“Who’s Raymond?” Perley asked.
“Raymond Butcher. He’s Simon’s son, and he took over when the old man died. He’s a preacher, too. My sister, Rachael, said he liked to pitched a fit when I ran off with Dan, said his sermon was an hour long that Sunday.”
“So you’ve got a sister there,” Perley thought aloud. He looked at Possum, who was grinning at him behind Emma’s back. “Well, that does beat all,” Perley said, unable to respond with anything appropriate. He was rapidly coming to the opinion that Emma was going back to Butcher Bottom because she was penniless and had no way to survive otherwise. It didn’t sound like much of a future for her and her baby, but there wasn’t anything he could do to help her. Resigned to that fact, he decided he’d do what he could to see that she found Butcher Bottom and her sister. “Your sister,” he thought to ask then, “is she married and got a family?”
“Yes, Rachael’s married to Tom Parker,” Emma said. “They’ve got two children, both girls. Raymond says that’s a good sign because that means two more to bear children when they get old enough. But I think Tom wanted boys to help him farm. I haven’t heard from her since right after I left Butcher Bottom.”
“I reckon so,” Perley said and decided that maybe it was best not to ask any more questions, and just concern himself with helping Possum take Emma home.
They hitched up the horses and continued on along the trail they had followed since crossing the Red River.
* * *
Approaching what looked to be a sizable creek, judging by the border of trees along its banks, Perley reined Buck back to let the wagon catch up with him. When he was even with Possum in the wagon seat, he said, “Looks like we’ve struck a creek just when we need one. I expect we’d best stop now, get some food, and rest the horses.”
“I expect so,” Possum agreed as he craned his neck to look toward the snake-like line of trees stretching across the prairie before them. “Looks like this trail runs right through that biggest bunch of trees yonder,” he said, pointing toward a point where the creek evidently took a sharp bend. “I would be surprised if that weren’t a regular campin’ place for most folks travelin’ this trail.” He turned and pointed downstream a good five hundred yards where there was a wide section with very few trees. “I expect that’s where the cattle herds were pushed across.”
A few minutes later, when they rode into the trees, they found an axle-deep creek, about twenty yards wide at that point. Seeing a small clearing in the trees on the other side that offered grass for the horses, they proceeded across. Perley and Buck crossed first to be certain of the depth and to make sure there were no hidden holes that might gobble up a wagon wheel. Once across, they discovered ample evidence that Possum had been right when he figured it to be a popular camping spot. There were several spots where campfires had burned. They unhitched the horses, and Perley pulled the saddle off Buck. Possum came up beside him as he let the big bay go back beside the creek to drink. “That’s a right stout-lookin’ bay you’re ridin’, Perley,” Possum observed. “Why’d you name him Buck?”
“’Cause he does,” Perley said. When Possum looked confused by his answer, Perley went on to explain that Buck wouldn’t permit anyone to ride him but him.
Possum’s question caused Emma to ask one of her own, one she had wondered about from first meeting Perley. “Perley Gates,” she asked, “Is that your given name, or just a nickname?”
“No, ma’am,” he answered patiently, having had to deal with the question ever since he could remember. “It’s my real name. I was named for my grandpa, who was named Perley. It sounds like those Pearly Gates, but it ain’t spelled the same.”
“It’s an unusual name,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am, it is that.” He smiled, thinking she could never know the half of it. He went then to help Possum, who was already busy collecting some wood for a fire. It wasn’t long before there was a hearty fire going and the coffeepot was working. After feeding the baby, Emma took over the cooking of the beans that had been soaking all morning and the frying of some sourdough pan biscuits to go with the smoked beef they had packed.
* * *
“Whaddaya think, Zeb?” Cal Hackett asked, his voice almost in a whisper. “They look kinda poorly.”
“Maybe,” Zeb answered. “Don’t matter much. Poorly or not, they’ve got more’n we’ve got right now.” He and his two brothers had been watching the three people busy making a camp near the creek. “A couple of them horses look pretty good, ’specially the bay that one feller was ridin’.”
“Wonder what that woman is cookin’ up?” Peewee muttered.
