Where the Deer and the Antelope Play (Code of the West) (6 page)

“I’ll check it out.” Quail spurred his mount and rode away to the south.

“Don’t matter,” Fighting Ed hollered. “They might have done the dirty work, but you was the ring leader.”

“Why would I raid the Rafter R and then push them over the state line? Those four were fixin’ to steal my cows, too.”

“Why didn’t you shoot ’em?” one of the cowboys called out.

“They hadn’t committed any crime in Colorado—yet. But they weren’t all exactly in good health when they left. I was plannin’ on cuttin’ out the Rafter R Herefords and drivin’ ’em back up to the border, as soon as my feet warmed up.”

“Oh, they’ll git back to the Rafter R range, all right. But no thanks to you.” Tap noticed Fighting Ed’s tall-crowned hat made his head look long and narrow, like a craggy fence post.

“Tap’s right about four ridin’ south,” Quail reported as he rode back to the others. “At least one was drippin’ blood.”

“There’s a little red around this campfire, too.” Another of the men pointed to the snow at Andrews’s feet. “Some of ’em are carrying lead. Maybe we ought to try to catch them.”

“That bunch is runnin’ like wounded wolves. But it’s too close to Christmas to get yourselves killed. Why don’t you just round up those white faces and take them home. Graze them separate, and if they’re still lookin’ healthy by July, turn ’em out with the others. That Spanish fever will show by then.”

“I’ll give the orders around here,” Casey snarled.

“While you’re decidin’ what the orders are, I’m pullin’ on my boots before my feet freeze solid.”

Fighting Ed waved the revolver at Tap’s head. “Stay standin’. You ain’t doin’ nothin’, Andrews.”

Tap glanced up at the mounted Rafter R hands. “You ever see an unarmed man get shot in the back for just puttin’ on his boots?”

Several shook their heads.

Tap sat down on his saddle, brushed the snow off his socks, and began pulling the cold, stiff boots onto his aching feet. Standing up, he grabbed the tabs on his left boot and yanked it on. Then he did the same with the right. His eyes briefly glanced at the Winchester propped against the gra
nite rock.

I could get one shot off before taking a few. If I dropped Fightin’ Ed, the others might not be so anxious. But, Lord, there’s got to be something I can do besides shoot ever
ybody who rides onto the ranch.

“What’s the order, Fightin’ Ed? You goin’ to get your cows, or you goin’ to shoot me in the back? You askin’ these men to take part in the murder of an unarmed Col
orado rancher?”

“Hangin’ a cattle rustler ain’t murder.”

“You men think that’s the way a Colorado jury would see it? Folks down here aren’t too impressed by those big Wyomin’ ranches.”

“If we string you up, there wouldn’t be a need to have a jury, would there?” Fighting Ed growled.

“You goin’ to hang Wiley, too? He knows I didn’t rustle any cows. He’s sittin’ down there warmin’ his toes by my fireplace.”

“I hired on to punch cows, not kill unarmed men,” Quail piped up. “We’d better gather those cows and get them movin’ north before we run smack dab into the night.”

Fighting Ed’s breath fogged out in front of him. Pointing at a gaunt man, he muttered, “You stay here and keep a bead on him. We’ll take him with us back to the Rafter R and then see what a Wyomin’ jury will decide.”

“That’s a mighty fine idea, boss,” the cowboy replied. “And what should I do if he tries to escape?”

“Shoot him.”

“I was hopin’ you’d say that.”

Soon Tap had his hands tied behind his back and was seated on his saddle. Casey and the others rode down the hill to cut out the Herefords. The lone cowboy wearing worn black gauntlets circled the fire, trying to stir up the coals while holding his revolver.

“Andrews, ain’t this somethin’? Just you and me again.”

Tap stared into the man’s narrow eyes. “Do I know you?”

“Drew Blackstone.”

Wiley claimed Blackstone was the only Rafter R man that might shoot him.
“I don’t recognize the name.”

