I'm Off to Montana for to Throw the Hoolihan (Code of the West) (8 page)

“I just took over the Slash-Bar-4 and need someone to cook chuck and baby-sit the stock at the headquarters. How many of these boys have some cow sense?”

“Most of ’em have herded bovines.” The bartender straightened the black bow tie that encircled his massive, collar-incased neck. “’Course it wasn’t always their own beef they was chasin’. Most of the good hands are workin’ the roundups north and west of here. You say you want a cowman or a yard man?”

“To start with, a yard man.”

“I don’t think there’s an hombre in here that could cook worth spit. But I do know one old boy who fits the bill. Comes in here ever’ night and orders a beer, then sits in the corner and plays solitaire. Smells like a skunk, but his two bits is as good as the next man’s. I heard some of the boys say he drove a chuck wagon all the way from El Paso and never took a bath once. So I guess he can cook.”

“Plays solitaire? Does he talk real loud when he plays?” Tap asked.

“Yep.”

“Wears a round hat and rides a tall white horse?”

“That’s him.”

“Where’s he stayin’?”

“Smellin’ like that, he surely don’t have a room,” the bartender chuckled. “Must be camped out along the river. All I know is, I expect he’ll be here right after suppertime.”

“If he comes in, tell him to wait right here. I’m lookin’ for him.”

“What’s your name, mister?”

“Tap Andrews.”

The man flinched when he heard the name, but Tap didn’t bother asking why. He finished his coffee and left the crowded, noisy, smoky room. He rode Roundhouse out along the tracks to the river looking for a tall white horse and a stoop-shouldered man wearing a round, floppy hat. He found neither.

Tap rode every street more than once before he spotted the white horse parked by itself on a rail in front of the El Dorado Club. Most of the tables still had chairs stacked on top when he pushed open the tall, narrow doors and stepped inside. The room had a fifteen-foot-high ceiling and a bar that ran the e
ntire length of the room. On the wall behind the bar hung a twenty-foot picture of a reclining woman.

Peering around the stacked chairs, Tap spotted a man si
tting alone in the far corner of the room with his back to the wall, a deck of cards spread on the table in front of him. The man mumbled something about the ace of clubs.

“Don’t look under that jack of clubs,” Tap called out. “That’s cheatin’.”

The man’s head shot up so quickly he rammed his knees into the table. He grabbed at a teetering amber bottle. “You almost made me spill my . . .” The man cocked his head sideways. “Tap? Did I die and go to Hades? I thought you was dead.”

“I’m not dead, Howdy, and I don’t aim to go to Hades when I am. What are you doin’ in Montana?” Tap pulled up a chair, turned it backwards, and plopped down next to the older man.

“Me? I come up here with the O-Bar-O . . . wasted my money . . . and got stuck in this railroad town. But what about you? You’re supposed to be rottin’ at A.T.P. Last I heard the Yaquis shot you down east of Yuma.”

“Ever’thing’s changed. I’m a married man with a baby on the way, runnin’ a big Montana ranch.”

“Are you sure you’re the real Tap Andrews?”

“Oh, it’s me, Howdy.”

“Well, I’ll be. You hirin’?”

“I need a bunkhouse cook and a headquarters man. A dollar and a half a day, but you only get paid if you’ve had a bath,” Tap insisted.

“Ever’ month?”

“Ever’ week.”

“A bath ever’ week. Even in the winter? Could kill a man.”

“You want the job or not?”

Howdy pushed the cards into a pile in front of him. “When do I start?”

“I need you to mount that skinny white horse of yours and ride to the ranch right now. Go get your belongin’s and meet me back here in ten minutes.”

“I’m wearin’ my belongin’s.”

Tap pushed his hat back and scratched his head. “Come on then, Renten. I’ll draw you a map to the ranch.”

Both men hiked across the wooden floor. Tap’s spurs jingled as his boots banged the bare wood. He followed Renten down the stairs to the hitching rail. Then he leaned against a post that held the roof above the wooden boardwalk in front of the El Dorado Club.

