The Legend of Perley Gates

by William W. Johnstone

  In his panic to escape the angry ranch hands and the stagecoach guard, he didn’t notice a different saddle on the bay. He was within six feet of the horse when Perley, Bowman, and Baskin all popped up from their hiding places, with three weapons aimed at him.

  At that point, Bowman took charge of the arrest. “Throw your hands up or we’ll shoot you down!” he commanded.

  Murdock hesitated, raising his hands less than shoulder-high beside him. He looked from face to face, studying the three men he had buffaloed so easily just minutes before. He couldn’t see a killer’s face on any of the three. “All right,” he said, calm now after he had weighed his chances. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna step up on that crazy horse and ride outta here, and nobody gets shot.”

  “That horse is gonna throw you again,” Perley said confidently.

  “If he does, I’ll put a bullet in his head,” Murdock replied, getting edgy again when sounds of men coming toward them reached his ears.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Bowman said. “You’re under arrest for trying to hold up the stage.”

  “And horse stealin’,” Perley added.

  Murdock glanced again at the men confronting him. He decided he liked his odds, so he turned and faced Bowman. “The hell I am,” he swore and went for his gun, only to drop it a split second later when a bullet from Perley’s .44 smashed his wrist and he let out a yowl of pain.

  Bowman stood there, frozen by the threat upon his life.

  Perley walked over from the water barrel he had taken cover behind and relieved Murdock of his other pistol. “Now we’ll walk on back to the street—maybe do something to fix that wrist,” he said. “I don’t know if there’s a doctor here or not, but maybe you oughta wrap your bandana around it to slow that bleedin’ down.”

  “That was a helluva shot,” Baskin said, finding his voice again after a short period. “I mighta shot, too, but in my hurry to get my rifle, I forgot the cartridges. If you hadda missed, I mighta hit him in the head with it, though.” He nodded slowly. “That was one helluva shot,” he repeated and shook his head, still thinking about it. “’Course, you mighta been aimin’ at his chest, I reckon.”

  “Mighta been,” Perley said. He saw no need to explain that when he saw Murdock draw his pistol, he visualized Murdock’s moving hand, much as he had the striking rattlesnake back in Paris. And it was the hand he was trying to kill.

  They were met in the lane that served as a street by a sizable gathering of people, including most of the stage passengers, who had gone inside the hotel dining room. Willis Adams, the ranch foreman, took their prisoner into custody and had a couple of his men march him and his partner to a smokehouse for safekeeping until the cavalry patrol returned from Rawhide Buttes.

  “That was about the dumbest attempt to hold up a stage that I’ve ever heard of,” Adams remarked after Murdock and Curly were locked in the smokehouse. “Right in the middle of the station, where any number of men could have shot ’em, instead of out along the road somewhere. Who shot that one in the wrist?”

  “This young man right here,” John Bowman spoke up. “Perley Gates is his name, and he saved my life, because that fellow, that Murdock fellow, was fixin’ to shoot me.”

  “Well, good work, Perley,” Adams said and stepped up to shake his hand. “I haven’t seen you around here before. You passin’ through? Ain’t by any chance lookin’ for a job, are you?”

  Perley said that he wasn’t, then went on to explain why he was on his way to Deadwood.

  “Well,” Adams continued, “I expect Bill Daley and Slim Cotton will want to thank you for your help. They’re the driver and guard for the stage company.”

  Perley shook hands with each of them, and Adams said, “After you find your grandpa, if you need work, I can always use a man like you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Perley said, “but I expect I’ll go back to Texas.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you where you’re gonna eat supper tonight,” Bowman said. “At the hotel, with my wife and daughter and myself.”

  “I wouldn’t wanna cause any extra bother for your wife, Mr. Bowman. I’ve got plenty of supplies to cook my supper.”

  “Nonsense,” Bowman insisted. “She’d be mad at me if I didn’t invite you to supper. If you don’t accept my invitation, I’ll have Willis, here, lock you up with those two for insulting my wife.”

