“You think he’s at the jail now?” Ballenger asked.
“Most likely. Either there or at The Buffalo Hump eatin’ supper.”
“Fine, fine,” Ballenger said, nodding as he did, his mind creating the scene he was anxious to participate in. “I’ll come to get that Morgan when I’m finished with Perley Gates. Just so you’ll know it’s really my horse, take a look under the fender on that saddle that came with the horse and you’ll see my name, Eli Ballenger, etched into the leather.” He paused to see if Horace had any reaction to that.
“I reckon that’da be proof enough,” Horace said. “I never thought to even take a look to see if the owner’s name was on it, because I remembered the horse and you.”
“I’ll notify Sheriff Gates myself. Don’t you worry about that. I’ll pay you for the horse’s board, even though I didn’t bring it here.”
“No problem,” Horace said. “There ain’t no charge.”
Ballenger snorted in amusement when he thought of something. “You’re not going to be out any money when this is all finished. I’ll leave you these two nags I rode in with for your trouble. I’ll just pick up the packhorse when I get my Morgan.” He turned and walked away, leaving Horace standing dumbfounded, holding the reins to Joe Cutter’s gray, the horse Rachael had ridden, and the packhorse.
When he got to the sheriff’s office, he found the door locked with a padlock, so he continued on to the saloon. With no reason to be cautious, for he felt sure Perley had not been close enough to recognize him as one of the four men at Comanche Run, Ballenger walked boldly into The Buffalo Hump. For a few moments, he stood there looking around the room until he spotted Perley sitting by himself, quietly eating his supper. Over at the bar, Jimmy McGee recognized him and called out a “Howdy.” Ballenger acknowledged it with one of his own and said, “Pour me a shot of whiskey, rye if you’ve got it. I’ll take it over at the table with the sheriff.”
Busy working on a tough piece of beef, Perley was not aware he was going to have a visitor until Ballenger pulled a chair back and sat down. Perley looked up in surprise. “Have a seat,” he said, after the fact. “What brings you back to town, Mr. . . .” He paused then, unable to remember the name.
“Ballenger,” he reminded him.
“Right,” Perley said. “Mr. Ballenger. You just passin’ through again?”
“Nope, this time I came here to see you,” he said, “about a horse that had been stolen.” He smiled, enjoying the puzzled look on Perley’s face. “A dark, almost black Morgan gelding.” He paused momentarily when Jimmy set his whiskey on the table. “Well, I’ve been looking for that horse and I found it over at the stable just now. The fellow that owns the stable, what’s his name? Harry?”
“Horace,” Perley corrected, “Horace Brooks.”
“Right. Anyway, Horace said I’d better check with you before I take the horse with me. So what about it, Sheriff? How did you happen to come by that horse?”
“I reckon I’m the one who stole it,” Perley admitted, his full attention focused on what Ballenger was saying now. It came to him then that when he saw the four men around the fire at Comanche Run, there had been one split second when he wondered if he hadn’t seen one of the men before. But he was too far away to get a good look. “Maybe I oughta be askin’ you if you’ve been to Comanche Run lately,” Perley said.
“Why, I don’t know,” Ballenger said, feeling the confidence that comes with knowing how a conversation will end. “Where is Comanche Run?”
Certain he was being played now, Perley laid his fork down on the table. “About a two-day ride from here,” he said. “So that was you hidin’ in the bushes while I ran off with your horse. And now you’ve come to give yourself up for kidnappin’. Is that right?”
“Kidnapping?” Ballenger laughed. “I told you, somebody stole my horse, and that’s what I’m here for. I’ve never heard of Comanche Run. Maybe what we need to be talking about is the confession you just made about stealing my horse. I don’t appreciate you calling me a kidnapper, so I reckon I deserve a public apology for that, and right here in this saloon is a good place to get it.” He was gradually talking louder until he reached a point where he was certain everyone in the saloon could hear him. The sudden quiet that had descended over the other customers stood as testimony to that. “I’ll have that apology now, Sheriff.”
