She chuckled delightedly and reached over to tweak Sonny’s cheek. “You’re awful sweet, but still a little young. I’ll keep my eye on you, though.” She went to the kitchen to get their food, leaving the blushing young ranch hand to recover.
“She’s something, ain’t she?” John asked after seeing Sonny’s embarrassment. “Can’t take a thing she says seriously.” He thought at once of Perley, who had made that mistake and suffered his disappointment. Further thoughts on the subject were interrupted when Becky Morris came in from the kitchen.
“Afternoon, John,” Becky greeted him. “Lucy said you were here.” She greeted Sonny as well, but she didn’t know his name. “It’s been a while since any of the Triple-G men have stopped in. Perley used to come by every time he was in town, but I haven’t seen him in a long time now. Is he all right?”
“Perley’s been gone for a good while now,” John answered. “I just got a telegram from him this mornin’ from Dakota Territory. Said he’s on his way home.”
“Oh, well, maybe he’ll come in to see us when he gets back,” Becky said.
“I’m sure he will.” John couldn’t help wondering if Perley had taken proper notice of Becky Morris. Shy and gentle, unlike Lucy Tate, Becky looked more the woman a man should invest his life with. He might be wrong, but John suspected he detected a wistful tone in her voice when she’d asked about Perley.
Before they were finished, Beulah Walsh came out to visit. John assured her that her reputation as a cook was still deserved, as far as he was concerned. He paid for his and Sonny’s meal, and got up to leave. “We’ve gotta stop by Patton’s before we go back to the ranch. Sonny’s gotta have a shot of that rotgut whiskey before he leaves town.”
“I never said that,” Sonny insisted. “You were the one that said we’d go to the saloon.”
“Don’t let him bother you, sweetie,” Lucy said and gave him another tweak on his cheek. “I know how you heavy drinkers need a little shooter after you eat.”
“What did you tell her that for?” Sonny asked as soon as they were outside. “Now she thinks I’m a drunk.”
“I doubt it,” John replied.
* * *
Moving back down the short street to Patton’s Saloon, they tied the horses to the rail and went inside.
Benny Grimes, the bartender, called out a “Howdy” as soon as they walked in the door. “John Gates, I swear, I thought you mighta gave up drinkin’ for good.”
“How do, Benny?” John greeted him. “Might as well have. We ain’t had much time to get into town lately. Ain’t that right, Sonny?”
“That’s a fact,” Sonny agreed and picked up the shot glass Benny slid over to him. He raised it, turned toward John, and said, “Here’s hopin’ Perley has a safe trip home.” He downed it with a quick toss, anxious to get it over with. He was not a drinker by habit and took a drink of whiskey now and then only to avoid having to explain why he didn’t care for it.
“Well, I’ll sure drink to that,” John said and raised his glass.
“Me, too.” Benny poured himself one. After they tossed the whiskey down, he asked, “Where is he?”
“Way up in Dakota Territory,” John said, “and we just got word he’s on his way home, so we need to let the folks hear the news.” He had one more drink, then he and Sonny headed back to the Triple-G.
* * *
The man John Gates had wished a safe trip home earlier in the day was seated a few yards from a crystal-clear waterfall. It was a good bit off the trail he had been following, but he’d had a feeling the busy stream he had crossed might lead to a waterfall. As high up as he was on the mountain, it stood to reason the stream would soon come to a cliff. It pleased him to find out he had been right, and it had been worth his while to have seen it. It was a trait that Perley Gates had undoubtedly inherited from his grandfather—an obsession for seeing what might lie on the other side of the mountain. And it was the reason he found himself in the Black Hills of Dakota Territory on this late summer day—that and the fact that he was not married and his brothers were. It didn’t matter if he rode all the way to hell and who knows where. There wasn’t any wife waiting for him to come home, so he had been the obvious pick to go in search of his grandfather.
