* * *
As agreed, the posse was mounted and gathered in front of the stable shortly after sunup the next morning. Since no one had claimed to know exactly where Ned Stark’s ranch house was located, Rooster Crabb volunteered to lead the posse. He had scouted Stark’s ranch along Oak Creek once. At the time, he was reluctant to try to find the ranch headquarters, but he remembered a couple of trails that looked as if they could lead to it. Like everyone else in Bison Gap, he hadn’t wanted to find the actual hideout, afraid that if he did, he might not live to report it. So he led the posse with the sheriff, Perley, and Possum riding close behind him. They were followed by John Payne, Rex Cooper, and Floyd Jenkins.
As everyone in Bison Gap suspected, the posse found that the ranch headquarters was not hard to find at all. Following the first trail that Rooster suggested, they rode up from the creek on a well-traveled path that bore the hoofprints of horses and cattle. It led to a wider trail that went to a stream, then the trail followed that stream to the path down to the house, barn, and stable. Before riding down that path, Rooster signaled a halt.
“What is it, Rooster?” Sheriff Mason asked as he pulled his horse up even with Rooster’s.
“Lookee yonder,” Rooster said and pointed toward the ranch house.
“Yeah, I see it,” Mason said. “That’s gotta be it.”
“I ain’t talkin’ ’bout the blame house,” Rooster said and pointed again. “Lookee yonder.”
The sheriff saw what he was pointing at then, two bodies, approximately a dozen yards apart, lying beside the path. At once alert then, Mason warned the posse. “Looks like somebody’s been shot. Get your weapons ready to use.”
“They musta been lyin’ there a while,” Perley said.
“What makes you say that?” the sheriff asked.
“ ’Cause we’ve been ridin’ between here and the creek for a pretty good while and we didn’t hear any shots,” Perley said.
“Right, I didn’t think of that,” Mason said. “I reckon we can move ahead and see who they are.” He moved past Rooster and led the way down the path to the first body. “That’s Jim Duncan,” he said. Moving on to the second body, he said, “And this here’s Frank Deal.” He was very familiar with the two men.
“Both of ’em shot in the back,” Possum said. “If I was to take a guess, I’d say that these two boys decided to take off and leave ol’ Ned alone, but Ned didn’t take to the idea.” He looked over at Perley and asked, “Whadda you think, partner?”
“It looks that way to me,” Perley answered. “So I reckon we got just one man to deal with. Whaddaya wanna do, Sheriff?”
Mason hesitated while he decided what best to do. “We most likely oughta search that barn and the stable to make sure he ain’t hidin’ in there somewhere,” Possum suggested, having ridden in a posse before. “You gonna try to holler him outta the house?”
“Yeah,” Mason quickly answered, “that’s what I’m gonna do.” He gave his orders to his posse then. “Couple of you men stay here with me to watch the house. Possum, you and Perley and Rooster go look through the barn and the stable.” Then they all rode down closer to the house and Perley and his two partners broke off to ride to the barn. They had not reached the barn when they heard Sheriff Mason call out. “Ned Stark! Come on outta there with your hands in the air! You’re under arrest for kidnappin’!” Remembering the two bodies just found on the path behind him, he added, “And murder!” There was no response to his summons, so he called out again. “Stark, ain’t no use to try to hide! Come on outta there!”
While the sheriff was calling in vain for Stark’s surrender, the three he sent to the barn and the stable were conducting a cautious search. The two bodies just found were evidence enough of the state of mind the fugitive was in. If that wasn’t enough, the two horses, still saddled, found in the stable was confirmation. They were not in a stall, just left to wander in and out as they chose. There were no horses in the corral, and the gate was left open. After a thorough search of the barn with no luck, there were only a couple of places left to look outside the house, an outhouse and a smokehouse. From the appearance of both of these outbuildings, they concluded that they had not been used since the original owners of the property had lived there. To confirm it, Possum walked up to the outhouse, completely surrounded by shoulder-high weeds, placed his boot on the side of it and kicked it over on its other side. They checked the smokehouse, which was sitting with the door open, grown up in weeds as well, to find it a maze of spiderwebs. “If he’s here, he’s in the house!” Rooster yelled to the sheriff.