“I expect we’d best go down there and find out,” Zeb said. “Let’s walk up a little closer to get a better look. See if we got anythin’ to worry about.”
“I don’t see no problem,” Cal insisted. “I can see that from here. One of them fellers looks like somebody’s grandpa, and the other’n’s a young feller, but he don’t look like no problem to me. Even if he gives us some trouble, there’s the three of us against him.”
“Maybe we oughta just pick ’em off with our rifles and be done with ’em,” Peewee suggested. He was thinking about making their move before they had a chance to eat much of the food Emma was cooking.
“The last time we tried that was with them four drifters up on the Wichita,” Zeb reminded him, “and that didn’t turn out too good, did it? Killed that one feller, then the other three dug in that riverbank, and we had to call it off ’cause we was runnin’ outta cartridges. And we’re still short, so I don’t wanna take a chance on it happenin’ again.” He paused to see if anyone was going to object, knowing they wouldn’t question his judgment. “And if we ride on in to their camp, it’s still just one young feller and one old man against the three of us. Right?” His brothers nodded in agreement. “All right,” he said, “let’s go down and pay ’em a friendly visit.”
* * *
Emma, tending her biscuits, was the first to see the three men riding across the little clearing. She was at once alarmed, thinking of the small fortune they carried in the wagon. She called out to Possum, who was checking the left-rear wagon wheel again to see if it had gotten any worse. When he looked up and saw her pointing toward the trees, he immediately picked up his rifle and alerted Perley, who was taking a look at Buck’s hooves. “Uh-oh,” Perley muttered after spotting the visitors to their camp. He immediately walked up to the wagon to join Possum and Emma.
“This don’t look too good,” Possum commented to Perley when he joined them. “They got a look about ’em.”
“Maybe just some drifters, lookin’ for a meal,” Perley said, even though he was prone to agree with Possum’s assessment.
“Maybe so, maybe not,” Possum said. “You might have to use that six-gun you’re wearin’ if they ain’t comin’ to welcome us to Texas.” He was hoping at that moment that he could count on Perley, if their visitors didn’t have peaceful intentions. Perley didn’t have the look of anything beyond just a pleasant young man.
“Howdy,” Zeb called out as they rode into the clearing, three abreast, and pulled up just before the fire. “We was passin’ by on the other side of the river and smelled your coffee a-cookin’, and we was wonderin’ if you might could spare a cup or two. We’ve been out for a long time, food and coffee, and a cup of that would sure go good right now.”
“Well, now,” Possum said, “I reckon we could spare a cup or two. We’re runnin’ low on supplies ourselves, spent the last money we had to buy some beef from a trail herd we met at the crossin’.”
“Where you folks headin’?” Zeb asked as he stepped down from his saddle. “Have you come far?”
“Headin’ to a place called Butcher Bottom,” Possum replied. “We started out from Dodge City, up in Kansas.”
“You’ve come a long ways,” Zeb declared. “Tell you the truth, I’m surprised you folks took this trail. Most likely because you’re not from around here, so you didn’t know about the toll to use this
trail.” His two brothers stepped down then, both wearing poorly disguised grins.
“You’re right, mister,” Possum said. “I ain’t never heard of any tolls on any trails in Texas, and that’s a fact.” He knew now what he had hoped not to learn. The three of them were low-down road agents, looking to rob defenseless travelers. He figured his only hope was to convince them that they had no money. “I reckon we’re just outta luck ’cause we spent the last dime we had to buy this food we’re cookin’.”
“I reckon you are out of luck,” Cal spoke up then as he and Peewee took a few steps to either side of Zeb. “It’s our job to collect the toll from folks cuttin’ across the county’s private land here.”
“That’s right,” Zeb said. “Me and my brothers work for the county. We’ll just have a look at what you’re carryin’ in that wagon and see if you’ve got anything worth takin’ for the toll.” Emma, already frightened, almost gasped aloud in sudden distress at the thought. Zeb picked up on her reaction. “What’s the matter, little lady, is there somethin’ in that wagon you don’t want nobody to see?”
Recovering her composure almost as fast as she had lost it, “It’s my baby,” she answered. “He’s asleep in the wagon. I had a devil of a time gettin’ him to sleep, and I don’t want you to wake him.”
