Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) (2 page)

Tap unlocked the gun case and pulled out another .44 to stick in his belt.
My heart isn’t in this, Lord. Pappy was a good man. Maybe too good.

He glanced up to see Pepper walking up the stairs to the jail. “Pappy’s dead.”

“How’s Savannah?”

“She says she’s doing all right. She keeps spouting Scri
ptures, but there’s only so much one woman can take.”

“How are you doin’?”

Pepper slid behind him and began to rub his neck. “I keep thinking about what I would do if it were you lying dead in the Occidental.”

“What would you do?” He swiveled around in the chair and held her soft, white hands in his rough, callused ones.

“I’d lay down and die, Tapadera Andrews.”

“But it’s not me. Maybe Pappy was too trusting. You don’t ever turn your back on anyone in a place like the Occ
idental. Maybe a half-tamed town is the worst kind of all.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you walk into a saloon in Deadwood or Tombstone or Bodie, you can expect to be bushwhacked from every angle. You waltz into a place in Virginia City or San Francisco, you can pretty much count on being safe. But Cheyenne deceives you.

"Just when you get impressed with those big Ferguson Street houses and the fancy people at the concert at the Opera House, then some bummer wanders in from the roundhouse or a drover off the Texas trail tryin’ to shoot each other and anyone who comes b
etween them.”

Pepper scooted onto his lap and slipped her arm around his neck. “You figure on getting elected marshal?”

“I don’t know if I’m the right one for the job. But being a deputy sure don’t pay a man much.”

“We’re doin’ okay.”

“As long as we don’t eat supper at a hotel, you keep wearin’ Miss Cedar’s clothes, the city pays the rent, and we don’t take any trips.”

“Don’t you start feelin' sorry for me. A year ago I was wor
king at April’s dance hall, hating myself and my job. I didn’t have two dresses I could wear in decent company. Now I’ve got everything I ever wanted. How about you?”

Tap plopped his hat on the desk, crown down, and squeezed her narrow waist. “All I ever wanted was you, da
rlin’, and that Triple Creek Ranch down in Colorado.”

“We lost that one, so there must be something better up ahead.”

“Mrs. Andrews, you’re a stander.”

“I’m going to keep pushing until you get that ranch.”

Tap brushed his lips across hers. “But we can’t save ranch money on a deputy’s salary.”

“If you’d let me get a job as cook at one of the hotels, we could save my money.”

“You aren’t ever goin’ to have to work again.”

“You’re a stubborn man, Tap.”

“And crazy about you.” She kissed his cheek and stood up. “You goin’ to be home for dinner?”

“If I’m not there by two, how about you bringin’ me a plate?”

“You can count on it, Mr. Lawman.” She threw her arms around him for one last hug.

“What was that for?”

“Because you weren’t the one lyin' dead at the Occidental.”

The first explosion rattled their eardrums, shattered the o
ffice windows, and slammed them both against the gun case. At the second blast, Tap rolled Pepper under the big oak table. He drew his revolver and pointed it at the door.

Pepper tried to peek out.

“Stay under there.”

“What was that? A shotgun?”

“Dynamite, more likely.”

“A lynch party?”

“Not during daylight. Stay there.”

Tap crawled across the wooden floor, trying not to cut his hands on the shattered glass. He lifted his head to the wi
ndow. He dove to the floor as two shots rang out. Bullets smashed into the back wall of the office.

“It must be Jerome Hager’s compadres comin’ to break him out.”

“Already?”

“Reckon they figure on stayin’ ahead of the lynch mob.” He scampered on his hands and knees to the back of the office toward the jail cells.

“Where you going?” she cried out.

“To check on the prisoner. There were two explosions. Stay under the desk.”

Tap entered the cell area, still crawling along the floor. The first thing he noticed was the narrow, iron-barred window blown out. One brick had tumbled to the floor. Fine, red dust so filled the room, it was like peering through fog. He fought the urge to cough. Gun in hand, he inched closer. Hager still lay unconscious.

“Jerome?” someone outside hollered.

A hand and pistol stuck through the broken window. “Jerome, grab this .45. The blasted wall didn’t blow. Jerome?”

Tap unlocked the iron door and crept into the cell.

“Hurry up, Jerome. My arm’s about to fall off, and folks is  comin’.”

Tap grabbed the man’s arm and hollered back at the o
ffice, “Pepper, bring me some hand irons.”

The man squeezed the trigger. A bullet shattered the floor near Tap’s feet. He jumped back, released his grip and the arm disa
ppeared out the window.

Tap leaped to the corner of the bunk and looked out the broken window. He saw the backside of a man pushing his way through a throng of citizens on the far side of the street.

“Are you all right?” Pepper stood at the door with a shotgun and wrist irons. “Were they trying to blow a hole in the wall?”

“I don’t think they knew what they were doin’. They could have done that much damage with a stone.”

Tap locked the cell behind him and took the shotgun. “Come on. I need you out of here.”

Out front Tap studied the crowd that had gathered.

“Tap, I don’t want you to be deputy anymore. I want you to come home and hold me and never let go.”

“It will be okay, darlin’.”

When Tap and Pepper appeared on the steps of the marshal’s office, the people swarmed closer.

“Everything all right, Deputy?”

“Did they shoot Hager?”

“Did he escape?”

“You and Mrs. Andrews hurt?” The last speaker was Tom Breshnan, now pushing through the crowd.

“We’re fine. Thanks for askin’, Mayor.” He shoved Pepper gently. “Go on. I’ll see you later, babe.”

She swept down the steps and into the throng.

“Folks, everything is fine. We had a little fireworks and lost some glass, that’s all.”

