The Legend of Perley Gates

by William W. Johnstone

  When he got his packhorse loaded again and his saddle on Buck, he said so long to Orin Jones and thanked him for the information about his grandfather. Already having lost the time he had spent riding south from Cheyenne, he was anxious to head back in the other direction. It was well past noon by that time, however, so he knew he would not get to Cheyenne by the end of the day. It wouldn’t matter if he set out immediately or waited until later, so he decided to ride back up the river to check on the condition of his camp.

  When he reached the bend of the river, he rode through the fir trees hugging the bank, to the clearing where he had made his camp the night before. Nothing had been disturbed. The fires he had started to smoke the strips of venison had all burned out, but from all appearances, the dried-out meat looked to be perfectly fine, still staked out just as he had left it. To be sure, he tried some of the meat and found it to be usable. Another unlikely coincidence, he thought, and further evidence that he was supposed to find his grandpa. Encouraged by the way things had fallen into place for him, Perley went into his packs for some cloth to wrap the venison with, satisfied that he now had meat to last him awhile.

  While working away to wrap his supply of venison, he suddenly had a feeling he was being watched. There had been no warning from his horses to alert him that someone was approaching, but he sensed that he was not alone. As a matter of precaution, he tried not to show any sign of awareness, while dropping his hand down to rest on the grip of his .44. As casually as he could manage, he turned to one side, far enough to look behind him.

  At first, he saw nothing. Then the features of a face came into focus, watching him from the cover of the fir branches. He had company, all right, but he did not react at once. Instead, he rose slowly to his feet, walked to his packhorse, and loaded the meat he had wrapped. Then he turned toward his visitor and said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ve packed enough of this deer meat to last me a good while, so I’m leavin’ this last part of it here. And that oughta be enough for a good dinner for one coyote—enough for more, if you’ve got some friends with you. By the way, I ’preciate you not comin’ along before I got back to save it.”

  Thinking it the least he could do, he climbed aboard Buck and led his packhorse back through the trees around the clearing. When he took one look back, he saw the coyote slink out of the trees and trot up to feast on the venison.

  * * *

  With no desire to linger any longer in Fort Collins, Perley rode straight through the town to strike the trail back to Cheyenne, over forty miles north. Following the trail along the Denver Pacific Railway, he rode about halfway before stopping to camp at a small creek he remembered from when he had traveled in the opposite direction.

  He was ready to eat some of the venison by then, having had nothing since coffee and a strip of the freshly killed deer with Ethel Steiner earlier that day. The thought of that breakfast was enough to make him shake his head in disbelief for the day that had followed. Falling back into his usual disposition, however, his spirits were once again raised in anticipation of the adventure ahead. He was still of the opinion that something was leading him to find his grandfather. What that something was, he didn’t question. He was just thankful for the extra help.

  He started out early the next morning and reached Cheyenne before noon. He headed straight for Tom Tuttle’s stable, since Orin Jones had told him that his grandpa had stopped at his stable, hoping to sell a horse. There was a good chance that Grandpa had stopped at Tuttle’s, and it frustrated Perley that he had not asked Tuttle about it when he was there before. Surely, though, if Grandpa had stopped there to sell his horse, Tuttle would have remembered the name as being the same as Perley’s. He remembered then that there was another stable in town. He would question Tuttle, then check on the other stable if Tuttle hadn’t seen his grandpa.

  “I didn’t expect to see you back in town this soon,” Tuttle said in greeting him. “That’s one helluva horse you’re ridin’, if he’s already took you to Denver and back,” he joked.

  “If any horse could do it, I’d bet on Buck,” Perley replied, with half a chuckle for Tuttle’s humor. “No, we only got as far as Fort Collins before we found out my grandpa headed this way. Don’t reckon you’ve seen him passin’ through Cheyenne.”

  “If he did, he didn’t stop here,” Tuttle said. “’Course, he mighta stopped at Jack Purcell’s place, on the other end of town.”

  “Maybe,” Perley said. “I figured I’d check with him if you hadn’t seen Grandpa.” He stepped up into the saddle.

