Shot to Hell

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Oh, you do, do ya?” Stark responded. “Why didn’t you arrest him?”

  “’Cause one of the witnesses was the damn preacher,” Mason shot back. “If I’da thrown that fellow in jail, I’da been next Sunday’s sermon. I had to let him go, just like I let Curly go.”

  “Damn it, Mason, I’m payin’ you good money to keep my men out of jail,” Stark fumed.

  “And I’ve been doin’ that for all the hell-raisers and bar fights. Your end of our deal was you’d make sure there was no shootin’ up the town and no killin’ of any of the town folk. First, Curly comes in here and shoots Tom Parker down. Now Quirt challenges a stranger in the dinin’ room of the hotel.”

  “What’s he doin in Bison Gap, anyway?” Stark asked. “Is he just passin’ through?”

  “Hell, I don’t know,” Mason replied in frustration, “I asked him that, but he ain’t really a stranger. He was the temporary sheriff for a couple of weeks before I got here. Ralph Wheeler tried to give him this job, but he didn’t want it. He says him and Possum Smith just came to town to see how the hotel is doin’. Smith is half-owner of the hotel.”

  “Maybe this gunslinger is Smith’s bodyguard,” Stark suggested.

  “I don’t think so,” the sheriff said.

  “What’s his name? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”

  “Perley Gates,” Mason answered.

  “What?” Stark responded, thinking he hadn’t heard correctly. “Sounded like you said Pearly Gates.”

  “I did,” Mason said. “Perley Gates.”

  “Pearly Gates,” Stark repeated. “He’s japin’ you. That ain’t his real name. He made that up. I’ll bet if you look through your Wanted papers, you might find a description of somebody just like him.”

  “I already thought of that,” Mason said. “I looked through ’em this mornin’ and there wasn’t anything close to this fellow. Besides, I told you, he was the sheriff here for a couple of weeks. He spells it P-e-r-l-e-y.”

  Stark was not convinced. “Is he stayin’ at the hotel?” Mason said that he was, as far as he knew. “I think I’d like to take a look at this gunslinger,” Stark went on. “Maybe I’ll have some dinner in the hotel dinin’ room to see if Mr. Perley Gates shows up. I’ve never been in that hotel, or the dinin’ room, either.” He got up from his chair. “It’ll be a little bit before dinnertime, though, so I think I’ll go over to the Buffalo Hump for a drink of whiskey. You want a little drink?”

  “Thanks just the same, Ned,” Mason responded, “but I don’t think it’s such a good idea for folks to see us drinkin’ together in the saloon. I’m doin’ my best to show these folks I’m tryin’ to look out for ’em. And everybody in town knows nine outta ten times it’s your boys that are raising the most hell in Bison Gap.”

  Stark shook his head slowly, looking at Mason with a scornful expression. “One of these days you’re gonna wind up with the people of this town tellin’ you what time you can use the outhouse. Never mind who you drink whiskey with.” He paused at Mason’s shaving mirror over the washstand to see that his hat was sitting squarely on his head, then went out the door.

  * * *

  At about the same time Stark left the sheriff’s office, Possum Smith walked into Emma’s office at the hotel to see what she was up to. “You look like you’ve got nothing to do,” Emma said.

  “Well, that just goes to show you that you don’t know what a visitin’ hotel partner does. I’ve been busy all mornin’. I inspected the dinin’ room this mornin’ and tested the cookin’. After that, I was busy right up to now, testin’ the comfort of the rockin’ chairs on the front porch. Now I’m checkin’ to make sure the president’s office is functionin’ like it’s supposed to.”

  She laughed, then asked, “Would you like to look at the ledger, so you can see how much money we’ve taken in and how much we’ve spent? That’ll tell you if we’re likely to show a profit for the year, or if we’re gonna go in the hole.”

  “No, Ma’am,” he said. “I trust you. If I didn’t, I’da never invested my money with you.” That seemed to please her, so he didn’t have to tell her he couldn’t read or write.