Pulling Tap aside, the mayor asked, “What happened at the Occidental?”

“Rolly Hayburn said some Black Hills loafers and bu
mmers wandered in and started denigratin’ the great state of Texas, cattle drovers, and ranchin’ in general.”

“In other words, looking for a fight?”

“Yep. Lead started flyin’, and the room filled with smoke. Pappy burst in figurin’ to talk them into law and order, since he always thought there is a reasonable streak in every man. Apparently, Jerome Hager was stewed and firing at anything that moved. He shot Pappy in the back.”

Mayor Breshnan tiptoed across the broken glass in the ma
rshal’s office to glance at the cells. “Hager still alive?”

“Yep, but I reckon he’s sufferin’ from a headache.”

“Andrews, it’s not a very Christian thing to say, but I surely wish Hager had died in the shootout. He’s been in jail thirty minutes, and already there’s chaos. Cheyenne will be in an uproar as long as he’s in here. There’ll be a lynch gang tonight. What are we goin’ to do?”

Tap grabbed a broom and swept up the shattered glass. Slivers ground under his boot heels. “First off, you’d better a
ppoint an acting marshal.”

“A temporary acting marshal, maybe. Only the city council can appoint an acting marshal.”

“Whatever.” Tap tossed broken glass pieces with a tinkle and crash into an old milk bucket that served as a trash can.

“Andrews, I hereby appoint you temporary acting ma
rshal.”

“I’m not the only deputy.”

“You and I know Baltimore wouldn’t take it. Williams is a half-breed, and Merced is too ambitious to make a good one.”

“And he definitely won’t like me bein’ boss.”

“He can get by for a while.”

“Mayor, I think you ought to get a glazier over here immed
iately and replace these windows. It would give the folks confidence that ever’thing’s under control.”

“But what about—”

Merced burst through the front door. “What happened? Did they shoot Hager already?”

“Who’s 'they'? Someone tryin' to shoot him?” Tap que
stioned.

“You know, the lynch mob.”

“Not yet. Some friends tried to bust him out.”

A big man with stained brown vest and gray-streaked, cropped black hair rushed into the office.

“Baltimore, scout around and see if you can find a friend of Hager’s in a red shirt carryin’ a walnut-handled .45. Simp, check the south side and find out why those bummers barged into a cowboy bar and picked a fight in the first place. With a town full of drovers, that doesn’t seem too smart.”

“You’re givin’ a lot of orders,” Merced complained.

“Andrews is acting as temporary marshal until our next city council meeting,” Breshnan announced.

Merced glared at Tap, then ambled toward the glassless front door.

“You’ll need to check more than just the brass rail at DelGatto’s,” Tap insisted.

“I don’t need you tellin’ me what I can and can’t do.”

“I’m tellin’ you to get in line with Andrews,” the mayor huffed. “It’s my name on your pay voucher.”

“Yes, sir,” Merced drawled and left the room.

“Andrews, what were you saying?” the mayor pressed.

“I don’t think we can hold Hager here. I figure the only way we’ll keep him safe until trial time is to move him out of town. Denver or the Territorial Prison up at Laramie City.”

“Not out of the territory. That would be admitting we can’t handle our own trouble. We’ll never talk them into statehood that way. It’s a Cheyenne problem. We have to settle it.”

“Maybe we could send him to Ft. Russell. They’re only three miles away.”

“That’s still calling in the federal troops, don’t you see?”

“A lynchin’ don’t seem all that civ
ilized either.” Tap rubbed the stubble of a two-day beard and brushed back his mustache. “How about that old stockade at Swan’s ranch? We held those rustlers up there in February during the blizzard.”

“That’s over forty miles.”

“If we packed him in a freight wagon headed for the Black Hills, no one would be suspicious.”

“You mean, just pirate him out of town?”

“Just you and me would know where he was.”

“Perhaps I should check with the U.S. Marshal’s office.”

“They’re chasin’ renegade Arapahos up in the Big Horns.”

“Governor Hale’s in Washington.”

“Am I temporary acting marshal or not?”

“Yes, of course. It’s your decision. We’ll send Hager to the stoc
kade. Swan will probably be at the Cheyenne Club. I can talk to him there.”

“If you see Baltimore or Carbine Williams, send them back. I’ll have one of ’em pull guard duty while I line up a wagon.”

“How about Merced?”

“I’d just as soon leave him out of this.”

Thomas Breshnan straightened his bowler and shuffled out the door.

About the time Baltimore Gomez returned to the office, a short man wearing overalls showed up to repair the broken windows. By then Tap had transferred Hager to cell #1, but he kept him han
dcuffed to the bars.

“You want to see me?” Baltimore asked.

“Guard Hager while I go do a little business.”

“You reckon someone will try to bust him out?”

“I don’t expect more trouble until dark.”

“We goin’ to move the prisoner?”

“Yep.”

“Folks is sayin’ you’ll ship Hager over to Ft. Russell.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

“Yeah, providin’ none of them decide to vigilante up and take matters into their own hands along the way. You’ll be needin’ me to ride with you, I suppose.”

“I’ll need you, Carbine, and Merced to stay here and take care of Cheyenne.”

“You takin’ Hager by yourself?”

“If I can make the arrangements.”

Tap headed downtown on Ferguson Street. He didn’t slow his pace until he reached the big two-story brick Union Me
rcantile building. Several freight wagons lined the alley. Two were being loaded at the front door. A slightly balding man wheeled out a hand cart full of goods.

“Mr. Whipple, are any of these wagons headed up to Dea
dwood?”

“They’re all going to Deadwood.”

“Who’s your best driver?”

“Fastest? Or most reliable?”