Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) (7 page)

“But we saw Andrews smuggle Jerome out of town in that sack,” Petey protested.

“The freighter didn’t have him at Swan’s. We done checked there,” one of the men reported.

“Merced said he wasn’t in the jail.”

Merced is connected with this gang?

“Where is he, Andrews?”

A deep voice shouted, “We want justice.”

“No, you don’t want justice. You want vengeance. Vengeance belongs to the Lord, but He expects us to take care of justice.”

Several men with guns in hand crowded closer to Tap. “Deputy, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell where he is,” came another threat.

Tap whirled toward the speaker. He jammed the barrel of his cocked ’73 Winchester rifle into the man’s chest. “Are you threatenin’ me, mister? ’Cause if my life is in danger, I’ll just pull this trigger right now.”

“Wait,” the man whined. "You can't do that.”

“While you boys are playin’ vigilante out here, Hager could be in Laramie City or Denver or Pine Bluffs or Ft. Collins or Rawlins. Now I’m loadin’ up these prisoners and ridin’ back to town. If I see even one of you in the shadows, I’m goin’ to shoot. Understand?”

“These two were with Hager, weren’t they? Maybe we ought to just haul them back to town and hang them,” a short man with a long beard taunted.

The barrel of Tap’s rifle crashed against the man’s head. He dropped to the ground.

“Petey and Primo weren’t part of that ruckus at the Occ
idental. So anyone else plan on talkin’ about hangin’?”

“You had no cause to .
 . .” The voice grew silent at Tap’s glare.

He’s probably right. Lord, there’s got to be a better way of doin’ this job than bashin’ in skulls and shootin’ all of ’em.

“Load this one up, and the rest of you get out of here.”

They dragged the man back to their horses and wagons.

“We could have got the drop on him,” someone murmured.

Tap thought he heard Strappler reply, “Providin’ six of us want to die doin’ it.”

In the black of night, he heard horses whinny and wagons roll south toward Cheyenne.

An hour later Petey, Primo, and Tap could see the incande
scent street lights of Cheyenne.

“Them new Edison lights is a pretty sight—even if it does mean jail,” Petey remarked. “How do you figure Cheyenne’s the first town in the whole dang country to get ’em?”

“Lots of rich folks in Cheyenne. They get what they want,” Tap replied.

“Are they the ones tryin’ to lynch Jerome?” Primo que
stioned.

“I don’t figure it’s the locals. For some reason this one bunch of bummers seems bent on turnin’ the devil loose on Cheyenne. I don’t aim to let that happen.”

“You stood ’em down for us. We’re much obliged to you for that, Deputy,” Petey added.

“You know,” Primo continued, “we’ve cowboyed with old Jerome on several roundups and drives, but we really ain’t all that close.”

“He’s too wild to spend time with in town, if you know what I mean,” Petey joined in.

“It’s jist that those bummers stirred things up the other day. If they’d stayed down in their own territory, none of this would have ever happened, and the marshal would still be alive. It don’t seem fair that they stir it up, and Jerome has to pay the whole invoice,” Primo concluded.

“Yeah,” Petey put in. “By this time we would’ve been pullin’ out with the roundup wagons.”

“You boys really have jobs at the Bar 79?”

“Yes, sir, we do.”

“When’s their wagon pullin’ out?”

“They was hopin’ to send an early crew out tomorrow—weather permittin’.”

“Is TwoHoots the wagon-boss still?”

“Yep. He’s the one who hired us.”

“When we get to town, I’ll stick you in jail. In the mornin’ I’ll contact TwoHoots and see if he’ll bail you out. If he comes and pays your fine, I’ll ask the judge to send you out on that Bar 79 wagon. But I don’t want to catch you in Che
yenne for a year. Is that clear?”

“Deputy, if you can get us off to ride with that wagon, you’ll never see us ever. Right, Petey?”

“That’s a fact. But what about Jerome?”

“Jerome’s goin’ to pay for what he did. There’s no e
scapin’ that. I’ll work to see he gets what he deserves, boys. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, I guess it is.”

“You ain’t tryin’ to just bluff us into jail with this talk, are ya?” Primo asked.

