Read Online Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) by Stephen Bly - Free Book Online Page B

like Jordan Beckett, Billy Bonney, Carter Dillard—they get driven beyond reasonable actions. Maybe demons have somethin’ to do with it. . . . ’Course, Pepper says I always make things bigger than they are. But sometimes it surely feels prickly to my spirit.
    Judge James Arthur Blair was at his bench discussing a case with two bummers when Tap slipped into the back of the courtroom. He flopped into an oak chair and waited.
    The taller of the two ill-dressed and unshaven men was speaking. “You see, Judge, when me and Nickles left Omaha, we signed this agreement that we were going to share expenses and equally divide any and all gold, silver, and other riches we might discover. See . . . I got his signature right here.”
    “I didn’t agree to share expenses with an idiot,” Nickles co mplained. He held a derby in his hand that looked like a bite had been taken out of it.
    “Eh .  . . just how did you say you two are related?”
    “He married my wife’s baby sister—poor thing.”
    The sister-in-law or this guy?
    “Your Honor, he agreed to share expenses. This here certif icate gives us twenty-two feet of the Crystal Cave Mine. I bought it for $10, and now he won’t fork over his five dollars.”
    The judge looked at the large certificate with fancy print.
    “Where did you buy this?” he asked.
    “From a little, dark-haired girl down at the U. P. Station. She said her granddaddy was dying, and they needed the money to take him to Virginia.”
    The one called Nickles waved his finger at the certificate. “It’s worthless, ain’t it, Judge?”
    “Yes, it’s worthless.” Then Judge Blair looked out across an otherwise empty courtroom. “Deputy Andrews!”
    Tap stood and took off his hat. “Yes, sir?”
    “Have you talked to Angelita about this yet?”
    “Yes, sir. I did. She reassured me yesterday that she would no longer sell mining certificates at the station.”
    “Thank you .  . .”
    “I told you it wasn’t worth a penny. I ain’t payin’ jist b ecause you got suckered.”
    “You agreed. I got it in writin’.”
    “Boys,” the judge interrupted, “let me teach you a couple of things. First, half of the stock certificates and mining claims you’re going to find in this town are legitimate claims to worthless property. You can buy twenty feet of a mine that will never be dug because there is no ore there. Second, the other half are like this one—just pulp that was printed down on 12th Street. You should have known better. Look right there in big letters—‘Deadwood, Wyoming Territory.’ Every schoolboy in the country knows that Deadwood is in Dakota. Obviously this is a phony.”
    “Well, I’ll be. But .  . . but I need the money, Judge. I’m down to my last two bits. I need that five dollars.”
    “I ain’t got five extree dollars,” Nickles fumed. “If I had that kind of money, I’d go to Denver, and you know it. That’s where the real fortunes are made.”
    The judge banged down his gavel. “Case dismissed. Boys, let me give you some advice. Don’t go to Deadwood. You’ll starve to death up there. You’re six years too late. The ranch crews will be pulling out this week. You two ever worked cattle?”
    “Only a dairy farm back in Omaha,” Nickles admitted.
    “You could sign on as a nighthawk or hoodlum and at least get something to eat. Come summer you’d have enough money for a train ride home.”
    “I should never have listened to you. My wife was right about you,” Nickles replied.
    “I want you out of my courthouse, or I’ll ask the deputy to incarcerate you immediately,” the judge threatened.
    “Incarcerate?”
    “Tossed in the hoosegow, you idiot.”
    They shoved their way out of the courtroom.
    The judge shook his head. “Don’t ever become a judge, Andrews.”
    “Not me, sir.”
    “Are you here about Hager?”
    “Yes, sir, and about a couple boys who broke some wi ndows in the jail to get him out.”
    “Let’s start with the easy