  “All right,” she replied, “but you know you can look at the books any time you choose.” He grinned and nodded.

  “Where did Perley and Rooster get to?” she asked then.

  “Rooster had to go home to take care of his hogs and chickens. Perley went along with him. They said they’d be back here to eat dinner with us.”

  “Rooster will probably appreciate the help,” Emma said. “He’s working pretty hard to keep up with everything Tom had started. He’s always raised hogs, but Tom had planted a big garden to supply vegetables for the hotel dining room. And he added the chickens for eggs and some as fryers. So Rooster’s got his hands full. I hope it’s not too much for him, because it gives our dining room something to serve besides beef and pork.”

  “That oughta been my part in this partnership, I reckon, helpin’ Rooster, maybe takin’ Tom’s place, since he ain’t here no more. But I swear, Emma, if I was to work at farmin’ all day long, I likely couldn’t raise nothin’ more than a blister. I just ain’t good at it. I reckon I could get by, if we switched over and started to raise cattle.”

  “You’re an investing partner,” she told him. “And don’t think that money you invested with Rachael and me didn’t help put the hotel in the shape it’s in.” She could see that he was genuinely concerned that he wasn’t carrying half the load, and she was about to reassure him further when Perley and Rooster walked in. She glanced up at the clock and greeted them. “Right on time,” she announced. “The dining room should be opening in five minutes. Come on, we might as well go on in.”

  They found that Rachael had kept the three small tables together to make one larger reserved table for them. Alice and Melva hurried to claim the chairs on either side of the one Perley chose, earning a warning from Rachael to behave. “If you don’t, you’ll be eating in the kitchen.” When everyone was seated, she said that she wouldn’t join them right away because she would be busy helping Bess and Kitty. When everything was running smoothly, she would join the party later. “I have to be on my toes when the owners of the hotel are here,” she joked. Then she looked at the clock on the wall and announced, “Time to open up,” and left to unlock the outside door.

  There were six or seven customers waiting to come in. Rachael greeted each one, telling them to sit at any of the small tables around the room. One of the last she greeted was a single man, his jacket open, revealing a gun belt. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, “I have to ask you to leave your weapon on this table by the door.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” he responded politely. “I didn’t notice the sign on it. I’ve never been in here before, so I didn’t think about the gun.” He immediately unbuckled the gun belt, wrapped his pistol and holster up in it, and placed it on the table. “How’s that?” He asked, cheerfully.

  “Thank you, sir. You can sit anywhere you like and Kitty will take care of you.”

  She started to leave him to choose a table, but he stopped her with a question. “What’s the big table at the back where they’re sittin’?” She told him it was a party of family and friends who were visiting. “Oh, so they’re some of your folks, right?”

  “That’s right,” Rachael said, then excused herself to greet some more customers coming in. Stark gave her a smile, then walked back to seat himself at the closest table to the one reserved.

  Bess and Kitty kept the food coming, determined that no one should leave the table wanting more. The conversation revolved around Perley’s report on the impressive work Tom and Rooster had done on the plot of ground beyond Rooster’s cabin. The noise of their talking never reached a boisterous level, so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the dining room. It made it difficult for the man eating alone at a table near them to hear what was being said, however, even when he leaned toward them. He studied the men at the table, trying to decide which o
ne might be Perley Gates. One at a time he watched them. The short gnarly elf-like man had to be ruled out, and he guessed him to be the one called Rooster. The young, boyish-looking man who was constantly engaging the two little girls in small conversation was possibly the little girls’ father. Consequently, he was not a candidate. That left the other older man with the beard streaked with gray and a long gray braid of hair down his back. He looked capable of handling a firearm, but he couldn’t picture him as the gunslinger who took Quirt Taylor down. Stark decided that Perley Gates had evidently not attended the dinner. It was a disappointment, for he had really hoped to get a look at the man. He decided, what the hell, it’s damn fine eating.

  When he finished his dinner, Kitty came to take the dishes away and asked if he would like more coffee. He said that he might as well. He was in no hurry. When she brought the pot back to the table, he asked, “Who do the two little girls belong to?”

