Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) (20 page)

Carbine held it up to the lantern. “Looks like a low-powdered sneak gun.”

“This big one is a .44 or .45, but it got mashed pretty good. Can I take these with me?” Tap asked.

“You can do anything you want with them.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

The doctor scooted back inside the hospital.

“What do we do now, Tap?”

“I’ll try to find Merced.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“You’d better sit this out and rest up that leg of yours. Besides, it doesn’t seem right for Baltimore to be all alone when he’s this close to dyin’. If I can find Angelita, I’ll send her to wait with you.”

“You goin’ to gun Merced down?”

“I’ll give him whatever he has comin’.”

“Cheyenne is fallin’ apart. Never knowed Pappy was holdin’ the whole thing together. How long do you think it will take until everyone discovers there are no lawmen left in this town?”

“I figure it won’t bust loose until tomorrow evenin’.”

Carbine nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“I’ll check with ya in the mornin’. Send me word if Baltimore gets worse. We’re at Savannah’s place at the Inter Ocean. Take care of yourself. It looks like someone’s out to eliminate all the deputies.”

Tap searched every dive, saloon, hurdy-gurdy, and hotel on both sides of the Union Pacific tracks for signs of Simp Merced. Most places emptied like cockroaches ru
nning from daylight when he walked through the door. It was nearly 3:00
a.m.
when he gave up and went back to the Inter Ocean.

Trying to sneak into the suite without waking Pepper, he was surprised to find the lights lit in the parlor. He crept into the room, then gazed across at her, wrapped in one of Sava
nnah’s thick robes, sitting on the velvet settee. Sprawled beside her was Angelita Gomez, sound asleep with her head in Pepper’s lap. Pepper put her finger to her lips.

“You heard all about it?” Tap whispered.

“Yes. She showed up about twenty minutes after you left. How’s Baltimore?”

“Still alive .
 . . but it doesn’t look good. He might be paralyzed.”

“Angelita’s scared he’s going to die. She came by looking for you.”

“How’d she know we were here?”

“Mrs. Wallace told her we were at Savannah’s.”

“But how did—”

Pepper shrugged. “She knows everything. When you weren’t here, Angelita grabbed onto me and started crying. She hasn’t turned loose of me. She refused to go to the hospital b
ecause she just knew her daddy was dead. She wanted to pretend he was alive as long as she could.”

“Asleep she looks like a little girl.”

“She is a little girl.”

“But I mean .
 . . the way she always acts I forget how young she is.”

“You look tired too, Mr. Andrews.”

“Think I’ll try to sleep an hour or two. You want to leave her there and come to bed?”

“I might as well sit here, Tap. I’ve been sick most of the night.”

“Maybe you need to see the doctor.”

“Sure, he’ll tell me to drink some lemon tea and rest up for a few days. It’s not worth the two dollars.”

“If Angelita wakes up, tell her two bullets have been removed from her daddy and that Carbine is waiting at the hospital. She can go wait with him if she wants to. I’ll take her down there. Just give me a poke. But don’t tell her about the paralyzed part. He may be better in the mornin’.”

At 6:30
a.m.
Tap rode up to the Inter Ocean and hefted Angelita up onto Brownie’s back.

“You should have woke me up as soon as you got in,” she scolded.

“You were sleepin’, and so was your papa. I figured you both needed the rest. Carbine would send word if anything turned for the worst. He didn’t, so ever’thing must be stable.”

They bounced along to Brownie’s stiff gait. “Mrs. Andrews is very nice.”

“She certainly is.”

“What does she see in you anyway?”

He glanced back at Angelita and shook his head. “I’m not too impressive, am I?”

“You’re a driftin’, shiftless gunfighter. Come on, there really can’t be too much future in marrying such a man.”

“I guess she just didn’t know better.”

“And she seems quite intelligent at first glance. Perhaps you remind her of her father.”

“What?”

“You are considerably older than she is, aren’t you?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Eh, forty?”

“Forty.”

“Yes, and I’d say Mrs. Andrews is about twenty. Am I right?”

“No, you are not right,” Tap thundered. “Forty. I can’t believe you said that.”

“My, you’re powerful touchy this morning.” Angelita kicked Brownie, and he broke into a trot.

At the hospital Carbine reported that there was no change in Baltimore. He had not yet come around. After getting Angelita settled in, Tap rode back downtown. At 8:00
a.m.
he entered Feund Brothers’ Wyoming Armory. J. R. Grueter greeted him as he scooted between two other customers standing in front of the large glass case of lever-action repeating rifles.

“Mornin’, Tap.”

“Mornin’, J. R. Looks like you got plenty of customers.”

“They come in here and look around, but no one has any money. It’s been this way all spring. What can I git ya?”

“Just some advice, J. R.” Tap pulled out the two spent bullets from his vest pocket. “This one looks like it came out of a .41 sneak gun to me. What do you think?”

“I’d bet on it. A snub-nosed one at that. That’s why you don’t have any deformity in the lead. Hardly any bore marks. Didn’t hit any bone, did it? Come over here to the scales.” J. R. opened a cupboard and dug through a wooden box filled with assorted sizes of lead bullets ready to be reloaded.

“This one’s a .41 regular,” he reported. Tap tossed the smaller of the spent bullets on the scales. The balance beam leveled out almost exactly parallel to the table.

“There you go, 130 grains in each. Someone take to shootin’ at you with a sneak gun?”

“Not me. That bullet came out of Baltimore’s back.”

“How’s he doin’?”

“It isn’t good, but he’s still alive. I guess the next two days will tell.”

“How about this one?”

“Kind of feels like a .45, don’t it?”

Grueter cradled the lead in his hand and then placed it on the scales. “Yep, there you go. Say, was Baltimore shot by two different men?”