It was finally plain to Perley that Ballenger was baiting him for a face-off right there in the saloon, and it proved to him that there was no doubt that he was the third outlaw in that ambush by the creek. It was also certain that he was part of the kidnapping of Emma’s baby and Rachael. It occurred to him that only a professional gunfighter would push him for a showdown to settle the disagreement, confident that it would settle the argument—and would not be considered murder, because it was a duel. “I don’t reckon you’ll be gettin’ an apology,” he said. “What you will be gettin’ is a cell in the town jail while you’re waitin’ for the Texas Rangers to transport you to trial.”
Ballenger threw his head back and laughed. “You’re bluffing, Sheriff. You got no evidence that I was anywhere near this place you call Comanche Run.”
“I’ve got an eyewitness,” Perley said.
“Who?” Ballenger demanded.
“Me,” Perley said. “I saw you there.”
“You’re a damn liar,” Ballenger roared, finally losing control of his glib manner.
“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to put you under arrest for kidnappin’ and attempted murder of an officer of the law,” Perley calmly stated.
“Is that so?” Ballenger responded. “And I’m afraid you’re gonna have to try to arrest me.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. His eyes glued on Perley, he pulled his morning coat off and folded it across the back of the chair. The Colt Peacemaker riding low on his thigh was handy in a black leather quick-draw holster. The crooked smile on his face told Perley he might be in trouble. “We’ll settle this question the right way, instead of arguing. Bullets don’t argue.”
“That’s not the way we do things here in Bison Gap,” Perley said. “You’d best hand that gun over, and we’ll go on over to the jail and let you cool off some. I’ll take it easy on you ’cause you were nice enough to come in and confess.”
Ballenger was reaching a point of exasperation, anxious to settle with Perley for making shambles of what was supposed to be a simple delivery of a baby, but most of all for the way he had played him for a fool. “Get on your feet, you dumb son of a bitch, or I’ll shoot you in that chair.”
“Ballenger, my supper’s gettin’ cold. How ’bout you sittin’ back down and let me finish eatin’? Then we can talk it over like civilized men and maybe you’ll see this thing the way I see it.” When Ballenger could only glare, astonished and seething with anger, Perley said, “I’m just tryin’ not to have to kill you.”
“You damn coward!” Ballenger blurted. “You’re pretty good with a rifle when you’re hid and nobody’s shooting back at you, aren’t you? Let’s see how you are when you’re face-to-face with somebody who can shoot back. Get up from there or I swear you’re a dead man right where you sit.” He dropped his hand to rest on the Colt.
“All right, all right,” Perley said. “I’m gettin’ up.” He took another bite out of a biscuit, then slowly got to his feet. “I declare, Ida Wicks bakes the best biscuits in West Texas. You wanna try one before we act like a couple of kids?”
“Damn you!” Ballenger snarled and took a few steps backward as Perley walked out to face him. The only sound in the room was that of customers getting out of their chairs to clear the middle of the room.
“How you wanna do this?” Perley asked, “have somebody count to three or something?”
His question brought a smile to the gunman’s face. “We don’t need anybody to count. You just draw when you feel lucky.”
“You mean you want me to go first?” Perley asked. “That don’t hardly seem fair to you.”
“I’ve
stood face-to-face like this with eight men,” Ballenger said, still grinning as he relished the next few seconds. “You’ll be number nine, but you’re the dumbest bastard I’ve ever shot. Now the talking is over. Pull it when you’re ready to die.”
“When I’m ready?”
“Yes, damn it, when you’re ready,” Ballenger said. He looked down then, confused to see the hole in his shirt as he stepped backward from the impact. He had not even heard the shot that killed him. His gun still in his holster, he looked at Perley in disbelief as he dropped to his knees, remained there for several seconds, then fell over on his side.
There was not a sound in the barroom for almost a full minute before the first question was quietly asked by someone near the corner of the room. “Did you see it? I never saw it.”
“He musta already had his gun out,” someone else said. He was immediately answered.
“No, hell, he didn’t. It was in his holster when he stood up and faced him.”
“I reckon I musta blinked when he drew,” another said, “’Cause I was lookin’ right at him and I never saw him reach for it.”
