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

glass. Slivers ground under his boot heels. “First off, you’d better a ppoint an acting marshal.”
    “A temporary acting marshal, maybe. Only the city council can appoint an acting marshal.”
    “Whatever.” Tap tossed broken glass pieces with a tinkle and crash into an old milk bucket that served as a trash can.
    “Andrews, I hereby appoint you temporary acting ma rshal.”
    “I’m not the only deputy.”
    “You and I know Baltimore wouldn’t take it. Williams is a half-breed, and Merced is too ambitious to make a good one.”
    “And he definitely won’t like me bein’ boss.”
    “He can get by for a while.”
    “Mayor, I think you ought to get a glazier over here immed iately and replace these windows. It would give the folks confidence that ever’thing’s under control.”
    “But what about—”
    Merced burst through the front door. “What happened? Did they shoot Hager already?”
    “Who’s 'they'? Someone tryin' to shoot him?” Tap que stioned.
    “You know, the lynch mob.”
    “Not yet. Some friends tried to bust him out.”
    A big man with stained brown vest and gray-streaked, cropped black hair rushed into the office.
    “Baltimore, scout around and see if you can find a friend of Hager’s in a red shirt carryin’ a walnut-handled .45. Simp, check the south side and find out why those bummers barged into a cowboy bar and picked a fight in the first place. With a town full of drovers, that doesn’t seem too smart.”
    “You’re givin’ a lot of orders,” Merced complained.
    “Andrews is acting as temporary marshal until our next city council meeting,” Breshnan announced.
    Merced glared at Tap, then ambled toward the glassless front door.
    “You’ll need to check more than just the brass rail at DelGatto’s,” Tap insisted.
    “I don’t need you tellin’ me what I can and can’t do.”
    “I’m tellin’ you to get in line with Andrews,” the mayor huffed. “It’s my name on your pay voucher.”
    “Yes, sir,” Merced drawled and left the room.
    “Andrews, what were you saying?” the mayor pressed.
    “I don’t think we can hold Hager here. I figure the only way we’ll keep him safe until trial time is to move him out of town. Denver or the Territorial Prison up at Laramie City.”
    “Not out of the territory. That would be admitting we can’t handle our own trouble. We’ll never talk them into statehood that way. It’s a Cheyenne problem. We have to settle it.”
    “Maybe we could send him to Ft. Russell. They’re only three miles away.”
    “That’s still calling in the federal troops, don’t you see?”
    “A lynchin’ don’t seem all that civ ilized either.” Tap rubbed the stubble of a two-day beard and brushed back his mustache. “How about that old stockade at Swan’s ranch? We held those rustlers up there in February during the blizzard.”
    “That’s over forty miles.”
    “If we packed him in a freight wagon headed for the Black Hills, no one would be suspicious.”
    “You mean, just pirate him out of town?”
    “Just you and me would know where he was.”
    “Perhaps I should check with the U.S. Marshal’s office.”
    “They’re chasin’ renegade Arapahos up in the Big Horns.”
    “Governor Hale’s in Washington.”
    “Am I temporary acting marshal or not?”
    “Yes, of course. It’s your decision. We’ll send Hager to the stoc kade. Swan will probably be at the Cheyenne Club. I can talk to him there.”
    “If you see Baltimore or Carbine Williams, send them back. I’ll have one of ’em pull guard duty while I line up a wagon.”
    “How about Merced?”
    “I’d just as soon leave him out of this.”
    Thomas Breshnan straightened his bowler and shuffled out the door.
    About the time Baltimore Gomez returned to the office, a short man wearing overalls showed up to repair the broken windows. By then Tap had transferred Hager to cell #1, but he kept him han dcuffed to the bars.
    “You want to see me?” Baltimore