black falcon 8 that wasn't the last of Jed Burrows

 ok, I may be on hiatus for a while, I am writing the one after this. we crashed very badly after the tension release.

8 That wasn’t the last of Jed Burrows

 

The weather resumed late autumnal sunshine as if nothing had ever happened.

“A bit like a maiden lady trying to live down having farted during the sermon,” said Luke to Sam.

“I don’t say it’s never happened, but I never knew a maiden lady put on such an innocent face as this here weather,” said Sam. “No, siree! It ain’t in the least bit embarrassed for the sort of chilly fart as would take a mort o’ cucumbers to inflict on any old maid’s posterior.”

“Cucumbers repeat the other way,” said Luke, mildly.

“Not the way they took my granddaddy,” said Sam. “Left alone at home, he’d eat a whole jar of pickles, along with a good chunk of cheese, and you couldn’t hear yourself think in the evening after that. Grandma used to send him out to explode in the thunderbox, until he’d passed them through, and threatened never to make pickles no more. But o’course, she did.”

Luke chuckled.

“My grandparents came out to visit, once, from England, but they have their own lands there,” he said. “I never met my daddy’s people.”

“It can’t be easy for first generation settlers,” said Sam. “What’s that boy, Frank, hollerin’ about now?”

The boy Frank, liberated from the unkind service with the saloon keeper, and enjoying running about in the street now the storm was over,  pelted into the marshal’s office.

“Mr. Sam, sir! Mr. Chesterton’s hanging a couple of men he says he caught stealin’ on his lands; he come into town for the rope now the weather’s settled!”

“The hell he is!” said Sam. “Come on, Luke, my lad.”

 

The Chesterton ranch was a few miles out of town, and Chesterton had gone ahead with his rope. Sam and Luke took best pace, and breasted the hill looking into the valley of the ranch.

“We’ll be too late,” said Sam, with a hiss of distaste, seeing that there was a rope slung over an apple tree bough in the ranch yard, and the noose already about the neck of one man.

“The hell we are,” said Luke, sliding off Blackwind, to kneel on one knee, with his Winchester. “Keep going and call on them to stop; if you don’t, I will.”

“Can... stupid question,” said Sam, riding on.

The allowance for windage was very little; since the blizzard it had been almost flat calm, as if to make up for the wild wind of the storm. Luke sighted through his telescopic sight, and as the men ran away with the rope tail, stretching the rope and heaving up their prisoner, he breathed in, held it, and fired on the out-breath, neatly severing the rope. His shot echoed around.

One thing shocked Luke, however; the face of the man being hung was the terrified visage of Jed Burrows.  Presumably the other lad was one of his friends.

Sam was shouting and waving at Mr. Chesterton, who appeared not to want to take any notice. Luke took a bead on the man’s hat, and shot it clean off.

This appeared to drive the message home, and Chesterton almost threw Jed towards Sam.

Luke rode down to join them.

He was in time to catch some of the conversation.

“We didn’t steal nothin’ but some wheat kernels to chew on, and some beans, because we were hungry,” said Jed. “We ain’t thieves!”

“Your fathers were,” growled Chesterton.

“I don’t understand,” said Jed.

“Your father was amongst those who came to take goods by force from our townsfolk after the blizzard,” said Sam, grimly. Chesterton nodded.

“Yes, and the sins of the fathers shall be visited on their sons....”

“Stop right there, Brad Chesterton,” said Sam. “Everyone who isn’t a total fool knows that what the Bible means there is the French Pox.”

“I can’t believe my pa stole!” said Jed.

“Well, there ain’t a lot of difference between your pa wanting to grab food from our people and you trying to steal my wife’s self respect like that damned gunslinger,” growled Sam. “I wager you’d not like a gang of cowboys to hold you down and take your ass because they felt like it. It ain’t no different. But I won’t have you hanged out of hand, you nor your friend. I’ll take you in, and if Mr. Chesterton wants to swear a complaint about you stealing a few handfuls of grain and beans then he can come to the lock-up and do so.”

“It ain’t a handful of grain and beans, he’s been rustling my sheep,” said Chesterton.

“What? I haven’t been near your sheep,” said Jed.

“Show me your hands, boy,” said Luke.

Jed, cowed, held them out. Luke took off a glove and felt his hands, and sniffed them.

“The boy hasn’t touched a sheep any time in the last two days,” he said. “And before then, nobody was likely to be able to do anything with sheep. Where were your sheep during the blizzard? You brought them in to a barn, of course; has someone let them out?”

“I... why the hell should I be expected to bring them in?” blustered Chesterton.

“Because I warned you, you old fool,” growled Luke. “I warned everyone. Mr. Hill spoke of it in his sermon and warned everyone to get their animals in. If you won’t take my word, and that of a man of God, and if you lost your sheep scattered and killed by the blizzard, you deserve it; but you can’t go blaming these two. Now, are you going to swear a complaint about some stolen food?”

“No.” Chesterton almost growled the answer. “Get them off my land.”

“We’d better take them back and feed them, as apparently we aren’t even welcome to help look for straying sheep,” said Luke. “Who’s your friend, Jed?”