  “You were right about that flea-bitten gray,” Tuttle said. “I think his wind is broke, and I appreciate your honesty about him. I might have to put him down.”

  “I reckon so,” Perley said. “He got Liz to Cheyenne all right, and I appreciated that.”

  He turned Buck and headed toward the other end of the main street. Tuttle’s comment brought the two women to mind, and Perley hoped they were finding things to their liking in Cheyenne. Maybe I’ll stop by the Cattleman’s Saloon before I head north, he thought.

  At first, Jack Purcell didn’t remember anyone by the name of Perley Gates stopping by his stable. Perley told him that it would have been an old man and he most likely only stopped by shortly, trying to sell a horse. Purcell paused for a moment before the spark of remembrance struck his memory; then he recalled.

  “A little bowlegged man, wearin’ buckskins,” he remembered.

  “That sounds like him,” Perley said.

  “Stopped in here and wanted to sell me an old broken-down mare,” Purcell said.

  “That sounds like the horse,” Perley said.

  “I remember him,” Purcell went on. “I didn’t talk to him long enough to learn his name, but it could be the fellow you’re askin’ about. I didn’t have no use for that horse, so he wasn’t here long.”

  “Did he say where he was headin’?” Perley asked.

  “Said he was headin’ north, up to the Black Hills to see what all the fuss was about. I felt kinda bad after he left for not givin’ him somethin’ for that broke-down horse. It was still cold weather when he was here, and he was leadin’ a packhorse that didn’t look like it was totin’ much. What are you lookin’ for him for?”

  “He’s my grandpa,” Perley answered.

  “Oh . . . Well, I hope you find him, young fellow.”

  “Obliged,” Perley said and took his leave. He couldn’t help wondering if his grandpa had made the same call on Tom Tuttle and, as with Purcell, didn’t talk to him long enough for Tuttle to catch his name. It made no difference at this point anyway. He knew for sure that his grandpa had headed to the Black Hills. Whether he made it or not was for Perley to find out, and from Purcell’s description of the old man, he might not have gotten that far.

  It was getting along pretty late in the day by now, so Perley thought it would be to his liking to pay another visit to Katie’s Diner, even though the last time he was there he had created quite a commotion. He tied his horses at the rail and walked into the little building close to Dyer’s Hotel. Standing just inside the door, he looked for an empty seat at the long table in the center of the busy room. There were only two open, so he took the one closest to the kitchen. Nodding a polite hello to the customers on either side of him, he climbed over the bench and sat down. It was obviously apparent that he was way behind in the consumption of beef and potatoes, so he turned his plate right-side up and set out to catch up.

  After a few moments, Katie walked in from the kitchen, carrying a large gray coffeepot. “Perley Gates!” she exclaimed upon seeing him. “When did you sneak in here?”

  “I was hopin’ I could eat and get out before you caught me,” he teased, “but I had to wait for the coffee.”

  “Them that try to get away with that will have Myra and her shotgun on their tails,” she said, laughing delightedly. “What are you doing back in town? I thought you were going to Denver.”

  “I got all the way to Fort Collins before I
found out I was goin’ the wrong way, so I turned around.” He nodded toward the spot over by the wall where he, Liz, and Stella had sat before Brady Ennis joined the party uninvited. “I thought you said Myra’s husband was handy at fixin’ things.”

  “He’s handy, he just ain’t fast,” Katie quipped as she stood poised with the coffeepot. “Stella and Liz know you’re back in town?”

  “Not yet,” Perley said. “I thought I’d get me some supper first; then I’ll stop in the Cattleman’s and say hello.”

  “Well, your timing is pretty good—or pretty bad, depending on how you look at it—’cause Bill Snipe was in for breakfast this morning, and he said the sheriff was gonna release Brady Ennis this afternoon.”

  “Maybe he’s cooled down by now,” Perley suggested. “He was just likkered up pretty good, and maybe he’d lost a lotta money, so he wasn’t feelin’ too friendly. He might be a nice fellow when he’s sober.”

