My Foot's in the Stirrup . . . My Pony Won't Stand (Code of the West) (3 page)

Tap leaned his Winchester against the doorjamb and hung his holstered Colt on a brass and porcelain coat hook by the open front door.

Pepper returned with a basin, soap, and towel. “I heard you found Tom Slaughter’s missing cattle.”

“Did you see Tom?”

“Angelita did.”

“Did he tell her .
 . .” Tap glanced at the doorway. Angelita shook her head.

“Tell her what?”

“Eh, that I found all sixty-four head?”

“I told you it was a perfect job for you. You get to chase cattle, talk to ranchers, and ride horseback all day. It certainly beats the te
nsion of being a deputy in Cheyenne, to say nothing of the danger.”

“Rustled cattle can be a little dangerous at times.”

“At least I don’t have to sit home wondering if you’re going to get shot at every day.”

Tap pulled off his shirt and stepped to the basin.

“What’s that all over you?” Pepper inquired

“I rolled in the dirt and on top den of ants. Have we got any ru
bbin’ alcohol?”

“Angelita, get the liniment. What do you mean, you rolled in dirt?”

“Don’t tell her anything until I get back.” Angelita disappeared into the house and returned with a bottle.

Tap began to wash all over. “Brownie went down, and I rolled across the prairie. That’s about it. Except I did some di
ggin’.”

Pepper poured rubbing alcohol on a rag and massaged it into Tap’s back. “What digging?”

“Like I said, Brownie died.”

Pepper’s fingers dug deeper into his back. “Brownie died?”

“I told you he went down.”

“I thought you meant he stumbled.”

“He died.”

“You rode him to death?”

“No."

“Sort of what?” Pepper demanded.

“Did you bury Brownie?” Angelita interrupted.

“Yep. I thought it proper. Besides I had to wait for Tom Slaug
hter to show. He was really grateful to get all sixty-four head back.”

“Did they have them re-branded?” Angelita asked.

“Real easy. Don’t ever use
S
in a brand, unless it’s a runnin’
S
or a flyin’
S
or something like that.”

Pepper applied alcohol to his chest. “You are avoiding tel
ling me how Brownie died.”

“Now that’s a long story, and I’m nearly starved to death. Let's eat. You can tell me about your day, and I’ll tell you about mine.”

Pepper sighed. “Put on your shirt, cowboy. Nobody eats at my table unless they’re fully dressed.”

Boiled potatoes, beef gravy, stewed tomatoes, fried beef chops, biscuits, and huckleberry preserves covered the small table. After supper, Tap pushed his chair back and drank a third cup of coffee. Angelita gave a detailed description of her confrontation with Ma
tthew Harlow.

“How about you, darlin’? How’d you spend your day?”

“Fat.” Pepper spat the word out like a slap.

“You are not fat,” Tap protested.

“You are the very man who informed me I was getting ‘fleshed out.’”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“Let me tell you something. Calling a woman fleshed out is at no time and under absolutely no conditions ever a compliment.”

“Oh.”

“Mr. Andrews has a lot to learn about us women,” Angelita teased.

“Some days he has more to learn than others.”

“Before you go hangin’ me from a lamppost, I realize you don’t like all that extra weight and your back’s sore, but what I—”

“And my feet are swollen.”

“Yes, and—”

“My legs itch.”

“See, what I—”

“And I can’t walk two blocks without being winded.”

“Yes, but—”

“And I can’t sleep at night. I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Whoa, let me finish my thought before I forget it entirely. When I see that belly of yours growin’, it means Little Tap is growin'. That’s good. I meant that Little Tap—”

“Or Little Tapette,” Angelita corrected.

“I meant the baby is growing fat. That’s a healthy, wonderful thing.”

Pepper turned to A
ngelita. “What do you think, honey, did he squirm out of it this time?”

“Yeah, nice squirming, Mr. Andrews.”

“Thank you. Do you think it deserves another cup of coffee?”

“I’ll get it for you.” Angelita slipped over to the cookstove.

“Now, we are still waiting for a full explanation of how Brownie died,” Pepper insisted.

“How about one more biscuit and jam and the three of us sittin’ on the front porch? It might be a little cooler out there.”

The back of Tap's chair leaned against the wall of the house as he sipped steaming coffee from an off-white porcelain cup.

Pepper sat with needle and thread and a dress draped across her well-rounded stomach.

Angelita slouched in the open doorway, examining each tooth with her fingers. “What happened to Brownie?”

“A bullet in the head,” Tap admitted.

“You had to put him down?”

“Someone else did the job for me.”

“It’s tough on you to lose him, isn’t it?”

“Me and him went through a lot. Kind of like losin’ a good friend.”

“That’s why you buried him?”

“Yep.”

“Other than that, was it pretty much a routine day?” Pepper asked.

“More or less.”

Angelita ran into the yard as a young man on a sorrel horse rode up.

“Mr. Andrews,” the young man called.

“Mr. Parker.”

“Butch.”

“Okay, Butch. This is Mrs. Andrews.”

Butch tipped his round-crowned hat. “Evenin’, ma’am.”

“Heh, hum,” said Angelita.

“This is Miss Angelita Gomez, our house guest and very dear friend.”

“Miss Angie.” Butch pulled his hat clear off, revealing a shock of curly ash-blond hair.

“Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Parker.” Angelita held her dress and curtsied.

“Do we need to talk?” Tap asked.

“Yes, sir. Just for a minute.”

“If you ladies will excuse me and Butch . . .?”

“Oh, no need to be private,” Butch protested. “I just wanted to bring you the reward money.”

Pepper clutched her mending. “What reward money?”

