Damnation Valley

by William W. Johnstone

  Caught in a helpless situation, there was nothing Perley could do but sit there while Luke rifled through Billy’s packs. When he glanced at Billy, he saw no sign of concern in his face. Maybe he really hadn’t stolen their gold, but it sure seemed like his former partners were convinced that he had. “Ain’t no need to make a mess of my stuff just ’cause you was wrong,” Billy complained when Luke started throwing his possessions around in frustration.

  “Shut your mouth!” Jeb yelled at Billy. “Look in his saddle bags,” he said to Luke then.

  “I told you I ain’t got your gold,” Billy argued. “Looks to me like maybe you oughta be askin’ Luke where that dust is. All I wanted was to get the hell outta that creek after you shot that feller. I figured you and Luke could have my share.”

  Jeb shifted a suspicious eye in Luke’s direction. “I don’t reckon somethin’ like that mighta happened, could it, Luke? I mean, we was all drinkin’ kinda heavy that night. Last thing I remember before I passed out was you holdin’ that sack of dust and talkin’ about what you was gonna buy with your share. When I woke up the next mornin’, you was already up and Billy was gone.”

  “Hold on a minute!” Luke blurted out. “You’re lettin’ that lyin’ son of a bitch put crazy ideas in your head. Me and you been ridin’ together long enough for you to know I wouldn’t do nothin’ like that.”

  “You looked through all his packs and there weren’t no sack of gold dust,” Jeb reminded him. “Whaddaya suppose happened to it?”

  “How the hell do I know?” Luke shot back, then nodded toward Perley, who was still a spectator at this point. “Most likely it’s in his stuff. Billy musta put it on one of his packhorses.” He turned and started toward Perley’s belongings, stacked beside his bedroll.

  “This has gone as far as it’s goin’,” Perley said, getting to his feet. “You’ve got no call to go plunderin’ through my things like you did with Billy’s. Billy just hooked up with me last night and he wouldn’t likely just hand over five pounds of gold dust for me to tote for him, would he? You can take a look at what I’m carryin’, but I’ll help you do it, so you don’t go tearin’ up my packs like you did with Billy’s.”

  His statement caused them both to hesitate for a moment, surprised by his audacity. Then they both laughed at his obvious stupidity. “Mister,” Jeb informed him, “you ain’t got no say in what we’ll do. It was bad luck for you when you joined up with Billy Tuttle. I’m tired of jawin’ with both of you.” Then, without warning, he said, “Shoot ’em both, Luke.”

  “My pleasure,” Luke said and raised his shotgun to fire. Before he could cock the hammers back, he was doubled over by a .44 slug from Perley’s Colt. Jeb’s reaction was swift, but not fast enough to draw his pistol before Perley’s second shot slammed into his chest. He was already dead when his weapon cleared the holster and fired one wayward shot in Billy’s direction.

  Billy howled, grabbed his leg, and started limping around in a circle. “Damn, damn, damn . . .” He muttered over and over as he clutched his baggy trouser leg with both hands.

  Perley holstered his .44 and moved quickly to help him. “How bad is it? Let me give you a hand.”

  “It ain’t bad,” Billy insisted. “I can take care of it. You make sure them two are dead. I’ll take care of my leg.”

  “They’re both dead,” Perley said. “Now sit down and I’ll take a look at that wound.” He paused then when a peculiar sight caught his eye. “What tha—” was as far as he got when he saw a tiny stream of dust spraying on the toe of Billy’s boot, not understanding at once what he was seeing. When he realized what it was, he looked up to meet Billy’s gaze.

  “Looks like I sprung a leak,” Billy said, smiling sheepishly. “The son of a bitch shot a hole in my britches.” When Perley said nothing, but continued to stare in disbelief, Billy tried to divert his attention. “Man, you’re fast as greased lightning. You saved both our lives. I ain’t never seen anybody that fast with a handgun.”

  Perley’s gaze was still captured by a little pile of gold dust forming on the toe of Billy’s boot, with Billy hesitant to move his foot for fear of causing the gold to mix in the dirt beneath it. “You caused me to kill two men you stole gold from,” he said, not at all pleased by the fact.

  A little more apprehensive now that he had seen Perley’s skill with a gun, Billy countered. “Let’s not forget that they was fixin’ to shoot us. There weren’t no doubt about that. I saw ’em shoot a man at a placer mine and take that little five pound sack of dust. That’s when I decided that weren’t no partnership for me.”

