CHAPTER 14
The hotel bed proved to be a comfortable one. In his small room on the first floor, he could hear the sounds of breakfast preparations in the kitchen, and he was immediately gripped by near panic when he saw the time. He had not planned to sleep so late, and he nearly fell on his face in an effort to get into his trousers and boots. Sleeping late was akin to pure laziness, in his opinion, and he was anxious lest someone catch him abed at this late hour. With that in mind, he was intent upon getting his clothes on, grabbing his rifle and his saddlebags, and vacating the room before anyone saw him.
He should have already been to the stable to pick up his horses and take them to Baskin’s blacksmith shop. Baskin is probably wondering where the hell I am, he thought as he slowly turned the doorknob and eased the door open a crack. Peeking through the opening, he could see down the hall, and he was immediately relieved to see it empty. So, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the hallway, being extra careful not to let his rifle bump on the doorjamb.
He wasn’t aware of her presence until he closed the door and turned to go out the washroom door.
“Good morning, Perley,” she greeted him sweetly.
Startled, he almost dropped his rifle as he blurted “Martha!” before he could catch himself.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she quickly apologized. Fully aware that she had caught him by surprise and he was obviously embarrassed to have been caught, she graced him with a wide smile. “Did you sleep all right?”
“Well, I reckon I did,” he answered, “seein’ as how I slept half the mornin’ away.” In the warmth of her smile, he could see that she was not judging him, and he realized that he was being silly by letting himself get so worked up over his sense of pride.
“I was wondering why Papa stuck you in that room with the hard mattress on that old bed. When he told me what room you were in, I was afraid you wouldn’t sleep at all.”
“It sure beat sleepin’ on the ground, like I’ve been doin’ for a couple of months, so like I said, I slept so good I almost didn’t wake up till suppertime.” He grinned sheepishly.
“That’s what Papa said when I complained about that room,” she said. “You probably needed a good night’s sleep.” She made a pretty little frown and teased, “You weren’t trying to sneak out without saying good-bye, were you?”
He couldn’t believe how nice she was, but he still felt like a clod in her presence. “No, ma’am,” he said, even though that had been his intention. “I just wanted to get outta the room in case you needed it for a payin’ customer. And I needed to take my horses over to Mr. Baskin’s first thing, but I guess I just slept through ‘first thing,’ didn’t I?”
She laughed again. “There’s not but a couple of people staying in the hotel right now, so you shouldn’t worry about that. Since you’re not going to be able to start out before daylight now,” she teased, “why don’t you wait until you’ve had breakfast?” When he seemed short of an answer, she pressed, “Are you in such a big hurry to get to Deadwood that you can’t wait until after you’ve had a good breakfast?”
“I don’t know,” he answered after a few moments’ hesitation and coming up with no real reason to hurry. “I reckon it really doesn’t make a whole lotta difference how soon I get there, if we’re talkin’ about a day or two.”
“Good, then why don’t you do this? Go down to the stable and take your horses to Mr. Baskin, and he can shoe them while you’re having breakfast back here.”
“I would enjoy one more meal at your table,” he said, grinning. “That’s just what I’ll do.”
She walked with him to the front door before turning around to head for the kitchen to tell Grace that Perley would be back for breakfast and she wanted to make sure he got one that he would remember.
* * *
When Perley pulled up to the blacksmith shop, Ralph Baskin was working on a wagon-wheel rim, but he put it aside when he saw Perley.
“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind,” Baskin said.
“Nope,” Perley said. “I meant to get here earlier, but I got tied up with some things at the hotel. I got to thinkin’ about that loose shoe on the sorrel. I know you offered to fix it for me for nothin’, and I appreciate that. But while you’re at it, I think you might as well check the bay’s shoes, too. He oughta be due before long, so you might as well do the job now. Of course, I’d pay you for that job. Whaddaya say, can you do that this mornin’?”
“Sure,” Baskin replied, glad to get the business. “It might take me a couple of hours, though.”
“That’ll be fine,” Perley said. “I ain’t had my breakfast, so I’ll go do that while you’re workin’ on my horses.”
