Black falcon 4 part 2 don't poke the bear

 our builders finished yesterday and they have done a lovely job, and we can sleep secure now. So we did. We fed the cats and went back to bed for a lie-in. 

4 Don’t Poke the Bear, part 2

 

Luke made his way, as directed over his meal, to the schoolhouse.

He was sorry to make the children suffer fear for longer than they had to; but saving the banker’s life was more important.

Three men hovered near the schoolhouse. Luke emerged from the shadows with his finger to his lips.

“Fathers?” he asked.

The men nodded.

“The schoolmarm has been screaming; I think that man hurt her real bad,” said one.

Luke looked at him.

“And if he got her with child?”

“She should die first,” said one of the others.

“I... I dunno,” said the one he had spoken to.

“Can’t have a schoolmarm with a child, can you?” said the third.

“Your town and its folk really are disgusting,” said Luke. “What if it was your sister in there, trying to do her best for the children by letting the bastard take her instead of killing the little ones?”

“My sister would know better than to let him,” said one.

“Considering the grown men in this town let him shoot your banker, where were you in the letting him do that stakes?”

“He wouldn’t threaten a woman with a weapon,” said one. “Men don’t.”

“You stupid, naive fool,” said Luke. “What part of holding her and the children hostage does not imply killing her or the kids if you try to rush him?”

They dropped their eyes.

“Well, if you can stay quiet and out of the way, I’ll fetch your children out, and you can see them all home,” said Luke. “They will be traumatised, probably will have soiled themselves, and they’ll have nightmares for a long while.”

“Why didn’t you come before?” asked one, truculently.

“Because your fool sheriff locked me up without ascertaining the facts of who I am,” said Luke. “And yes, I could have come straight here, and shot it out with Cathcart.”

“Why didn’t you?” demanded the truculent one.

“Because I am hoping to bring your children out alive, you stupid bastard.”

The man bunched his fists.

“Nobody calls me a....”

Luke laid him out.

“Do any of the rest of you want to risk your children’s lives?” he asked with heavy sarcasm.

The others subsided. Luke sneered; and without further ado, vanished into the shadows.

 

The school house was a little bigger than the average claim shanty, with a window each side. As there was a lamp burning inside, Luke slithered round to the eastern side, and took the risk of a glance within, stood at the side of the window. The four children still there sat at their desks in motionless horror. The schoolmistress, hardly more than a child herself, lay unmoving on the floor, her skirts pushed up and bloodied. The man sat on the desk at the front, sneering at the hapless children. There was a ceiling to the room. No apparent trapdoor.

Luke slid round to the entrance, sliding in with silent care. This led to a cloakroom, and here a ladder led to a trapdoor. Luke went up it, and into the roof space, used as storage. He replaced the trap and made his way past the chimney where the tortoise stove’s pipe led.

There were shorter pieces of plank around the chimney hole. And gaps, blocked with small chocks of wood.

Luke gently drew out the chocks, one at a time, holding two together where they wedged each other in.

He could see Cathcart.

Lying on his belly, his gun at an unnatural feeling angle, it would be the shot of his life.

He breathed slowly, evenly, and then, with his lungs full, took up the slack on the trigger, letting his breath out as he carefully, gently, pulled the trigger.

The roar was deafening in the confined space, and he rapidly recocked the trigger for a second shot.

It was not necessary.

The red cloud which had bloomed where the single shot went from earhole to earhole was enough to tell him that he had pulled off the shot of his life.

No more need for finesse; Luke kicked the planks out from where they were lightly tacked to the beams of the ceiling, and dropped down.

“Get out of here; your fathers are waiting for you,” he said to the three boys and a girl who were too stunned yet to scream.

They fled into the cloakroom.

Luke checked that Cathcart was dead.

Then he went to the young school mistress.

“Ma’am, do you have anyone at home to whom to take you?” he asked.

“N... no,” said the girl.

“Then I’ll take you somewhere you will be safe,” said Luke, effortlessly picking her up in his arms.

He went the back route to the banker’s house and knocked on the door.  Mrs. Spence opened it, and gasped.

“He raped her,” he said. “She’s hardly conscious; will you care for her? Those morons of parents – the few who dared wait near the schoolhouse – were self-righteous about how she should have died before letting herself be violated, the fatuous idiots.”

“Bring her upstairs,” said Mrs. Spence.  “We have no children; Ben and I will adopt her and any child that results from this. We’ll be leaving this town and taking our own money with us when Ben is well enough to move. You aren’t the only one badly treated, we’ve only fared well, because we are wealthy, but not a soul came to Ben’s aid.”

“I wish you luck,” said Luke. “Stay in your house. Do not go out for any reason. I aim to make sure your townsfolk remember me for a long, long time, and learn that there is a good reason why you never poke a bear. It may save other innocent folks passing through from trouble.”

Mrs. Spence looked into the cold sea-green eyes, and shuddered. He had been all warmth to her.

“Take care,” she said.

“I will,” said Luke. His eyes laughed at her. “I’m not going to hurt anyone, but I might scare a few,” he said.

