“Right, right,” he stumbled. “I’m sorry, Aunt Clem. I reckon I didn’t think about that.”
“All right. Just do it and let’s get goin’. And don’t call me Aunt Clem. I ain’t your aunt. Brice called me that because he was my nephew.”
“Right,” Junior said again. “I didn’t think about that.” He went at once to do her bidding.
When Junior got back to the tree, the old man looked up at him and said, “Tell Clementine I think I’m feelin’ a little bit better. I think I just might be able to hang on if we try it again.”
“That’s good,” Junior said. “I’ll tell her.” He paused a moment to consider that, then shrugged and walked around the tree so her father wouldn’t know what he was about to do. Coming around the other side, he grabbed Clive from behind and drew his knife across the old man’s throat, all in one motion. Junior held him tight against the tree until he ceased to struggle. The wild look of terror told the simple executioner that Clive knew what had happened to him. I won’t tell Aunt Clem, he thought. She might get mad at me.
In the saddle then, the two outlaws rode down the creek until striking the road to Durant. They pushed the horses hard for about five miles before reining them back to an easy walk, riding another ten miles or so before camping for the night. With no more than a long day’s ride left to the Red River, Clementine was confident that they had already left any pursuers behind them. She doubted the town council could get any volunteers to form a posse. If she had known that the telegraph to Fort Smith requesting a deputy marshal had not been sent until several days after her capture, she would not have worried at all.
“We ain’t got much in the way of victuals,” Clementine said as she looked through all the saddlebags, trying to find something to cook. She looked at her big partner as he brought a load of limbs to build a fire. “What did you eat while you were layin’ low?”
“I killed a deer three days ago,” Junior answered.
“What did you do with all the meat?”
“I et it,” he answered.
“All of it? The whole deer? It must notta been a very big one.”
He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “It was a nice doe, about yea-high.” He held his hand up even with his shoulder.
“It’s a wonder you don’t blow up one day. Well, you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ but some moldy sowbelly tonight. We’re gonna have to go shoppin’ tomorrow.”
He grinned, knowing that meant she was planning to rob the first store they came to.
* * *
The opportunity for Clementine to “go shopping” came after a ride of only about fifteen miles the next morning. Leon Shipley, clerk at Dixon Durant’s general store, had just opened the door when he saw the two riders approaching from the north. He paused to give them a good looking over, but decided it was no one he had ever seen before. Two men, leading an extra saddled horse, they appeared to be heading for his store. He went back inside and prepared to receive them.
As he had speculated, they pulled up in front of the store and dismounted.
“Well, good morning,” he greeted them cheerfully, just then realizing that it was a man and a woman, instead of two men, as he had originally thought. “You folks are traveling early. I just opened up.” He was impressed by the size of the couple. The man was a massive brute with an expression suggesting an absence of intelligent thinking. The woman was large as well, not especially fat, but more brawny, much like her companion.
“Good mornin’,” Clementine returned. “I’m glad we caught you openin’ up. We need some things. Most of our supplies was stole yesterday in Atoka.
“Is that a fact?” Leon replied. “That’s a piece of bad luck. Do you know who stole your stuff?” He glanced at Junior, who was looking at everything on the shelves.
It was his usual custom in every store. Behind the counter or not, it made no difference to Junior. When he saw something he wanted, he put it on the counter. It obviously irritated Leon, but he was hesitant to complain.
Seeing the clerk’s concern, Clementine chuckled. “You be sure you start writin’ down all this stuff,” she said, ignoring his question, ’cause we’re gonna need a lot of other things. You got a coffee grinder?”
He said that he did, so she put him to work grinding a sack of coffee beans while she began picking things off the shelves with Junior.
“You got any dried apples?” Junior asked. “I like dried apples.”
Leon pointed to a barrel at the end of the counter.
“One of these days you’re gonna turn into a dried apple,” Clementine said.
“I like dried apples,” the simple man repeated.