“At least by two different guns. It’s highly unlikely that Hager had two guns in his cell.”

Tap reached into his coat pocket. “Could this have been the sneak gun?”

“A snub-nosed Colt cloverleaf? I reckon it could. ’Course, there’s a lot of sneak guns in this town. It could have been a National, a Williamson, a Remington, a Ballard Forehand & Wadsworth, or even a Frank Wesson.”

“They all make .41s?”

J. R. nodded. “And they all make sneak guns.”

“This one was left lyin’ in Hager’s cell.”

J. R. Grueter turned the 5 1⁄4-inch gun over and over in his hand. “I sold that gun yesterday.” He handed it back to Tap.

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t often have people lookin’ for pistols with 1 7⁄16-inch barrels. Besides, look at the serial number on the frame at the bottom of the grips.”

“1,234? What about it?”

“1-2-3-4,” J. R. explained. “I thought about keeping it myself. It would make a nice walk-to-the-bank type of gun. But this bummer came in lookin’ for a cloverleaf. I can’t refuse a cash customer.”

“Who was it?”

“Don’t know his name. You know how it is. They all start lookin’ the same after a while. Dirty, bearded, worn-out clothes, medium height, derby that looked like it had a bite out of it. Really, had teeth marks and everything.”

“Was his name Nickles?”

“I don’t have any idea. But I can tell you one thing, he was not a very good liar. Told me he was leavin’ for Deadwood and needed a little protection from the murdering savages. You and I know that a man would be scalped before the enemy ever got within range of that snub-nose.”

“He paid in cash?”

“Ten dollars and didn’t blink an eye. Shoot, I would’ve sold it for seven dollars. It ain’t much fun if they don’t barter. Do you know him?”

“I might. The other day he didn’t have enough money to buy a bowl of soup at a chophouse. Think I’d better find out if he’s still in town.”

“Better find him today. I heard that the DelGatto gang of bummers is pullin’ out tomorrow.”

“All of them at once?”

“Some old boy’s got empty rigs going to Deadwood, and they’re all loadin’ up and goin’. I suppose none of them want to stick around after the hangin’.”

“Nobody takes empties north.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You haven’t seen Merced, have you, J. R.?”

“I heard he got shot down on the south side in that gunfight.”

“No, Carbine Williams was down there, but he managed to pull out unplugged.”

“I don’t know about Merced. The report circulatin’ at the Drovers’ Cafe this mornin’ was sketchy. Most expect ’em to call in troops from Ft. Russell. Say, you want to sell me back that house pistol?”

“If nobody claims it. What will you give me for it?”

J. R. grinned. “Four bucks.”

“Four? I thought it was worth at least seven to ten.”

“A man’s got to make a decent profit.”

Tap shook his head as he left the Wyoming Armory. He tro
tted Brownie back to the hospital. Carbine Williams and Mayor Tom Breshnan were in a heated debate in the waiting room. Both men stopped when he walked in.

“How’s Baltimore?”

Carbine sauntered over to Tap and spoke in a soft voice. “He came to, and Angelita’s in there with him.”

The mayor stormed out the front door and down the steps.

“That’s great,” Tap offered.

Carbine shrugged. “He cain’t move nothin’, Tap. Cain’t move his arms, feet, fingers—nothin’.”

“But that will come back later on, right?”

“Doc ain’t promisin’ nothin’. Baltimore asked to talk to you.”

“I’ll wait for Angelita to come out.”

“No, I think he wants you in there now.”

Tap started toward the door. “Carbine, what in the world were you and the mayor arguin’ about?”

“He tried to talk me into bein’ actin’ marshal. Tap, ain’t that somethin’? They offered it to a half-breed like me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him they had an actin’ marshal.”

“Did he know where Merced is?”

“Nope.”

“Men don’t just disappear.”

“Not unless they’re dead .
 . . or hidin’.”

Tap entered the large room filled with five empty beds and Baltimore’s. Angelita sat on his bed by the window, dressed in her rabbit coat, clutching her father’s limp hand. Dried tear streaks crossed her round, brown face.

A sheet was drawn up to Baltimore’s chin. His freshly shaven, weathered face stared blankly at the ceiling. Tap leaned close to the injured man’s head.

“Baltimore, it’s Tap. How you doin’, partner?”

The injured man turned his head a little and blinked. “Thought I’d just sleep in today. Can you and Angelita handle things without me?”

Tap glanced over at Angelita’s dark brown eyes. “Balt
imore, I figure Angelita and me can handle anything in the world that comes along . . . but neither of us can get along without you. Do you catch my drift, partner?”

A tear puddled up in Baltimore’s eye and rolled across his face. “You’d think they’d keep a hospital room clean enough so the dust wouldn’t get in a man’s eyes,” Baltimore tried to e
xplain.

“What happened last night?”

Baltimore took several deep breaths.

“I cain’t move a thing, Tap.”

“I know, partner . . . I know.”

“Nurse treats me like I was a baby. It ain’t no way to live, Tap. A man’s better off dead.”

Tap brushed back a tear with the sleeve of his shirt. “What happened last night?”

“After Carbine took off to the south side, I bolted the door and started playin’ solitaire. It wasn’t five minutes later that I hear a rap on the door, and there’s Merced, come to bring the prisoner supper.”

“He brings supper at ten at night?”

“That’s what I’m figurin’, but he was always a little strange. Now he’s the actin’ ma
rshal, so I snag a couple of biscuits, and he heads in to see Jerome. In a few minutes Merced leaves and tells me he’ll be back about daylight.”

“Did you check on Hager?”

“Not for a while. I reckoned he had settled down to eatin’, and I was havin’ a good run of luck with the cards. It gets to be about half past eleven, and I’m startin’ to fret over Carbine. About then Jerome starts hollerin’ about needin’ a trip out to the privy.”