“There ain’t nothin’ in the wagon but some furniture and beddin’,” Possum said, “Ain’t nothin’ worth any money.”
“We’ll just take a look in there, anyway,” Zeb said, his rude smile showing his confidence. “We’ll be real quiet so we don’t wake up your baby.”
Up to this point, Perley stood to the side, a silent observer of Possum’s handling of the situation. It was fairly obvious these three were no more than common thieves, looking to take advantage of some unlucky travelers. He figured it was time to step in. “You fellows say you work for the county?”
“That’s right,” Cal answered and took a longer look at him. “We’re special agents for this county, and our job is to collect money from everybody usin’ this trail.”
Perley nodded, as if he understood. “That’s an important job,” he said. When Cal nodded in response, with a self-important grin in place, Perley asked another question. “What county is this, anyway?”
The smile on Cal’s face froze, and he immediately looked to Zeb for help. Flustered as well as his brother, Zeb blurted, “It don’t matter what damn county this is! It’s just your bad luck you came this way. Now, I’m tired of foolin’ with you people. Let’s take a look in that wagon!” As if on cue, Cal and Peewee each took a few steps to either side of Zeb, ready for any resistance to their search of the wagon.
“I expect this has gone far enough,” Perley announced calmly. “You fellows sure don’t work for the county, and there ain’t no toll roads in Texas, even if you called this game trail a road. So I expect you’d best get back on your horses and clear outta here before somebody gets hurt.” He slowly reached over to take Emma’s arm and gave her a gentle push toward the back of the wagon, never taking his eyes off the three facing him.
The shock of disbelief on the faces of the three would-be robbers was reflected on Possum’s face as well. He couldn’t believe Perley had chosen to challenge them. All three wore their guns in holsters hung low and tied to their legs, like many gunfighters he’d seen. If Perley didn’t keep his mouth shut, he was gonna get them all killed.
“Mister,” Zeb pronounced, after a long moment’s pause, “You can step aside, or we’ll walk over your dead body. Either way, I’ll have a look in that wagon.” He was certain there was something valuable in the wagon, else they wouldn’t have objected to the search that much.
“I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” Perley said, “so it’s best if you do like I said and ride on outta here.”
Possum looked nervously back and forth between Perley and Zeb Hackett. He figured he was looking death right in the face. A single thought suddenly flew across his brain, The Gates brothers had sent Perley to help them because he was crazy, and they figured it better to have him away from the herd. He was moments away from telling the bandits to go ahead and look in the wagon when Cal suddenly dropped his hand on the handle of his .44. The events that followed would remain a blur in Possum’s mind amid the rapid reports of gunfire, so quick in succession they almost sounded as one shot, instead of three separate ones. He stared in disbelief at the sight of Zeb Hackett lying dead, a bullet hole near the center of his chest. To his right, Cal was sitting on the ground, his right sleeve already soaking with blood from the wound in his shoulder. To his left, Peewee was crawling on the ground, dragging his wounded leg as he tried to reach the pistol he had flung from his hand when he was hit. “You’d best pick up that pistol before he reaches it,” Possum heard Perley calmly advise. Still in a fog, his own gun cold in his holster, he did as he was told and picked up Peewee’s weapon.
“There wasn’t any need for that,” Perley told the two wounded men. “You shoulda gone and left us alone when I told you to. I’m sorry about your brother, but he didn’t give me any choice. He was fast, and he meant business. It was either him or me, but there wasn’t any sense in killin’ all three of you, if I could help it. We’ll get you on your horses, so you can ride outta here, but I’m gonna have to hold on to your weapons—pistols and your rifles, too—just in case you get any ideas about comin’ back.” He looked at Possum. “Come on and help me load ’em up.”
Still at a loss for words, Possum dutifully helped Perley pick Zeb up, and they laid him across his saddle. Cal and Peewee sat stunned as they watched them do it. Then Perley helped the two wounded men into their saddles and handed Peewee the reins on Zeb’s horse. “Reckon you’d best hold on to these, since your brother’s got a bad shoulder. Anyplace near here where you can get some doctorin’ on those wounds?”
