Where the Deer and the Antelope Play (Code of the West) (10 page)

“Just lay that hog leg of yours nice and gentle on the table and sit down, Hank. It’s time to talk.”

Bending his neck around to an awkward position, Hank e
xclaimed, “You! Why, I ought to—”

“You do remember that I don’t hesitate to shoot a man, don’t you? I’m sure Jimmy Ray hasn’t forgot. Unless you dumped him along the trail and sold his horse and saddle.” Tap dragged the man to the back wall and shoved him into an empty chair. Then he sat next to Hank, never loosing his grip on the collar or the .44. From this vantage, Tap’s gun couldn’t be seen by anyone, and he could still keep an eye on the whole room. No one even glanced back at them.

“I see you two have met before. If you plan on pullin’ that trigger, I’d like to move away a tad. This here’s my only coat. I don’t aim to get it all blood-splattered so early in the season.”

“That depends upon old Hank here. If he tries somethin’ dumb, I’ll be forced to send a bullet right about—there!” He jabbed Hank in the back with the pistol barrel. “I’d guess the bullet would pass clean through and hit that mirror on the far wall. But you know how it is. If it hits a bone or a vital organ, it could squirt out any old direction. Now, are you plannin’ on doin’ somethin’ dumb, Hank?”

Hank’s weak, narrow eyes glared at Tap. “You ain’t got a chance in hades of gettin’ out of here.”

“You don’t plan on stoppin’ me, do ya?”

“I got a room full of friends. All I got to do is hollar.”

“Make sure it’s good and loud ’cause the second you start screamin’, there’ll be a loud explosion from this Colt. I’d surely want them to understand what you was sayin’ since it would be your last words on earth.”

“What are you doin’ here anyway? We didn’t take none of your cows, and you know it.” Hank glanced over his shoulder at the cocked .44 and Tap’s finger on the trigger. “Ease your finger back, mister. That thing could go off by accident.”

“This Colt has never gone off by accident. Where’s the money from the dance hall?”

“Did he say you was a rancher?” Half-Beard interrupted. “Where’s your place?”

“Up on the Wyomin’ border. A nice, little spread between the Medicine Bows and the North Platte.”

“He ain’t no rancher. He’s an Arizona gunslinger,” Hank replied. “He shot Jimmy Ray outright and intends to do the same to me, if he kin get away with it.”

“An Arizona gunslinger?” Half-Beard choked back his drink, cleared his throat, and shoved his hat back. “You the one who shot Jordan Beckett when he had a gun drawn on ya?”

“Yep.”

Half-Beard rubbed his face with his right hand, revealing half a trigger finger missing. “Word around Denver is you took on Barranca and Dillard.”

“They were fools.”

“They were mean fools. Are you the one who’s marryin’ that yellow-haired girl?”

“Yep.”

Half-Beard took the big bottle by the neck and chugged down another swallow. “Hope you didn’t take no insult in what I said earlier about her. I surely didn’t mean to rile ya none, no, sir.”

“No offense taken. I only thought about shootin’ you for a minute or two, but that passed quickly.”

Half-Beard’s face flushed from a combination of fear and a
lcohol. “I think maybe it’s time I should step outside and git me a little fresh air. That is, if it don’t inflame ya none.”

“You’re goin’ to come back and play a little poker, aren’t you?” Tap inquired.

“With the dance hall at Pingree Hill burned down, I was thinkin’ maybe I’ll ride up toward Leadville.”

“Don’t go too far for a while. This old boy is one of them that burned April’s down.”

“You don’t say.”

“He’s lyin’. I was there tryin’ to put the fire out. Ask the girls. Ask that big piano player.”

“That’s a good idea.” Tap kept his grip on the man’s coat. “Half-Beard, go down the line and see if you can find Stack Lowery. He’ll be the tallest man in Rico Springs. He’s the piano player from April’s.”

“He’s here in town?” Hank gasped.

