Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) (15 page)

“Do you think I’ve been gettin’ upset more since I’ve been deputy?”

“Hush, Mr. Andrews. We are not going to talk business. B
esides, you are presently unemployed, so there’s no reason to discuss it. I intend to talk poetry instead.”

Tap laughed and gave her a squeeze. “All right, Mrs. A
ndrews, poetry it is. But you’ll have to do all the talking. As I told you, I know very little rhymes.”

“Not all poetry has to rhyme.”

“See, I don’t know very much about it.”

“Savannah let me borrow this book. I’ll read you some.”

“Can I keep eating?”

“Certainly.”

“Can I, you know, lay back and close my eyes?”

“In contemplation?”

“Of course.”

“That’s acceptable, but there will be a test after the rea
ding, so you better not fall asleep.”

“What if I just stretch out here and lay my head on this quilt?”

“On my lap.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever read the books? You’re supposed to stretch out and lay your head in my lap as I read the poetry and the warm spring breeze wafts through my golden locks.”

“Are you kiddin’? I didn’t know there were so many rules to follow.” Tap took a deep breath, tasting the freshness of early spring. “Does the wind actually waft? You’ve been sittin’ in S
avannah’s parlor too much.”

“Quit complaining. I’m letting you off easy. You’re su
pposed to be wearing a white shirt and tie and a silk top hat.”

“I knew I didn’t like poetry,” he grumbled. He scooted over and laid his head in her lap. “Is this the proper way?”

“Yes, that will do nicely.”

“Do I leave my eyes open or closed?”

“Whichever will help with your contemplation.”

Tap closed his eyes. “Is it acceptable for me to kiss the lady reading the poetry?”

“Certainly not.” Then she giggled. “Not yet anyway. Now hush up and listen.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tap scrunched around so that his holster and gun were more comfortable. Then he folded his hands on his stomach.

“I’ll skip around to ones that . . . sort of make more sense than the others. Here’s one . . . okay, here goes.”

Tap waited, then opened his left eye. “Well?”

“I just realized I’ve never read poetry out loud. Okay, I’m ready. Here goes.”

“You said that before.” He closed his eye.

“‘The year’s at the spring

And day’s at the morn;

Morning’s at seven;

The hillside’s dew-pearled;

The lark’s on the wing;

The snail’s on the thorn:

God’s in his heaven—

All’s right with the world.’”

Tap kept his eyes closed. “Robert Browning’s
Pippa Passes
.”

“How did you know that?”

“Just a guess.”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about p
oetry.”

“I know very little about poetry. But this isn’t my first pi
cnic.” He rolled to the side to avoid getting clobbered by his own hat.

Tap scooted back over toward Pepper and put his head in her lap.

“Now don’t interrupt me again,” she scolded.

“I’ll just contemplate silently.”

“That would be nice.”

Somewhere between the words: “‘I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he,’” and the couplet, “‘I galloped, Dirck ga
lloped, we galloped all three,’” Tap fell asleep.

When he woke up, all the food had been neatly packed back into the crate, but his head remained on Pepper’s lap. The slight breeze felt cooler, but Pepper’s hand, running through his brown hair, was warm.

“I think I was overcome with contemplation,” he apologized.

“It’s all right. You needed the rest.”

Tap sat up and stretched his arms and legs. “But I haven’t been much company.”

“I’ve had a delightful afternoon, Mr. Andrews. One of the things I love best about being married is finding times when I can sit and relax. I don’t think I’ve seen you so peaceful since the company finally left after the wedding.”

“You better enjoy all this quiet, Mrs. Andrews. When we start having children, you’ll keep busy enough.”

She scanned the dull prairie where green grass poked up out of the ground. “But the doctor said that I probably couldn’t have them.”

“The doctor was wrong, and I don’t want to talk about it.” Tap stood to help her up. “Why don’t we ride out to Martin’s ranch?”

“Can we get back to Cheyenne before dark?”

“Nope.”

“But what about .
 . . where will we stay?”

“L. J.’s always wanting me to come out and see those Her
eford crosses of his. We can bunk with him.”

“Bunking at a cattle ranch?”

“How about curling up with me and some quilts in a hay loft?”

“That’s a little better.”

“Look, if I go back to town, I’ll get angry over what’s goin’ on. This will give me more time to think.”

“Then let’s go to Martin’s. Is he married?”

“Yes, but Mrs. Martin spends a lot of time in New York City with her parents.”

“Poor dear.”

As they rolled east, the sun sank at their back, and the air chilled. They rattled and bumped along as Pepper held tightly to Tap’s arm. By the time they reached the big stone house at the ranch, they had both quilts out and draped over their laps.

L. J. Martin’s ranch stretched from the Texas trail to the big bend in Crow Creek. On rolling prairie and in grassy draws over 2,100 cows, calves, and bulls carried his brand. And it seemed to Pepper that she and Tap spent the better part of the next morning looking at every single bovine.

After an elegant noon meal prepared by a white-aproned chef and served on English china on a starched linen tablecloth, she and Tap departed for the long drive back to Cheyenne.

“You get enough to eat?” Tap asked as they rolled out of the stone and iron gate.

“Are you joking? I don’t even know the names of some of those dishes.”

“That oyster cream sauce was mighty savory.”

“Thanks for showing me how to eat those green things.”

“The artichokes?”