She shook her head and sighed, amused. With no packsaddle on Brice’s horse, they needed some sacks, as well. Seeing some heavy cotton bags on a shelf, she threw some on the counter. As she’d suggested, Leon kept busy writing each item down, his early concern having been eased by her constant reminders to make sure he tallied every item.
Finally, she said, “I reckon that’s it,” and she and Junior stuffed everything into the cotton sacks. “Junior, you start tyin’ these sacks on the horses while I settle up with Mister—” She paused. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Shipley,” he replied with a wide smile. “Leon Shipley.” He continued adding up the sizable sale.
“All right, Leon. I forgot, I’m gonna need a few feet of that rope yonder.” She pointed to a spool of clothesline rope in the corner. He put his pencil down and went immediately to fetch the rope. When he started pulling some rope off, he asked how much she wanted.
“Just keep pullin’ and I’ll tell you when to stop.” He pulled off about ten feet and she said, “That oughta do.”
Leon went back to finish up his totals, thinking it a good way to start off the day, with an order of this size. Junior came in to pick up the last two sacks.
“Wait and I’ll help you with those,” she told him. “We need to settle up with Leon, here, first.”
Leon started to show her the bill, but she didn’t bother to look at it. Instead, she asked, “All right if we deal in lead?”
He didn’t understand until she pulled the pistol out of her holster, cocked it, and stuck it in his face. Junior snickered. Stunned, Leon was too shocked to move.
“Take this rope and tie ol’ Leon’s hands and feet,” she said to Junior. Back to Shipley, she said, “I like you, Leon, so I’m thinkin’ about not shootin’ you ’cause you’ve been mighty helpful.”
When he was trussed up, hand and foot, Junior dragged him behind the counter.
Somewhat recovered from the initial shock, Leon, no longer fearing he was going to be shot, felt compelled to ask a question. “If you were planning to rob me all along, why did you want me to add up everything you took?”
“So you’d know how much you need to replace,” Clementine answered. “It’s been good doin’ business with you, Leon. I hope the rest of your day goes a little better for you.” His farewell glimpse of the two thieves was the foolish grin on Junior’s face as the simple brute looked down at him while he chewed up a dried apple.
Outside, Clementine and Junior took their time securing their stolen goods, since there was no one on the street at the early hour. Knowing their normal routine would have been to jump on their horses and ride like hell to get away, Junior asked why Clementine was in no hurry. She explained that Leon wasn’t going anywhere until someone happened to find him behind the counter. And from the looks of the deserted little town, that might be some time yet, so there was no sense in wearing their horses out. There appeared to be no law in the town, and even if they could scare up a posse, they couldn’t catch them before they crossed the Red.
Junior considered that for a moment, then smiled in appreciation for her common sense. “What are we gonna do after we get to Texas? Are we goin’ back to The Hole?” They had been gone from the Cobb family hideout, down near Tyler, Texas, for two months, but Junior preferred to continue their raids in Oklahoma and
Kansas. Even after losing Slick, Shorty, and Brice, he had hoped that he and Clementine would keep on robbing banks and holding up stagecoaches.
“We’re gonna track down that son of a bitch named Perley Gates first,” Clementine replied. “He killed Brice and Shorty and Slick and Papa, too. ’Least, he caused Papa to die. He might think he can get away with that, and run off to Texas to hide, but he can’t hide good enough to keep me from findin’ him sooner or later. That’s all right with you, ain’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say is all right with me. Remember, he shot me, too.” Junior smiled smugly to himself. He could understand Clementine’s feelings about losing her father and nephew. He hadn’t really known her father, but it was poor luck for Brice. Junior felt kinda sorry for Shorty and Slick, too, but he liked being the only one riding with Clementine. It was like he was her favorite, and in spite of what she had told him, when he thought of her, he would think of her as Aunt Clem.
As Clementine had figured, a ride of about twenty miles, following the MKT Railroad, took them across the Red River, and a few miles beyond to the town of Denison, Texas. They slow-walked their horses past the railroad depot until coming to a saloon with a sign that proclaimed it to be the LAST CALL SALOON. Clementine led them over to the hitching rail and dismounted, reading the name of the saloon out loud as she looked at the sign.
