Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) (24 page)

“Merced, you couldn’t arrest a dead cat. You three started throwin’ lead before I ever got off my horse.”

“That ain’t the way I’ll tell it in court.” Merced, still on his hands and knees, yelled with his head down as if addressing the dirt.

“What makes you think you’ll live through this day—let alone appear in court?”

“Because my gun’s laying over there, and you don’t have the heart to shoot an unarmed man.”

“But you aren’t an ordinary man, Merced. You’re the type to lie to get a job, hire men to ransack a house, or even pay them to blow it up. Why, I do believe you’re even the type to shoot a fellow deputy in the back when he’s unconscious from another wound.”

“I didn’t shoot Baltimore,” Merced blurted out.

“Somebody did.” Tap kept his cocked .44 pointed at Merced. Walking over, he jammed his boot heel in Merced’s back, forcing him to the ground. “You’re goin’ to wish that you went for that gun.”

In a matter of minutes, Tap had Merced’s hands tied tight behind him and a rope looped around his waist.

Tap mounted Brownie and dallied the free end of the rope around his saddle horn.

“What are you doin’?” Merced shouted.

“I’m goin’ to ask you a couple questions. Where did the others go, and is DelGatto the one leading this outfit?”

“I ain’t goin’ to tell you nothin’.”

“Then get up. You’re walkin’ back to Cheyenne.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Simp insisted.

“Suit yourself.”

Tap spurred Brownie, and the gelding broke into a trot. When the rope drew taut, Merced flew into the air and landed on the seat of his trousers. Tap dragged him that way for half a mile.

When he finally stopped, Merced was covered with dirt from head to foot, still screaming and cursing. Turning around in the saddle, Tap yelled back, “I’m going to ask you once more. If I don’t get an answer, we’ll go twice as far. Where are the ones who stole the rifles, and who is bankrollin’ this operation?”

“You can rot in—”

Brownie was at a lope before Merced ever completed the sentence. Tap turned left and dragged Merced through the mud and weeds at the bottom of a shallow draw.

When he turned around this time, he could see that Merced’s britches were ripped and one leg bleeding.

“You son of . . .”

Tap slowly worked Brownie to the top of the draw and let slack into the rope. Merced tried to stand, but by then Tap had circled around. He jerked the bound man back to the ground.

“Between you and me is a twelve-foot patch of prickly pear cactus. I will ask you only one more time. Where are they, and who’s behind it?”

“You can shoot me, but I won’t tell.”

“Of course, you won’t say anything if I shoot you. That’s why you’re still alive. This one’s for Baltimore.”

Tap stretched his feet wide of Brownie and began to slam them into the horse’s side, but he held back at the last m
oment and kept the horse steady with taut reins.

“They’re all at the depot,” Merced finally rasped.

“What depot?”

“The U. P. in Cheyenne. You can’t get there in time now.”

Tap yanked Merced off his feet and dragged him toward the cactus. Merced struggled to his feet and tried to run along and keep his balance, yelling and cursing as he stumbled. Drug headfirst, he shrieked when his arms hit the cactus thorns. “Wait . . . don’t matter now . . . whole country know by morning.”

Tap rode Brownie back around the cactus patch and left the rope slack. “What’s at the depot?”

“More gold and silver than you’ll ever see.”

“On a westbound train?”

“Yeah. Ain’t that a kick? There’s $500,000 in gold bars being traded for a million in Aztec silver.”

“You’ll never get it. They’ll have troops guardin’ those kinds of purses.”

Pepper, Angelita, Baltimore, Carbine—they’re all at the depot.

“That’s the good part. Some guy in Denver is smugglin’ this in on the sly, so there won’t be any guards. And I end up with $100,000.”

“Who’s behind this?”

Merced lay sullen.

Tap kept the rope pulled tight and began to tug Merced into more cactus.

“It’s DelGatto,” Merced wailed. “He’s the one that got wind of this deal. He’s been settin’ it up for months. Now get me out of here.”

“Who shot Baltimore?”

“Hager.”

“No. Who shot him with a .45?”

Again Tap tugged the rope tight.

“Wait. It was DelGatto. I told him not to do it.”

Tap climbed down off Brownie and hiked with gun in hand toward Merced.

“What are you goin’ to do?”

“I’m thinkin’ about shootin’ ya.”

“You cain’t do that.”

“You know, Simp, I’m not really as nice a guy as you think.”

Tap yanked Merced up to his feet and shoved him off to the side. “If you run, I think you’ll stay on your feet.”

“What? Get these thorns out of my hands. I can’t—”

“Sure you can.” Tap kicked Brownie, and they started at a gentle lope.

“Where we going? I cain’t run all the way to Cheyenne.”

“No, I reckon you can’t. But maybe you can make it to the Denver Pacific tracks. They’re only a couple miles away.”

“What if I cain’t make it?”

“Then I’ll just have to drag you the whole way.”

10

S
imp Merced, bound hand and foot, lay across the tracks of the Denver Pacific Railroad, south of Cheyenne near the Colorado line. A distant column of smoke rose from the westbound train.

“Get me off here, Andrews. That train cain’t stop in time.”

“Sure it can. He can see us for two miles.”

“Us? You ain’t laying out like a pig for the slaughter with your head on the tracks.”

Tap knew when the train whistled that the engineer had spotted them. The roar drowned out Merced’s howls. When  the steam brakes kicked in and the drive wheels froze, Tap figured the train would stop. But could it halt in time?

Whistles blew.

Brakes squealed.

Brownie shied away.

Merced fainted.

Tap removed the marshal’s badge from Merced and pinned to his own vest.