His grandfather, for whom he was named, was buried in the dark mountains not far from where Perley sat drinking the stout black coffee he favored. He felt a strong kinship with him, even though he had not really known the man, having never met him until a short time before he passed away. Even so, that was enough time for the old man to determine that he was proud to have his young grandson wear his name, Perley Gates. The old man had been one of the lucky ones who struck it rich in the Black Hills gold rush before an outlaw’s bullet brought his life to an end. Determined to make restitution to his family for having abandoned them, he hung on long enough to extract a promise from his grandson to take his gold back to Texas.
The gold dust had been right where his grandfather had said it would be. Perley had recovered four canvas sacks from under a huge rock before he’d been satisfied there were no more. With no scales to weigh the sacks, he guessed it to be ten pounds per sack. At the present time, gold was selling in Deadwood at a little over three hundred and thirty dollars a pound. If his calculations were correct, he was saddled with a responsibility to deliver over thirteen thousand dollars in gold dust to Texas, more than eight hundred miles away. It was not a task he looked forward to. The gold rush had brought every robber and dry-gulcher west of Omaha to Deadwood Gulch, all with an eye toward preying on those who had worked to bring the gold out of the streams. Perley’s problem was how to transport his treasure without attracting the watchful eye of the outlaws. It would be easier to convert the dust to paper money, but he was not confident he would get a fair exchange from the bank in Deadwood, because of the inflation there.
To add to his concerns, he had accumulated five extra horses during his time in the Black Hills and he didn’t want the bother of driving them all the way to Texas with no one to help him. With forty pounds of dust to carry, he decided to keep one of the horses to use as a second packhorse. His packhorse could carry the load along with his supplies, but with the load divided onto two horses, he could move a lot faster in the event he had to. His favorite of the extra horses would be the paint gelding that his grandfather had ridden. The old man had loved that horse, maybe as much as Perley loved Buck, so he didn’t feel right about selling it.
With Custer City and Hill City reduced almost to ghost towns, he decided to ride back to Deadwood to see if he could sell the other four. Deadwood wasn’t a good market for selling horses. Cheyenne would be a better bet, or maybe Hat Creek Station, for that matter, but he figured he hadn’t paid anything for them, so he might as well let them go cheap.
With that settled, he packed up and started back to Deadwood.
* * *
“Evenin’. Looks like you’re needin’ to stable some horses,” Franklin Todd greeted Perley when he drew up before his place of business.
“Evenin’,” Perley returned. “Matter of fact, I’m lookin’ to sell four of ’em if I can get a reasonable price. I’m fixin’ to head back to Texas, and I don’t wanna lead a bunch of horses back with me.”
Todd was at once alerted to the prospects of acquiring four horses at little cost, but he hesitated for a moment, stroking his chin as if undecided. “Which four?” he finally asked.
Perley indicated the four and Todd paused to think some more.
“I really ain’t buyin’ no horses right now, but I’ll take a look at ’em.” Todd took his time examining the four horses, then finally made an offer of ten dollars each.
Perley wasn’t really surprised by the low offer and countered with a price of fifty dollars for all four.
Todd didn’t hesitate to agree. “These horses ain’t stolen, are they?” he asked as he weighed out the payment.
“Not till now,” Perley answered.
With an eye toward disguising fo
ur sacks of gold dust, he left Todd’s and walked his horses past a saloon to a general merchandise establishment.
“Can I help you with something?” the owner asked when Perley walked in.
“I’m just lookin’ to see if there’s anything I need,” Perley answered and quickly scanned the counters and shelves while taking frequent glances out the door at his horses at the rail. In the process of trying to keep an eye on his horses, his attention was drawn to several large sacks stacked near the door. “What’s in those sacks?” He pointed to them.
“Probably nothing you’d be looking for,” the owner replied. “Something I didn’t order. Came in with a load of merchandise from Pierre. It’s about four hundred pounds of seed corn. I don’t know where it was supposed to go, but it sure as hell wasn’t Deadwood. There ain’t a level piece of ground for farming anywhere in the Black Hills. I tried to sell it to Franklin Todd at the stable for horse feed. Even he didn’t want it.”
Perley walked over to an open bag and looked inside. “I might could use some of it. Whaddaya askin’ for it?”
