It's Your Misfortune and None of My Own (Code of the West) (21 page)

“Tap, old boy, she’s going to give you a chance to prove you can live up to Hatcher’s standards. Now that’s the first decent break you’ve had in years.

“I’ll fix up that place real nice . . . why, she could even invite her Eastern friends to come out and spend some time with us. Yes, ma’am, it will be a first-rate ranch. ’Course, we may go broke, but it will be first-rate broke.

“I’m mighty pleased to meet you, Mr. Eastern Banker. And this must be your lovely wife. Pepper .
 . . I mean, Suzanne has told me such delightful stories of you two.

“Excuse me? Oh, you’re the professor from the unive
rsity? Yes, we could ride up to the ridge for some geological studies, I suppose. Of course, I’m only a rank amateur.

“You don’t say. You sing on the stage in New York? No,  I’ve never been there. You must have me co
nfused with some other man. Why, thank you, ma’am, and you look right handsome yourself.

“Now, Pepper, we were just visitin’. After all, these are
your
friends.”

The sun warmed him all over after he turned northeast on the trail. He dozed as the team of horses plodded down the grade to the mouth of the canyon. Long shadows of late afte
rnoon spread before him when the ranch house came into view. Several longhorn cattle grazed near the house.

“So, you all moseyed down to the barn. That old daddy stayed out of the bog and came loo
king for the wives and kids, did he?”

The brown and white bull took one look at the oncoming wagon, let out a bellow and a snort, and then circled behind the house, trotting back up the valley. Soon the entire little herd followed.

By the time Tap drew up to the house, the only animal visible was the gray and white cat sprawled on top of the roof, soaking up the last rays of declining sunlight. He unloaded the supplies on the porch and took the team to the barn, turning them and Brownie out for the night.

Tap spent the next several hours making as many r
epairs as he could. Finding a glass pane in the attic, he repaired the bedroom window. Then he patched up the dining table and several chairs and completely scrubbed the kitchen. He didn’t have leathers to retie the bed, but he built it with rough-sawn boards instead.

I’ll find us some real bed springs—that’s what I’ll do. Bob McCurley has them at the hotel. There must be some more somewhere. This room needs a picture. And maybe some pane
ling . . . and a wardrobe. Where does a woman put her dresses? You don’t just hang
’
em on a peg, do ya?

It was midnight when he stretched out his bedroll on the wood frame bed. Using an extra blanket, he propped up his head and turned up the lantern. Then he pulled out Zachariah Hatcher’s Bible.

She wants a Christian husband. That’s a reasonable request. But I’m not sure what that means. I won’t get drunk. I won’t gamble our money away. I won’t be chasin’ dance-hall girls. And I won’t lay a hand on her to do her harm. I’ll go to church, if we ever have one close. I’ll read the Bible. I guess I could learn to say grace at the table. But there must be more to it than that.

He started to read something called “The Preface to the King James Version,” but got bogged down, so he went to the table of contents.

I can’t pronounce half of these words. And these are just the titles of the books. “Deut-teron-ronomy. Ec-Eccles-si . . .” Oh, forget that one. “Mal-malac-hi. John. John?”

That sounds more like it. Page 1024. 1024 pages! It will take me twenty years to read this. Pepper, you aren’t going to make me read the whole thing first, are you?

Here it is: “The Gospel According to Saint John.” Let’s see . . . “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. . . .”

Tap figured he’d fall asleep by the time he’d read a couple pages. That’s why he was surprised, two hours later, when he finished the last chapter of John. He laid the Bible down, turned off the lantern, and scrunched around on the hard bed boards. Every bone in his body ached from the activities of the past several days. He could feel the tension of his mind begin to recede.

I’m not sure where this is leadin’, but it’s beginnin’ to feel like I’m on the right trail.

About 3:30 in the morning Tap finally fell asleep.

The bright sun cast short shadows when the gray and white cat pounced on his chest. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his Colt, and searched for phantoms.