  Perley grinned. “In that case, I reckon I’ll accept the invitation, but I’ll need to take care of my horses.”

  “You can leave ’em in the stable,” Adams offered. “We’ll give ’em water and oats, and you can pick ’em up in the mornin’ whenever you’re ready to leave.”

  “Much obliged,” Perley said. “You mind if I sleep in the stable with ’em?”

  “Better than that,” Bowman said before Adams could reply. “You’ll be stayin’ in the hotel tonight as my guest.”

  A spectator to the conversation to that point, Ralph Baskin spoke up. “And I’ll shoe your packhorse first thing in the mornin’—no charge.”

  “Well, you can’t beat that,” Perley said, overwhelmed by the outpouring of generosity on everybody’s part. “I’m much obliged to all of you, but I’m able to pay my share.”

  “No such a thing,” Bowman replied. “I’m sure you can, but you hadn’t planned to, so just accept our gratitude for helping us out. Now, you go on and take your horses to the stable, and bring your saddlebags and whatever you need to stay overnight. Then come on back to the hotel, and I’ll fix you up with a room for the night. After that, we’ll go to supper.”

  “I ’preciate it,” Perley said and walked back to the blacksmith shop with Baskin to get his horses.

  Behind them, Bowman and Adams watched them walk away.

  “It’s too bad that young man isn’t looking for a job,” Bowman remarked. “You could definitely use a man like him. He knows horses. I saw a demonstration of that when he calmed that ornery horse Murdock was riding. Probably knows cattle, too, since he said home was a cattle ranch in Texas. But more than that, he’s the best I’ve ever seen with a gun, and when it counts. I swear, Willis, I thought I was a dead man. That son of a bitch drew on me—had his gun already out—and Perley shot it outta his hand before he could pull the trigger. No, sir, there’s a lot more to Perley Gates than meets the eye. He just happens to have that innocent look about him.”

  Adams shrugged. “You heard me offer him a job, but he didn’t seem to be interested in it. He might have a wife and young’uns back in Texas. Did you ask him?” Bowman shook his head, so Adams shrugged again. “Why don’t you and Lucille and Martha work on him tonight? Maybe you can convince him there’s opportunities for young men out here.”

  They stood there a few moments longer until Perley and Baskin disappeared around the corner of the forge.

  “Well,” Adams concluded, “I’ve gotta get back to work before my men think it’s a holiday.” He started toward the barn, then stopped and turned around. “Perley Gates—that’s a helluva name, ain’t it? Wonder how many barroom fights that’s started?” He turned back again, not waiting for Bowman’s answer.

  * * *

  Perley couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty when he showed up at the hotel a little while later, carrying his rifle and saddlebags. There was no one at the small desk in the foyer, but he saw a bell on the desk, so he rang it a couple of times.

  A gray-haired man came from the hallway and, upon seeing him, asked, “Are you Mr. Gates?” Perley confessed that he was, and the man said, “Welcome. Mr. Bowman said to show you to your room—if you’ll just follow me.”

  He turned and led Perley back down the hall. Stopping at the last door before another one leading outside, he said, “This room is close to the washroom, if you’re wanting to clean up—just outside that door and about five yards away. If the door’s open, feel free to use it. Mr. Bowman said he’d meet you in the dining room at six o’clock.”

  “Much obliged,” Perley said, already enjo
ying the regal treatment he was receiving, something he was not at all accustomed to.

  It was after five o’clock, confirmed by his railroad pocket watch, but there was still time to take advantage of the washroom, so he got his clean shirt, underwear, and socks out of his saddlebags, as well as his shaving mug and razor, and went at once to the washroom. He had not planned to change into clean clothes for another couple of days, but considering the occasion, he felt it was called for. The door to the washroom was open, with a sign on it that read IN USE, so he went inside and closed it behind him.

  After a good scrubbing, he toweled off and emptied his bathwater into a large square hole in the floor beside the tub that seemed to be a good place to get rid of it. Then he pumped a bucket of water and placed it on the small iron stove where he had found it, assuming that the next bather would fill the tub from the pump, then warm the water with that on the stove, just as he had. Clean-shaven and freshly scrubbed, he felt ready to dine with Bowman and his wife.

