The boy shook his head as if he couldn’t remember.
“Are you Malcolm Drew’s son?”
“Yes,” the boy replied so quietly that Perley almost missed it.
“Good. I was afraid you couldn’t talk, and I ain’t so good at talkin’ with my hands, like a lotta those deaf folks do. What’s your name?”
“Lincoln,” the boy answered.
“They call you Link, I reckon.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered with a little more strength.
“All right, Link, I expect we’d best decide what we’re gonna do. You got any kin anywhere around here?”
When Link said that there were none he knew of, Perley asked if he knew of any kin anywhere, east or west, but Link gave him the same answer.
“Do you know the men who killed your mama and papa? You ever see ’em before?”
Link shook his head in response to both questions. Perley continued to press him until Link finally recovered enough to paint the whole picture for him. It was a grim picture, indeed.
Two days before, a gang had ridden into the yard a little before dark. When Perley asked how many, Link told him there were four men and one woman, but the woman rode and acted more like a man. He said he overheard his father tell his mother he didn’t like the look of them, and he hoped they would do their business and move on. They wanted whiskey and Link’s father told them he couldn’t sell whiskey in Indian Territory. That made the men mad and they started tearing up the place, looking for whiskey.
“Papa told them to get out of his store, but they only laughed at him. Mama told me to go hide in the barn till they left.”
While he was hiding behind some hay bales, he heard the gunshots from the house, accompanied by a chorus of wild laughter and shouting. When two of the men came outside and opened the gate to the corral, Link knew they would be in the barn next, so he wiggled through a hole in the back wall of the barn and ran down the riverbank. He hid in the gully while the gang stomped through the store and the house behind it, yelling and shooting their guns. He knew his mother and father were dead. His father would have fought to protect his wife and home.
“There were just too many of them,” Link sobbed. “I shoulda helped my pa fight ’em.”
“Your pa wouldn’t have wanted that,” Perley said. “You did the right thing when you stayed hid. Did you hear any of their names?”
Link shook his head, then said, “One, I heard somebody keep yellin’ Brice, but that’s the only one.”
It was only after the gang took everything they wanted, including Malcolm Drew’s horses, that Link heard them get on their horses and leave. He was aware that they had set the store on fire when the whole yard lit up with the flames. Afraid to leave his hiding place, he nevertheless ran to the house to find his parents. With the walls already being eaten up by the fire, he ran down the smoke-filled hall to his parents’ bedroom. The horrifying sight that met his eyes was enough to send him screaming in shock. He tried to get to them, but he couldn’t endure the intense heat, and he was finally forced to retreat to the yard. Unable to cope with the horrible scene he had witnessed, the only thing he could think of was to crawl back into the gully that had hidden him before.
Perley could not imagine a more terrifying scene to confront a young boy. When asked his age, Link said he was nine. He was four when his father built the trading post in Indian Territory, and he knew that they had come from somewhere in Missouri. Of the troubles Perley had encountered during the last year, this might prove to be the most perplexing—being charged with the care of a nine-year-old orphan. What was he to do with the boy? He had no ready answers for the question, but he knew for the time being, he had no choice other than to take him along. Further questioning only confirmed what Link had originally told him—he didn’t know of any relatives and the only home he knew was now a pile of burnt timbers.
“Well,” Perley concluded, “I reckon you’re gonna go to Texas with me.” With no sign in the boy’s face showing feelings one way or the other about that prospect, Perley tried to paint a better picture for him. “You’ll be right at home on the Triple-G. Fred Farmer’s son works on the ranch. He’s thirteen. My brother, Rubin, has two boys, one’s six, the other one’s eight, if I remember correctly. You’ll fit right in.” He paused for some kind of response, but all he got was the same baleful stare.
Reckon he just needs a little time.
* * *
They remained near the creek for the rest of that day before starting out early the next morning to strike the Canadian River. Perley planned to follow the Canadian down through Indian Territory until it reached a point where it turned in a more easterly direction and headed toward Arkansas. He would leave it to continue riding due south to Texas.