“You know me, all right. Two years ago in that little Ca
ntina in the Mule Mountains in Arizona? A ruckus about a soiled dove stealin’ my two hundred dollars?”

“Were you that blubberin’ drunk who tried to bushwhack the pretty Mexican dance-hall girl?”

“She poached my money, and you know it, Andrews.”

“You got what you paid for.”

“I didn’t git two hundred dollars’ worth.”

“It might have been a bad business deal or bad luck, but the money belonged to her.”

Blackstone rubbed his eyes with the back of his gloves. “Now I’ll tell you what’s bad luck for you. That’s havin’ me be the one to guard you. You see, I jist know that you’re goin’ to try and escape.”

“That would be rather foolish of me, wouldn’t it? Esp
ecially since I’m tied up.”

“Desperate men do foolish things.”

Tap thought he saw movement in the piñon pines behind the man. He averted his attention back at the coals.

The gun-toting Drew Blackstone continued to circle the fire. “’Course, I cain’t figure how you ever got out of A.T.P. Ol’ man Perez told me you got hung down in Yuma.”

“He lied.”

Someone’s watchin’ us. Can’t be Fightin’ Ed and crew .
 . . can it?
“Nobody gets hung at Yuma. The heat gets them first.”

“You sure you don’t feel like tryin’ to escape?” Blackstone baited him.

“Nope. But I would appreciate it if you built up the fire and let me stand and turn around so I could warm up my hands. Maybe you could start cookin’ supper. Me and the boys will be mighty hungry. How did you land this fire-tendin’ job, Blackstone? Is this all they had left for drunks who can’t ride, rope, or wrangle?”

“Why you .
 . .”

Tap ducked to avoid the swinging barrel of the revolver. His hat slowed down the blow that struck above his left ear and cracked into his shoulder blade. He toppled off the sa
ddle into the snow away from the fire and tried to roll to his back and fend off another blow with his feet.

But it was Blackstone who slumped unconscious next to him in the snow. Wiley stood over him, smiling and holding his ’73 carbine.

“He rammed his head into the barrel. But don’t worry, the barrel’s still all right.”

“Wiley, I was hopin’ that was you hidin’ in the piñons.”

“You expectin’ someone else? Maybe that yellow-haired girl?”

“Not hardly.”

“That’s too bad ’cause she’s down there at the house waitin’ for you.”

“She’s what?”

“Are you just goin’ to lay there in the snow bleedin’, or are you goin’ to invite me to sit down at your fire?”

“You might untie me.”

He pulled a knife from his belt and cut the narrow leather laces that bound Tap’s hands behind him. Tap rolled to his feet, brushed off the snow, and rubbed his aching head and shoulder.

“What’s this about Pepper?”

“She showed up about two hours ago.”

“By herself?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure it was Pepper?”

“Purdy yellow hair, green eyes, and a dimpled smile that would make a dead dog wag its tail. A fancy dress that was cut—”

“Okay, what’s she doin’ there?”

“She was unduly daunted that I wasn’t you. But what I want to know is, how did you let Blackstone get the jump on you?”

“I was tryin’ to warm my feet. Did you see Fightin’ Ed and the others?”

“Yeah, but I was following your trail, ridin’ the high line. I don’t think they spotted me.”

“I thought they wouldn’t be down here until t
omorrow.”

“I was wrong. It looked to me like the Rafter R boys were about done gatherin’. You ready to light shuck and head for the ranch?”

“Nope. Old Fightin’ Ed would just come after us.”

“I reckon he’s decided you’re a genuine cattle ru
stler. You aim to shoot it out?”

“I hope not. Help me prop up this great gunman.”

Tap and Wiley sat the unconscious Blackstone in the snow and leaned him against the granite boulder. After tying his hands to his feet, they gagged him with his own bandanna and replaced his hat.

“You rapped him pretty good with the rifle barrel.”

“I was in a hurry. You looked like you were in trouble.”

“Me? I had him right where I wanted him.”