She was comforted; and his eyes were as warm as they had been when he worked on her husband, who was awake, and had drunk a cup of milk coffee, complaining about invalid pap.

“They have no bank worth the name in Eastbend,” said Luke. “Only the wire office, with a Brooker 202.”

“It’s a good safe,” said Mrs. Spence. “Thank you; I’m sure Ben will be glad to consider it, if you rate the place.”

“There’s going to be some more homesteaders there soon,” said Luke. “And the sheriff is a good man. I think you’ll like it.”

“My husband wants to say goodbye to you,” said Mrs. Spence, taking Luke to see her husband.

“Lad... I owe you my life, I think,” said Banker Spence.

“I am glad I have the skills,” said Luke. “I killed the man who shot you. No fair fight; I don’t believe in giving a killer like him a fair fight, not with kiddies’ lives at stake. I’m glad to shake the hand of the man who killed ‘Mad-Dog’ Cathcart.”

“I guess, I just fired without thinking when he demanded that I open the safe,” said Spence.  “I’ll not forget you.”

“Reckon I might even come back to visit Eastbend,” said Luke. “Oh, and if your sheriff claims to have taken down Cathcart, he’s lying; I killed him. Single shot through the ear. But I’ve a mind to frighten your sheriff a bit as his face is undamaged.”

“I am not about to complain about any fear you put into that worthless fellow,” said Spence.

“Well, if you’re up to it, look out of the street window, first thing, and watch the show,” said Luke. “It’s going to be noisy. I’m not going to get the bounty on that fellow, that I know, so I’m going to have my fun instead.”

 

 

oOoOo

 

Luke broke into the general store.

He left money for what he took. With an inventory and prices.

Then he went back to the schoolhouse with Blackwind, loading Cathcart’s body onto the horse, and brought it back into town.

The sheriff’s office was in darkness now, but Luke could see, with eyes that had got used to the dark, that the sheriff was on the sofa, asleep.

He tied the body of Cathcart onto the hitching rail outside, and put sticks down the sleeves of his jacket to hold his arms out stiff in front of him; and tied the man’s own six shooters into his hands.

He jammed the man’s Stetson onto his head. The bullet hole had taken out a good bit of skull, but it was to the side.

Luke grinned at his handiwork. It would be the first thing the sheriff would see in the morning.

 

 

Luke had a busy night.  The amount of red pigment he could muster to put into paint was not really enough to paint the town red as such, but he could make a mess of the fresh golden planks of new places, and grey weathered planks of old places. The stables were easy enough to break into, and he spread dung over every doorstep – except the banker and his bank. Dung from middens too, which he spread liberally on the sidewalk. Next, he laid the firecrackers, with gunpowder trails between them, all along the street; and as the sky lightened, he used the pasteboard to make tubes, cut with slits, and set a light to the match of the first before mounting up to ride away. Blackwind’s ears flicked at the sound of the first howler rocket.

“Never mind, old boy,” said Luke.  The second howler went off. Luke was well out of sight before the fourth went off, and the sizzling fuse carried its little spark of mischief and destruction from one firecracker to the next until it was out of town, where the pile of dynamite detonated in the hole he had dug.

The inference was plain.

I could have killed and blown all of you up.

The paint could have been your blood.

Don’t poke the bear.

 

He had left his parents’ address for the Spences, and he hoped he would hear about it later.

 

oOoOo

 

Ruth Spence sat with her husband, Ben in the front room upstairs.

“He’s tied up that fellow as though shooting,” said Ben.

“Jim Blake did not treat him well,” said Ruth.

They jumped at the first howling rocket. By the fourth, they had worked out that it was harmless. Ruth jumped at the sounds of detonations.

“He said it would be noisy,” muttered Ben.

The sheriff had woken and his howl was audible as he grabbed his shotgun to fire through the window at the still figure of Cathcart’s corpse, stiff with rigor mortis. The detonations continued, and from their higher window, the Spences saw Blake, the Sheriff, scuttle out of the back door, still in petticoats, and go for his horse, to ride away from town.

“He’s painted the town red,” said Ruth.

“Can you blame him?” said Ben, grimly.  “Not one of them came to stand with me. That poor child he raped had no support. I say, sooner we leave, the better.”

The dynamite went off at this moment, and the town rocked.

“I’d say he made his point very well,” said Ruth. “Ben, if he stole from the store, will you make it good, so there’s no question that there is anything to blame him for?”

“I will, and I’ll ask Eli Forbes if there’s anything outstanding,” said Ben. “But I wouldn’t mind betting the boy is out of pocket for his joke and paid for everything.”

 

It might be said that Sam Stubbins was later told the whole, and found it very amusing indeed, having liked Luke, and disliked Jim Blake.

He especially liked hearing that there was a notice pinned on the sheriff’s office door.

It said simply,

“Don’t poke the bear.”

Black Falcon 4 part 1 don't poke the bear

 

4  Don’t Poke the Bear Part 1

 

Luke was used to lawmen who were not friendly.  Generally, however, they did not do anything more than warn an obvious gunman to get the hell out of town as soon as possible.

