Read Online My Foot's in the Stirrup . . . My Pony Won't Stand (Code of the West) by Stephen Bly - Free Book Online

pen full of cows for weeks without anyone knowin’ it.”
    On the southern horizon, Tap spotted two riders cresting the prairie. They rode down into the coulee about half a mile ahead of him. He cocked his lever-action rifle and laid it back down on his lap and shut Roundhouse down to a slow walk. The riders kept their horses ten to fifteen feet apart. They turned toward Tap and waited for his arrival.
    The clean-shaven one on the left wore a dark wide-brimmed felt hat with a Montana crease, a long-sleeved white cotton pullover shirt, and a black leather vest. He sat straight up in his California saddle. The reins draped through the fingers of his left hand, which rested on the slim silver saddle horn. His right hand leaned against the horse’s rump only a few inches from a holstered Colt .44.
    The cowboy on the right had a mustache that seemed to droop clear to the bottom of his chin. He was older and heavier. He wore a floppy gray hat that looked permanently raised up in the front. His brown and white paint horse was small for the north country. A tu rquoise and silver hackamore encircled the horse’s nose. In the rider’s lap lay a ’66 Winchester rifle, its copper and tin gunmetal receiver reflecting the bright sun. Tap couldn’t see if this man carried a revolver or not.
    As he got closer, Tap watched the younger man glance over at the older one.
    Okay, Mr. Bent Hat, you’re callin’ this one. Make your move.
    Tap was about fifty feet away when the older one shouted, “That’s far enough, pilgrim. This is private property. I’m afraid you’ll have to turn around.”
    Tap stopped Roundhouse and kept his eye fixed on the older man. “I was lookin’ for a corral.”
    “Ain’t no corral here, so just turn around and keep on ri ding.”
    “No corral? I was told there was a corral on Lone Tree Crick.”
    “You was told wrong.”
    “That could be. But Snake Dutton and Texas Jay said a co whand might find some work up here. Go meet the boss at the corrals. I don’t know my way around in this country, boys. You seen Snake and Texas Jay? Point me in the right direction, and I’ll surely hightail it out of here.”
    The men glanced at each other. The older one pushed his hat back but never took his hand off the trigger of the ca rbine.
    “What did you say your name was?”
    “Andrews.”
    “Ain’t I seen you somewhere before?”
    “You been in Arizona?”
    “Nope.”
    “Me and Snake were down there in prison in Yuma a year or so ago.”
    “You been in Colorado?”
    Tap watched the man’s face. “Yep.”
    “Rico Springs. That’s it.” The man spit tobacco, his eyes slit in suspicion.
    If that carbine moves three inches to the left, I’m pullin’ this trigger, mister.
    “I remember you. I won two dollars off you when Big Karl ta ngled with that Texas gunslinger last fall. Remember, they fought it out in the street. Both of ’em nearly died.”
    “The whole thing’s a vague memory. But you’re right. I was there.”
    “Shoot, why didn’t you say you were one of the Rico Springs boys?”
    “I only stayed that one night.”
    “No foolin’? I holed up there for two winters. But no more. Did you know that April’s Dance Hall burned to the ground?”
    “That’s what I heard.”
    “Colorado’s gettin’ too civil. Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Arizona—them’s about the only places left for a man to stretch.”
    “We lettin’ him ride in or not?” the younger man asked his trail partner. “Banner wants nine men, and we got eight. But he’s the only one who does the hirin’. We’re just loafin’ around until Monday when he comes in. You can stay with us if you want, but we ain’t promisin’ you no job.”
    “And if Colton don’t like ya, he’ll probably shoot ya,” the other man added.
    “Don’t sound like too good an outfit to work for,” Tap co mmented.
    “We work for two dollars a day plus a percentage of the cattle sales. That ain’t bad.”
    These guys are probably