Too surprised to respond right away, the owner hesitated before asking, “How much are you thinking about?”
Perley said he could use a hundred pounds of it.
The owner shrugged and replied, “I don’t know. Two dollars?”
“I could use some smaller canvas bags, too, four of ’em. You got anything like that?”
With both merchant and customer satisfied they had made a good deal, Perley threw his hundred-pound sack of seed corn across the back of one of his packhorses and started back toward Custer City. Although already late in the afternoon, he preferred to camp in the hills outside of Deadwood, considering what he carried on his packhorses.
He rode for a good nine or ten miles before stopping. When he made camp that night, he placed a ten-pound sack of gold dust in each of the twenty-five-pound sacks he had just bought, and filled in around it with seed corn. When he finished, he was satisfied that his dust was disguised about as well as he could hope for, and the corn didn’t add a lot of weight with the amount necessary to fill the sacks.
He downed the last gulp of coffee from his cup and got to his feet. “Well, I can’t sit here and worry about it all night,” he announced to Buck, the big bay gelding grazing noisily a few yards away. “You don’t give a damn, do ya?”
“That horse ever answer you back?”
Startled, Perley stepped away from the fire, grabbing his rifle as he dived for cover behind a tree, searching frantically for where the voice had come from. It didn’t sound very far away.
“Whoa! Hold on a minute, feller,” the voice exclaimed. “Ain’t no need for that there rifle.”
“I’ll decide that after you come outta your hidin’ place,” Perley responded and cranked a cartridge into the cylinder of the Winchester.
“Hold on,” the voice came back again. “I didn’t mean to surprise you like that. I shoulda sang out a little sooner. I was just passin’ by on the trail up there on the ridge and I saw your fire, so I thought I’d stop and say howdy.” A short pause followed, then he said, “It always pays to be careful to see what kinda camp you’re lookin’ at before you come a-ridin’ in. I’m comin’ out, so don’t take a shot at me, all right?”
“All right,” Perley answered. “Come on out.” He watched cautiously as his visitor emerged from the darkness of the trees above the creek, alert for any sign of movement that might indicate there were others with him. When he felt sure the man was alone, he eased the hammer back down, but still held the rifle ready to fire. Leading a dun gelding with a mule following on a rope, his surprise guest approached the fire. “You’re travelin’ these back trails pretty late at night, ain’tcha?” Perley asked.
“Reckon so,” the man replied, “but with all the outlaws ridin’ these trails lookin’ for somebody to rob, it pays for a man alone to travel some at night.” He looked around at the loaded packs and the horses grazing close by. “Looks like you’re gettin’ ready to travel, too, from the looks of your camp. I smelled your fire from the ridge back there. Thought maybe I might get a cup of coffee, but I see you’re ’bout ready to pack up.”
“I was thinkin’ about it,” Perley said. “Where you headin’? Deadwood?”
“Nope, the other way. I’ve seen Deadwood. I’m ready to go back to Cheyenne.”
Perley studied the young man carefully for a few moments. A young man, close to his own age, he figured. There was nothing unusual about him, unless you counted the baggy britches he wore, that looked to be a couple of inches short, and the shirt that looked a size too big. Perley decided he was no threat. “Well, I’ve got plenty of coffee, so I reckon I can fix you up with a cup. What about supper? You had anything to eat?”
“As a matter of fact, I ain’t. I had that thought in mind when I caught sight of your camp. I’d be much obliged. My name’s Billy Tuttle.”
“Perley Gates.” He waited for the man to ask the name again, which was the usual response. When he didn’t, Perley said, “Take care of your animals and I’ll make us a pot of coffee. It’s kinda late to go any farther tonight, anyway, so I think I’ll just stay here. You like venison? ’Cause that’s what I’m cookin’ for supper.”
Billy said that would suit him just fine. He’d been living on sowbelly and little else for the past couple of days.
Perley soon decided there was nothing to fear from his surprise guest. As he had said, he was focused on getting back to his home in Cheyenne.
Perley guessed the young man was also short on supplies. “You any kin to Tom Tuttle there in Cheyenne?”
