Where the Deer and the Antelope Play (Code of the West) (19 page)

“What is that stuff?”

“Something she bought from Red Shirt.”

“Who?”

“Some Ute down near Durango. Folks around there say it cures everything from lumbago to bee stings and bullet wounds.”

“It don’t smell too pretty.”

“If you’re worried about smell, you can use some of my pe
rfume.” She stuck her ear by his face. “Do you like it?”

“Get behind me, temptation.”

“Control yourself, cowboy.” She rubbed the ointment into the wound.

“Ahhh. Good grief, that stuff stings.”

She twisted his ear. “Sit still.”

“Are you twitchin’ me like a horse?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” She wrapped strips of white cotton cloth on his shoulder. “Now try on your new shirt.”

“Not the ruffled one. I don’t have to wear it until the we
ddin’.”

“It’s the only shirt around here that has sleeves long enough for your arms. Now go on. I figure if you wear it around today, you’ll get used to it.”

“I am not wearin’ that shirt.”

“You promised.”

“I said I might consider it on our weddin’ day, but we ain’t gettin’ married today. So go fetch me another shirt.”

“I’m doing nothing of the kind. You are going to wear this shirt, Mr. Andrews. I worked hard to make this for you.”

“I’d rather wear this blanket than that shirt.”

“That blanket will look right nice in the hotel dining room.” She stormed out the barn door and stomped across the yard to the hotel.

Tap was sound asleep on the hay when Wiley kicked his bedroll. “You fixin’ on hidin’ under them covers all day?”

“My clothes dry yet?”

“Nope, but they’re hangin’ by the woodstove in the kitchen.” Wiley handed him a tin plate and cup. “Here. I brought you some coffee, eggs, and biscuits.”

Tap eased to his feet and took the dishes. Slumping on the end of a bench, he stuffed a buttered biscuit into his mouth.

“You goin’ back to the ranch?” Wiley asked.

“After I get my clothes and a nap,” Tap mumbled.

“You don’t intend on leavin’ that yellow-haired girl mad at you, do you?”

“She wanted me to wear that ruffled shirt right into McCu
rleys’.”

“Seems to me some gals is worth it, Tap. That one you got jist might be one of ’em.”

“She knew I wouldn’t wear it. I don’t know why she tried that stunt on me.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Wiley continued. “I’m goin’ on out to the ranch. There’s a brown-haired beauty that I’m a missin’. If you want to leave Pepper in there with that little we
asel Bob Gundersen tryin’ to gum up the works, then you’re about as gal-dumb as you are gun-smart.”

“He’s doin’ what?”

“Makin’ himself a bur in the rear.” Wiley guided his horse out of the stall and began to saddle it.

Tap paced the floor of the barn and twice started for the h
otel, wearing a wool blanket over his bare shoulders. “Before you mount up, Wiley, how about fetchin’ my clothes for me? I don’t really care if they’re dry or not.”

“You’ll get rheumatism wearin’ wet clothes.”

“I’m not waitin’ any longer.”

Wiley walked his horse over to the hotel.

Tap dug through his gear and pulled out his holster. He checked the chambers of the Colt.

“You call for your laundry?” Pe
pper stood at the door. “It’s still wet.”

“I’m sorry I carried on about the shirt. I’ve been thinkin’. I’ll wear it at the weddin’, I promise. But not today.”

“I had a little talk with a married lady, and she told me not to push you so hard.”

“Mrs. Mac?”

“No, Mrs. Eagleman.”

“Rena? You and Rena are on speakin’ terms?”

“Actually, we have a lot in common.”

“Sure. You’re both good-lookin’, sweet-voiced, and pi
gheaded.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls. Here. You can wear these wet clothes if you want to. But please don’t die of pneumonia until after the wedding.”

“Where’s my jacket?”

“It’s still wet. Come on over to the parlor. You can stand by the fire.”

“Where’s Little Bob?”

“In the parlor.”

“Is he pesterin’ you?”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On what you call pestering.”

“What did he do?”

“He asked me to go hunting so he could show me his new rifle, and he wanted to give me a present, a gold hat pin.”

“What did you tell him?”

“No.”

“No to which? The ride? Or the hat pin?”

“Both, of course.”

“I think it’s time I had a serious talk with Little Bob.”

“I think it’s time you got dressed.” She handed him the ga
rments and retreated to the hotel.

The long johns were dry, but the shoulder looked perm
anently bloodstained. The pullover gray flannel shirt, though tattered, was dry and clean. The ducking trousers felt heavy and damp.

Tap, hands and face already cold, hurried to the hotel. The heavy, dark clouds hadn’t dropped any new snow. At each step there was a crunch of snow and a jingle of his spurs. Reaching the front door, he pushed his hat to the back of his head, resat his Colt in the holster, and then swung the door open.

A blast of heat rolled across the room from the roaring fire in the fireplace. A woman touched his arm.

“Pepper, where is .
 . .” He glanced at the heavy-lipsticked smile. “Rena?”

“Pepper’s in the kitchen. She told me to send you that way. I think she’s trying to avoid Little Bob.”

“Where is he?”

Rena searched the room. “I guess he’s gone to the kitchen, too.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“Be careful. You shoot down a character like that, and Daddy will have old Allan Pinkerton and his sons on your trail for the next thirty years.”

“I don’t plan on shootin’ him. Just run him off.”

“He won’t chase,” Rena cautioned.

“You think he’s that brave?”

“No. I think he’s that dumb. Believe me, I’ve seen the type. And so has Pepper.”

“You two are a lot alike.”

“She mentioned you said that. I presume you meant we are both demure, witty, and sophisticated.”

“Something like that. I think I’ll go put this Romeo in his place.”