He did not expect to look up from the steak he was consuming in the saloon where he had stopped for a bite on his way through, to see that the shadow which had fallen on him was a man with a star and a shotgun.

“That scattergun looks mightily unfriendly,” said Luke, returning to his viands.

“Just get up slowly, mister and come with me,” said the sheriff.

“As I’m holding nothing more offensive than a knife and fork right now, if you shoot me, it will be in cold blood,” said Luke. “So, perhaps you will tell me what I’m supposed to have done, whilst I finish me this indifferently cooked steak, overcooked peas, and the grey substance served with them for which I have been overcharged, but which having paid for, I intend to eat.”

“I suppose you think you’re funny,” growled the sherrif.

“I think I’m hungry enough to put up with this, and with your attitude,” said Luke. “Plainly you don’t like the shape of my face, or something; but what am I supposed to have done? And what happened to the truth usually held self-evident of innocent until proven guilty?”

“Are you makin’ fun o’ me, talkin’ like that?” demanded the sheriff.

“What, am I supposed to hide my undoubted erudition by talking like a cowpoke to make you feel better about pushing me around?” said Luke. “I consider your attitude rude, contumelious, arrogant, and decidedly improper for a law man.  And before you ask, yes, I was planning on being back on the road when I have eaten my fill.”

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, ‘cepting to jail,” growled the sheriff.

“You still have not made any kind of charge or given me any reason for your desire to arrest me,” said Luke, finishing his meal, laying his eating irons neatly on the plate, fork tines down as his mother had drummed into him as a sign of having finished. He used his own handkerchief  to touch to his lips, and stowed it slowly. He rose, hands in sight.

“Take that gunbelt off real slow,” said the sheriff.

“I am complying, but you are not telling me why,” said Luke.

“You know why,” said the sheriff.

“No, actually, I don’t,” said Luke.  He passed his gunbelt to the sheriff. “I have no idea what you think I’ve done, or why; I’m passing through.  You can wire Sam Stubbins in Eastbend, if you like, that I left there yesterday morning, after having been deputised.”

“Right, a likely story,” growled the sheriff. “Who’s going to deputise Mark Cathcart?”

“Mark Cathcart? Isn’t he the brother of Ethan Cathcart, nasty pair of gunslingers?”

“As if you don’t know who you are,” sneered the sheriff.

“I know who I am, and who I am is Luke Sokolov, sometimes called the Black Falcon, bounty hunter, and with papers to prove it,” said Luke.

“I say you’re Mark Cathcart, and you are going to the calaboose until the clerk from Black Springs gets here to identify you as a killer!” said the sheriff.

“You’re wrong, but the clerk will clear me when he gets here,” said Luke, fatalistically. “Be gentle with my horse; he’s nervous.”

He suffered himself to be taken to the jailhouse where he was searched, and the greater amount of his money was taken from him, sealed in an envelope, and put in the safe with his pearl handled Smith & Wessons. His pack of worn playing cards, and his pipe and tobacco were taken too, his matches, and his small knife for cutting tobacco, all in the leather pouch where they lived. Poked at the end of the shotgun, he turned as he was pushed into the cell, and laid a hand on the sheriff’s chest.

“I forgive you,” he said, as he palmed his smoking kit back. He also palmed the sheriff’s sidearm, and waited until the man had gone back to the office to lay it conspicuously outside the cell.

The sheriff missed it, and came back in a hurry, shotgun at the ready.

Luke pointed at the ground.

“Now, if I was Mark Cathcart, I’d have used it,” he said. “Now, give me back my cards so I can while away the time playing solitaire, or I might find other ways to pass the time.”

“In a pig’s eye,” said the sheriff, rudely. “I should shoot you down for pulling that trick!”

“Yes, it’ll look so good, as your deputy is gawking, to admit to having had your handgun taken and then left as a token of good faith, to have you pull the trigger on an unarmed man locked in a cell,” sneered Luke. “I suspect Sam would have something to say about it.”

The sheriff was getting uneasy.

He determined to wire to Eastbend to find out about a man calling himself Luke Sokolov.

Meanwhile, Luke’s life was not being made easier by the locals deciding that he was Mark Cathcart; ordure and rotting fruit was thrown through the bars of his cell.

“Are you going to tell these jokers that my identity isn’t proven, or are you trying to kill me with the diseases carried on this?” he asked the sheriff when that worthy brought him some slop called stew for supper.

“I can cover the window, I suppose,” said the sheriff. “Feelin’s are runnin; high. But of course, you don’t know why,” he sneered.

“Suppose you tell me,” said Luke. “And put me in the other cell so you can clear up in here; unless you do plan to see me die of disease?”

“We all know you came to avenge your brother,” said the sheriff.

“What, has something happened to Ethan ‘Mad-dog’ Cathcart?” asked Luke, interested. “Oh, well, easy come, easy go, he was only worth $750 anyway.”

The sheriff was uneasy; nobody called Ethan Cathcart ‘Mad-dog’ in the hearing of either brother. And to talk about a bounty on him...

