Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) (14 page)

Tap slapped his hand down on the carriage seat in di
sgust. Pepper sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What happened? Where are we, honey? Did something fall apart?”

“This whole world is fallin’ apart, darlin’.”

“What?”

“Evenin’, ma’am. I’m surely sorry to disturb you, but I couldn’t let it ride ’til mornin’.”

“What is it, Tap?”

“I got fired.”

“No . . . really—what’s happening?”

“The city fathers decided they didn’t want me wearin’ a badge.”

“Did they find out about Arizona?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“I don’t even want to know what happened in Arizona,” Carbine continued, “but me and Baltimore talked it over. We didn’t want to leave the city unguarded at night, so we ain’t quittin’ until mornin’.”

“No, you boys don’t need to quit on account of me.”

“We ain’t quittin’ on account of you. We don’t trust Simp any further than we kin toss him. We don’t want to work for him.”

“I appreciate the thought, Carbine. But I’ll get this thing straightened out as soon as the mayor gets back to town. So why don’t you two hang in there a few more days. You can at least try to keep up some form of order.”

“It ain’t worth it, Tap. If that’s the kind of law they want, let ’em have it.”

“Work ’til payday at least,” Tap encouraged him.

“I don’t know. I’ll stay on tonight and talk it over with Baltimore in the mornin’.”

“This is a big mistake. I’ll get it straightened out. I’ve still got the marshal’s badge.”

“Yeah, but they want you to turn it in.”

“What if I don’t? Who they goin’ to send to take it away from me? Simp can’t do it.”

“Me and Baltimore won’t have anything to do with it either.”

Tap shook his head. “This is crazy. Sort of like a bad dream.”

“Go on home and git some sleep.” Carbine looked up and down the deserted dirt street. “That council meetin’ was about the only excitement in this town. Ever’thing’s real quiet.”

“I’ll go home, but I don’t figure I’ll get much sleep.”

He was right.

Tap and Pepper sat at the hardwood kitchen table drin
king coffee from blue tin cups, talking until dawn.

With his marshal’s badge crammed into his wool vest pocket, Tap pushed his way out of the house at about 6:30
a.m.
Pepper was asleep on the bed still clothed in the new gingham dress when he left. He hadn’t felt like eating. The morning clerk at Breshnan’s said the mayor had arrived late the previous evening and would probably sleep in. Tap left a note asking him to look him up when he stirred around.

He started to walk up toward the marshal’s office and then turned around.
I’m not in a real good mood to meet Simp Merced. Lord, I’m not in a real good mood to meet anyone. I’m not sure this deputy thing brings out the best in me.

He wound up at the Drovers’ Cafe with several cups of co
ffee and a bear sign. He was halfway through the third cup when Angelita, wrapped in a white-speckled rabbit fur coat, climbed up on the bench beside him.

“Morning, Mr. Andrews. Sorry about you getting fired. Daddy told me you got a bum deal. Do you like my new coat?”

“It’s beautiful, darlin’. Where did you get that?”

“I made an honest trade,” she divulged. “I traded an old cap-and-ball pistol for it.”

“Now you didn’t tell them that it once belonged to Bill Hickok, did you?”

“Of course not,” Angelita bristled.

“Good.”

“I told them the gun once belonged to Stuart Brannon.”

“Angelita.”

“How do I know it didn’t once belong to him?”

Tap shook his head and sighed. “You’re goin’ to get yourself in real trouble one of these days.”

“Me? You’re the one who got fired.”

“Maybe I can get that straightened out this mornin’.”

“I certainly hope so. Daddy’s talking about quitting and moving on. He’s thinking of us going to Deadwood. Have you ever been up there, Mr. Andrews?”

“Not yet.”

“Neither have I. And I don’t want to go.”

Angelita climbed up on the stool and faced the dozen or so customers in the restaurant. “I am going to sing a song, and I’d like to dedicate this to Mr. Tapadera Andrews who just got fired from being a deputy even though everyone knows he’s the bravest man in town. He’s been a good friend to me although I sometimes act like a pill.”

She locked her hands together in front of her and tilted her head to the right.

“‘The roundhouse in Cheyenne is filled every night

             
With loafers and bummers of most every plight.

On their back is no clothes, in the pockets no bills;

              Each day they keep starting

             
for the dreary Black  Hills.

Don’t go away; stay at home if you can;

        Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,

             
Where the blue waters roll and the Comanche Bills

Will lift up your head in the dreary Black Hills.’”

Angelita vocalized the second and third verses. She concluded to a loud ovation. Several coins tossed her way.

“Maybe I should be a singer when I grow up.” She scooped up the coins and plopped down next to Tap.

“What makes you think you aren’t grown up?”