“Reckon why they named it that?” Junior asked.
Clementine shrugged, not really caring, then it struck her, and she explained it to her slow-witted partner. “If you’re ridin’ north, it’s the last saloon before you cross the Red into Oklahoma Territory, where there ain’t none. We’re ridin’ south, so it’s the first call for us. Instead of jawin’ about it, let’s go in and get us a drink.”
Her explanation pleased the simple man and he giggled with delight at her suggestion to get a drink.
Tommy Thompson looked up when the unfamiliar pair walked in, concentrating his gaze on the woman. The only women who frequented his saloon were the three that worked there. From the look of her, Tommy figured she could probably hold her own with the husky brute she was with. “Howdy, folks,” he offered. “What’ll it be? Whiskey for the gent and maybe a sarsaparilla for the lady?”
Clementine looked him in the eye and asked, “Do I look like I want a damn sarsaparilla?”
It brought a delighted chuckle from Junior.
“Two whiskeys it is,” Tommy promptly replied and reached for two shot glasses. He poured their drinks and watched as they both tossed them down, then promptly ordered another. “Don’t recall seein’ you folks in here before,” he commented. “Gonna be with us a while, or just passin’ through?”
“We’re on our way to see an old friend of mine,” Clementine said. “Family’s got a cattle ranch hereabouts somewhere. Trouble is, we don’t know exactly where it is, and damned if I didn’t forget the name of his ranch.” She fashioned a smile. “I thought I’d go a few more years before I started losin’ my memory. His name’s Perley Gates. You don’t happen to know him, do ya? He said his outfit ain’t too far from the Red River.”
“Perley Gates?” Tommy asked, not sure he had heard correctly. “Is that really his name?”
Clementine nodded.
“No, I’m sorry, but I ain’t ever run into anybody by that name. I think I’da remembered it if I had. There’s some big cattle spreads all along the Red, east and west of here.”
“Needle in a haystack, huh?” Clementine reacted. “I told him we’d find him, so I reckon we’ll just have to keep lookin’ till we run into somebody who knows him. How far is the next town from here, east or west?”
“Closest town from here would be Gainesville,” Tommy said. “It’s about thirty miles west. If you went back to the east, Paris is about sixty miles. It ain’t near as big as Gainesville.”
“Much obliged,” Clementine said. “I reckon we’ll try lookin’ over Gainesville way.”
“Most likely your best bet,” Tommy said. “There’s a sizable supply store in Gainesville that does a lot of business with the cattle drives that push up through Kansas. They might know your friend, if he’s a cattleman like you say.”
“Thanks again,” Clementine said and threw some money on the bar. “Gimme a bottle of that whiskey to take with us.”
Tommy watched them until they went out the door. “Perley Gates,” he mumbled to himself. “I doubt that’s his real name, lady, and I expect when he sobered up and got a good look at you, he was damn glad he didn’t give you his real name.” And whatever your real name is, Mr. Perley Gates, you sure as hell ain’t gonna be happy when you see that ox she’s bringing with her.
With only thirty miles to Gainesville, and it still early in the afternoon, Clementine figured to make the town by nightfall, even with a stop to rest the horses and eat something.
They arrived about suppertime and went directly to Beck’s Supply, which was easily the biggest store in the town. Clementine sought out the owner, John Beck, figuring that if anyone in the store knew Perley Gates, it would be the man who handled the money. She guessed right, for Beck did, indeed, know Perley Gates.
“Sure do,” he replied when asked. “I’ve done a lot of business with the Triple-G since I opened this store. I started out with the old man, Nathaniel Gates. His sons run the ranch now. They drive their herds through here every year on their way over to strike the Western Trail.”
Clementine cocked an eye at Junior and winked. “Well, I sure am glad to know we’re finally gettin’ close to the Triple-G.”
