Shot to Hell

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “You’re Perley Gates, ain’t you?” Slim asked, his voice low and his tone tired, as if he knew he was destined to end up this way.

  “That’s right,” Perley answered. “What’s yours?”

  “Slim Garrett,” he answered.

  “Well, Slim, I reckon we’ll take you and your friend to the jailhouse. Don’t look like any of us are gonna get anymore sleep tonight. Might as well wake the sheriff up, too.” He looked over at Floyd, who was still holding his shotgun on Eli, since he was showing signs of being alive. “At least we don’t have to send anybody after the undertaker,” Perley said, nodding toward the body lying near the barn door.

  * * *

  “Who the hell’s bangin’ on my door?” Sheriff Mason yelled through the closed door.

  “Open up,” Perley yelled back. “We’d like to make a deposit.”

  “This ain’t no bank!” Mason yelled again. The sound of a key turning angrily in the lock, followed by the door opening a crack, was then followed by Mason’s voice again. “Who the hell is it?” Then he saw Perley and mumbled, “I shoulda known when I heard the shot.”

  “Mornin’, Sheriff,” Perley said. “I hate to bother you at this early hour, but Floyd and I have got a couple of prisoners for your jail. They broke into his place with the intent to do him harm, I suspect.” Mason opened the door wide, so he could get a better look at the two men, one sitting in the saddle, the other lying across the saddle.

  “One of ’em looks more dead than alive,” Mason commented. “I notice you’ve got another horse with an empty saddle. What about that?”

  “He is dead,” Perley answered. “We left him at the undertaker.” He nodded toward Eli. “He ain’t dead. He just hit his head on a thunder mug. I expect he’ll be all right when his head stops ringin’.”

  “All right,” the sheriff said with a weary sigh, knowing they were Ned Stark’s men. “Bring ’em on in here. Who’s the one you shot?”

  Perley was about to say he had no idea, but Slim answered the sheriff. “Carl Leach,” he said.

  Perley helped Slim off his horse, then he and Floyd slid Eli off to stand on his feet. After a few wobbly steps, Eli managed to walk under his own power as long as Perley held onto his arm. He even spoke as they walked into the cell room and waited for Sheriff Mason to open the cell. “What the hell did you hit me with? I feel like I got kicked by a horse.”

  “The first thing I could get my hands on,” Perley answered. “You’ll be all right in a little while.”

  “What’s this wet stuff on my shirt?” Eli asked then. “Smells like piss.”

  “There, see, you’re gettin’ your senses back already,” Perley said and gave him a little push through the door. When Mason locked the cell, Perley said, “Back up to the bars and I’ll untie your hands.”

  Eli, his senses rapidly returning now, had something to say to Mason when he walked out behind Perley. “Ned Stark ain’t gonna like this,” he said.

  “Ned ain’t gonna like a whole lotta things from now on, I reckon,” Mason responded and closed the cell room door behind him. He felt like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, trying to decide whether to jump or not. When he walked back into his office, Perley was standing by his desk, waiting for him.

  “Here are the weapons I took off of the three of them,” Perley said. “I figure that’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m gonna take their horses to the stable.”

  “Right,” was all Mason said.

  “Sorry to ruin your mornin’, Sheriff. Let me tell you, mine and Floyd’s wasn’t much better. When I go to breakfast, I’ll tell Rachael you’ve got two prisoners to feed.”

  “Much obliged,” Mason said.

  Outside Floyd was waiting for him. Perley took the reins of the three horses from him and they walked back toward the bridge. When they crossed over to the street, Perley said he was going to take the horses to the stable, then he’d drop back by the barbershop to get his bedroll. “I believe you can pretty much figure you won’t be gettin’ any more visits from Stark,” he told Floyd. “But you might wanna put some pegs in the window in the parlor, too. And you know, Floyd, I ain’t sure it’s a good idea to sleep with that double-barrel shotgun in the bed with you. Maybe it’d be better under the bed.” He left him then to lead the horses down to the stable.