He transferred some of his packs from his grandfather’s horse and let Link ride the paint gelding. The boy seemed quite at home on the horse’s back, even without a saddle. Perley couldn’t help wondering if Link would complain if he was in pain, for he never said a word unless he was asked something.
* * *
The first night after leaving the remains of the trading post, Perley heard Link quietly crying, but by the time they struck the Canadian, he seemed at peace, content to follow Perley to Texas. The brutal murder of the boy’s parents by the gang of ruthless outlaws continued to trouble Perley as they followed the Canadian on its southern course. The outlaws should be punished for their evil work back at the fork of the Beaver River and Kiowa Creek, but he felt helpless to do anything about it. He had no idea where the gang was heading, only that they appeared to have ridden out on the same trail he was following. He thought to inform the Indian police of the slaughter, but didn’t know where to find them. At that point, he was not certain that he was even in one of the five nations. He might still be in Osage Territory, where there were no established Indian police.
Four men and one woman, the boy had said, and all of them vicious cutthroats. Perley wasn’t sure he could do much against those odds. Nothing to do but continue on his way home and take the boy with him. He imagined the response he might get when he rode into the Triple-G, bringing a young boy to raise. It worked out all right for Sonny. The young man had wandered onto the Triple-G when only a few years older than Link. Nathaniel Gates, Perley’s father, had taken the stray in and made a ranch hand out of him. All the hands had had a part in raising Sonny, not just the family. Maybe it’ll work that way for Link.
* * *
The tracks left by the outlaws entered the river after the second day of following them. Perley could see the tracks on the opposite bank where they came out. He figured it just as well. It was best for Link not to be reminded of them day in and day out.
Two days later, they were awakened by a small herd of deer crossing the river about thirty yards from where they’d made their beds. Perley was quick enough with his rifle to get a shot at a young doe, and the rest of that morning was spent butchering and feasting on fresh venison. It delayed the trip, but it seemed to cheer his orphan up a bit.
Riding on, Perley changed his course a little more to the southeast and headed toward Atoka in the Choctaw Nation. Up till then, he had made it a point to avoid towns of any size, still concerned about the sacks of corn he carried. That had not been difficult since there were no towns to speak of along the way they had come. However, the nights were getting a little colder with the arrival of autumn, and Link had no clothes other than the shirt and trousers he’d been wearing when his parents were killed. Perley knew there was a store in Atoka that sold clothes, so he’d decided they would go there and buy a coat for Link.
It was approaching the supper hour when they rode down the street in Atoka, past the railroad depot, heading for the general merchandise store.
“Evening,” Tom Brant greeted them cheerfully when they walked in the door. “What can I help you with?”
“This young fellow needs a jacket,” Perley replied. “Think you might have something to fit him?”
> Brant looked the small boy up and down. “I might,” he decided. “My wife knows more about the clothes.” He called out, “Eva.”
In a few seconds, a pleasant-looking woman appeared in the doorway from another room.
“Hon,” Brant said, “this young gentleman is looking for a jacket. You got anything in that closet that might fit him?”
Eva smiled as she gazed at Link. “I think so. We don’t sell many children’s clothes, but we have a few that might do the job if you ain’t too particular.” She led Link through the door she had just come from.
While Perley waited, Brant struck up a conversation with him. “I’m tryin’ to remember when you were in here. It was a little while back, but you came in asking about somebody you were lookin’ for.”
“My grandpa,” Perley said. “Perley Gates.”
“That’s right,” Brant responded, remembering then. “I didn’t think I’d forget the name. Did you ever find him?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“I don’t reckon that’s him you’re buying a jacket for, is it?” Brant joked.
“No, sir, my grandpa’s dead.”
“Oh,” Brant reacted, and the broad grin disappeared from his face. “I’m right sorry to hear that. No offense.”