  “That’s Alice and Melva,” Kitty answered. “They’re Rachael Parker’s daughters. Rachael’s the manager of the dining room.”

  “Is that her husband sitting between the little girls?” Stark asked.

  “Oh, no, sir,” Kitty replied. “Rachael’s husband is dead. He was shot down by a murdering outlaw, leaving those little girls without a father.”

  Stark fought off an urge to chuckle when he realized he had forgotten her husband was the man Curly shot in the saloon. “That fellow sittin’ between ’em looks like he could take on the job as their daddy.”

  Kitty smiled at the thought. “I don’t hardly think so,” she said, “not Perley Gates.”

  That caught Stark’s attention right away. “That’s who?” He asked to make sure he had heard correctly. “Perley Gates?”

  She smiled warmly. “That’s right, that’s his name. Everybody asks him to repeat it.” She left him then to fill other coffee cups.

  Perley Gates, he said to himself, thinking how looks could be deceptive. In spite of the thought, he found it hard to believe the man he was looking at now could have taken Quirt Taylor. There had to be some unusual factor in play. Quirt must have been drunk. He hadn’t thought to ask Sheriff Mason if Quirt was drunk or not. The more he thought about it, the more the man interested him. He decided he’d like a closer look, so he gulped the last swallow of his coffee and got up from the table. He picked up his hat from the back of the chair next to his and placed it carefully on his head, making sure it was sitting squarely. Then he casually walked over to the table in the back.

  There was a pause in the conversation when the stranger approached and stood by the table. With their backs toward the front of the room, Possum and Rooster were puzzled when Emma paused in mid-sentence, until the stranger spoke. “Just thought I’d tell you I’ve never been in here before, and I think the food was mighty fine.” His remarks were aimed at Rachael, but his focus was on Perley Gates.

  “Why, thank you, sir,” Rachael responded. “We’re always glad to know we’ve pleased our customers.” Possum and Rooster turned to see who she was thanking. Rooster, the only one at the table who had ever seen Ned Stark, froze immediately, speechless for a long moment.

  “Not at all,” Stark returned, then added, “And I’m sorry to hear about your husband.”

  Rooster shot up from his chair. “Ned Stark!” He blurted. “You got your nerve comin’ in here!” His outburst brought an air of alarm over the whole table. “Get your sorry ass outta here!”

  Rachael stood up as well, her face twisted in anger. “Ned Stark,” she repeated the name as if it was bitter on her tongue. “Get out of my dining room. We don’t serve people like you in here.” Her voice, though calm, was heavy with the tension of her fury.

  Stark responded with a smile. “Not a very nice way to treat a payin’ customer. I have to say the food was good, though.” He made a sweeping look across the table. “I ain’t the one who shot your husband. That was Curly Williams,” he couldn’t resist saying, then turned and walked toward the door, satisfied that he had amused himself as well as getting a good look at Perley Gates. And in his assessment of the man, he was more convinced than ever that Quirt Taylor’s death by that man’s hand was an accident. Quirt must have been drunk. Without stopping, he picked up his gun belt and walked out the door in better spirits than when he had walked in. He was no longer worried about a possible threat to him or his men. Not from two old codgers and an innocent-looking young man, he thought. And Perley Gates never once opened his mouth, the whole time I was jawing with that lady that runs the place. Maybe I’ll turn Curly loose again.

  When he left the hotel, Stark went by Wheeler’s Merchandise to buy a few articles he needed, like a new shaving mug and soap, and a new razor strop. The mayor waited on him, providing more amusement for Stark with the cool reception he displayed. Wheeler was one of the few merchants in town who had done business with Stark, even though they all knew who he was. And most of them had had encounters with his men. When he paid for his purchases, he was prompted to remark, “You ain’t ever very talkative when I come in your store, but you always take my money.”

  “Our town would be a much better place to live and work in if that wild bunch of hands working for you didn’t raise so much hell,” Wheeler felt the need to reply.

