Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) (8 page)

“Just noise. He didn’t shoot ’em. They claimed you was the only one who knew where Hager was.”

“Who else came by?”

“The mayor said to tell you he had to go to Denver.”

“I thought they were having a council meeting tonight.”

“He said he was going to postpone it. Some sort of family emergency. Ain’t his daughter in the hospital down there? I heard tell that sanatorium is one of the best in the country.”

Tap brushed biscuit crumbs from his bushy, dark brown mu
stache. “You didn’t happen to see Judge Blair, did you?”

“Nope.”

“Is Simp makin’ rounds?”

“Don’t know, but he acted like there was demons chasin’ him. You know how he can git.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Tap mused. “But you might be right.” Tap walked out of the marshal’s office and across the limestone steps to the courthouse.

Is that what does it, Lord? Don’t reckon I’ve ever po
ndered it too much, but men like Jordan Beckett, Billy Bonney, Carter Dillard—they get driven beyond reasonable actions. Maybe demons have somethin’ to do with it. . . . ’Course, Pepper says I always make things bigger than they are. But sometimes it surely feels prickly to my spirit.

Judge James Arthur Blair was at his bench discussing a case with two bummers when Tap slipped into the back of the courtroom. He flopped into an oak chair and waited.

The taller of the two ill-dressed and unshaven men was speaking. “You see, Judge, when me and Nickles left Omaha, we signed this agreement that we were going to share expenses and equally divide any and all gold, silver, and other riches we might discover. See . . . I got his signature right here.”

“I didn’t agree to share expenses with an idiot,” Nickles co
mplained. He held a derby in his hand that looked like a bite had been taken out of it.

“Eh .
 . . just how did you say you two are related?”

“He married my wife’s baby sister—poor thing.”

The sister-in-law or this guy?

“Your Honor, he agreed to share expenses. This here certif
icate gives us twenty-two feet of the Crystal Cave Mine. I bought it for $10, and now he won’t fork over his five dollars.”

The judge looked at the large certificate with fancy print.

“Where did you buy this?” he asked.

“From a little, dark-haired girl down at the U. P. Station. She said her granddaddy was dying, and they needed the money to take him to Virginia.”

The one called Nickles waved his finger at the certificate. “It’s worthless, ain’t it, Judge?”

“Yes, it’s worthless.” Then Judge Blair looked out across an otherwise empty courtroom. “Deputy Andrews!”

Tap stood and took off his hat. “Yes, sir?”

“Have you talked to Angelita about this yet?”

“Yes, sir. I did. She reassured me yesterday that she would no longer sell mining certificates at the station.”

“Thank you .
 . .”

“I told you it wasn’t worth a penny. I ain’t payin’ jist b
ecause you got suckered.”

“You agreed. I got it in writin’.”

“Boys,” the judge interrupted, “let me teach you a couple of things. First, half of the stock certificates and mining claims you’re going to find in this town are legitimate claims to worthless property. You can buy twenty feet of a mine that will never be dug because there is no ore there. Second, the other half are like this one—just pulp that was printed down on 12th Street. You should have known better. Look right there in big letters—‘Deadwood, Wyoming Territory.’ Every schoolboy in the country knows that Deadwood is in Dakota. Obviously this is a phony.”

“Well, I’ll be. But .
 . . but I need the money, Judge. I’m down to my last two bits. I need that five dollars.”

“I ain’t got five extree dollars,” Nickles fumed. “If I had that kind of money, I’d go to Denver, and you know it. That’s where the real fortunes are made.”

The judge banged down his gavel. “Case dismissed. Boys, let me give you some advice. Don’t go to Deadwood. You’ll starve to death up there. You’re six years too late. The ranch crews will be pulling out this week. You two ever worked cattle?”

“Only a dairy farm back in Omaha,” Nickles admitted.

“You could sign on as a nighthawk or hoodlum and at least get something to eat. Come summer you’d have enough money for a train ride home.”

“I should never have listened to you. My wife was right about you,” Nickles replied.

“I want you out of my courthouse, or I’ll ask the deputy to incarcerate you immediately,” the judge threatened.

“Incarcerate?”

“Tossed in the hoosegow, you idiot.”

They shoved their way out of the courtroom.

The judge shook his head. “Don’t ever become a judge, Andrews.”

“Not me, sir.”

“Are you here about Hager?”

“Yes, sir, and about a couple boys who broke some wi
ndows in the jail to get him out.”

“Let’s start with the easy ones. What about those two men?”

“This is just my suggestion,” Tap explained, “but I’d like to have you fine them expenses and sentence them to six months in jail, which will be suspended providin’ they pull out with the Bar 79 today and do not set foot in Cheyenne for a year.”

The judge leaned back in his brown leather chair. “What’s your reason for that?”

“There’s a pack of bummers that is gettin’ lynchy. They are mostly out for revenge against the drovers. But since Pappy was killed in the shootout, there’s lots of folks around town that will support them. I think they might even try hangin’ Hager’s friends if they can’t get to Hager. I’d just like to get these boys out of town so I won’t have to protect them. They have jobs on the Bar 79, and TwoHoots will pay their fine.”

“Sounds good to me. Bring them at .
 . .” Judge Blair checked his gold-chained pocket watch. “Ten o’clock. You sure you’re not looking to be a judge?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure I’m not.”

“Hager’s a problem, all right. I haven’t seen folks in this town so stirred up since those four girls at the Paris Club got knifed to death.”

“I’ve got him in a secured place now, but I’m not sure how long I can keep him there. The jail isn’t safe.”

“Is he still in the city?” the judge questioned.

Tap glanced around. Two people walked into the back of the courtroom.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered.

