Bullets Don't Argue

by William W. Johnstone

  CHAPTER 15

  Perley shifted over to sleep on his other side, having been awakened from a sound sleep by Buck’s questioning whinny. He lay there for a few minutes, listening, and realized Buck wasn’t answering another horse’s whinny. He had heard someone moving in the stable, most likely Horace Brooks came back from the house for some reason, something he forgot, maybe. He lay there half-awake for a few moments more, still hearing sounds of movement on the other side of the stalls, more sounds than Horace was likely to be making in the middle of the night. Suddenly alert, it occurred to him that someone might be stealing horses. He sat up, more alert, and it struck him that there was not a lantern lit in the whole stable. Compelled to see what was going on, he got up and strapped on his gun belt, just in case, then slipped out of the stall into the alleyway. The activity was taking place at the other end of the short alleyway, and there was just enough moonlight through the gate at the end for him to see a figure coming out of a stall, leading a horse, followed by a second man. A third figure emerged from the tack room door, carrying a saddle. This doesn’t look right, Perley thought and moved a little closer.

  Too occupied with their endeavor, the three men were unaware they were being watched. Perley hesitated, undecided if he was witnessing a robbery or some bona fide customers who were getting an early start. He wasn’t sure what time it was, maybe it was closer to sunup than he thought, and he’d best just go back to his stall before he startled them. He turned back, but before he took a step, he heard one of them say, “Coy, bring me that saddle.” Wide awake now, Perley turned back to take another look, thinking that surely he was mistaken. But Coy was not that common a name, so he inched up along the stalls and slipped inside an empty one next to the one the men had just come from. All three men were out in the alleyway now, with two horses. Perley peered over the rail. There was no doubt after a closer look, it was Coy Dawkins and Whit Berry, and the third figure, his arm in a sling, was Shorty Thompson. And they were mere moments away from riding out of the stable.

  Perley pulled his Colt from his holster and eased out of the vacant stall to stand in the alleyway. “You boys are out kinda late, ain’tcha?” The reaction on their part to his calm question was, in effect, the same as if he had thrown a stick of dynamite in their midst. All three were startled. “I wouldn’t,” Perley warned when Whit started to go for his gun. Whit changed his mind when he saw Perley’s .44 already covering them. Shorty, already hampered by the loss of his right arm, made no attempt. Coy, however, reacted as he usually did, and started to charge Perley, but had taken only two steps when Perley shot him in the foot. He howled in pain and dropped to the ground. “All right, now we’re gonna get rid of those gun belts. With your left hand, unbuckle your belt and let it drop. That goes for you, too, Coy.”

  Shorty and Whit did as he instructed, but Coy complained. “You shot me, you son of a bitch. I can’t drop my belt, I’m on the ground, I can’t get up.”

  “Help him up,” Perley said to Whit and Shorty.

  “Perley Gates,” Shorty snarled defiantly. “I shoulda known. What if we can’t pick him up?”

  “Then I reckon I’ll have to shoot both of you in the leg, so you don’t go runnin’ off before I get some help to haul you back to the jail.” He cocked his Colt again and aimed it at Whit. “I’ll start with you.”

  “Hold on, damn it!” Whit blurted. “We’ll get him up. Come on, Shorty, he’s crazy enough to do it.” They struggled to lift the oversized brute to stand on one foot, with Whit doing most of the work because of Shorty’s bad shoulder.

  Once Coy was up and supported by Whit, Perley said, “Now Shorty, you reach over and unbuckle his gun belt, and please don’t get any ideas about that gun in his holster. I don’t wanna put another bullet in you unless I just have to.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Shorty growled, but he did as he was told.

  When Coy’s belt fell to the floor of the alleyway, Perley said, “All right, we’re gonna walk right on out of the stable now.” Seeing no choice but to obey, they reluctantly walked a limping Coy Dawkins out to the front of the stable, where Perley was happy to find Horace Brooks, his shotgun in hand, waiting for them.

