The Legend of Perley Gates

by William W. Johnstone

  Stella and Liz screamed as the table collapsed under the weight of the brute, and they scrambled to escape the assault. Perley went backward, but unlike the women, he had counted on an insane attack, figuring that was most likely his only chance against the monster. While Brady was still in midair over the table, Perley had taken a firm grip on the handle of the heavy iron skillet that held half of a fried apple pie, which he learned later to be a favorite with Katie’s customers. The heavy skillet sounded a dull thud when it bounced off Brady’s skull on the first blow. The second seemed more like the clang of a bell. It was difficult to guess which one was the strike that knocked the beast senseless, to lie sprawled on the broken table.

  The room was dead silent, as the few customers to have witnessed the attack were speechless. Katie and Myra, holding her shotgun, were just as stunned as they watched Perley knock Brady cold.

  “Have you got any rope?” he asked Katie.

  She shook her head.

  “We’ve got a spool of clothesline,” Myra volunteered.

  “That’ll do,” Perley said, and she went immediately to fetch it.

  Brady had not stirred when she returned with the clothesline. Perley took it from her, pulled Brady’s arms behind his back, and tied his wrists. Then he tied his ankles, and while he worked, he asked a young man, one of the diners, to go and fetch the sheriff.

  “Is he dead?” Liz wondered aloud.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Perley replied, “but he’s gonna have a helluva headache when he does come to.”

  “Well, I hope you tied him real good,” Stella said, “’cause he’s gonna be madder’n hell when he does.”

  “I expect so,” Perley agreed. He turned, talking to all the spectators in the place. “You all saw what happened. He came in here after me. I tried to talk him into sittin’ down and havin’ some pie and coffee, but he insisted on attackin’ me. All I did was try to defend myself.” He wanted to make sure they all saw the same thing, for when the sheriff got there.

  “Ain’t no doubt about that,” Katie said. “I think everybody agrees on that.”

  In a little while, the young man returned with a deputy, the sheriff having already gone home for supper. The deputy, a no-nonsense individual named Bill Snipe, stood for a long moment over the prostrate body draped across the tabletop before he questioned Katie.

  “What is that? Is that his brains spillin’ outta his head?”

  “No,” Katie answered. “Them’s fried apples.”

  “Oh,” Snipe said. “Then he ain’t dead.”

  To confirm it, Brady stirred as he began to come back from his sudden nap, growling drunkenly about killing someone. It was not hard to guess who started the trouble.

  “Brady Ennis,” Snipe said with a generous measure of disgust, “you ain’t been in town two whole days yet and I’ve already had half a dozen complaints about you. I think a little time in jail is gonna be the cure for what ails you.”

  He untied Brady’s ankles so he could walk, and with Perley’s help, he got the huge man on his feet. Although groggy and unsteady when he stood up, Brady tried to resist when Snipe pushed him toward the door. Snipe drew his .44 and threatened him. “I ain’t got time to fool with you, Ennis. I’m gonna fetch you another rap on the head if you don’t start walkin’.”

  He held the pistol up, ready to deliver another blow to Brady’s skull. It was enough to convince the huge man that he couldn’t risk taking another one.

  “Perley Gates,” Brady mumbled as he stumbled out the door. “I ain’t gonna forget that name.”

  “Perley Gates?” Bill Snipe echoed and looked at Perley. “Is that you?”

  “Afraid so,” Perley answered.

  “You figurin’ on bein’ in town awhile?” Snipe asked.

  “Nope, hadn’t planned on it—figured I’d be leavin’ in the mornin’.”

  “Good,” Snipe said. “’Cause I won’t hold Brady more’n two days. That’s about as long as we hold anybody for fightin’ when nobody gets shot.”

  With Brady out the door, Perley turned to help the women clean up the mess Brady had caused. “I’m real sorry about the damage,” he said to Katie as he rolled the tabletop out of their way. “Top’s okay, but the legs are broke down pretty bad. I reckon I owe you for the cost of fixin’ ’em. Sorry ’bout the pie, too. I’ll pay for that, too. Shame to see it go to waste, though.” He pointed to a fair-sized piece of it on the floor next to the wall. “There’s a piece that could be salvaged.”

