One Went to Denver and the Other Went Wrong (Code of the West) (7 page)

  Again Tap whispered, “I’m sorry, boys, I’m just not at liberty to say. You know—in a crowded bar like this.”

  “You talkin’ about a payin’ job, mister?”

  “It’s even bigger than money. Did you boys ever hear of Pat Garrett?”

  “Shoot, ever’body knows he gunned down Billy the Kid.” Jacob wiped his mouth on his dirty brown coat sleeve.

  “It's like this, when I finish this job, I’ll be more famous than Pat Garrett. But I’ve said too much already. Too bad you boys aren’t headed into Denver. We could discuss it on the trail.”

  “If this job’s in Arizona, why are you ridin’ into Denver, mister? You could probably find some men in this room who could do the job.”

  Tap lifted his hat and brushed back his dark brown hair. “I’m just goin’ to Denver to gather a couple of sure guns to ride with me. This is not a time to hire amateurs, if you catch my drift.”

  “We ain’t goin’ back to Denver, right, Slim?” Jacob put in. “We sort of, you know, finished a job and need to stay out of town for a while.”

  “You know, Jake, a little desert air might be just the ticket for us. It could be, mister, we might be the very boys you need. Now what is this all-important job?”

  “I do appreciate the offer, but to tell you the truth, I’m goin’ to need top hands here. Is there any truth in the rumor that John Wesley Hardin escaped from prison?”

  “I ain’t heard nothin’ about that.” Slim rubbed his tobacco-stained, wispy beard.

  “I’d like to bring you along, but I’ve got to have some men who can look down the barrel of a .44 without battin’ an eye.”

  “Are you sayin’ we can’t pull our freight in a gunfight?”

  Tap took a quick study of the crowded bar. I’ve got to get them away from this crowd. “Can we talk about this out back?”

  “That table over by the stove is private enough. Besides, these are all friends of ours anyway.” Slim led the way to the table carrying a bottle and a couple of glasses. He plopped down with his back to the wall.

  Andrews, if you don’t get them out on the trail, you have to leave them in this saloon.

  Jacob spoke first. “Now, mister, what’s all this secret stuff about?”

  Tap searched the room before he spoke. “I’ve been hired to do a job down in the A. T.”

  “What kind of job?” Slim asked.

  “I’m gettin’ to that. Just hold on. I’m goin’ to hijack a payroll wagon headin’ up to Jerome and—”

  “It better be an awful big payroll for all the buildup you been givin’ it.”

  “If you boys interrupt me one more time, I’m ridin’ down the trail,” Tap insisted. “Now you got enough sense to shut up and listen, or do I ride?”

  “Ain’t nobody going to talk to me that way,” Jacob huffed and reached for his holster.

  With one motion Tap grabbed Rippler’s right wrist with his left hand and pulled his own Colt with his right. The effect—Tap had his revolver cocked and jammed into the man’s stomach before either could say another word.

  “Wait a minute, mister,” Slim interceded. “Wait . . . He didn’t mean nothin’. Did you, Jake?”

  “No, sir. I surely didn’t mean to rile ya.”

  One of the bartenders stepped over carrying a short-barreled shotgun. “You got any trouble over here, Jake?”

  “Nah,” Tap replied. “I was just showin’ them a new move with my .44. Right, boys?”

  “Yeah,” Slim added. “It was pretty slick too.”

  The bartender retreated to work. The noise of the room rose louder and louder.

  “Okay, now I’ll finish.” Tap reholstered his Colt. He noticed that Jacob Rippler had broken out in a sweat. “The holdup is just a cover. Oh, the take could be fifteen or twenty thousand. Me and the three others will get to split that, but in the process we are suppose to make sure the man riding guard is killed.”

  “So someone wants to do away with a guard, and they hired you to make it look like just a holdup?” Slim asked.

  “Now you got it.”

  “I still don’t see how you can compare that with Pat Garrett.”

  “What you didn’t ask me, boys, is who the guard is.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Stuart Brannon.”

  “You’re joshin’ now, right?” Slim asked.