“None taken,” Perley replied.
A few minutes later, he and Link walked out of the store with Link sporting a new wool pullover sweater, his choice over a wool sack jacket, which was a bit too large.
Now that the boy had a sweater to keep him warm, Perley decided it would be a good idea to buy him a good supper, since they had lived off practically nothing but venison and coffee for the past few days. He remembered the one time he had been in Atoka before and had eaten at Mabre’s, next to the hotel. The food had been good, so he was happy to try it again. In fact, he had promised Lottie Mabre that he would be back if ever in Atoka again. “Reckon you could eat some supper?” he asked Link.
“I reckon,” the boy answered eagerly.
Perley rode up the street toward the hotel and reined up before the small building next to it with the sign proclaiming it to be MABRE’S DINER. Looking right and left, he saw very little activity on the quiet street, so he figured his packhorses were safe enough. Before going inside, he asked Link, “Can you read?”
Link nodded.
Perley continued. “Tell me what that sign says.”
Link studied it for a moment, uncertain of the pronunciation. “It’s says it’s a diner. May-bers or something.”
“May-bree’s Diner,” Perley sounded out, hoping Link might justify the embarrassing mistake he had made when he was here before. He had thought the sign said Mable’s Diner and made a fool of himself when he thought Lottie Mabre’s name was Mable. He hoped she might not remember the incident.
“Well, look who’s back!” Lottie exclaimed when Perley walked in, followed by Link. “Mr. Gates, if I remember correctly.
Perley nodded with a polite smile.
“Mable ain’t here, if that’s who you’re lookin’ for.” She chuckled heartily in appreciation for her humor.
Perley felt himself cringing.
“Who’s this you got with you?” Lottie went on. “Is this your son?”
“Nope,” Perley answered, ignoring her attempt at humor. “This is my partner, Link Drew, and I told him he could find some good chuck in here.”
“Well, we’ll try not to disappoint you, Link,” Lottie said. “Why don’t you and Mr. Gates set yourselves down at that end of the table and we’ll get you started.” Like Tom Brant, Lottie remembered that he had been looking for his grandfather when he had been there before, and asked if he had found him.
“Yes, ma’am, I found him,” Perley answered and left it at that.
The supper was not a disappointment and the enthusiasm with which young Link attacked it was appreciated by Lottie. It was reassuring to Perley as well, for it appeared that, day by day, Link was recovering from the horror of witnessing his parents’ murder. The boy’s going to be all right, Perley thought, as he watched Link finish off a slice of pie. It was a thought that lasted only until they said good-bye to Lottie and left the diner.
“Come on and I’ll give you a lift up,” Perley said as he untied the horses from the rail, but Link didn’t respond. Perley looked behind him to see why the boy hadn’t hurried to be lifted up on his horse. He found Link standing rigidly, as if in shock, staring at a group of riders slow-walking their horses down the middle of the street. Perley was immediately alert. He counted the riders, five men, he thought at first, then decided that one of them was a woman, a heavyset brute of a woman. He knew at once they were the party who had murdered Link’s parents.
What to do about it? He wasn’t sure, but something had to be done. They were casually riding down the street, obviously looking the town over. Before taking any action, he thought to reassure the boy. “Link, I know who they are. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let them get near you.” When no response came from the boy, Perley placed his hand on Link’s shoulder.
Link jumped as if he had been shot.
Perley assured him. “Link, they’re not gonna hurt you. We’ll take care of ’em, but I’ve gotta see if we can get some help.” He looped the horses’ reins back over the hitching rail, grabbed Link by the hand, and pulled him back into the diner. Lottie and her cook were in the process of cleaning off the table, and they immediately saw the urgency in Perley’s face.
“Is there any law in this town?” he asked frantically. “A sheriff or a marshal?”
Responding immediately, Lottie exclaimed, “There’s a Choctaw policeman. That’s all. What’s wrong?” She looked at Link, who was obviously frightened, his eyes wide open in shock.
