Where the Deer and the Antelope Play (Code of the West) (16 page)

“I hope you’re right, but you cain’t trust anyone who throws lead from twelve hundred yards and never declares himself.”

“Most times those types can’t hit anything they’re ai
ming at.”

“Looks to me like he came close to you at the barn.”

“Or it was just a coincidence I was standin’ there. I’m not sure he could even see me from that distance.”

“Hey, you two, good mornin’.” Danni Mae stood at the doo
rway. “You can’t come in the house yet, but we do have some coffee ready.” She held two tin cups in her hands. Her light brown hair was neatly tucked in combs, her lavender dress buttoned high on her neck, and she had an apron strapped around her waist.

Even Danni Mae looks like a ranch wife out here. Su
rprisin’ how a change of scenery can make someone look so different.

Tap retrieved a cup of coffee and left Danni Mae and Wiley visiting by the front door. He walked down the porch, sipping the hot, slightly bi
tter coffee. He looked toward the barn and the dark sky that seemed to hang above it.

The tin cup was at his lips when he heard a report. A bu
llet ricocheted off the rock chimney about six feet away. Tap dove back on the porch. A second shot roared in, crashing into the post holding up the porch roof. Tap drew his revolver and searched the trees behind the barn.

Wiley, also with gun drawn, scooted close to the windows and squatted down next to Tap. “Looks like he’s back.”

“But on a different side of the ranch. I’ve had all of this I want. I’m going to saddle up Brownie and go after him.”

“What about Pepper?”

“You drive her back to McCurleys’. Tell her I’ll be along later. No one is goin’ to shoot at my ranch and just ride away.”

8

T
wo more shots splintered the house. Then the gun in the woods fell silent. Using the barn for protection, Tap Andrews scurried to saddle Brownie while barking orders to the others.

“You reckon it was the same hombre?” Stack called. “He wouldn’t need much of a gun to hit the house from those trees.”

“It’s not the same gun, but I don’t figure two different men would fire random shots at the same ranch house, do you?”

“Don’t ask me, partner.” Stack held Brownie’s reins as Tap finished cinching the saddle. “Gunmen seem to appear at your door like hobos at a widow’s house.”

Pepper scurried across the yard to the buggy.

“We’re ready to roll,” Wiley shouted from the yard.

Tap studied the trees behind the barn. Then he hurried over to where they were waiting. Wiley’s horse was tied on behind the buggy.

Pepper put her hand on Tap’s shou
lder. “What are you goin’ to do when you catch up with Little Bob?”

He squeezed her glove-covered hand. “If he shoots at me, I’ll have to kill him, I expect.”

“What if he doesn’t?” What if he turns and runs?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think of somethin’. If we had a railroad around, I’d hogtie him and ship him home to Daddy. An
yway, I’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

The yellow-haired woman was covered with coat, cloak, and hood. Still Tap couldn’t miss the sweetness of her face or the concern in her eyes. “Pray about it, would you?”

“About what?”

“What to do with Little Bob. You’ve got to do what’s right in God’s eyes, too.”

“You’re really makin’ it tough on me, girl. But you know it’s not right to sit here and let him shoot up the ranch until someone gets hurt.”

“I know. Be careful,” she cautioned. “I expect I’ll spend my life wonderin’ if you’ll make it back from som
ewhere. But I like that better than any alternative. When will you be coming by the hotel?”

“Tonight, tomorrow at the latest. In fact, I might beat you there. If this Little Bob character runs back to McCurleys’, I might be waiting for you.”

“That would be nice. Remember, you need to try on that shirt I’m sewing for you.”

“You mean the ruffled one?” Wiley teased.

“How did you know that?” Tap demanded.

“Come on, Andrews. That’s the only reason I’m stickin’ around for the weddin’. Yes, sir, it’s sure goin’ to be some sight. Old Tap sportin’ a bunch of ruffles. You goin’ to be packin’ that Colt at the weddin’?”

“Yeah.”