  “I heard he died down in Mexico,” Rippler put in.

  “I guarantee that he’s still alive.”

  “Four men can’t bring down Brannon. Ain’t you never read none of them books?”

  “If I can find the right men, we can. The one who hired me knows the exact wagon route. Can you imagine what the history books will say about those who outsmarted Brannon, the Arizona legend?”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “I can’t tell you the details now. Anyway, what I’m goin’ to need is a couple of convincing decoys and another sure hand with a Colt.”

  “That’s all it will take?”

  “I see no reason to further divide either the riches or the glory. Do you?”

  “We get paid up front?”

  “The men I hire will get one hundred dollars cash when we first start out to Arizona and then split the take even up when the job’s done.”

  “That ain’t all that much to go up against Brannon.”

  “Can you imagine what the history books will say about the ones who do it? Boys, we will be livin’ legends in our own time.”

  “We are gettin’ a little low on funds.” Slim glanced over at Jacob Rippler. “What do you think?”

  “Maybe the desert air would do us good,” the man conceded.

  “Now there’s just one thing. I can’t go around hirin’ men I’m not sure of. What have you boys been up to lately? Who you been runnin’ with?” Tap poured each of them another drink from Slim’s bottle.

  “Listen, mister, you ain’t dealin’ with no amateurs here. That old boy at the Drovers’ Hotel learned that in a hurry this mornin’. Right, Jacob?”

  Tap’s hand slipped down the walnut grip of his Colt. Then he relaxed and brought it back above the table.

  “Oh?”

  “You see, this cowboy came nosin’ around about another job we did, so we done him in. That’s the way we operate,” Jacob boasted.

  Three Fingers Slim glanced at his partner. “I’ll tell you who we been workin’ with.”

  Jacob cautioned, “Maybe you shouldn’t, Slim. I mean, we told him we wouldn’t mention—”

  “This is different. He needs to know jist what kind of hombres he’s dealin’ with,” Slim insisted. “We was workin’ with none other than Vic Barranca.”

  Barranca? So he is in the area. I should have known it would be some back-shooter like Barranca.

  “Victor? My old compadre Victor is around? Now this is a streak of luck. He’s just the man I need to hold the other gun. I thought Victor got chased all the way back to the Indian Nation.”

  “He’s back now. We ought to know. We just pulled a job for him in Denver that paid us quite handsome.”

  “He’s not in jail, is he?” Tap asked.

  “Nope. And here’s the good part. We done it so slick that they’ve done arrested and convicted another fella.”

  “Some firecracker Injun lawyer is goin’ to hang, and it was old Barranca that put a bullet in the fella. It’s almost too good to be true, ain’t it?”

  “Let’s go see Barranca. He’ll surely be surprised to lay eyes on me.”

  “’Fraid we cain’t do that,” Slim replied. “We ain’t real popular in Denver right now.”

  “Victor’s still in Denver?”

  “Yep, but he’s livin’ on the sly, if you know what I mean. They don’t know he done it, but he ain’t takin’ no chances.”

  Tap blew his breath into his hands and rubbed them back and forth. “Listen, I’ve got an idea. Let’s sneak into town, get Victor to join us, and ride south. When we get to Colorado Springs, you’ll have that one hundred dollars in hand.”

  “You got that money on you right now?”

  “Of course not. That’s another reason I need to go into Denver. You boys aren’t tryin’ to arrange an ambush, are you?”

  “We ain’t goin’ into Denver. Barranca warned our lives would be in extreme danger if we hung around too long. Right, Jacob? So we jist might stay right here and drink ’til spring.”

  “Or until our funds run out. Besides, how can you be so sure Barranca will join us? He ain’t the kind who takes orders from nobody.”

  “What? You think he’d pass up a chance to lead down Brannon? Victor and me have been shootin’ our way across the West for years.”

  Mostly at each other, of course.

  “I’ll tell you what.” Tap pulled some coins out of his pocket. “You take this ten dollars as a down payment and wait right here. I’ll be back in a day with Barranca and your one hundred dollars. Then we’ll ride south and do that job. Now where do I find Barranca?” He dropped the coins into Slim’s hand.