  It was still too early for Horace to be open, so Perley put the three horses in Horace’s empty corral and pulled the saddles off them. He turned and looked toward the east. There was not a trace of light in the eastern sky. It would be at least an hour before Bess cranked up the first pot of coffee. Might as well go on back to Floyd’s and catch an hour’s worth of shut-eye, he thought. When he got back to the barbershop, he found Floyd struggling to move Carl Leach’s body inside his barn. “Here, I’ll give you a hand,” he said to Floyd as he walked up. “Are you gonna start workin’ on him right away?”

  “No, I’m just gonna get him outta the yard,” Floyd said. “I’ve got a pot of coffee on the stove. Thought you might want a cup.”

  “I could sure use a cup,” Perley said, “and that’s a fact.” He took his bandanna out of his pocket and tied it over his nose. “Let’s get Mr. Leach inside before he catches a cold layin’ out here on the ground.”

  * * *

  He left Floyd to fix his own breakfast, as was Floyd’s custom, and went to the dining room after he stopped by the washroom to splash some water over his head and upper body. As he expected, he was the first customer to show up. Actually, it was a little before the usual opening time, but he was welcomed cheerfully by Bess and Kitty. He was finishing up his first cup of coffee when Rachael came in, after having squared the girls away for the day, a day she told Perley was going to include church. “I plumb forgot. That’s right, today is Sunday,” he said.

  “You look tired,” she said. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

  “I reckon it’s just because I had to sleep in the barbershop last night.” He looked at his coffee cup and was reminded. “I reckon I drank a little too much coffee last night after that meetin’. Floyd made a pot of coffee and we drank the whole thing. That man’s a talker. It’s a wonder I got any sleep at all.”

  “Well, I see you made it back from Floyd’s, after your early-morning visit from Ned Stark’s boys,” Possum sang out as he walked in the door.

  “Oh, you know about that?” Perley responded. “How’d you find out this early?”

  “Sheriff Mason,” Possum replied. “I saw him just now outside the hotel. Said he might have breakfast here this mornin’. He also said you were gonna tell Rachael, here, that he had two prisoners to feed.”

  “I was just fixin’ to,” Perley said, having forgotten to do so. Then he turned to her and said, “Sheriff Mason’s got two new prisoners in jail, and he’ll be wantin’ breakfast for ’em.” He could see by the look on her face that she was more interested in Possum’s statement about the visit from Stark’s men. So, he related the events of the night that occurred well past the end of the meeting in the saloon. This he told without a great deal of detail, especially the part about Eli Priest’s capture, then changed the subject completely. “I reckon you’re goin’ to church this mornin’ with Rachael and the girls,” he said to Possum.

  Possum laughed, well aware he was being japed. “Well, I was considerin’ it, but I got to thinkin’ about what Rooster said and I ain’t sure the church roof is strong enough to stand up if a sinner like me walks in. After the preacher showed up at the meetin’ last night, ready to ride with the vigilantes, I wouldn’t be surprised if some new faces don’t show up this mornin’ to hear him preach, though.”

  * * *

  A little over three miles from Bison Gap, another breakfast-time discussion was taking place at approximately the same time Perley was talking to Possum and Rachael. The atmosphere was drastically different at this one. It was the second time in recent days that someone from Ned Stark’s gang had gone into town on a special mission and failed. The first was a simple
mission by Slim Garrett to find out what happened to Curly Williams. But this second mission was a special one to seek revenge for the display of Curly’s body. “There’s only one reason they ain’t come back by now.” Frank Deal said what everyone else was thinking. “There musta been some kinda ambush set up for ’em.” He looked around at the four other men sitting at the table. “All that crap Leach was talkin’ last night about how peaceful the town was had to be a trick to make him think that.”

  “That part about the vigilante meetin’ musta been true,” Jack Sledge said, “’cause it would take a bunch of ’em to take down all three of those boys.”

  Stark remained silent, still seething inside with an ever-growing anger, fueled by a sense of betrayal by the hand of John Mason. Mason was on his payroll and lately he had not done the job he was paid to do. “I need to know what happened in that town last night,” he suddenly stated as if just then realizing he had been cut down to only four men. He had his eye on a large herd of cattle in Blanco County, and he needed more than these four men sitting at the table with him now. He could only hope his three missing men were in jail and he would go in and tell the sheriff to release them. When he shared those thoughts with his men, there were some who thought that might be a mistake.