“No, he isn’t,” Pepper scowled. “And the shirt will look quite comely. Mr. Wiley is obviously jealous.”

“I’ll get her safe to McCurleys’. I’m going to hang around until tomorrow. If you don’t come in by noon, I’ll come out lookin’ for ya.”

“If Little Bob’s back at the hotel, don’t let him run off b
efore I get there. And don’t tell him I’m lookin’ for him.”

Wiley slapped the reins, and the drive horse trotted the buggy out of the yard.

Tap sauntered over to the front porch where Stack and Danni Mae were standing. “Is everything all set?”

“We’ll take care of things here,” Stack replied.

“Don’t let the ladies wander around outside much until I take care of this bushwhacker. I don’t want anyone to pick up a stray bullet.”

Rocky stepped out to the porch. She was barefoot, and her uncombed hair hung straight down. Wearing only an oversized wool flannel man’s shirt, buttoned crooked, she flung her arms around Tap’s neck. “I don’t like that Pepper woman. She’s mean to me.”

Tap peeled her arms from his neck and shoved her back inside. “Go get some clothes on, little sis.” Then turning to Stack, he asked, “How much of that laudanum are you givin’ her?”

“Just a sip in the evenin’.”

“She’s gettin’ into something. Danni Mae, keep an eye on her. Maybe she has a stash up in the attic. And keep her away from me. I’m gettin’ about as annoyed with her behavior as Pepper. I’d spank her, but I figure she doesn’t need another man beatin’ on her.”

“You’re right about that. April should never have taken her in. But what can you do with a girl like her? You can’t kick her out in the cold.”

“Maybe when you get to Laramie City, you’ll find a place for her.”

“Yeah,” Danni Mae mused. “Maybe.”

“I won’t be home for a couple of days. Stack, don’t go outside without packin’ a carbine. If you ladies could, it would be grand to get the place cleaned up for the weddin’. We’re expectin’ about fifteen or twenty folks to come out—besides you all.”

Danni Mae strolled with Tap out to Brownie.

“You might want to stay at the house,” he cautioned.

“I need to talk to you. Tap, how well do you know Wiley?”

“As far as I can tell, he’s a steady hand.”

“How does he treat women?”

“Couldn’t tell you that.”

“I don’t want to be with a man that treats women mean.”

“You gettin’ serious, Danni Mae?”

“Sort of. With you and Pepper and April’s burnin’ down, I want out, too. Wiley’s sure talkin’ sweet to me. He don’t treat me like I’m workin’ in a dance hall.”

“You aren’t. You’re just a ranch gal stayin’ at a neighbor’s house. You look good doin’ this.”

“Thanks. It feels good.”

“By the way, Wiley thinks the sun rises and sets with you.”

“You ain’t kiddin’ me?”

“Nope.”

Her eyes began to mist. “This could be the best Chris
tmas I ever had.”

“It’s a cinch it’s goin’ to be
my
best. See you in a couple days.”

“Take care of yourself, cowboy. We’re all countin’ on you a lot more than you know.”

He mounted the prancing horse, tipped his hat to Danni Mae, and spurred Brownie west.

This time Tap didn’t skirt around the trail but rode straight at the trees where he figured the gunman had been hiding when he shot at the house.

There’s no way Little Bob will hang around and face me down. I’ve seen his type. Fire a couple of shots and then run. That’s his pattern. . . . I hope.

Tap’s rifle lay across his lap, his coat pushed behind his ho
lster. He tightened his gray, woven horsehair stampede string around his neck and pulled his bandanna over his nose and mouth to protect his face from the bitter cold.

Tap circled through the scattered piñon pines and scrub c
edars that lapped across the clearing toward the barn until he found fresh tracks in the old snow.

“Brownie, those prints stand out like a shout in a cem
etery. He was here, all right. A man could probably hit the house with a revolver from here, but I don’t know if he was really tryin’ to hit anyone in particular. He surely don’t know a thing about hidin’ his tracks.”