No, Mark Cathcart was trying to pull wool over his eyes.

“You know fine well that Banker Spence shot him dead,” said the sheriff, shortly.

“Well, good for him,” said Luke. “I hope you gave him the bounty.” He suffered himself to be moved, stole the sheriff’s gun again, and handed it back to him butt first.

“Will you stop doing that!” squawked the sheriff.

“When you let me out and give me mine back,” said Luke. He settled down with the slop known as stew, and then stretched out to sleep.

He had slept in worse places.

 

oOoOo

 

Luke woke up to the sound of yelling, and a horse galloping in.

He decided it was nothing to do with him, and turned over to go back to sleep.

The sound of shooting was an unfriendly thing for this damned unfriendly town to do to a man with a clean conscience.

Presumably that was the real Mark Cathcart.

The sheriff came in two hours later with the keys.

“So, you ain’t Mark Cathcart,” he growled. “But you say you’re a bounty hunter.”

“It pays for baked beans,” said Luke, facetiously.

“Banker Spence’s widow’s added the $750 that was on Ethan Cathcart to the $500 on Mark. If I let you go, will you take him down?”

“Now, that sounds as if letting me go for not being who you thought I was came as a condition for doing what you want me to do,” said Luke. “You can let me go, and I’ll consider gunning down Mark Cathcart to honour the brave man who shot his brother, or you can keep me here and my lawyer will build a lovely case of false imprisonment against you.”

“Please go after him! He’s threatened to kill another townsman every day and rape all the women!” wept the sheriff.

“What a little girl you are,” sneered Luke. “Brave against a man whose hands are occupied, so long as you have a scattergun.  I’ll take him down for the banker. Not for you. But the town will pay for my accommodation somewhere better than that damned saloon. And you will spend from now until when he’s dead wearing petticoats.”

The sheriff went purple.

“You can’t make me do that!”

“No, I can’t. And you can’t make me stay and clear up your mess,” said Luke. He palmed the keys and calmly unlocked the door for himself. Then he opened the safe and put on his guns, picked up his deck of cards, and the envelope of money.

He counted it conspicuously.

“All here,” said Luke.

“Are you accusing me of dishonesty?” demanded the sheriff.

“I thought the inference was plain, since you were ready to lie to the townsfolk about you were sure I was Cathcart,” said Luke. “Brazen lies and dishonesty aren’t far apart in my book. And I can see my horse across the street on the hitching rail of the saloon; still saddled. You’d better have put him back there and not let him stand all night.”

“I... he bit me....”

Luke took the sheriff by the shirt front and lifted him several inches off the floor.

“And did you water and feed him?” he demanded. “Because, so help me, if you did not, I’ll make sure to take you into the desert and tie you to a rock for equal time without food or water.”

“I fed him, and watered him,” said the deputy.  “Following orders, of course.”

“I don’t believe you were following orders,” said Luke, “But I’ll pretend that I do. So long as you make sure this half-arsed jerk is in petticoats by the time I’m back from talking to the widow.  You got any idea where Cathcart is?”

“Yes, Mr. Sokolov,” said the deputy. “He’s holed up in the schoolhouse with the schoolmarm and some of the children.”

“Now I get told,” said Luke. “So, your boss is setting me up to be responsible for the deaths of the schoolmarm and children. What a splendid fellow he is!” He turned to the sheriff.

“Your town is going to regret causing me grief,” he said.  “Deputy, where is the banker’s widow?”

“Fine house next to the bank,” said the deputy. “Why do you want to know?”

“To tell her that her husband was a fine man and possibly the only man in this stinking little hole,” said Luke. “You’re not doing too bad, but I don’t notice that you were out there fighting Cathcart.”

“Nothin’ never happens here; I ain’t no gunslinger,” said the deputy. “Worst thing usually happens is picking up the odd drunk.”

“At least you’ve the sense to leave it to the professional,” said Luke. “In your shoes, I’d ride out of town for a few days to check the outlying farmers.”

“Reckon I might do that,” said the deputy.

“Don’t take sweet-britches with you,” said Luke, pointing at the sheriff. “He can stay here and sweat.”

 

oOoOo

 

 

Luke went to check Blackwind. The horse made annoyed noises at him, and Luke took off his saddle and harness.

“You might as well be comfortable,” he said. He took the saddle, saddlebags, and bridle into the saloon.

“Water and feed my horse,” he said, tossing money at the barkeeper. “And take care of my things. Guard them with your life.”

Then he walked down to the banker’s house.

Unlike many gunslingers, his walk was silent. Luke did not wear spurs; and he made sure to keep any metal he had on him from clinking. It unnerved many people, especially those who could not work out what was different and uncanny about him. He knocked at the door.

There was a long silence, and he was about to knock again when a female voice said, “Who is it?”

“Bounty Hunter after Cathcart,” said Luke.

Several bolts and bars were removed, and the door opened. The woman behind it had frightened eyes in a still handsome face, past the first flush of youth.

“You should have made me prove it, with him loose,” said Luke, walking in.

