Paid in Blood

by William W. Johnstone

  His statement caused them both to hesitate for a moment, surprised by his audacity. Then they both laughed at his obvious stupidity.

  “Mister,” Jeb informed him, “you ain’t got no say in what we’ll do. It was bad luck for you when you joined up with Billy Tuttle. I’m tired of jawin’ with both of you.” Without warning, he said, “Shoot ’em both, Luke.”

  “My pleasure,” Luke said and raised his shotgun to fire. Before he could cock the hammers back, he was doubled over by a .44 slug from Perley’s Colt.

  Jeb’s reaction was swift, but not fast enough to draw his pistol before Perley’s second shot slammed into his chest. He was already dead when his weapon cleared the holster and fired one wayward shot in Billy’s direction.

  Billy howled, grabbed his leg, and started limping around in a circle. “Damn, damn, damn . . .” He muttered over and over as he clutched his baggy trouser leg with both hands.

  Perley holstered his .44 and moved quickly to help him. “How bad is it? Let me give you a hand.”

  “It ain’t bad,” Billy insisted. “I can take care of it. You make sure them two are dead. I’ll take care of my leg.”

  “They’re both dead,” Perley said. “Now sit down and I’ll take a look at that wound.” He paused then when a peculiar sight caught his eye. “What the—” was as far as he got before he saw a tiny stream of dust spraying on the toe of Billy’s boot, not understanding at once what he was seeing. When he realized what it was, he looked up to meet Billy’s gaze.

  “Looks like I sprung a leak,” Billy said, smiling sheepishly. “The son of a bitch shot a hole in my britches.”

  Perley said nothing but continued to stare in disbelief.

  Billy tried to divert his attention. “Man, you’re fast as greased lightning. You saved both our lives. I ain’t never seen anybody that fast with a handgun.” He was hesitant to move his foot for fear of causing the gold to mix in the dirt beneath it.

  Perley’s gaze was still captured by the little pile of gold dust forming on the toe of Billy’s boot. “You caused me to kill two men you stole gold from,” he said, not at all pleased by the fact.

  A little more apprehensive now that he had seen Perley’s skill with a gun, Billy countered. “Let’s not forget that they was fixin’ to shoot us. There weren’t no doubt about that. I saw ’em shoot a man at a placer mine and take that little five-pound sack of dust. That’s when I decided that weren’t no partnership for me.”

  “So you cut out and took the gold with you,” Perley reminded him. “Looks to me like they had good reason to come after you.”

  “Well, they didn’t have no right to the gold,” Billy said. “’Specially after they killed him for it.” When it was obvious that Perley was far from casual when it came to the taking of a man’s life, Billy tried to change his focus. “I reckon you’ve earned a share of the gold, and I don’t mind givin’ it to you. I figure I’ve got about sixteen hundred dollars’ worth. That ’ud make your share about eight hundred.”

  When there was still no positive reaction from Perley, Billy tried to make light of the situation. “And that ain’t countin’ the dust runnin’ outta my britches leg.” He hesitated to make a move, still not sure what Perley had in mind. “All right if I see if I can fix it?”

  “I reckon you might as well,” Perley finally said, not really sure what he should do about the situation he found himself in. He was still feeling the heavy responsibility for having killed two men, even knowing he had been given no choice. The one called Luke had been preparing to empty both barrels of that shotgun. There had been no time to think.

  “I don’t want any share in your gold,” Perley said. “Go ahead and take care of it.”

  Billy’s expression was enough to indicate that he was more than happy to hear that. He immediately unbuckled his belt and dropped his britches to reveal two cotton bags, one hanging beside each leg from a length of clothesline tied around his waist. Perley could hardly believe what he saw. Jeb’s wild shot had drilled a hole straight through Billy’s trouser leg and the cotton bag hanging inside.

  “What about their horses and guns?” Billy asked as he transferred the remaining dust in the damaged bag into the other one.

  “What about ’em?” Perley responded, still undecided what he should do with Billy.

