It's Your Misfortune and None of My Own (Code of the West) (9 page)

“A nickname?”

“Yeah, Miss Cedar, everyone just calls me Tap.”

“What?”

“Tap. You know, like in tapadera? These leather stirrup covers are called tapaderas. But a horsewoman like you knew that. Anyway, if it’s agreeable to you, I’d rather be called Tap than Zachariah.”

She clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from gi
ggling, but she couldn’t hold it in. Finally she burst out in laughter.

“I know it kind of seems funny, and if you’d rather not, I could—”

“No, that’s not it. I like that name. I really do. It fits you. I was laughing because I was afraid to tell you something, too.”

“Did you rob a bank?” he teased.

“No, I have a nickname, too, and you probably won’t  guess what it is.”

“You sort of look like a princess, but more like . . . I know what it is: Angel!”

“What did you call me?” Her smile fell flat.

“I was just guessing that they called you Angel. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Then she flashed a wide smile. “It’s all right. You just caught me by surprise. My nickname is Pepper.”

“Pepper? Like in black pepper? Chili pe
pper?”

“Yeah, but if you don’t like it, we can—”

“Don’t like it? It’s nickel-plated. You’re a little too refined for a name like that, of course, so it gives you a hint of mystery. I like that.”

“A hint of mystery? Mr. Hatcher, I mean, Tap. You aren’t tr
ying to sweet-talk me, are you?”

“Of course, I am Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do .
 . . Pepper?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of fun, ain’t .
 . . I mean, isn’t it?”

The conversation back to the ranch was nonstop from both sides—dealing with ever
ything from the best breed of cattle for the northern ranges to the best color for kitchen curtains. There was a lot of talking, not much listening, and plenty of sideward glances for quick inspections.

They finally came to the base of the canyon that led up to the ranch. Tap reined his brown horse and waited for the ca
rriage to catch up.

“Sorry, folks, I didn’t mean to ignore you. We were just tryin’ to get caught up knowin’ each other.” He grinned.

“No problem, Hatcher.” Bob McCurley winked. “Say, do you go by Zach?”

“Actually, as I was telling Miss Cedar, most folks call me Tap. It’s sort of a nickname. And come to find out, she’s called Pe
pper. Isn’t that a great name?”

“Tap and Pepper—yes, that sounds very nice indeed. You two must have been planning the wedding.”

“Oh—wedding. Yes,” Pepper added. “We got sidetracked. Tap, where is the closest church?”

“Church?” Bob McCurley coughed. “There ain’t no church for a hundred miles at least.”

“Eh . . . I’m afraid Bob’s right,” Tap agreed.

“But we do get a travelin’ preacher now and then,” Mrs. McCurley hurried to explain. “I’m sure the Reverend would do the honors.”

“I figured we might just get the parson to do the service out at the ranch . . . providin’ that’s acceptable to you. Now I know you’re used to more than that back home, but it’s kind of all we have.”

“I can see the necessity, but—”

“You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”

“No, it’s not that. I was wondering how we can make plans, not knowing when the Reverend might come by.”

“Don’t you worry about it, honey,” Mrs. McCurley replied. “The good Lord will help you work it out. Isn’t that right, Robert?”

“Yep. I reckon you’re right about that.”

Tap pushed back his wide-brimmed gray hat and wiped his brow. “I’ve sort of neglected my duties here. You are all plannin’ to spend the night at the ranch, aren’t ya? I wouldn’t want you drivin’ down this road after dark. It isn’t much more than a wagon rut from here on up to the place.”

“Thank you, yes, we will stay,” Mrs. McCurley accepted. “I don’t want to be presumptive, but maybe Miss Pepper would like to ride in the carriage for a while. I don’t know about her, but some of us ladies can only take so many hours on a horse.”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Pepper, I’m surely sorry. As you can see, I’m not exactly used to ridin’ with a lady like yourself,” Tap apologized.

Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Mrs. McCurley, you d
eserve a prize.
“Perhaps I should try to be a little more hospitable to the McCurleys.”

Tap tied Onespot to the back of the buggy and helped Pe
pper get situated.

“Maybe I ought to just ride up there and get a fire started in the cookstove. I didn’t know for sure I’d have company today. You folks got to realize I just bought the place, and it’s not as deluxe as the McCurley Hotel.”

“Hatcher, there ain’t no need to apologize,” Bob McCurley assured him. “Now go get the coffee boilin’. We’ll be along right away.”

“You’ll be able to see the ranch from the top of that ridge.” Tap pointed to a rise in the trail. “But you’ll still have about three more miles to go.”

He stared at Pepper for a moment.

“Why, Mr. Hatcher, I do believe you’re gawking at me.”

“Pepper, you’re just about the prettiest Baptist lady I ever met.”

Good heavens, am I a Baptist? I don’t r
emember that in the letters.

Tap turned his brown horse north and spurred to a fast trot. He sat up straight and tall in the sa
ddle.

This must be the way it feels when you di
scover gold . . . or when you win that big pot at poker after gamblin’ your last dollar—sort of like having all your dreams come true. Tap, old boy, that Indian ambush in Arizona might end up being the best thing that ever happened to you.

Let’s see, it’s too late to soak beans .
 . . I guess I’ll just let the ladies cook what they want.

Cresting the trail, Tap parked his pony as he surveyed the distant ranch. The wide valley before him stretched all the way to Wyoming. The Medicine Bow Mountains on the east showed plenty of timber. The mountains on the left weren’t as tall—had only a scattering of juniper, scrub cedar, and piñon pines. Most of the crest showed great granite outcro
ppings.

It’s a ranch with clear geographic borders, plenty of water, and .
 . . What? Horses in the corral? Have I got company? I was just here. What are they doin’ in my barn? Maybe it’s their ranch. They don’t look like hands. Not now. Not with Pepper here. I’ve got to send them on their way before Pepper and the McCurleys pull in.

He spun the horse around and galloped back to the ot
hers.

“What’s the matter?” McCurley asked.

“Look, there are some men at the ranch. They moved in to the corral with a dozen horses. I need to ride up and find out what’s going on. From a distance they look like drifters. Bob, you keep the ladies up there on the promontory. Don’t come in until it looks clear.”

“What do we do if something happens to you?” McCurley asked.

“Then take this wagon and run for it. Bob, you’ll have to protect the women.”

“How do you know these men are violent?” Mrs. McCurley quizzed.

“I don’t . . . but I’ve seen a lot of men on the prowl. Anyway, I don’t want to take any chance with your safety.”

“I’ve heard rumors of a rough bunch robbin’ banks up on the border. But I don’t think they’d be down here. You sure you don’t want me to come, Tap?” McCurley asked again.

“Nope. This is one I’ve got to settle on my own,” he answered.

He rode back up to the top of the ridge. As he did, he pulled his rifle from the scabbard and laid it across his lap.

It wasn’t the first time he ever rode single-handed against a gang. There were the Stocktons down at Santa Fe, the Babbs and Donovan gang over in Virginia City . . . even Kansas Dick and that bunch.

Only one or two have the drive to shoot face to face. The ot
hers will hesitate. But I’ve got to find those one or two!

As he approached, Tap counted six horses in the corral and five saddled and tied out front. Only three men stood outside the barn.

He rode straight to the house and dismounted, keeping the horse between himself and the others, tied Brownie to the post, and then walked right at the men, still carrying his Winchester on his right shoulder.

“Git right back on that pony and ride, mi
ster.”

Tap kept walking toward them. He’d spent his whole life looking into the dirty stubbled beards and narrow eyes of men like these.

“Mister,” one of the men called out when he was still seventy feet from the barn, “you made one big mistake ridin’ in here. And if you even think of pointin’ that rifle at one of us, it will be the last mistake you ever make.”