Tap wished he hadn’t strapped on his spurs as he jingled toward the swinging doors of the hotel kitchen. Slipping the door partially open, he saw Pepper at the chopping block.  Little Bob waved a butcher knife at her.

Moving quickly across the gray-painted floor, Tap drew his revolver. He grabbed Little Bob’s shoulder-length blond hair, jerked his head back, and shoved the .44 barrel under his chin.

“Drop the knife.”

The utensil clunked to the floor.

“Actually, Little Bob was .
 . . ,” Pepper began.

“Do you know what would ha
ppen if I pulled this trigger right now?”

“Tap!” Pepper cautioned.

“Do you know?”

“I guess you’d kill me,” Little Bob stammered.

“The bullet would enter your neck with a hole about the size of your little finger and then—”

Pepper tugged at his arm.

“Then it would exit right out the top of your head, about the size of a grapefruit. And what little brains you have would be splattered up there on the ceiling. So, I’m goin’ to do you the biggest favor of your life. Rather than force Miss Pepper to look at your empty skull, I’m turnin’ you loose. I suggest you ride out of here. If you don’t, we’ll have to ship you home to Mama in a pine box.”

Tap shoved Little Bob toward the swinging doors. Gunde
rsen stumbled into the parlor and then scurried up the stairs.

Pepper scowled at Tap. “Little Bob has been an extreme pest, but it so happened that he was helping me slice pot
atoes. That’s why he had the butcher knife. Do you plan on takin’ his place?”

“But I thought you said—”

“He’s a jerk. I’m glad you scared him off. But he wasn’t trying to hurt me.”

“He got the point anyway.”

“Were you going to really shoot him?”

“Not with an uncocked pistol still sittin’ on an empty cha
mber. I just wanted to discourage him some.”

“He won’t go.He’s too spoiled to run off.”

“Spoiled?”

“He's a rich kid who’s always gotten everything he wanted. He’s too blind to run.”

“That’s just what Rena said.”

“She’s a smart lady. Pretty, too. And has good taste in men.”

“What is this with you and Rena? Last time you were together, you wanted to claw out each other’s eyes.”

“Rena and me both figure we’ll be young widows som
eday. We’ll need a good friend.”

“But she just drove in this mornin’. How could you poss
ibly decide that already?”

“Mr. Andrews, what you don’t know about women is appa
lling.”

Tap snickered. “Darlin’, you keep right on surprisin’ me. I like that. There’s nothin’ dull and routine about Miss Pepper Paige.”

“And don’t you forget it, cowboy. Now what are you planning to do if Little Bob doesn’t ride off?”

Tap sidled up to the cookstove to dry his canvas trousers. “I’ll ride out to the ranch and forget him. But that leaves you here.” He slipped his arms around her waist. “How about you just comin’ to the ranch and spendin’ the final days waitin’ out there? Wade and Rena have a wagon. You can ride out with them.”

“In case you forgot, you have a houseful already.”

“That’s the point. A few more cain’t hurt. We’ll just make pallets for everyone.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I was thinking the same thing. I can’t get everything ready to move out until tomorrow, but if we’re both at the ranch, then nothing can go wrong before the wedding. Can it?”

They stared at each other. Pepper grimaced.

Wade Eagleman, black hair flowing down the back of his leather coat, banged his way into the kitchen.

“Come on. Tap’s got work to do.”

“What kind of work?” Pepper released Tap.

“Little Bob is calling Tap out.”

“You've got to be joshin’ me,” Tap moaned.

“I told you he wouldn’t leave.”

Pepper and Tap strolled out to the parlor.

“Where is he?”

“Out on the porch,” Bob McCurley said. “I wish that stage route was open. I’d just coldcock him and send him to Santa Fe.”

“Has he got a gun?”

McCurley shrugged. “I don’t know what he has.”

Out on the porch, Little Bob stomped up to Tap, holding a pair of tan leather gloves. He raised them and swung at Tap’s face.

Tap caught Little Bob’s right wrist with his left hand,  swung a right cross that caught him in the chin with a loud crack. His head jerked back.

Little Bob would have fallen to the porch had it not been for Tap’s strong grip on his wrist. When Tap released him, Little Bob staggered against the porch rail.

“You didn’t do it right.” Little Bob cried.

“I sure wasn’t goin’ to stand around while somebody slapped me.”

“That’s not the way it’s done.”

“What’s done?”

“A duel. I challenge you to a duel.”

“Have you been readin’ those dime novels?”

“I challenge you to a duel for the hand of Miss Pepper Paige,” Little Bob announced. 

“This has gone far enough," Pepper huffed. "If you shoot Tap, I’ll kill you myself.”

“You see, son, it ain’t worth your while.”

“Don’t ‘son’ me. What’s it going to be? Dueling pistols or swords?” Gundersen wiped his bleeding mouth on the back of his trembling hand.

Pepper shook her head. “Darlin’, you see what you’ve gotten me into?”

“Me?”

“If you’d shot him two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have to do it today.”

“So it’s dueling pistols?” Little Bob’s voice quivered.

“I didn’t say that. We will duel with rifles at six hundred yards.”

“What?”

“You can hit something besides the broad side of a barn with that Winchester ’76, can’t you?”

“I don’t have a ’76. It’s a Sharps ‘Creedmoor.’”

“But it’s a .45 caliber, right?”

“It’s a .44-90, but I haven’t shot it much.”

Someone used a ’76 to shoot the barn. If it wasn’t Little Bob or the Pingree Hill boys, then who?

“Whatever. Get her loaded up.”

“But you can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

“If you want to back out, Little Bob, just grab your saddle and ride. This duel wasn’t my idea.”