black falcon 9 part 2 family matters

 

9 Family matters part 2

 

“Was he looking for a particular letter?” asked Jed.

“That’s a reasonable theory,” said Luke. “Which begs the question, why. We need to sort through the mail and find out what is here; and if anyone is expecting mail who hasn’t got it, well, that might tell us something. Or we might not know at all, but we certainly won’t if we don’t look.  It’s solid gravel from here, so I doubt we’ll find any more. I’ll ride on a short way, but our owlhoot knows the country. There’s a gravel ford a mile or so to the south, which means he could go either way.”

Jed nodded.

“Mind if I look around a bit more?” he said.

“Go ahead,” said Luke. He left the younger man casting for sign, and cantered back to town. Here he was met by his youthful admirer.

“Say, Mr. Sokolov, you were amazing!” said Billy. “I never seen anything like it!”

“Oh, I’ve been learning things like that since I was younger than your brother, Lloyd,” said Luke. “We have the mail, though, so stick around, in case your letter is here; your ma must be getting anxious about you.”

“Reckon she’ll think I missed the coach and ran into town,” said Billy, philosophically. “It’s an important letter, from my Uncle Gavin, who might be coming out west to breed horses, and we’d trade work with him.”

“That’s a really important letter,” said Luke. “An unusual name.”

“It’s Welsh; it means ‘Battle Hawk,’ said Billy.

“‘Sokolov’ means ‘Place of Falcons’,” said Luke. “I picked it in honour of an ancestor of mine, so Pa didn’t get plagued over having a son who takes in men for bounty.  That’s why I’m the Black Falcon.”

“Cooh!” said Billy, impressed.

A little sorting found the letter to the Evans family, and Billy ran off happily. Luke sorted out everything for Eastbend, leaving Sam to deal with the passengers of the stage. Moses Burrel would not be fit to drive until the morrow after a cruel blow to the head, but Luke went to see him in the hotel, lifting his hat to the percentage girls at Carson’s saloon as he passed them in the street, as the saloon had a gaming room. Marilla and Carrie giggled at the way Luke always tipped his hat to them like any other lady, but were secretly much gratified. He tipped his hat to Big Betsy as well, who did most of the work in the saloon, threw out drunks, and was rumoured to have the best aim in the whole state, whether with knives, bottles, glasses, or drunkards. What Betsy was to Carson was anybody’s guess, but he did as she told him, and she extended a rough, motherly protection to the girls who worked for her.

Marilla ran back to Luke.

“Mr. Sokolov, will you mind if I warn them mail-order brides that it don’t always work out right?” she said.

“Why should I mind?” said Luke.

“Well, they’re decent girls, and Carrie and me, we’re soiled doves.”

“Whatever may have happened to you, I’ve no reason not to treat you as ladies; and you know that Mrs. Sam knows that even a schoolmarm isn’t necessarily safe.”

“She’s real nice,” said Carrie, joining her friend.

“I was a mail-order bride,” said Marilla. “Came out to wed old Chesterton. Never got as far as the ceremony, he used me, and said I wasn’t tough enough for a rancher’s wife. But once you’re used...” she shrugged her shapely shoulders. “Ma Betsy took me on, on the understanding I was never for hire to Brad Chesterton. He’s rough,” she shuddered. “I bet you could give a girl a good time, Mr. Sokolov.” She tossed her red mane of hair.

“I’ll think about it,” said Luke. “I’m not a saint, just very cautious. And some of my sisters have red hair; nothing personal but I’d feel kinda incestuous.”

Carrie giggled. She had honey blonde hair.

“Ma Betsy’s ruthless about who she lets sleep with her girls,” she said. “Me, I grew up here when it was a saloon, three homesteads and no marshal, and when my da died, I couldn’t keep up the homestead, and a girl has to eat.”

“You tell them your stories with my blessing,” said Luke. “Sam’s explaining that they can’t go on until Moses is fit.”

Moses was in a room in the hotel.

“Mr. Burrel,” said Luke, “I know your head aches, but we retrieved the mail bag and some mail, and I need to know if you have any idea what might be missing.”

“The stops I’ll be making should be made into packets and tied with string,” said Burrel.

“They aren’t,” said Luke.