To Perley, this was another incident where he had been forced to do something he didn’t want to do. He was sorry there were any witnesses to the shooting. He had seen once again that he had been blessed, or cursed, he wasn’t sure which, with a hand speed and reflexes he truly didn’t understand. He was aware of no conscious thought when it was time to act. Always before, his shots were in reaction to his adversary’s offensive move. This time, he drew first, which seemed unfair, but he finally did as Ballenger insisted. He would have to think about that.
“Perley, Perley,” he finally heard Jimmy McGee’s voice in his ear. “You all right, Perley?”
“What? Oh, yeah, I’m all right.” He looked down to see his gun still in his hand, so he quickly holstered it. He looked at Ballenger’s body sprawled on its side. “I’m sorry ’bout the mess, but it didn’t look like I was gonna be able to avoid it.”
Jimmy had a wide grin on his face as he gushed, “I ain’t never seen anything like that in my whole life!” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Tell Ida I’m sorry I didn’t finish my supper,” Perley said. “It was good, just like it always is, although that steak was a little bit tough, but due to the interruption, I just sorta lost my appetite. I don’t want her to think I didn’t like it. I’ll be right here for breakfast in the mornin’.”
Jimmy shook his head, amazed by Perley’s concern for Ida’s feelings after the incident that had just taken place. “Right, I’ll tell her,” he assured him.
Perley moved the gawkers that had already gathered over Ballenger’s body while he unbuckled the gun belt and relieved the body of any other valuables, including a roll of paper money of considerable size. He was satisfied to find the money. It looked to be ample to pay for the burial with plenty left over to give the town council. One of the spectators volunteered to go get Floyd Jenkins and another one helped Perley carry the body outside, where Perley waited for Floyd. In a short while, he showed up pushing a handcart especially made for the purpose of transporting a body. Already irritated because the job of undertaker had been thrust upon him, he complained that he had been in the middle of his supper. “I know how you feel,” Perley said. “I kinda had mine interrupted, too. Has the town council made a deal with you about how much they’ll pay you to take care of bodies like this one?”
“Hell, no,” Floyd answered. “All they’ve told me so far is that they’re gonna pay me something. I’m already out twenty-five dollars to have John Payne make this buggy for me.”
“Well, I reckon you’re lucky this fellow is able to pay for his own burial,” Perley said. He peeled off some bills from the roll he found in Ballenger’s pocket. “Here’s twenty-five dollars to pay for your buggy, and twenty more to bury him. Is that satisfactory?”
Floyd was properly surprised. “Well, I’d say so,” he responded, aware that Wheeler was considering something in the neighborhood of ten dollars for the burial—and his cart had actually cost him a little over fifteen dollars. “I appreciate it, Perley. It’s a pleasure doin’ business with you.”
Perley helped Floyd load Ballenger’s body on the cart and waited there when he saw Ralph Wheeler hurrying down to the saloon, pausing only a few moments to look at Floyd’s passenger before continuing. “Mr. Mayor,” Perley greeted him.
“I heard about the shooting,” Wheeler said. “Who was he?”
“I don’t really know, but it’s my guess he was a gun for hire. He was part of that kidnappin’ of Emma Slocum’s baby. And I expect he got paid pretty good to do it, since he’s makin’ a donation to the Bison Gap city council for things like public burials and meals for jail inmates and so on.” He handed the rest of Ballenger’s money to the mayor.
Wheeler was almost stunned, having never considered a bonus. “How much is there here?”
“I didn’t count it,” Perley said.
“I appreciate your honesty,” Wheeler said, and assured him it would be used for official town business only. When Perley said he figured as much, Wheeler asked, “I don’t suppose there was any chance to just arrest him?”
“Nope. I made the offer, but he didn’t take it.”
Wheeler left him then, eager to tell Henry Lawrence and Dick Hoover about the donation. Before going back to the jail, Perley took one look back at the saloon where the spectacle of the shooting would be discussed for the rest of the evening.
He walked in the cell room to observe the sad sight of the Mexican cowhand still suffering the effects of a gigantic hangover. He had given the man the option of being released that morning, but he was so sick he wanted to stay there for another night. Perley let him stay, but he told him now that he would have to be on his way in the morning because there was some business he had to attend to. “I don’t wanna catch you in that saloon again,” Perley warned him.
