One Went to Denver and the Other Went Wrong (Code of the West) (22 page)

  “What good will that do?”

  “It will keep Rena alive for at least a half hour and give us some time to figure how to get up through that door.”

  Tap and Wade Eagleman crouched below the window and crawled along the side of the building to the south. Then they worked their way to the tracks. Tap could hear the deputy and the station manager shouting something to Barranca.

  Pausing at the corner of the building, Tap whispered, “Which leg took the bullet?”

  “The right one, but he still made it up those stairs.”

  “Raise me up on the block and tackle real slow. But we can’t have that thing squeak, or I’m a dead man. From now on, talk to me with signs. We won’t be able to say a word out loud. You haven’t forgotten how to talk sign, have you?”

  “White man’s humor falls on deaf ears of stoic, noble red man,” Wade teased.

  “Go on. I hope you’re prayed up,” Tap encouraged him.

  “Waiting around in jail to be hung gives a man plenty of time to pray,” Eagleman assured him.

  Strapping the rough, inch-thick hemp rope around his waist, Tap signaled for Wade to begin the pull. With his left hand holding the rope for balance, Tap clutched his Colt .44 with his right. Keeping the gun always pointed to the loft door, he inched his way up the side of the depot.

  The movement was slow, and Tap grew impatient. He fought the urge to speed Wade up, knowing any noise at all would alert Barranca.

  Finally coming even with the unpainted wooden door, he swung his feet around to brace against the framing board at the bottom of the entrance. With his left foot in place, he gently lifted his right foot—and caught his spur on the depot’s Denver sign. His spur jangled like a doorbell at a mercantile. He heard movement inside the loft.

  Shoving sharply to his right with his left foot, he clutched the shake roof eave on the right side of the opening with both hands and tried to hold himself there without swinging back in front of the doors.

  A bullet blasted through the wooden door where Tap had just been hanging. His grip starting to loosen, Tap watched as five more shots shattered the door. One of the bullets hit the hemp rope, breaking several strands. The rest looked as if they might snap at any moment.

  Then what was left of the door flew open, blocking Tap’s view of who was inside.

10

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till clutching the Colt and hanging on to the shake roof at the same time, Tap felt his grip on the roof beginning to slip. He kicked the door violently with his left foot. The bullet-pierced loft door slammed into Barranca’s right hand, causing him to drop the revolver to the loading dock below. He staggered back and stumbled over some packing crates.

  Tap pushed off from the depot wall, trying to swing to the loft opening on what was left of the hemp rope. He could see Barranca struggle to get to his feet. Clutching the side of the loft wall, Tap felt the rope snap. He dropped his Colt and clung to the rough, unpainted door framing, his body dangling down the side of the depot.

  Bowie knife in hand, Barranca crawled toward him, being careful not to give those below an open shot. He slashed at Tap’s right hand. There was a sharp, fiery pain as blood gushed out. Instantly jerking his right hand back, he found himself suspended by only the grip of his left hand.

  Barranca lifted his knife to strike again, but Rena pounced on his back clutching his arm with both hands. The gunman rolled over trying to loosen her grip. Tap slapped his wounded hand up to the casing and struggled to pull himself into the loft.

  Rolling onto his knees, he tried to brush off his throbbing right hand and succeeded only in smearing blood over his bandanna and face. Pulling a knife out of his boot with his left hand, Tap dove at Barranca who had just sliced through the upper left sleeve of Rena’s coat. She leapt back clutching her arm.

  Barranca labored to his feet and faced Tap. Both swinging knifes, they jockeyed for position. Blood oozed from Barranca’s leg wound, and Tap felt the desperate need to stop the bleeding in his hand.

  They spun one circle. Barranca dropped to his right knee, and Tap dove for him. Barranca came up with a short two-by-four in his left hand and slammed it into Tap’s right wrist just above the wound. The pain was so sharp he dropped the knife to grab his arm, and at moment Barranca lunged his knife at Tap’s stomach.