“I... I will see you get your money....”

“I want to ask one question,” said Luke. “Were you one of those who threw ordure and rotting eggs and fruit into my cell when that idiot sheriff had me tagged for the other Cathcart?”

She looked shocked.

“No, of course not!” she said. “That’s not right!”

“That you can say that with your brave husband gunned down tells me that you’re a good person,” said Luke. “I wanted to express my sympathy and tell you to keep your money. I want to take this man down for killing a brave man. But this town hasn’t treated me so good; so I suggest you might want to take yourself somewhere else for a few days.”

“I... I can’t!” she gasped, her eyes going to the stairs.

Luke’s eyes widened.

“Is he still alive?” he asked.

“I... yes! And... and I think I can bring him through... but I was afraid if that awful man knew....”

“Ma’am, my mother is a trained nurse, and learned to perform operations. Will you let me see him? She taught us all a lot of her craft.”

“I... yes, I have not dared have the doctor, he is a garrulous fool.”

 

Luke completed his examination.

“The bullet’s still in there,” he said. “I need to take it out, and I need pure silk sewing thread, white or cream. I want you to put it in a bowl with the needle and pour boiling water on it. If you can thread a needle, I’d be grateful.”

“Very well,” said Mrs. Spence.

“Hot water for me to wash with as well; dirt kills more people of blood poisoning than bullets,” said Luke.

Mrs. Spence was efficient, and Luke scrubbed himself, and the skin of his patient. He found the tweezers on his folding knife, next to the lockpick, and dipped the end in the boiled water with the needle and silk thread, and the sharp blade he kept for that purpose.

It did not take Luke long to get the bullet out.

“Brandy, whisky, vodka or similar?” he asked.

“Is it a good idea to give him spirits?” asked the widow.

“I want to wash the wound with it,” said Luke.

She quickly found him some brandy. He chuckled wryly as he poured it in the wound.

“An excellent old brandy; in a way, I hate to use it up, but his life is more important than a decent Napoleon Brandy,” he said.

“I agree; I think it’s horrible stuff,” said Mrs. Spence.

“De gustibus non disputandum est,” said Luke.

“I beg your pardon?”

“In the matters of taste, there can be no argument,” said Luke. “It’s Latin.”

“You are a most extraordinary bounty hunter.”

“I have most extraordinary parents,” said Luke. He poured the still very hot water into the coal skuttle, for want of somewhere else, and took the needle. It was not as easy as with a proper curved needle, but his sewing hussif was in his saddle bag, and he had not expected to be doing surgery.

“That should see him right,” he said, suddenly drained.

“Thank you; he is a better colour already,” said Mrs. Spence. “Let me get you some dinner; it’s the least I can do.”

“I won’t turn it down,” said Luke. “Can I ask you to stable my horse and get that surly barkeep to bring my saddle and so on to your barn? I told him to guard them with his life, so you can prove to him it’s on my orders.  Blackwind won’t bite a lady.”

“Oh, he bit the sheriff several times,” said Mrs. Spence, managing a girlish giggle. “I shouldn’t laugh, but your horse seemed to know he was the reason for you being arrested, he stood on his foot, kicked him, bit him on the shoulder, the ear, and the buttocks, and then he, er, urinated all over his feet.”

“Good for Blackwind,” said Luke. “My stay in that stinking hole was not pleasant. I would have forgiven you for my discomforts had you thrown anything in, because you have cause. What’s your preacher like?”

“A man who believes ‘Vengeance is mine’ before ‘Forgive your neighbour seventy times seven,’” said Mrs. Spence.

“Then I won’t see him to confess my sins,” said Luke.

He ate a good meal, and then he was away, as quietly as he had come, into the gloaming.

Mrs. Spence collected Blackwind, quite quiescent for her, and the saddle and saddlebags. A light burned still in the marshal’s office; and she wondered to see the sheriff donning petticoats, under the eye of his deputy.

She prayed for the success of the Black Falcon, and went up to the weak cry from her husband, whose life she now truly believed to be safe.

 

Black Falcon 3 four men went to mow

 

3 Four men went to mow

 

 

Luke had never meant to get into a brawl. He had stopped in the small township of Eastbend for provisions, and having filled his saddle-bags with necessities like oatmeal, canned meat, beans, tea, and dessicated vegetables, he had headed for the saloon.

The local hooch was unfortunately not forgettable, so he had ordered a cup of tea to chase it down. So long as the water boiled, it was hard to spoil a good strong cup of tea.

When the four hard looking men walked in, and the locals went quiet, Luke sighed and surreptitiously loosened his Smith and Wessons in their holsters.

He sat back, however, looking relaxed.

A man slid into the seat beside him.  He was a lean man of indeterminate age. He was wearing a star.

“They’re nothing to do with me,” said Luke.

“Didn’t think they were,” said the marshal. “Name’s Sam Stubbins. I’m the law around here.”

“Luke Sokolov. I chase bounties and good whisky.”

“None of either of those round here,” said Sam, humorously. “Wondered if you’d stand as deputy if these road agents start anything.”