“He was about to shoot you.”

“About to be shot is not the same as actually being shot,” Tap teased. “Besides, you don’t mean to tell me that Drew here would shoot a man who has his hands tied behind his back?”

“What do we do now?” Wiley asked.

“You ride on back up into the piñons and wait. If things go right, I’ll ride up to you in a few minutes.”

“And if they go wrong?”

“I guess you’ll have to go back and marry that gal with the yellow hair yourself.”

“Don’t tempt me, Andrews.”

“Nothin’s goin’ to go wrong. Go on, get out of sight.”

By the time Casey and three of his crew returned, Tap had saddled Brownie and built up the fire. He was sitting on the boulder next to Blackstone with his hands behind his back. His right hand clutched the Colt .44.

“Drew,” Casey shouted, “come on, wake up. Let’s—what the .
 . .”

Tap swung the pistol around and had Fighting Ed covered before he could even reach for his gun. “I’m glad you’re done with the roundup. Sorry you can’t stay and warm up, but I know you’re in a hurry to be gettin’ back to Wyoming.”

“What’s goin’ on here?” Casey demanded.

“Drew here got me mad. So I just made him take a little nap.”

The bound man tried to communicate.

“Quail, how about you helpin’ this
hombre malo
to his pony?”

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Casey shouted.

“Look, you got your cows. The four rustlers are deep in the mountains by now, and you’ve got Blackstone with nothin’ more than a bad headache. Why not go back to the bunkhouse and warm up?”

“Sounds good to me.” Quail untied Blac
kstone and helped him to his feet.

“Those four came back and ambushed me,” Drew snarled.

“If they did, then they’re sittin’ in those trees with guns on you right now. If I rustled those cows, I surely would have shot a worthless character like Blackstone, wouldn’t I?”

“Andrews, if one more head of Rafter R stock is found down here on the Triple Creek, I’ll shoot you on sight,” Figh
ting Ed puffed.

“Quail, get him off my ranch. The rest of you boys, if Fightin’ Ed steers you down here again, have him ride way out in the lead by himself. I don’t want a bullet to go strayin’ off and hit one of you. Now get out of here before I really get mad.”

“I’m not done with you, Andrews,” Casey shouted. “until I run you clean out of this country.”

“You want to have it out, Casey?” Tap hollered. “Get down off that horse. Boys, back up and give us room. Come on, Casey, you and me, just the two of us. Let’s get it over with.”

The others around Fighting Ed, including Drew Blackstone, rode their horses away from their boss.

“I’m not puttin’ up with this anymore. Get down here and make good on your word,” Tap demanded.

“I’m—I’m not goin’ up against an Arizona gunslinger who’s already got his gun drawn,” Casey protested.

Tap jammed his Colt back into the holster. “Go ahead. Go for it. Or get off my ranch.”

Fighting Ed turned his horse and spurred back toward the others holding the cows in the draw west of the campfire.

Quail turned back to Tap. “We won’t make it off your place by nightfall.”

“About seven miles north of here is a little grove of red fir trees. There’s still meadow grass on the east side peeking above the snow. Leave the cattle there and make camp in that circle of firs. There’s a stack of firewood under the biggest tree. I got stuck up there one time and nearly froze, so I stashed some wood. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. Is Wiley back in the p
iñons?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what I figured. I just might be ridin’ down your way one of these days, too.” Quail trotted off after the others.

The Rafter R crew had barely started north when Tap kicked out the fire and rode into the piñon pine trees to join up with Wiley. The two rode south in silence for several mi
nutes. Tap and Brownie led the way. The sun hung low in the west, and he could feel the temperature drop. His cheeks were already numb, but he refused to cover them with his bandanna.

“Tap,” Wiley called out, “I heard you baitin’ Fightin’ Ed. What would you have done if he took you up on it?”

“What?”

“What if Casey would have jumped off his horse and gone for his gun? Were you plannin’ on shootin’ him dead or maybe just woundin’ him?”