“Boys, if I say I’m goin’ to shoot you, you can bank on it. I’ll shoot you. And if I tell you I’ll turn you over to Bar 79, I’ll turn you loose. And if you come lookin’ for me i
nstead of leavin’ town, I can guarantee I’ll gun you down on the spot. You catch my drift?”

“Yes, sir, we do.”

Tap locked them in a jail cell about an hour before daylight. By the time he put up his horses at the I-X-L Livery and hiked to his house, the evening sky had turned grayish blue, and the wind blew cold from the north.

Baltimore Gomez met him at the front door. He was Tap’s height but about thirty solid pounds heavier and always a week late with a shave. He fooled many about the speed of his gun and his resolve to pull the trigger.

“Ever’thing safe here?” Tap asked.

“Ain’t heard a peep out of no one,” Baltimore reported. “Even Hager’s been sleepin’. How about you? You look like you’re runnin’ down faster than a dollar watch.”

“I do feel like I’ve been rode hard and put away wet. I brought in a couple of Hager’s friends. They’re over at the jail. But that lynch mob was mighty disappointed they couldn’t find old Jerome.”

“Did you have to throw lead?”

“Oh, I think I winged one and coldcocked another. It wasn’t much of a fight.”

“Tap, for most of us, that would be counted as a real shoo
tout. ’Course, if they find out you got Jerome over here, you’ll have quite a scrape.”

“That’s for sure. Baltimore, go home and get some sleep.”

“I been sleepin’ all night. But I would like to get me some breakfast and check on Angelita. I’ll come back in a couple hours and see how you’re doin’.”

“Thanks, partner. .
 . . Remember, don’t tell anyone Hager’s over here—not Angelita and especially not Merced.”

“Was Simp with the lynch mob?”

“Nope, but he and DelGatto seemed to be their main sources of information.”

“You know him and Alex DelGatto moved to town about the same time last December. But Simp claims he didn’t know De
lGatto before.”

“He spends a lot of time over there every night. It’s the same crowd of loafers and bummers. The honest pilgrims have just about all moved on up to the Black Hills.”

“What do you suppose that bunch is waitin’ around fer?”

“I don’t know, Baltimore. It’s almost like they figured a lynchin’ was about to happen.”

Gomez hitched up his suspenders and jammed on a floppy brown hat. “It’s all yours, partner.” He tipped his hat, pulled on his coat, and left.

Tap watched Baltimore walk to the corner. He saw the cu
rtain flutter in the upstairs window of the house across the street.

I wonder how long it will be before Mrs. Wallace tells som
eone what’s goin’ on over here?

He stepped to the back room and checked on Hager. Retur
ning to the front room, he sat down on the floor near the woodstove and leaned against the sofa. Within minutes he was asleep.

The thing Pepper liked most about Cheyenne was that everyone saw her as Mrs. Andrews, the wife of a hard-working deputy marshal. To people around town she wasn’t a dance-hall girl. Nor a former dance-hall girl.

True, she wasn’t a part of Cheyenne’s elite society. But she wasn’t one of the girls across the tracks either. She wasn’t a maid working in one of the big Victorian homes. She didn’t take in laundry for the troops at Ft. Russell. Nor did she have to clean at the downtown hotels where they stacked four to six cowboys per room until the spring ranch work began.

She and Tap held a place on the lower end of Che
yenne’s middle class. She was just the lady who lived in the little bungalow down the street and bought groceries on Fridays and Mondays, attended the Baptist church with her husband, and took rides in the country with him on Sunday afternoons.

Dozens of men passed her on the street each day, tipping their hats in respect, but not one of them made suggestive r
emarks. It was a refreshing, satisfying freedom she had never known before.

Pepper liked it.

She even accepted Tap’s job as deputy.

That is, until Pappy Divide got shot in the back.

Sitting in the front parlor of Suite G at the Inter Ocean Hotel, she waited for Savannah to dress.

Lord, I don’t know how she does it. She carries on with the sorrowful accep
tance that this is her burden in life. But surely no one is called to be widowed three times.

Gracious in sorrow.

Hopeful in despair.

Confident in confusion.

Maybe it is a calling.

But I’m sure it’s not my calling.

“Pepper, tell me the truth. Does this jewelry look too flashy for a grieving widow? Be honest.” Savannah seemed to float across the room.

