The Legend of Perley Gates

by William W. Johnstone

  Understanding her fears, Perley nevertheless knew he had to find out if his grandpa had stopped there. “I know what I told you, but you can see that it’s important that I make sure we’re still on Grandpa’s trail. We’ll find you a good place to hide, and I’ll go into town by myself. Shouldn’t take long—then I’ll be right back and we’ll go to Deadwood. All right?”

  “I reckon,” she said without much enthusiasm. When she had finished eating, Sarah marched her off to the washroom.

  * * *

  Perley almost didn’t recognize Lena when Sarah brought her back. She was dressed in a plain cotton dress, but Sarah had washed and combed her hair, so that she looked like a proper young lady. Were it not for the sassy expression upon her face, Perley might have mistaken her for someone else.

  “Dang,” he teased. “Maybe I shoulda brought a carriage.” She made a face, but said nothing. “Are you ready to ride, ma’am?”

  “I reckon I am,” she replied, “if you think you can quit gawkin’ long enough to get started.”

  “How far is Custer City from here?” Perley asked Potter and was told it was a distance of about fifteen miles. “That’ll put us there by suppertime.” He glanced at Lena. “I’ll find a good place to leave you and the sorrel while I take a quick look around.”

  He climbed up into the saddle, then reached down to give Lena a hand as she climbed up. “Much obliged to both of you for your hospitality,” he said and wheeled Buck away from the porch.

  John and Sarah Potter remained on the porch, watching them until they forded the creek and returned to the stage road.

  “I hope that young man has sense enough to take that girl someplace where she’ll be all right,” Sarah remarked.

  “He strikes me as being cut outta the right kind of cloth,” John said. “I’m more worried about what he could do to protect her if they was to run into that Mason feller she talked about. He’s wearin’ a Colt .44. I wonder if he knows how to use it, if he was forced to—looks more like he oughta be totin’ a Bible instead.” He started down the steps. “We oughta be gettin’ a stagecoach in here before long. I’d best go see if the boys are ready to change that team of horses.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, the outer buildings of Custer City came into view as they approached a valley with mountains on both sides. There was no need for comment—Perley could feel Lena tense up, so he sought to put her at ease right away. He pulled Buck back to a stop while he took a look at the town ahead of them. After a few moments, he pointed toward the hills to the west.

  “We’ll head toward those hills and find some water and grass for the horses. It looks like that might be a creek or a stream cuttin’ down through that stand of pines.”

  As he had assumed, they found a stream flowing down from the mountain where he had pointed, and, not surprising, the remains of an old mining claim, now abandoned.

  “Good a place as any,” Perley decided, so they unloaded the packhorse and gathered some wood for a fire. “I reckon you’ll be all right here till I get back. I’ll leave you my rifle, just in case.”

  “You goin’ to town right away?” Lena asked. “Before you eat?”

  “I reckon so. I want to catch the blacksmith or liveryman before they go to supper.”

  She nodded, then said, “I guess you’ll be stoppin’ in at a saloon before you come back to eat.”

  “Well, I hadn’t planned to,” he replied.

  “How do I know you’ll come back? You might be thinkin’ it’d be a whole lot easier for you if you didn’t have to bother with me.”

  He was really quite surprised to hear her sudden return to the fears she had when they first met. Perley couldn’t help wondering if she had lost her cocksure attitude at Potter’s place. Maybe it got washed off in the bathwater. It occurred to him that she had probably never had a good relationship with any man. Her father sold her for a cow and a little money to boot, and the man who bought her treated her like a slut. Perley guessed it was only natural that she would paint all men with the same brush, especially since she was no more than thirteen or fourteen.

  “Well, you can be pretty sure I aim to come back, ’cause I’m leavin’ my packhorse, my rifle, and all my supplies with you.”

  “Oh, that’s right—I forgot about that.” Her usual saucy attitude returned at once. “Well, you’d best not take too long, or I’ll cook supper for myself and leave you to cook your own meal.”

  “I’ll get back as soon as I can,” he assured her. “I aim to take you to Deadwood.” He could feel her watching him as he rode off toward town.