“I tried that, once,” said Luke.  “Accepted a position of marshal to stop people causing trouble. I stopped them. Gave them due warning. But it wasn’t what the people wanted.”

“Being a law man can be hell at times. Will you help?”

“I learned my lesson,” said Luke. “I had a feeling that I could go from marshal to chief participant in a necktie party.”

Sam sighed.

“I can understand your reluctance, under the circumstances,” he said, hearing the bitterness in the young man’s voice.

The marshal moved away.

One of the four newcomers came over and dropped down heavily beside Luke.

“Ain’t you the babyface!” he said. “Too young for a man’s drink, eh?”

“Don’t spill my tea, waddie,” said Luke.

“Don’t call me waddie!” the man thumped the table. “I’m Jason Cain!”

“I said, don’t spill my tea,” said Luke.

“I’ll spill you woman’s drink if I want to,” said Cain. He reached towards the mug.

Luke was faster.

“If you want it spilled, I’ll do the spilling,” he said, and poured the near-boiling beverage deliberately into Cain’s crotch. He got up and sauntered over to the bar as Cain screamed, plucking at himself.

“Your rotgut rots brains, too,” Luke said. “The fellow spilled my tea. Get me another.”

One of Cain’s friends slammed a glass of what passed for whisky down in front of Luke.

“Learn to drink a man’s drink, babyboy,” he said. “It’ll put hairs on your chest.”

He cried out to find Luke’s revolver up his nostril.

“Would you like to smell the hair in your nose burning?” said Luke. “It won’t be for long. The four-four cartridge would carry on up your nasal passages, and pass somewhere through your frontal lobes, carrying on out of the cranium and probably into the ceiling, carrying what you laughingly call your brain matter with it. Which has a tendency to be a rather permanent solution to the offence you take over what I drink.”

It is doubtful whether Cain’s friend understood a fraction of Luke’s clinical discussion of the probable effect of being shot up the nostril, but he got the gist.

He held up his hands in peace, stepped away, and started to turn.

He swung back with speed, aiming a vicious blow at Luke.

Luke knew his sort, and blocked it.

Things went downhill fast from there, and Luke was fighting three of them.

He was not fighting alone; Sam Stubbins had joined him.

The three soon lay unconscious on the floor.

“I owe you, Mr. Stubbins,” said Luke. “I’ll take your badge until they’ve left town.”

“Sam,” said Sam. “Where’s the other?”

Luke strolled over to the batwings.

“You got any ordinances on public lewdity?” he asked.

“Sure have,” said Sam.

“He’s sitting in the horse trough with his Levis and longjohns round his ankles,” said Luke. “It isn’t a pretty sight. Fellow should be arrested before any woman is shocked.”

“You help me to haul these three to the calaboose first,” said Sam.

“You got a kettle and tea down there?”

“Damn right I have, and coffee,” said Sam.

“I prefer tea,” said Luke.

 

He went back, sporting his star, to heave Jason Cain out of the horse trough.

“You’re under arrest for public lewdity,” said Luke. “Given the choice, I’d also charge you for being an infringement of Darwin’s laws of evolution, since you appear to be some sort of degenerate ape, but we don’t enforce the laws of nature here.”

“I’ll get you for this, Sinclair,” spat Cain.

“Not my name, waddie,” said Luke. “If you want to kill me, do it under my own name. Or my soubriquet, the Black Falcon.”

“Hey, are you sayin’ you ain’t Paul Sinclair?” demanded Cain.

“Nope,” said Luke. “Never heard of the fellow.”

“But you’re a young fellow, dressed in black... Oh fuck,” said Cain.

“I wouldn’t; not until the burns heal,” suggested Luke.

 

oOoOo

 

“That Jason Cain fellow called me Paul Sinclair,” said Luke to Sam.  Luke was cooking omelettes as fast as Sam could eat them; the lean sheriff had admitted to being unmarried and an indifferent bachelor housekeeper.

Luke, not for the first time, was glad that his mother had insisted that he should be proficient in taking care of himself.

He dished himself up his own omelette, and brought it over to eat, opposite Sam.

“Paul Sinclair, eh? Well, you don’t look like him, but I guess describing him would give a description that would fit,” said Sam. “Young, slender fellow, dark hair, wears a black suit; dresses like a lawyer, as it happens. Largely because he is one. He’s the son of a local rancher who died recently, and he came back from the east to take on the ranch.  Though seems he’s planning on breaking up the land to sell to homesteaders.  It’s breaking the heart of Clem Sinclair, his cousin.”

“Hmm,” said Luke. “You’ll have to let them out, I suppose.”

“In the morning, yes,” said Sam.

“I’ll make you pancakes first,” said Luke.

“Sure you won’t settle full time?” asked Sam.

“Sorry,” said Luke.

“You’re thinking that Clem has reason to call in hired guns to kill Paul, and make it look like an accident, or provoke Paul to draw first,” said Sam.

“Crossed my mind,” said Luke.

“I find it hard to envision,” said Sam.

