Where the Deer and the Antelope Play (Code of the West) (9 page)

“At least it ain’t snowin’ yet.” Wiley waltzed back into the barn.

“You’re up early. You been out huntin’?” Stack teased.

“I just thought I’d check on the womenfolk.”

“Mighty kind of ya.” Tap winked at Stack. “You’ll hurry back from Laramie City, won’t you, Wiley?”

“Oh, yes, sir. You can count on me to git right back to the ranch.”

“That’s what I figured.”

Tap started to saddle up Brownie, but he stopped. “Hey, partner, did I hear one of the gals cryin’ last night? Is there some problem I don’t know about?”

Stack saddled his own horse. “I heard it too. It was Rocky.”

“How old is she?”

“Says she’s eighteen, but I got my doubts.”

“What’s she doin’ in the hurdy-gurdy business?”

“From what I hear, she got pregnant a few years back, and the boy ran out on her. She ended up with some hack doctor giving her an abortion. She started likin’ laudanum to relieve the pain. You know that stuff's like poison. April’s been helpin’ her come off it. She’d only give her a little at night to get to sleep. But it got burnt up. So I guess she’s feelin’ mighty poorly without that laudanum.”

“She’s a pretty little thing. She doesn’t have to do this,” Tap observed.

“That’s what I tried to tell her. You might mention something to her. She'll believe you. She sees herself as a little lower than a snake and figures everyone else looks at her that way too. I worry about her more than all the others combined.”

“She’s the kind that don’t last long in this business.”

“She’s the kind that don’t last long in this world.”

By keeping a steady pace, Tap and Stack reached the still-smoldering ruins of April’s dance hall in the middle of the a
fternoon. They rode south, stopping at several ranch houses to inquire about four men on the run. At almost dark  they found a rancher who had spotted three men camping near Red Springs the previous night.

“They had their carbines on their laps and surely seemed happy to see me ride on,” the man reported. “The big man did all the talkin’.”

“That would be Karl,” Tap surmised.

He and Stack spent a cold night at the camp near Red Springs. Early the next morning they found the trail of three riders slanting off to the southwest.

“You think that’s them?”

“If you were swinging around toward Rico Springs, wouldn’t you cut this trail?”

“Reckon so.”

“If we can’t find them, at least we’ll be closer to McCurleys’.”

“You figurin’ on stoppin’ by and seein’ Pepper before goin’ back to the ranch?”

“Yep.”

The clouds hung low all day. The west wind seemed to  press them tighter against the continental divide to the east. Tap could no longer remember the last time his bones had been warm.

They hit the road that linked Rico Springs and Kare Kremmling’s store at dusk. Shortly afterward they rode south into town. On the well-traveled road all signs of the three men they followed were obliterated.

Isolation was the only reason for Rico Springs’s existence. That feature attracted an assortment of eccentrics—those hiding from the law and those just plain hiding. The buildings occupied one block on either side of the north and south road. No post office. No stage stop. No church. No jail. And no houses to speak of.

Hidden behind the unpainted false-front facades were a mercantile, a grocery store, a livery, a hotel that consisted of one huge log room full of wooden bunks, and six gambling hall saloons.

“How come Rico Springs doesn’t have a dance hall, Stack? Some hurdy-gurdy operator is missing a lot of customers.”

“They had one. Within a week every girl was either shot, knifed, or ran off. After that, none of the girls would come close to this place.”

“Sounds like a perfect spot for these rustlers that burnt down April’s.”

Stack pulled off his gloves and blew steam into his hands. “What’s our plan now? This bunch knows both of us on sight, and it’s too cold to stand out here in the dark and wait for them to wander by.”

“We don’t even know if they’re in town. We’ll just poke around real careful and see if we can stir something up. You figure you know most of the boys up here?”

“I’d figure half the town’s been at April’s one time or a
nother.”

“Then let me lead the way, and you come in about ten steps behind me.”

