Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) (16 page)

Tap grabbed his rifle, shoved it back underneath the ca
rriage seat, and swung up into the rig. The black leather seat was already cold and stiff.

“Where are you going?” Pepper called.

“I’m goin’ to visit Simp Merced.”

“Tap, don’t go tonight. You’re mad.”

“I got good rights to be mad.”

“I’m afraid you’ll go off and do something you’ll regret.”

He tugged down the front of his black felt hat and glared. “I promise you, I won’t regret it.”

“How about me, Tap? Will I regret it?”

“Pepper . . . I just can’t allow this to happen. You don’t understand. I can’t let anyone think they can barge into my home and do this.”

“
Our
home.”

“What?”

“It’s our home,” she insisted. “It belongs to both of us.” With lantern still in hand, Pepper sat down on the front step. “Tap, I don’t feel good.”

“Look, you aren’t .
 . .” He held back the rest cast his attention on the blackness of the night. Mrs. Wallace had padded her way back to her house. The street was quiet, but he could hear a general roar from the saloons on 15th and 16th Streets. He glanced back at Pepper, her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.

Tap swung down out of the carriage and retrieved his r
ifle. “You look cold.”

“I’ve got a chill,” she acknowledged.

“Your forehead’s sweating.”

“Yeah. Maybe .
 . . maybe I got a touch of flu riding in that open carriage.”

“Come on, let’s straighten up some of this mess and get you to bed.” He helped her to her feet.

“Thanks, honey.” She faintly smiled.

“For helpin’ you up?”

“For staying home tonight. I really need you to be with me.”

“I don’t exactly like admitting it.” He sighed. “But I su
ppose it isn’t too good of an idea goin’ after Merced when I’m this aggravated.”

Tap leaned down and gave Pepper a kiss on the cheek.

“Not out here,” she lectured. “We don’t want to give Mrs. Wallace anything to write in her diary.”

It took little more than an hour for Tap and Pepper to get the house straightened up. He sat on the edge of the bed tu
gging off his boots while she combed her hair in front of the mirror.

“How you feelin’ now, darlin’?”

“A lot better. I think it was the shock of having everything tossed around like that.”

Tap yanked off his socks and rubbed his toes. “The strange thing is that I can’t spot anything missing—and not
hing really broken. They were just lookin’ for something.”

“What do you have that Simp or even those bummers want?”

Tap slapped the bed, then jumped to his feet. “The badge,” he shouted.

“The marshal’s badge?”

“I told the mayor to send Simp after it.”

“Where is it?”

“Here in my vest pocket.”

“You mean my house got turned completely upside down because of some tin star?”

“
Our
house,” he corrected.

“You really think Simp is the type to hire a couple foo
tpads to scour our house to find that badge just so he wouldn’t have to confront you?”

“Yep.”

“If that’s what the city council wants, what else can you do? Just give it to him.”

“I can’t do that. He’ll have to come face me.”

“Why? So you can provoke him to a fight?”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand our house was a complete mess, and no telling what will happen next time.”

Tap sat on the bed staring at the wall while Pepper climbed under the flannel sheet and heavy green comforter. She turned her back toward him and didn’t say another word. Finally, he finished getting ready for bed and turned off the lantern. Pe
pper felt him slide in under the covers and slip his arm around her waist.

Rolling over, she stared at his face in the shadows. “What are you going to do about the badge?”

“I’m thinkin’ that things like this used to be simpler to figure out before I got married.”

“Are you regretting your decision?”

“Nope.” He held her tight and lifted her hair off her neck and kissed her. “Do you think Mrs. Wallace can see us now?”

“Nope,” she replied, with her right hand finding the back of his neck and pressing his lips to hers.

With slow, deliberate movements Tap buckled on his gun belt. Glancing back at the bedroom, he slipped the .44-40 out of its holster. He quietly spun the chambers and then replaced it. He left the canvas coat hanging on the rack and pulled on his brown leather vest. Instinctively he pulled out the badge . . . then shoved it back into the vest pocket. His hat felt cold and stiff. The braided horsehair stampede string hung down his back like an Oriental’s queue. He rubbed his hand across his face and felt the stubble of a three-day beard.

I probably ought to shave. I probably ought to stay home. Lord, I don’t want to do something dumb .
 . . but I can’t let him do this to me.

The pre-dawn sunlight was reflecting off of a few sca
ttered clouds on the eastern prairie horizon when he stepped out to the front porch and gently closed the door behind him. The cool early April morning air opened his eyes and flooded his lungs.

The street was quiet. Even Mrs. Wallace’s window looked vacated. Other than a small dog’s high-pitched protest, the only noise Tap could hear was the jingle of his own spurs as his boot heels struck the boardwalk.

A man without spurs is like . . . like a lady without earrings. I’ll never take another job where I can’t wear spurs.

At the corner of 17th and Hill Streets, Tap waited for a loaded farm wagon to pass.

“Tap?”

Rolly Hayburn was driving the rig.

“Looks like you’re movin’,” Tap commented.

Rolly waved his hand. “You ought to be thinkin’ the same thing. Soon as those bummers down at DelGatto’s heard you weren’t carryin’ the badge, they’ve been drinkin’ the
mselves into a lynchin’.”

“They’re goin’ to be sorely disappointed. Hager’s out at the stockade at Ft. Russell. I don’t surmise any of ’em are dumb enough to try that.”

“I hear they got a way to get Hager back to town. And if that don’t work, they’re comin’ after you. I reckon this town is about to blow, Tap, and I don’t aim on bein’ around.”

“Where you headed?”

“I guess it’s time for me to ‘go see the elephant.’”

