The Legend of Perley Gates

by William W. Johnstone

  Part of her excitement was due to her perception of the rescue, which Perley would have no knowledge of. In Lena’s world, before Perley came along, she was deemed to have no value, among her family or others who knew her. Now, for the first time, someone had risked his life to rescue her. And that had to mean he thought she was important enough to save. She had considered the fact that Perley might have followed them just to recover his packhorse and other property. But he had already recovered the horse and hidden it in the trees before he came to get her. He could have simply ridden away, but he didn’t—he came back for her. She knew she was mighty lucky to have crossed paths with Perley Gates. As she thought it, she couldn’t help adding, even with a name like that. She had no idea if Perley was man enough to go up against a brute like Mott Mason, but she knew he was not afraid to come after her, and that pleased her.

  “This looks like as good a spot as any,” he said when they approached a wide stream that cut a channel across the wagon road. “We’ll rest the horses here for a while, so you can start a fire and make some coffee if you want to.”

  He crossed the stream and rode up the bank a short distance before reining Buck to a stop and helping Lena down. “I ain’t expectin’ your friend to catch up with us with that one-horse wagon, but we’ll keep movin’ tonight, just in case he’s got wings on it.”

  Without knowing if anyone in Mason’s camp had alerted him to the missing girl before daylight, Perley could not say how far ahead they were. When he had retrieved his Winchester from beside the wagon seat, he had seen the two women sleeping in the wagon bed. At least, they appeared to be asleep, and they sounded no alarm, so he was inclined to believe he had all the lead he needed. Although not sure if Mason would come after Lena, Perley had to assume that he was intent upon continuing to Deadwood, so Perley decided he’d best keep an eye on his back trail. In an effort to maintain his lead, he was back in the saddle when he felt Buck and the sorrel were rested, even though it was still in the early hours of the morning.

  * * *

  The first rays of the sun found them approaching what appeared to be a small settlement—a mining town, by the look of it. By this time, they were both feeling the effects of a night on horseback without sleep. So, when Perley spotted a large tent with a sign that said EATS hanging on the tent pole, he decided it would benefit them both to see what was being served for breakfast.

  There were no horses tied out front of the tent, so Perley figured he and Lena were too early, but there was smoke coming from a stovepipe sticking up through the top of the tent. They dismounted and tried the makeshift wooden door.

  Inside, they found a rather large woman, wearing an apron and seated at the end of the one long table in the center of the tent. She was drinking a cup of coffee, and looked up in surprise to see them.

  “Well, good morning, folks. Are you two lost?”

  “I reckon you could say that,” Perley replied. There was a coffeepot sitting on one corner of a large iron stove at the rear of the tent. He motioned toward it and asked, “Any chance we could buy a cup of coffee from you?”

  She raised an eyebrow at that. “Why, sure you can. Are you looking for breakfast?” She got up to fetch a couple of cups.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Perley said. “Saw your sign out front.”

  “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m acting kinda strange. I ain’t seen a customer in a couple of days. Since you folks are strangers, you probably didn’t notice that almost all the tents and shacks on both sides of the creek are empty. It wasn’t long ago you’da had to stand in line outside my tent. Now the strike is in Deadwood, and I’m fixing to leave, myself. But I can rustle you up some breakfast, just as long as it’s pancakes you’re craving. I’m out of everything but some side meat and mixings for pancakes.” She shrugged as if helpless. “So what’ll it be?”

  “I think I’ll take pancakes,” Perley said with a grin. “How ’bout you, Lena?”

  “That sounds good to me,” she replied. “I think I’ll have pancakes, too.”

  The woman responded with a big laugh. “Good, sit yourselves down and I’ll rustle you up some of the finest pancakes on French Creek.” She went at once to get the coffeepot. “My name’s Mamie Dance,” she said. “Welcome to my diner. You folks might be the last two customers I serve before I close up and head to Deadwood Gulch.”

  “We’d be honored. Ain’t that right, Lena? Did you say that creek is French Creek?”

  Mamie nodded.

