Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) (10 page)

Pepper squirmed on the black leather seat and didn’t look at Savannah. “I’ve spent most of my life being pushed and shoved. But lately, Tap and I have e
njoyed learning to let the Lord lead us, if that’s what you mean.”

“Close enough.”

Pepper's mind flooded with thoughts all the way back to the Bon Ton Livery on 18th and Eddy.

Lord, I always feel so inferior around Savannah. She knows how to talk to everyone in this town, no matter which side of the tracks they live on. She’s not concerned what others say about her or what they think. Someday maybe I could be that way too. I mean, without losing a husband.

Pepper noted that no one loitered in their customary positions around the livery, though several men scurried toward 17th Street in the general direction of the U. P. Station.

“Is someone famous coming in on the train?”

The livery boy took the reins and helped her and Savannah down. “Leavin’ town, I reckon. Word is that they’ll try to send Jerome Hager out on the train. Some boys don’t figure he’ll ever get on board. The rest are jist goin’ down to watch. Think I’ll mosey down there myself. They say that deputy is gettin’ himself in a real fix, ma’am. So I guess we’ll see if he really has the sand for the job.”

“That deputy happens to be Mrs. Andrews’ husband.” S
avannah scowled. “And I can assure you he has enough sand to stand against the likes of the bummers and drovers in this town.”

“He turned to Pepper. “No offense, ma’am.”

Pepper nodded. She and Savannah walked arm in arm back toward the Inter Ocean Hotel.

“What do you suppose Mr. Andrews is up to, taking Hager to the train depot?” Savannah finally asked. “It sounds rather risky.”

“Oh, I don’t think Tap would take unnecessary risks . . . normally.”
He always takes risks. Why can’t he be more cautious like Pappy?

Lord, keep him safe. Keep him safe right this minute. Please.

Pepper followed Savannah into Suite G at the Inter Ocean, then scooted straight to the window to gaze across town toward the Union Pacific Station.

“This ain’t no way for a man to shave,” Jerome Hager co
mplained. “A man can’t use a razor with both hands tied together and a cocked .44 pressin’ into the back of his head.”

“I want you to look your best for Judge Blair,” Tap i
nsisted.

“I don’t see no reason to go advertising where my neck is,” Hager groused. “That’s about as purdy as I get. When is the ambulance coming?”

“You don’t get a ride to the courthouse. We’re walkin’.”

“You’re crazy, Andrews,” Hager shouted. “I ain’t walkin’ them streets.”

“Now it’s only about nine blocks. Even a deadbeat drover can walk that far.”

“There’s people out there that want to kill me. You said so yerself. That’s why I’ve been hidin’ in this here tiny shack of yours.”

“There’s people out there that want to kill me too,” Tap reminded him.

“That’s right. Old Petey and Primo will be waitin’ to lead you down.”

“I ran them out of town this mornin’. Surely you don’t have any other friends in this town.”

“Us drovers stick together. We’re tired of them sneakthief and footpad bummers robbin’ and knivin’ and shootin’ us and then gettin’ away with it. It wouldn’t surprise me if a whole passel of ’em will try and spring me.”

“Then why are you worried about walkin’ to the courthouse. Seems to me you have nothin’ to worry about. Besides, I figure any friends you have left will be hangin’ around the U. P. Station.”

“How do you reckon?”

“Just a premonition. It’ll be good for you to get out into some Cheyenne spring air.”

“Yer goin’ to untie my feet, ain’t ya?”

“Yep. Just as soon as I lock these hand irons on both of us.” He kept the pistol jammed into Hager’s ribs as he fastened the hand irons.

“This don’t make sense. We ain’t really goin’ to walk to the courthouse, are we?”

“Come on. This should be a memorable experience. Only I don’t suppose you’ll have time to write your memoirs. Go down the alley to Evans, then north to 19th, and west to the courthouse.”

“I can holler out, and they’ll shoot you down,” Hager threa
tened.

“I’ve looked around town the past couple of days, and I fi
gure the odds are that if you shout, you’ll take the first bullet. You willin’ to call a shout and find out which one of us is right?”

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” Hager mu
mbled.

“Nope. The stupidest thing you ever did was shoot Pappy Divide in the back.”

“But this is the stupidest thing I ever done sober. You got some liquor around the house?”

“Nope.”

“Come on, Andrews. I might be dead in ten minutes. Surely you got a bottle stashed somewhere.”

“No chance, Hager. Let’s get this parade started.”

“You ain’t a deacon, are ya?”

“Not hardly. But I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Hager turned even more sullen as he stepped through the front door prodded by the barrel of Tap’s Colt .44. Tap surveyed the street back and forth as they walked east. When they turned north on Evans, a drover on a buckskin mare spun her around and galloped toward the tracks.

“He spotted us, Andrews. They’ll be comin’ after you now.”

“Or comin’ after you. Keep walkin’, Jerome.”

“Look up there on the corner. Who’s up there? Som
eone’s waitin’ for us.”

“I reckon he is.” Tap walked straight up to the man.

“Tap, you need some help?” Rolly asked.

“How about you gettin’ Brownie from behind my house and ride him up to the courthouse. I might need a pony to go out to Ft. Russell.”

Rolly Hayburn scurried south, and Tap continued to march his prisoner north. Folks were now coming out on their front porches to watch the two men pass. A few could be seen scurrying downtown.

When they turned east on 19th, several riders scattered across Ransom Street. Tap and Hager both stopped in their tracks when they saw Angelita running at them.

“What are you doin’ here?” Tap huffed. “Go on. Get home.”

“I’m going with you.” Angelita hiked ahead of them.

“I’m tellin’ you, go home. This is not a game to play. I appreciate you wantin’ to help me, but I—”

“Help you? Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Andrews. I bet Mr. Loo five dollars you could get Hager to the courthouse wit
hout either of you gettin’ shot. There’s a lot of bets being made.”