  The dining room was a cozy room with a stone fireplace at one end, not surprising to Perley, since it was a small hotel. There was a long table in the center, which occupied a large portion of the room, with two smaller tables with four chairs each, close to the fireplace. There were only three people at the long table, since most of the diners had been there at five when the dining room opened for supper.

  Seated at one of the small tables, he saw John Bowman and two women. Upon spotting Perley, Bowman waved to signal him. Remembering his hat then, Perley removed it and proceeded to join them.

  “Perley,” Bowman began, “we’re glad to have you join us. This is my wife, Lucille, and my daughter, Martha.”

  “Ma’am . . . ma’am,” Perley responded, nodding to each of the women in turn before he pulled the chair out and sat down.

  “Ladies,” Bowman announced, “this is Mr. Perley Gates.”

  Perley detected the faint trace of a grin on the young lady’s face, although she struggled to hide it.

  Lucille Bowman, however, maintained a passive reception to his name. “We’re so glad you could join us, Mr. Gates. My husband tells me we owe you our thanks for saving his life.”

  Perley flushed a soft shade of crimson. “Why, no, ma’am,” he stuttered. “I just helped your husband and Mr. Baskin a little bit.”

  “You’re too modest, Mr. Gates,” she replied. “John told us all about it.”

  He was saved from having to reply when a woman came in from the kitchen carrying a tray with four serving bowls on it and placed them on the table. Perley realized then that Mrs. Bowman had not cooked supper for him as he had at first assumed. He felt stupid for not having guessed that Bowman was the owner of the hotel. The next few minutes were busy with the passing of the bowls of potatoes, beans, corn, and a platter of pork chops, along with fresh, hot cornbread. Except for the meal at Steiner’s house, it was a great deal more food than he had been accustomed to eating since leaving the Triple-G almost three months ago. It surpassed anything offered at the occasional diner he had happened upon on his journey to find his grandfather.

  Perley cautioned himself at once to control his urge to dive right in, lest they think him uncivilized. Resisting the desire to pick up the pork chop with his fingers and gnaw the meat away, he tried to cut it away using his knife and fork like the ladies did.

  Then Mrs. Bowman suggested, “Tell us about your family in Texas.”

  “Not much to tell,” he said. “My pa just died, but my ma’s alive, and my sister and two brothers live on the ranch.” He nodded toward Martha. “I’ve got a sister-in-law named Martha. She’s my brother John’s wife. My older brother Rubin’s wife is named Lou Ann.”

  “But you’re not married?”Lucille said.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Martha was the first to notice his discomfort. “I think Perley would like to enjoy this fine supper Grace has prepared for us,” she announced. “Let’s dig in and eat before we let it get cold.”

  “Martha’s right,” her mother said. “Let’s let the man eat.” She had found out what she wanted to know anyway.

  They had finished the meal and the apple pie when John Bowman started talking about his plans for Hat Creek Ranch and the opportunities that would surely be available there for any enterprising young man. Perley suddenly felt a chill down his spine when he recalled a similar pitch about Fort Collins, Colorado.

  He immediately glanced at Martha, but could see no resemblance to thirteen-year-old Ethel Steiner. He could not guess Martha’s age, but knew it was considerably older than thirteen. He told himself that he was in a panic over nothing. Martha Bowman was a handsome young woman. She would have no problem finding a husband, unlike poor homely Ethel, so he put the notion out of his head. When he took another glance at Martha, her look of boredom told him he might as well. She surprised him, however, when she interrupted her father.

  “You’re probably boring Perley to death, talking about Hat Creek,” Martha said. “Perley, why don’t you pick up your coffee and we’ll go out on the porch where it’s cool, so Grace and her girl can clean off the table. She’s too polite to tell us to get out of the dining room, so she can get through sometime tonight.”

  “Of course—you’re right,” her mother said. “You two young folks go out and enjoy the porch. It’s time we old folks went upstairs.”