“The Black Hills?”

“Yep.”

“What’s in the wagon?”

“Cotton gloves.”

“A whole wagon full of gloves?”

“The U. P. sprung a leak in a railroad car, and they got wet. Whipple and Hay wouldn’t take them, so the railroad sold me the whole lot for twenty cash dollars. I dried ’em out over a fire. Figure if I sell ’em for a dime a pair, I’ll turn a handsome profit. Besides, maybe I’ll find me a gold mine.”

“Take ’er easy, Rolly. There’s some bad ones along the way still tryin’ to lift your poke.”

“Cain’t be no worse than that rabble down at the tracks.”

“You might be right about that. You haven’t seen Merced, have you?”

“Nope. So long, Tapadera.”

“Adios, Rolly.”

Tap watched as the wagon rolled north. Then he turned and stared back toward the railroad tracks.

Where in the world did Rolly get twenty dollars? .
 . . But he’s right about Cheyenne.

Progress.

They called trains the vehicle that would “carry us into the twentieth century.” “Civilization advances on the rails into primitive lands.”

We got electricity.

Fancy houses.

Paris fashions.

Fine cigars.

Irish whiskey.

Chinese silk.

And we got half the derelicts and footpads in North Ame
rica who only had enough money to ride to Cheyenne. Then they cram into the roundhouse plannin’ on how to get to the Black Hills—or how to steal from each other . . . or someone else.

Lord, Cheyenne’s too crowded. It’s easier to love your neig
hbor if they’re scattered out some. All clustered up, they surely do bring out the worst in each other, don’t they? I’d be grateful if You would take that bunch at the tracks and do some scatterin’.

Tap walked slowly north toward the courthouse and jail. He fastened the top button on his vest and blew into his hands, rubbing them together.

Lord, if Merced pushes it, I’ll have to shoot him. I just can’t figure it any other way.

Tap shoved the door to the marshal’s office open and stepped quickly inside. Baltimore Gomez was pouring a cup of coffee.

“Where you been? We’ve looked all over for you.”

“Pepper and me got away for an overnighter out at the Ma
rtin ranch. What’s happening around town?”

“You should’ve told someone where you was. Me and Ca
rbine spent half the day worried that you been bushwhacked and then fretted all evenin’ that you had moved out of town without sayin’ goodbye.”

“I do have to find a job, Baltimore.”

“This is peculiar around here. Me and Carbine are pullin’ out too. We’ll work ’til payday, that’s all.”

“Don’t do it for me, partner. Where is that temporary ac
ting marshal? My house got tore up, and Merced’s got a lot of explainin’ to do.”

“Your house? You suppose someone thought Hager was back over there?”

“Where’s Merced?” Tap repeated.

“He went out to the Fort to bring in Jerome Hager.”

“Hager doesn’t have to appear in court, does he?”

“Nope. Simp inferred it was a disgrace to call on the troops, that it was a Cheyenne matter, and we’ll take care of it here in town. He’s plannin’ on keepin’ Hager in the jail.”

“He can’t do that. They’ll lynch Hager for sure.”

“I reckon Simp knows that too.”

“Did the judge approve of the transfer of the prisoner?”

“Judge Blair took the train to Evanston. He’s holding court over there for a couple of days. Simp said the acting ma
rshal has the authority to transfer the prisoner.”

“You and Carbine figurin’ on holdin’ off that lynch mob? It’s a cinch you won’t get any help from Merced.”

“We can take care of ourselves, Tap. We don’t aim to gather lead from no drunks.”

Tap paced the room. “Yeah, neither did Pappy. This whole thing is crazy. You say he’s bringin’ in Hager by hi
mself?”

“That’s what he claimed. He said if you could do it, so could he. You reckon he’ll shoot Hager on the way in?”

“No, but I figure he won’t put up any resistance if a gang just happened to be hidin’ in a draw or gully.”

“Don’t suppose there’s much we can do about it.” Balt
imore shrugged.

“I gave Hager my word I’d see that he had a trial. There’s got to be some way a man can keep his word.”

“What do you aim to do?”

“Think I’ll ride out to the Fort.”

“What will you do when you get there?”

“I don’t know. .
 . . Baltimore, promise me something—don’t get yourself stuck in here guardin’ Hager all night. Drunken lynch mobs aren’t very discernin’.”

“I don’t aim to be here. But if I am, I could no more let ’em have a prisoner than you or Pappy could. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Tap sighed as he turned to leave. “I know it.”

Tap carried his rifle across his lap as he rode Brownie to Ft. Russell. What few clouds were left in the air were high and thin. The leaves on the trees lining the lane to the off
icers’ quarters looked ready to burst out and celebrate spring.

It’s a git-up-’n’-go day. Time to drift on down the trail until I find something new. I’m always sorta restless when the se
asons change. It’s a good thing spring follows winter.

Simp Merced’s blue roan was tied out in front of the co
mmanding officer’s quarters. Tap dismounted and slowly walked across the wooden front porch of the office, trying to keep his spurs from jingling too loudly. Several voices shouted inside. Tap scooted back to the corner of the building next to Brownie.

The front door swung open. A red-faced Simp Merced backed out of the office, accompanied by Col. Hollings and two other officers.

Hands flying, Merced shouted, “You’re insulting the entire city of Cheyenne.”

“And if you think I’ll allow just anybody to ride in here and remove a prisoner that has been assigned to our care by a United States territorial court, you’re dead wrong.”

“You can’t do this. I demand you release that prisoner,” Merced hollered.

“You bring me papers signed by Judge Blair or Acting Ma
rshal Andrews.”