  “So you cut out and took the gold with you,” Perley reminded him. “Looks to me like they had good reason to come after you.”

  “Well, they didn’t have no right to the gold,” Billy said, “’specially after they killed him for it.” When it was obvious that Perley was far from casual when it came to the taking of a man’s life, Billy tried to change his focus. “I reckon you’ve earned a share of the gold and I don’t mind givin’ it to you. I figure I’ve got about sixteen hundred dollars’ worth. That’ud make your share about eight hundred.” When there was still no positive reaction from Perley, he tried to make light of the situation. “And that ain’t countin’ the dust runnin’ outta my britches leg.” He hesitated to make a move, still not sure what Perley had in mind. “All right if I see if I can fix it?”

  “I reckon you might as well,” Perley finally said, not really sure what he should do about the situation he found himself in. He was still feeling the heavy responsibility for having killed two men, even knowing he had been given no choice. The one called Luke was preparing to empty both barrels of that shotgun. There was no time to think. “I don’t want any share in your gold,” he said. “Go ahead and take care of it.”

  Billy’s expression was enough to indicate that he was more than happy to hear that. He immediately unbuckled his belt and dropped his britches to reveal two cotton bags, one hanging beside each leg from a length of clothesline tied around his waist. Perley could hardly believe what he saw. Jeb’s wild shot had drilled a hole straight through Billy’s trouser leg and the cotton bag hanging inside. “What about their horses and guns?” Billy asked as he transferred the remaining dust in the damaged bag into the other one.

  “What about ’em?” Perley responded, still undecided what he should do with Billy.

  “I mean, hell, you killed ’em, both of ’em, so I reckon you’d be right in claimin’ you own all their belongin’s.” He glanced up quickly. “I sure as hell ain’t gonna give you no argument.”

  Perley took an extra few minutes to think it over while Billy was busy trying to recover every grain of dust that had poured through the hole. He had to admit that he didn’t know what to do about it—a thief stealing from another thief. The part that worried him was the killings he had been forced to commit and he blamed Billy for causing it. One thing he knew for sure was that he’d had enough of Billy Tuttle, so when he made his decision, he told Billy. “I ain’t ever operated outside the law, and I don’t reckon I’ll start now. Those two fellows were outlaws and you were ridin’ with ’em, so I reckon whatever they done, you were part of it. So you’re sure as hell an outlaw, too. I reckon this is where you and I part ways. You take your gold and the horses, and anything else on those two. If your daddy wasn’t Tom Tuttle, I might be inclined to turn you over to the sheriff back in Deadwood. But your pa doesn’t need to know you got on the wrong side of the law, so if you’ll go on back to Cheyenne and start livin’ an honest life, he’ll never hear about you bein’ mixed up with these outlaws from me. We’ll go our separate ways and forget about what happened here. Can I have your promise on that?”

  “Yessir, you sure do,” Billy answered in his most contrite manner. “I ’preciate the chance to get myself right with the law. I’ve sure as hell learned my lesson. If it weren’t for you, I’d most likely be dead right now, so you have my promise.” He hesitated for a few moments, then said, “I don’t
see no use in us splittin’ up, though. It looks to me like it’d be better for both of us to travel together for protection. Whaddaya say?”

  “I don’t think so, Billy,” Perley answered. “At least for me, I’ll be better alone. Good luck to you, though.”

  WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 300 books, including the series Preacher, the First Mountain Man, MacCallister, Luke Jensen, Bounty Hunter, Flintlock, Those Jensen Boys!, Savage Texas, Matt Jensen, the Last Mountain Man, and The Family Jensen. His thrillers include Tyranny, Stand Your Ground, Suicide Mission, and the upcoming Black Friday.

  Visit his website at www.williamjohnstone.net.

  Being the all-around assistant, typist, researcher, and fact-checker to one of the most popular western authors of all time, J. A. JOHNSTONE learned from the master, Uncle William W. Johnstone.

  The elder Johnstone began tutoring J.A. at an early age. After-school hours were often spent retyping manuscripts or researching his massive American Western History library as well as the more modern wars and conflicts. J.A. worked hard—and learned.

  “Every day with Bill was an adventure story in itself. Bill taught me all he could about the art of storytelling. ‘Keep the historical facts accurate,’ he would say. ‘Remember the readers—and as your grandfather once told me, I am telling you now: Be the best J. A. Johnstone you can be.’”