“I’m buying your coffee and roll,” she announced. “You’ll need to save up all your money now that you don’t have a job.”

“All right, I’ll let you.”

“You will? Really? Is it proper for a young lady to buy a ma
rried man his breakfast? You said I was nearly grown, right? I wouldn’t think you would allow me to do something so indelicate.”

Tap sighed and pulled a couple coins out of his gray wool vest pocket, stacking them on the counter. As he stood to leave, Hiram Porter came through the door.

“Tap . . . you got a minute?”

“What can I do for you?”

“I heard about your run-in with the city council. I’m pulling three wagons up to the roundup in Johnson County. Things are crazy up there. Rustlers and squatters all over the place. I’d like to hire you to oversee the range, just to make sure ever’one is playin’ by the rules. I’ll put you up and feed you and give you eighty dollars a month.”

“Thanks, Mr. Porter. I’ll surely consider it. When do you need to know?”

“Got to pull out Friday, no matter what the weather.”

Tap received two more roundup job offers on his way back to the mayor’s. So many stopped him to visit that it was after eleven before he made it to Breshnan’s office.

“It looks like I missed all the excitement,” the mayor commented.

“Not necessarily. There might be more fireworks today.”

“What I meant was that I didn't witness you bring in Jerome Hager.”

“And you missed the council meeting.” Tap glanced up at the wood-paneled wall that sported a large stuffed bull elk head.

“Yes, yes, I’m horribly sorry. I had no idea this was going to transpire.”

“Can they legally do that? Can they hold a meeting wit
hout you being present and fire me?”

“As far as I can figure, without an elected marshal, they can do that.”

“Can’t you reverse it?”

The mayor shrugged. “I don’t think so. Not without dire p
olitical consequences. This is an election year, you know. Actually, it might be a good thing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hear me out. Alex DelGatto was the one who pushed this through. He’s also the one who keeps threatening to run against me for mayor. I figure this blunder will sink his ship for good.”

“Right at the moment I don’t give a buffalo chip about your reelection chances.”

“No, quite right. But the council will call for election of a marshal within the next six weeks. Lots of folks are upset about them sitting you down, and you’ll be able to get their votes real easy. My opinion is that this council action just gave you the election.”

“In the meantime, I don’t have a job, and Merced is acting marshal during Jerome Hager’s trial.”

“I’ll be happy to personally hire you for six weeks at the deputy’s pay to work for me. As far as the trial is concerned, you’ve got Hager out at Ft. Russell, and Judge Blair is on top of the situation. I don’t think you need to worry. I’ll try to get the election set as quickly as possible. And you can certainly count on my endorsement.”

Tap took deep breaths and tried to keep his anger from e
xploding.

“Now if you’ll turn in the marshal’s badge to me, I’ll take care of the other details. Shall I put you on my payroll star
ting today?”

Tap stormed toward the door. “Breshnan, I’m not workin’ for you, and if Merced wants the badge, tell him to come see me about it. I’m not surrenderin’ Pappy’s badge to any man too cowardly to come look me in the eye.”

Tap walked briskly toward the I-X-L stables.

I didn’t handle that good, Lord. Maybe You better keep Merced away from me for a while .
 . . and the city council and the mayor and . . .

Just before noon Tap drove the rig to the front of their house on 17th Street and bounded across the yard to the door. Mrs. Wallace was at her place behind the lace curtain.

Pepper sat at the piano bench beside the massive piano combing her hair.

“You goin’ to play me a tune?” he teased.

“Sure. Are you going to sing me a song?”

Pepper patted the bench beside her, and Tap slid in next to her.

“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.

“A few hours. What did you find out?”

“They really fired me.”

“I can’t believe this. They can’t fire a man for doing a good job. There isn’t a man in this town who could have done what you did yesterday. Who do they think they are, hiding in those big mansions on Ferguson Street. You’re the only man left in this town who can face down the whole lot of them, and they know it. I have a good mind—”

“Yes, you do,” Tap interrupted. “And the rest ain’t bad either. Now calm down, Mrs. Andrews. There’s a carriage out there waitin’ for you to pack us a picnic and go for a ride.”

She spun her head so quickly that her blonde hair bounced off his face. “Really? Just you and me?”

Pulling back a little, Tap flashed a teasing smile. “Just the two of us.”

“Where are we going?”

“Anyplace we can laugh, shout, holler, cry, complain, kiss, and cuss without it botherin’ the neighbors.”

“No cussing. I’ve already heard enough foul language to last a lifetime.”

“Right. No cussing.”

“Is it cold out?”

“It’s pleasant and sunny now, but you know how it can change. We’d better take plenty of wraps.”