  * * *

  He came to the stable first, but no one there recalled ever having seen his grandfather, so he rode up the street to the blacksmith shop, to find the smithy hard at work on an axle. He stopped when Perley pulled up.

  “Yes, sir, can I help you, sir?”

  “I’m tryin’ to catch up with my grandpa,” Perley said. “I was wonderin’ if he mighta stopped by your place.”

  “It’s hard to say,” Jim Coker replied. “What does he look like?”

  “Little old fellow,” Perley said. “His name’s Perley Gates.”

  A wide smile broke out on Coker’s face. “Perley Gates—I remember that name. Funny little old man ridin’ a paint horse. He might be the reason Lem Wooten sold this forge to me for a right good price. That was about a month ago.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Perley asked.

  “No. He came lookin’ for Lem and musta told him somethin’ that built a fire under Lem’s behind. As soon as I gave Lem the money, they didn’t wait around for a second. Got on their horses and rode straight outta town.” He pointed toward the north end of town.

  It had to be his grandpa! Perley still didn’t know for sure where the two of them were heading when they left Custer, but it was logical to assume it was Deadwood. He thanked Coker for his help, immediately turned Buck around, and headed back toward his camp.

  He was eager to get on the road to Deadwood, but the horses had already gone thirty miles that day. That was not too many, even though much of it was rough going, but it would be better to start out fresh in the morning. Besides, Lena most likely had already begun cooking supper, maybe even making biscuits if she was in the right mood.

  When he rode over the low ridge next to the stream, he was surprised to see no one where he thought he had made his camp. There was no fire, no horse, and no Lena. At first, he thought he must be too far along the ridge. He looked right and left, searching for signs of smoke in either direction. There were none, and he knew he was not mistaken. This was where his camp was supposed to be.

  She ran off on me! It hit him totally by surprise. He would have bet against it.

  “Damn it!” he blurted aloud. “She’s got my rifle and my horse—and everything I need to cook with.”

  John and Rubin are right, he thought. Once again, he was reminded of his brothers’ fondness for japing him about his tendency to step in a cow pie more often than most. Well, she ain’t gonna get away with it, he swore to himself. I shoulda left her back there in the mountains where I found her.

  Determined to track her, he stepped down from the saddle and started searching the ground beside the stream for tracks that might show him which way she had gone. There were tracks, clearly defined by the sorrel’s new shoes, where he had left him by the stream. Perley suddenly stopped when he saw the clear tracks of a wagon—fresh tracks that were not there when he left the sorrel before. He was sure he would have seen them. He followed the wagon tracks until they crossed over the low mound at the end of the ridge.

  Standing there, he looked in the direction the tracks led. It was apparent they were heading toward the stage road to Deadwood. He felt certain then that she had not run off, she had been taken. Somehow, this Mott Mason had found her, for Perley knew that was what had to have happened. Angry at her only seconds before, he was now angry with himself for not being there to try to protect her.

 
He wasted no more time wondering how Mason had happened to find her. It was extremely unlikely that anyone had seen them when they rode west of the town and picked a place to camp. Mason had either just happened to look for a place to rest his horse in the same spot Perley had, or he had somehow been able to track them. The fact of the matter was that somehow Mason had found her, so Perley’s only option now was to catch them as quickly as he could. And that wouldn’t be hard to do, since they were driving a wagon and would have to think about stopping for the night pretty soon.

  Following the deep wagon tracks across the valley, Perley soon came to the stage road, north of Custer City, and the angle at which the tracks intercepted the road indicated that Mason intended to continue north. Conscious of Buck’s hooves pounding out the miles on the well-traveled road, Perley was thankful that the big bay had gone only about thirty miles so far that day.

  He didn’t anticipate the wagon making more than ten miles before darkness, so he started looking for likely camping spots almost immediately. There were many streams cutting across the narrow valley, most of them too small for him to consider following them up the slopes. Still, he paused at each one and looked for signs of smoke that might indicate a camp up in the trees.