It proved to be a mild Indian summer day as Tap fi
nished cleaning up the strewn debris in the yard. In late afternoon he saddled up Brownie and rode to the treeless hills that bordered the ranch to the west. Leaving the horse tied to a boulder, he hiked further up the exposed granite until, panting and soaked with sweat, he reached the summit of the ridge.

Straining to see to the south, he could follow the North Platte to where the Canadian and the Michigan Rivers forked.

“Somewhere down there is McCurley’s hotel.”

He wiped the sweat on his shirt sleeve and glanced to the southeast at the Rocky Mountains. “They are big. So very big! Sort of reminds me how puny people are. God, I sure don’t know how You can look down here and ever spot us at all. It would take a whole lot more than a long-range peep sight.”

He studied the horizon as he remembered what he had read the night before. For over an hour he recalled different events in his life. Some brought smiles. Some drew tears. And some caused him to blush with shame.

Finally, he took a deep breath and stood up, pacing among the rocks at the crest of the butte.

“Now, God, I know I’m supposed to do somethin’ right now. But I’m not too sure what to do. I’ll tell You somethin’—that part I read last night about You bein’ the way. I believe it. I don’t know why, but I know it’s true. I believe You’re big enough to forgive me, and You know I need forgivin’ as much as anybody on this earth.

“Now, Jesus, You might not have expected to land such a worthless fish, but You got me hooked good. And I don’t back away once I make up my mind.

“I’m hopin’ that this sits right with You and with Miss Cedar, but to be straight up, I’m not doin’ it for her. I’m doin’ it for me.

“If she up and rides off and leaves me, You got to promise not to leave me, too. And I promise if she turns me down, I won’t leave You neither. And You know that my word’s good.”

He took a big deep gulp of fresh air and then glanced back at the sun as it dropped behind the purple western mountains. He took it slow climbing back down the rocks to Brownie.

Swinging into the saddle, he began to whistle.

He was still humming a tune several hours later when he turned out the lantern and flopped on his back in the hard wooden bed. He reached to the bedpost and groped for his holster and the grip of his revolver. Finding it in place, he dropped his right arm over the edge of the bed and located the Winchester lying on the floor.

Then he turned over and went to sleep.

The next morning Tap had built a fire, boiled coffee, taken care of the horses, scratched the cat’s head, and was in the kitchen frying salt pork when a shout startled him.

“Hatcher? Ho! Tap, I know you’re home. I can smell the b
acon.”

He buckled on his bullet belt and holster. Swinging open the front door, he was surprised to find a buckboard with two saddle horses tied to it parked in the front yard.

“Stack? What in the world are you doin’ here?”

“Now that’s a fine greeting. Here I am bringing home your two ponies, and I suppose you aren’t even goin’ to invite me in for breakfast.”

“Get in here and grab your fork. ’Course, I’ll have to cook another hog to fill up that frame of yours.”

“Now you ain’t goin’ to charge me a dollar, are ya?” Stack -needled.

“Nope. Two dollars. Grab some coffee while I’m cookin’. Then sit down here and explain yourself. You’re supposed to be a day’s ride away.”

“Things happened fast after you left,” Stack reported. “The Reverend and me took the whole bunch—livin’, dead, and in between—into Fort Collins.”

Tap waved a large fork in his hand. “Say, how’s that gal—April?”

“Doin’ fine. She went to Fort Collins with us, and a doc fixed her up. She just needs some rest. But here’s the scoop. Them old boys had a reward on them—one hundred cash dollars a head.” Reaching inside his vest, Stack pulled out a wad of greenbacks. “It’s for you, Hatcher—five hu
ndred dollars.”

“I won’t take it,” Tap said.

“What do you mean, you won’t take it?”

“I won’t take a penny unless my partner takes half.”

“What partner?”

“The one who helped me corral that bunch.”

“Me?”