Pepper buzzed through the house taking food out of the oven and gathering supplies. Tap loaded quilts into the ca
rriage. He shoved his ’73 Winchester under the buggy seat along with a box of shells. He had just toted the food box to the rig and returned to fetch Pepper when he noticed a tear slide down her face.

“You feelin’ sick again, babe?”

“No.” She sniffled.

“Darlin’, you’re cryin’. Hey, it’s okay. I’ll find another job. Maybe the Lord’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’. Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a—”

“It’s not that.”

“What is it?” Tap slipped his arm around her shou
lder.

She hung her head. “This is the first time in my life I’ve ever gone on a picnic.”

“But, what about when you were little, back in Georgia?”

“The war was on. Then they burned Atlanta and daddy died.”

“And up in Idaho? Your mother and her husband, didn’t they . . .?”

“Mama was always sick. And the others treated me mean. Real mean.”

“But even dance-hall girls have time for picnics, don’t they?”

“Nobody ever invited me on one.” The tears now streamed freely.

Tap held her tighter. “Well, you’re goin’ on a picnic today, girl, and I promise it won’t be the last.”

Pepper wiped her eyes with the hankie she had tucked into the sleeve of her yellow gingham dress and fo
llowed him out to the rig.

They were rambling east out of Cheyenne when she f
inally spoke. “Honey, I’m sorry I was so doleful back there. Every once in a while I remember how much I missed growin’ up.”

“Darlin, we’ve got a lifetime to make up for all of that.”

“I know it. Maybe I am still feeling a little poorly. Your job is the important thing. It’s so incredible I still can’t believe it. Yesterday afternoon you could have been elected emperor of Cheyenne. By night time, they fired you. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“Reminds ya a little of that crowd that shouted ‘Hosanna!’ one day and ‘Crucify Him!’ the next, doesn’t it?” Tap su
ggested.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“You know what Pappy told me once?” Tap slapped the reins, and the team of driving horses broke into a trot on the outskirts of town. “He said, ‘I don’t trust crowds. Never have. Never will. Individual people matter, but the opinion of a crowd isn’t worth a buffalo chip.’”

“Pappy just might be right. Now tell me everything the mayor told you. Don’t leave out a word.”

“We can wait ’til we picnic to talk about that.”

Pepper sat straight up and tilted her head in a schoolteac
herly manner. “We will discuss what the mayor said right now, Mr. Andrews. I’m not about to waste the conversation on my first picnic on city politics. I’ve read about picnics. When we get there, we’re going to talk about flowers and springtime and dances and concerts and good books we’ve read and poetry and . . . you know, things like that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. “Say, do you know anything about poetry?”

“No. Do you?”

“Very little.”

“That’s all right. We’ll just make something up, and neither of us will know the difference. Now tell me every word the mayor said.”

He did.

Tap drove the carriage east along Crow Creek on the Campstool Road. Leaving the Union Pacific tracks to the north of them, they trotted along the rolling prairie of southeastern Wyoming. Near Rimer’s corrals on the creek, they rested the horses. Tap carried the quilts and supplies from the carriage to a dry, grassy knoll that overlooked a southward bend in the creek.

“Are you too cold, darlin’?”

“Oh, no. I don’t think it’s nearly as windy as yesterday.”

“Have you ever lived anyplace with more wind than Cheyenne?”

“Nope. Put that crate down here. How about you?”

Tap spread the quilt on the grass and reclined while Pe
pper fussed through the supplies. A few white, puffy clouds sailed in the deep blue sky overhead. “I don’t guess I really lived anywhere, for any length of time in one location, before I met you. I sort of went season by season. A winter here. A spring there. Summer somewhere else.”

“Should we build a fire and warm this food up?” Pepper pulled several biscuits out of a green-and-white-checkered napkin.

“Cold ham is fine with me, but I’ll build you a fire if you need one.”

“If it clouds up, I might get chilly.”

"If you do, just scoot over here and let me warm you up.”

“I’ve heard that line before.” She shoved a large piece of bi
scuit and peach preserves into his mouth.

“Mnnnhppht.”

“What did you say?”

“I said,” he swallowed hard, “you seem to be takin’ to this picnic thing mighty good.”

“It’s fun just to be away from the city and have you all to myself.”

Tap opened a big biscuit, folded a piece of ham, and slapped it inside. “Did you ever think that maybe we’d be happier if we didn’t live in a city like Cheyenne?”

Pepper wiped her mouth and motioned at him to open a jar of applesauce. “You think it’s time to move?”

"I don’t know. This marshal thing—there’s politics and di
fferent groups to make happy. And then you worry about justice and innocent people being falsely accused and guilty ones set free. Sometimes I get so mad I . . . sometimes I wonder if I ought to shoot the whole lot of them.”

“Tap!”