“I’m Bart McGoven,” said the other boy. “The others said they’d go back to town when the wind struck; we decided to see if we could find some place to shelter and we stumbled into the side of that barn there, and we sort of fell inside it and sat out the storm as best we might.”

“And we watered the horses, because nobody came out of the house to do it,” said Jed.

“Reckon Mr. Chesterton owes you more’n a few handfuls of corn and beans,” said Sam, glaring at the sheep-rancher. “Saved his hosses for him, you did. Reckon that’s worth a week’s wages apiece for a good hand, and I reckon he’s going to hand over ten dollars apiece and another five each for good will.”

Chesterton went purple.

“Now, you see here, Sam Stubbins...” he began.

“No, you see here,” said Sam.  “I catch you in the middle of bloody murder. I find out you’ve been neglecting your hosses.  Not to mention those poor sheep. You’re a piss poor excuse of a man, but you’ll pay these boys their dues; and it’s something for them to start on.”

Grumbling, Chesterton handed over some notes, which Sam gave to the two young men. Sam and Luke rode back to town with the youths, whose horses were in the barn; and Luke strongly suspected that if Chesterton had had his way in hanging them, then he would have kept their horses and tack.

“Mister,” said Jed, “You could have left us to his mercy, knowing we was after coming to bushwhack you....”

“I don’t know any such thing, but if you were, care to tell me why?” asked Sam.

“We... we felt done out of our dues,” said Jed. “My pa told me that once a woman has been had, she’s filled with burning lusts, and we thought she’d need plenty to tame her. And... and I want her so bad.”

“Well, your pa lied,” said Sam. “Come on, Jed! You’ve heard tales about men using boys, haven’t you?”

Jed nodded.

“It made me feel sick,” he said.

“Well, if your pa’s logic was true, don’t you think that it ought to inflame you with lusts for other men?” said Sam.

Jed gasped.

“It’s a violation,” said Luke. “Same as what was done to Mrs. Lucy. She didn’t enjoy it because he did it to hurt her. And I doubt she’ll be ready to be a wife in more than name for a long time because of the fear and the pain. Now, you’ve touched the fear of being helpless when he had you in that noose; it’s not anything beside what a woman suffers when being used.”

Jed went white.

“Why did you save me?” he asked.

“Because the rule of law says that every man is innocent until proven guilty, and that every man is entitled to a fair trial before the law,” said Sam. “Whatever my personal feelings on the matter about you two would-be rapists. You were prevented from becoming criminals and so you’re walking free today after a taste of Luke’s whip instead of being hanged for raping my wife. You ought to think on that some time you want to bushwhack anyone. It marks you as a coward, too.”

“We should get home if we ain’t under arrest; our pas will be worried,” said Bart.

“I wasn’t lying when I said your fathers came to steal,” said Sam, harshly. “They tried to set fire to the town, and pulled guns on us. Neither of you has a father; but then, all the folk under my care have their family unmolested. And if your fathers encouraged you to bushwhack a lawman, you’re better off without one.”

The youths looked at each other.

“Dead!” said Bart.

“What are we supposed to do?” said Jed. Both youths seemed more shocked than grief stricken.

“I’ll give you some supplies, to go back and see what you can salvage, and then, if you can’t run your daddys’ lands or business, you’d best put them up for sale and we’ll find you jobs in town,” sighed Sam. “So long as you apologise to Lucy.”

“I... yes, if it’s like you say, reckon we owe her one,” said Jed, shamefaced.

“I’ll ride over with them when they’ve had something to eat,” said Luke. “I’ve a bad feeling about letting them go alone.”

“I don’t argue with your feelings,” said Sam.

 

oOoOo

 

The youths said little on the ride to Redtown. They had stumbled through an apology to Lucy, and seemed to have run out of words since. Silence did not trouble Luke; he supposed they had a lot to sort through in their own minds. It occurred to him that, when they had him on their own territory, they might turn on him; but he placed his trust in God and in doing what his feelings told him was the right thing to do.

He was glad he had gone. He followed Jed and Bart into town, where a few hollow-eyed people were loafing about in the street.

One man, one of those who had got away when they came raiding, gave a yell.

“Jed Burrows and Bart McGoven! They’re undead! Come back to accuse us! We gotta put a stake through their hearts an’ stones in their mouths!”

The other townsfolk murmured assent and started to converge on the terrified boys.

“We ain’t undead!” yelled Jed. “We sat it out in a barn!”

“You’ll see!” said the one who had spoken up. “When we put a stake through them, they won’t bleed.”

He, however, did bleed as Luke’s whip struck him across the chest.

“Are you a godless idiot or merely a stupid one?” sneered Luke. “They were in a barn on the outskirts of Eastbend.  What would you do if you put a stake in them, and they bled? Apologise to the corpse? Or are you venal enough to want to kill them and take their daddys’ lands and goods?” He turned to the youths. “Get what you want of your own stuff, and any moneys if it’s been hidden, and anything or anyone else you want, and we’ll go back to Eastbend where they aren’t bedevilled with rapacious greed and a want of human kindness.” He paused. “Except for Chesterton and the saloon-keeper. Either one of those would skin a flea for its hide and tallow.”