The shot seemed to come from the roof of the building across the street. It shattered the wooden four-by-four only a foot from Tap’s head. Pulling his pistol as he dove to the dirt, he rolled to his knees behind the hitching rail. A second blast stirred up dirt behind Roundhouse.

The big gray gelding yanked free from the rail and bucked his way down the street. Renten’s horse danced, panicked, and pushed Howdy back to the wooden stairs.

Tap’s shot slammed into the ledge along the roof line of the two-story wooden building across the street. Whoever had been there now cowered for cover.

The roar of the sheriff’s shotgun silenced the shootout.

4

M
ister,” the sheriff roared, “I warned you before. I don’t want that gun comin’ out of the holster!”
..................
Tap refused to look at the lawman. He scanned the roof line for signs of his attacker.

“Did you hear me, mister?”

Renten settled his horse down and retied him at the rail. “Somebody took a shot at him, Sheriff.”

“Drop it in the dirt. Just drop the gun.” The sheriff a
pproached Tap one slow step at a time.

Convinced the gunman or gunmen had fled, Tap r
eleased the hammer on his Colt but kept it in his right hand. “I’m not dropping my gun in the dirt. I spent an hour last night cleanin’ it. But I will holster it.” Tap shoved the gun back into the holster and turned to face the man.

“Pull that holster and hand it to me,” the sheriff co
mmanded. “I’m taking your gun until you’re ready to leave town.”

“Why ain’t ya chasin’ down them guys that tried to bus
hwhack us?” Renten called out.

“I’ll disarm them when I catch up with them. Right now I want
your
gun.”

“You expect me to waltz around town unarmed with som
eone on the prowl?”

“They aren’t going to shoot an unarmed man. Did you see who it was?”

“I reckon it was the ones from the New York Hotel.”

“I didn’t ask you what you reckon. I asked if you saw who it was.”

“No, I didn’t see them.”

“The gun,” the sheriff demanded.

Tap pulled his holster off and handed it to the sheriff.

“You get in another scrape, and I’ll jail you.”

“If I get in another scrape without my gun, I’ll be dead,” Tap fumed.

“Mister, we’re building a nice town here, a town of honest folks, hard-workin’ ranchers and farmers. Someday Billings will be the cap
ital city of the state of Montana. We don’t need any riffraff blowin’ into town and shootin’ it up. Your kind can just move on.”

“Afraid you’ll have to put up with me. I’m here to stay.” Tap searched the man’s eyes.
Six months. He’ll either quit or be dead in six months. He’s just not the lawman type.

“Tap here is runnin’ a big ranch.”

“Oh, yeah? Which place is that?” the sheriff asked.

“The Slash-Bar-4.” Tap’s eyes still searched the street for signs of the two men he had encountered at the hotel.

“The Slash-Bar-4?” The sheriff bristled. “That was my ranch before the bank took it back.”

Tap kept his eye on the shotgun pointed at him. “It’s not your ranch now. It was bought outright by a Mr. Stack Lo
wery. I’m runnin’ the place as a partner.”

“You rich bulls think you can come in here and buy up the terr
itory,” the sheriff growled.

“Mister, don’t let your past affect the way you do the job, or you won’t be sheriffin’ very long.”

“I don’t need advice from some carpetbagger.”

Tap glanced over at Howdy. “Don’t you have somethin’ be
tter to do than aggravate citizens?”

“Don’t try anything else in this town. I’m warning you.”

“You took away my pistol, and you warned me. I’ve got nothin’ else to say to you.” Tap turned to walk away.

“Where are you goin’?”

“To chase down my horse, providin’ someone hasn’t shot it already.”

Howdy Renten mounted up his horse and rode alongside Tap as he searched the streets and alleys. They found Roun
dhouse at a water trough behind the England House Hotel.

“You figure on chasin’ them boys down?”

