It's Your Misfortune and None of My Own (Code of the West) (15 page)

“No. About him not havin’ passed by yet. I’ll latch on to him first with any luck. He might not make it to Pingree Hill at all. Thanks, Stack. You’re one of the few friends I’ve got in this world.”

“You be careful. And stay far away from Beckett. He’s plumb mean. He’s crazy. He’s sayin’ you double-crossed him, so he’s lookin’ for ya.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, ma’am, I reckon you can. If a Reverend comes by, I’ll send him down to Kasdorfs’.”

It was close to dark as she drove south on the road t
oward the ranches. Unlike the river road from Pingree Hill to Fort Collins, this southern route was little more than two muddy wagon ruts. Pepper began to grow frightened about getting the rig stuck and was delighted to spot smoke rising from a chimney of a large stone house at the end of a wood-fenced drive.

This has got to be the Kasdorfs’.

By the time she rolled up to the front of the house, it was dark. Pepper was cold and tired. Her face felt dirty and her hands grimy. A short, bald man in a bulky sweater came out of the house carrying a lantern in one hand and a rifle in the other.

“Yeah? What do you want?” he called. “Who is there?”

“Are you Mr. Kasdorf?”

“Ya. Who is asking this?”

“Mr. Kasdorf, my name is . . . eh, Suzanne Cedar. I’m a friend of Bob and Mrs. McCurley. They suggested that if I need some overnight accommodations, you might have a spare room.”

“Woman, are you by yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why certainly, you may spend the ove
rnight with us. Come in, come in. I’ll take care of your rig in a few minutes. We were just sitting down at the table for supper, and you can join us.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kasdorf. I’m much obliged not to have to stop up at Pingree Hill.”

“Pingree Hill? That place was invented by the devil himself. Would you mind staying upstairs with our girls? We have a special guest for the evening, and the sofa has already been pledged for the night.”

“Whatever you have will be fine.” Pepper could feel the stiffness and exhaustion of hours of bouncing in the buggy. “How old are your girls?”

“Fourteen, twelve, and eight. We lost one.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Follow me.” He led her through the big heavy door on the stone house across a well-swept floor to a separate dining room.

“Look, everyone,” he called, “we have more company for supper—a friend of the McCurleys. Mama, you set a plate while she washes up.”

“Hi, my name is Rebecca,” a small girl greeted her. “Do you work at Pingree Hill?”

“Rebecca, what a horrid thing to say.” Mrs. Kasdorf blushed.

“But she’s so pretty, and the ladies down there must be pretty because so many men want to go down there.”

“Please forgive my disrespectful daughter,” Mr. Kasdorf apologized. “This is Miss Suzanne Cedar. Miss Cedar, I’d like you to meet my wife, Anna, and our daughters Rachel, Ruth, and Rebecca. And I don’t know if you’ve met before—this is our other guest, Rev. Houston.”

7

T
ap left Brownie at McCurley’s and borrowed two fresh horses. He had one saddled up and was ready to leave the hotel when Bob McCurley came out carrying a lunch sack and a steaming hot cup of coffee.

“Hatcher, you sure do look like you need some rest. She’ll be over at the Kasdorfs’ by now. Why not ride out in the mornin’?”

“Bob, I’ve got a sickenin’ feelin’ that somethin’ bad is goin’ to happen. It’s kind of like when a little rock tumbles off a cliff, but you know it will be a landslide before it reaches bottom. I just got to get out there and see what I can do.”

“If you mean goin’ up against those that tore up your place, you better let me grab a scattergun and ride along.”

“I know this sounds reckless, but I’m goin’ to take care of this by myself.”

“You two are the stubbornest, most independent, self-confident pair I’ve ever run across.”

“Two of us?”

“You and that Cedar woman—I cain’t talk sense into her either. Why, the two of you will either end up ownin’ half the state or takin’ pot shots at each other. I swear, you are two of a kind.” McCurley turned and stomped back into the hotel.