The hoofprints led back into the trees and then swung southeast. Tap followed them keeping the gelding at a walk. One eye scanned the trees. His index finger wrapped around the cold steel of the cocked .44-40 trigger.

He patted the horse on the neck, then pushed his hat back, and scratched his head. “Brownie, this don’t make sense. This pony’s got smaller hooves and yet a longer stride than the one last night. Maybe Little Bob changed mounts. I just can’t imagine why anyone would leave sign this easy to follow.”

Tap assumed the tracks would swing back to the sout
hwest and eventually toward McCurleys’. But he reined up when he hit the forest trail back to Pingree Hill.

He’s goin’ toward April’s? There’s no reason for anyone to head in that direction with the pass closed. Unless he didn’t know the dance hall was burned down .
 . . or maybe he’s lost.

Brownie hung his head low and trudged into the frigid wind as Tap spurred him up the forest trail. The tracks b
ecame harder to distinguish. Stack’s wagon and several other hoofprints, including his own, still pocked the snow.

A small noon fire failed to warm him up. So Tap set his jaw tight to keep his teeth from rattling and pushed east on the trail.

He didn’t turn off. That much I can tell . . . but I don’t contemplate I’ll be able to cipher his sign after we hit the main road. That’s when I turn west and head for McCurleys’. As long as Brownie don’t quit on me this time.

The trees thickened, and Tap spurred Brownie on up the hillside about twenty yards off the trail but parallel to it. The pace was slower, the snow deeper but less crusty, and Tap strained to detect any movement.

That trail down there would make an awful good place for an ambush. ’Course, I don’t reckon Little Bob’s got that figured out yet. But there’s a few pieces of this puzzle that just don’t fit.

He found he could now hear Brownie’s hoofbeats, but with the increased hearing came incessant itching. He co
nstantly rubbed his right ear and face. The daylight dimmed, they plodded even more slowly, and Tap grew colder.

Lord, a man could freeze to death bein’ this cautious.

He finally spurred Brownie to the top of a ridge that overlooked what was left of April’s dance hall. Leaving Brownie in the trees, he scooted across an outcropping of snow-covered rocks and surveyed the scene.

The road looks dead. No horses in the corral. Could be one in the barn. The road out to McCurleys’ is empty. The south road is clear. I guess I could have stayed on the forest road.

A slight movement to the right caught his eye. He pulled the bandanna down to his neck and strained to see through the evening shadows.

There’s a horse down there at the head of the forest trail. Someone’s waitin’ for me after all. You’re a more patient man than I gave you credit for, Little Bob.

By staying on the ridge back in the trees, Tap avoided revealing his position to the road through Pingree Hill. But such caution prevented him from seeing who waited for him.

His fingers frozen, Tap pulled off his spurs and shoved them into his saddlebags. Then he left Brownie eating the bark off an aspen tree and hiked to the point of the bluff. From that pos
ition, behind the cover of a juniper tree not more than eight feet tall, he spotted a man, carbine in hand, slouched behind the last rocky outcrop before the descent into Pingree Hill, poised to shoot down the forest trail.

The only way to keep out of sight is to go down that grade of rocks and boulders. It’s kind of hard to keep your rifle aimed when your boots are slippin’ on ice.

The trip down the grade was tedious. Tap stopped at each step to make sure the man hadn’t spotted him. By the time he made it to the bottom of the rocks, sweat rolled down his forehead and froze in the wrinkles around his eyes.

One shot in the back would drop him, but that’s not e
xactly what I promised Pepper.

Tap lifted his Colt with his right hand; his left still carried the Winchester. He inched his way closer. He could see that the man sported a worn black canvas coat and black beaver felt hat. Then the man, using his carbine as a crutch, stru
ggled to his tethered horse, dragging his right leg.

He’s hurt pretty bad, and I haven’t even fired a shot. Looks like he’s fixin’ to leave. Brownie’s too far away to try to chase him.