  “I don’t know that we should tell ya, mister. Victor would shoot us down at first sight if he know’d we told anybody where he was stayin’. He’s touchy that way, don’t ya know?”

  “Of course, I won’t tell him how I found him.” Tap snatched the coins. “But I think maybe I’ve been wastin’ my time, boys. The deal’s off. I’ve been sittin’ in this smoky saloon too long. You go on back to your drinkin’. I’m headin’ into the history books.” He stood up and started to walk toward the front door of the Seven Mile Saloon.

  “Wait a minute, mister. Don’t go off gettin’ your egg fried. You bein’ a friend of Barranca’s, I don’t suppose it would hurt.” Slim looked back at Jacob who nodded agreement. “Do you know where the Pearly Gate Dance Hall is?”

  “I can find it.”

  “You go into the Pearly Gate and ask for Lena. Tell her that Earp and Masterson sent you in to talk to Barranca. Maybe she’ll take you to him and maybe she won’t. Now, how about them coins?”

  “Earp and Masterson?”

  “Secret passwords.”

  Clowns. The West is filling up with idiots and clowns.

  Tap tossed the coins back into the man’s outstretched hands. “I’ll see you boys right here by noon tomorrow.”

  Tap walked out to the rail and cinched the saddle tight on Brownie. The sun had dropped behind the Rockies as he rode back into Denver. The cold, slick saddle leather sapped the heat out of his legs; the ducking trousers felt stiff and raw. He considered tying his bandanna around his almost numb ears, but ruled it out and yanked down his wide-brimmed gray hat instead.

  Tap let the reins drop around the saddle horn and stuffed both gloved hands into his coat pockets to try to keep them warm. An occasional touch with a spur or a correction with a knee was all Brownie needed to keep plodding back to town. The bull-hide boots crammed into the tapaderas kept some warmth in his feet.

  Barranca? Lord, the last time we went head to head I swore I’d shoot him on sight if I ever spotted him again. But even if he killed Crawford Billingsly, I’ve got no way to prove it. And he’s not goin’ to walk into the marshal’s office and turn himself in.

  It was well after dark when he left Brownie at the Wyoming Stables again and returned to the Drovers’ Hotel. The night clerk refused to look at him as he crossed the lobby. After washing up in a basin in his room, he went down to the hotel restaurant. He was drinking hot coffee and chewing on a tough piece of venison when the waiter, a man by the name of Maurice, scooted a chair up to his table.

  “Did you want to talk to me?” he asked.

  Tap swallowed a lump of gristle and looked at the man. “You ever heard of the Pearly Gate Dance Hall?”

  Maurice silently looked Tap up and down.

  “Listen, mister, if you are just lookin’ for a girlfriend for the night, there’s a lot safer places than the Pearly Gate. It’s one of those snake holes that seems to have a knifin’ or a shootin’ most ever’ night.”

  “It sounds mighty exciting. Think I’ll give it a try. Where did you say it was?”

  “Go up here two blocks and turn right. Then go out that diagonal road to the southeast ’til you think you’re clear out of town. You’ll see it on the rise. Where do you want your belongings sent when they bring you back stretched out on a board?”

  Tap stared at the man for a moment. Maurice broke into a knowing smile.

  “It can’t be all that bad,” Tap commented.

  “Oh, it can be much worse. But you’ll survive. I heard about the shootin’ up in your room last night. Isn’t your first trip to town, is it?”

  “Nope.”

  “It will be crowded tonight.”

  “I’m goin’ to wait and go tomorrow.”

  “It will be crowded then too. Every rough character on the plains heads there to get .
 . . eh, warm.”

  “I don’t aim to dance. I just need to ask a few questions.”

  “I doubt there’s anyone in the place that would give you an honest answer to any question,” Maurice informed him.

  “That’s why I’ll wait until tomorrow night. I’m still half froze. Besides, I don’t have any idea what kind of questions I need to ask.”

  After moving the brass bed again, locking the door, and placing his firearms nearby, Tap turned off the lamp and crawled under a stack of quilts.