“Dammit!  Overnight, I parcel up all the next day’s; because it makes it easier for me,” said Burrel. “Some franchises carry a pouch for each stop.  I ain’t sayin’ the line is cheeseparin’ but I reckon if the boss saw a dropped match, he’d hoard it as firewood.”

“Would you look through these and see if any are missing?” asked Luke. “I gave the Evans boy his letter.”

“I couldn’t say, but there was more’n that I think,” said Burrel.  “Leave me the rest, and I’ll get t’morrer’s mail sorted.”

Luke did so and went out of the hotel, to be met by Jed.

“Mr. Sokolov, I found a letter loose by itself!” he said. “It’s to the marshal, from his sister.”

“And it was open?” asked Luke.

“Yes, and then thrown away,” said Jed.

“Now, what does that tell you?” said Luke.

“That someone opened the marshal’s mail on purpose, but it wasn’t what he was expecting.”

“Unless there was more than one letter to the marshal, and our owlhoot has the other,” said Luke. He went back in to see Moses.

“Was there more than one letter to Sam Stubbins?”

“Aye, reckon there was,” said Moses. “One from his sister, and she give that into my hands with a right tirade, her being’ ten year older’n him an’ reckons she’s as close to a ma as the poor man has. And an official one.”

“Well done,” said Luke.

He ran to impart this information to Sam, unaware that the mail order brides were watching his lithe figure from their rooms with more or less regret that he had not been writing for a bride.

“Well, now!” said Sam. “I’ll wire and find out what the letter was.”

 

oOoOo

 

Sam waited for the message to go and return.

He came back to the office, frowning slightly.

“I can’t see why anyone should steal the information that we should expect a bounty hunter in town,” he said.

“Who’s he after?” asked Luke. “As far as I’m aware, everyone is squeaky clean.”

“He took information on Doug Waller, a safe breaker of some renown and violence, last known to be associating with Lightning-Hand Lil, who left her job in the circus as a knife-thrower to hook up with him, known for her habit of pinning people to doorposts by their sleeves, or occasionally hands.”

 Luke stiffened.

“Isn’t Lil sometimes used as a shortening of Elizabeth?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Sam.

“So’s Betsy,” said Luke.

“Are you suggesting that Big Betsy is Lightning-Hand Lil?” said Sam.

“It crossed my mind,” said Luke. “Is she wanted?”

“Only for questioning about Waller; she never took part in his heists that anyone knows,” said Sam.

“So, tell me about this bounty hunter.”

“He’s known as the Killer Colonel; was a colonel during the war, and if there’s an alive or dead out, he prefers dead. He’s said not to be particular about how he gets his information.”

“Right,” said Luke. “I’m going to pull Betsy in.”

“What for?”

“Operating a bawdy house without the proper licences,” said Luke.

“Won’t do; she and her girls see the doctor weekly,” said Sam.

“I’ll invent something, then,” said Luke. “She’s in danger.”

 

oOoOo

 

“Lil, have you heard of the Killer Colonel?” asked Luke.

“Of course I have... what did you call me?” Betsy glowered at Luke.

“Betsy, I know you’re Lightning-Hand Lil, and so does the Colonel, and he’s on his way here,” said Luke. “And I imagine you can guess what he might do to you and your girls.”

Betsy paled.

“I can handle him, but Marilla and Carrie... and he’d hurt them to make me talk.”

“Then why don’t you and them pack a satchel and I’ll settle you snug in a jail cell until this colonel has gone on his merry way,” said Luke.

“Well, there’s precious little trade at the moment,” said Betsy. “Snug?”

“We made some improvements on the place for the new jailor and his sister and friend. It’s not going to be the most comfortable, but with decent mattresses for all of you, it’s better than a wooden box if he goes too far.”

“Good point,” said Betsy.  “He won’t find Waller, though.”

“Oh?”

“He hit me about once too often, and I threw a bottle at him. He fell and broke his neck falling over a chair. It was self defence.”

“I believe you, but let’s pretend I have you in custody for his murder, and that way, if he’s dead, the colonel can go whistle for his bounty.”

Betsy gave a sudden fierce grin.

“I like the way you use the law,” she said. “We can practise our singing in the jailhouse, and learn some of the latest songs.”

“Why don’t you do the songs of the Modern Major General’s daughters from ‘Pirates of Penzance?’” suggested Luke.  “I might even stop by to sing Frederick for you.”