“No, no, no saloon,” the cowhand insisted, making a sour face. “Whiskey no good for Pedro.”
“Whiskey no good for anybody, I reckon.” It occurred to him that the last job he would ever want on this earth would have to be that of a lawman. He suddenly felt a small case of homesickness.
CHAPTER 21
Once again, they had managed to stop an attempt by Zachary Slocum to kidnap his grandson, this one more professional, supposedly, with the likes of Eli Ballenger and his agents, Joe Cutter and Waylon Logan, to carry out the abduction. Perley was well aware that this did not mean the threat was over, not with a man like Slocum. Any owner of a cattle empire the size of the Lazy-S Ranch might be prone to believe he determined right and wrong as it suited his desires. And Slocum seemed to be self-endowed with absolute power. So what would be next? Would he send his whole crew of cowhands to Bison Gap to take the baby by force—and the mother, too? Or would there be another hired specialist like Eli Ballenger to make the next attempt? Perley was sick of the mess, and he was ready to go home, but he knew that the matter needed to be resolved for good. It was not of his making, but he was involved in it up to his neck. These were friends of his and he did not feel he could desert them at this juncture. These were the thoughts that lay heavy on his mind as he followed the narrow path by Oak Creek on his way to Rooster’s cabin.
The weather being pleasant, they were all outside with a table set up between the two wagons that had transported them from Butcher Bottom. Rooster was of course in attendance, never one to miss a feast like the one prepared by Emma and Rachael on this occasion. The baby was sleeping nearby in a rather crude cradle that Tom had put together. There was cause for celebration, Rachael and the baby’s safe return, as well as the start of construction on the Bison House Hotel. Possum had been dispatched to town earlier that day to ensure Perley’s attendance.
“There he is!” Rooster called out when Perley rode up. “Heard you had a little to-do with some hot-shot gunslinger yesterday.”
“Just some sheriff’s business,” Perley said as he step
ped down, not wishing to go into any detail.
“Just some sheriff’s business, huh?” Rooster responded. “That ain’t what I heard. They’re talkin’ about a strike of lightnin’ hit the saloon. I wish I’da seen it.”
“That’s just the kinda thing that ain’t good to talk about,” Perley said. “And that’s the reason I’m gettin’ myself outta Bison Gap as soon as I can. Talk about a fast gun draws every kind of gunslinger in the country to a town, and that’s not what you want for Bison Gap.”
“Perley’s right,” Emma said. “We don’t wanna draw those kinds of people to stay in our hotel, do we, Rachael?”
Rachael was quick to agree. “But we aren’t trying to get rid of you,” she added just as quickly. “I don’t know where we’d be right now, if it hadn’t been for you.”
“I ’preciate it,” Perley said, “but I think we all agree it’ll be better if I don’t hang around.” When he saw their solemn faces, he joked, “It ain’t the first time I’ve been asked to leave someplace.”
“Fiddle,” Emma replied. “I don’t believe that. Just ask Alice or Melva.”
Perley laughed and said, “Well, you know I’ll be back when Alice turns sixteen.” She laughed and Perley added, “Ol’ Buck might be too feeble by then to tote me.”
“Let’s eat this supper before it turns stone cold,” Rachael ordered, and they sat down at the table. It was never officially declared, but the conversation around the table was definitely of a farewell nature, with lots of talk about the experiences they had shared ever since they started at Doan’s Crossing on the Red River.
“Me and Emma was worried about havin’ to take care of you,” Possum declared. “We thought your brothers just saw an opportunity to get rid of you.” They all laughed at that, and Perley claimed that that wasn’t far from the truth.
After supper, the talk got around to something of a more serious nature. “We still have Zachary Slocum to worry about,” Perley said. “And I reckon this business with him ain’t over till he decides he ain’t got any right to steal a baby from its mother. I don’t know what it’s gonna take to get him to give up. Maybe we have to go to the law with the problem, but I think I should go have a talk with him to see if there’s any chance he’ll voluntarily give up.”
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