CHAPTER 11
While Perley was locked in a cell on the second floor of the jail, Ethel presented herself to her parents, who welcomed her tearfully.
“Where were you?” Mary Steiner cried when her daughter walked in the door. “Are you all right? We’ve been worried sick. We even went to the sheriff when Callie came to the store and told us you had disappeared.”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Ethel cried. “Martin Sumner found me and brought me back to town.” She was afraid to admit what she had done, thinking that her best bet was to stick to the story she had fabricated. “I didn’t know he was gonna grab me.”
“Who?” her father demanded. “Who grabbed you?”
“Perley Gates,” Ethel whimpered.
“That son of a bitch!” Steiner roared. “I invited him into my home. He broke bread with my family!” He took Ethel by her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “What did he do to you?” When she refused to answer, he shook her violently. “What did he do to you?”
“He had his way with me,” she lied. “I think he wants to marry me.”
Her father was beside himself with anger, unable to talk for a full minute. He sputtered and fumed while Mary took their daughter in her arms and held her.
“You’re safe now,” she said, “home where you belong.” She looked at her husband and confessed, “I’ve never been so wrong about a person in my life. I thought he was a decent young man.”
Able to think rationally again, Steiner questioned Ethel then. “You said Martin Sumner brought you back. Did he arrest Perley Gates?” Ethel, still in her mother’s embrace, nodded. “So, he’s in jail?” She nodded again. “I’m going up there,” Steiner told his wife. “You take her home.”
“We can’t both leave the store, Louis,” Mary responded. “What are you going to do, anyway?” When he insisted that he had to go talk to the sheriff, she said, “All right, but wait till I take Ethel home, and you can go when I get back.”
Although still fuming, he realized what she said was true—he couldn’t leave their store unattended.
* * *
Trapped in the web of lies she had created, Ethel went home with her mother, where she was welcomed with great relief by all her sisters. Mary told them what had happened to Ethel, and their reaction was total shock, just as it had been with their mother and father. When Mary left her in their care and went back to the store, they questioned her in depth about her abduction. She was inclined to be a little more explicit with the details of the incident than she had been with her mother, unable to resist an attempt to arouse envy. Instead of buying into her fantasy, however, they were inclined more toward skepticism, knowing their sister better than her mother did.
Virginia looked at Callie and winked, then addressed Ethel. “You seem like you’re feeling much better now.” When Ethel said that she was, Virginia said, “Good, ’cause we’ve got to take care of you, if he’s done everything to you that you’ve said. We’ll need to clean you up. I’d think that’s the first thing you’d want.”
“Yes,” Ethel quickly agreed. “I wanna clean myself up after what I’ve been through. I’ll do that now.”
“No,” Virginia said. “We’ll take care of you. You’ve been through too much. Hope, go to the pump and get a basin of water. Bring a washcloth and a bar of soap.”
“I don’t need anybody to help me clean up,” Ethel protested.
“No trouble at all,” Callie said. “We’ll do it, and that way we can see how much damage was done, and maybe we can clean you up to make sure you don’t have a baby.” She winked at Virginia.
“No, confound it,” Ethel insisted. “I don’t want anybody touching me. I’ll take care of myself.”
“I’ll bet you made the whole thing up,” Eunice said. “We’ll know for sure when we get a look at your bottom.”
“Ain’t nobody getting a look at my bottom!” Ethel exclaimed. “Anybody tries will get a sock in the eye!”
“Is that so?” Eunice shot back. “I believe the four of us can hold you down.”
“No, you won’t!” Ethel cried and started to run from the room, but Callie caught her by the arm.
In a matter of seconds, her four sisters grabbed her and wrestled her to the floor, where her undergarments were discarded. The decision was easily unanimous—she had never been violated.
“How did you find him?” Virginia asked calmly when Ethel finally quit struggling.
Knowing her story had crumbled around her, Ethel didn’t try to pursue it. “I walked up the river till I found where he camped.”
“Why in the world did you make up that story?” Callie asked. “Didn’t you know you would ruin that good man?”
“I thought the sheriff or the judge would make him marry me and I’d get out of this damn town.”
“More likely they’re getting ready to hang him,” Eunice said. “We’ve got to go tell the sheriff the truth.”
“No!” Ethel cried. “I don’t want everybody in town knowing about it!”