“Yeah, isn’t that a romp? Me and Hank will just sit right here and wait for Stack. Then I’ll let the boys in the room decide what will happen to you. I don’t figure they’ll be real tickled to learn you destroyed the dance hall.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re bluffin’ me. That piano player ain’t in Rico Springs.”

“I believe him. I’ll send Lowery your way, mister.” Half-Beard stood, steadied himself, waddled toward the front door, and tossed a coin at the bartender.

The roar of the crowd in the saloon subsided. Several men now stared their way.

Tap looked up, smiled, and called out, “Me and ol’ Hank here is just settlin’ up some debts. Seems he took a little money that didn’t belong to him.”

“He’s a filthy liar. I didn’t take nothin’ of his,” Hank shouted. “Go get Karl, boys. He’ll settle the whole thing.”

“Mister,” a deep voice from across the room boomed, “Hank’s a regular around here. You better lay down that gun right now.”

“I’m surely glad he’s a friend of yours. That way I know you won’t want to cause him any mortal injury. Ya see, the first gun yanked from the holster, I’ll pull this trigger.”

He leaned over to Hank. “Now we’ll find out who your friends are. Anyone who grabs for his pistol obviously wants you dead.”

“W-wait, boys, wait.” Hank’s words ran together. “Wait’ll-Karl-getshere. This-man’ll-shootme-fursure.”

“Old Hank a little nervous?”

“How much money does he owe ya?” Another voice rolled across the now-silent saloon.

“That’s the thing. It isn’t me he robbed. Hank and a couple others plundered the girls at April’s, then burned the place down. I figure those purdy dancin’ girls deserve their money back. What do you boys think?”

“He’s crazy. The only thing we did is try to put the fire out. He’s just mad ’cause we was on his ranch. He shot Jimmy Ray point-blank and is tryin’ to do the same to me.”

The front door opened, then closed quickly, but no one entered the saloon.

“There ain’t goin’ to be any shootin’ in here tonight.” The bartender swung a shotgun out from behind the bar and waved it at Tap and Hank. “I don’t give two bits who kills who, but you ain’t doin’ it in here. Git out that back door, or I’ll pull the trigger and cut you both in two.”

A whiskey bottle crashed into the back of the bartender’s head, sending a blast from the shotgun into the ceiling. The man crumpled to the floor in a litter of broken glass and spilled liquor.

“It’s too dang cold to go outside and watch a gunfight,” someone called. “Go ahead, mister, make your play.”

Tap couldn’t tell which man had cold-cocked the bartender.

“He’s the one that gunned down Jordan Beckett,” Hank ho
llered. “I heard him say so himself.”

“Lots of us were friends of Beckett,” another shouted.

“I’ll give fifty dollars to the man who guns him down.” Hank screamed. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck.

“That’s a lot of money, boys,” Tap pointed out. “Where do you suppose Hank got that kind of money? He’s spendin’ your dance hall money.”

A skinny man at the bar, his right hand resting on a revolver tucked into his belt, glanced at the back door, then over to Tap, then back at the door.

At that moment Tap jerked Hank to the left toward the door and kicked over the table just as Bufe barreled in, pistol in hand. Shoved from the back, Hank stumbled into Bufe and caused the gun-toting outlaw to fall to the floor, firing wildly.

“I shot my foot,” Bufe bawled. “Git off me, Hank. I shot my foot.”

Tap fired one shot at a row of bottles behind the mak
eshift bar. In the cover of gun smoke so thick he could no longer see the other saloon patrons, he dove out the back door just as bullets began to fly.

The shock of ice-cold air on his lungs combined with the acid taste of gun smoke caused him to cough as he tumbled out the back door. He rolled to his feet.

“Sounds a little unhealthy in there." Someone stood in the shadows.

“Stack?”

“Say, Andrews, do you need any help, or is everything under control?”

“You plannin’ on waitin’ for them to kill me?”

“I just got here.”

“Let’s get out of the alley.”

“You find out where the girls’ money is?”

“No. How about you?”

“Nope.”

They ran behind the buildings. Tap kicked out the empty brass cartridge and shoved another bullet into the chamber of his .44. Several more shots rang out inside the saloon.