  “You think they might be holdin’ Eli and them just to get you to come in after ’em? Then they’d throw you in jail.” Sledge was the first to voice it. “Might be better if one of us went in to see what’s what—get an idea if they’re tryin’ to get up some vigilantes.”

  “John Mason would play hell tryin’ to hold me,” Stark replied.

  “They ain’t likely to arrest one of us if we ain’t causin’ no trouble,” Jim Duncan said. “If he was just goin’ to the store and didn’t even go to the saloon. They didn’t bother Slim when you sent him in to find out about Curly.”

  “We need some coffee and some flour to make some pan biscuits,” Junior Humphrey blurted.

  “You might be right,” Stark reconsidered, ignoring Junior’s interruption. “It might be better to find out what I might be walkin’ into.”

  “Send Duncan in,” Sledge suggested. “He’s the most harmless-lookin’ one of us left, since Slim ain’t here.”

  “You kiss my ass,” Jim Duncan responded. “I’ll teach you a lesson about harmless.” Sledge laughed in response.

  “Sledge is right,” Stark said. “But what he really means is that you don’t look as much like a saddle tramp as the rest of us. You wanna take the job?”

  “Yeah, I’ll go in alone. I ain’t scared of anything or anybody in that town,” Duncan answered.

  “And he can get some coffee and some flour,” Junior spoke up again.

  “Today’s Sunday,” Sledge said. “Wheeler’s store ain’t open today, so he’ll have to go to the saloon.” His remark brought a genuine look of despair to the simple giant’s face.

  CHAPTER 12

  An hour after the bell in his tall bell tower rang out its clear call to worship, Reverend Harvey Poole was gratified to see the extra bodies in the pews on this warm Sunday morning. He glanced toward the organ to exchange smiles with his wife, Nancy, on his way to the pulpit. “I want to welcome you all to worship with us here on this fine morning,” he began as he looked over the new faces. Seeing Rachael, he paused for a moment to give her and her two daughters a warm smile. She marveled at the difference between this warm and friendly man and the fierce messenger of the Lord who had appeared at the council meeting the night before. It was a good feeling and one that gave her hope for the town of Bison Gap.

  Back in the town, Slim Garrett stood up on his bunk against the side wall of the cell, so he could look out the small window near the ceiling. “Town sure is dead on a Sunday mornin’,” he informed his cellmate. A few minutes later, he caught sight of a solitary rider slowly walking his horse up the street. He thought the rider looked familiar, but he wasn’t sure, since the jail was across the creek from the business street. A few moments more, when the rider turned his horse toward the bridge, he recognized him. “That’s Jim Duncan!” He turned toward the man on the other bunk. “Hey, Eli, that’s Jim Duncan ridin’ into town.”

  “Is he by himself?” Eli asked at once, hoping it meant the gang had come to break them out of jail. Still nursing a headache from his encounter with a brass chamber pot, he stepped up on the bunk beside Slim, so he could look out, too. “He’s by himself,” he declared. “Hell, he’s goin’ to the saloon. Where’s the rest of the boys?” He pushed Slim aside in an effort to try to see more of the street. “What’s he doin’ here by himself?” He frowned at Slim as if he expected him to know the answer.

  “Reckon he’s wantin’ a drink of likker,” Slim answered Eli’s question. It seemed obvious to him. “How come I’m the only one broke and everybody else has got the price of a drink?”

  “He’d better watch hisself,” Eli said, “or he’s liable to be in here with us.” He continued to strain his eyes in an effort to see the rest of the gang coming behind Duncan, but there was no one. “What’s Ned gonna do, just leave us in this damn jail?”

  “He might not know we’re in jail yet. But, if he does, he’s most likely got a plan to get us outta here,” Slim said, believing he was right. “He said he owns the sheriff.”

  “I ain’t so sure about that,” Eli pondered, thinking back to Mason’s response when they were locked up and he told him that Ned wasn’t gonna like it. “The sheriff mighta hitched his horse up to another wagon.”

