black falcon 5 montagues and capulets yee haw

 

5 Montagues and Capulets, Yee Haw

 

Luke sang to himself as he rode along, hand on hip, settled back in the saddle.  It was a pleasant autumnal day in Idaho territory, where he found himself.

 

Over the dark water riding

Cossack travels, never biding

Farewell, sweetheart, duty calls us

Away from you, and homeland precious,

 

Hey, hey, falcons flying,

Mountains, valleys, forests scrying,

Ring, ring, bells a-ringing

In the sky the larks are singing,

Hey, hey, falcons flying,

Mountains, valleys, forests scrying,

Ring, ring, bells a-ringing

Lark is singing, ring, ring, ring

 

Sorrow, sorrow, for my sweetheart

For my land while I am apart

Sorrow for my heart that’s crying

While in foreign land I’m dying,

 

Hey, hey, falcons flying,

Mountains, valleys, forests scrying,

Ring, ring....

 

He broke off as a silent Native American rode out of the light trees. Luke held up his two fingers in the peace sign. The man did the same.

“White man sing sad song in happy voice,” he said.

“My people – where we came from before America – have this habit,” said Luke. “We have had many troubles so we sing sad songs happily to cheer us up.”

“Mmm,”  said the native. Luke thought him of the Nez Perce tribe, who had gone to war with the settlers a few years back, from his beaded shirt and pierced nose.

“Me Luke; they call me Elsu.”

“That Cherokee name.”

“Soaring Falcon, yes”

“Me Getilgetil Kipzuz, Cutting Claw in white man tongue.”

Luke held out a hand to clap to Cutting Claw’s, careful not to grip tight as was polite amongst white settlers but a challenge to the indigenous peoples.

“What can I do for you?” asked Luke.

“Two white squaws in buggy in river,” said Cutting Claw. “They scream at Cutting Claw try help them.”

Luke sighed.

“Show me,” he said.

 

The two women were driving a buckboard which had become stuck in a rut in the ford. The water only came to the hocks of the horses, but they had plainly been wet to the belly in the ford, swelled in recent rain, and the breeze off the mountains was chill, especially in the shade of trees near the waterline.

“Oh, thank goodness, civilised help!” said the older of the two.

“How long have you been here?” asked Luke.

“More than an hour,” said the older one.

“Saints and angels!” swore Luke. He rode forward to the horses, which were trembling in the cold mountain stream. “Hold hard,” said Luke, uncoupling them. They were shivering with stress, and Luke scowled to see whip marks on their flanks.

“What do you think you’re doing? If you try to steal our horses, I’ll shoot you,” said the older woman, toting a shotgun.

“Woman, if you wanted to kill your horses, why didn’t you use that to put them out of their misery not leave them to die of cold?” growled Luke. “Nobody could steal these nags, they’d keel over without immediate aid.”

“You leave them be!” the older woman cocked her weapon.

Luke shot it out of her hand, leaving her gasping.

“Never point a weapon at a gunman unless you’re faster than he is,” said Luke, harshly. “You aren’t wet. You haven’t made a single push to help your poor horses. I hope someone else owns them who will call in a veterinarian, because you don’t deserve to own horses.” He led the shivering beasts onto the bank, and rubbed them down with the cloth he carried for Blackwind, talking soothingly. Then he walked them gently up and down in the sunshine. Horses did not readily take hypothermia, but these horses were plainly distressed, and limping, whether from cold or stress Luke was not sure. He petted them, and walked them slowly to check they had no cramps.

Only then did he turn his attention to the women.

“I assume if you felt capable of splashing through a few inches of water, you’d have done so,” he said. “So I assume I will have to fetch you over.”

“Young man, I want you to free our buggy and re-harness the horses,” said the older woman.

“You can want the sun to come up in the west and give you candy, but that’s not going to happen either,” said Luke.

“You surely wouldn’t leave us here, defenceless, with murdering Indians around....”

“Stop right there,” said Luke. “Cutting Claw told me he tried to help you and you shrieked at him.  So don’t call him ‘murdering,’” he added. “I am going to take each of you ashore on my horse; he’ll probably behave. And then, and only then, when your weights are removed from the wheel which is stuck, will I have a chance of freeing it.”

“Are you calling us fat?” gasped the younger.

“I’m calling you a pair of full grown human beings,” said Luke. “Now, I am not going to let my extremely valuable horse stand in the stream, so if you aren’t coming, yes, I am leaving you here.”

“I... I’ll come with you,” said the younger, giving him an admiring look. Luke helped her up in front of him, and rode out of the stream, lifting her off with practised ease learned from having sisters who could be annoying. He had no desire to be clung to by a woman with a full, lush figure.

He rode out again.

“Nothing would induce me to get on a horse with a man,” said the older, flourishing her whip at him. “If you got off, I could ride your horse.”

“No, you couldn’t; he’d throw you. He’s been trained to throw a stranger,” said Luke. He could have told Blackwind, but he did not feel like it.