He started walking back to the hotel, having a little talk with himself on the way, afraid that he might be letting a pretty girl get in the way of finding his grandfather. He didn’t presume that Martha had any interest in him other than just being hospitable because she thought he saved her father’s life. She was just being friendly, and he could always use a new friend. He told himself that it was all right to enjoy a friendly conversation with a young lady.
His thoughts flew to Lucy Tate, back in the Paris Diner, and the way her conversation was always flirty, causing his imagination to lead him to wrong conclusions. Martha was more like Becky Morris—friendly, but not flirty. He tried to summon an image of Becky but kept coming up with one that looked like Martha.
When he walked into the dining room, he headed for the long table in the center but was intercepted by Martha and led to the same small table as the night before.
“I’ll be back with some coffee,” she said, “and Grace will have your breakfast ready in a couple of minutes.”
When she returned, she was holding two cups, and she sat down at the table with him, much to his delight.
“Are your folks comin’ down to eat?” Perley asked.
“Why?” she responded. “Are you ready for another speech from Papa about how big the Hat Creek Ranch is gonna be?” Before he could answer, she said, “Papa’s already at work in his office. He eats when the kitchen opens, and Mama won’t eat anything till noon, so you’re stuck with me for company.”
That suited Perley just fine.
The breakfast was as good as Martha told him it would be, and the conversation was light and enjoyable. It might have gone on longer than it did, but it was Martha who was the first to suggest it was time to get on with the day.
“I know you’re anxious to get started,” she said. “But I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Perley Gates. I hope you’ll come back to see us sometime, and I hope you find your grandpa soon.” She got up and extended her hand.
He jumped up and shook her hand. “Thank you for the visit. I feel like I made a friend.”
“Why, of course you have,” she said.
Unable to think of anything else to say, he blurted, “Who do I pay for my breakfast?”
“Pshaw,” she replied in mock irritation. “You’re my guest, for goodness’ sakes.”
“Thank you, Martha, I mean ma’am,” he said, grinning.
She answered with a grin of her own. “You take care of yourself, Perley Gates,” she said, then watched him until he went out the door.
He had been right when he said he had made a friend. She couldn’t help thinking that she might have been inclined to become more than a friend, but Perley Gates was one of a kind. He struck her as incredibly innocent and, consequently, vulnerable to blundering into dangerous situations, just as he had there in Hat Creek when Murdock drew on her father. Next time, he might not be so lucky—and I don’t look good in a black dress and veil.
* * *
Close enough now to feel the spirit of the mysterious mountains the Indians called Paha Sapa, Perley was impatient to ride up into the dark pine-covered hillsides before him. He imagined that his grandfather must have felt much the same attraction when he first approached the Black Hills. It would have to wait until morning, however, because his horses were tired after a long day on the rugged trail, and the wide stream he was about to cross might offer the best choice to make his camp. Looking left and right, Perley decided to follow it upstream, since there appeared to be a heavier covering of trees farther up the slope. He had been cautioned by Ralph Baskin to be aware of the outlaws that preyed on those who traveled the Cheyenne-to-Deadwood road, so with that in mind, he always tried to make his camp inconspicuous. After following the stream for what he figured to be a quarter of a mile, he decided that he should have gone downstream, but then, up ahead, he saw the clearing.
Probably caused by a fire many years ago, the results of which left an open area of about an acre now covered by thick grass, it offered an ideal place to make camp. He pulled his saddle and packs from his two horses and left the animals free to drink and graze while he gathered sticks and limbs to build a fire.
When he had enough wood, he took his little coffeepot to the edge of the stream to fill it with the cold, clear water. He had failed to notice, until he lifted the pot from the water and glanced upstream, that there were remains of an old sluice box a couple dozen yards farther up. Curious, he set his pot down and walked up the bank to take a look at it.
The only part of the sluice box left was a section that appeared to have been fashioned from a wagon box. Wonder if they found any pay dirt? He looked around, trying to imagine a couple of miners hovering over their pans, searching for their fortunes.
Leaving the bank, he found the remains of the prospectors’ camp and decided they had picked a better spot than he had. They were obviously camped there for a while, and had set up a tent or a large canvas, judging by the marks left in the ground. And there was a small fire pit made of rocks taken from the creek. Ready-made, he thought, and went back to move his saddle and packs to the new location. Then he returned to pick up the firewood he had gathered and brought it back as well. Better protection, too, he decided, because of a section of the bank that rose about four feet behind the fire pit. It would make a good rampart in case of an Indian attack.
