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

at this. She’s a beaut. Clean stalls.  Plenty of hay upstairs. Although it looks like last year’s crop. And a water pump right in the barn.”
    Within a few minutes he had the horses stripped down, rubbed off, watered, and placed in a stall with some hay. He was surprised that the leathers in the pump had not dried out and cracked.
    He carried the supplies to the house, hunted for a broom, and began to clean up. With every sweep of the broom, dust fogged the room, but a slight breeze began to clear the air. He hung the bedding on the corral fence and beat it with the broom. Then he tossed the mattress on the roof of the front porch.
    This might be a big waste of time. But I’ll enjoy it for one night at least. Then I’ll head down the road and see if I can find Miss Suzanne Cedar. I surely would like this to work out. With the right woman at his side, a man could sit up and watch the rest of the world go on by.
    He was scooting a big chunk of split red fir into the crac kling fire when he heard riders approach. Instantly, he grabbed up his Winchester, cocked it, and then stepped to the open doorway. Two punchers rode into the yard from the north, circled between the barn and the house, and then drew up at the hitchin’ post.
    If these boys knew Zachariah Hatcher, I’ll have a lot of e xplainin’ to do. Here’s a good test.
    He set his Winchester in the doorway and walked toward the men. “Evenin’, fellas,” he called. “What can I do for you?”
    “Are you Hatcher?” the taller of the two asked.
    “That’s what folks have been calling me. Boys, come on down and sit a spell. The coffee’s not hot yet, but I got the water warmin’.”
    “Thank ya, we appreciate it.” The short one in the black shirt loosened his red bandanna and shook out the dust.
    Walking with them back to the house, Tap asked, “Can I do anything for ya?”
    “Mr. Hatcher, we is just sort of wanting to welcome you to the neighborhood. My name’s Wiley, and this here’s Quail.”
    “You take to sleeping on the roof?” Quail motioned to the mattress on the shingled roof of the front porch.
    “I just got this place, and it needs freshin’ up. I figured a little air and sunlight would do it good.”
    “We’re a bit dirty for house visitin’,” Wiley offered. “Maybe we ought to drink that coffee out here.”
    “Boys, do you work for an outfit around here?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Let me tell you somethin’ right up front. Punchers are welcome inside my house any day of the week, you understand?”
    “Thank ya, that’s right neighborly.”
    “Bankers, on the other hand, don’t get further than that scrub cedar down the road. Now make yourself at home, and we’ll wait for that coffee to boil.”
    “Mr. Hatcher, we came down—”
    “Now, Wiley, I don’t much cotton to being called Mr. Hatcher. You can call me Zach. Or just use my nickname—Tap.”
    “Tap?”
    “As in tapadera.”
    “Well, sir, we work up across the state line on the Ra fter R Ranch. We were ridin’ the drift line and thought we’d come down and introduce ourselves. We’ll surely try to keep the Wyoming beef off your range. Sometimes in the blizzards, they wander down this way. They’ll all be branded Rafter R.”
    “It’s going to take me a while to build the place up,” Tap o ffered. “I hope to have several hundred head running by early next summer.”
    “What’s your brand goin’ to be?”
    Brand? I don’t even know if I’ll be here tomorrow.
    “I’m thinkin’ of making it the Triple Creek Ranch. So I’ll burn a TC with a wavy line u nderneath. Is that going to look too much like any others around here?”
    “Nope. Don’t think so.”
    Quail stood up and walked over to the coffeepot which hung on an iron hook at the front of the fireplace. He poured himself a cup of coffee and turned back to Tap. Steam rose from the blue enameled tin cup. He waved it under his chin to better enjoy the full aroma.
    “Now, there’s one other