“You give up your horse to me!” she shrieked. She cracked her whip at Luke.

Luke was used to whip and rope tricks, and waited for the tip to curl back to grab it and jerk the whip out of her hands. He threw it in the stream.

“If you think you can ride my horse, go right ahead,” said Luke. He swung off Blackwind onto the buckboard and passed the reins to the woman.

She started to mount, and Blackwind moved away.

With a cry, she fell into the water between Blackwind and the buckboard.

“You made it do that!” she yammered.

“Well, I trained him to be intolerant of anyone else on his back,” said Luke. “But I did warn you. Well, as you’re already wet, you might as well splash ashore.  There’s a blanket in my saddle bag, and you can wrap yourself in that.”

Luke stepped down into the water, and managed to lift the wheel out of the rut. Free of the obstruction, he was able to pull the buckboard forward onto the other side of the ford.

“There you are, ladies; and be thankful that, despite your rudeness, I brought it to the side you’re going, not took a fit of being ornery to put it on the other side,” said Luke. “I’m not noted for my tolerance.”

“My shotgun!” cried the older woman.

“You chose to try to attack me. I’m not going to look for it. Besides, wouldn’t be safe. It’ll misfire, having got wet, and anything might happen. It’s not right to give a dangerous weapon to ladies,” said Luke.

“You could at least reharness our horses!” said the older one, shrilly.

“Please,” murmured the younger one, letting her long lashes, fringing blue eyes, flutter.

“If you don’t know how, you shouldn’t be out in a buckboard,” said Luke. “I’ll send someone back to escort you from the next town.”

“It’s Tissipig,” said the younger woman. “My father runs sheep there.”

“I’ll let him know his wife and daughter are safe,” said Luke.

“He’s my brother,” snapped the older. “I came to care for Lucinda when her mother died.”

“Ah? How fortunate for her,” murmured Luke. “Girls so often grow up to be like their mothers.”

 

oOoOo

 

Luke trotted into the town and stopped before he got mixed up in the potential of a gunfight in progress.  The streets had cleared and two men in suits stood facing each other, exchanging insults. Luke went round to the back of the sheriff’s office and let himself in.

“Pardon me, but do they feed them on brain-sapping beans around here?” he said to the sheriff, who was watching the posturing through the door of his office.

“I sometimes think so,” said the sheriff, then swung round. “Who the devil are you?”

“A passer-by, as you might say,” said Luke. “I left a silly old fool and her niece at the ford, they having had hysterics because I did my best to save their horses which had been stood to the hocks in mountain water for better than an hour.”

“Sylvia Kirk and Lucinda,” said the sheriff, with a sniff. “One o’ those fools out there is Lucinda’s daddy, fighting George Lander, because he doesn’t reckon George’s son, Jim, is good enough for Lucinda.”

“I wasn’t good enough to rescue them either,” said Luke. “Honestly! The fool women couldn’t see that their weight on the seat made a difference to getting it out of a rut. Oh, and the old one tried to shoot me for caring for her horses; I shot her shotgun out of her hand. It’s in the ford somewhere.”

“That old biddy! Now I ain’t sure what I think about women’s suffrage for women with brains, but women like Sylvia Kirk are enough for me to use her name as two words to shut up my missus when she brings it up,” said the sheriff. “The niece! About all she knows is that she’s beautiful and that it sends all the young men wild.”

“Was she?  I didn’t notice,” said Luke. “I was more concerned about two beautiful prads taking cold in their joints. Horses may not feel cold in their lower limbs as much as we do, but they’d got wet to the belly in that cold ford, and they were in the shade. And upset at being whipped to make them go forward when they could not do so.”

“Well, I ain’t going out after her until these durn fools have finished their weekly shooting match,” said the sheriff. “Make us both a coffee, stranger, and if you’ve real business in town, give me the worst.”

“I really am passing through,” said Luke. “I’m a bounty hunter, but the trail was pretty, and I didn’t have a list of wanted men on me, so I followed my nose, and was told by an Indian named Cutting Claw that two ladies were in distress and didn’t care for his aid.”

The sheriff grunted.

“He’s worked for me as a scout at times,” he said. “I wager he didn’t call them ladies.”

“He said squaws, but I wasn’t quibbling,” said Luke.

The sheriff grunted.

“Harmon Danes,” he said.

“Luke Sokolov, if we’re exchanging names,” said Luke.

“The boy who painted the town red?”

“Oh, that story got about? They deserved it,” said Luke. “I got mad.”

“Oh, I heard all about it,” chuckled Danes. “I got no quarrel with a man who objects to unrighteous imprisonment and rough treatment.”

“Well, in that case, I might stay overnight, if I can avoid the fair Lucinda,” said Luke. “She’s got big eyes with come-to-bed eyelashes which hold shackles in their dark depths and pouty lips which probably nag a man who doesn’t fulfil all she expects of him. I may wrong her, of course.” He handed coffee to the lawman, who sipped gratefully.