Still in a shocked stupor, Peewee said, “Holden’s,” referring to a trading post about six miles farther up that creek.
“All right,” Perley said. “You’d best get goin’. You’re gonna need to stop that bleedin’ pretty quick.” Both brothers stared at him, still uncertain about what had just happened, feeling they had just been hit by a tornado. “Which way to Holden’s?” Perley asked. Cal made no response, but Peewee pointed west. Perley took hold of the bridle and turned the horse in that direction. “Like I said, that’s a terrible thing, your brother gettin’ killed, but both of you are still alive. That’s the way things happen sometimes. Best you bury him and forget about robbin’ and killin’ innocent folks.” He gave the horse a slap on its rump and stood back to watch them leave. When they had disappeared through the oak trees past the far side of the clearing, he turned around to face his two aghast fellow travelers. “I expect we’d best eat that meal Emma fixed and then hitch up and find us another camp for the night.”
“Reckon so” was all Possum replied, but he was still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He glanced at Emma to be met with the same astonishment. After a few long moments, when Perley walked down by the creek to bring Buck back close to the camp, Possum finally turned to Emma. “I never saw that comin’,” he muttered. “He ain’t as tame as he looks.”
“No, I reckon he ain’t,” Emma said. “And I guess we oughta be thankin’ our lucky stars he ain’t.” She paused a few moments to watch Perley walking back from the creek, the big bay horse following along behind him. She turned to Possum then. “You reckon those two he wounded will be comin’ back?”
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t think so. It’d be my guess they’ll wanna get to the doctor as soon as they can.” He turned to watch Perley. “He’s right, though, ain’t no use takin’ the chance. We’d best eat a little somethin’ and get goin’ again.” Possum was struck by the chain-lightning reactions of the seemingly mild-mannered young man. He thought about the money in the canvas sacks, underneath a stack of quilts in the wagon, and couldn’t help wondering if Perley had an evil side that matched his innocent bearing. Maybe he suspected that the
y were hiding something in the wagon. “Nah,” he suddenly drawled, he’d decided from the first meeting with Perley that he was as honest as a silver dollar. When Emma gave him a questioning look, he said. “Let’s eat that food you cooked up before them biscuits cool off.”
* * *
They wasted little time eating, and soon they were all hitched up and on the move again. The horses did not get as long a rest as Perley would have liked, but under the circumstances, he and Possum judged it best to push them a little farther than normal. For that reason, he was glad to see the banks of the North Wichita River on the horizon a good bit sooner than expected. He estimated they had ridden no more than five miles. Still, that offered a small sense of a buffer between themselves and the two wounded outlaws, since they had headed in the opposite direction. “I don’t think we’ll see those two tonight,” Perley speculated.
“Me neither,” Possum spoke up. “They’d be crazy if they did show up here again.” He glanced at Emma, then back at Perley. “I know I wouldn’t come back for a second helpin’ of that kind of lightnin’.” He studied the self-effacing young man for a serious moment, thinking that Perley looked embarrassed by talk of how fast he was with a handgun. “You sure you were named for your grandpappy? Maybe you was really named that ’cause any man wantin’ to draw down on you is headed for the Pearly Gates.”
“No, sir,” Perley replied. “I was named for my grandpa.” He pointed to a group of trees on the other side of the river. “That looks like a good spot to camp for the night. Does that suit you?”
Possum laughed, amused by Perley’s reluctance to talk about his speed with a handgun. “That looks like a good spot to me. How ’bout you, Emma?” She agreed, even though she wished they could have kept on going, but she knew it would be too hard on their horses. So they crossed over the river and pulled the wagon into the small clump of trees that Perley had pointed out. There was an open meadow about thirty-five yards wide between that stand of trees and the riverbank. Beyond the trees, there was nothing but open prairie for as far as you could see, so it looked to be a defensible campsite. While the men took care of the horses, Emma gathered some wood for a fire, thinking some coffee would be appreciated, even though they had eaten a hasty supper only about five miles back. Maybe this time they would have time to enjoy their coffee.
Bullets Don't Argue Page 3