  “I mean, hell, you killed ’em, both of ’em. I reckon you’d be right in claimin’ you own all their belongin’s.” He glanced up quickly. “I sure as hell ain’t gonna give you no argument.”

  While Billy was busy trying to recover every grain of dust that had poured through the hole, Perley took an extra few minutes to think it over. He had to admit that he didn’t know what to do about it—a thief stealing from another thief. The part that worried him was the killings he had been forced to commit, and he blamed Billy for causing that. One thing he knew for sure was that he’d had enough of Billy Tuttle.

  He told Billy, “I ain’t ever operated outside the law, and I don’t reckon I’ll start now. Those two fellows were outlaws and you were ridin’ with ’em, so I reckon whatever they done, you were part of it. You’re sure as hell an outlaw, too. I reckon this is where you and I part ways. You take your gold and the horses, and anything else on those two. If your daddy wasn’t Tom Tuttle, I might be inclined to turn you over to the sheriff back in Deadwood, but your pa doesn’t need to know you got on the wrong side of the law. If you’ll go on back to Cheyenne and start livin’ an honest life, he’ll never hear from me about you bein’ mixed up with these outlaws. We’ll go our separate ways and forget about what happened here. Can I have your promise on that?”

  “Yes sir, you sure do,” Billy answered in his most contrite manner. “I ’preciate the chance to get myself right with the law. I’ve sure as hell learned my lesson. If it weren’t for you, I’d most likely be dead right now, so you have my promise.” He hesitated for a few moments, then said, “I don’t see no use in us splittin’ up, though. It looks to me like it’d be better for both of us to travel together for protection. Whaddaya say?”

  “I don’t think so, Billy,” Perley answered. “At least for me, I’ll be better alone. Good luck to you, though.”

  Chapter 2

  As Perley had insisted, they parted company, Billy to continue along the Cheyenne–Deadwood Stage Road, while Perley followed a trail leading west. He knew that it was less than a full day’s ride in that direction to be out of the mountains and back in Wyoming Territory, so he intended to turn back to the south once he cleared the mountains. That way, Billy should be well ahead of him on the stage road to Cheyenne. In the long run, it would delay him on his trip back to Texas, but only for half a day or so of the two and a half to three weeks he figured to take.

  His thoughts kept returning to Billy and the situation he had been caught in. Before they parted company, Billy had sworn that he had learned his lesson, and he was going to follow the straight and narrow from that point on. Maybe he would. It was hard to say, but Perley preferred to let Billy deal with his conscience by himself. He was already involved in the mixed-up young man’s life far more than he had expected when Billy first rode into his camp.

  Since Perley was not really familiar with the country he was riding through, he was dependent upon no more than a sketchy knowledge of the heavily forested mountains. For that reason, when he came upon a busy stream that appeared to head in the right direction, he followed its course down from the mountains. Luck seemed to be with him, for it eventually led him down through the hills and into the flatter prairie west of the Black Hills. He decided it best to camp beside the stream that had led him out of the mountains, and set out on a more southeasterly course the next morning. It would be an uneventful ride of a day and a half before he struck the Cheyenne stage road just north of Hat Creek Station.

  * * *

  “Well, if this isn’t a fine surprise,” Martha Bowman said when she saw him walk in the door of the hotel dining room at Hat Creek Station. “I thought you’d be back ho
me on that Texas ranch by now.”

  “I’m on my way,” Perley responded. “Just thought I’d stop in for one of those good suppers you folks fix.”

  She followed him over to the end of the long table in the center of the room. “Are you staying in the hotel?”

  “Not this time,” Perley said. “I’m puttin’ my horses up at the stable for the night and I expect I’d best sleep with them.”

  She stepped back, pretending to be offended. “Was the hotel bed so bad last time you were here that you’d rather sleep in the stable?”

  He laughed and replied, “No, ma’am. It’s just that Buck, my horse, is feelin’ kinda puny, so I’d best keep an eye on him.” Martha was a friend, and he trusted her completely, but he didn’t think it a good idea to tell her he was more concerned about the four bags of seed corn in his packs.