“Don’t kill ’em until I find out where the girls’ money is,” Stack cautioned.

“Kill ’em? I don’t have any intention of killin’ ’em.”

“No, and you didn’t plan on killin’ Jordan Beckett and that bunch.”

“They didn’t leave me any choice.”

“And how about Victor Barranca?”

“I didn’t kill Vic. It was the deputy. Remember?”

“What I’m sayin’ is that when you’re around in a gunfight, Andrews, people have a habit of dyin’.”

“I’ve never really noticed that. Are you saying I have a cha
racter flaw?”

“What I’m sayin’ is I want to get the girls’ money back and deliver you to your yellow-haired darlin’, so don’t plan on takin’ on the entire population of Rico Springs at the same time.”

Tap’s spurs jingled his path to the tall, narrow wooden doors that led into The Bucket. The aroma of smoke and the smell of cheap alcohol reminded him of a thousand such places across the Western frontier. It took him a little less than four steps to know that none of the rustlers were in the room. He strolled through the stares and sidled up to the bar made of packing crates and planks.

A man wearing two bullet belts and two revolvers greeted him from behind the counter. “Evenin’, mister. You lookin’ for somethin’ to fill your belly?”

“I’m really lookin’ for old Karl and Hank and that bunch. Have they been in tonight?”

The man studied Tap up and down. “I don’t reckon I’ve seen you in here before.”

Tap stared right at the man’s weak gray eyes. “And I don’t reckon you answered my question.”

The man hollered out, "Any of you boys know a man named Karl?”

Most heads shook no, but Tap noticed that their hands dove for their revolver handles and rested there.

In the momentary hush, Tap spoke up. “If any of you ever meet a man named Karl, tell him I need to talk to him about Jimmy Ray. The boy’s carryin’ lead and not doin’ too well. I thought Karl would want to know.”

Almost in unison, hands relaxed and slipped off the walnut and pearl handles of .44s and .45s.

“Is Jimmy Ray goin’ to pull through, mister?” A man at the end of the homemade bar questioned.

“If they kin get that bullet out.”

“Where’d he get shot?” The question sounded more like a test than a sincere inquiry.

Stack sauntered into The Bucket and leaned against the wall near the front door. “The bullet’s stuck in there above the knee in his right leg.”

“Who done it?”

“I heard some old rancher up on the border didn’t like losin’ bovines.”

“Some men git right touchy about that. I know Karl, Hank, and Bufe. If I run across ’em, I’ll tell ’em you was askin’ afterr ’em. You goin’ to be around town awhile?”

“Maybe. Are there any square card games in this town?”

“Not many.” The man downed his drink. “Think I’ll prom
enade up the street and see if I kin find me some hot supper.”

You’re goin’ straight to Karl.

The bartender wiped his hands on his dirty white apron. “You drinkin’ or not?”

“I’d just like a hot cup of coffee to warm these bones.”

“Coffee’s over on the woodstove. Help yourself. Toss a nickel in that tin cup. You kin drink it all night. By the way, I heard you say you was lookin’ for a card game. That table at the back will have a game around nine. You can probably buy in there.”

“Is it honest?”

“About as honest as you can git in Rico Springs.”

Tap treaded toward the woodstove and glanced at Stack as he poured a cup of coffee. Lowery signaled that he would go up the street, Tap assumed to check out the other bus
inesses.

He meandered to the empty corner table and took a chair with his back against the wall. From that vantage point he could see almost everyone in the room. Except for the ba
rrier of the stove which blocked the view of those just entering the room. Stack had already slipped out.

After a few minutes, a short man in a wide Mexican hat burst through the front door. He downed two quick drinks at the bar and headed for Tap’s table.

Tap slipped his right hand down to the walnut grip on his Colt. “Mister, you here for a game of cards?”

The right half of the man’s face was permanently blac
kened while the left half tinted a cold pink color. He also had a glass right eye. “I heard there might be one later on. You plannin’ on playin’?”

