My Foot's in the Stirrup . . . My Pony Won't Stand (Code of the West) Read Online Free PDF

previous one. By the time he reached the corrals su rrounded by a dozen box elders at the Goodwin ranch, his leather-cased canteen was almost empty, his grey cotton shirt wrung wet with sweat. He soon identified the six maverick yearlings as Two Dot T, a trail brand of Tom Slaughter’s last drive up from Texas.
    After a half-hour snooze under the trees, Tap cut the steers out of the corral and pushed them onto the prairie. He figured the steers would act snuffy at Roundhouse, but they took to the trail quickly, even without a bell cow. The big gray gelding considered the affair a game to be won and refused to let any of them wander even two feet off the trail.
    When they made it back to the springs, Dutton and Texas Jay had pulled out. Tap had to picket Roundhouse fifty feet from the springs for the steers to get a drink. The big gray seemed determined to drive them all the way to Pine Bluffs without a stop.
    By the time they reached Tom Slaughter’s corrals, Roun dhouse was well lathered. Tap was caked with sweat and dust. Leaving the steers confined in the square pen and Roundhouse turned out to the horse pasture, Tap hiked past the barn and up the boardwalk to Slaughter’s office. Sweat drenched even his socks, and they rubbed his feet raw against his brown boots.
    Two men in dark ties and starched-collar boiled shirts were tal king to Slaughter when Tap stepped through the door.
    “Sorry to bother you, Tom, but I corralled those six steers of yours that were at Goodwin’s. They were Two Dot T’s like you fi gured. I’ll talk to you in the mornin’.”
    “Wait a minute. I want you to meet these men.” Slaughter turned to the taller of the two well-dressed men. “This is Mr. Jacob Tracker and Mr. Wesley Cabe. Gentlemen, this is Tap A ndrews, the brand inspector I was telling you about.”
    Tap tipped his hat at the two men.
    Tom Slaughter pointed to a map laid out on his desk. The gray-headed cattle baron swooped around the office like a cougar in a cage. “Tap, Mr. Tracker and his lawyer are out of San Angelo. They’re up here lookin’ to buy a place for some northern summer grazin’. What they had in mind was somethin’ in north Laramie County, up around Old Woman Crick. You heard about any places for sale up there?”
    Tap pushed his hat back and rubbed his dirt-caked neck. “I haven’t been in the Territory all that long. And I don’t work north of the Platte very often. Afraid I can’t help you. Wouldn’t mind goin’ up that way someday though. I hear there might be some strays wa nderin’ up on Lone Tree Crick.
    "Sorry I don’t know any ranchers up there, but it’s my firm opi nion that if you have the money, every ranch in this territory is for sale. Now if I can get cleaned up enough to have the wife let me in the door, I’ll go eat some supper.”
    Impossible to imagine, but Tap figured it was even hotter than the previous evening. After they ate, they sprawled out on the porch and tried to think of cooler times.
    “April’s was never this scorching in the summer.” Pepper fanned herself with her hands. “In fact, I remember some cool summer nights when we had to close the windows and pull up the quilts.”
    “South Arizona is hot all year ’round. I can take that. It’s the cold that gets to me. Did I ever tell you about the time I spent most of one December in Bodie?” Tap asked.
    “What were you doing in California?” Pepper asked.
    “I was born in California, remember?”
    “So was this before you went to Arizona?”
    “I reckon it was about ten years ago. Ever’one was up there tryin’ to cut a big slice of gold for themselves. Housin’ was i mpossible to find, so I was cabined up with two gamblers and a, eh, nymph du prairie .”
    “A what?” Angelita popped straight up.
    “Never mind, young lady,” Pepper asserted.
    “Oh, one of those.” Angelita rolled her big, round brown eyes and plopped back down.
    “Mr. Andrews, is this story going