One Went to Denver and the Other Went Wrong (Code of the West) (4 page)

  The two men stepped out into the storm. The flickering lantern twinkled off the falling snow. If he hadn’t been half frozen, it would have been a beautiful sight. By the time Tap had Brownie stalled for the night, Stack had the little wood stove in the calving room crackling with burning pine.

  “How’s Pepper doin’, Tap?” the piano player and saloon bouncer asked. “I still haven’t got my invitation yet.”

  “Pepper’s doin’ great. You ought to see her helpin’ out around McCurley’s—sewin’, cookin’, and the like. She’s actin’ more like an eastern gal everyday.”

  “But you didn’t mention the weddin’,” Stack prodded. “You two are still agreed on that, ain’t ya?”

  “You know, that girl can be one of the most stubborn, pigheaded—”

  “The weddin’?” Stack interrupted.

  “Don’t worry. You’re still goin’ to be the best man. But it’ll probably be spring.”

  “I thought she wanted a Christmas weddin’.”

  “I figure . . .” Tap paused. “To tell you the truth, Stack, I need to take care of some Arizona business before I settle down.”

  “You got a ranch down there or something?”

  “Not hardly. I got a little legal problem, if you know what I mean.”

  “Arizona’s a long way from here.”

  “It nags at me on the inside, Stack. You ever had that happen?”

  “Sort of.” Stack tossed another stick in the wood stove. “So, you're headed to Arizona?”

  “Not yet. I need to go into Denver and talk to a lawyer friend of mine. Maybe I can get this taken care of without goin’ back south.”

  “You headin’ over the pass to Denver tomorrow?”

  “Unless this storm settles in, I am.”

  “Shoot, I need to go get some winter supplies. Mind if I bring the wagon along with you?”

  “I’d enjoy the company, Mr. Lowery.”

  “That’s mighty fine. I was kind of dreadin’ that trip alone. We’ll roll out in the mornin’, right after I cook you them eggs.”

  “Maybe we ought to hit the trail early and try and beat the snow.”

  “Oh, a man’s always got time for some ham and eggs. But I've got to get back over to the dance hall to wake them drifters up, so I can throw them out on their ears. They wore out their welcome and their wallets hours ago.”

  “Where they from?”

  “Can’t tell you that, but they were in here the other night. You want to hear something comical? All three is brothers. The oldest goes by the name of Jim-One, and the second one is called Jim-Two. Now don’t that seem—”

  “And Dusty?” Tap groaned.

  “You know them boys?”

  “They tried to yeehaw me a couple days ago at the ranch, and I had to run them off.”

  “You want me to hogtie ’em? I don’t think they have more than one gun between the three of them.”

  “They aren’t worth the effort. Just toss them out the door and tell ’em some old boy from the Triple Creek Ranch is in the barn threatenin’ to shoot them on sight.”

  “Won’t they try and jump ya?”

  “I don’t think so. You tell them that, and they’ll be halfway to Missouri by daylight.”

  Tap kept a fire burning in the calving shed stove. He hung out most of his clothes to dry. Leaving the shed door open, he climbed the ladder and spent the night in the loft, half-buried by hay, his Colt .44 in his right hand. The soft, sweet smell of hay and the security of being where no one would think to look for him helped him sleep soundly.

  Daylight had not broken yet when he pulled his clothes on and began to saddle up Brownie by the light of a flickering lantern.

  Lord, this is Tapadera Andrews talkin’, and I’m headed toward Denver. Now I don’t really know what will happen there. It’s just .
 . . I got a wrench down deep in my belly—kind of like when a man’s real hungry. You know what I mean? I got to take care of it. I know I’m not very seasoned at this sort of thing, so, eh . . . stick with me and I’ll try to learn. I know You’d want—”

  “Hey, compadre, I figured you roust out early.” Stack burst into the barn carrying two tin plates. “This is your lucky day, amigo. My specialty—a chili omelette.” Stack shoved an enameled tin plate of smoldering black and green stuff at Tap.