From the looks of the camp, it had been abandoned for a long time. The prospectors who panned for gold here might have been run off, or killed, by Oglala Sioux. It wasn’t that long ago that all this mountain range belonged to the Sioux. Nowadays, however, there was more danger from outlaws.
Once his fire was going, he set his coffeepot on a couple of crossed limbs to boil and fashioned a spit to roast some of his venison. When it was done, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat on the edge of the embankment to eat his supper.
He had not finished his first cup when he heard Buck whinny. Long accustomed to paying attention to Buck’s communications, Perley became at once alert. When the sorrel nickered as well and Buck snorted, it was enough to cause him to slowly put his cup down and pick up his rifle, being careful not to move too suddenly. He had a feeling that he had company, and if he did, he didn’t want to let on that he was aware of it.
Once he had his rifle in hand, he slid down behind the raised portion of the bank and scanned the trees in front of him, searching for some sign of movement. In a few minutes, he heard the source of Buck’s concern.
“I ain’t lookin’ to cause you no trouble,” a voice called out. Perley quickly scanned the line of trees but could not determine where the voice came from. “You ain’t got no call to be worried about me,” it came again.
The voice sounded almost childlike, or maybe it came from a woman—Perley wasn’t sure. “If I ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, how come you’re hidin’?”
“’Cause you might shoot me if I come out.”
“What would I do that for?” Perley called back.
“’Cause you might be one of them friends of Mott Mason.”
“I don’t know anybody named Mott Mason. What are you doin’ out here in the mountains?”
“Hidin’ from Mott Mason.”
I reckon I should have figured that out, Perley thought. I’ve got a feeling I’m fixing to step in another cow pie. “Are you hungry?” he asked, thinking that might be what instigated this discussion with the pine trees.
“Yes, sir, I sure am. I could smell that coffee cookin’ way back up the hill, and I ain’t had nothin’ to eat but a frog I caught in the stream yesterday.” There was a pause of a few seconds, then, “What’s that you’re cookin’ on the fire?”
“That’s deer meat,” Perley answered, “and I’ve got a gracious plenty of it.” He waited, but there was no reply from the pines. “You’re gonna have to come on outta your hidin’ place if you want any. I ain’t gonna throw good venison into the bushes, so whadda you gonna do?”
The pause continued, but finally there came the question, “Are you gonna shoot me if I come out?”
“Not if you behave yourself. I don’t generally shoot women and children, if I can help it.” He was convinced by this time that the voice belonged to one or the other. Why me? he had to ask himself. It seemed that God arranged for every woman in trouble to cross his path, and in places where most people would meet no one. It was inconceivable to think he might be facing another lost soul. He put his rifle aside, however, went to his packs, found his extra coffee cup, and held it up for her to see. “I’ve got an extra cup and plenty of coffee.”
That proved to be more than she could resist, and after a minute or two, she stepped out of a pine thicket, then walked slowly toward him with both hands up in the air.
A woman, he thought, then changed his mind. It was a girl, but it was hard to tell how old, for she looked to be in pretty rough shape. “You can put your hands down,” he said. “You ain’t under arrest.” He poured her cup full and held it out to her.
He couldn’t help thinking it was like trying to get a wild dog to take food out of his hand. She reached out very cautiously, as if expecting him to jerk it away. When it began to look like she was never going to take the cup, he set it on the ground and backed away from it. Again, like a wild animal, she quickly reached down to grab the cup, spilling some of it before she took a step back and started sipping the hot coffee.
“Here,” he said and held the improvised spit out to her, and she quickly pulled a strip of roasted venison from it. “Slow down, or you’re gonna choke on it,” he cautioned, but she continued to eat as fast as she could. “How long has it been since you’ve had anything to eat, besides frogs?”
She shook her head while still chewing feverishly. “I don’t know,” she managed. “About a week, I reckon.”
“Well, take it easy. It ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he said. “And you can stop bein’ scared—I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He let her eat in peace for a while, until she eventually seemed to calm down, before he asked her more questions.
“Where’d you come from?”