  Jumping out of the way, Tap kicked wildly at Barranca’s wounded left leg. When the boot connected, Barranca let out a scream and rolled to the floor, dropping both the two-by-four and the knife. Finding his right hand useless, Tap caught him in the cheekbone with a left cross. Barranca’s head jerked back and slammed into the floor, but his knee caught Tap in the stomach. Staggering to his hands and knees, Tap found he couldn’t breathe. Rolling to his back and gasping, he saw Barranca seize a knife and start toward him.

  Just then the storage room door burst open. Victor Barranca turned and threw the knife at the gun-toting deputy in the doorway. The deputy jumped to the side, and the knife struck him in the upper left shoulder. He dropped to his knees and squeezed the trigger on his drawn revolver.

  The first shot caught Barranca at the base of his sternum. With a look of shock, he staggered back toward the open loft door. The second shot hit him in the left chest area, and he tumbled backwards out the open door, plunging to the platform below.

  Rena ran to Tap’s side and helped him to his feet.

  “Tap! You’re covered with blood.”

  Bending at the waist to regain his breath, he labored to talk. “It’s not . . . not that bad . . . really . . . my hand . . . Pull off my bandanna, would you?”

  Finally able to breathe again, he stood straight and wrapped his burgundy silk bandanna around his wounded hand.

  “Rena, are you cut?”

  “Just my coat.”

  “He didn’t hurt you before we got here, did he?”

  “Not much. Thanks for caring.”

  “He won’t be hurtin’ anybody anymore.”

  “Nope, and I’m grateful for that.”

  They walked over to the deputy as everal men helped  him to his feet.

  “Partner,” Tap heaved a deep, labored breath, “you crashed through that door at the right time. How you doin’?”

  “I’ll make it,” the deputy replied. “How about you?”

  “This?” Tap looked at his bloody hand. “I’ve cut myself worse than this eatin’ tough meat.”

  “Mister, thanks for helpin’. Say, I don’t even know your name.”

  “Call me Tap. But it don’t matter. When they start grabbin’ women for shields, it’s time for every man to make a stand. You’d better get that knife wound to a doc.”

  “And the same for you.”

  Tap dusted off his hat with his left hand and punched it back on his head. Rena walked with him down the narrow stairs. Wade Eagleman met them at the bottom, handing Tap back his Colt.

  “Sorry I couldn’t help more. When you were up there scuffling, I was afraid of shooting you or Rena by mistake.”

  “Rena’s safe. That’s the main thing. And she won’t have to worry about Barranca stalkin’ her. Look, I have to check on Stack. Would you wait with her until her train gets here? I suppose they will get back on schedule now that the excitement is over.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Wade assured him.

  “Rena, be nice to Eagleman. You never know when you’ll need a good lawyer.”

  “What about the Arizona thing?” Wade Eagleman asked. “I still want to help you clear up that matter.”

  “Don’t worry about it now. I just want to get Stack and Pepper and ride out of Denver. I’ll write you. Maybe you can ride out and spend a few days at the ranch .
 . . if all the passes aren’t snowed in.”

  Rena squeezed Tap’s arm. “I’d kiss you on the cheek, Tap Andrews, but you’ve smeared yourself with blood. I can’t figure out if you’re the toughest, tender man or the tenderest, tough man I’ve ever met.”

  “I’d like to invite you to stop by and see the ranch too, but I don’t think Pepper would approve.”

  Rena offered a brave smile and took Wade’s arm. The two retreated into the train depot waiting room where some sort of order was being restored.

  Tap scooted through the dispersing crowd, most of whom stood and gawked at his blood-smeared face. Pepper ran to meet him in the street.

  “Tap! Are you shot?” she cried.

  “Nope.”

  “But you’ve got blood all over you. I heard gunfire.”

  “Barranca’s dead.”

  “Did you .
 . .”

  “No. It was one of the deputies that brought him down.”

  “But . . . the blood?”

