It's Your Misfortune and None of My Own (Code of the West) by Stephen Bly Read Free Book Online

the money into the leather suitcase and twirled back out into the hall.
    “I’ll kill you. You—you witch,” Selena jeered.
    “Not in my house,” April Hastings boomed.
    “Pepper, I’ve just about had it with you tonight. You know I can’t keep a girl who insults the customers and abuses the other girls. Now get down there and apologize to Beckett. I can’t afford to lose the business of that whole bunch.”
    “I ain’t goin’ to apologize.”
    “You most certainly are. Now I told you to—”
    “You aren’t tellin’ me nothin’—ever again. I quit."
    “Then you’ll be out of that room by breakfast.”
    “It will be a delight.” Pepper slammed and locked the door to her room.
    She spent the night in the rocking chair, facing the door, with a blanket wrapped around her, a Remington .41 rimfire, pearl-handled pocket revolver clasped in one hand and the leather valise in her lap.
    During the long night she re-read the letters from Zach ariah Hatcher several times and examined every item as she carefully put them back in the velvet bags. At daylight she was packed, dressed, and waiting when Stack Lowery came to her door.
    “Miss Pepper? You need a ride som ewhere? I’m headin’ out to buy some supplies.”
    “You goin’ east or west?”
    “West, I reckon. The pass is still washed out toward the east.”
    “I’ll ride with you for a while. I’ve got to find some rancher over there.”
    With both her suitcase and Suzanne Cedar’s valise in the wagon, Pepper hugged Danni Mae Walters, Paula St. Lucie, and Nevada Young. She nodded at April Hastings who sat with no sign of emotion on the porch of her establishment. Selena Oatley didn't show.
    “Can you drive up there by that grave, Stack?”
    “I reckon so.”
    When the two-horse wagon reached the grave site, he stopped the team. “You gettin’ out?”
    “Nope. I just needed to say somethin’.” She looked down at the fresh dirt and sighed.
    Darlin’, you yourself said that Mr. Zachariah Hatcher d eserved to be greeted by his fiancée, and I’m goin’ to see that he is. Now you know I ain’t stealin’ your man, cause, you never had him. Besides, you’re up there frolickin’ past them pearly gates. Maybe he won’t know the difference between one green-eyed blonde and another.
    She reached up and wiped her tearless eyes.

    3
    T ap Andrews ranged up through Utah, across the northwest corner of Colorado, arriving at the North Platte River on September 21, 1882. He turned east, crossed the Michigan River, and rode into a small settlement called McCurley.
    He made a few inquiries, bought a short black horse, e xtra saddle, and as many groceries as he could carry on the horse. Then he headed north on a trail that took him past Sentinel Mountain to Pinkham Creek. From there he turned due west to begin the ascent to Lawrence Creek.
    Finally he stopped at the base of a deep canyon to rest the horses. He rolled his jacket and tied it behind the cantle. Pul ling a piece of jerky out of his brown deerskin vest pocket, he surveyed the countryside.
    “Okay, ponies, this is our new home. This country just begs for cows. Mountains, va lleys, streams, thick grass. Oh, sure, it’s all brown now. But can you imagine how it looks in the spring? And we’ll have plenty of privacy. We haven’t seen a house or fresh wagon rut for twenty miles. Arizona bounty hunters will never come up here. No wonder Hatcher bought this place.”
    He walked the horses up the trail for a co uple of miles. Then he tightened the latigo, swung back into the well-worn saddle, and rode straight up the creek until he spotted a wood-frame house and huge barn tucked back against a bluff of the Medicine Bow Mountains. About a half-mile away flowed a slowly moving stream.
    At least, I think this is Hatcher’s place. It looks deserted e nough.
    Stopping the horses, he soaked up the view. He took a deep breath and sighed.
    “Brownie, I just didn’t know there were still places like this