“Omaha,” she answered.
“Omaha?” he responded with surprise. “What, on a wagon train or somethin’?” When she seemed confused, he realized why. “I don’t mean where were you born. I mean just now, back up that hill. Have you got a camp up above here? Is there anybody else up there?”
“No, ain’t nobody but me, and I ain’t got no camp.”
Perley was just before losing all his patience with the young girl. Finally, he threw his hands up in frustration. “Well, what in the hell are you doin’ here?”
“I told you—hidin’ from Mott Mason,” she said.
“Who’s Mott Mason?” Perley asked, then stopped her before she could answer. “Wait, what’s your name?” He wanted to know if her name was also Mason and he might be stepping into a family squabble.
“Lena Rooney,” she answered, hesitated, then asked, “What’s yours?”
“Perley Gates.”
She gave him a suspicious look, thinking he was japing her. “Pearly Gates?” Then she realized he was serious. “Damn, you’ve got a crazier name than me,” she declared. “Why’d they name you Pearly Gates?”
“My pa’s family name is Gates. I’ve got two brothers and a sister, so they named me Perley so folks could tell which Gates I was.”
He didn’t want to go into the whole story about his grandfather at this point. First, he wanted to find out who Lena Rooney was and how he happened to be so lucky as to have her cross his trail. He couldn’t help thinking about Ethel Steiner and the trouble she had caused him. Lena Rooney seemed about the same age, and she was evidently running wild in these mountains. What was he to do with her? “Who’s Mott Mason?” he asked again.
Instead of answering his question, she asked, “Is deer meat and coffee all you’ve got to eat?”
“It’s all I’ve got to eat tonight,” he replied. “I didn’t plan on havin’ a guest for supper or I’da fixed some beans and pan biscuits.” He couldn’t resist a bit of sarcasm. “I’m travelin’ to Deadwood. All I wanted was somethin’ to keep the sides of my stomach from rubbin’ together.”
“Oh, I ain’t complainin’,” she hastened to say. “I was just wonderin’, that’s all. You say you’re goin’ to Deadwood? Can I go with you? I’m handy as can be. I can cook for you and do chores.”
“Cow pie,” he blurted before he thought to stop it.
“What?” she asked, not sure she had heard him correctly.
“Nothin’,” he replied. “I don’t know if you can go with me or not, at least till I find out a lot more about how you happen to be runnin’ around out here in the woods. Besides, you don’t know anything about me. You might not wanna travel with me at all.”
“It’d be better’n travelin’ with Mott Mason,” she said. “I can guarantee you that.”
His patience left him. “Damn it, Lena Rooney, who is Mott Mason and why are you hidin’ from him?”
“He’s a mean son of a bitch,” she replied, then finally went on to tell Perley her story. “My daddy sold me to Mott Mason for a milk cow and thirty-five dollars. I’ve got two brothers, but Mott didn’t want no boys, and Daddy was glad to get rid of me anyway. He said he could get milk and butter from a cow, and I didn’t give him anything but an extra mouth to feed.”
“Why did this Mason fellow wanna buy you?” Perley asked. “Did he take you for a wife?”
“Hell, no,” Lena protested. “He was wantin’ to make a whore outta me! He already had two women ridin’ with him. They’re older’n me and had experience whorin’, and he was on his way to Custer City. He was fixin’ to teach me how to please men. I told him I didn’t want to please no men. He said I didn’t have no choice, that I was his property, bought and paid for, and I’d do what he told me to. I told him in a pig’s eye I would, so he whupped me good with his belt and said if I ever tried to run away, he’d track me down and beat me to death. I promised I wouldn’t try to run, but I was just waitin’ for the right chance, and that came along when that horse of his couldn’t pull the wagon up a steep trail that was supposed to lead to the wagon road to Custer City. He made us all get outta the wagon and get behind it and push, so I pushed as hard as I could, until my feet went out from under me on some loose gravel and I landed right on my face.” She made a pouty face for him then. “Do you think they’da stopped and helped me up? Well, you’d be wrong. They just left me a-layin’ there, my dress tore and blood runnin’ outta my nose, and they kept goin’.”
“Is that when you ran off?” Perley asked.