“You got witnesses to the crime?”

“Yep. Rolly Hayburn saw Hager shoot Pappy in the back when that gunfight was nearly over.”

“Was Rolly sober?”

“He was after the shootin’.”

“Is Hager pleading guilty?”

“He claims he was drunk and doesn’t remember anything.”

“A man’s totally responsible for all his actions, drunk or not. If he demands a jury trial, he’ll get a jury trial. Bring him here at 11:00
a.m.
, and I’ll set a trial date. In the meantime, I believe I’ll ask the commanding officer at Ft. Russell if he can escort Hager to their stockade to await the trial.”

“I reckon Governor Hale won’t be too pleased you had to call in federal troops.”

“The governor’s out of the territory. I believe I can summon the troops for official court business. I’m talking about public safety. It’s not a time to worry about politics. Andrews, I don’t want to know where you’re keeping him. Just have him here in my courtroom at 11:00.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“You’ve kept him alive longer than I figured,” the judge added. “I didn’t reckon he’d make it through the night.”

4

T
ap fastened the top buttons of his worn canvas coat and scrambled down the courthouse steps. He hurried south on Ferguson Street. His boot heels banged decisively on the boardwalk. Tipping his hat to Mrs. Matthews and her baby, he waited for the Gilroy and Hannigan wagons and riders to pass before crossing 17th.

At least some of the cowhands are leavin’ Che
yenne.

Half a dozen men lounged around the entrance to the I
nter Ocean Hotel. Their fogged-breath conversations ceased as Tap drew near. He ignored their stares and pushed his way into the warm, stuffy lobby. He could feel most folks inside studying his movements as he ascended the stairs.

I suppose ever’one in town knows I’m hidin’ Jerome Hager somewhere. I’ve got to get him out of the house t
oday. There’s just too many folks in town with nothin’ to do except stir up a ruckus.

The wide door of Suite G swung open revealing what he co
nsidered to be the prettiest blonde-haired woman in the Territory.

“Mornin’, babe.” He winked.

Pepper broke into a wide grin. “Mornin’, Deputy.” She slipped her arms around his waist and tugged him into the room, closing the door behind them.

“How’s Savannah doin’?” he asked.

“She’s a rock. There’s no woman in Wyoming like Savannah Divide.”

“That’s what Pappy always said.”

Pepper kissed his chapped lips and stepped back. “You look tired, honey.”

“I had a long night.”

“Everything go all right?”

“I think so. Judge Blair is goin’ to help me figure out som
ething with Hager. I’m goin’ to move him out of the house this afternoon so you can go back home.”

“Do you think I could stay with Savannah one more night? She seems to appreciate it immensely.”

“Sure. Only you’ll have one lonesome husband.”

There was a soft, teasing lilt in her voice. “Good.” She took him by the arm and walked him over to the window. “Hey, there’s a Calico Hop out at Ft. Russell tomorrow night. The marshal and his wife are always invited, so S
avannah thinks you and I ought to go. What do you think?”

“There’s no way to think about a dance with all of this goin’ on.”

“I told her you wouldn’t be interested.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested. If Pappy hadn’t been shot and me guardin’ the—”

“If Pappy hadn’t been shot, we wouldn’t be invited,” Pepper interrupted. “The point is, you’re acting marshal, and it might be a good time to get to know the officers out at the fort.”

Tap folded his arms as he peeked through the thin lace modesty curtain framed in deep blue velvet. He watched the rigs roll past on the street below. “I do need to talk to them about guardin’ Hager.”

“Savannah said I could wear the new calico dress she had made for the dance.”

“Are you sure it’s not some deceivin’ scheme to get me to wear a ruffled shirt?” Tap feigned a scowl.

“You can wear anything you want to,” she offered.

“Really?”

“Within reason.”

“Whose reason?”

“Mine, of course.” Pepper’s laugh sent a tingle right down Tap’s spine.

“If things settle down, and if we get Hager situated, I guess we could attend the ball for a while. Are you sure we’d be i
nvited?”

“I’ve got the invitation right here.” She handed him the gold-embossed card.

Tap glanced at the print. “Looks like they need reservations. You’d better send word to the Fort that we’ll be comin’.”

Pepper tossed her arms around him and pressed her lips against his. “I already did,” she mumbled.

It was a good five minutes before she pulled away from him.

Tap pushed his way through the tall, windowless doors of the Drovers’ Cafe. About seventy-five men crowded around twelve t
ables, each trying to snag a plate of breakfast. The room smelled of bacon, tobacco, and sweat. Large pictures of racehorses were scattered among paintings of reclining ladies.

TwoHoots sat with his back to the wall and a fork in each hand. The jingle of Tap’s spurs could barely be heard above the scraping of tin plates and the slurping of black coffee.

“You goin’ to let my boys pull out with the wagon?” the crew boss of the Bar 79 mumbled through a mouthful of biscuits and pork sausage gravy.

“You pay court expenses and jail costs, and Petey and Primo can go with you today. Be at Judge Blair’s chambers at 10:00.”

“You goin’ to let me talk to Jerome? You know, talk around town is maybe one of them loafers or bummers shot the marshal and jist blamed it on Hager ’cause he was too drunk to know better. They been tryin’ to pick a fight for weeks, and you know it.”

The voices around the room grew hushed. Tap could see a few hands slip down and rest on their holstered revolvers. The fire popped and crackled in the woodstove. It was as if ever
yone in the room stopped eating at exactly the same moment.

“There’s a few witnesses who say different. Jerome’s safe and comfortable. You can’t talk to him yet, TwoHoots, but you can sure enough hire him a lawyer if you want to.”

“I heard those bummers came into the Occidental lookin’ for a fight.”