“It’s beautiful, Savannah. I don’t think it’s in any way disrespec
tful.”

“It was Pappy’s favorite. He bought this necklace for me in St. Louis. My, that man had good taste in jewelry.”

“He was a real gentleman, wasn’t he? Tap had worked for him only three days when he came home and said, ‘Pepper, someday I’m goin’ to be like Pappy.’”

“You know what Pappy said after the first time he met Mr. A
ndrews? ‘He’s a straight-shooter, Savannah.’ That’s the highest compliment he ever gave any man.” Standing in front of an etched-glass mirror, she held silver and black earrings alongside her face. “Then you think it would be all right to wear this jewelry to the undertaker’s?”

“Savannah, there’s not one person in this town—not even Mrs. Swan, Mrs. Van Tassell, or Mrs. Carey—who would b
egrudge you to wear that jewelry if you want to.”

“Thanks, honey. I value your opinion more than most of the ot
hers.”

Pepper stood and brushed down her dark gray dress with her hand. “Oh, why is that?” She always felt so plain and boring around Savannah, yet she enjoyed being with her immensely.

Savannah slipped on her cape and held the door open for Pepper. “Let’s just say there’s a truth in your tone that comes from a life that has seen lies and a joy in your eyes that comes from years of knowing sadness.”

What does she know about me?

“Does it surprise you that I said that?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s true, isn’t it? That’s all right, honey. It’s kind of a discernment thing that the Lord gives me. I just don’t make mistakes when it comes to judging people. But don’t worry, I have no curiosity to find out what you had to go through to reach this place. I enjoy you as a friend. That’s all I ever need to know.”

Pepper followed Savannah down the swooping staircase into the lobby and out to the boardwalk.

“I guess I’ve never known anyone quite like you,” Pepper finally responded. She thought she noticed a smile under the black veil that hung from Savannah’s hat.

“Others have told me that, some with a blessing and some with a curse.”

Savannah and Pepper sat in the undertaker's room and viewed Pappy Divide stretched out in a polished oak coffin. Savannah’s black-gloved hands were folded in her lap, her face pale and drawn.

Pepper brushed back a tear and took Savannah’s hand. “How are you doin'?”

The lady in black took a deep breath. “I was just telling Pappy we should have taken that trip to California last winter like I said.”

“I guess you think about all those things you didn’t do.”

“And all the things we did. Pappy liked to travel. But somehow in every town we would end up at the sheriff’s or marshal’s office to visit old friends. He must have known every lawman and every lawbreaker west of the Mississippi.”

“Did he know many down in Arizona and New Mexico?” Pepper tried to sound casual.

“He knew Pat Garret, Stuart Brannon, at least four Earp brothers, and some of those. Why?”

“Tap used to live in Arizona, and I thought they might have had some mutual friends.”

“Perhaps they did. Pappy never mentioned it. I certainly hope the council has enough sense to appoint Mr. Andrews acting marshal.”

“The mayor appointed him temporary acting marshal.”

“That’s good. I’m sure Pappy would have approved. Is your Tap planning on running for marshal?”

“He’s talked about it a little. But I’m not sure what he d
ecided.”

“You tell him I think he’s a fine man, but I don’t think he should run for the permanent position.”

“Why’s that?”

“For one thing, from what I hear, he’s just too good a gunman. That will attract every derelict with a gun for a tho
usand miles. Besides, I’ve been married to the past three marshals in this town, and he’s just not the right type.”

“Oh?” Pepper strained to look past the veil at Savannah’s eyes. “Just what is the right type?”

“Unmarried.” Savannah flashed a quick, temporary smile.

After supper at the crowded hotel dining room, Pepper and S
avannah retired to the parlor of Suite G where they entertained a steady stream of visitors expressing sympathy. Everyone from Mrs. William Hale—the territorial governor’s wife—to Mr. and Mrs. J. Slaughter—the superintendent of public instruction and his wife, to Chang Lee and his six sons, to Franklin Moran of the I-X-L, to Rev. and Mrs. Brewster.

Pepper’s role was to open the door and usher the guests in, then sit in the green velvet arm chair near the window, and watch Sava
nnah converse with style, faith, and grace.