  Katie had to laugh. “Is that right? Well, how ’bout I serve it to you with another cup of coffee?” When he hesitated, not sure if she was joking or not, she said, “Don’t worry about payin’ for this mess. We’ll clean it up, and I’ll get Myra’s husband to fix the table. He’s handy with things like that.”

  “That’s about all he’s handy at,” Myra said, causing the women to chuckle.

  When the food and coffee were all cleaned up off the floor, Perley, Liz, and Stella walked back down the street to the Cattleman’s. They paused at the door when Perley said he was going to say good night to them then.

  “I reckon I’ll go on back to the stable. I’m thinkin’ I’ll head out early in the mornin’, so I’d best get some sleep.”

  “Well, I reckon this is good-bye, till you happen through this way again,” Liz said. “I’ll tell you one thing, Perley, there’s always somethin’ happenin’ with you around. But speakin’ for myself, I’m gonna miss you, and I wish you were gonna be around from now on.”

  On cue, Perley blushed.

  “That goes for me, too,” Stella said. “You take care of yourself—trouble seems to have a likin’ for you.”

  He wished them good fortune and walked away. He had to admit that he had taken kind of a liking to them in the short time he had spent with them. But there was also the feeling that he had just lifted his foot out of a cow pie.

  He got back to the stable to find Tom Tuttle waiting for him.

  “I was just fixin’ to lock up,” Tuttle said. “Supper’s waitin’ at the house, and I thought you musta changed your mind about sleepin’ in the barn.”

  “I got held up a little longer’n I figured on,” Perley said. “What time will you open up in the mornin’?”

  Tuttle said he’d be in at six for sure, maybe five-thirty, so Perley decided he’d get on the trail to Denver as soon as Tuttle showed up and worry about breakfast when his horses needed a rest. In his brief exposure to Cheyenne, he hadn’t seen anything that would cause him to want to tarry there. To the contrary, the prospect of Brady Ennis getting out of jail was reason enough to make him eager to leave. He felt no fear of Brady, but it always suited him to avoid trouble if he possibly could.

  After Tuttle left, Perley decided to help himself to Tuttle’s oats, with a portion for both of his horses. He thought about whether or not to tell Tuttle about it in the morning. After making sure his packs were ready to load onto the sorrel in the morning, he decided to sleep in the stall with Buck instead of in the barn hayloft as Tuttle had suggested. The big bay gelding probably needed the company.

  The night was passed peacefully enough, and Perley was pleased to see Tuttle arrive on time. After telling Tuttle the saga of his grandfather, he saddled Buck, loaded the packhorse, and told Tuttle he owed him for two portions of oats.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” Tuttle insisted. “I hope you find your grandpa alive and well.”

  “Much obliged,” Perley said and stepped up into the saddle. “Follow the railroad straight south, right?”

  “That’s right,” Tuttle replied. “The Denver Pacific Railway—runs straight south for about a hundred miles. You’ll strike the South Platte about halfway there, and the railroad follows it right into Denver.”

  Perley touched his finger to his hat brim and turned Buck toward the railroad that the people of Denver had caused to be built when the Union Pacific ran their track through Cheyenne, one hundred miles to the north, instead of Denver.

/>   CHAPTER 10

  Riding alone once more, Perley was a whole lot more at ease, with nothing to set his mind on but finding his grandfather. Denver was where he aimed to start searching for him again, thinking that it was a good possibility the old man might indeed have had hopes of finding gold there. At least, that’s what he kept telling his conscious mind. His inner thoughts were more in line with his brother John’s thinking—that there wasn’t a chance in hell that he would find any trace of his grandfather. Regardless of his success, however, one thing was for certain: the younger Perley Gates was going to see the Rocky Mountains.

  At the end of the first day, Perley rode into a sizable town lying beside a river near the foothills of the Front Range of the Rockies. It appeared to be a quiet town, although thriving, judging by the appearance of the buildings he passed as he walked Buck down the main street.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said when he saw a man coming out of a barbershop. “What river is this?”