  “Thanks, Stack, but really I ...”

  “No need to thank me. I was goin’ to stir some up for me and Selena anyway.”

  “Selena’s up already?” Tap finally shoved a bite of the eggs into his mouth and turned away to try eating them.

  “The girls all turned in early last night. No one wanted to ride through that storm to come to the dance hall. But I see stars out there this mornin’, so maybe it will be clear for a while.”

  Tap cinched down the saddle and tied his bedroll onto the cantle as he tried to swallow another bite of rancid, bitter, burnt, slick, almost unchewable eggs. “How’s that Selena doin’?” he managed to mumble.

  “She’s been sailin’ ever since Pepper moved out and you buried that Beckett gang. She’s sort of the center of attraction now, and a dance hall only needs one queen bee. I think she’s countin’ on you sayin’ hello before we ride off.”

  “I’m ready to pull out. You need some help hitchin’ up that wagon?”

  “Nah,” Stack insisted. “Go on and greet Selena and eat them eggs. You don’t want them to get cold. They don’t taste so good when they’re cold.”

  Tap left Brownie in the warm barn and stepped out into the cold, crisp early morning air. A thin gray line in the east announced the approach of daylight. His boot heels crunched in the shallow layer of frozen snow. He was still chewing on a bite of eggs and carrying his plate when he reached the side door that led directly to the kitchen.

  A bathrobe-wrapped woman with waist-length, thick black hair and flashing dark eyes swung open the door.

  “¡Caballero! My hero. Come in. Come in!”

  Tap stepped into the stuffy, sweet-smelling kitchen and looked at her in the flickering lantern light.

  “Ai, yai, yai, Señorita Selena. You are more beautiful than all the roses in San Antonio.”

  “Sure, and Stack’s a great cook. Do you really eat those things?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Are you kidding? I give ’em to the cat.”

  “I don’t see a cat.”

  “Nah, he ran off. Can you blame him? How you doin’ anyway, cowboy?”

  “Good. I’m doin’ good.”

  “And Pepper? How’s that blonde wildcat? Did she tear out your hair or try to knife you?”

  “You don’t ever give up.”

  “Nope. But I do envy her.”

  “There are other men around—”

  “I don’t envy her because she got you. You ain’t all that much really. But she got out at a good time. Business has been bad. The type of men that’s movin’ in ain’t nearly as considerate as that old bunch.”

  “I thought the old bunch was pretty rotten.”

  “That should tell you something about these new ones.”

  “I hear Stack rollin’ that wagon into the yard, so I better pull on out. I didn’t want to leave without sayin’ hello.”

  Selena took his tin plate and spun back toward the sink. “You just wanted to get rid of them horrible eggs, that’s all.” She laughed.

  “Hasta la vista, Selena.”

  “Hasta nosotros *enamorarse, Señor Tapadera Andrews.”

  The cold morning air felt especially brisk on his flushing face and neck. He pulled down his gray felt hat and tried to think of Pepper.

  “You get enough to eat?” Stack hollered from the wagon.

  “Yep.” Tap rode Brownie out of the barn. “I don’t figure I could eat another bite.”

  After three cold, clear, uneventful days Tap and Stack rolled into Denver. The streets were mostly frozen over. The wooden sidewalks were dirty and crowded, and no one looked up as they drove into town. Tap rode on the wagon with Stack, and Brownie was tied to the back of the rig.

  “This place looks busier than ever,” Tap remarked. Crowds of men huddled at almost every corner of the city. “’Course, I haven’t been here in a few years.”

  “It’s that big old thing Tabor and Loveland put on last summer that stirred everyone up,” Stack explained.

  “What thing?”

  “Oh, you know, old Horace Tabor and William Loveland organized that National Mining and Industrial Exposition. You heard about that, didn’t you?”

  “Eh . . . no, I don’t guess I did.”

  “Where you been, boy?” Stack chided. “In prison?”

  “I guess it wasn’t newsworthy at A. T. P.”