“You can’t let that man be punished for your foolishness,” Virginia said. “Sheriff James is a thoughtful man. We can probably ask him to keep it quiet.” She looked at her younger sister, waiting for her remorse, knowing that she was not without a sense of honor; she was merely foolish, as a thirteen-year-old can be.
Ethel hung her head in shame. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she surrendered to her conscience. “You’re right. I can’t let him be punished. He didn’t do anything. He was going to bring me home.” She looked up at her big sister. “Will you go with me to tell Papa and Mama?”
“I’ll go with you,” Virginia said. She felt compassion for her young sister, but she had already planned to accompany her to the store in case Ethel faltered in her promise to tell the truth.
* * *
Perley could hear Steiner’s angry ranting downstairs in the sheriff’s office, demanding swift justice instead of waiting for a trial for the man who kidnapped and violated his thirteen-year-old daughter. While Sheriff James fully understood the outrage the poor man was suffering, he was steadfast in his intention to carry out the letter of the law. When Steiner hinted that it might be easy to incite enough of his irate citizens to form a lynch mob, James made it abundantly clear that there would be no lynch mob in his town and that Steiner would likely wind up in jail with Perley if he was to try to put one together. Perley decided that the sheriff was a good, conscientious man and Fort Collins was fortunate to have him. However, he was still in jail awaiting trial.
Perley heard someone come into the office, and a moment later, a woman’s voice carried upstairs to his cell. After that, there was a lot of talking by male and female voices, and he thought one of them sounded like Mary Steiner, no doubt come to demand justice for her daughter. Perley shook his head, wondering why he seemed to find himself in awkward situations more than most other people.
Things got quiet. Then he heard someone coming up the stairs to the cell room. A moment later, Deputy Sumner appeared in the doorway, holding a key on a ring. He walked straight to Perley’s cell and unlocked the door, then motioned for him to come out.
“Lynchin’?” Perley asked, thinking maybe Sheriff James had caved in to pressure.
Sumner smothered a chuckle. “Nah, nothin’ like that. Sheriff wants you downstairs.”
When he got downstairs, Perley was startled to see not only Steiner and his wife but Ethel as well. James plopped his saddlebags, his rifle, and his .44 on the desk. With a wary suspicion, as if he was being set up for something, Perley looked from one face to another, from the sheepish expression on Steiner’s wide countenance to the contrite smile on his wife’s face. As for Ethel, he could not see her face, as she stared at the floor. After what seemed a long moment, the sheriff spoke.
“There’s been a big misunderstandin’ here. Looks like my deputy and I owe you an apology. Miss Ethel, here, has confessed that she let her imagination stampede and ended up causin’ you a heap of trouble. But thank goodness, we got the straight of it before Mr. Steiner rounded up a lynchin’ party.”
“I swear, I’m sorry we doubted you, Perley,” Steiner said.
“I think Ethel has something to say to you as well,” Mary said, and she poked the humiliated young girl in the back with her forefinger.
“Yes, sir,” Ethel managed to mumble, before her mother told her to speak up. “I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble, Perley.”
Perley was amazed. It was one of the most bizarre situations he had ever found himself in. It was his first time in jail for anything, much less for abusing a child. “I reckon no real harm came of it,” he said, unable to think of anything better. He found himself feeling sorry for the girl. He looked at the sheriff. “Am I free to go now?”
“Yes, sir,” James said and apologized again for arresting him.
“How ’bout my horses? Where are they?”
“Down at the stable at the end of the street,” the sheriff said. “Tell Orin I said to let you take ’em. There shouldn’t be any charge after this short time, but if there is, tell him I’ll take care of it.” A mischievous smile parted his lips, and he couldn’t resist adding, “Martin decided to ride that bay of yours down there but changed his mind and led him down to Orin’s.”
Deputy Sumner grinned sheepishly. “I think he mighta broke my tailbone when I landed on the seat of my pants. Maybe I oughta charge you for my doctor bill.”
Perley chuckled. “You’ll have to take that up with Buck. Maybe he’ll give you a free ride to make up for that first one.”
“No, thanks,” Sumner said. “I don’t need no more flyin’ lessons.”
“I reckon I’ll be gettin’ along now,” Perley said and picked up his belongings from the sheriff’s desk.