  “I took a knife blade in the back of the hand, and I guess I smeared it all over me. It burns like anything, but I can get that sewn up. How about Stack?”

  “The doc verified it looked like the bullet busted a collar bone and then passed on out. He figures it will heal without much problem, providin’ it don’t fester. He surely won’t be playin’ the piano for a while.”

  “Or drivin’ that wagon back. Is the doctor still with him?”

  “I think he went over to the depot.”

  “I’ll check on Stack. If you find the doc and he isn’t busy, send him back over here. I’m goin’ to have to eat and shoot left-handed for a few days.”

  “I’ll go find him. Are you sure you’re all right? You’re a mess.”

  “Go on before you get all smeared up too.”

  Pepper scooted across the street.

  Stack was sitting on the floor of the bakery with his back against the wall. He was shirtless. Clean, white linen bandages were wrapped all over his chest, shoulder, and arm. With his left hand, he was eating a fresh-baked biscuit about the size of a horseshoe.

  “I came in here to give my respects to a dyin’ man, and there you are all dressed out and eatin’ a hole in the bakery,” Tap jibed.

  “Me dyin’? Look at you. What’s the matter? Wouldn’t death take you until you got cleaned up a bit?”

  Both men quit smiling about the same time, and their eyes turned serious.

  “You doin’ okay, Stack?”

  “It’ll be stiff for a long time, but I’ll survive. Where did you take it?”

  “I just got knifed in the back of the hand.”

  “But it’s all over your face.”

  “That’s what I heard. I kind of smeared it around.”

  “There’s no kind of to it. You’re a mess.” Stack grinned.

  “Thanks for takin’ that bullet for Rena.”

  “You’d have done the same thing. Sometimes a man don’t have time to think. Some things you’ve just got to do. You know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  “Yep. You think you’ll be up to ridin’ in that wagon of yours?”

  “You drivin’?” Stack asked.

  “Yeah. I thought Pepper and me would see you back to April’s. The girls can take care of you there.”

  “That would be mighty fine, Tap. Mighty fine.”

  “Rest there a little longer. I’m going to step in the back and find myself a basin of water and try to clean myself up. Pepper will be along with a doc, and I’ll get him to sew me up. It might snow before dark, but I think we ought to roll out of town as soon as you are able.”

  It was almost an hour before Tap had his hand repaired, his face clean, and Stack loaded under some blankets in the back of the wagon. Tying Brownie behind the wagon, Tap climbed up into the seat with Pepper. He slapped the reins left-handed.

  “This is like a hospital wagon,” he quipped. “Pepper’s got a knot on her head. I’ve got a bandage on my hand, and Stack is wrapped up like a bomb went off in his vest pocket. Don’t we make a sight?”

  As Pepper spread a blanket across their laps, he glanced back at Stack. “Boy, we sure had a good time in Denver, didn’t we?”

  “If it ain’t too insultin’, next time I think I’ll visit my little sister by myself.”

  “Sounds mighty boring, Mr. Lowery.”

  “Being around you is like getting caught in a tornado. Sometimes a breezeless day can be mighty peaceful.”

  “Speakin’ of breezes, do you feel that east wind startin’ up?”

  “Sort of feels like a chinook.”

  “That’s what I was thinkin’.”

  “The passes ought to be open then.”

  “And muddy.” Tap turned around to pay attention to the driving.

  The afternoon heated up as the southwest wind blew the clouds away. In less than two hours, they had assigned the blankets to the back of the wagon, unbuttoned their jackets, and pulled off their gloves. The wagon wheels began to throw mud, and Tap sensed the team pulling hard to keep the rig from sliding.

  “How long will this warm weather last?” Pepper questioned, digging into the bakery bag and handing Tap a large bear sign.

  “Maybe a day or two. .
 . . Then one of those cold winds will blow down from Rupert’s Land and drop temperatures by thirty or forty degrees.”

  Pepper handed a roll to Stack. “He’s asleep,” she said to Tap.