Within minutes Tap was riding an ever-darkening trail east, leading his second horse and eating a piece of bread folded over a thick slice of juicy ham.

Although his clothing was completely dried out, he still felt cold. By the time it was dark, he had dug a blanket out of his bedroll and draped it around his shoulders.

Bob claimed this was his best night horse. He’s a smooth rider. Maybe I should have slept a few hours. I surely thought owning a ranch would be a whole lot more peaceful than this.

After I get things settled in Pingree Hill, I’ll find her and .
 . . What is she doin’ ridin’ out here by herself? It’s foolhardy and irresponsible. You’d think a woman of Miss Cedar’s sensibilities . . . ’Course, comin’ out west to marry someone you’ve never met and only wrote a half-dozen letters to is sort of foolhardy and irresponsible.

Tap, there’s a whole lot about that gal that you don’t know one blamed thing about. Are you sure you know what you’re ge
ttin’ into?

He laughed out loud. “You’ve never known what you were gettin’ into, have you?”

The night was still, clear, and kept getting colder. He passed one stage and a couple of riders early in the evening. After that there was no one on the road. About midnight he pulled off and built a small fire. After ten minutes of warming up, he saddled the second horse, kicked out the fire, and remounted, holding the lead rope of the first horse. Even his worn elkskin gloves felt stiff and cold.

“Pony, you’re a little shorter and a little thinner, but I sure hope you can see at night like your buddy here. You remind me of that little mount I had down in Lincoln. Garrett was chasin’ Bonny, and I needed to get down to Las Cruces to see Carmen .
 . . Or was it Carmelita? It all seems like a long, long time ago.”

Rotating horses and dozing as he rode, Tap arrived at the top of the grade leading down to Pingree Hill right b
efore daylight. Dismounting, he stuffed his blanket back into his bedroll. He could see only one flickering light at the dance hall—and no sign of movement at any of the other buildings.

I wouldn’t exactly call this a town. More like a hideout with a road runnin’ through it.

Swinging off the main road, he circled behind some trees and came up to a corral and barn across from the dance hall. He tied the horses off in the trees behind the barn and resat the saddle on the freshest mount.

“Just in case I’m in a hurry to leave, you’re the one to do it, old boy.” He rubbed the sorrel gelding’s neck and then slapped him once on the rump.

Pulling off his saddlebags, he threw them across his shoulder and walked around to the corral of horses. Tap stood by the fence waiting for daylight to shine on the ponies that pranced in the pen. His eyes danced from sorrel, to bay, to grulla, to paint, to black . . . one black . . . two blacks . . . then one with a short white blaze on its nose.

“Onespot?” he murmured. Checking the animal’s left thigh, he noticed a circle Mc brand. “That’s him.”

Tap slowly sauntered toward the back door of the largest building in the settlement. A place called April
’
s Pingree Hill Dance Hall & Elegant Saloon.

Elegant? Yeah, I’ll bet. That means you can’t spit on the floor, and you don’t have to drink out of the same glass as the puncher next to you.

He was two steps lower than the doorway when he knocked. The man who came to the door seemed to tower over him.

“You want somethin’, mister?”

“I know it’s early, but I was wonderin’ if I could buy a meal? Been ridin’ most the night, and I’m hungry. I’ve got the coin for it.”

“This ain’t no chop house, you know,” the tall man boomed.

A woman’s voice called from back inside the kitchen, “Who’s out there, Stack?”

“Some drifter wants to buy breakfast.”

“Take a dollar and feed him. I’m going upstairs.”

“Yes, ma’am—Miss April.” Turning to Tap, he held the door open. “You caught her in a generous mood. Come on in. I was stirrin’ up a few eggs for myself.”

“Generous? You call a one-dollar breakfast generous?”

The big man gave him a grin as wide as his face. “An
ything you get for a dollar in this place is a pretty good buy, mister. This happens to be the most expensive place in town.”

“Town? It’s the only place in town.”