  “I wasn’t sure what was gonna come ridin’ outta my stable,” Horace exclaimed when he saw Perley marching the three outlaws out. “I heard the shot, so I came runnin’, but I wasn’t about to go chargin’ into that dark stable.”

  “I don’t blame you for that,” Perley said. “I could use your help walkin’ these jaspers back to the jail. I don’t know if the sheriff’s all right or not.” He looked at Whit. “How ’bout it, are we gonna find the sheriff dead?”

  “No, but I wish to hell we’da shot him, seein’ as how you folks are set on hangin’ us, anyway,” Whit answered.

  “They ain’t had your trial yet,” Perley said. “Maybe they won’t hang you.”

  “Shit.” Shorty scoffed.

  Back to Horace then, Perley said, “Help me walk them over to the jail, and we’ll see if the sheriff’s all right.” For the prisoners’ benefit, he gave Horace some further instructions. “Keep that shotgun trained on ’em, and if they try to run, shoot ’em from the belt down. We don’t wanna kill ’em, since they might have to hang ’em after the trial.”

  “If that one with his arm in the sling even thinks about runnin’,” Horace said, “I’ll sure as hell cut down on him, but I ain’t promisin’ I’ll hit him in the legs. He’s the son of a bitch who killed my boy.”

  “I understand how you feel,” Perley said, “and I don’t blame you. But you have to give him credit, he was gone from here, but he was thoughtful enough to come back for the hangin’.”

  They walked the prisoners back across the creek to the sheriff’s office and jail, picking up a few spectators who had been in the saloon and heard the shot. When they got there, Perley told Horace to go inside to see if Ben Pylant was in there. “I’ll keep my eye on these three while you see if he’s all right.”

  In a couple of minutes time, Perley heard Horace yell. “I found him! Looks all right, he’s tied up, but he’s all right. I’m untyin’ him. Gimme a minute and you can put ’em back in the cell.”

  A few minutes more saw Horace and Pylant standing in the front door. The sheriff was holding a rifle. “You can bring ’em on inside,” Pylant said. He and Horace took a couple of steps back from the door to give them room.

  Perley marched them inside and as they filed past Pylant in the office, standing with his rifle ready, Whit gave him a mocking smile. “Evenin’, Sheriff,” he said. “I hate to spoil your little nap.” Following behind him, Coy laughed, as he hobbled along with his arm on Shorty’s shoulder for support.

  Pylant was doing his best not to show the humiliation he felt for having been taken so easily by the two escapees. “Take ’em right on through that door to the cell room,” he directed. “There ain’t but two cots in each cell, so you can put one of ’em in the other cell.” He only watched while Perley put them in the cells and Horace locked the doors.

  “I’m gonna need some doctorin’,” Coy protested. “That son of a bitch shot me in the foot. I need that barbershop feller to look at it.”

  “What for?” Horace replied. “They’re gonna hang you tomorrow. You ain’t gonna be worryin’ about your foot.” He closed the door behind him and tossed the cell door key on Pylant’s desk. He looked at the large clock on the wall behind the sheriff’s desk. “Dang, it’s almost time to get up. I’ve got my chores to do.”

  “They got a gun in there, somehow,” Pylant blurted, causing Perley and Horace to give him puzzled looks. “I don’t know how they got it. There wasn’t any way I could have known they had a gun.” It was obvious then that he felt the need to excuse himself from blame for letting the prisoners get the jump on him.

  “I reckon somebody passed it in to ’em,” Perley said. “They have any visitors?” Even as he asked, he couldn’t imagine them having had any visitors. When Pylant shook his head, Perley said
the obvious. “I reckon the other one, Shorty, passed it through the window.”

  “Yeah,” Pylant said, thoughtfully. “I didn’t think about that.”

  Perley glanced at Horace, who was waiting to catch his eye. There was no need to say anything, they were both thinking the same thing. This incident had hit the sheriff pretty hard. He was losing his grip on a job that most of the town suspected him unable to hold before this test. “You go ahead and get to your chores,” Perley said to Horace. “I think there ain’t much use for me to go back to the stable now. I think I’ll hang around here with the sheriff till breakfast. That all right with you, Sheriff?”