“Where did you get five dollars?”

“I don’t have it yet. That’s why you’ve got to make it.”

Her nose in the air, her blue gingham dress dra
gging the dirt, and her arms folded in front of her, ten-year-old Angelita led the two men down the middle of 19th Street.

Thirty or forty people now waited for them at the Ransom intersection.

Most were cowboys on horseback. Many toted guns.

“Angelita, do you really want to help me get him there?”

“I want to win that bet.”

“Here’s what you do. Slip behind that crowd. When I give you a signal, run up to the courthouse and get your daddy and Carbine Williams to come down and bail me out.”

“What kind of signal?”

“Just watch my eyes.”

“I knew it.” She grinned.

“Knew what?”

“I knew you couldn’t get along without me. Can I skip? Everyone says I have a very cute skip.” She skipped toward the armed men on horseback. They spread apart to give her room.

Lord, keep her safe until she’s old enough to know what she’s got.

When the men on horseback closed ranks, two freight wagons full of roundhouse loafers and bummers rolled into the south side of the intersection. One was driven by cigar-chomping Alex DelGatto himself. Most carried axe handles or two-by-fours. A few sported old Henrys or cap-and-ball revolvers. The horsemen swung to the north side of the intersection and faced off those in the wagon.

Tap and Hager approached the middle of the inte
rsection.

“Keep goin’, Jerome,” Tap muttered.

“This is insane. We’re both dead. You know it, Deputy. There ain’t no way to come out alive.”

“Isn’t this excitin’, Hager? It surely beats being chained up in that bungalow of mine.”

“Andrews, I don’t know if you’re the bravest man or the dumbest man I ever met.”

Lord, I’ve been wonderin’ the same thing myself.

“Just stop right there, Deputy,” a man on horseback shouted. “There ain’t no reason to go any further with this charade. Just unhitch Jerome, and we’ll let you walk on out of here.”

“I told ya I had friends,” Hager shouted.

“Give us some room, Andrews,” one of the bummers shouted. “And we’ll take care of Hager right now. No reason to kink a good rope when two hundred grains of lead will do the job.”

“Listen up,” Tap shouted, as he shoved Hager on down the street. “I can’t turn Jerome loose. The key’s at the jai
lhouse. Now we’re walkin’ down to the courthouse. This isn’t a lawless gold camp. This is Cheyenne. We’ve got laws to follow. And I aim to see that we follow ’em.”

“You ain’t the only law in this town.”

Simp Merced burst out of the crowd near the wagons and stomped toward them.

“You lied to me, Andrews. You said you were takin’ Hager to the depot.”

“I didn’t say a word about Hager, and you know it.”

“You know what I mean.” Merced pulled his gun out of the holster and kept coming right at Tap.

Tap fought the urge to shoot Merced on the spot.

“This ain’t good. This ain’t no good at all,” Hager moaned.

“Keep walkin’. Absolutely don’t stop for anything,” Tap commanded under his breath. They brushed past Simp Merced.

“Andrews, I’ll shoot you in the back if you don’t stop,” he screamed.

For some reason, Tap thought about Pepper. About how good it felt when they strolled down the boardwalk on 16th Street, their hands entwined. About that sweet kiss of hers every morning when she came out to the kitchen and found him reading.

He thought about how she clutched his arm tight whe
never a pretty woman came within ten feet of him. Their honeymoon on the ranch when the snowstorm trapped thirty people in the front room. The time he discovered her in the governor’s office holding on to Carter Dillard. How sick to his stomach he had felt when he thought he had lost her.

“Andrews, This is my last warning.”

A soft, peaceful wind wafted across the street. The tension around Tap's eyes relaxed. He turned around and dragged Hager toward Merced.

“What are you doin’?” Hager cried.

With Hager tugging him back to the west, Tap raised his Colt and aimed toward Merced’s head. Merced’s gun was still pointed at Tap. The two men stood no more than ten feet apart in the middle of the intersection of 19th and Ransom Streets.

To the south, the loafers and bummers quieted as they viewed the street. The drovers on horseback on the north backed away without a word. Above them the rolling clouds darkened the sky. The final click of the ha
mmer on Tap’s Colt cracked like a whip in the waiting silence.

“God help us. God help us! We’re all dead men,” Jerome Hager whimpered.

“Merced, shove that gun in your holster and get out of the street.” Tap was surprised at the calmness of his own voice. He didn’t take his eyes off Merced.

“Wh-what?”

“Get off the street. You’re a disgrace to everything Pappy stood for.”

“I’ve got a gun on you, Andrews,” Merced hollered in an e
xtra loud voice. Sweat beaded the trembling man’s forehead.

“Get off the street, now,” Tap repeated in the same calm but commanding tone.

For nearly thirty seconds both men stood still and held cocked revolvers at each other.

Simp Merced released the hammer of his r
evolver and shoved it into his holster. He hurried down the street east.

Tap prodded Hager to resume walking toward the cour
thouse.

“You’re crazy, Deputy. You almost started a war back there.”

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

“What?”

“Did you feel that warm, sweet-flower breeze?”

“That wind’s colder than a snowmelt stream. What are you talking about?” Hager mumbled.

Thanks, Lord.

The temperature dropped. Once again he grew tense.

5

T
he “Magic City of the Plains” is perched at 6,062 feet elevation. But it’s not in the mountains. Except for Crow Creek meandering through town, Cheyenne is basically flat.

Yet to Tap Andrews, the last two blocks to the courthouse felt like a steep uphill climb. The stiff, cold wind was in his face. Two mobs of angry men were at his back. Mingled among the sounds of hoofbeats and jingling spurs were oaths and curses and threats of impending violence.