Most discussions were the same. Everyone would me
ntion Savannah’s repeated misfortune and their great appreciation for all that Pappy did for the community. Only once did Pepper feel awkward, and that was when Raelynn Royale, owner of the Royale Palace stopped by. Pepper remembered Raelynn as Clara Johnston, a girl she had once worked with in Boise City. Fortunately, peering out through heavy make-up and a mountainous black, curly wig, Raelynn didn’t recognize Pepper.

One thing everyone agreed upon was that Jerome Hager should receive swift, irrevocable justice. It was well after 10:00
p.m.
before the last guest departed and the ladies prepared for bed.

“Pepper, honey, you’ve got to give Mr. Andrews a big hug of thanks for allowing you to stay with me awhile. Nights are going to be the most difficult part, you know. Over and over and over I will be waking up thinking that I hear Pappy co
ming in. I’ll hear him call my name. I’ll smell his clothes or his lotion . . . and I’ll convince myself he’s still here. I guess having gone through it before helps me know that somehow I will survive. The Lord is always sufficient in that way. But it also means I know exactly how painful the process will be.”

“Savannah, you’re so strong. I can’t believe how well you handled all the callers.”

“Strong? Honey, I’m just going through the motions by habit. I’ve done it all before. Right now I think I’d like to have a cup of tea, a real good cry, and then stare at a dark ceiling for a few hours.”

Combs tucked in place Savannah’s jet-black, meticulous hair. The posture was perfect. Her smile was a permanent Cheyenne fi
xture. To Pepper her bearing was almost regal.

In another era she’d be a duchess or queen or some lord's lady.

Only her eyes reflected a crushing sadness. “What can I do to help?”

“How about you fetching us both a cup of real strong tea.”

Pepper slept off and on in Savannah Divide’s folding bed. Her thoughts bounced from Pappy to Tap, and she prayed much for his safety.

She arose early and slipped on a fluffy burgundy robe that Sava
nnah had laid out for her. Standing at the window of the
second-floor suite, she admired the Cheyenne sunrise.

Lord, there’s got to be other things that Tap can do. I don’t think I can .
 . . some drunk will shoot him in the back someday. He’s a hard worker. He’s got lots of experience.

Lord, You’ve just got to give him a ranch.

Six blocks away Tap was glad his eyes flipped open shortly before 8:00
a.m.
, but he didn’t know why they did. With little more than two hours of sleep, his bones were cold and stiff, and his mind was groggy.

It’s almost like someone nudged me awake. Primo and Petey! I promised to get them before a judge this morning.

He stirred the fire and boiled some coffee. Jerome Hager sprawled across the brass bed snoring loudly.

“This is crazy,” Tap muttered. “He kills Pappy, and he gets a good night’s sleep, and me—I freeze to death in that storm and sleep a couple of hours on the floor.” He was splashing water on his face when someone knocked at the door.

With revolver in hand, Tap pushed back the curtains. Baltimore surveyed the nearly empty street from the front step. Tap let the deputy in.

“What are you doin’ back already?” he quizzed.

“I got full. Besides 16th Street is swarmin’ with that lynch mob that’s been drinkin’ ever since you run ’em back to town. I figured you’d want to know.”

“I’d like to know who rented the horses and rigs for them and who’s buyin’ the booze. Other than Strappler, they didn’t look like they had six guns or six dollars between the whole pack of them. What do you have in the basket?”

“Lunch. And a little breakfast for Hager. Told Angelita I’d be gone ’til supper. Where do you need me most?”

“Right here. I’ve got to find Judge Blair and see what can be done about Hager and the others.”

“Sooner or later someone will figure out where you’re hidin’ Hager, don’t you reckon? Did you know that old lady across the street watches this place like a cow eyein’ her young at a brandin’?”

“Yep.”

Tap ate a couple of biscuits and hiked over to the jail. Carbine Williams was drinking coffee from a blue tin cup on the front steps as he approached. His crisp, long-sleeved, off-white cotton shirt contrasted with the grimy jeans.

“Things have been poppin’ since you brought them two in,” Ca
rbine reported.

“You have early mornin’ visitors?”

“Simp Merced came in cussin’ and snortin’. Threatened to shoot them two if they didn’t tell him where Hager was.”

“What happened?”