Where the Deer and the Antelope Play (Code of the West) (5 page)

The sprawling, unpainted ranch house with covered porch running the length of the building looked bleak perched on a blanket of snow and surrounded by a scattering of leafless cottonwoods. The towering barn, wreathed by weathered co
rrals, occupied the east side of the vast yard.

She watched the door right up until she stopped the rig by the ice-covered brass hitching post in the middle of the yard.

Tap’s probably in the kitchen. I wonder if I should tell him about Abel Cedar right away—or wait until we visit for a while? Maybe I’ll just sneak in and surprise him.

Climbing out of the buggy, she retrieved the basket with the pie in one hand and her handbag in the other. The snow crunched beneath her feet as she tried to step lightly toward the porch.

If he’s standing there peeking out of the window at me sneaking up like this, I’m going to feel like a fool.

The glass panes on both windows seemed frosted over, and she couldn’t see inside the house at all. The front porch creaked in the popping manner of frozen wood.

This is ridiculous. There’s no way to sneak up on a man like Tap.

Pepper propped her handbag on top of the basket and slid her gloved right hand across the black iron door handle. The heavy wooden door slid open without any sound, and she stepped into the musty-smelling front room. She quietly closed the door behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

I don’t hear anything. Maybe he’s out in the barn.

Placing the basket and handbag on the table littered with hand tools and strips of leather, she glanced over at the grand piano in the center of the huge rectangular room.

A saddle? Now he’s using the piano as a saddle repair bench? He’s obviously not expecting me. This room’s a—a horrid mess.

Pepper tiptoed toward the kitchen.

It’s awfully warm in here.

Reaching the kitchen doorway, she stood for a moment and stared at its contents.

He hasn’t washed a single dish since I was here last time. Does he think I come out here just to clean his house? ’Course, he didn’t know I was coming. But at least after the wedding, it will be my mess, too.

Pepper pulled off her hooded cape and draped it on an empty peg by the pantry door. Then she tugged off her heavy coat.

He can just put away the buggy himself. The first thing I should do is heat some water for washing these dishes. How come I always forget to bring an apron? No, the first thing I’ll do is break apart that fire. It’s way too warm in here.

She was halfway across the front room when the rocking chair facing the fireplace caught her eye.

Tap?

A man sat there wrapped in a wool blanket, chin on his chest, in deep sleep.

He must have been up all night. With the cows? Poor man. He looks worn out. Must have gotten frozen out there.

I know just the thing to warm him up.

She slipped behind the chair.

He’s definitely got to get his hair cut before the wedding.

She put her hands over his eyes and whispered, “Hey, cowboy, how would you like those dreams to come true?”

“What?” A strange voice choked. The man in the chair leaped up, clutching his holstered revolver. The cat by the hearth flew toward the kitchen.

Pepper jumped back. “Who are you?”

3

D
id I die and go to heaven?” the man wearing a black vest and a blanket across his shoulders mumbled through half-open eyes.

“Who
are
you?” Pepper demanded again. “What are you doing here? Where’s Tap? What do you mean leading me on to think that you were him?” She could feel her face flush with anger as she tried to remember where Tap kept his shotgun.

“Whoa, lady. I’m sorry.”

“Get out of here. Get out of here right now.”

“I was just sleepin’. Been ridin’ all night. Tap told me to .
 . . say, you’re that yellow-haired gal from McCurleys’, ain’t ya?”

“So what?” she yelled.

“You sure got that old Tap hooked. All he talks about is the weddin’.”

The tension eased from her throat. “But who are you?”

“I’m Wiley. I used to work at the Rafter R up in Wyomin’. I’m a friend of Tap’s, but I’ll be goin’. I didn’t know you was comin’.”

“Wait.” Pepper backed toward the p
iano. “I assumed you were Tap.”

“Yes, ma’am, I got the idee that you weren’t exactly gle
eful to see me.”

“Where is he?”

“He rode out lookin’ for the trail of some rustlers.”

“Someone stole his cattle?”

“No. They stole Rafter R cows and pushed them down this way. I rode in last night to warn him that Fightin’ Ed and crew would be comin’ down here lookin’ for Rafter R beef, and there could be trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Fightin’ Ed Casey is on the prowl. He thinks Tap’s rustled those Herefords.”

“So Tap went to see if he could find the dangerous ru
stlers all by himself?”

“I think he was just scoutin’ for sign. He ought to be back soon. I was catchin’ up on a little sleep and I surely didn’t aim to alarm you none, ma’am.”

“Tap’s friends are my friends. Why don’t you just stay there by the fire and warm up? I’m going to see if I can clean up that kitchen before it petrifies.”

“Thanks, Miss.”

“Everyone calls me Pepper.”

“And I can certainly see why. Miss Pepper, I’m feeling rested, so I reckon I’ll ride out and see what Tap found. I’ll tell him you’re here. I don’t think he was expectin’ you until next week.”

“That’s obvious.” She waved her hand around at the junk piled about the room.

Wiley slapped on his hat. His spurs jingled as he stepped outside. Pausing on the porch, he stuck his head back in the room. “Miss Pepper, I’ll put your rig away. Uh, Tap me
ntioned you don’t have any sisters. Is that right?”

“I’m an only child. Why do you ask?”

A wide smile revealed straight, white teeth. His face flashed a slight pink. “I was just thinkin’ . . .”

She blushed too. “Thank you for that compliment, Mr. Wiley.”

“Just Wiley, no mister. I’ll go find Tap.”

“Tell him there’s a peach pie waiting for him.”

“Frankly, ma’am,” Wiley pushed his hat to the back of his head, “I don’t reckon he’ll need any extra encouragement.”