“He’s my pa,” Billy replied. “You know him?”
“I’ve done some business with your pa,” Perley answered. “Matter of fact, I sold him a couple of horses when I stopped at his stable one time. He’s a good man.”
It didn’t take long before Billy told the story of his attempt to make his fortune in Deadwood Gulch, a story that left him headed for home with empty pockets. It was a story all too common in boomtowns like Deadwood and Custer City.
“So you partnered up with a couple of fellows and they ran off with all the gold the three of you found?” Perley summed up.
“That’s a fact,” Billy confirmed. “It wasn’t but about four hundred dollars’ worth. Wouldn’ta paid us much when we split it three ways, but it was still a helluva lot more than I came out here with.”
“I swear,” Perley commented. “That’s tough luck, all right. Did you know these two fellows before you partnered up with ’em?”
“No, I just ran up on ’em one mornin’ and they looked like they could use a hand, so I went to work with ’em, building a sluice box. Wasn’t long before we started strikin’ color, and it wasn’t long after that when I woke up one mornin’ and they was gone. Cleared out while I was asleep.”
It was hard for Perley not to feel sympathy for the unfortunate young man. He couldn’t help thinking that Billy’s experience sounded like the kind of fix that he carried a reputation for. He thought of his brother Rubin saying If there wasn’t but one cow pie on the whole damn ranch, Perley would step in it. He had to admit that sometimes it seemed to be true.
Maybe he and Billy had that in common. “So whaddaya plan on doin’ now? Go back and help your pa in the stable?”
“I reckon,” Billy replied, then hesitated before going on. “Pa ain’t gonna be too happy to see me come home. I think he was hopin’ I’d stay on out here in the Black Hills.”
That was surprising to Perley. “Why is that?” Tom Tuttle impressed him as a solid family man. He had to admit, however, that he had only a brief acquaintance with him.
“The woman Pa’s married to ain’t my mama,” Billy said. “Pa married her when my mama died of consumption. She’s my stepmother and she’s got a son of her own about my age. She’s talked Pa into turnin’ his business over to her son when Pa gets too old to run it, and I reckon I’m just in the way.”
Perley didn’t know what
to say. In the short time he had dealings with Tom Tuttle, he would not have thought him to be the type to abandon his own son. He had compassion for Billy, but all he could offer him was common courtesy. “Well, I’m sorry to hear you have troubles with your pa, but if it’ll help, you’re welcome to ride along with me till we get to Cheyenne. I’m guessin’ you ain’t fixed too good for supplies.”
“You guessed right,” Billy responded at once. “And I surely appreciate it. I won’t be no bother a’tall. I’m used to hard work and I’ll do my share of the chores.”
“Good,” Perley said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Truth be told, a stranger as a traveling companion was close to the last thing he wanted, considering what he was carrying on his packhorses. He didn’t intend to get careless, even though Billy seemed forthright and harmless. Close to Perley’s age, Billy might come in handy if they were unfortunate enough to encounter outlaws on the road to Cheyenne.
After the horses and Billy’s mule were taken care of, the two travelers ate supper, planning to get an early start in the morning.
“Here,” Billy insisted, “I’ll clean up the cups and fryin’ pan. I’ve got to earn my keep,” he added cheerfully. After everything was done they both spread their bedrolls close to the fire and turned in.
* * *
Perley was awake at first light after having slept fitfully, due to a natural tendency to sleep with one eye open, even though he felt he had nothing to fear from Billy. He revived the fire and started coffee before Billy woke up.
“Here I am lyin’ in bed while you’re already at it,” Billy said as he rolled out of his blankets. “Whatcha want me to do?”
“Just pack up your possibles and throw a saddle on your horse,” Perley said. “We’ll have a cup of coffee before we get started, eat breakfast when we rest the horses.”
It didn’t take long for Billy to load the few items he owned on the mule, so when he finished, he came to help Perley. “What’s in the sacks?” He saw Perley tying two twenty-five-pound sacks on each of his packhorses.
The Edge of Hell Page 23