  “Ain’t French Creek where they made the first big strike?”

  “That’s a fact,” Mamie said.

  “And now it’s played out?” Perley asked.

  “Pretty much. There ain’t but a few left, and most of them are fixing to go.” She put some more wood in her stove and placed an iron skillet on top to heat up. “Lucky I got some lard left,” she muttered. “Honey,” she said to Lena, “see that jug on the sideboard? That’s pure maple syrup. You can set it on the table, if you wanna.”

  In a short while, Mamie served up two stacks of flapjacks, as she called them, and sat down to talk while they ate.

  “You folks never been in Hill City before, have you? That’s what they call the little town that sprung up here. You on your way to Deadwood, too?”

  “Reckon so,” Perley answered. “I guess we might as well join everybody else there.” He decided not to mention the fact that they were in a hurry since there might be somebody right behind them with evil intentions.

  “If all your customers are gone, how come you’re still here?” Lena asked.

  Mamie shrugged, as if hesitant to answer. “Well, I would be gone already, but I’ve gotta stay for a while ’cause I’m taking care of somebody who’s pretty bad off, and I can’t go and leave him. Without somebody to take care of him, he’d die for sure, and I reckon I can’t have that on my conscience.”

  “That’s too bad,” Lena said. “Have you got a place to go in Deadwood? You know somebody there?”

  “Oh, I sure do,” Mamie responded. “I’ve got a dandy place in Deadwood, where I’m gonna be cooking. It’s my son-in-law’s hotel.”

  Seeming to be interested, Lena asked another question. “But you gotta stay here to take care of somebody? Somebody in your family sick?”

  “No, he ain’t family—just a poor fellow down on his luck. He wouldn’t be at my place if he had anywhere else to go. He ain’t no kin of mine, but I ain’t got the heart to leave him to die.”

  “What’s ailin’ him?” Perley asked, interested now as well.

  “Gunshot,” Mamie answered.

  “Gunshot?” Perley responded. “How’d he get shot?”

  “According to what he says, him and his partner were going down French Creek to an old mining claim to get some gold that was hid there, but after they got there, they were jumped by outlaws. He said the men came up on ’em one night while they were asleep. They never had a chance. Those horrible men walked into their camp while they were sleeping and just started blazing away. Shot both of ’em, stole their horses and everything else they had, then left ’em for dead. He said his partner was dead, and he played dead till the two killers were gone.”

  “That is mighty hard luck, all right,” Perley said, slowly shaking his head. “How’d he end up with you?”

  “He said he just started walking toward Hill City and almost made it before he just gave out. I found him lying in the mud behind my shack when I went to the outhouse one morning. I thought he was dead, but he opened his eyes when I poked him on the shoulder.”

  “Where is he now?” Lena asked, since he was not in the tent.

  “In my shack, behind the tent,” Mamie said. “I made him as comfortable as I could. I didn’t know what else to do for him, and I had to keep my eye on my business. With so many folks abandoning this place, there’s people going through empty shacks, taking anything they find, and I didn’t want anybody hauling my stove off somewhere.” She gave them a helpless look. “I just look at him every nig
ht to see if he died yet—ain’t much else I can do for him. Try to feed him a little something, but I ain’t got any red meat or beans left to give him any strength.”

  “If he’s still alive,” Perley said, “I’ve got some deer meat, and beans, too, on my packhorse. I’d be glad to let you have some, and maybe you can build his blood back up to make him strong.” He knew he could not do otherwise, even with the knowledge that Mott Mason might be on his heels.

  Lena must have been thinking the same thing, for she gazed at him intently, seeming to hang on his every word. Perley looked back at her and nodded his head.

  “I’ll go with you and we’ll see if there’s anything I can do,” he said to Mamie. “Anyway, I’ll leave you some deer meat to cook up, ’cause I reckon you could use a little yourself.”

  “Mister, I’m mighty glad you came along!” Mamie exclaimed. “Let me put the padlock on my door, and we’ll go see how my patient is doing.”