  Katie looked at Perley and shook her head. “Are you sure you ain’t the one that got hit in the head with my iron skillet? You’d best make sure you don’t run into him.”

  “I aim to,” Perley said. “Now, how ’bout pourin’ some of that coffee in my cup, before it gets too cold to drink?”

  He was joking with Katie, but the truth of the matter was, he hoped like hell he wouldn’t have any contact with Brady Ennis. Maybe, he thought, it would be best to forget about stopping in to see Liz and Stella and just head on out to Deadwood. That would be the smartest thing to do, but they would find out he had been in town and didn’t even stop to see them. That wouldn’t be a very nice thing, because they might think he didn’t want to associate with them since they were common whores. I wouldn’t want them to think that, he thought.

  As was his habit, he put concerns about a confrontation with Brady Ennis out of his mind and concentrated instead on the fine supper he was enjoying. When Katie told Myra that he was back, she came out to visit, so he got a later start to the Cattleman’s than he had intended. He had not taken care of his horses, and since it was getting late, he decided it best for Buck and his packhorse to spend the night at the stable. Hell, he told himself, I’ve already spent money on supper—I might as well spend a little more and make sure my horses have a good night. He said good-bye to Katie and Myra and hurried down to the stable to catch Tuttle before he went home.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Well, look what the cat drug in,” C. J. Tubbs sang out. “What you doin’ back in town? I thought you was in Denver.”

  “My plans got changed,” Perley replied as he walked up to the bar. “I’m headin’ in the opposite direction now.” He went on to explain the reason for turning around, but didn’t get very far before he was discovered by Liz.

  “Perley!” she exclaimed when she spotted him and immediately got up from the lap she was sitting on to join him at the bar. Ignoring the sputtering protests of the older man whose lap she was vacating, she beamed happily to see Perley.

  “Don’t let me interrupt your conversation with that fellow at the table,” Perley said. “He looks like he ain’t too happy about you leavin’.”

  Liz gave a little grunt of unconcern. “That’s just ol’ Gordon Broomfield. He’s the postmaster, and pretty tight with a penny. Ain’t that right, C.J.?” C.J. said that it was, and Liz continued. “He won’t make no fuss over it, afraid his wife might hear about it. When I ain’t got nothing else to do, I sometimes give him a little attention—makes him think about when he was a helluva lot younger.”

  “Well, that’s mighty decent of you,” Perley said. He took a deliberate step back and pretended to give her a good looking over. “I see you got some new clothes. You look like one of them actresses on the stage.”

  “Why, thank you, kind sir,” she replied prettily and affected a little curtsy that looked quite dainty, considering what a big woman she was. “Now, what the hell are you doin’ back here? Already miss me and Stella that much?”

  “Yeah, that’s the reason,” he kidded. “I reckon I just got used to ridin’ with you and her.”

  Once again, he started to explain why he ended up back in Cheyenne, only to be interrupted for the second time by the appearance of Stella, who was coming downstairs.

  “Perley Gates!” Stella pronounced, delighted to see him, just as Liz had been. She came over to join them, making her way through a moderate crowd of patrons, with a smile for most of them, while dodging a few wayward paws. Arriving at the bar, she gave Perley a firm hug and asked, “What are you doing back here?”

  On his third try, he managed to tell them what he had found out in Fort Collins, leaving out the part about being thrown in jail for allegedly kidnapping a thirteen-year-old girl. “I ain’t sure how long Grandpa was in Denver, but he passed through Fort Collins on his way to the Black Hills. So that’s where I’m goin’,” he concluded.

  “When are you leaving?” Stella asked.

  “First thing in the mornin’,” he answered.

  “Well, we need to set down and have a drink for old times’ sake,” Liz insisted. When Perley claimed that he didn’t want to take up their time and interfere with their prospects for earning a living, she smirked. “This is mostly the after-work crowd, men having a drink and a pinch or a poke before going home to their wives—like ol’ Broomfield over there. So, we won’t be making any money until later in the evening. Ain’t that right, Stella?”