Perley didn’t answer for a moment, trying to determine what options were available to him. A Choctaw policeman had no jurisdiction over white men. He would have to telegraph Fort Smith to get a deputy marshal and a posse sent to handle the problem, and there was no time for that. Something had to be done right now. Lottie pressed him for information.
“This whole town might be in trouble,” Perley said, “and I’m trying to figure out what to do about it.” When she was about to demand more information, he told her that the gang who had killed Link’s parents and burned down their store were checking out her town.
“Oh, my Lord in heaven!” Lottie exclaimed. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty much,” Perley replied as he watched the riders out the window of the diner. “At least I’m sure it’s the same bunch that killed his folks. He got a good look at ’em—too good a look, I’m afraid. I don’t know what they’ve got in mind. Maybe nothin’, maybe they’re just needin’ supplies. They pulled up at the general store.”
“If they’re lookin’ for whiskey, they ain’t gonna find any,” Lottie said. “Tom ain’t got any for sale. It’s against the law in the Nations.”
Another possibility occurred to Perley when he glanced at the railroad tracks. “What about the train? Is there one this evenin’?”
“Every evening,” Lottie answered. “Usually about an hour from now.”
“Does it usually stop in Atoka?”
“Most of the time,” Lottie said. “Just long enough to drop off the mail or take on passengers.”
“That just might be what those outlaws are thinkin’,” Perley said. And if they knew what I’m carrying in those canvas bags, they’ll be after me, he thought. What the hell to do? “We need to alert the other folks in town. Maybe we can get up a posse to stop ’em and hold ’em till they can get some marshals over here. We’re gonna need some more help. There’s five of ’em. One of ’em is a woman, but I’m countin’ her as a man. Who can we count on for help? We have to let them know what’s happenin’.”
Lottie had to think for a few moments. “I’d say my husband, but he’s not here. He’s gone deer huntin’ over in the Jack Fork Mountains.” She paused again before continuing. “Well, there’s Stanley Coons at the stable, and Garland Wils
on, the blacksmith. That’s two who can handle a gun, and there’s Tom Brant.”
“I reckon we can’t count on him, since the outlaws are in his store right now. So that makes three of us.” Perley still had not decided what to do, since the outlaws had not made any move to show their hand. As yet, he had no reason to believe they planned to harm anyone. They may have stopped to buy some supplies then planned to ride on out of town, but he didn’t really believe that to be the case. The party of outlaws had already shown a pattern of plunder and murder, and if that’s what they had in mind for Atoka, the whole town could suffer.
Finally, he decided. “Most likely this bunch is plannin’ to rob the train. We need to get our guns and set up a welcomin’ committee for ’em at the depot. Is anybody there now?”
“Elvis Farrier,” Lottie answered. “He’s the stationmaster and telegraph operator.”
“Good,” Perley said. “That gives us four. We oughta be able to handle the five of ’em if we get the jump on ’em before they know we’re on to ’em.”
Lottie had no objections or suggestions to add to the plan other than to ask, “What if they don’t try to rob the train?”
“Then I reckon all this will be for nothin’, and they’ll ride on out of town and leave us lookin’ silly, standin’ at the depot. Unless they hold up Brant’s store. Then I guess we’d have to be ready to help him. We need to stop ’em before they ride outta town, even if they don’t do anything here. They killed Link’s folks and burned his home to the ground.” Perley shrugged, not able to think of any better plan.
Since it was less than an hour till the train was scheduled, Peggy, Lottie’s cook, volunteered to take the message to Coons and the blacksmith, and tell them to meet Perley at the depot. She figured she wouldn’t attract the outlaws’ attention. The remaining concerns for Perley were Link and his seed corn, neither of which he could afford to lose.
Lottie offered to keep the boy with her. “And if you’re worried about your horses, you’re welcome to put them in the corral behind the hotel. My husband owns the hotel.”
A Reason to Die Page 15