up there, and this Miss Suzanne Cedar thinks I’m Hatcher, maybe I should just string along. I hate to take what another man worked for, but Hatcher’s dead. And he sure was sorry to disappoint this woman. Besides, a remote ranch in Col
orado sounds mighty peaceful. Just like startin’ life all over. Sort of a new chance. Of course, if someone laid the finger on me . . . But Hatcher said he didn’t have any kin. Hardly knew a soul out there, he told me.

However, if she has a picture—but not a good one. And I’ve got a beard now, but no scar. I’ll tell her it healed up.

What did he write in his letters? I know all about her, but little about old Hatcher. She’ll see right through me. Maybe.

But it might be worth a try. I’ll just let it ride. If she thinks I’m Hatcher, I’ll go with it and see where it leads. If she takes one look and says, “Who in the world are you?”, I’ll
’
fess up.

“Yep. Hatcher, you can count on me. I’ll take care of her. Shoot, she might not be too ugly. I once knew a little Baptist girl down in San Diego that could dance up a storm, when her pappy wasn’t lookin’. Don’t you worry about nothin’, Zach
ariah. I’ll see that she ain’t so disappointed. It’s the least I could do for a dyin’ man.

“Yes sir, Mr. Zachariah Hatcher, as the song goes, ‘it’s your misfortune and none of my own.’”

2

S
eptember 1882, upper Cache la Poudre River, Colorado.      
.
Pepper heard the jingle of the bells on the heavy front door of the dance hall and saloon below. She scooted across the bare wooden floor of her upstairs room, flinging a glance in the mirror as she passed by.

“Girls, I need you on the floor,” April Has
tings shouted.

Pepper took a second look in the mirror and brushed her blonde curls back on her for
ehead. Then she ran her fingers across the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

Girl, you aren’t that old. So put on the smile, straighten your dress, don’t drink too much, and don’t bust his nose when he i
nsults you. Remember to bat your eyes coyly when he says, 'Little Lady, you could have been an actress,' instead of sayin’, 'Listen, mister, I’m an actress playing a part every night of the year.'

“Pepper, get down here,” a voice boomed out.

Scurrying out of her room, she left the door open. Another girl was at the top of the stairs. The hall smelled of stale smoke and the bitter tinge of liquor.

“Danni Mae, what’s all the shoutin’ about? Did the army send out another patrol?”

The girl with long, brown hair draped across her back to her waist shot a worried look at Pepper. “There’s been an accident. Some people got injured.”

By the time she reached the lower level of the two-story building, Pepper could see April Hastings, most of the girls, and a couple of men standing around the green velvet love seat in the parlor. Several voices fought for control of the convers
ation. Stack Lowery sat at the piano bench smoking a cigarette, but he had stopped playing.

“What happened?” Pepper asked.

“The pass got washed out last night in the rain storm. Judd hit it straight on. The coach went over the edge.”

“How bad was it?” Pepper asked, still u
nable to see who was stretched out on the love seat.

“Judd broke his leg, and a couple of men got some cuts and bruises. They’re taking some horses and pushing on up to Laramie to get the doctor.”

Shouldering her way past Paula and Danni Mae, Pepper glanced down at a woman in a torn dark dress with a bulky, crude bandage wrapped around her head.

“Who’s she?”

“A passenger on the stage,” one of the men reported.

“She don’t look too good. You’d better get her up to Laramie, too.”

“Cain’t do it. She’s too busted up to move,” the man replied. “The way she’s spittin’ blood, she must be busted up on the inside, too.”

“You tend to her, Pepper,” April Hastings instructed. “These men need to get Judd up the road.”

“Tend to her? I ain’t no doctor,” Pepper protested.

At times April Hastings had the look of a schoolteacher with fire in her eyes and a ruler in her hand. This was one of those times.

“Pepper, you’re the closest thing we got to a doctor for a hundred miles—you and all those home remedies. Now you jist see what you can do. Maybe you can concoct somethin’ that will help her be peaceable.
’
Member how you helped Stack when he took that knife in the back?”

Pepper Paige, doctor and nurse.

Stack? He’s so strong he could recover from fightin’ a hundred men with knives.

Those crowded around the injured woman backed away to make room for Pepper.

She surveyed the injured woman up and down.
What in the world are you doin’ out here?
"Paula, bring a basin of water and some towels. At least we can clean her up.”

“Not here,” April Hastings insisted. “I’m not runnin’ no ho
spital. I’ve got a business to keep going.”

“Then where?”

“Stack,” she shouted to the man at the piano. “Go get a wagon hitched up so they get Judd up to a doctor. Have the men pack the woman up to Pepper’s room.”

“My room?” Pepper moaned. “You can’t put her there.”

“I own this place,” April huffed. “I can put her any place I please. Now take it easy, boys. Don’t spill any blood on the divan. That stuff never comes up.”

“Wait .
 . . you can’t take her to my room.”

“You take the night off, honey. We ain’t goin’ to have no one dyin’ down here in the dance hall," April informed her.

“I don’t want the night off. Put her in Selena’s room. She ain’t wantin’ to work tonight anyway.”

The dark-skinned Selena Oatley stared with narrow eyes at Pepper. “I ain’t never said I didn’t want to work tonight.”

“You told me and Danni Mae you were goin’ to fake bein’ sick just to avoid that rough bunch that’s been hangin’ around.”

“That’s a lie, you yellow-haired sow. I ain’t never said that."

“You did too, and you know it, you half-breed,” Pepper hissed.

Instantly, Selena whipped a knife out from under the folds of her dress. “You want to get laid out like this other blonde?” she taunted.

“I ain’t afraid of you or that knife,” Pepper mocked. “You never done nothin’ more serious than pick out splinters with that blade."

“Pepper,” April Hastings injected, “we’re taking her to your room. You’ll get paid tonight just like the others. Now git your curly head up those stairs. If you two get in another cat fight, one of ya is leavin’. Is that clear?”

“It ain’t fair. I can’t put little Miss Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

“Jist make her comfortable and find out her next of kin,” April Hastings instructed. “It’s the kind of thing every one of us would want for ourselves.”