“I want to fetch my sister,” said Bart. “When Jed has his stuff, will you come on with me? We’ve a plot on the other side of town.”

“Oh, the one from the schoolhouse. A couple of years younger than the schoolmistress,” said Luke. “Might have been teaching there if this had been a year later.”

Bart went ashen.

It had come home to him, at last, the iniquity of what they had tried to do.

 

Jed soon had all he wanted; and Luke played with his whips, showing what he could do.

They rode out of town.

The claim shanty stood open.

“Becca!” cried Bart.

“Bart!” The barn door opened. “You’re alive? Pa said you was dead. He went off raidin’ and he never come home.”

“Becca!” Bart ran to her.

She was a girl of about 14, with the same sandy hair as Bart, and Luke recognised her as the one girl in the schoolroom when he had killed Cathcart. Luke and Jed followed Bart into the barn.

“I didn’t think I could keep the house as warm as living in the stable, and there are pitchforks and things to keep folks away,” said Becca. “Oh! It’s the man who shot that man!” She put her hand to her mouth.

“Pack,” said Luke. “I don’t trust those brutes in town not to try to take everything from you. If you’ve a wagon, we’ll fit it up as a prairie schooner, and take what livestock we can. I can drive as well as I ride; we’ll go around the town.”

“We haven’t much, we hadn’t settled long,” said Bart. “Just the cow, a few goats, and the chickens. And a hog.”

“Jed, ride back to Eastbend, and tell Sam I’m stayin’ over to fettle up a prairie schooner and some crates for animals,” said Luke. “And we’ll be gone early in the morning. Is there anything else you want from your house?”

“Only to see the whole damn town burn,” said Jed, viciously. “Telling me I’d be a real man if I made it with the schoolmarm....”

“Real men don’t have to rape,” said Luke.

“Aye, well, I’m beginning to learn that,” said Jed. “Bart, if there’s anywhere to settle, will you take me on as a hand?”

“You’ll marry Becca and be my brother if I have any say in it,” said Bart.

“And what about my say?” said Becca, hands on hips.

“You could go further and do worse,” said Bart.

“Well, if he knows why I was furious with him about wanting to go on shivaree with that in mind, he might be growing up,” said Becca, with a sniff.

“Good girl; you tell them,” said Luke. “Like my sisters, you are!”

Becca regarded him.

“I think that was a compliment,” she said.

“It was,” said Luke.

Jed rode off, and Luke began fitting hoops on the wagon.

 

Luke went looking for another wagon, and filched one from under the noses of the townsfolk. They thought stealing was fair, after all. The pig, goats, and chickens all went into this one, whilst Becca, trying not to cry, packed up their house. She had taken most of the bedlinen into the barn already, and had but to pack it in.

“You won’t be able to do anything until spring,” said Luke. “I reckon you could be the jailor at the marshal’s office and kit out one of the cells as a bedroom as easily as try to build anywhere before the winter comes on.”

“Jed’s a carpenter, but he wouldn’t manage it in time, even if we could afford it,” said Bart. “I won’t be spooked by sleeping in a jail cell, will you, Becca?”

“As long as it’s warm enough in a blizzard,” said Becca, dubiously. “But it has to be warmer then living in the wagon.”

“There’s a fireplace and a cookstove in the marshal’s office,” said Luke. “You’ll probably sleep in there during a blizzard.”

“Oh, so long as there’s a fireplace,” said Becca, relieved.

“There’s a kerosene stove as well, for the prisoners, outside their cells, of course, but it could go  in one, and the chimney out of the window,” said Luke.

“Well, we’ll soon have it cosy,” said Becca, in determination.

“What has made Redtown so bad?” asked Luke, puzzled. “Not the same people as here in Eastbend, surely?”

“The most of the settlers came out of the Appalachians after the war, as sodbusters, looking for new opportunities, and riches untold for nothing,” said Jed. “We moved in a few years ago. They... they were all pretty violent, and Pa just... went along with it. The sheriff didn’t care two hoots about the odd necktie party, and Pa said I’d just have to learn to be tough and deal with it.”

“My pa taught me that you get where you want by hard work, sweat, and grit,” said Luke. “I’ve been training with whips since I was four years old. Likewise with swords, knives, and guns. I roped my first steer when I was six, and rode my first bronco a year later. I fell off and broke my arm and my father whopped my rear with his slipper before my mother set my arm for rolling where I might have made the colt break a leg.”

“A harsh father!” gasped Jed.

“No; he put it like that because I’d remember if I was worrying about the horse. He told me later he was scared to death I’d get my head stove in,” said Luke.  “But I broke in the colt.  He’s a good horse, isn’t he?” he indicated Blackwind.

“He is,” agreed Bart.

“He bites,” said Luke. “But he only nips me in reproof because he knows I’ll bite him back.”

Another family, of sorts, for Eastbend, reflected Luke; and maybe Jed would grow up to make a half-decent deputy, if he trained him over the winter.

And judging by the state of health of those in Redtown, it was likely to be a ghost town before much longer.

There were innocents there, but he couldn’t take on the woes of everyone.  And at least two troublemakers looked as if they had been turned around.