  “Might be a good idea to lead the horses around back, too,” Perley told Lena, still thinking of Mott Mason and hoping that he had a big enough hangover to discourage him from following them.

  * * *

  Mamie brought them behind the tent to a small board shack. There was a shed and corral behind it that served as a shelter for one mule. Perley tied the horses to the corner post of the tiny porch, and he and Lena followed Mamie inside.

  The wounded man lay on a pallet of quilts near the fireplace. Dead or alive, it was hard to tell, so Perley knelt down close to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. The man opened his eyes and tried to draw away.

  “Easy, there, old-timer,” Perley said softly, for he could see that the man was up there in years. His gray hair and whiskers were evidence of many winters. “I ain’t gonna hurt you. I wanna take a look at your wounds. Maybe I can help.” He rolled the man gently over so he could inspect his wounds. “One in the chest and looks like another’n in his back.” Perley looked up at Mamie, and she nodded her agreement. “What’s his name?”

  “He said his name was Pearly,” Mamie answered. “I don’t know what his last name is.”

  Perley didn’t speak for a long moment. In fact, he couldn’t speak. He felt as if the blood was rushing away from his brain. Puzzled by his apparent state of shock, Mamie looked from him to Lena, only to see the same look of amazement in her eyes.

  “Gates,” Perley finally blurted. “His name is Perley Gates, same as mine.”

  This, in turn, shocked Mamie, leaving her to stand with her mouth open but no words to come out.

  “He’s my grandpa, and he’s the only reason I came out here to these mountains.”

  Feeling a panic settling into his brain, Perley knew that everything depended upon saving his grandfather. He could not believe that fate would be so unkind as to let him find his kin, then take him away before the old man knew who Perley was.

  Lena, a stunned spectator to that point, stepped in then. She placed her hand on the old man’s forehead.

  “Why, hell, he’s burnin’ up with fever. We need to cool him down. No wonder he’s actin’ outta his head.” She turned to Perley, then to Mamie. Since neither one of them seemed to know what to do, she took over. “Perley, if you’ll take that bucket over there and go to the creek for some cool water, we’ll use it to cool him down. Mamie, have you got some rags we can use?”

  While both Perley and Mamie jumped to do her bidding, she pulled the quilts away from the old man and unbuttoned his shirt. Next, she pulled his boots off and removed a pair of socks that looked like they had had a birthday on his feet. Inside one of the socks, there was a flap of deerskin wrapped around his foot, leading Lena to believe he must have sprained it. When Perley returned with the bucket of water, Lena cleaned away the dried blood from the bullet holes.

  “They’re all red and puffy-lookin’,” she said. “He needs a doctor.”

  Since there was none available, they decided to do what they could to bring his temperature down, then see if he had the constitution to survive the gunshots.

  Perley and Lena continued to apply cool rags to the old man’s forehead, feet, and chest for several hours, until Perley turned the job over to Mamie while he went to take care of his horses. He apologized to Buck for not removing his saddle until then and walked both horses down to the creek to drink.

  While he stood on the bank, watching them, his thoughts strayed from his grandfather for a few moments and drifted back to Mott Mason. Whether Mason was bent on tracking him down, or was just following the stage road to Deadwood, he would no doubt pass Mamie’s tent, just as Perley had. But with the lock on the door, Mason should have no reason to stop there. He should drive straight through, depending upon what time of day or night he reached Hill City. And that was the one thing Perley couldn’t accurately predict, but he decided he would have to be damn unlucky if Mason stopped to camp in the town.

  Returning his thoughts to his grandfather, he would graze his horses on what little grass was left on the bank of the creek and he would sleep with them that night. Lena could stay inside the shack with Mamie and his grandpa, and Perley would see if there was any improvement in the morning.

  When he went back inside to tell them, he was pleased to find Lena confident that the old man was finally showing signs of cooling down.

  “We’ll get his fever down,” she said. “He opened his eyes a little while ago, and I swear, I thought he was gonna say something.”

