My Foot's in the Stirrup . . . My Pony Won't Stand (Code of the West) (25 page)

“When I picked up that pitchfork, I was serious. It’s the element of surprise. They didn’t really think I'd do it.”

“I’ve been worried sick about you for two days,” Tap co
nfessed.

“And I’ve been worried about you most every day for seven months.” Pepper slipped her hand into his.

Tap led Pepper to the open barn door. Selena and Lorenzo followed.

“Hey,” Banner called out from the back of the barn. “You can’t leave us here. We’re bleedin’. We need help.”

Odessa’s carbine swung up to his hip as he spun around. “Mister, I’ve been waitin’ for two days to do this.”

“Set it aside, partner,” Tap ho
llered. “You know I’m right. God Almighty will give you a new chance, but you have to start somewhere.”

The .44 thundered.

A barn board shattered not more than a foot to the right of Banner’s head. The second shot from the hip exploded a board six inches to the left of the trembling man’s head.

“Wait,” Banner screamed.

“Did you say somethin’ about not wantin’ to be left there?” Odessa shouted.

“No,” came a weak, frightened reply.

Lorenzo's carbine dropped to his side. “Is that a start?” “Yep. That’s a start.”

The four walked out into the light of the Wyoming mor
ning. The sun peaked over the eastern prairie horizon. A farm wagon rolled up the street. A rooster crowed. The dog stopped barking. In the clear sky, Pepper could tell it would be another hot, dry day.

“You almost killed me,” a voice shouted from the porch of the closed millinery shop. The marshal and his deputy sat on the steps nursing their bruises. “And you’re still under arrest, Andrews.”

“If you really want to know who killed Jacob Tracker, you ought to talk to those two tied up in the back stall,” Pepper called out. “Cabe admits to killing Tracker.”

“Especially if you hold a pitchfork to his neck,” Selena added.

The marshal and his deputy hobbled across the street.

“Don’t let those two loose,” Tap warned. “They’re wanted for cattle rustlin’ and murder in Texas as well as Wyomin’. If you need to talk to me, I’ll be at the house.”

Tap tried brushing caked dirt off his shirt and took off his black beaver felt hat. He ran fingers through his oily hair. “You surely do look purdy in the morning prairie sun, darlin’.”

“And you look like a filthy mess," Pepper replied. "Can we go home now? I’ll cook us all some breakfast while you clean up. A
ngelita will be worried sick.”

“Angelita? Where did that girl go? She came over with me and Lorenzo.” Tap looked up and down the street.

A black carriage pulled by two tall black horses rolled toward the livery.

“There she is,” Pepper said. “She must have gotten a ride.”

“Stack?” Tap stared at the clean-shaven, well-dressed driver of the carriage.

The big man tipped his broad beaver hat. “Miss Selena, What a surprise. Two of my favorite girls.”

“I hardly recognized you all dressed up like an undertaker,” Tap teased.

“And you look like you’ve been horsewhipped and dragged through the stockyards. You ain’t changed a bit.”

“What are you doin’ in Pine Bluffs? Where’s your freight wagon? What’s with this boiled white shirt and tie?”

“Ain’t you told him about the gold mine?” Stack quizzed.

“I haven’t had time,” Pepper admitted.

“What gold mine?”

“Mr. Lowery happens to own half interest in the largest gold mine in the entire known world,” Angelita slipped her hand into Stack’s massive right arm.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t mentioned that big Montana ranch either,” Stack admonished. “The one I want Tap to run?”

“What?” Tap choked. “Big Montana ranch?” Each word slipped out like a large lump of unchewed meat.

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