  “One thing about it,” Slim commented, “we had us the best breakfast we’ve had in a long time.” His comment was met with a look of disbelief.

  At the Buffalo Hump, Jimmy McGee glanced toward the door when he heard Jim Duncan come in. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have noticed, but on this Sunday morning there were very few souls gathered at the saloon. Dixie Bell was standing at the bar talking to him while she finished her first cup of coffee. Usually one or two cups of coffee was all she had for breakfast. She said food early in the day always gave her belly cramps. Glancing at the door at the same time Jimmy did, she commented. “That’s one I’ve seen before. He’s one of that Stark gang. I don’t know his name, but he’s awful shy about goin’ upstairs with me.” She laughed then and added, “He always wants to go, though.”

  “Mornin’,” Duncan said when he walked up to the bar, then looked at Dixie, nodded and said, “ma’am.”

  “Good mornin’, darlin’,” Dixie returned. “You lookin’ for a drink of whiskey, or did you come to see me?”

  “I’m afraid my wages have been a little short this month,” Duncan replied, “and it’s still a little early for a drink. What I’d really love to buy is a cup of that coffee you’re drinkin’. We’ve run outta coffee beans out at the ranch and I ain’t had no coffee in two days.”

  “Well, I reckon we can fix you up with some coffee,” Jimmy said and went to the kitchen to get him a cup. When he returned to the bar with it, he said, “You’re one of Ned Stark’s boys, ain’t you?”

  “That’s a fact,” Duncan answered, a little cautiously. “I work cattle for Stark.”

  “I thought you might be in town to find out what happened to three of your friends last night,” Jimmy couldn’t resist saying.

  “Oh?” Duncan responded, making an attempt to remain casual. “Was some of the boys in town last night? I was ridin’ night herd.”

  “Sure were,” Jimmy went on. “They took a notion to break in the barbershop. Two of ’em’s in the jail. The other one’s in the undertaker’s barn.”

  “Well, if that ain’t somethin’,” Duncan reacted. “They musta been drunk—robbed the barbershop,” he marveled. “What happened to the one you said was at the undertaker?”

  “He got shot,” Jimmy answered. “Ran into Perley Gates.”

  Duncan didn’t comment for a long few seconds. There was that name again. He just slowly sipped his coffee, not sure if he should ask any more questions. He had no fear of Jimmy but he couldn’t help a
feeling that there was someone watching from inside the kitchen door, waiting for him to make a move. He wanted to find out which one of the gang was killed, but he was hesitant to ask any more questions. Whoever it was must have been killed in ambush and now he might be set up for one as well. He decided he’d ask one more question. “I swear that’s sorry news about one of Stark’s men gettin’ killed. Do you know who it was?”

  “Yep,” Jimmy replied. “Sheriff said his name was Carl Leach. I don’t remember the names of the two that got locked up. You want some more coffee?”

  “No, no thanks. One cup’s enough. How’d the sheriff know to have some fellers waitin’ in the barbershop?”

  “It wasn’t nobody but Perley Gates and Floyd Jenkins that done for ’em. The sheriff just locked’em up.”

  “Well, that’s somethin’, all right. I expect I’ll get along now.” He placed a nickel on the bar and backed away a few steps before turning abruptly and heading for the door.

  Jimmy grinned at Dixie and declared, “He seemed kinda nervous when I told him about his friends, didn’t he? He didn’t waste any time headin’ for the door. Said he was ridin’ night herd. Kinda odd, ain’t it? Ridin’ night herd last night and comin’ into town for a cup of coffee this mornin’? Seems to me he woulda just gone on back to the bunkhouse.”

  “He said they was outta coffee,” Dixie reminded him.

  Jimmy glanced over at the kitchen door then and said, “What you standin’ behind the kitchen door for, Ida?”

  “I was just waitin’ to see if he was gonna want somethin’ to eat,” the cook said.

  * * *

  Duncan did not spare his horse on his way back to the ranch, and when he pulled up in front of the house, he found Stark sitting on the porch with Sledge and Junior, waiting for him. “They got ’em!” he announced, excitedly as he slid off his horse and came up the steps. “Leach is dead and Eli and Slim are in the jailhouse.”