Without a moment’s hesitation Tap pulled the hammer back on the already-cocked rifle. Immed
iately, all three men grabbed for their revolvers.

“The first gun that comes out of the holster, that fat man with tobacco stains on his vest gets a .44-40 in the gut .
 . . you understand that? And I’m talkin’ to those in the barn, too. You two get out here where I can see ya. Now what are you doin’ on my ranch?”

“Your ranch?” The nervous fat man at the barn door faked a smile. “Ain’t nobody at this place since old Tucker left the country.”

“You’re wrong. It’s mine now. And I want to know what you’re doin’ here.”

The one at the far left sidestepped to cut wide b
ehind Tap. “We’re jist going to use the corral to hold our spare ponies for a few days. We’ll come back and pick them up—don’t you worry none.”

“You take one more step to circle me, and you’ll never live to eat supper. Do you unde
rstand that? Now whether you boys are smart enough to rob a bank or a stage, I’m not sure, but you aren’t using this corral for relay horses.”

The last thing on earth I need is some posse ridin’ in here.

“Just chalk it up to experience and head down the trail. From now on, this part of the county is off-limits. It’s that simple. I’ll give you ten minutes to ride over that hill.”

“Mister,” the fat man sneered, “you obv
iously don’t know who you’re dealin’ with. We ride with Jordan Beckett. Does that mean anything to you?”

Tap spun around and fired the Winchester at the horse co
rral. He clutched the rifle with his left hand. With the right, he pulled his Colt. He had it pointed at the fat man before any of the stunned men got their own guns out of their holsters.

“You shot one of our horses,” the fat man bellowed.

“You got nine minutes left.”

“You’re a fool. Five to one odds you can’t .
 . .”

Tap marched straight up to him. The man reached for his gun, but the barrel of a Winchester caught his wrist. After the sicke
ning crack came a cry of pain.

Tap caught sight of a thin man with wispy blond mou
stache pulling his gun. He dove to the ground. The bullet buzzed over him, tearing into the leg of a man who had attempted to circle him.

“You shot me. You crazy Texan, you—”

Tap rose to his feet behind the fat man and jammed the barrel of the Colt behind the man’s right ear.

“Get ’em out of here, fat man. Get ’em out of here right now, or there’ll be more than horses that die.”

“You’re crazy,” the man hollered, still clutching his broken wrist. “You’re a dead man, mister.”

“Help me, Payton. I’m bleedin’ to death,” cried the man who was shot.

“Let me tell you what’s crazy—you boys got most all of northern Colorado to hide that relay of horses. I don’t give a cow chip how many banks or trains or stages you rob. I just said you can’t cache horses on my place. It isn’t worth gettin’ shot up over, and it isn’t worth losin’ another horse. I want to see you movin’, now.”

The tallest man, still back in the shadow of the barn, started to pull his revolver, but Tap’s bullet ripped through the man’s arm. He staggered back and fell to the dirt.

“Look, that could just as easily have been in the forehead, but I got company comin’ and don’t want to have to dig a grave.”

Years of facing down gunmen had taught Tap to sense the exact moment when the ba
ttle was over. He could tell by their eyes that the fighting was done.

“Now, I’m not—oh, now look at that.” Tap pointed to the di
stant ridge and McCurley's buggy and spare horse.

The gunmen glanced at the silhouette.

“Company’s startin’ to come in, and I don’t even have the coffee boilin’. I just don’t have time for this, boys. I’m going to have to kill you all and bury you in the mornin’.”

“Wait,” the fat man cried out. “We’re leavin’.”

“I can’t ride. I been shot in the leg. Payton, you got to help me.”

“He’s right—he can’t ride. Just leave him, Payton. I’ll take care of him. I’ll bury him out by that little clump of pines.”

“Payton, help me up. Don’t leave me with this crazy man.”

Within sixty seconds all five, including the two wounded men, were mounted and the extra horses turned out.