“I don’t know where they are, who they are—and don’t have my gun. I think I’ll let them come to me. I assume they were the ones I backed down at the hotel.”

“You headin’ back to the ranch then?”

“Nope, there’s a little too much excitement here. I’m going to stay overnight. You’re going to the ranch. Let me draw you a map to the place, and I’ll give you a note for Pepper.”

“Your wife’s named Pepper?”

“Yep.”

“Tapadera Andrews a family man. I still can’t figure it.” Half the tobacco spit flew across the street from Renten’s lips. The other half dripped across his chin onto his vest.

The thin, narrow-eyed clerk at the New York Hotel scooted into the back room the minute Tap entered the lobby. Even on this cool autumn day, Tap’s boiled shirt felt sweaty under his canvas jacket as he bounded up the stairs and rapped on the door marked #24.

He waited a moment, then knocked again. “Selena? A
ngelita?”

The white door with painted gold trim opened about an inch. A big, round brown eye stared out at him.

“I’m sorry, but we’re not allowed to have gentlemen callers in our room.”

“That’s no problem, ma’am,” Tap laughed. “I’m not a gentl
eman.”

“In that case .
 . .” Angelita swung open the door.

“You two ladies all right? You haven’t had any more tro
uble?”

Selena sat in a padded wooden chair in front of the dresser mirror combing her long, dark hair. “Oh, we’re fine,” she r
eplied. “We’ve been sitting here discussing men, marriage—things like that.”

“Good.” Tap winked at Selena. “I hope you’ve taught her a thing or two.”

“Yes, I have,” Angelita piped up. “She’s a quick learner. Did you know Miss Selena is half-Mexican?”

“Yep. I did know that. Have you had any more hassles from those two old boys down in the lobby?”

“No. How about you?”

“Someone took a couple potshots at me. The sheriff took away my pistol. Other than that, it’s been fairly dull. Oh, I did hire a yard man.”

“Then are we going back to the ranch now?”

“No. I took a room at the England House. I want you two to spend the night there. I’ll take Selena’s room in case your a
dmirers try to stir up trouble.”

“What will you do without a gun?” Angelita asked.

“Bite ’em.” He patted her shoulder.

“Did you want me to pack all my things?” Selena asked.

“Nope. Just take what you’ll need until mornin’. We’ll stroll around town like we’re shoppin’ and then eat supper at the England House. How well do you know those two men? Are they goin’ to try somethin’ else dumb?”

“The one with the new suit is called Bean. The other is called Jack, I think. They rode with a big Swede named Wild Dog. But I don’t know much else. A lot of men came to April’s, and I’ve tried to forget most of them.” Selena began to put her hair up in combs. “’Course I do remember the first time you came to April’s.” She didn’t look back at Tap.

“Was Mrs. Andrews working there then?” Angelita asked.

“Oh, no. She and I had a little disagreement over a few do
llars and a sharp knife. She quit to go huntin’ for a Colorado rancher for a husband.”

“Was that you, Mr. Andrews?” Angelita asked.

“Not exactly. But I do remember sittin’ in the kitchen at April’s eatin’ some horrible burnt eggs with Stack Lowery when Selena first came in, bruised and battered.”

“Did you have a wreck?” Angelita asked.

“Yeah, I ran into a man’s fist—several times. I think that was a few days before Tap saved my life the first time.”

“He did?” Angelita’s brown eyes grew bigger.

“Sure. Didn’t you know that’s his mission in life? He goes from town to town saving women’s lives, especially those who keep gettin’ beat up.”

“He does?”

“Selena’s gettin’ carried away.”

“Angelita, listen to me,” Selena lectured. “In life there are two kinds of men. Those that will protect you and those that will hurt you. The sooner you learn how to tell which is which, the better off you are. And Tap here, he’s pretty easy to read. He, Stack, Lorenzo, they’re cut from the same mold. They’ll stay by you and protect you with their lives, if need be. That’s the kind you marry. Esp
ecially in a wild country like this.”