“Then envision who might have the desire, the will, and the money to pay for killers for hire,” said Luke.

“I... I suppose Paul’s ramrod might,” said Sam. “Mighty hot-tempered is Abe Friend.”

“Takes offence easily? Leads with his right? That sort of man?”

“Yes,” said Sam.

“Does he hold a grudge once he’s knocked a man down?” asked Luke.

“No,” said Sam.

“And Clem?”

Sam shuffled.

“Clem’s a jovial fellow... he can sulk if things don’t go his way.”

“You know, I think we might go out and see Clem and Paul,” said Luke. “I think Paul’s a fool to sell a good ranch to be split up, but it’s his land if his pa left it to him. Though it depends on the land.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” said Sam. “But he’s seein’ the way to make it pay him, so he can get back east to his lawyerin’.”

“Myself, I’d pay Abe and Clem as joint managers to run it, in his shoes,” said Luke. “But there you go.”

 

oOoOo

 

Lazy S ranch was a nice spread, with some fine looking cattle. It had rich, dark soil, and lush grass.

“Good for crops. If he does sell out, reckon my Da’d be happy to take his beeves,” said Luke. “And hire on those who drive them.”

Sam shot him a look.

“That came out as natural as any big rancher’s son,” he said. “You reckon your father could find room for two thousand head of beeves?”

“Hell, yes,” said Luke. “He’s got a spread the size of many a county.  We sit on three states; been there since before they were states. Colorado, Kansas, and Nebraska. Planning to split it as dowries for my sisters if need be; we never got run off our land by the government when they were shifting people out of Indian territory account of how my mother cured a chief’s son of typhus.”

It had also been useful, when protecting runaway slaves, to shift them over the border and yet still protected.

“What on earth are you doing as a... well, some sort of drifter?” said Sam.

“I’m a bounty hunter; figured I owed it to the country that took us in to do my bit for law and order; and build up a good bank account in case my parents or siblings need cash in a hurry. You are an unusual marshal; I never talk about myself.”

Sam chuckled.

“I have that effect on minor criminals as well,” he said. “I had you pegged as a straight-shooter, and I’m glad I was right. Howdy, Abe.” He greeted a big man who had ridden up on a bay horse.

“Sam. You got a new deputy?”

“Just while there’s some trouble in town. Rode out to see Paul; someone has a grudge against him.”

“You can count me in on that,” growled Abe. “Won’t see sense.”

“Would you work for another man, if he took the herd and the hands that delivered it?” said Luke.

Abe frowned at him.

“I might, if there was no other choice,” he said. “This is a nice little valley, though.”

“Yes, but it’s more suited to crops and milk-cattle than beeves,” said Luke. “Your young boss can see that with more settlers, sooner or later the government will force him to sell up, and then he’ll get less. He’s come from the east; there’s probably talk about it that he’s heard. You might want to talk to him about it, instead of cussing him out.”

“What man could take the risk?”

“One who has diversified to run cattle and horses and grow wheat, and who owns lands on the boundaries of a couple of states and can afford to bite his thumb at the authorities whilst their lawyers wrangle,” said Luke. “You have two thousand beeves?”

“Around that,” said Abe.

“I’ll be offering forty-thousand for the lot, as long as the experienced hands come.”

“That’s daylight robbery! They’re worth almost twenty-two dollars a head.”

“But they’ll lose weight on the journey,” said Luke. “And I can arrange the money to be wired to the bank inside of days. It’s up to the owner to haggle, though he’d be a fool not to take your advice.”

“I... will talk to him,” said Abe. “Excuse me; I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

He wheeled his horse and rode away.

“Abrupt sort of fellow,” said Sam, half apologetically.

“I have no problem with abrupt,” said Luke. “I have problems with those whose words and faces have forked tongues.”

“C’n tell you’ve spent time around Injuns,” said Sam.

“I learned a lot from Wahali Ditlihi... Brave Eagle, the chief’s son, later chief,” said Luke. “He put up with my brother and me trailing around behind him.”

They came up to the ranch house, and Abe was there at the door to let them in.  He showed them through to an office, where a dark haired young man in sober eastern attire met them.

“Mr. Stubbins, I know,” he said, shaking Sam’s hand, and advancing a hand to Luke.

“Luke Sokolov,” said Luke. “I’m assuming you know more than the locals about various ordnances pertaining to the enforced purchase of land with the intent of opening up to settlers?”

“An educated man!” gasped Sinclair. “Oh, I beg your pardon; I sometimes feel as if I speak a different language to that of the folks I grew up with.”

“I can speak cowpoke, if I have to,” shrugged Luke. “But my mother got quite irritable if I clipped my adverbs and left the –ly off the end.  Has Abe told you my offer?”

“Yes; I think it’s fair. Certainly a lot better than I would get if I were one of many selling in a hurry,” said Sinclair. “I can write you out a bill of sale.”

“Give Abe a couple of days to convince the team he wants to take,” said Luke.  “I need to send a wire to my father, and draw on his bank. But say we close the deal on Friday?”

“That sounds fair to me,” said Sinclair. 