  * * *

  “You want me to untie her from the back of the wagon now?” Belle Tatum asked.

  “Hell, yeah,” Mott Mason blurted. “She ain’t gonna set around and watch the rest of us work.”

  He walked around to the tailgate with Belle, prepared to set out some rules. Addressing Lena, he asked, “Did you enjoy your walk from Custer? We was all glad to have you come back to the family after your little vacation, wasn’t we, ladies?” He glanced at the two women sullenly watching him, receiving no more than blank stares in response.

  Back to Lena then, he said, “Trouble with folks takin’ vacations is, they has to pay for them when they come back. Now, it woulda been a little easier on you if you’da come back on your own, instead of me havin’ to find you—mighta even let you ride in the wagon. Looks to me like you still ain’t got it in your head that I own you, bought and paid for, and I don’t let nobody cheat me outta my money. And I gave a damn good milk cow to boot.” He paused to chuckle at the thought. “’Course, it don’t make no difference if I stole the damn cow from that sodbuster down the road from your pappy’s farm.”

  Maintaining a tight-mouthed silence to that point, Lena felt compelled to say, “People ain’t for sale. If you had any sense a’tall, you mighta heard there was a war about that not too long ago.”

  Her comment earned her a hard backhand that knocked her to the ground. Lucy Drover took her arm and helped her up, frowning at her in an effort to warn her not to rebel. Lucy, like Belle, felt compassion for the young girl, but they were in no position to help her. Both approaching middle age, they were with Mason voluntarily. Whores since they were Lena’s age, they had run out of choices to survive. Mason was likely their last chance.

  With a determined look of defiance, Lena steadied herself on her feet again.

  “You just ain’t gonna learn, are you?” Mason slurred. “You gonna act like a little girl, then I reckon I’ll have to treat you like one. Bend over and lean on that tailgate. Lucy, you and Belle hold her hands down. Little young’uns act up, then they gotta get a spankin’.”

  He took his belt off, pulled up Lena’s skirt, and proceeded to whip her until she dropped to her knees.

  “Now,” he said, “get yourself together and collect some wood for a fire.” He started to go unhitch the horse but stopped to give her a final warning. “You try to run off again and I’ll shoot you down. It won’t be no spankin’ next time.”

  Lena did as she was told and helped Belle and Lucy cook some of the smoked venison from Perley’s packs. Before he ate his supper, Mason uncorked the last bottle of the whiskey he had bought in Custer City. He leaned back against the front wagon wheel and leered at the runaway returned.

  “You got any whiskey in them other packs?” When she answered no, he asked, “Where the hell did you get that horse? You ain’t never said yet.”

  “I stole it,” she said, thinking it better than telling him who it belonged to. “Took it from a mining claim back yonder in the mountains.” She felt bad about costing Perley his horse and rifle. She didn’t want to take the chance that Mott might go after everything else Perley owned. Mott was evil to the core, and she was afraid he would be too much for Perley to handle.

  “Stole it, huh?” Mason grunted. “Good. Maybe you’re startin’ to learn how this world operates. It’s about time I started teachin’ you how to be a good whore, how to please a man, so he’ll keep comin’ back for more. You’ll be as good as Belle and Lucy, and you ain’t old and wrinkled like they are.”

  There was no reaction apparent from either of the older women, but Lena could imagine they felt the same disgust that sickened her. He had talked before about “bedding” her, as if it was some kind of ritual that he alone knew about. The dread of it was the primary reason she decided to risk escaping when they were trying to push the wagon up that rocky trail. Now he was talking again about bedding her, and the thought of the vile man approaching her was enough to make her wish she was dead. Her only hope was that he would continue to empty his whiskey bottle, because he almost always passed out. If he did, she was going to run again.

  As the evening wore away, it began to look as if Lena’s hopes might be realized, for Mason grew more and more obnoxious, and his slurred ramblings became an even mix of personal boasts and threats of violence. Unfortunately for Lena, when Mason’s eyelids started drooping, he realized he was losing control. He had enough presence of mind to tie her hands and feet together and secure her to the wagon wheel.