They all walked out to the street with him, and Steiner and his wife and daughter walked with him as far as the store.
“Don’t be too hard on Ethel,” Perley said in parting. “I’m sure she meant no real harm.”
The family stood in front of the store and watched as he walked toward the lower end of the street with his long, loose gait.
“I’da gone with him if he woulda had me,” Ethel remarked, already recovering some of her natural brass.
* * *
Perley believed very much in the popular saying The Lord moves in mysterious ways. He thought about that as he walked down the street, a free man, after having thought he was heading toward a rope around his neck. Somehow, Ethel was persuaded to confess, against what he considered to have been pretty high odds. In reality, he was about to find the real miracle when he set foot in the stable and met Orin Jones.
“How do?” Orin greeted him, walking out of a stall with a pitchfork in his hand.
“Howdy,” Perley returned. “I believe you’ve got a couple of horses that belong to me. Deputy Sumner brought ’em down here about an hour or so ago.
“That bay and the sorrel packhorse?” Orin replied. “Martin said the owner was gonna be in jail for a while. You didn’t shoot nobody to get outta jail, did you?” He said it as a joke, but truthfully, he wasn’t sure.
“Nope,” Perley said. “It was a case of the wrong man. Sheriff James said he’d take care of any charges you had.” He purposely refrained from telling Orin what the actual circumstances were, to keep from bringing shame to Ethel and her family.
Orin shrugged. “Well, I ain’t really done nothin’ for ’em yet. I was fixin’ to feed ’em a portion of oats, but you got here before I did that.”
“Well, go ahead and give ’em the oats,” Perley said, “as long as the sheriff said he’d pay for ’em. I reckon he owes me at least that much for throwin’ me in jail.”
Orin chuckled and, extending his hand, said, “Why not, Mister... I didn’t catch your name.”
“Gates,” Perley supplied and shook his hand. “Perley Gates, Mr. Jones.”
“My stars!” Orin exclaimed. “If that ain’t the dan-gedest coincidence I’ve ever seen. That’s a mighty curious name—wouldn’t figure you’d meet anybody by that name. I ain’t sayin’ there’s anything wrong with it,” he hastened to assure Perley. “It’s just an unusual name, and to meet two men with it don’t seem likely to happen, and within about three months’ time, at that.” Seeing the look of astonishment on Perley’s face, he was moved to ask, “Have you got any kinfolk out this way?”
“My grandpa,” Perley answered at once. “I was on my way to Denver to find him when I stopped here in Fort Collins.”
“Well, you wouldn’ta found him in Denver. When he came through here, he was headin’ to Cheyenne on his way to the Black Hills, like a heap of other folks lookin’ to strike it rich.”
Feeling like he could be knocked over with a feather, Perley was at a loss for a moment before he could think to ask questions. “How long was he here?” he finally asked.
“Not long,” Orin replied. “I don’t think he stopped anywhere else but my place. He wanted to sell me an extra horse he had with him, but we couldn’t get together on a price, so he said he’d try to sell it in Cheyenne. If it’d been a good horse, I mighta give him somethin’ for it, but it was damn nigh swayback.”
He paused when Perley seemed to be thinking about something other than his conversation. “You say you’re takin’ your horses?”
Perley jerked his head back to the present. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m takin’ ’em.”
When Orin went to get the grain bucket for the oats, Perley’s mind went back to where it had flown a few moments before. He had to wonder about the coincidence that stopped him from going on to Denver and led him back to his grandfather’s track. Maybe he was beholden to Ethel Steiner after all. Had she not pursued him and then concocted her outrageous story, he would have surely gone off in the wrong direction to have any chance to find his grandpa. The Lord moves in mysterious ways, all right, he thought.
When he got his packhorse loaded again and his saddle on Buck, he said so long to Orin Jones and thanked him for the information about his grandfather. Already having lost the time he had spent riding south from Cheyenne, he was anxious to head back in the other direction. It was well past noon by that time, however, so he knew he would not get to Cheyenne by the end of the day. It wouldn’t matter if he set out immediately or waited until later, so he decided to ride back up the river to check on the condition of his camp.