  “It’s the Cache La Poudre River,” the man answered. Then, guessing that Perley wasn’t familiar with that, he added, “And if you’re wondering where you are, you’re in Fort Collins.”

  “Much obliged,” Perley said, unfamiliar with town or river. He had hoped he might have struck the South Platte, but he knew now that it had to be farther south. At any rate, the railroad went to Denver, so it was impossible to get lost.

  All day, he had been riding with the lofty peaks of the mountains to the west of him, now so close that he thought he could feel their lure. He imagined that his grandfather had felt the same call of the mysterious range. He decided that he would camp on the bank of the river that night, and in the morning, he would follow the river back up through the foothills in search of game. He was getting a little tired of salt pork. It was time to hunt for fresh meat. Following the pristine river back toward the mountains with his eyes, he figured there had to be deer or elk not far away. He was running low on supplies, too, a result of his taking Liz and Stella to Cheyenne, so he decided to stock up here in town.

  Realizing then that the man was waiting to see if he had any more questions, he apologized. “Sorry, I reckon I let my mind start wanderin’. Where’s a good place to buy supplies, like coffee and flour and such?”

  “Steiner’s is as good as any,” the man replied, then turned and pointed, “right down the street on the other side.”

  “Much obliged,” Perley said again and turned Buck’s head toward the building the man had pointed out.

  He pulled his horses up beside a farm wagon tied at the rail and looked up and down the street before he went inside. Fort Collins seemed a far cry from a cattle town, or a railroad town like Cheyenne. The people he had seen so far looked to be farmers.

  “Good evening, friend,” a large, portly man with a full head of dark brown hair and a beard to match greeted him. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  The man went on to finish filling a bag with seed, then totaled up the order for a customer standing at the counter. When the customer had left, he turned his attention to Perley. He studied Perley for a few seconds before asking, “What can I do for you? Don’t recall seeing you in the store before. Just passin’ through?”

  “Yes, sir,” Perley answered politely. “I’m on my way to Denver, and I’m runnin’ short on some supplies—thought maybe I could buy ’em here.” He called off a few things and the quantity he needed.

  Satisfied with the sizable order and the cash it was paid with, the big man said, “My name’s Louis Steiner. I appreciate you stopping in.” He was curious about the polite young fellow, who looked like a cowhand, judging by the clothes he wore. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you by any chance looking for a place to homestead? Because if you are, Fort Collins is the best place in the territory to claim a plot of land and raise a young family.”

  “No, sir,” Perley replied. “I ain’t lookin’ for a place to homestead. My family’s got a ranch in Texas. I’m lookin’ for my grandpa.” He went on to explain, and when he had finished, he asked, just to be sure, “You ain’t seen an old fellow named Perley Gates come through here, have you?”

  “No, sorry to say I haven’t,” Steiner said. “I believe that’s a name I would have remembered. What makes you think he headed to Denver?”

  “Nothin’, really, except he seemed to be headin’ that way when he left Ogallala, and folks said there was a lot of prospectin’ on Cherry Creek there.”

  Steiner nodded while he considered that. “I expect it’s too late to be lookin’ for gold down there now. It’s probably about mined out. Young fellow like you would do better claiming a lot around here, like the other young families. Build you a good farm and work to a solid future.”

  “Well, like I said,” Perley replied, “I ain’t huntin’ for gold, I’m huntin’ for Grandpa.” He picked up the sacks containing his purchases. “Thanks again for your help. I expect I’d best get along if I’m gonna find something to eat before I camp for the night.”

  “Have you got a wife back there in Texas?”

  “No, sir,” Perley answered, “no wife.”

  “I expect you’ve probably had enough of suppers on the trail, haven’t you?” Steiner asked.

  “That’s a fact if there ever was one,” Perley answered. “But you get used to it, and it’s better’n goin’ hungry.”

  “Well, why don’t you have supper with me and the missus tonight? My wife always fixes more’n we can eat, and she’s always happy to meet new folks comin’ through town.”