“That just proves my point.”

The kitchen was small and had a long, narrow wooden table along the east side near the back door. Tap could hear no noise in the place except for the crackle of the wood stove and the snap of frying eggs. The smell of breakfast, next to a pretty woman’s perfume, was Tap’s favorite aroma.

“My name’s Stack. What can I call you?”

“Tap.”

The big man looked back at him . . . then continued his cooking. “You should stick around
’
til evening. This place gets lively. Some real fancy girls work here, and the likker is almost -drinkable.”

Tap grinned and surveyed what part of the deserted bar and dance hall he could observe through the doorway.

Beckett’s boys could be sleepin’ it off in the bar . . . or maybe upstairs. They’re not the type to have a place of their own.

“I’ll have to move on down the road sooner than that. But I would like to buy another horse.”

“Don’t rightly know if there are any around for sale,” Stack responded.

“How about that black with the star on its nose? I’d sure like to have that one.”

“I hope you like these well done.” He handed Tap a plate of eggs. “That one is pretty new here, but I believe it belongs to Jordan Beckett. Or, at least, to one of his friends. But just between you and me, Beckett’s been on the prowl lately. I wouldn’t do no horse-tradin’ with him in such a nasty mood. Help yourself to some coffee, bacon, and bread.” He motioned to the table.

“Is Beckett here?” Tap questioned. “Maybe I could talk to him real careful.”

“Nah, he’s not here. Don’t expect him back too soon neither. He sort of outlived his welcome. After what he done . . .” Stack hesitated as both men heard footsteps approach the kitchen.

Tap reached for his coffee with his left hand while letting the right one settle on the grip of his revolver. A young woman with bark-black hair shuffled into the kitchen wearing a mult
icolored silk robe. She looked startled to see Tap. He noticed a bruise on her neck and a blackened right eye.

She’s been cryin’. What in the world happened?

“Stack, I didn’t know we had company,” she choked out in a raspy voice.

“Jist a feller eatin’ some breakfast, Selena.”

Tap glanced back down at his breakfast.

“That’s okay, mister, I know I’m a sight,” Selena told him, “and if these two loose front teeth fall out, I’ll be even worse. I’m goin’ to kill him, Stack. I’m going to sneak up when he’s passed out from drinkin’, and I’ll slit his throat from ear to ear—yes, I will.”

“Who?” Tap asked.

“Beckett. He done that to her.”

Tap flushed with anger. He had always operated under a code that some deeds forfeit a man’s right to life. Beating up women was high up on Tap’s list.

“You mean to tell me he beat on this lady, and you didn’t bust his head open?”

“I weren’t here, mister. That’s the rub. I was away buyin’ supplies. But this old boy runs with a gang of five or six. I can’t take them all on at the same time.”

Selena stared at him. Finally she spoke,
“¿Cómo se llama?”

“Tap.”

“
¿Qué?
”

“Tapadera.
¿Comprende?”

“Sí. ¿Por qué no vino la semana pasada?”
She flashed an obviously painful smile.

“Porque no sabía que aquí trabajaran mujeres tan he
rmosas.”

“Now you two cut me in on this,” Stack protested. “What have you been discussin’, or is it too private to tell?”

“We have just been lyin’ to each other in order to make us feel better, right, mister?”

“Selena, if I had come through the country last week, you would have been the one I danced the night with.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice to my ears.” She walked over and grabbed a cup of coffee and then headed back toward the stairs. “If he would have been here last week, that blonde witch would have stole him, right, Stack?”

“Blonde witch?”

“Oh, just one of the girls who quit a few days ago,” Stack hurried to explain.

“So you don’t know when this Beckett might be back?”

“Nope, but he’s got to pick up his horses. It could be he comes right up to the front door, or maybe he’ll slip into the corral at night and drive them off. But he won’t show up alone. A couple of his boys is carrying lead, but they’ll all be here anyway. Beckett don’t travel except with a gang. I don’t think April will allow them in the door.”