“What an excellent idea. And maybe those young things from Red Town might like to join in too,” said Betsy. “We’ll put on the show for Christmas.”

“Splendid,” said Luke, glad to have pacified her.

 

oOoOo

 

With the saloon women ensconced in the jail, declaring in song that they would talk about the weather, Luke was happier. But who would care to hide the imminent arrival of the Killer Colonel? He wired for more details about the man’s identity, and looked suspiciously at Samuel Carson, the barkeeper, who nominally employed Betsy, and in practice did as she said.

Carson scowled at him.

“I don’t know what you’ve got against me, stealing my home boy and now arresting the best attraction this bar has.”

“It’d attract more people if the booze was potable, and the barkeep wasn’t the surliest creature in the west,” said Luke. “Your scowl would frighten the cockroaches and depress rats, which are, goodness knows, your most assiduous customers because you’re slovenly enough to leave scraps about. I daily fear to come in and find that the rats have started wearing silk toppers and smoking cigars in the gaming room.”

“You don’t have to come in here.”

“Unfortunately, yes, I do, as deputy marshal, Sam pulls rank and makes me do the unpleasant tasks,” said Luke. “I don’t like you. He doesn’t like you either. But we won’t let it make us behave unprofessionally if you are some kind of contact of the Killer Colonel and you hoped to scare Betsy into being as cowed as poor little Frank by having her threatened with torture to reveal where Doug Waller is.”

Carson gaped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he said.

“Nope, I don’t suppose you do,” said Luke. “Just be thankful that we need a saloon of sorts, even your sorts, or I’d be taking issue, lawful or unlawful, with you leaving Frank out in the blizzard to die, not to mention the bruises on his poor little body that we found when we stripped off his wet clothing to get him in a hot bath. In my mind, you did your best to kill him, so take care around me.”

“You’ve a damned nasty temper,” muttered Carson.

“Why, yes,” said Luke.

He went back to see Betsy.

“Where did you kill Waller?” he asked.

“Redtown.  It was in a barn, out of town,” said Betsy.

“This could all go away and be finished if I claim I killed him, because I’m licenced as a bounty-hunter, if you give me all the details,” said Luke. “I’ll pass on any reward to you, of course, and you can set up in competition to Samuel Carson.”

Betsy’s eyes lighted up.

“Hear that, girls? Our own establishment, nice and refined, with real entertainment, not suggestive songs and hints of a bit of hows-your-father all the time. Red velvet in the games hall, real croupiers, and crystal chandeliers. Are you sure, Mr. Sokolov? Being free of fear is all I want.”

Luke laughed.

“Well, if it’s truly nice and refined, I might even invest in it as well.”

“Oh, you have no idea what I dream,” sighed Betsy. “White wood with gilding and red velvet.”

“Make it pink as a feature,” suggested Luke. “That soft, dull, brownish pink that looks so classy.”

“Oh, Mr. Sokolov, you’re a genius,” murmured Betsy. “Dusky rose! Just right.  And antique gold, nothing brassy.” She shut her eyes. “Girls! We can dress real classy too, none of this show all the goods Carson insists on.”

“Long sleeves in winter,” said Marilla, longingly.

 

Armed with Betsy’s description, Luke went out with a flour sack to find the barn where Betsy had killed Waller, and concealed his body. The farm was abandoned, and had been for some years, and Betsy had dropped the body down the well.  Luke sent a candle down in a pail on a rope to make sure the air was good to breathe. Where a flame will live, a man can live, he knew, and was glad the flame held steady all the way down.  He secured a heavier rope to Blackwind’s harness and told the faithful horse to guard the top, and hold steady as he climbed down. 

It was not good for a well to have a body in it, at the best of times, even without wanting it for evidence.

Luke was prepared for stinking decomposition, one reason he had brought a sack; a body would be reduced to a skeleton in the ground, so it was as well that Betsy had not buried him. He was not expecting the body to look almost fresh, with the waxen sheen of death. It felt unpleasant, however, a bit like soap. It had caught half-way down where someone had become lazy with digging and the shaft narrowed considerably.

Luke loaded the body into the flour sack, and climbed up the rope, having attached the sack to the bottom of it. There was no windlass to the well, but Luke went looking, in order to improvise.