  “Why, that’s mighty kind of you,” Perley said, more than a little surprised. “But I wouldn’t wanna impose on you, and I wouldn’t wanna surprise your wife with an extra mouth to feed.”

  “She’d be tickled to have you—she always is. We don’t eat till after I close the store at five o’clock. I’ll be looking for you at that time right here.”

  Perley was astonished. He wondered if Steiner treated all strangers to Fort Collins in the same way. “I can always use a home-cooked supper,” he said after a moment’s hesitation while he tried to think of a reason to refuse.

  “Good,” Steiner said. “I’ll see you back here at five o’clock.”

  “Who was that, Louis?” Mary Steiner asked when she came in from the back.

  “Just some young fellow passing through town,” Louis answered. “Seemed pretty solid, the kind we need more of in Fort Collins.”

  She raised a suspicious eyebrow. “You didn’t try to marry off one of our daughters again, did you?”

  “Of course not,” he huffed. “Why would you think such a thing? He’s on his way to look for his grandfather. I just felt kinda sorry for him, so I invited him to supper—figured you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Why, Louis Steiner,” she scolded, “you could have asked me before you go inviting any old drifter to the supper table.”

  “I don’t think he’s a drifter, and he ain’t old,” her husband replied in self-defense. “I told you, he’s trying to find his dear old grandpa.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she railed. “Our five beautiful daughters are precious to me, and you’re always trying to sell them off like they were sacks of potatoes in your store.” She bit her lip to keep from speaking profanely. “You could have at least given me more time to fix extra food for some half-starved stranger. I’ve got to go home right now before Virginia puts the biscuits in the oven. We’re gonna need more if we’re gonna fill his belly.”

  She gathered up her shawl and headed toward the back door, leaving her husband to exhale forcefully in frustration and call after her, “Tell them to put on some decent clothes.”

  Five daughters, he thought, in a territory where a man needs sons. Five hungry mouths to feed: Virginia, his eldest at twenty-two, well past marrying age; Callie and Eunice, right at marrying age; Ethel, not far from it, coming up on her thirteenth birthday; leaving only Hope, eleven, and ugly as a mud fence. If God decided to burden him with five daughters, couldn’t at least a
couple of them have been a little more gentle on the eyes—and give him an opportunity to have two sons-in-law?

  * * *

  “Who is he, Mama?” Eunice asked as she prepared to set the table.

  “I don’t know,” her mother replied. “Some young man who just happened to come into the store. Your father thought he was a bright young fellow and decided it would be a nice thing to do to invite him to supper, trying to get more folks to move to Fort Collins, I guess.”

  “Where do you wanna put him?” Eunice asked.

  “Put him next to your father, so they can talk, I suppose. We’ll set Virginia next to him, since she’s the eldest. Then I don’t guess it matters where the rest of you sit.”

  “Is he married?” Virginia asked as she walked into the dining room carrying a bowl of beans and another of potatoes.

  “Your father didn’t say, but it would be my guess that he’s not,” Mary said, knowing Louis’s motive.

  “Is he handsome?” Callie asked, causing her sisters to giggle.

  “I don’t know,” Mary said. “I really didn’t see him. He was going out the door when I walked into the store.” She hesitated, but decided to do as her husband had suggested. “And have a care about yourselves. Brush your hair. You, too, Hope—you look like you’ve been rolling in the pigpen.”

  “You told me to slop the hogs,” eleven-year-old Hope complained.

  “I didn’t tell you to get in the pen with ’em,” Mary said. “Now, all of you, have a care for how you look. We’ve got company for supper and it’s almost time. They’ll be turning up any minute.”

  * * *

  At about five minutes to five o’clock, Perley showed up at the store, still undecided if he should impose on Steiner and his wife. It didn’t seem the polite thing to do to surprise the woman with an extra mouth to feed. But the store owner had been so insistent with his invitation, so Perley figured he and his wife probably welcomed the opportunity to possibly hear some news from other parts of the country. As soon as he thought it, he had to chuckle. There wasn’t much news he could tell them, except maybe that there were two new whores at the Cattleman’s in Cheyenne. He stepped down from the saddle just as Steiner came outside and paused to lock the door.