  Stark shrugged. “Well, you know how it is when hardworkin’ ranch hands get a chance to come to town. They can’t help lettin’ off a little steam and havin’ a drink or two. You and your fellow merchants ought not complain. My boys spend a lotta money in your town.”

  “Most of the time, it’s not enough to pay for the damage they do,” Wheeler replied.

  Standing at the end of the counter, silently listening to their conversation, Cora Wheeler stared at the man who employed the wild, lawless gang of troublemakers that had recently picked Bison Gap as their playground. When he turned to her and said, “Good day, ma’am,” she simply turned and walked out of the room. He chuckled, pleased by her reaction. “Be seein’ you, Mayor,” he said to Wheeler and walked out of the store.

  He made one more stop before leaving town and that was at the Buffalo Hump, where he had left his horse. One little shooter for the road, he decided, and tied his purchases on his saddle horn, then went inside. When he walked up to the bar, Jimmy McGee greeted him soberly, “Mr. Stark.”

  “Gimme a double shot of corn whiskey,” Stark ordered. Jimmy poured it and set it on the bar, then watched as Stark sipped a little of it before tossing the rest down. “Wanted to make sure it’s the good stuff.” He tossed two bits on the bar and started to walk out, satisfied with the fear he thought he saw in every face in Bison Gap. He stopped at the door when he heard his name called. When he looked back, he saw Henry Lawrence, the owner of the Buffalo Hump, coming from the back office.

  “Wonder if I could have a word with you, Mr. Stark?” Lawrence asked.

  “Sure, what’s on your mind?” Stark replied.

  “I’d like to talk to you about some of the damage we’ve suffered here just since you moved your cattle operation close to Bison Gap,” Henry said. “I’ve got some figures here of the damages we’ve suffered durin’ that time that were all caused by your men, and I’d like to talk to you about paying for some of them.”

  “Why do ya wanna talk to me about ’em?” Stark asked.

  “’Cause they’re your employees,” Lawrence answered.

  “Hell, they work for me,” Stark declared. “They ain’t my children. I ain’t got nothin’ to do with what they do on their own time. Maybe you oughta talk to the sheriff about your problem.”

  “I was just hoping you might want to do the right thing,” Lawrence said.

  “I always do the right thing,” Stark said with a smirk, “the right thing for me.” He walked on out the door. They could hear him chuckling to himself as he stepped up on his horse and pulled away from the hitching rail.

  * * *

  In the hotel dining room, Emma and Possum were still trying to calm Rachael down. Her anger had sustained her until
he walked out the door, then she began to fall apart. Still grieving the loss of her husband, she had not been prepared to be confronted with the man she held responsible for Tom’s death. If Ned Stark had never moved to this part of the country, Tom would still be alive. It had been bad enough when she only had a name to hate, when he was almost like a spirit who was not a real person. But now that spirit had taken physical form and she had a real person to hate. She could not rid her mind’s eye of his leering face. Seeing the distress in the faces of the two little girls as they witnessed their mother’s trauma, Emma left her long enough to take the girls to her room in the hotel to stay with Barbara and the baby.

  Of no use in situations such as this, there was nothing Perley could think to do, other than to grab Rachael’s elbow when she threatened to collapse. He eased her back down in her chair, but she wanted to leave the dining room and the gaping eyes of the startled customers. He persuaded her to wait until Emma came back to help her and stood by her until she did. Then with Emma leading the way, he walked her back into the hotel to her room.

  When he returned to the dining room, he was met by Kitty, who was waiting for him. “Rooster and Possum got their guns and went after Stark!” She exclaimed as soon as he walked in.

  “Uh-oh,” Perley responded. He picked up his gun belt and ran out the door to the street. Rooster’s horse was missing, so he jumped on Buck and galloped down to the stable. He found them there, Rooster waiting while Possum saddled his horse.

  When he saw Perley, Rooster shouted, “Come on, Perley! We’re goin’ after that stinkin’ devil!”

  “And do what, if you catch him, shoot him?”

  “Well, you heard what he said to Rachael,” Rooster replied.