“I figured I wouldn’t likely get a better chance, with ol’ Mott up ahead, leadin’ the horse. So, I just rolled over to the side of the trail and gave him about five minutes to miss me. He was too busy tryin’ to get the horse up that trail, and Belle and Lucy didn’t give a damn if I was all right or not, so I got up and took off across the side of the mountain.”
“How long ago was that?” Perley wanted to know.
She paused to recall. “I swear, I ain’t sure. I ran around that mountain till almost dark. Then I found me a place to hide in a gully. I fell asleep after a while, and when I woke up, it was daylight, so I took off again, between that mountain and another’n, tryin’ to head north. That night, I piled up a bunch of leaves and slept under ’em. I know I walked two more days before I started up this stream.”
Perley handed her another strip of venison when it was done, which she took eagerly, tearing into it like a hungry wolf. A few minutes before, she had said she hadn’t eaten in a week, causing him to be a little skeptical, since she didn’t appear to be as weak as she would have been if her story was true. He asked, “Did you really eat a frog?”
She screwed her face up like she had eaten a sour pickle. “A little bit of one. I was so hungry I thought I could eat the whole thing, but his legs were still kickin’ when I tried to chew him up, and I spit him out.”
What the hell am I going to do with her? This was the question Perley now asked himself. “You said you were tryin’ to head north. Where were you thinkin’ about goin’?”
“Deadwood,” she answered, and when he asked why, she said, “’cause Mott Mason is goin’ to Custer City. And Deadwood is where most people are headin’ now, so I figure I’ve got a chance to find myself somethin’ I can do there to survive—washin’ dishes, cleanin’ up, washin’ clothes—somethin’.”
She could read it in his face that he was trying to decide what to do with her. After a long moment when he said nothing, she pressed, “That’s the reason I wanna go to Deadwood with you. I don’t know how to get there by myself, and I won’t cause you no trouble. Like I said, I’ll do for you and help you out all I can, and when we get to Deadwood, I’ll just say thank you and good-bye, all right?” She studied his face intently, hoping that when she said she would do for him, he wouldn’t take that to mean the same thing Mott Mason expected of her. The thought of Mott caused a feeling of nausea momentarily. At least with Perley, it would not be as disgusting. “So whaddaya say, Perley? Can I go with you?”
“I reckon,” he answered right away. He had no choice. He couldn’t leave her to find her own way. She had no means to even stay alive unless he took care of her. “I oughta tell you, though, I’ve never been to Deadwood, so I’m just followin’ the stagecoach road, and it passes through Custer City before it goes to Deadwood. So, I reckon we’ll have to go around Custer, if that’s where this fellow Mason is headin’.” He took a long look at her and shook his head. “Too bad you didn’t run off with some more clothes with you. That dress looks like it’s just holdin’ together. I’ve got a coat in my packs. You can put that on, and I’ve got an extra blanket I figured I might need if I was still here when cold weather hits. We can make you up a bedroll with that.”
She was suddenly all smiles. “I won’t be no trouble, Perley. You won’t be sorry.”
I already am, he thought, wondering how he happened to attract one stray after another, starting with Liz and Stella, then Ethel Steiner, now Lena Rooney. He wasn’t sure how far he was from Custer City. He had told her he would ride around it, but he didn’t want to do that. It might be the very place he could strike his grandpa’s trail. I reckon I’ll have to hide her someplace while I go into town, he told himself.
“Well, let’s get you a bed fixed up,” he said and went to his packs to find the extra blanket. “If you wanna help, you can rinse out the coffeepot and cups.”
Without waiting for him to suggest it, she busied herself collecting firewood to keep the fire going while he went to check on his horses. He hobbled the sorrel’s front legs, then spent some time checking Buck to see how the new shoes were working out.
“What’s his name?” Lena asked when she walked up to Perley and the bay gelding.
“His name’s Buck,” Perley answered.
She gave that a moment’s thought, then asked, “What’s the other one’s name.”
“Packhorse,” Perley answered with a chuckle, since the sorrel didn’t have a name. He had cut him out of the remuda at Ogallala, never thinking about naming him. “You can think up a name for him while we’re ridin’ to Deadwood.”
“I’ll think on it,” she said.