“Half of it’s yours, or we send the whole amount back to the sheriff in Fort Collins.”

“If that’s the way you want it.” Stack divided the money into two piles and stuffed one back in his pocket.

“Now take another fifty and pack it back to the dance hall.”

“What fer?”

Brannon pitched a plate of salt pork and fried bread onto the table.

“Give it to that dark-haired girl.”

“Selena?”

“Yeah . . . that’s the one. She’s had some tough breaks, and she probably could use it.”

Stack smiled and took fifty dollars off the pile. “You’ll spoil her, givin’ her better than she deserves, Tap.”

“We all need to be spoiled ever’ once in a while.” Tap sat down and speared a large bite of salt pork on his fork. “So what else is new?”

“April closed down the dance hall for two weeks and gave the girls some time off. When I was in Fort Collins, I saw a handbill about an auction at a dance hall up near Halt.”

“Halt? Where’s that?”

“As near as I can figure, about a day’s ride to the nort
heast.”

“Over the summit?”

“That’s what I figure. There was a mining concern out of Wyomin’ that operated in there for a couple years. Then it went bust. I guess the dance hall went on for a while, but finally folded. April wanted me to buy what I could.”

“But how did you get here so early in the mornin’?”

“A couple of Beckett’s boys—say, did I tell you the reward for him is five hundred cash dollars, dead or alive? Anyway, they told me that when the gang robbed a bank in Wyomin’, they would ride down to Halt, get a relay, ride over to here to Tucker’s ranch for the second relay, and then down to April’s. They claimed there was an old mining road through the forest that allowed them to get here in less than a day. And they were right. But I didn’t leave until almost noon, so I camped in the woods last night and rolled in here this mornin’.”

“You’ll have to show me the way. It might come in handy if I need to get to Fort Collins or Denver. Now what are they sellin’ up at that auction? I could use a few things around here since the housewarming they gave me.”

“Oh, you know—tables, chairs, beds, dressers, wardrobes, roulette wheels, pots, pans, flatware, lamps, lanterns, faro layouts. I guess a little of everything. ’Course, if I got that date wrong, it might all be gone when I get there.”

“Do you suppose they’d have any mattresses and bed springs worth using?”

“Miss April said it was a fine place, and they had top-quality furnishin’s. That’s why she’s sending me up there. Why, they even have one of them big grand pianos. ’Course, that would take up too much of the dance floor. If you don’t get more furniture, you could put a grand piano in that front room of yours,” Stack teased.

“Piano? She plays a piano. I almost forgot. I’m going with you, Stack.”

“That’s mighty fine, Tap. But I’ll have to go on up to Laramie for a few things before a swing down Virginia Dale way and into Fort Collins to pick up April.”

“No, I’ll take my own rig. I’ve got Bob McCurley’s buc
kboard, and I’ll go up there and buy a few things.” Tap picked up the remains of the reward money and folded it neatly into his vest pocket.

“It will be good to have some company on the trail. But I fi
gure there will be a few trees and rocks to move, so maybe we better head out soon,” suggested Stack.

“You’re right. Imagine that. Won’t Pepper be surprised when I bring home a piano?”

“Is Miss Pepper here?” Stack asked. “I ought to pay my regards.”

“Of course not. She’s at McCurley’s hotel until the weddin’ .
 . . whenever that may be.”

“Thanks for breakfast. I’ll go water my team.” Stack started toward the front door and then stepped back into the kitchen. “Tap, there’s somethin’ I can’t figure. Why do you want a big old piano for Miss Pepper? She don’t know how to play. I’m the only piano-player in that dive, you know.”

Tap jerked his head around. “What are you talkin’ about? Of course, Miss Cedar knows how to play. She said so in her letters. What’s you and the dance hall got to do with that?”

“You mean she ain’t never .
 . .”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Sorry about that, Hatcher. I guess I just got confused. I, eh, I thought you two were a talkin’ and everything was straightened out now.”