Free Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) by Stephen Bly Page A

and stepped back. “You look tired, honey.”
    “I had a long night.”
    “Everything go all right?”
    “I think so. Judge Blair is goin’ to help me figure out som ething with Hager. I’m goin’ to move him out of the house this afternoon so you can go back home.”
    “Do you think I could stay with Savannah one more night? She seems to appreciate it immensely.”
    “Sure. Only you’ll have one lonesome husband.”
    There was a soft, teasing lilt in her voice. “Good.” She took him by the arm and walked him over to the window. “Hey, there’s a Calico Hop out at Ft. Russell tomorrow night. The marshal and his wife are always invited, so S avannah thinks you and I ought to go. What do you think?”
    “There’s no way to think about a dance with all of this goin’ on.”
    “I told her you wouldn’t be interested.”
    “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested. If Pappy hadn’t been shot and me guardin’ the—”
    “If Pappy hadn’t been shot, we wouldn’t be invited,” Pepper interrupted. “The point is, you’re acting marshal, and it might be a good time to get to know the officers out at the fort.”
    Tap folded his arms as he peeked through the thin lace modesty curtain framed in deep blue velvet. He watched the rigs roll past on the street below. “I do need to talk to them about guardin’ Hager.”
    “Savannah said I could wear the new calico dress she had made for the dance.”
    “Are you sure it’s not some deceivin’ scheme to get me to wear a ruffled shirt?” Tap feigned a scowl.
    “You can wear anything you want to,” she offered.
    “Really?”
    “Within reason.”
    “Whose reason?”
    “Mine, of course.” Pepper’s laugh sent a tingle right down Tap’s spine.
    “If things settle down, and if we get Hager situated, I guess we could attend the ball for a while. Are you sure we’d be i nvited?”
    “I’ve got the invitation right here.” She handed him the gold-embossed card.
    Tap glanced at the print. “Looks like they need reservations. You’d better send word to the Fort that we’ll be comin’.”
    Pepper tossed her arms around him and pressed her lips against his. “I already did,” she mumbled.
    It was a good five minutes before she pulled away from him.
    Tap pushed his way through the tall, windowless doors of the Drovers’ Cafe. About seventy-five men crowded around twelve t ables, each trying to snag a plate of breakfast. The room smelled of bacon, tobacco, and sweat. Large pictures of racehorses were scattered among paintings of reclining ladies.
    TwoHoots sat with his back to the wall and a fork in each hand. The jingle of Tap’s spurs could barely be heard above the scraping of tin plates and the slurping of black coffee.
    “You goin’ to let my boys pull out with the wagon?” the crew boss of the Bar 79 mumbled through a mouthful of biscuits and pork sausage gravy.
    “You pay court expenses and jail costs, and Petey and Primo can go with you today. Be at Judge Blair’s chambers at 10:00.”
    “You goin’ to let me talk to Jerome? You know, talk around town is maybe one of them loafers or bummers shot the marshal and jist blamed it on Hager ’cause he was too drunk to know better. They been tryin’ to pick a fight for weeks, and you know it.”
    The voices around the room grew hushed. Tap could see a few hands slip down and rest on their holstered revolvers. The fire popped and crackled in the woodstove. It was as if ever yone in the room stopped eating at exactly the same moment.
    “There’s a few witnesses who say different. Jerome’s safe and comfortable. You can’t talk to him yet, TwoHoots, but you can sure enough hire him a lawyer if you want to.”
    “I heard those bummers came into the Occidental lookin’ for a fight.”
    “That might be, but Pappy didn’t. It seems like some of the boys in this room got the idea that back-shootin’ a ma rshal ain’t a serious crime.”
    “How about back-shootin’ a deputy?” A deep voice