“Well, I’m turnin’ in,” Perley announced. “You need some help with that blanket?”
“Nope, I’m just gonna roll up in it.” That’s just what she did, while Perley walked downstream to find a place to take care of business in private.
Still a little concerned about her own safety, even as nice as Perley seemed, she lay there, stone still and stiff as a board, awaiting his return. If he had any ideas about crawling into that blanket with her, now was the time, and she listened as he approached from the creek bank. She could hear his footsteps as he walked through the low bushes under the pines. Then, after what seemed a short period with no sound at all, she turned her head slowly in his direction. He was settled in his bedroll, and by all appearances, already on his way to sleep. Thank you, Lord, she said in a silent prayer of gratitude. You sent me a decent man. She turned over on her side and went to sleep.
* * *
She awoke the following morning to the aroma of coffee bubbling in the pot. After a moment of confusion while she remembered where she was, she suddenly sat straight up. “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. “I shoulda been up before now.”
“What for?” Perley asked.
“To cook our breakfast,” she said. “I shoulda been up before you.”
“I think you needed the sleep. You looked like you hadn’t had any decent sleep for a while, so I didn’t think you’d mind if I went ahead and started it.”
“Well, I’ll take over,” she declared, scrambling out of the blanket. “Just give me a minute to visit those bushes over near the clearin’. I’ll be right back.” She took off without waiting for his reply.
“Take your time—ain’t no hurry,” he said, even though she was already out of earshot. “I reckon I oughta be used to travelin’ with women by now.” He turned his attention back to the bacon in the frying pan.
Squatting in a thick row of serviceberry bushes close to the grassy clearing and a considerable distance from the fire, Lena was busy getting rid of some of the coffee she had consumed the night before. About to thank her lucky stars for having been sent a Good Samaritan in her time of need, she froze when she heard the bushes parting behind her. At once frightened and angry at the same time, she turned to defend herself, only to find the big bay gelding gazing at her in idle curiosity.
Unable to contain it, she let out a whoop, and laughed at her immediate presumption. Finishing up her business, she grasped the nosy horse’s bridle and stroked his neck and face. Then, for the hell of it, she jumped up on his back and, taking the reins, turned him toward the campfire and rode back, to pull up before a startled Perley.
Still sitting astride the big horse, Lena was puzzled by the look of amazement on Perley’s face. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothin’,” he answered, not sure himself. Unable to resist finding out for certain, he had to ask, “You done much ridin’ before?”
“I used to ride my pa’s horses all the time when he had the farm,” she said.
“How ’bout ridin’ Buck down there and lead the sorrel back up here near the fire, so I can saddle ’em?”
“All right,” she said and wheeled Buck around. In a few minutes, she returned, leading the packhorse. When she saw the same strange expression on Perley’s face, she asked, “Is everything all right? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”
“Nope,” he answered as she slid off the horse’s back. “It’s just that you’re the first person I’ve ever seen come offa Buck of their own accord. Buck don’t let anybody ride him but me.” He paused and scratched his head. “And now, I reckon, you.”
His declaration pleased her, and she immediately took over the cooking. “Have you got any flour?”
“In the packs,” he replied, pointing to one, still puzzling over the fact that Buck didn’t buck her off.
“You go saddle up, and I’ll see what you’ve got to cook with. We’ll have us a good breakfast before we get started to Deadwood.”
He did as she instructed, not realizing that she had taken charge of things in short order. He was yet to learn that it was her nature to tend to do things as she thought they should be done. One thing he found out right away, however, was her ability to cook, which almost made him glad she had crossed his path. This, even though he had no idea what he would do with her when they reached Deadwood.
It was not until they had finished eating and Lena had washed the cups and pan that she asked why he was going to Deadwood. So, he told her about his grandfather, whose name he shared, and his quest to find the old man. She listened with rapt attention.
“So, you ain’t goin’ to Deadwood lookin’ to hunt gold like everybody else?” she asked when he had finished. “And your grandpa don’t even know about you?”
“That’s right,” Perley answered.
She was impressed. “I reckon you’re pretty proud to be wearin’ your grandpa’s name, then.”
“Well,” he hesitated, “I reckon I ain’t ashamed of it, but sometimes it’s caused me a little trouble.”