  “Yes, that would be all right,” Pylant said at once, a strong hint of relief in his tone. “I’ll make us a pot of coffee.”

  “That’s a dandy idea,” Perley said. “I could sure use a cup.”

  * * *

  The news of the attempted jailbreak spread fast and early around the little town. It brought the mayor and the other members of the town council to the jail early as well. Perley was still there when they arrived, and he helped Pylant assure His Honor that the prisoners were still incarcerated, although one of them had a gunshot wound in his foot, the result of a bad decision on his part. Perley was also quick to point out that the trial court now had all three of the outlaws to try, which surely must be looked upon as a bonus. In view of this one close call, it was decided to get the trial started earlier than the two o’clock originally scheduled. When all the facts of the night just passed were assembled, the town council realized that there would have been no trial save for the simple fact that Perley was sleeping in the stable that night. Wheeler and the others knew that Pylant would have to be replaced as sheriff. The problem was there were no other candidates, but Wheeler decided to take that matter up with the others after they got the trial over with. So they assembled the jury that had been selected and began the trial at ten o’clock that morning. As expected, it was a short trial, even though Dick Hoover made a commendable attempt to defend his clients, and it came as no surprise that the verdict was guilty, and the sentence was hanging.

  After the trial, three ropes were tied to the limb of a large oak tree beside the creek. The three condemned men were unceremoniously carted out on a wagon to their rendezvous with the noose, and the whole town turned out to watch. That is, except two. Never one to enjoy the spectacle of a public hanging, Perley passed it up to enjoy a cup of coffee and a piece of Ida Wicks’s special apple pie. Ida, like Perley, had little interest in watching a hanging.

  The responsibility for burying the bodies was passed to Floyd Jenkins. He reluctantly accepted it only after Ralph Wheeler promised he would be paid the same fee they would pay an undertaker, if they had one. Since Floyd was the closest thing the town had to a doctor, it seemed the logical choice. “I’ll take on the undertakin’ job as long as the town council pays the bill,” he told Wheeler, “but my services stop as soon as the merchants stop supportin’ the council.”

  “Fair enough,” Wheeler responded. “Now, we need to address the situation with our town marshal. Anybody seen Perley Gates? I didn’t see him at the hanging.”

  “He came in the saloon,” Jimmy McGee said. “He walked in just as I was lockin’ up to go to the hangin’. I told him Ida was still there and he could come on in, if coffee was all he was lookin’ for. He might still be there. I’m goin’ back right now to open up again.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Wheeler said.

  * * *

  Wheeler found Perley still sitting at a table with Ida Wicks, passing idle conversation, with Ida doing most of the talking about what that part of Texas was like when she was a girl. Perley was glad to see the mayor walk right up to the table and pull a chair back. Ida saw that as a signal to retreat to the kitchen. “I hope you and Ida have been discussing the future of Bison Gap, and what we can do to develop it,” Wheeler joked.

  Perley laughed and said, “I suspect she’s as ignorant on that subject as I am. At least, if she ain’t, she never brought it up.”

  “Your friends, Emma Slocum and Possum Smith, have closed the deal to build the hotel,” Wheeler said. “What we need right now is a town marshal.”

  “You’ve got a sheriff,” Perley said. “Ain’t that enough?”

  “Ben Pylant came to me right after the hanging and resigned his job,” Wheeler said. “I reckon he knew he wasn’t up to handling the job, and I respect him for owning up to it. We need a man who can think and react, one who can handle a gun with the best of the outlaws.”

  “I reckon,” Perley said. Aware then of the intense look on Wheeler’s face as he gazed, unblinking, into his eyes, Perley responded quickly. “Oh, no, not me,” he insisted. “I ain’t ever had any hankerin’ to be a lawman. I’m fixin’ to head back to Lamar County in the mornin’. I’m just waitin’ to have a drink with Possum before I go.”

  “You’ve already got friends settling here,” Wheeler countered, “and you’re making new ones every day with the way you handle trouble. We’re building a real town here. You could do worse.”