  “Lots of them eastern tourists and visitors just up and decided to stay. There’s been boomers, boosters, and land speculators on every corner ever since.”

  “She’s grown a lot since I was here last.”

  “Where are you goin’ to find this guy Eagleman?” Stack asked.

  “Where’s the biggest poker game in town?”

  Stack pulled the wagon onto a side street and parked it next to the wooden sidewalk. “That would be at the Front Range Club .
 . . but watch out for them. Many a rich man has walked out of there stone-broke.”

  Tap climbed back to the wagon’s tailgate and unhitched Brownie. “Don’t worry, I’m not going there to play poker. I’m tryin’ to find Wade Eagleman. If he’s not in court, he’ll be playing poker .
 . . or dead. How about you, Stack? Where you plan on stayin’?”

  “I’m goin’ to go see my baby sister. She just got married last summer. Then I’ll go buy supplies.”

  “Your sister? I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  “A sister?” Stack grinned. “I got seven of them.”

  “And they’re all younger than you, right?”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Just a guess.” Tap climbed aboard Brownie. “I’ll probably stay at the Drovers’, if it hasn’t burned down by now. If I don’t see you around town, I’ll stop by April’s on my way back out to the ranch.”

  “You know you’re always welcome to stop a spell. April and the girls would enjoy your company.”

  Tap sat in the cold saddle and watched as Stack rambled up the street lined with small, unpainted houses and leafless trees.

  Seven sisters? Lord, he’s spent his entire life takin’ care of females. Surely there’s some kind of heavenly reward for that.

  It took Tap over an hour to find the Front Range Club. It turned out to be a two-story brick building with a small brass sign and a locked oak-and-etched-glass front door.

  He banged on the glass.

  A tall man in a long, black coat and silk tie finally opened the door. He sported sideburns that ran almost to the point of his chin. Tap could tell that he was wearing a Colt on each hip under the coat.

  “This is a private club,” the man announced. “Members only.”

  “Wait. I don’t want to come in. I just want to get a message to one of your members,” Tap called out as the door began to close.

  “If you’ll write it down, I’ll be happy to deliver it.” The man closed the door and then reappeared, handing Tap a silver tray with a sheet of paper and a pen.

  Quickly, Tap scratched out a note and gave the tray to the man.

  “If you’d just give that to Mr. Eagleman, I’ll wait out here for a reply,” Tap offered.

  The man with hidden Colts blinked hard. “Mr. Wade Eagleman?”

  “Yeah, I just need—”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” the man fired back. Then he wadded the note and tossed it to the steps without reading it.

  “But, I—” The door slammed shut.

  You may not want to talk about it, but you obviously know Wade.

  Tap pounded with impatience on the oak-framed door.

  There was no answer, but through the opaque etched glass he could see the shadow of someone standing there.

  “Go away, or I’ll be forced to summon the authorities,” the man shouted.

  “Open the door, or I will bust the glass out,” Tap hollered back.

  Standing to the side out of sight, he quietly grasped the black iron door handle with his left hand and slipped his Colt from his holster with his right. With the barrel of the revolver he hammered on the oak.

  As he heard the faint sound of the latch being unlocked and felt the door begin to open, Tap violently jerked it forward. The man inside, still holding the door handle, staggered off balance to the top outside steps. In his left hand he carried a short-barreled .45, but it hung to his side.

  The barrel of Tap’s gun cracked into the man’s wrist, and the .45 tumbled onto the granite steps, firing on impact. The bullet ricocheted wildly off the steps and into the street. A crowd of onlookers gathered.

  Tap grabbed the man by the tie and yanked his head down waist high, shoving the cold barrel of the.44 into his temple before he had time to pull the other gun.

  “Let’s try this again, mister,” Tap growled. “Where can I find Wade Eagleman?”

  “What’s goin’ on here?” a man in the crowd shouted.

  “No problem,” Tap called back. “He forgot to properly cover his bet, that’s all.”