Read Where the Deer and the Antelope Play (Code of the West) for Free Online Page B

ranch. I mean, it used to be his ranch.”
    “Used to be?”
    “Yes, Mr. Hatcher is deceased. The place belongs to a Mr. Tapadera Andrews now. Perhaps you should wait and have Mr. Andrews explain.”
    “That is puzzling news. I had no idea.”
    “You knew Mr. Hatcher?”
    “Actually no. The former manager made the loan, and now he’s moved off to Sacramento. I’ve just taken over, and I’m trying to clear up all the accounts.”
    “Loan? Accounts? What do you mean?”
    “I’m sure your husband knew when he bought the place from—”
    “The truth is, Mr. Andrews is not my husband—yet. We’re getting married in a couple weeks.”
    “How nice.”
    “And I live down at McCurleys’. I just came out for the day.”
    “Oh, splendid. You know how to get to McCurleys’. I wanted to stay there tonight, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to get there from here. Maybe you could draw me a map or something.”
    “Certainly, but what was this about a loan?”
    “Mr. Hatcher still owes over two thousand dollars on the loan he secured when he bought this ranch. The payment was due December 1, but as I said, things at the bank have been a little disorganized.”
    “Two thousand dollars?”
    “Actually $2,089.45.”
    “And you came out to collect?”
    “There is a thirty-day grace period. I won’t have to foreclose until December 31.”
    “I don’t know if Mr. Andrews was aware that he was assu ming a loan.”
    “Oh, yes. It’s right there on the patent deed. If you’ll bring me your copy of the deed, I’ll show you the provision.”
    “I think you should wait for Mr. Andrews to return. Can I get you a piece of peach pie with your coffee?”
    “Most assuredly. Splendid, Miss—”
    “Paige. Miss Pepper Paige.”
    “Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Paige. You’d be su rprised how nasty some people treat us bankers. Sometimes they won’t even give me the time of day. The last couple I spoke with threatened to throw me out.”
    Actually, Mr. Banker, I was considering shooting you m yself.
    Tap watched seven Rafter R drovers ride up from all sides. “Sorry, the fire’s about dead, boys. If you scruff up a little dry wood, we can all warm up.” He nodded at a cowboy with long, black handlebar mustache. “Howdy, Quail. How’s the winter treatin’ you?”
    The cowboy tipped his hat. “Tap, ’fraid this ain’t a social occasion. There’s Rafter R bovines running with your TC longhorns.”
    Casey pulled Tap's revolver from its holster and tossed it into the snow.
    “How many tracks did you follow down here?”
    “Looked like four men.”
    “You ride down there about a hundred yards to the south, and you’ll find four tracks leadin’ out of here. Those are your rustlers.”
    “I’ll check it out.” Quail spurred his mount and rode away to the south.
    “Don’t matter,” Fighting Ed hollered. “They might have done the dirty work, but you was the ring leader.”
    “Why would I raid the Rafter R and then push them over the state line? Those four were fixin’ to steal my cows, too.”
    “Why didn’t you shoot ’em?” one of the cowboys called out.
    “They hadn’t committed any crime in Colorado—yet. But they weren’t all exactly in good health when they left. I was plannin’ on cuttin’ out the Rafter R Herefords and drivin’ ’em back up to the border, as soon as my feet warmed up.”
    “Oh, they’ll git back to the Rafter R range, all right. But no thanks to you.” Tap noticed Fighting Ed’s tall-crowned hat made his head look long and narrow, like a craggy fence post.
    “Tap’s right about four ridin’ south,” Quail reported as he rode back to the others. “At least one was drippin’ blood.”
    “There’s a little red around this campfire, too.” Another of the men pointed to the snow at Andrews’s feet. “Some of ’em are carrying lead. Maybe we ought to try to catch them.”
    “That bunch is runnin’ like wounded wolves. But it’s too