  “I suppose you’re right about that, if I was interested in that line of work. But I ain’t. I was born and raised in the cattle business, and I expect that’s where I belong. But I ’preciate the offer.”

  His refusal was obviously sincere, and Wheeler had to accept it as final, but there was still the problem of no law-enforcement officer. “I understand your position,” Wheeler said. “So now, I guess I’ll just try to ask you for a favor to help the town—and your friends who have just committed to investing here. Possum tells me you’ve already been gone too long to catch up with that herd of cattle you were driving to market in Ogallala. So, how about taking the marshal’s job temporarily for a short time to give me and the council time to find a man?”

  Perley didn’t know what to say. Wheeler was right in saying he had the time to help the town, but he felt a responsibility to head back home to at least help out there. Perley wished Possum hadn’t told Wheeler that he was too late to catch the herd. “How long is a short time?” Perley finally asked.

  “Well, I’d say a week or three,” Wheeler answered. “I need to have time to contact some people I know who might want to come on this adventure with us.”

  “I swear, Mr. Mayor, I don’t know,” Perley hedged. “I ain’t so sure I’d make much of a sheriff, not even for a short time.” It was his nature to avoid trouble if at all possible, not to go looking for it.

  “Let me tell you this,” Wheeler continued. “We got along for a long time with Ben Pylant as sheriff, and that’s because there’s never any real trouble in Bison Gap, so he was all right in the job. When some real trouble finally hit us, Ben wasn’t up to it. And that’s all we would expect from you, just to be there if real trouble hit us again before we find a permanent lawman. I promise you we won’t dally. We’ll go to work tomorrow to find us a man. You can move your stuff into the sheriff’s office tomorrow. Ben said he’d move out tonight. Whaddaya say? Will you help us?”

  “I reckon,” Perley finally said, “but only for a week or two.” The mayor seemed so desperate that he didn’t have the heart to turn him down.

  “Good man!” Wheeler said and extended his hand. “I knew you were made of the right stuff. The town appreciates it.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a key, and gave it to Perley. “Here’s a key to the lock on the office door. Ben said he’d leave the other one in the desk drawer.”

  Possum and Rooster walked in the saloon at that moment. Seeing Perley and Wheeler at the table, they hurried over to join them. “I was afraid you mighta decided to go ahead and start out when I didn’t see you at the hangin’,” Possum said.

  “I reckon I’ll be stayin’ here a little longer’n I thought,” Perley said.

  “Perley’s agreed to take the job of marshal,” Wheeler said.

  “Temporary marshal,” Perley corrected, “only for a week or two.”

  Possum’s face lit up and a broad smil
e parted his whiskers. “That’s a mighty fine idea,” he said. “You gonna stay out at Rooster’s place with us? Emma will be tickled to hear you ain’t gone.”

  “No, I’ll be bunkin’ in the sheriff’s office. If I’m gonna be playin’ sheriff, I reckon I’d best be in town, so they can find me. But I’ll sure be seein’ Emma and the rest of you while I’m here.”

  “Well, I’ll let you boys have that drink you were talking about,” Wheeler said. “I’ve got to go tell Henry the good news.” He hurried off then to tell the owner of the saloon that Perley had agreed to stay for a while. He didn’t tell Perley, but he had not given up on persuading him to stay on permanently.

  * * *

  As Wheeler had promised, things were pretty quiet around Bison Gap after their first official hanging. Perley’s days were spent doing little more than making himself known to all the merchants and townsfolk. A stranger in town might think him an odd choice for town marshal, or sheriff, as most of the people called him, because of his polite, almost shy, unassuming manner. But they had not seen, nor heard of, the lightning-like reactions that sent a slug into Shorty Thompson’s shoulder before that notorious gunman could clear leather—nor the unassisted arrest of all three of the dangerous outlaws.

  During the week after the trial, Perley found time to visit the folks he had journeyed with from Butcher Bottom, much to Alice and Melva Parker’s delight. And Possum spent about half of his time visiting the sheriff’s office. It was a pleasant time in the little town, although there was a storm building on a ranch some eighty miles away.