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.