Mason called out his summons once more before yelling to Rooster, “We’re goin’ in. You fellows go in the back. Watch out to make sure we don’t shoot each other.”
The house was small, in keeping with the size of the original cattle ranch. There were not many places to hide, and much to the relief of Floyd Jenkins, Ned Stark was nowhere to be found. Floyd had volunteered for the posse primarily to prove his courage to the rest of the men. The two search parties converged on the kitchen, where they discovered the body of Drew Dawson lying on the kitchen table, causing Possum to remark dryly. “If that’s what’s for dinner, I reckon I’ll pass.”
“Well, he ain’t here,” Horace Brooks remarked, since no one else had stated the obvious. “Reckon we’d best take those two horses back with us, don’tcha think, Sheriff?”
“Reckon so,” the sheriff replied. “Let’s look around outside and see if there’s any sign he mighta left.” He was just as happy to let Stark be gone from there, hopefully to Colorado or somewhere far from Bison Gap. His past dealings with the vicious outlaw were still a burden upon his conscience and he hoped his disappearance would dim the memory of that time with the town council.
Outside, the posse searched half-heartedly for any place Stark could possibly be hiding, but there was nothing for half a mile in any direction but flat treeless prairie. The only recent trail left by more than one horse pointed toward a low ridge in the distance. And from the direction it led, Perley told them the trail might lead to the line shack where he had found Alice Parker. With little hope of finding anything else, and dinnertime approaching before long, it was decided to follow that trail on the chance Stark might have gone there.
They waited while Horace rigged up a lead rope for the two horses. And while they waited, Mason asked Floyd if he wanted to bury the body on the kitchen table, since he was the undertaker. “Nope,” Floyd answered. “I say just leave him where he is.”
“Suits me,” the sheriff said, so they closed the front and back doors and left Drew Dawson to haunt the house.
When Horace had the two spare horses rigged up, the posse rode off to follow the trail. As Perley had figured, it led to the line shack. After another cautious approach, they found that Stark was not there. They looked the place over, just out of curiosity, and Perley showed them where Alice had been kept. With the last of the posse’s enthusiasm drained by then, the party turned toward home, taking the same route Perley had taken when rescuing Alice. If nothing else, the posse had accomplished a general feeling that Stark was gone, and logical thinking told them he would stay gone. And that was progress in the town’s hopes to become a major city.
* * *
Perley was not surprised that Ned Stark had decided his best option was to run to escape the hangman’s noose, although it was disturbing to think he might descend upon another settlement to infect with his lawlessness. His thoughts were now naturally about going home. He and Possum had come to Bison Gap to see if they could be of any help to their friends. He was sorry that it had turned out to be another case where he was forced to use his six-gun. It seemed that it was always his destiny to resort to violence, no matter how he tried to avoid it. There was always a cow pie waiting for him. Maybe he should never leave the Triple-G for any reason, but he knew he could never refuse a request for help. Then he had to tell himself it was worth it when he thought about how things were in Bison Gap now that St
ark and his kind were gone. The town had a sheriff who was doing the job he was hired for. He had a willing town council to back him up. Emma and Possum’s investment in the hotel was now doing well, and Rachael’s dining room was thriving. With Stark and his crew gone, all that would continue to improve. He realized he should be feeling pretty good about the situation. “Hell,” he muttered, “I could tell John I stomped that cow pie right in the ground.”
“What did you say, Perley?” Possum asked.
“What?” Perley started, just realizing he had said that last out loud. “I said I hope Bess has still got some of that pie around that we had at dinner.”
“Won’t be much chance of that,” Rooster commented, “fast as that pie was disappearin’.”
“You was lookin’ there like your mind was a thousand miles away,” Possum said. “I thought that one little drink of whiskey was puttin’ a buzz on you. Maybe we’d best get on over to the hotel and get some supper. That whiskey hits kinda hard on an empty stomach.”