  “Pretty much so,” Stella agreed. “Besides, we can let Cora keep ’em happy. She’s the queen of the old family men.”

  From the tone of her remark, Perley assumed that his two friends had not yet established a warm relationship with Cora.

  “She had one customer that wasn’t an old family man,” C.J. reminded them. Perley knew right away who he was referring to before C.J. continued. “The word I heard was, the sheriff let Brady Ennis outta jail this afternoon. I wouldn’t be surprised if he shows up here before the night’s over. He was pretty sweet on Cora.”

  Both women looked at once toward Perley. Liz said what they were both thinking. “He might be looking for the fellow that served him up some fried apple pie at Katie’s Diner.”

  Her remark brought a chuckle from all of them, even considering the possible consequences another meeting between Brady and Perley might create.

  “’Course, Brady couldn’t have any idea you’re back in town,” Liz was quick to add. “I’m sure Bill Snipe told him you’d left.”

  “He might not even recognize you if he was to see you,” Stella said. “He was pretty damn drunk when he walked into the diner. He might not remember any of us.”

  “Well, if I see him,” Perley said, “I sure ain’t gonna introduce myself. Let’s sit down and have that drink you suggested. I’m sleepin’ in the stable with my horses, and Tuttle said he was gonna be there a little later tonight, so I’ve got time before he locks the place up.”

  They took the bottle and glasses C.J. produced and moved over to a table near the corner of the room.

  When there was a lull at the bar, C.J. came over and stood by the table for a few minutes, in time to catch their conversation about their trip from Ogallala to Cheyenne. “Liz said you had some Injuns chasin’ you,” he commented.

  “We sure did,” Stella said, and she and Liz laughed. “Perley stole their horses while they were hiding in the trees, waiting to ambush us.”

  Perley shrugged, embarrassed. “I thought it was a good idea—thought it would slow ’em down. I swear, though, it didn’t slow ’em down much, did it?”

  “We got here with our scalps,” Liz declared. She started to laugh again but cut it off shortly when someone at the front door made her eyes open wide. “Oh, hell,” she gasped.

  Perley followed her gaze, to settle on the imposing bulk filling the doorway. All conversation at the table stopped as each one in turn discovered the intimidating mass that was Brady Ennis.

  Perley thought of the first time he saw Brady, in the darkened hallway upstairs. At the time, he appeared cl
oser kin to a buffalo than to a man. Perley hoped he would never have to cross his path again, yet here he was. There was nothing to do but wait to see what Brady was going to do and hope he would be able to react in some fashion to keep from getting his back broken.

  Brady paused at the door for a few moments, scanning the room. There was no doubt he was looking for someone, but his gaze skipped over the table where Perley and the two women sat, pausing for only a second before moving on. When he didn’t see who he searched for, he turned and walked toward the bar. C.J. hurried over to meet him.

  “What’ll it be?” C.J. asked.

  “Where’s Cora?” Brady responded.

  “Cora?” C.J. repeated, surprised. “She’s up in her room, eatin’ some supper. She oughta be down anytime, now.”

  “I’ll go up there,” Brady stated. Then, not waiting to see if C.J. had any objections, he turned and went directly for the stairs, ascending the steps two at a time.

  Astonished, the three at the table could only speculate on why he had not erupted in a rage when he saw them.

  “He doesn’t recognize you,” Stella declared. “He was so drunk that night he couldn’t even recognize you now. He’d have to get up real close, I bet.”

  “I ain’t got any plans to get up real close to him, I’ll tell you that,” Perley said.

  “I expect he’ll be up there for a while,” Liz speculated, “so we might as well take the time to enjoy our drinks.” She prepared to toss another shot down, but stopped when Cora appeared at the top of the stairs. “Oh, oh,” Liz murmured. “Now, what’s she up to?”

  Cora paid them no mind and walked down the stairs to get a bottle from C.J. at the bar.

  Liz laughed, “She had me worried there for a moment, but now I know Brady will be up there for the evening.” She grinned at Perley. “Looks like you ain’t gonna get the chance to rassle with a grizzly tonight after all.”