When he reached the bend of the river, he rode through the fir trees hugging the bank, to the clearing where he had made his camp the night before. Nothing had been disturbed. The fires he had started to smoke the strips of venison had all burned out, but from all appearances, the dried-out meat looked to be perfectly fine, still staked out just as he had left it. To be sure, he tried some of the meat and found it to be usable. Another unlikely coincidence, he thought, and further evidence that he was supposed to find his grandpa. Encouraged by the way things had fallen into place for him, Perley went into his packs for some cloth to wrap the venison with, satisfied that he now had meat to last him awhile.
While working away to wrap his supply of venison, he suddenly had a feeling he was being watched. There had been no warning from his horses to alert him that someone was approaching, but he sensed that he was not alone. As a matter of precaution, he tried not to show any sign of awareness, while dropping his hand down to rest on the grip of his .44. As casually as he could manage, he turned to one side, far enough to look behind him.
At first, he saw nothing. Then the features of a face came into focus, watching him from the cover of the fir branches. He had company, all right, but he did not react at once. Instead, he rose slowly to his feet, walked to his packhorse, and loaded the meat he had wrapped. Then he turned toward his visitor and said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ve packed enough of this deer meat to last me a good while, so I’m leavin’ this last part of it here. And that oughta be enough for a good dinner for one coyote—enough for more, if you’ve got some friends with you. By the way, I ’preciate you not comin’ along before I got back to save it.”
Thinking it the least he could do, he climbed aboard Buck and led his packhorse back through the trees around the clearing. When he took one look back, he saw the coyote slink out of the trees and trot up to feast on the venison.
* * *
With no desire to linger any longer in Fort Collins, Perley rode straight through the town to strike the trail back to Cheyenne, over forty miles north. Following the trail along the Denver Pacific Railway, he rode about halfway before stopping to camp at a small creek he remembered from when he had traveled in the opposite direction.
He was ready to eat some of the venison by then, having had nothing since coffee and a strip of the freshly killed deer with Ethel Steiner earlier that day. The thought of that breakfast was enough to make him shake his head in disbelief for the day that had followed. Falling back into his usual disposition, however, his spirits were once again raised in anticipation of the adventure ahead. He was still of the opinion that something was leading him to find his grandfather. What that something was, he didn’t question. He was just thankful for the extra help.
He started out early the next morning and reached Cheyenne before noon. He headed straight for Tom Tuttle’s stable, since Orin Jones had told him that his grandpa had stopped at his stable, hoping to sell a horse. There was a good chance that Grandpa had stopped at Tuttle’s, and it frustrated Perley that he had not asked Tuttle about it when he was there before. Surely, though, if Grandpa had stopped there to sell his horse, Tuttle would have remembered the name as being the same as Perley’s. He remembered then that there was another stable in town. He would question Tuttle, then check on the other stable if Tuttle hadn’t seen his grandpa.
“I didn’t expect to see you back in town this soon,” Tuttle said in greeting him. “That’s one helluva horse you’re ridin’, if he’s already took you to Denver and back,” he joked.
“If any horse could do it, I’d bet on Buck,” Perley replied, with half a chuckle for Tuttle’s humor. “No, we only got as far as Fort Collins before we found out my grandpa headed this way. Don’t reckon you’ve seen him passin’ through Cheyenne.”
“If he did, he didn’t stop here,” Tuttle said. “’Course, he mighta stopped at Jack Purcell’s place, on the other end of town.”
“Maybe,” Perley said. “I figured I’d check with him if you hadn’t seen Grandpa.” He stepped up into the saddle.
“You were right about that flea-bitten gray,” Tuttle said. “I think his wind is broke, and I appreciate your honesty about him. I might have to put him down.”
“I reckon so,” Perley said. “He got Liz to Cheyenne all right, and I appreciated that.”
He turned Buck and headed toward the other end of the main street. Tuttle’s comment brought the two women to mind, and Perley hoped they were finding things to their liking in Cheyenne. Maybe I’ll stop by the Cattleman’s Saloon before I head north, he thought.
At first, Jack Purcell didn’t remember anyone by the name of Perley Gates stopping by his stable. Perley told him that it would have been an old man and he most likely only stopped by shortly, trying to sell a horse. Purcell paused for a moment before the spark of remembrance struck his memory; then he recalled.
“A little bowlegged man, wearin’ buckskins,” he remembered.
“That sounds like him,” Perley said.
“Stopped in here and wanted to sell me an old broken-down mare,” Purcell said.