“You’ll stay for supper?”

“Actually, I’m stayin’ out in the tack room a few days.”

You are? Not after December 22nd.

Pepper stared out the frosty window as Wiley drove the horse and buggy through the giant double doors of the barn.

I will never sneak up on any man ever again. What a fool. I could have been shot. Or worse.

After building a fire in the cookstove in the kitchen under two big pots of very cold water, she began cleaning up the front room. She trimmed the lamps and lit each one. Then she stacked the saddle, tools, and pieces of leather in a corner behind the table. After putting away boots, shirts, dishes, brass casings, and assorted pieces of spurs, bridles, and guns, Pepper found a halfway clean dusting rag.

When she finished sweeping the room, she slipped out on the front porch to enjoy the freezing breeze brush across her face and hands.

The kitchen proved to be a more formidable task. By the time the dishes were clean, the floor mopped, and the food put back into the pantry, sweat rolled down her face and soaked her dress.

She addressed the wide-eyed cat, “Sal, I’m surely glad I didn’t have to stay and work at McCurleys’. Just a nice res
tful day at the ranch. I ought to get supper started beings there’s going to be company, but I’m bushed.”

Pepper strolled back into the front room and plopped down at the piano bench.

I wonder if I’ll get lonesome out here after a while? At the hotel people are always coming and going. At April’s, I dreamed about a nice, quiet, isolated house like this.

She lifted the cover off the keys and began to peck with one finger. Each note sounded muffled and dull.

“All right, Andrews, what did you do to my piano?”

She propped up the top of the grand piano and found a shirt and a leather vest crammed against the strings.

A dirty clothes hamper? You’re using a grand piano for a clothes hamper?

She carried the items into the bedroom and flung them against the wall on top of a stack of what looked like dirty clothes, towels, and bedding.

“I’m not cleaning your bedroom, Mr. Tapadera Andrews. At least not for another thirteen days.”

She was startled to hear a sharp rap at the door. Tucking her hair up in the combs, she scooted across the front room.

Why is Tap knocking at the door?

She took a deep breath, prepared a smile, and flung open the door so hard it banged against the wall. The short man in the heavy topcoat jumped back.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he stammered, pulling off his hat and exposing a nearly bald head.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Mr. H. F. Rawlins, the new manager of the First Mercantile Bank of Fort Collins.”

“A banker?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you lost?”

“Eh, I hope not, but I am awfully cold. Would it be proper for me to step in by your fire while we chat?”

“Oh, yes, certainly. Come in.”

He ambled toward the fireplace. The redness in his cheeks signaled a long buggy ride. The cat met him halfway and began to meow and rub against his boots.

“I’m afraid I’ve let the fire dwindle. Go ahead and build it up if you’d like. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“Mrs. Hatcher, that would be the nicest thing that has happened to me all week.”

“Oh, I’m not Mrs. Hatcher.”

Squatting next to the fire, the man placed several more sticks of wood on the coals. “Oh, my, don’t tell me I’ve come to the wrong ranch.” He pulled some papers out of his overcoat pocket. “I’m looking for a Mr. Zachariah Hatcher’s ranch.”

“This is Hatcher’s ranch. I mean, it used to be his ranch.”

“Used to be?”

“Yes, Mr. Hatcher is deceased. The place belongs to a Mr. Tapadera Andrews now. Perhaps you should wait and have Mr. Andrews explain.”

“That is puzzling news. I had no idea.”

“You knew Mr. Hatcher?”

“Actually no. The former manager made the loan, and now he’s moved off to Sacramento. I’ve just taken over, and I’m trying to clear up all the accounts.”

“Loan? Accounts? What do you mean?”

“I’m sure your husband knew when he bought the place from—”

“The truth is, Mr. Andrews is not my husband—yet. We’re getting married in a couple weeks.”

“How nice.”

“And I live down at McCurleys’. I just came out for the day.”

“Oh, splendid. You know how to get to McCurleys’. I wanted to stay there tonight, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to get there from here. Maybe you could draw me a map or something.”

“Certainly, but what was this about a loan?”

“Mr. Hatcher still owes over two thousand dollars on the loan he secured when he bought this ranch. The payment was due December 1, but as I said, things at the bank have been a little disorganized.”

“Two thousand dollars?”

“Actually $2,089.45.”

“And you came out to collect?”

“There is a thirty-day grace period. I won’t have to foreclose until December 31.”

“I don’t know if Mr. Andrews was aware that he was assu
ming a loan.”

“Oh, yes. It’s right there on the patent deed. If you’ll bring me your copy of the deed, I’ll show you the provision.”

“I think you should wait for Mr. Andrews to return. Can I get you a piece of peach pie with your coffee?”

“Most assuredly. Splendid, Miss—”

“Paige. Miss Pepper Paige.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Paige. You’d be su
rprised how nasty some people treat us bankers. Sometimes they won’t even give me the time of day. The last couple I spoke with threatened to throw me out.”

Actually, Mr. Banker, I was considering shooting you m
yself.

Tap watched seven Rafter R drovers ride up from all sides. “Sorry, the fire’s about dead, boys. If you scruff up a little dry wood, we can all warm up.” He nodded at a cowboy with long, black handlebar mustache. “Howdy, Quail. How’s the winter treatin’ you?”

The cowboy tipped his hat. “Tap, ’fraid this ain’t a social occasion. There’s Rafter R bovines running with your TC longhorns.”

Casey pulled Tap's revolver from its holster and tossed it into the snow.

“How many tracks did you follow down here?”

“Looked like four men.”

“You ride down there about a hundred yards to the south, and you’ll find four tracks leadin’ out of here. Those are your rustlers.”