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.

 

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.