“What are they shootin’ at now?”

“The smoke, I guess.”

“Who got shot?”

“Bufe shot himself in the toe. That’s all I know.”

“You think they’re carryin’ the money?”

“Karl’s got to be the one. He must be in town som
ewhere.”

“If I were him, I’d catch a saddle and ride,” Stack offered.

“The livery?”

“That’s my guess.”

“Stack, you go north, and I’ll go south. Don’t let him get out of town.”

“We better do it pronto before the air clears at The Bucket.”

Tap sprinted through the crusty snow, circled the building, and came back onto the main road. There were no street lights in Rico Springs. The only light glowed through the windows and doorways. A crowd had gathered at the front door of The Bucket Saloon.

His boot heel hit the hard-packed snow of the road as his feet slipped out from under him. Tap slammed headfirst into the icy roadway. Half-stunned for a minute from the fall, he rolled over on his back to try to catch his breath. In the dark he groped to recover his revolver as a horse galloped t
oward him.

He’s running right over the top of me.

Tap yowled, “Whoa. Whoa, boy!”

The horse reared up three feet from Tap, who ma
naged to roll out from under the slashing hooves just as the rider tumbled to the shadowy roadway.

Karl?

Tap lunged at the fallen man and met the cold, hard steel of a rifle barrel as it smashed into his right ear. He dove to the left to avoid another blow and could hear nothing but a loud ringing in his ear. Blood trickled down his neck.

Tap kicked wildly at the man’s leg. His boot toe caught the big man just below the knee, and the rifle dropped to the ground as the man collapsed to the ice.

A lantern-toting crowd was forming around them. Karl pulled his revolver. The clinched right cross caught Karl hard in the chin, and Tap could feel the skin over his knuckles tear. Karl stumbled back, dropped the revolver, and grasped his chin.

Both circled inside the screaming crowd, looking for pos
ition, catching their breath. For several minutes they traded punch for punch straight up. Each struggled to stay on his feet.

Finally, Tap lunged but caught a knee right below the rib cage. He tackled Karl on the way down, gasping for breath, but found he couldn’t lift his arm. The big man in the coat made from a four-point Hudson blanket battered his massive fist into Tap’s side and broke free. Both men struggled to stand and tottered in the -darkness.

The crowd jeered and cheered, but Tap could hear nothing but a pulsating chime in his ear. Karl pounced at him. Tap stepped aside, locked his hands, and crashed them into the back of Karl’s head. The big man slipped to the ice, but he grabbed Tap on the way down and managed to land a half-strength blow to the chin that made Tap’s teeth rattle.

He yanked a handful of Karl’s oily hair and, pulling it down hard, slammed the man’s head into the frozen roa
dway. The third blow to the ice knocked Karl unconscious, and Tap raised up on his hands and knees. His chest heaved, and his ears rang as he crawled across the packed snow and retrieved his revolver and dirty gray hat. Struggling to his feet, he glanced around at the crowd of men. Most seemed to be shouting and passing money back and forth, but he couldn’t hear anything but the noise in his ear.

A rider leading a horse broke through the crowd and reined up next to him.

“Stack?” He couldn’t even hear his own voice. Stack Lowery slid off the horse. His mouth was moving, but Tap couldn’t understand the words. “I can’t hear you, Stack.”

“Don’t yell.”

“What?”

“Quit yellin’ and mount up,” Stack insisted.

“What?”

Walking around to Tap's left ear, Stack cupped his hand and shouted, “Mount up and let’s ride before they all change their minds.”

“What?” Tap hollered. “Mount up?”

Stack nodded and pointed to Brownie.

“What about the girls’ money?”

Lowery’s big, callused hand slapped over Tap’s mouth. “Mount up now.”

Tap limped over to Brownie and lifted his left hand to the saddle horn. He tried several times but failed to get his left leg up into the stirrup. Stack grabbed him by the back of his britches and his coat collar and shoved him into the saddle. The big piano player swung up on his own horse and, with a kick of the spurs, both men rode south into the darkness along the slick mountain -roadway.