“For killin’ those three gunmen who tried to a
mbush him today.”

Pepper glared at Tap. “An ordinary day?”

Tap shrugged. “It was, except for the killin’ part.”

2

O
nespot had always been Pepper’s horse. From the day Tap had bought the little gelding from Bob McCurley, the black saddle horse preferred Pepper as his rider. With Brownie gone, Tap was left with the choice of riding the iron-gray, green-broke gelding he called Roundhouse or buy a new horse.

He and Pepper talked late into the night about the job of brand inspector, the demands of an expanding family, and how to save e
nough money to buy a ranch. They decided to put all three gold double eagles in the ranch account.

The next morning Tap decided against buying a new horse. Extra funds would be needed for the baby, and the rest saved for the ranch. So he cinched his saddle tight on the strong gray horse and led him around the worn split-rail corral. The horse pranced when the cinch was once more yanked tight with the full force of Tap’s 180 pounds. A burlap sack still draped Roundhouse’s head. The minute Tap threw his full weight into the tapadera-
covered Visalia stirrup, Roundhouse took off on a blind gallop across the corral.

Tap managed to find his seat and slapped his foot in the right stirrup. At the same time, he yanked the gunny sack off the horse’s head. Roundhouse stopped gallo
ping and began to buck. On the third jump, the horse reversed direction in midair. Tap lost both stirrups and his black beaver felt hat. Clutching the horn with his right hand, he hooked the horse with his spurs and hung on.

The discomfort of raking rowels did little for the horse’s dispos
ition. Roundhouse bucked even harder until he got stuck in a corner. He paused long enough for Tap to slam his boots back into the stirrups. This time the gray took off on a trot round and round the sixty-foot square corral.

On the third pass, Tap hollered, “Open the gate, Angelita. Let’s see what he does out in the open.”

She forced the gate latch up and slowly swung the sagging wooden gate wide open. Tap spurred the gray toward the opening and galloped out onto Pine Bluff’s Railroad Avenue. The horse sprinted fifty yards to the west and then stopped, as if facing an un-crossable canyon. Tap flew out of the saddle, but kept his balance by clutching the horn and the horse’s black mane.

He scooted back into the saddle, turned the horse, and walked him back toward Angelita. She ran up to his side.

“Roundhouse was a lot more calm today, wasn’t he?” she called out.

“Yep. I told you he’d settle down after a few days. Are you ready to ride him now?” he asked.

“Oh sure, and meet an untimely and gruesome death? I don’t think it would be fair to deprive all the young men of my charm and wit, do you?”

Tap looked down at the missing-tooth smile. “You’re pro
bably right. We’ll spare them all unbearable grief.”

“I think I’ll stick with Onespot.”

Tap patted the horse on the neck. “Roundhouse will be all right as soon as I put a month of trails on him.”

“A month? Every bone in your body will be broken in a month,” Angelita warned.

“You’re beginning to sound more like Pepper ever’ day.”

Angelita put hands on her hips and tilted her head sid
eways. “
Every
day. There’s a
y
on every,” she corrected.

Tap just stared. “This is startin’ to get scary. Two women naggin’ me. I’m surely lookin’ forward to Little Tap gettin’ here. That way it evens up the sides a little.”

“What if it’s a girl, huh? What will you do then? You’ll be outnumbered three to one.”

“May the Lord have mercy on my soul.”

“You’ve been saying that an awful lot lately.”

“I need it.” Tap turned Roundhouse back to the west. “Tell Mrs. Andrews that I’m ridin’ northwest to Goodwin’s to check out some strays they found up there. I’ve got enough bi
scuits and bacon for dinner, but I’ll surely be home for supper.”

Angelita shaded her brown eyes with her hand and then wiped the perspiration off her forehead with the long sleeve of her white co
tton dress. She handed Tap his dusty black hat. “It sure is hot today.” She sighed.

“You’re right about that, darlin’. Now don’t go hangin’ out in front of those stockyard saloons.”

“How can I save enough money to go visit Daddy if you don’t let me work in front of the saloons? Drunken drovers can be quite generous, you know.”

“Yeah, and they can be mean and crazy, too. The Lord has more honorable ways for little girls to earn money.”

“Mr. Andrews, I have never compromised my honor.”

Tap shook his head. “How old did you say you were?”

“I’ll be eleven next month.”

“Somehow I keep forgetting that.” Tap grinned. “Now don’t worry about the trip money to Colorado. We’ll save it up some way.”

“Are you going to kill any more men today?” she asked.

Tap pushed his hat back, brushed his shaggy dark hair off his forehead, and then rubbed his mustache, mouth, and chin with the palm of his hand. “I hope not, darlin’. One more gunfight and Pe
pper will make me quit this job and go into shopkeepin’.”

“A bakery would be nice, especially one that makes cinn
amon rolls.”

“Keep savin’ your money, and you’ll be able to buy a ba
kery someday.”

“Can I go down to the depot? It’s not like the one in Cheyenne City, but it’s better than nothing.”

“No cheatin’ or false representation, do you understand?”

Angelita stuck out her tongue, then spun around, and ran down the street.

By the time the pine-covered bluffs had dropped over the southern horizon, Roundhouse decided to give up trying to get back to the barn and settled down to a steady gait. Tap enjoyed the power of the tall, muscular horse. He had never ridden a horse that could jump out into a gallop so quickly.

The rolling prairie northwest of the tracks was covered with thick, short grass. Only a few of the lower stems still showed a hint of green. The blistering prairie sun had baked the tops brown and the roadway rock-hard.

Tap found the heat bearable, the fine, hoof-pulverized dust minimal, the wind nonexistent, and the company peaceful and contemplative.