“I hear your cousin is not keen on the idea of you selling,” said Luke. “Did you explain?”

“I tried. He seems to think that we can fight the government,” said Paul. “I want to know how!  And how does your father intend to manage?”

“By having land on three states and fighting bureaucracy with red tape,” said Luke.

Paul stared.

Then he roared with laughter.

“Oh, that’s rich!  And me a lawyer and not thinking of anything like that.  But we aren’t even on a county line, alas.”

“And your soil is rich, and perfect for raising crops,” said Luke. He drew Paul Sinclair over to one side, and spoke quietly. “Mr. Sinclair... Paul... were you expecting to go into town today?”

“Yes, but one of the hands called me to settle a dispute, so I never did. I usually go for a drink on a Monday, and to pick up small things in the store.”

“Your hand saved your life, I think,” said Luke, seriously. “And I wonder if it was deliberate, not wanting to speak in hearsay, as you might say.”

Paul frowned.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“The four men who were causing trouble called me ‘Sinclair,” said Luke. “We’re of a height and build; I wear black. Someone hired them to cover killing you; men like that usually manage to get away with random shootings, if they swear the other man drew first.”

Paul looked aghast.

“But who would want me dead?” he asked.

“A lot of the people who work for you,” said Luke. “I’m guessing you’ll sort out to gift the most loyal and long serving with land before you sell the rest, but I doubt they know this, and someone reckons he can inherit the land and hold it.”

He blinked.

“It’s hard to believe.”

“I know; but I’m asking you to let me have a suit of your clothes, and to say that you are going into town tomorrow regardless, as you missed going today.  I want you to set out of the house, and as soon as you can, double back. Go spend the day in a bunkhouse.  The hoodlums will be let out perforce, and we’ll see what we see.”

“I... very well. But I should not let you take risks for me....”

“I was talked into being deputised.  It’s what I’m not paid much to do,” said Luke. “Also, I object to these fools being made patsies for an evil man’s scheming.”

“I trust you are not just acting under bravado?”

“Nope. I know how good I am. Oh, what horse do you ride?”

“I’ll pick the black, since I see that’s what you rode.”

“You catch on fast,” approved Luke. “Leave at eight.”

He rode away with the sheriff, carrying a bundle.

“What are you up to?” asked Sam.

“After you let those noisy fools out tomorrow, Paul Sinclair is coming into to town. And we’ll see just who tries to kill him.”

Sam gave him a long, hard look.

Then he nodded.

“Reckon if you can save us an unrighteous killing I can forgive you subjecting me to the sight of Jason Cain’s hairy tackle,” he said.

 

oOoOo

 

Luke let himself out of the back door of the marshal’s office, dressed in Paul Sinclair’s clothing.  It was close to nine as he rode back down the main street, just as Sam let the proddy troublemakers out of jail.

He heard the sound of hoofbeats, and a man thundered into town, pulling up just in front of Paul.

“Don’t go any further, Paul! These men are out to kill you and rustle the cattle!” the man called. He drew a gun and fired towards the rabble. Luke dismounted, making sure to keep his face down.

Jason Cain drew his gun as the man Luke presumed to be Clem Sinclair dodged behind the batwings of the saloon. The other troublemakers also drew their guns. Luke only bothered with one Smith and Wesson, fanning it to hit each of the newly released gunmen in the hand or arm.

It was so fast that the single gunshot following the fusillade was audible. Luke, however, had been expecting it, and had heard the click of the hammer which preceded it. He dropped to one knee, the bullet fanning over where his head had been a split second before. He spun on his knee and his own revolver spoke once, aiming just above the red spittle of flame.

There was a moment’s silence, then the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Sam strolled out of the marshal’s office.

“He took the bait?” he said, sadly.

“Well, Sam, to my way of thinking, a man who is jovial but sulks when he doesn’t get his way is usually a man who hasn’t even the balls to be a bully, and usually plays dirty tricks,” said Luke. “You’d better check it was Clem; and I’ll testify he was shooting towards me, not the others.”

Sam went into the saloon, where the barkeeper was hiding behind the bar.

“Sam? He said he had to protect his cousin,” said the barkeep.

“He was lying,” said Sam, sadly.

Clem Sinclair had a round hole through the forehead just above his nose.

 

Jason Cain and his confederates were ready to testify that they had been paid by Clem Sinclair to cause trouble, and to hassle Paul Sinclair, but not to kill him.

“But he was ready to let us take the fall and swing for him,” Cain spat. “The bastard, can’t even do his own murderin’.”

 

oOoOo

 

Luke exchanged a cheque wired in exchange for the bill of sale, which was sent on its way to his father; and Paul Sinclair shook his hand.

“I admired Clem when I was little,” he said, sorrowfully. “Pa took him in, an orphan, and raised him; I don’t know what happened.”

Luke looked inscrutable.

He could see how a man raised to be steward, putting all his effort into the land, whilst the true son of the house was sent to college, and did not really love the land the way Clem did, might have gone off the rails.

But it didn’t excuse murder, and in such a cowardly way.