  It was obvious by his expression that her husband was not finished with his plans for the future of Hat Creek, but he managed a gracious smile and a warm good-night.

  Perley thanked them for their hospitality, then followed Martha to the porch, coffee cup in hand. She led him to one side and a pair of rocking chairs, laughing at his efforts to sit down without spilling his coffee.

  They talked about the weather and the summer season for a few minutes, before Martha asked, “Is there a girl waiting for you back in Texas, Perley?”

  The question surprised him, but he could read nothing in her face but idle curiosity. “No, no girl,” he answered. “There was one I thought I was interested in, but it turned out I wasn’t. I reckon right now I ain’t got time to think about a girl.” He told her about his feelings of responsibility for finding his grandfather, to fulfill a task that his mother thought important.

  “Do you think it’s important?” Martha asked. “’Cause if you don’t, you sure have ridden a long way from Texas looking for a grandfather you’ve never seen before.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” Perley was quick to reply. “I surely do think it’s important. My father wanted to bring his father back into the Gates family, and I aim to find my grandpa to tell him that.”

  She studied his face while he spoke of his father and the Triple-G Ranch in Texas, and decided that the shy, innocent man was a disarming façade for a much deeper man within.

  There’s more to Perley Gates than meets the eye, she told herself, and I’m sure he’s not even aware of it himself. Maybe it’s because of that silly name he’s wearing.

  “I expect I’d best turn in now,” Perley said when darkness began to descend upon the Hat Creek Valley. “I’ll have to be on my way in the mornin’. I’ve really enjoyed talkin’ with you, but I don’t wanna overstay my welcome. I’ll take my cup back to the kitchen.”

  “Give it to me. I’ll take it back for you,” she said.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said and handed her the cup.

  “When are you going to stop calling me ma’am?”

  “Right now, I expect.”

  She laughed. “Good. I was beginning to think I must look like an old lady.”

  “No, ma’am,” he said before he caught himself. “I mean, no, Martha, you don’t look like an old lady—not by a lot.” Feeling the ice was broken now, he ventured to ask, “How come you ain’t married? Are all the men around this place blind or just plain stupid?”

  “Now you’re starting to ask the questions that my father asks,” she replied with a laugh. “The truth is, the right man hasn’t come along yet, and I’ll die an old m
aid before I marry the wrong one.” She got up from her chair.

  Feeling that to be a signal that the visit was over, he jumped up, too. “I enjoyed meetin’ you, Martha, and I hope the right man comes along pretty soon.”

  “I’m in no hurry,” she said. “I enjoyed meeting you, too, Perley. I hope we’ll see you again when you’re back this way, and good luck with your search for your grandfather.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, moving quickly to hold the door for her. He was baffled by the little impatient smile she gave him, unaware that he had called her ma’am again.

  Eager to try out the hotel bed, he went to the outhouse, then went straight to his room. Never one to have trouble going to sleep, he lay awake for what seemed a long time, thinking about his conversation with Martha Bowman. Some young fellow will be lucky to throw a rope on that little lady, he thought before drifting off.

  CHAPTER 14

  The hotel bed proved to be a comfortable one. In his small room on the first floor, he could hear the sounds of breakfast preparations in the kitchen, and he was immediately gripped by near panic when he saw the time. He had not planned to sleep so late, and he nearly fell on his face in an effort to get into his trousers and boots. Sleeping late was akin to pure laziness, in his opinion, and he was anxious lest someone catch him abed at this late hour. With that in mind, he was intent upon getting his clothes on, grabbing his rifle and his saddlebags, and vacating the room before anyone saw him.

  He should have already been to the stable to pick up his horses and take them to Baskin’s blacksmith shop. Baskin is probably wondering where the hell I am, he thought as he slowly turned the doorknob and eased the door open a crack. Peeking through the opening, he could see down the hall, and he was immediately relieved to see it empty. So, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the hallway, being extra careful not to let his rifle bump on the doorjamb.

  He wasn’t aware of her presence until he closed the door and turned to go out the washroom door.