Perley looked up at the clock on the wall behind the bar. “It’ll be about fifteen minutes yet before Rachael opens the door. And how often does Ralph Wheeler buy you a drink? We better have one more, or he might think we don’t appreciate it.” It was a rare occasion when the mayor would spring for a drink all around. But he, like everyone else, was in high spirits since finding out that the Stark ranch house was now occupied by someone not likely to give anybody any trouble. In fact, it was already being referred to by some of the council as the “Dawson Place.”
As Perley sat there in the Buffalo Hump, watching Possum and Rooster enjoying the company of the major citizens of Bison Gap, it made him wonder if he might be riding back to the Triple-G by himself. Rooster had been transformed from a quirky character not to be taken seriously into a seasoned veteran whose views reflected common sense. And Possum had established himself as a respected member of the town council, in addition to owning one half of the Bison House Hotel. Perley had to ask himself, why would Possum want to leave what he has built here in just this short amount of time? He hoped Possum wouldn’t give up his newfound status in this growing community because of some sense of loyalty he felt he owed him. Maybe I’ll hang around a little longer, myself. I haven’t been away from the Triple-G that long.
His musing was distracted then when he saw a stranger walk into the crowded saloon. At least he was a stranger to him because he couldn’t recall ever having seen him around town. While he watched out of bored curiosity, the stranger walked up to talk to Horace Brooks. They spoke for only a few moments before Horace looked around the room briefly, then pointed toward him. Perley had no time to wonder who the stranger was because he made his way straight to him. “You Perley Gates?” The stranger asked him abruptly. Perley said that he was. “My name’s Spade Ramey. You heard of me?”
“Spade Ramey?” Perley had to think a moment. “Nope, I’m sorry but I don’t recall the name. Is there some reason I should?”
The stranger grinned at him as if Perley was putting him on. “Maybe you’re as dumb as your name,” he said.
Perley suddenly realized the stranger’s purpose in seeking him out. “Oh, no, uh-uh,” he said at once. “I ain’t interested in findin’ out how fast you are with that handgun.”
Interpreting Perley’s response as cowardice, Spade was only encouraged. “I heard you gunned down Curly Williams, and I say that’s a damn lie. I don’t believe you did. I just think you’re tellin’ people you did. Ain’t that about right?”
“I’ll go along with that,” Perley answered. “Whatever you believe, that’s what I’ll believe. All right?”
“You tryin’ to smart-mouth me? ’Cause if you are, I’ll put some airholes in your hide right where you set.” Spade threatened.
“No, indeed, Spamy,” Perley hastened to say. “I just met you, but I can tell you’re a reasonable fellow.”
“Spamy, huh?’ Ramey growled when Perley mispronounced his name. “That’s all the slack I’m givin’ you, Perley. You asked for it, and now you’re gonna get it, you yellow dog.”
“Did you have to bring my mother into this?” Perley asked. “You’d really see she’s a wonderful woman, if you ever met her. Well, it’s been right nice talkin’ to you, and I apologize for mispronouncin’ your name. I’m afraid it’s time for me to go to supper now.”
By this time, the men close around the table where Perley sat were aware of a disturbance going on in the middle of the saloon. One of them, Possum Smith, knew what was happening as soon as he turned around and saw the stranger, his gun hung low in his fast-draw holster, leaning menacingly over Perley’s table. He pushed his way quickly through the crowd gathering around the table. “Hold on, there, cowboy! Get the hell outta here before you get thrown out!”
Quick as the blink of an eye, Ramey’s .44 was out and pointed at Possum’s face. “You old fool. Who are you, his daddy? I’ll put a hole in that old gray head of your’ n.”
Perley had no choice at this point. “Back off, Possum, I’m the one he wants. No use in you gettin’ in the middle of this.” To Spade, he said, “Get that gun outta his face, and I’ll give you what you want, but let’s take it outside. There’s too many people in here. Somebody’s liable to get shot. All right? That’s what you came in here for, ain’t it?”