The train slid twenty feet short of the bound man. The engineer and fireman met Tap with a string of shouts and curses.

“Is he dead?” the fireman asked.

“Nope. But he probably wishes he were.”

“What do you think you’re doin’?” the engineer yelled. “You can’t stop a train.”

“There’s a gang that plans to hijack what you’re carrying in that last car the minute you pull into Cheyenne.”

“That’s preposterous,” the engineer huffed. “We ain’t got nothin’ but mining equipment back there.”

A man carrying a shotgun ran along the railroad cars toward them. Passengers strained to gawk out the windows.

“You need an armed guard for mining equipment? U
nhitch the engine, leave the cars here, and make a fast trip to town. I think we can stop this thing.”

“I’m not about to do any such thing. Move that man off the tracks immediately.”

Tap’s rifle was cocked and aimed at the engineer’s head before the man could turn to run.

“What’s goin’ on up there?” The heavy man with the sho
tgun puffed his way closer.

“Aren’t you supposed to be back there guardin’ that $500,000 worth of gold?” Tap challenged him.

“What? I’m certainly not. How did you know?”

“I need you to stay back there with the goods. I know you’re takin’ it into Cheyenne to trade for some Mexican si
lver. There’s a gang in the depot waitin’ for you.”

The train’s conductor huffed up to the group of men stan
ding in the engine steam. “Abandon the train out here on the prairie? Absolutely not. We’ve a schedule to keep. Take that man off the tracks,” he ordered the engineer and fireman.

“I don’t reckon I’ll move much as long as that .44-40 is aimed at my head,” the engineer replied.

“You don’t have any idea who you’re dealin’ with. The Denver Pacific stops for no man,” the conductor insisted.

“Let me tell you what you’re dealin’ with. The westbound
U. P. is supposed to hit Cheyenne in about thirty minutes. The plan was to rob both trains while they’re in the station at the same time. A dozen well-armed men are there waiting for you.”

“That’s ludicrous. No one would dare such a stunt in a crowded city like Cheyenne.”

Tap turned to the big man with the shotgun. “Have you got $500,000 worth of refined gold bars in that back car or not?”

“I assure you it is all a legal purchase."

“Look, mister, I don’t give a hang what’s goin’ on here. All I know is that innocent people have been gettin’ killed over this. I’ve got loved ones sitting in that terminal right now, and I’m goin’ to do all I can to stop them from being injured. Now you stay here and guard your treasure. I want to make a run for Cheyenne.”

Tap noticed other passengers begin to cautiously debark the train.

“Don’t listen to him,” Merced shouted. “I’m the acting marshal.”

“What’s going on?” the engineer demanded, his hands still raised.

“The engine’s goin’ on, that’s what. Get back there and unhook those cars.”

“Who’s the marshal anyway?”

“There’s no law in Cheyenne,” Tap admitted.

“I demand to know the meaning of all this,” the conductor fumed.

The big man with the shotgun scurried back to his position in the last car.

“Mister, did you know Pappy Divide?” Tap asked.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, we were good friends, rest his soul.”

“Good. You can tell him hello for me, because if you don’t get this rig rollin’, you’ll be visitin’ with Pappy a lot sooner than you thought.”

“But you can’t—”

“I’ll send an engine back here to pick you up as soon as it’s safe.”

“What are you goin’ to do with him?” The fireman pointed to Merced.

“Would it ruin your engine to run right over the top of him?”

“What?”

To a chorus of threats and curses from Simp Merced, Tap loaded him into the engine compartment. The Denver Pacific engine, minus the cars, steamed north. Brownie loped ride
rless along the tracks until he dropped farther and farther behind the roaring 4-4-0 engine.

Pepper felt agitated in the baggage room of the Union P
acific terminal. Carbine Williams peeked out a small crack in the door at the lobby. “Tap will be along any minute now,” he tried to reassure her.

“He was goin’ to meet us here at three.”

“He’s still got five minutes.”

“But if he needs me someplace in town, I should be there i
nstead of waiting around here doin' nothing.”

“I figure he’ll be here any minute. Carbine gestured t
oward the waiting room. "Look out there.”

Pepper peeked out the barely open door. “What is it? What do you see?”

“The one with the old black wool coat, that’s one of the DelGatto bummers. He’s cradlin’ a new lever-action repeater.”

“Are there others?”

“One just walked in the door.”

“Why here? There’s nothing to steal in a railroad waiting room.”

“Unless they know somethin’ we don’t.” Carbine slipped the door closed and slid the heavy iron bar across the locking brackets. “I’m goin’ through the back door and check out what’s happening. You and Angelita look after Baltimore. You’ve got those guns that Tap left ya?”

“I’m going with you,” Pepper announced.

“You can’t. Someone needs to look after Angelita and Baltimore.”

“All right, but please hurry back and tell us what’s going on.”

Pepper fought the temptation to open the baggage room door and peer into the lobby. She paced the floor with the shotgun. Angelita stayed by Baltimore’s side, a revolver in her lap.

A loud explosion some distance away rattled the windows that faced the tracks. Pepper could hear people in the lobby shout and run into the street. There was a second blast, then a light knock on the back door of the baggage room. Instantly the shotgun flew up to Pepper’s shoulder.

“It’s me . . . Carbine. . . . Open up,” came a whisper.

She cracked the door and let the deputy in. “What ha
ppened?” she asked in a low voice.

“Another explosion and fire.”

“Where?”

“The first one looked like it was down toward the Amste
rdam Hotel. The second one could have been over by the Cheyenne Club.”

“What’s going on in this town? It’s falling apart.”

“I figure it means this gang is goin’ to rob a bank or something, and the explosions are a diversion.”