Read Online My Foot's in the Stirrup . . . My Pony Won't Stand (Code of the West) by Stephen Bly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephen Bly
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pullin’ in more than a brand inspector makes. No wonder this Banner gets ’em to sign up.
“I guess I’ll just have to ride on then. Give my regards to Snake and Texas Jay.”
“They ain’t here right at the moment. They lost their poke in a monte game last night and went to the bank for a withdrawal.”
“There’s no town for a hundred miles except Ft. Laramie.”
“That might be, but I speculate they’ll come home with some jingle.”
“Adios, boys.”
“See you, Andrews.”
As Tap turned to ride away from the two gunmen, he heard the younger one say, “Hey . . . wasn’t that deputy in Cheyenne City called Andrews? You know, the one that killed that big bartender that worked for Del Gatto?”
Tap kept riding but slipped his hand down onto the handle of his revolver.
“That was Anderson. What was his first name? It was a Mexican name . . . Reata . . . Reata Anderson.”
Reata Anderson? Lord, I do believe You confused their minds. ’Course, with these two it probably didn’t challenge You much.
If Dutton and Texas Jay are on the prowl for someone to rob, they just might come across Tracker and Cabe. This is gettin’ mighty complex.
Tap had instructed Jacob Tracker to follow Horse Creek all the way to the North Platte. It was shorter to keep going straight when the creek turned east, but Tap figured it would be an easier journey along the creek and would give him time to catch up with them.
When he came to the bend in the creek, he spotted fresh wagon tracks climbing the embankment and heading north.
“I’ll bet you two bits, Roundhouse, that it was Cabe’s idea to go north. He surely resents me coming along. But they’re out in the open, and it can’t be more than ten miles to the river. They won’t get lost.”
About two miles from Horse Creek, Tap noticed hoofprints indicating that two riders from the west had begun to follow the buckboard.
Sometimes I hate being right. Play it smart, boys. Wait u ntil dark—or at least until I ride up.
Tap followed both sets of prints for another mile. Then he n oticed that the horses had swung off to the left, entering a fairly deep but narrow coulee.
Swinging around for an ambush, no doubt. Boys, you are as predictable as a pretty girl in springtime.
Tap nudged Roundhouse from a lope to a trot as he traced the wagon wheel prints in the dry prairie soil. Although he could see the trees alongside the North Platte a few miles ahead on the distant horizon, the buckboard had dropped out of sight among the swells and draws in the rolling prairie.
Two gunshots rang out in the stillness of the afternoon. Tap spurred Roundhouse to a gallop. Boiling over the crest of a knoll, Tap came upon Cabe and Tracker hiding behind their buckboard and firing at two large boulders about one hundred feet away. The two granite rocks were the only ones for miles and looked as if they had been dropped straight out of heaven.
Tap rode to the top of the knoll above and behind the wagon where he could overlook the entire scene. He aimed his rifle at the boulders and fired a shot close to a jagged edge of the granite to shower the pair with rock chips.
Cabe and Tracker spun around, but he didn’t take his eyes off the boulders.
“Snake,” he hollered. “Is that you and Texas Jay back there?”
“Who’s out there?” a voice yelled back.
“Tap Andrews. Those are my friends down there, and I’ll have to shoot ya if you keep this up.”
“I thought you and me was friends.”
“I won’t let them shoot you either.”
“We didn’t know they was your friends.”
“You know now. You two just mount up and ride on down the trail. No reason for anyone to carry lead today.”
“What if we don’t want to go?” It was a higher-pitched voice than Tap figured belonged to Texas Jay.
“Then you’ll force me to shoot you both.”
“You ain’t that good.”
“Of course I am. Just ask Snake. Now I’m sorry that you lost your pokes in a monte game, but
“I guess I’ll just have to ride on then. Give my regards to Snake and Texas Jay.”
“They ain’t here right at the moment. They lost their poke in a monte game last night and went to the bank for a withdrawal.”
“There’s no town for a hundred miles except Ft. Laramie.”
“That might be, but I speculate they’ll come home with some jingle.”
“Adios, boys.”
“See you, Andrews.”
As Tap turned to ride away from the two gunmen, he heard the younger one say, “Hey . . . wasn’t that deputy in Cheyenne City called Andrews? You know, the one that killed that big bartender that worked for Del Gatto?”
Tap kept riding but slipped his hand down onto the handle of his revolver.
“That was Anderson. What was his first name? It was a Mexican name . . . Reata . . . Reata Anderson.”
Reata Anderson? Lord, I do believe You confused their minds. ’Course, with these two it probably didn’t challenge You much.
If Dutton and Texas Jay are on the prowl for someone to rob, they just might come across Tracker and Cabe. This is gettin’ mighty complex.
Tap had instructed Jacob Tracker to follow Horse Creek all the way to the North Platte. It was shorter to keep going straight when the creek turned east, but Tap figured it would be an easier journey along the creek and would give him time to catch up with them.
When he came to the bend in the creek, he spotted fresh wagon tracks climbing the embankment and heading north.
“I’ll bet you two bits, Roundhouse, that it was Cabe’s idea to go north. He surely resents me coming along. But they’re out in the open, and it can’t be more than ten miles to the river. They won’t get lost.”
About two miles from Horse Creek, Tap noticed hoofprints indicating that two riders from the west had begun to follow the buckboard.
Sometimes I hate being right. Play it smart, boys. Wait u ntil dark—or at least until I ride up.
Tap followed both sets of prints for another mile. Then he n oticed that the horses had swung off to the left, entering a fairly deep but narrow coulee.
Swinging around for an ambush, no doubt. Boys, you are as predictable as a pretty girl in springtime.
Tap nudged Roundhouse from a lope to a trot as he traced the wagon wheel prints in the dry prairie soil. Although he could see the trees alongside the North Platte a few miles ahead on the distant horizon, the buckboard had dropped out of sight among the swells and draws in the rolling prairie.
Two gunshots rang out in the stillness of the afternoon. Tap spurred Roundhouse to a gallop. Boiling over the crest of a knoll, Tap came upon Cabe and Tracker hiding behind their buckboard and firing at two large boulders about one hundred feet away. The two granite rocks were the only ones for miles and looked as if they had been dropped straight out of heaven.
Tap rode to the top of the knoll above and behind the wagon where he could overlook the entire scene. He aimed his rifle at the boulders and fired a shot close to a jagged edge of the granite to shower the pair with rock chips.
Cabe and Tracker spun around, but he didn’t take his eyes off the boulders.
“Snake,” he hollered. “Is that you and Texas Jay back there?”
“Who’s out there?” a voice yelled back.
“Tap Andrews. Those are my friends down there, and I’ll have to shoot ya if you keep this up.”
“I thought you and me was friends.”
“I won’t let them shoot you either.”
“We didn’t know they was your friends.”
“You know now. You two just mount up and ride on down the trail. No reason for anyone to carry lead today.”
“What if we don’t want to go?” It was a higher-pitched voice than Tap figured belonged to Texas Jay.
“Then you’ll force me to shoot you both.”
“You ain’t that good.”
“Of course I am. Just ask Snake. Now I’m sorry that you lost your pokes in a monte game, but
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