“She’s the apple of her daddy’s eye and can do no wrong for him,” said Danes. “Fuck!”

Shots had been exchanged.

“Something out of the ordinary?” said Luke, putting down his mug.

“George Lander went down,” said Danes, buckling on his gun belt as he left the office in a hurry. Luke, thinking that he would probably regret this, followed behind him.

A young man about Luke’s own age was cradling the head of the man who had gone down, and a man with a doctor’s bag was hurrying over. There were ugly growls in the crowd.

“I... I never!” cried the other man. “I... it was an accident! Or... or someone else shot him! That stranger, maybe!” he pointed at Luke, having seen him.

The growl became uglier.

Danes shot in the air.

“I know who the stranger is, and he was making coffee in my office when the shooting occurred; unless you’re accusing me of doing it, Ambrose Kirk?”

“I... no, of course not,” said Kirk.

“And especial shame on you as my young friend here just rescued your daughter and sister from a predicament your fool sister got herself into and couldn’t get out of, in a rut in the river,” said Dane. “And might have cost you two horses. You want to curb her tongue and tendency to lash out; I wager if it had been her manners alone, Luke’d have left her be.”

“Damn right,” said Luke.

“I ain’t havin’ some saddle bum oglin’ my daughter,” said Kirk, fumbling for his gun.

“Get two things straight, neighbour,” said Luke who had both guns out and pointing at the older man. “I did it for the horses, not for some big-lipped hussy; and I am not a saddle bum. I’d be ashamed to take a wench like that home to my folks.”

There was a murmur amongst some of the young men; but the fair Lucinda’s disparagement was not enough to make any of her admirers tangle with a man whose guns appeared that fast. Luke spun both and reholstered them.

“Sheriff!” said the doctor. “He’s dead!”

“Murderer!” cried the young man cradling the dead man. “You killed him just because Lucinda and I love each other.”

“The young Montague confronts Capulet senior,” muttered Luke.

“Leave operetta out of this,” said Danes.

Luke did not bother to explain.

“Take him to the church,” he said. “How often did you say this farce plays out?”

“Every Saturday, when they’re in town for provisions and a drink,” said Danes. “Hitherto, both have shot off a few wild shots, and that’s been it.”

“Well, it isn’t murder,” said Luke. “Not unless you got witnesses to say that Kirk’s been practising, and Lander hasn’t.”

“And I’d hear if either was,” said Danes. “It’s just luck. And bad luck at that. And now there’ll be bad feeling, and it’ll lead to brawls.”

“I can see one way out, if I may,” said Luke.

“Shoot; I’ll listen to any suggestion,” said Danes.

“Take old man Capulet, uh, Kirk, into custody, and hold an enquiry. Call on witnesses to see if anyone testifies to him practising to be sure the usual Saturday debacle is nothing more. And of course, if they do, then that’s a horse of a different colour. If not, have him swear on the Bible he wasn’t expecting to hit today any more than any other day.”

Danes nodded.

“I wouldn’t want any man to make a fool of me, just because I believe I’d know,” he said. “And then what?”

“Fine him for breaking the peace, the amount of the cost of the funeral, and make sure you say that this is what the fine is going on. And then order the family feud to be wiped out by the marriage of the two young people.”

“I ain’t sure that Miss Lucinda is hankerin’ after Jim as much as he’s hankerin’ after her; she sure does admire t’be the most sought-after filly in the neighbourhood.”

“And the name for women like that is ‘trouble,’” said Luke. “How long will it be before all the young men in the neighbourhood start coming to fisticuffs or worse, gunfighting? A man should never pull a gun in anger or with any other strong emotion ruling him.  I’ve got another word for those who do.”

“What’s that?”

“Corpses,” said Luke.

Danes pushed back his Stetson, and scratched his head.

“I don’t say you’re wrong,” he said. “Safely married off, and with a babby or two, she won’t have time to be trouble.”

“She won’t like it, but she’ll take refuge in eating, and in a few years, she’ll be too fat to attract them any more; those lush, full-figured girls always are, if they aren’t careful,” said Luke. “And she’ll make him miserable; but then, better two people miserable than a town at loggerheads.”

“Something in what you say,” said Danes. “I’ll see to it. You planning on staying around?”

“Only to check it wasn’t deliberate and that you don’t need a temporary deputy,” said Luke. “I’m not staying for the wedding. The old dame might get designs on my beautiful young body, and that scares me.”

“Well, at least she has her brother to care for her, or she might get designs on other poor bachelors,” said Danes.

They both laughed.

 

Luke rode out of town two days later as the wedding bells rang. Kirk had been willing to swear his innocence of deliberate murder, and there was no suggestion to the contrary. The bridegroom was ecstatic, and the bride nervous, a reverse of the usual mental conditions of such young couples, and Luke found that he viewed this state of affairs with complete indifference. Besides, he wanted to find some winter quarters somewhere convivial.