Beck shrugged. “I reckon it depends on what you call close. The Triple-G is almost a hundred miles east of here, closer to the little town of Paris.”
“Damn,” Junior blurted, the first sound he had made since they’d walked into the store.
“It don’t make no difference,” Clementine quickly insisted. “We’ve got plenty of time and I’m sure we’ll find him all right.” Turning back to Beck, she asked, “You say Perley and his brothers run the ranch now? I don’t recall him ever mentioning he had brothers. How many brothers has he got?”
Beck began to get a little leery of all the questions she was asking, and wondered if he was doing the Gates brothers any harm. The two people asking the questions didn’t strike him as friends of any of the Gates family. He answered the question, however. “There are three brothers, and the Triple-G is a big outfit, with a big crew of cowhands.”
“Well, I reckon we’ll be on our way, then,” Clementine said, sensing that Beck seemed to be getting a little guarded in his answers. “I’m lookin’ forward to meetin’ all the Gates boys, if we do run across ’em. Come on, Junior.”
Outside, Junior felt inclined to comment. “We picked the wrong direction to ride, back there in Denison. We shoulda rode east ’stead of west. Now we got a two-day ride back to that other town he told us about.”
“Paris,” Clementine said. “If that Triple-G is as big as this feller says it is, somebody will sure as hell know where it is. We ain’t in no big hurry. We’ll find Mr. Perley Gates and he’ll pay up for the killin’ he’s done.”
“He needs to pay up for this slug in my leg, too,” Junior reminded her again. “I’m still limpin’ when I walk.”
“I ain’t forgot about that,” and she hadn’t. She just didn’t think it was that important. Reminded now of his childlike brain, she said, “No, sir, I ain’t forgot about that. He’s gotta pay for shootin’ you in the leg.”
The childlike grin on his face told her that pleased him.
What she had just found out from Beck caused her to reconsider her immediate plan to take her revenge, however. Perley Gates alone was one thing, but Perley Gates with two brothers and a large crew of cowhands might pose a far more difficult job for her and Junior. She thought of other things to consider, as well. One man had killed three other men who’d ridden with her. In retribution, the Cobb family needed to take the lives of all three Gates brothers. And to do that, it made more sense to wait for her
brothers, Coleman and Beau, and maybe one or two additional gun hands to make it right.
The more she thought about it, the more the idea of wiping out the Gates family appealed to her. She thought about telegraphing her brother Coleman to tell him to come at once, and bring help, but she knew he’d never get the message. There was a telegrapher at Tyler, but he wouldn’t ever find Coleman to give him his message.
CHAPTER 13
When none of the Gates brothers wanted to go into town to pick up supplies, Sonny Rice volunteered to drive the wagon and take the youngsters with him. They were all excited over a trip to town, and Sonny didn’t mind taking them. He wasn’t interested in visiting the saloon like most of the men, so Martha and Lou Ann didn’t worry about sending the children with him. They knew Sonny to be dependable to take care of them.
Although still pretty young, he had shown enough maturity to take on the responsibility of managing the remuda on the past summer’s cattle drive. And according to all three brothers, he had done an impressive job as a wrangler. Going to town was a holiday for the young children on the Triple-G Ranch. Rubin’s two sons, John’s daughter, Link Drew, and Jimmy Farmer made up the party for the five-mile trip. Henry, Robby, Betsy, and Link were all given a penny for a peppermint stick. Jimmy, at thirteen, considered himself too old for penny candy. And since he chose not to go in the wagon with the younger children, he decided to ride his horse to town. Eager to take his horse on a ride of that length, Link asked to take the paint gelding he had laid claim to. Sonny consented, since Jimmy was taking his.
It was a chilly autumn morning when Sonny drove his wagon load of bundled-up children into the little settlement of Paris. Followed by Jimmy and Link on their horses, he pulled up before Henderson’s Store and his three passengers were out of the wagon and running to spend their pennies before he could tie the horses.
“Mornin’, Sonny,” Bill Henderson greeted him when he walked in.
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