“I thought they were part of the centerpiece. Where did you learn how to eat them?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“No, I probably don’t. What was her name?”

“Uh, Teresa Castro. She was .
 . . eh, she had this . . . you see, her daddy was—”

“I don’t want to know.”

“I forgot all about her.”

“So I can tell. I am sorry Mrs. Martin wasn’t home. She ce
rtainly has a lovely place for being stuck way out of town. Did you see all those etched mirrors over the mantel in the parlor?”

“L. J. reported they shipped everything out from New York. I guess the missus gets homesick.”

“How do you know L. J.?”

“He came down to Tucson one time figurin’ on buying up some property near where the Southern Pacific tracks were being built. But the Apaches were runnin’ wild, so he hired me to, well, sort of make sure he didn’t get scalped.”

“But he didn’t buy a ranch down there? Did the Indians scare him off?”

“That and the fact that the S. P. owns every other section down in that country. It’s their bonus for putting in the rai
lroad. Not only that, but some of it was tied up in Spanish land grant litigation.”

“So he came north?”

“He bought this place, built the house, and moved his wife and kids here. Then that summer Custer and the Seventh Cavalry got killed at the Little Big Horn. The wife’s never gotten used to living out here, I reckon.”

“I’d still like to meet her someday.”

“Maybe you will. L. J. offered me to rep for him.”

“What does that mean?”

“I would make sure no one’s stealing his beef and rebrandin’ them. And I ride with the association roundup seeing that L. J. gets all his bovines sorted out. His place runs clean up to Pine Bluffs, and you know how many cattle the U. P. runs out of there.”

“Where would we live?”

“That’s the rub. He’d pay me year ’round, but I’d only work April through November. So he figured we would still live in Cheyenne, and I could have every forth week off during the summer to come see you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him it was a job for a single man. I wasn’t interested.”

“Really? That’s what you said?”

“Yep.”

Pepper scooted closer to Tap and slipped her arm through his. Then she glanced at the western horizon. “Do you think we’ll make it back home before dark?”

“Nope.”

Guided by the incandescent lights of the city, they rolled up Crow Creek and into Cheyenne about nine o’clock. Tap pulled up to their cottage on 17th and began to help Pepper unpack the supplies.

“Looks like we got in a big hurry to go on that picnic yesterday.” He motioned to the door that stood a foot open.

“It’s been open for a whole day,” Pepper groaned. “Some dog could have wandered in.”

“Not to mention a footpad or a sneakthief. If you want to wait, I’ll tote this gear in and light a lantern and see if everything is all right.”

Pepper scampered ahead of him. At the sound of her cry, Tap dropped the food crate and raced into the house with .44 drawn.

“Look at this mess. The dogs got in here and scattered stuff all over the place.”

Tap squatted down and examined the books, papers, clothes, food, and dishes tossed on the floor of the combin
ation front room and kitchen.

“Something .
 . . or
someone?
This wasn’t an animal looking for food. Look in the kitchen. Somebody emptied out every shelf, closet, cupboard, and box looking for something.”

“Were they looking for money?”

“Not if they were smart. With all those cattlemen’s fancy homes further up 17th, there’s no reason to bust into our little place.”

“Oh .
 . . Tap,” she sobbed, “it’s all torn up. I had it so neat. I had it really neat, didn’t I?”

“You sure did, darlin’. Come on. Don’t worry—I’ll help you, and we’ll straighten it up. I had you, my guns, and a plate of biscuits with me. There wasn’t anything left of value in here except maybe that old grand piano. What’s the bedroom look like?”

Pepper scurried to the bedroom and then poked her head back out. “It’s just tossed around some, but I don’t think anything is missing. That jewelry I got from Miss Cedar was poured out on the dresser, but nothing seems to be gone.”

A knock at the front door startled them.

“I know who did it,” a voice crackled through the night.

With gun in hand, Tap approached the doorway. A short, shriveled woman with a black shawl over her head and shou
lders stood on the porch. She carried a candle.

“Who are you?”

“Mrs. Wallace.”

“Our neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“Eh .
 . . pleased to meet you, Mrs. Wallace. This is my wife.”

“Pepper. Yes. I know all about you two.”

“Did you say you know who did this?”

“Yes.”

“Well, who did it?”

“Two bummers.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know their names?”

“No.”

“Have you seen them in town before?”

“No. I don’t go out much.”

“Could you recognize them if you saw them again?”

“No. It was late last night and even darker than it is now.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Wallace. I wish I knew who they were.”

“That won’t be hard.” The old lady hobbled down the steps and shuffled toward the street.

“Why’s that?” Pepper called after her.

“Just ask the man who drove them here in a wagon and turned them loose. He drove back an hour later and picked them up.”

“Someone brought them to our house?” Pepper gasped.

“Yes.”

Tap followed the woman out into the street. “Do you know who it was?”

“Yes.”

“Well, who was driving the wagon?”

She limped a little but didn’t carry a cane. Her shoes shu
ffled across the hard-packed street. “It was Deputy Merced.”

7

A
re you sure it was Merced?” Tap pressed
.

“I wrote it right down in my diary.” She tugged a sa
gging black knit shawl back up on her shoulders. “It’s there all right. Every time I see something out my window—like that long kiss you gave the missus two days ago after breakfast—it’s all recorded in my diary.”