  “Now, by God,” he announced, “anybody untyin’ her will answer to me in the mornin’.”

  Helpless to do anything else, Lena lay close to the wagon wheel and tried to find a comfortable position, what with her hands and feet tied behind her. Belle and Lucy rolled up in their blankets to sleep, afraid to offer any comfort to the young girl.

  In a short time, Mason started snoring, dead to the world. All Lena’s efforts to settle into a comfortable position failed, and she resigned herself to lying awake all night. Soon, a nasal chorus of snoring dominated the chirping of the crickets in the nearby stream. After a long, miserable while, she succumbed to fatigue and drifted off to sleep.

  It was not to last long, however, for she was suddenly awakened by a hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Knowing that it was Mott, come to fulfill his threat to bed her, Lena struggled to resist him.

  “Be quiet.” The whispered command did not come from her drunken captor. Her heart threatened to leap from her chest! She knew the voice! When he felt her relax, he removed his hand from her mouth, cut the rope holding her to the wheel, then quickly went to work on the rope binding her hands and feet. When she was free, she immediately threw her arms around his neck, causing him to almost step into the coals of the fire.

  “We got to get outta here,” he protested, unlocking her arms from his neck. “Where’s my rifle?”

  “Beside the wagon seat,” she whispered.

  He turned her around and pointed toward a clump of pine trees farther down the stream. “Go and wait for me in those trees. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “What about your packhorse?” she whispered.

  “He’s already in that bunch of trees. Pack’s on him, ready to go, so get goin’.”

  She paused for a moment before leaving him. “Don’t shoot the women. They couldn’t do nothin’ to help me.” She assumed he asked for his rifle because he intended to shoot them all.

  “I ain’t gonna shoot anybody,” he said. “Now, get goin’. I just ain’t leavin’ my rifle.”

  She needed no further encouragement and immediately started creeping out of the camp, passing within several feet of the snoring drunk, resisting the urge to jam the empty bottle down his throat.

  Almost as if he
sensed it, Mason grunted and turned over, coming awake momentarily, at least enough to mumble drunkenly, “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

  Standing by the front of the wagon, Perley raised his rifle, ready to react to Mason’s next move.

  Lena had the presence of mind to reassure Mason. “Nothin’s goin’ on. You’re drunk—go back to sleep.”

  Mason grunted and turned back on his side, causing Lena to giggle softly. She looked back at Perley, who was signaling frantically for her to get going, and waved in acknowledgment. Then she picked up Mason’s boots and ran toward the trees Perley had pointed out. He was close on her heels, and when they reached the stand of trees, Lena paused to throw Mason’s boots into the water.

  “Come on!” Perley urged. “We need to get outta here.”

  She continued to giggle as she watched the stream sweep the boots along, until Perley took her by the arm and pulled her toward the horses. Up behind him, she put her arms around his waist and held him tight, a broad smile painted on her face. There could not have been a rescue more dramatic, in her mind, and surely never one so downright entertaining. She pictured the surly ogre when he woke up in the morning to discover her gone, and the packhorse, too. She buried her face in Perley’s back in an effort to stifle her giggles as he guided Buck through the dark stand of trees.

  CHAPTER 16

  After leaving Mott Mason’s camp, Perley rode back to the Cheyenne-Deadwood Stage road and headed north, planning to ride through the night in order to keep well ahead of Mason. It was the only way he knew to find Deadwood, and the road was defined enough to follow in the dark of night. As far as Lena was concerned, she was in high spirits after her rescue, too high to be able to sleep, in fact. So, he held Buck to a steady pace until he decided it time to rest the big horse.

  Having fully expected Lena to be terrified, Perley was astonished to find her almost giddy with thoughts of Mason’s surprise when he awakened in the morning, and the rage he would go into when he couldn’t find his boots. She became concerned for only a brief moment, when she said, “I hope the son of a bitch don’t take it out on Belle and Lucy.” That moment was a short one, however, before her exuberance returned and she was chuckling over the incident again.