Stay Away From That City . . . They Call It Cheyenne (Code of the West) by Stephen Bly

in the back of the courtroom. A blue-caped lie utenant and six heavily armed soldiers entered and stood near the door.
    I hope they brought more than six.
    After the proceedings, Tap delivered the prisoner to Lt. Morris T. Jackson. Tap reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a key to unlock the irons.
    “Keep him safe for us, Lieutenant. We want to see old Jerome get a nice trial and a legal hanging.”
    Hager watched as Tap unhooked the irons. “I thought you told that mob you didn’t have a key.”
    “I lied.”
    “But . . . ,” Hager muttered.
    “I told you I wasn’t a deacon. If they thought they could have gotten you unlocked, there’s no telling where you would be.” Tap turned to the army officer. “How many men did you bring with you?”
    “Step on out and check for yourself.”
    Tap led the procession out of the courtroom to find an army ambulance parked in the street with a dozen mounted cava lrymen in front and another dozen waiting behind.
    “That ought to do it—don’t you think so, Jerome?”
    “Makes a fella feel mighty important.”
    The lieutenant marched Jerome Hager to the van and loaded him into the back with the six soldiers. “We don’t a lways have a contingent this size available for such duty, but Marshal Divide always treated us square when the boys came to town. They appreciated that. We’ll take good care of him. But the word on the street is that it only took one deputy to bring him to the courthouse from across town.”
    “One deputy and divine providence,” Tap added. “Do you want me to ride along?”
    “Only if you have nothing else to do.”
    “I need to stick around for Pappy’s funeral.”
    “Anytime you need to come out and talk to the prisoner, you are more than welcome.”
    “According to my wife, I’m supposed to come out tomo rrow night for some kind of a dance.”
    “Oh, the Calico Hop. Yes, sir, it will be a fine time. Hate to see them pull out.”
    “Who?”
    “The Seventh Infantry. They’re getting moved north. That’s why we’re having the dance. Hope to see you there.”
    “I reckon I don’t have any other option. My wife’s a very persuasive woman.”
    The crowd in the street around the courthouse dispersed in the cold spring air as the soldiers led the ambulance down 19th Street. Only a couple riders from the earlier mob fo llowed the soldiers at a safe distance.
    Lord, it’s in Your hands. I’ve done what I could.
    “Where do you need us now?” Carbine Williams and Baltimore Gomez sauntered up behind him. As always Carbine needed a haircut and Baltimore a shave.
    “Go home for dinner, and I’ll meet you at Pappy’s funeral. I imagine most of the town will be there.”
    “Who will watch the town if we’re all out at the grave site?” Baltimore asked.
    “We’ll just have to figure nothin’ll happen for that hour.” Tap shrugged.
    Baltimore cleared his throat. “I hope this don’t sound disrespectful, Tap . . . but me and funerals don’t mix. I don’t like ’em—never have. I don’t aim to go to this one. You know how much I respected Pappy. That ain’t it at all. There’s just somethin’ about a funeral that causes me to break out in a terrible itch.”
    “I know what you mean,” Carbine sympathized.
    “You do?”
    “Yep. I feel the same way about weddin’s—especially my own.”
    “What do you say, Tap? If you told me I had to stay downtown or at the jail, then I could beg out of the funeral.”
    “Baltimore, in my role as temporary acting marshal, I hereby assign you to keep an eye on 16th Street and the tracks this afternoon.”
    Gomez drawled, “I surely hate to miss Pappy’s last doin’s, but a man’s got to do his job. Thanks, it’ll sure help me to know what to say to Savannah next time I see her on the street.”
    “How’s she doin’?” The smoke from Carbine's quirley li ngered like gun smoke.
    “Pepper reports her as strong as ever .  . . but I figure it’ll all crash down on her