“Playin’? I aim to win," the man roared. “My name’s Half-Beard. And yourself?”

“Call me Tap. Looks like you took a pretty good blow with some black powder.”

“Durin’ the war. The dang musket blew up in my face. I lost an eye, eardrum, and half my face, but at least I still have my good looks. Kin I buy you a drink?”

“No thanks. I’m nursin' this boiled coffee.”

“Shoot, you kin buy me a drink.” He yelled for the ba
rtender to bring a bottle. “After I rake in a few dollars here, I think I’ll ride up to Pingree Hill. Ever been to that hurdy-gurdy house they got there? Some of the purdiest girls north of Denver. They got a yellow-haired girl that  . . .”

Tap realized that he had pulled his revolver hal
fway out of the holster and had his finger poised on the trigger. He shoved the Colt back in and tried to relax his grip. “Not any more, they don’t.”

“Why not?”

“It burnt down a couple nights ago.”

“You don’t say. How’d it happen?”

“Some bunch decided to rob April and the girls at the dance hall, so they fired the place for a diversion.”

“That ain’t right. Depriving them girls of their place of, eh, work. You know who done it?”

“Got my suspicions, but I can’t say just yet.”

“Burned clean to the ground, you say?”

“Yep.”

“No more April’s. .
 . . Say, where’d them girls go?”

“I heard they were on their way to Wyomin’.”

“Don’t that beat all? Country without a dance hall—it’s a lonely place, ain’t it? How about that yellow-haired girl? She go up to Wyomin’, too?”

“The one called Pepper?”

“Yeah, that’s her. A firecracker, she is. I once seen her get the drop on old Jordan Beckett—jist a week or two before he died. There ain’t many in this country that ever got the drop on old Beckett . . . exceptin’ that Arizony gunslinger that finally gunned him down. What about that yellow-haired girl?”

“Didn’t you hear? She’s marryin’ that Arizona gunslinger.”

“No foolin’? Mister, I’m glad you told me that. That’s one man I surely don’t aim to ever sit at the same table with. No, sir.”

“I hear he’s as tough as old Stuart Brannon,” Tap added tr
ying hard not to smile.

“I heard that, too, but I don’t rightly believe it.” Half-Beard looked around the room for a spittoon. “What time did you say the action’s goin’ to commence around here anyway?”

Out of the corner of his eye Tap spied the man called Hank push open the door and scope the room. “I reckon it’s just about to get started.”

5

T
he unshaven man stomped over to the bartender and waded into an animated conversation. The man’s gun was hung low on his hip for all to see below his jacket, but Tap knew it was too low to be a real threat.

Tap spoke softly to Half-Beard. “Think I’ll get a refill of co
ffee. It’s as bitter as sin, but it’s hot. You need a cup?”

“Coffee? Shoot, I ain’t got drunk enough for coffee—yet.” He poured himself another shot from the amber unlabeled bottle in front of him. He spilled a few drops on his dirty fi
ngers, which he promptly lapped up.

The bartender pointed toward the big, round table in the back just as Tap slipped behind the woodstove and refilled his tin cup. Standing in the shadows, he watched Hank stalk to the back of the saloon, his right hand resting on the ha
ndle of the revolver in its black, slick, concho-studded leather holster.

Mister, you’ll be dead before you ever get that high enough to squeeze off a shot.

“Hey, old man. Are you the one who claims to have a message from Jimmy Ray?” Hank’s voice sounded high and taut.

Half-Beard looked up and glanced around the room. “You talkin’ to me?”

“What’s it look like?” Hank growled.

“Do I have a message from who?”

Hank drew his revolver halfway out of the holster. “You heard me, mister,” he barked.

Half-Beard ignored the man and poured himself another drink, wiping his mouth on his canvas coat sleeve. Just as Hank got his gun out of the holster, Tap stepped up behind him. Grabbing Hank by the greasy coat collar, he jammed his own Colt in the man’s back, shielding his gun from all in the room except -Half-Beard.