  Mamie smiled and added, “I believe Lena’s got a real gift for healing. He might come around after all, and I sure wouldn’ta believed it this morning when I left him.” She paused, a serious expression on her face. “If you came all the way from Texas to find him, I just know the Lord wouldn’t let you come this close and not let your grandpa know you.”

  * * *

  It was early the next morning when Perley came inside, after sleeping near his horses all night. He found Lena dozing in a rocking chair near the fireplace and Mamie asleep in her bed. He thought to make a fire in the fireplace to fix some coffee, but decided to take a look at his grandfather first. The old man looked peaceful enough—so much so, in fact, that Perley thought he might be dead.

  A few seconds later, he was startled when the old man’s eyes suddenly snapped open and he demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

  When Perley seemed too surprised to answer, Lena, having been awakened by the old man’s outburst, answered for him.

  “He’s your grandson!” She got up out of the rocking chair and came over to place her hand on his forehead. “That fever’s gone.”

  “Grandson?” the old man echoed. “I ain’t got no grandson.”

  “Maybe you ain’t,” Perley said. “What’s your name?”

  “Perley Gates,” the old man replied defiantly. “What’s your’n?”

  Perley smiled. “Perley Gates, same as yours—so, like it or not, I’m your grandson, and I’ve had a devil of a time chasin’ you over half the country.”

  “What for?” the old man asked.

  “So I could tell you you’ve got a grandson and I was named after you,” Perley insisted.

  There followed a pause while the old man strained to think over the possibility. Finally, he put it all together.

  “You’re Nathaniel’s boy?” His head was swimming again, and this time not from the fever. When he had left Texas after his wife died, Nathaniel was a baby.

  “That’s right,” Perley replied, “one of ’em. Nathaniel had three boys—Rubin, John, and me. He had a girl, too. Her name is Esther. Your daughter-in-law’s name is Rachel—that’s my mother—and she sent me to find you to tell you that your son died when he took sick after gettin’ bucked off a horse.”

  It was almost too much to swallow for the old man. “My son . . . that baby . . . is dead?”

  “Yes,” Perley said. “So, Grandpa, Mama sent me to tell you that, and to let you know that he thought enough of you to name me after you.”

  The old man mulled that over for a long mo
ment, before suddenly cocking his eyes suspiciously at the young man, giving him this response: “Well, young feller, I’ve got to admit, that’s one helluva story, but I have some bad news for you. That big cache of gold dust hid under a rock in French Creek turned out to be a corker of a tale, too. There weren’t no gold, and it cost the life of my partner and damn-near killed me to find that out.” He smirked at Perley and asked, “Am I still your grandpa?”

  Perley didn’t answer right away. He paused while he fished for something in his vest pocket. In a moment, he held a velvet pouch in his hand and offered it to the old man. “Has it been too long for you to remember this?”

  His grandpa took the small blue velvet pouch from him, and his fingers began to tremble slightly as he pulled the silver locket from inside, fumbling as he opened it.

  “Mama said that’s the locket you gave my grandmother when you asked her to marry you,” Perley said softly, as tears began to form in the old man’s eyes.

  “Marcy, darlin’,” the old man mumbled softly as the tears found their way down the wrinkled face. “I couldn’t stay there after you were gone.”

  “Well, do you think you can eat somethin’ now?” Lena sang out, wiping a tear from her eye. She was afraid if she didn’t break the mood, she might end up bawling, and she didn’t think that would be good for her image. “It’s past time to start some breakfast, and we’ve got deer meat and beans on the menu.”

  “And I’ll bake some biscuits,” Mamie volunteered. In the drama of the previous moments, no one had noticed when she sat up in bed and dried her eyes with a corner of the sheet.

  * * *

  The mood changed after that first tearful meeting of grandfather and grandson to one of celebration. It was considerably more positive when it became apparent that, although the old man’s wounds were grave, they evidently had not hit any internal organs. He was eating for the first time since Mamie found him behind her outhouse, and that was a positive sign. Since there was no surgeon available, however, he would be carrying the slugs in the muscles of his chest and back permanently.