  “There you go, ma’aming me again,” she scolded. “I thought we settled that last time you were here.”

  “Sorry, I forgot . . . Martha,” he quickly corrected himself. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here. Thought maybe you’d be married and gone.”

  She chuckled at that. “I’ve been too busy to even think about that. Besides, I thought I told you I’m particular about the man I marry, and he hasn’t showed up yet.”

  He had never stopped to analyze his relationship with Martha Bowman or given thought to the fact that he was so free and easy around her. As a rule, he was shy around all women, especially one of Martha’s beauty and grace. But Martha was different. He was comfortable in her presence and free from getting tongue-tied, as he often did when talking to any woman outside a saloon.

  He was brought back from his thoughts when she asked if he wanted coffee. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, then quickly corrected himself. “Yes, Martha.”

  She left to fetch the coffeepot, shaking her head in exasperation. “I’ll get a plate for you,” she called back over her shoulder.

  He was working on a slice of apple pie when Martha found the time to sit and visit with him for a while. “I’ll have a cup of coffee while I’ve got a chance,” she said. “Is that pie any good?”

  With a mouthful of it, he answered with a satisfied nod.

  “I haven’t tried any, myself,” she continued. “Gotta watch my figure.”

  “Me, too,” Perley said. “What’s goin’ on here at the ranch?” He was interested, since the ranch foreman, Willis Adams, had at one time tried to hire him.

  “Nothing new that I know of,” she answered. “There’s hardly anybody staying in the hotel. A man and his wife waiting to catch the stage to Deadwood, and some man on his way to Cheyenne.”

  That caught Perley’s interest. “Who’s the fellow goin’ to Cheyenne? Has he been here long?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Young fellow. Checked into the hotel this morning. He’s not waiting to ride the stage ’cause he’s got some horses with him.”

  That was not good news to Perley. It could be a coincidence, but there were better odds that it could be Billy. Martha said he’d checked in that morning.

  Why would he want to stay over another night here? Unless he just wants to enjoy some of that money he stole. Or maybe he’s got something else in mind. That’s a possibility. Billy already demonstrated a potential to bury himself in deep trouble. And since he stumbled into my camp, he seems to want to share it with me. Perley glanced up to find Martha staring at him.

  “Where did you drift off to? I think I lost you there for a minute,” she said.

  “I reckon my brain ain’t caught up with me since I left Deadwood,” he joked. “I have to stop and wait for it once in a while.” He couldn’t help thinking he’d stepped in another cow pie. He wasn’t even sure the man Martha was talking about was, in fact, Billy Tuttle. He didn’t ask her if she remembered the man’s name because he didn’t want to hear her say Billy Tuttle.

  At any rate, if it was Billy, he had a room in the hotel while Perley would be sleeping in the stable. If he was careful, there shouldn’t be any occasion for Billy to know he was even there unless he bumped into him in the dining room.

  “Well, I reckon I’d best get outta here and let you get back to work,” Perley announced.

  “Yeah, I guess I’d better, if I don’t wanna lose my job.”

  “That’s a fact,” he said, knowing she was joking. Her father owned the hotel, so he was not likely to fire her.

  “You gonna be back for breakfast?”

  “I ain’t sure. Depends on how early I get started in the mornin’.” Any other time, he wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to see her again.

  He paid for his supper, said good-bye, and hurried out the door, unaware that she stood watching him until he disappeared around the corner of the building. The only thing he was thinking at that point was that maybe he shouldn’t have left his packs unguarded in the stable for so long. Then he reassured himself that he had been right to not show any undue concern over the packs he had left in a corner of the stall. Besides, Robert Davis was the man responsible for watching the stable, and he was as trustworthy as you could ask for.

  As Perley had figured, his packs and possessions were undisturbed when he got to the stable and Robert Davis was still there to keep an eye on things. He said he had a few things he wanted to take care of before he retired to his room on the back of the barn.