Spade grinned and holstered his pistol. “All right, Perley, we’ll go outside.” He backed away to give Perley room to get up, shoving Possum back in the process. “I’ll leave your little boy layin’ in the street out front, Daddy. You can tell folks that Spade Ramey gunned him down.” He made sure he said it loud enough for everyone gathered there to hear his name. Back to Perley then, he said, “If I have to come back in here after you, I’ll shoot you down in the middle of this saloon.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Perley said and got up from the table. He had seen Spade whip the .44 out when Possum threatened, so he knew the man was quick. Quicker than he was, he wasn’t sure. “You know, if you change your mind, that’s all right,” he felt inclined to say as he followed him through the saloon doors.
“Hah,” was the answer he got from Spade.
The crowded saloon emptied, because everyone was anxious to see for themselves what only a handful of folks had seen firsthand. They gathered on the boardwalk in front of the Buffalo Hump jockeying for position so as not to have their view of the duel obstructed. Perley made one last attempt. “I don’t wanna kill you, Ramey. I don’t even know you. If we don’t do this, I’ll tell people that you’re faster than me. Whaddaya say?”
It only served to encourage Spade. “If you don’t face me like a man, I’ll shoot you down like I would a suck-egg dog,” he warned.
They walked out in the center of the street to face each other, causing unsuspecting people passing in wagons or on horseback to suddenly veer out of the way when they realized what was happening. “All right,” Perley said, “this is your call. How do you wanna do it?”
“I’m ready,” Spade said, still smiling. “You pull whenever you’re ready.”
“You sure you don’t wanna have somebody count to three or something, so that I don’t get the jump on you?” Perley asked.
“I’m sure, Perley,” he scoffed. “You pull that six-gun as soon as you get up your nerve.”
“Okay,” Perley said, “if that’s the way you want it.” Ramey’s knees buckled when he suddenly found himself staring at the business end of Perley’s six-gun, cocked and aimed at his chest, his own hand having never reached for his .44. Staring death in the face, Ramey froze, unable to move. “Spade,” Perley said calmly, “you need to find another line of work.”
Ramey remained frozen, unable to believe what his eyes told him, until Possum took him by the arm. “You’d best count this as your lucky day, son. You get on your horse and go on back home.” Completely bewildered, Possum stood there and watched until he disappeared past the end of the street.
“What happened?” Someone on the boardwalk asked. “I don
’t know, I didn’t see it,” someone else answered. “There wasn’t a shot,” another voice said. Pretty soon, there was a great deal of discussion with only one or two people claiming they actually saw Perley draw.
“I saw it,” Possum said. He knew to keep his eyes glued on Perley’s hand. “The damn fool told Perley to draw first.” He pushed through the spectators to get to Perley. “Come on, Perley, let’s get away from here. It’s time for supper.” He knew the turmoil churning in Perley’s mind.
CHAPTER 21
Perley did the best he could to keep up with Alice and Melva’s expectations from him at supper that night. They expected a good measure of good-natured teasing from him. It was not so easy on this night after the confrontation with Spade Ramey at the Buffalo Hump. Even though no death had occurred as a result of his confrontation with Spade Ramey, it still troubled him that he often found himself in situations like that one.
The senseless contest that men participated in to see who was quickest with a gun was something he would never understand. That was why he faced a man with a weapon only when he was given no choice. The exception was in a case like the outright shooting of Drew Dawson. If Drew had killed him, he didn’t know what would have happened to Alice. So he took Dawson’s life without hesitation, but not without regret that he had to be the one to rid the world of Dawson.
Possum guessed what was going on in Perley’s mind, so he said, “Why don’t you girls let Perley rest for a while? He’s had a long day.” He met Perley’s gaze when he glanced at him. “Sometimes you just do what you gotta do, don’t you, partner?”
“I reckon so,” Perley answered, realizing then that his moodiness must be apparent. So he resolved to break out of it. “Rooster,” he said, “I was thinkin’ about ridin’ out to your place tomorrow to see if you’re keepin’ it up like you oughta.”
“Did you like that ham you just finished a slab of?” Rooster asked.
“Yep, it was good ham,” Perley replied.
Shot to Hell Page 26