“That sounds like the horse,” Perley said.
“I remember him,” Purcell went on. “I didn’t talk to him long enough to learn his name, but it could be the fellow you’re askin’ about. I didn’t have no use for that horse, so he wasn’t here long.”
“Did he say where he was headin’?” Perley asked.
“Said he was headin’ north, up to the Black Hills to see what all the fuss was about. I felt kinda bad after he left for not givin’ him somethin’ for that broke-down horse. It was still cold weather when he was here, and he was leadin’ a packhorse that didn’t look like it was totin’ much. What are you lookin’ for him for?”
“He’s my grandpa,” Perley answered.
“Oh . . . Well, I hope you find him, young fellow.”
“Obliged,” Perley said and took his leave. He couldn’t help wondering if his grandpa had made the same call on Tom Tuttle and, as with Purcell, didn’t talk to him long enough for Tuttle to catch his name. It made no difference at this point anyway. He knew for sure that his grandpa had headed to the Black Hills. Whether he made it or not was for Perley to find out, and from Purcell’s description of the old man, he might not have gotten that far.
It was getting along pretty late in the day by now, so Perley thought it would be to his liking to pay another visit to Katie’s Diner, even though the last time he was there he had created quite a commotion. He tied his horses at the rail and walked into the little building close to Dyer’s Hotel. Standing just inside the door, he looked for an empty seat at the long table in the center of the busy room. There were only two open, so he took the one closest to the kitchen. Nodding a polite hello to the customers on either side of him, he climbed over the bench and sat down. It was obviously apparent that he was way behind in the consumption of beef and potatoes, so he turned his plate right-side up and set out to catch up.
After a few moments, Katie walked in from the kitchen, carrying a large gray coffeepot. “Perley Gates!” she exclaimed upon seeing him. “When did you sneak in here?”
“I was hopin’ I could eat and get out before you caught me,” he teased, “but I had to wait for the coffee.”
“Them that try to get away with that will have Myra and her shotgun on their tails,” she said, laughing delightedly. “What are you doing back in town? I thought you were going to Denver.”
“I got all the way to Fort Collins before I found out I was goin’ the wrong way, so I turned around.” He nodded toward the spot over by the wall where he, Liz, and Stella had sat before Brady Ennis joined the party uninvited. “I thought you said Myra’s husband was handy at fixin’ things.”
“He’s handy, he just ain’t fast,” Katie quipped as she stood poised with the coffeepot. “Stella and Liz know you’re back in town?”
“Not yet,” Perley said. “I thought I’d get me some supper first; then I’ll stop in the Cattleman’s and say hello.”
“Well, your timing is pretty good—or pretty bad, depending on how you look at it—’cause Bill Snipe was in for breakfast this morning, and he said the sheriff was gonna release Brady Ennis this afternoon.”
“Maybe he’s cooled down by now,” Perley suggested. “He was just likkered up pretty good, and maybe he’d lost a lotta money, so he wasn’t feelin’ too friendly. He might be a nice fellow when he’s sober.”
Katie looked at Perley and shook her head. “Are you sure you ain’t the one that got hit in the head with my iron skillet? You’d best make sure you don’t run into him.”
“I aim to,” Perley said. “Now, how ’bout pourin’ some of that coffee in my cup, before it gets too cold to drink?”
He was joking with Katie, but the truth of the matter was, he hoped like hell he wouldn’t have any contact with Brady Ennis. Maybe, he thought, it would be best to forget about stopping in to see Liz and Stella and just head on out to Deadwood. That would be the smartest thing to do, but they would find out he had been in town and didn’t even stop to see them. That wouldn’t be a very nice thing, because they might think he didn’t want to associate with them since they were common whores. I wouldn’t want them to think that, he thought.
As was his habit, he put concerns about a confrontation with Brady Ennis out of his mind and concentrated instead on the fine supper he was enjoying. When Katie told Myra that he was back, she came out to visit, so he got a later start to the Cattleman’s than he had intended. He had not taken care of his horses, and since it was getting late, he decided it best for Buck and his packhorse to spend the night at the stable. Hell, he told himself, I’ve already spent money on supper—I might as well spend a little more and make sure my horses have a good night. He said good-bye to Katie and Myra and hurried down to the stable to catch Tuttle before he went home.