  “I’ll not hold you up any longer,” Perley said.

  “Well, I reckon you can just make yourself at home,” Davis said. “I put fresh hay down in the other corner and you know where the water is. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

  After Davis left for the night, Perley spent a little time making sure his horses were all right. Then he arranged the hay in the corner opposite his packs and spread his bedroll on top of it, making a soft, comfortable bed. He could hear the loud voices coming from the saloon fifty yards away, but they were not enough to delay his falling asleep almost immediately.

  * * *

  Billy looked at the big clock behind the bar in the tiny Oasis Saloon, which anchored the hardware store, separated by a common wall. It was getting late and there were few customers left to work on Ernie Dykes’s supply of rye whiskey, and Billy was beginning to become discouraged. He’d thought for sure Perley Gates would show up there before turning in for the night, but he was damn-sure taking his time about it. Billy had gambled on Perley stopping at Hat Creek Station, so much so that he spent some of his ill-gotten gold dust to take a room in the hotel for the night. He was confident that his gamble had paid off when he bought a drink for one of the wranglers at the station, who told him that a fellow had ridden in that evening. He said he was riding a bay horse and leading two packhorses, one of which was a paint. Maybe Perley took a bottle up to his hotel room, or maybe he just wasn’t a drinker. Whatever the reason, Billy was tired of waiting for him to show up. His plan had been to take another try at talking Perley into riding to Cheyenne together. He figured that somewhere between there and Cheyenne, he might get a chance to take a closer look at those sacks of seed corn. Perley struck him as more of a cowhand than a farmer, and with the way he handled that Colt .44 he wore, he might not be either one.

  The more Billy thought about it, the more impatient he became, until finally he convinced himself that Perley was holed up in the hotel. When he gave it more thought, that was actually the best place for him. His horses were in the stable and he wasn’t likely to carry all his packs to the hotel.I ain’t known for my smarts, he thought, but I sure as hell should have thought of that before now. I’m wasting my time sitting here. I’d best go take a look in the stable. He settled up with Ernie and walked out of the saloon.

  A bright three-quarter moon was climbing high overhead that cast a silvery light upon the side of the barn next to the stables. Billy walked past the blacksmith shop across the street, then paused to watch the barn for a few minutes. No sign of anyone around. At the rear of the barn, he saw a lantern shining through the single window of a shack built onto the back. Fi
guring that was the stable man’s shack, it appeared that he was in for the night.

  Billy moved quickly across the open street to the shadow of the barn. When there was still no sign of anyone about, he cautiously tried the door. It was barred on the inside, which was no surprise, but it was worth a try. Not discouraged, he moved around the side to what he guessed was the tack room window. It was shuttered, but upon trying it, he found it to be unlocked. All he needed was something to stand on. Looking around him, he spotted a half-keg filled with water. Perfect, he thought. After tipping it over to empty out the water, he rolled it under the window, turned it upside down, and climbed up on it.

  He took a cautious look inside to make sure no one was there, then easily pulled himself inside the dark room to sit on a workbench built under the window. Waiting only a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the dark interior, he scrambled off the bench and started searching the tack room. There were saddles, bridles, and various tools and supplies, but nothing that looked like Perley’s packs. Of course, he thought. They’re in the stall with his horses.

  Leaving the tack room, he paused to make sure there was no one in the barn then walked through to the stables. The first two stalls he passed held his three horses and his mule, so he continued toward the back stalls, checking the horses in each one. At the very last one, he found the big bay Perley called Buck. There in a corner of the stall, he saw the packs piled, waiting for him.

  For fear he might cause the horse to get nervous, he patted it on the neck and whispered, “Easy there, easy.” When the horse showed no signs of resistance, he pushed on past and went to the packs, feeling smug when he saw the four seed sacks. Taking the first one, he hurried to untie the strings, and when he opened it, it appeared to be filled with corn. About to dig down into the corn, he suddenly froze, stopped by the distinct sound of a hammer cocking.