Black falcon 9 part 3 family matters

 

 

9 family matters part 3

 

Luke tied off the rope on a fence rail for the time being, releasing Blackwind from his task, and went poking around in the barn. A broken buckboard missing a wheel would do fine. Luke lugged it out, noting that there were a number of farm tools wanting only a little industry to mend them. All of a piece with the sloppily-dug well, which did not have enough at its base to well up properly.  This homestead was well on the Eastbend side of Red Town, and Luke was considering suggesting to Bart and Jed that they file for it jointly, dig the well out properly, mend the tools, and fix the house and barn. It would save them a good year, and as there had been some sodbusting done, though they must weed, it gave them a start on raising crops. He had a look in the house. It was basic, but with a bit of help, the young men could improve it no end. Luke thought he wouldn’t mind a nice little lot like this himself. But he had plenty in the bank, and could take a lot anywhere he wanted when his wanderlust had diminished, and those boys needed a good start in life to make up for their fools of fathers, and the bad attitude around which they had grown up. If they made Eastbend their town of choice, they would do a lot better. Especially if Sam called on them from time to time. They were only two hours’ ride from Eastbend, and an hour’s ride from Red Town. If, as Luke surmised, a bad winter saw the end of Red Town as a community, it would do nicely.

Meanwhile, with the buckboard upended, and the rope around the axle, he might turn one of the wheels to winch up the sack with its grisly contents. He had a pack pony to carry the body back home... back to Eastbend, he amended. It was only home temporarily.  He uncovered the body long enough to fire a pistol into the dead body, to add verisimilitude to the story he had agreed on with Betsy.

He soon had the floursack tied onto the spare pony, and tidily covered the well, and put the buckboard away.

He had started for Eastbend when he heard hoofs, and a tall, heavily built man with iron grey hair and still-black upturned moustache caught up with him.  He was in his late forties and gave Luke a sneering look.

“Boy, am I on the right trail for Eastbend?”

“Well, old man, it’s where I’m headed,” said Luke.

“Don’t call me that,” snapped the man.

“Why not? You called me ‘boy’ so I thought insults were a part of your natural lexicon,” shrugged Luke.

“You ignorant sodbuster, I’m Colonel Chesterton. I’m looking for my brother’s place.”

Luke regarded him thoughtfully.

“You’re Brad Chesterton’s brother?” he said.

“Yes, you know him?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Luke. “You’re in luck; attempted murder isn’t counted a crime, so he isn’t in jail.”

“Nonsense! My brother is a righteous man, like me! He would never attempt to murder anyone, you heard that wrong, boy.”

Luke shrugged.

“I was with the sheriff when we stopped him,” he said. “So, you’re the Killer Colonel. Not that righteous.”

“There aren’t enough lawmen; the country needs bounty hunters, but I suppose you provincial hayseeds can’t understand that.”

Luke moved to standing in the saddle in one fluid move, and kicked the colonel in the teeth.

The other man fell from his horse.

“If you shoot me in the back, the law will be after a marshal-killer,” said Luke, as he rode on.

 

He managed to urge the pack pony to a trot, took two short-cuts, and arrived in Eastbend before the colonel.

“I’m going to kill that snotty fuck,” he said to Sam.

“I’ve never heard you be so coarse,” said Sam, mildly. “Which snotty fuck? Chesterton?”

“Yes, but not ours; his brother. The killer Colonel.”

Sam whistled.

“I wonder...” he said.

“I did, too,” said Luke. “I brought you a body. It’s Doug Waller. Officially, I killed him three years ago when I caught him assaulting the lady known as Big Betsy.  I left him in a well, not wanting to be bothered to collect the bounty when a lady needed help.”

“And will Betsy bear out your story?” asked Sam.

“She will. And you need to identify him.”

“After this time?”

“He’s in lovely condition,” said Luke. “Come and see.”

Sam came to look at the body in the flour sack.

“That’s Doug Waller sure enough,” he said. “His bounty’s on twelve hundred; the killing was before you were a deputy. You want to collect?”

“I do; and give it to Betsy,” said Luke. “I’ll get this to the undertaker. Oh, if the Colonel files a complaint about me kicking his teeth in, I considered him too insulting not to strike.”

“Oh, boy,” said Sam.

“I’ll give him satisfaction if he asks for it. Cavalry sabre,” said Luke. He took his burden to the undertaker, and returned the pony to the livery stable where he had hired it. Then he went back to fill out the paperwork.  Betsy gave her deposition, and Sam wired the information to the state capital.

Luke went into the saloon. He wore his sabre. Just in case.

“Tea,” he said.

Carson was used to Luke’s foibles and sullenly provided the tea.

 

oOoOo

 

The big man burst into Sam’s office.

“I was assaulted!” he said.

“Oh, you’re the bounty-hunting scum who insulted my deputy, are you?” said Sam, calmly. “He said he accepts your challenge and chooses cavalry sabres. Do you have one?”

“Oh, he does, does he? I shall enjoy carving out his tripes. But I have business first,” snarled the colonel.  “I’m on the trail of Doug Waller; he was last seen in the township over there.” He pointed in the direction of Red Town. “And his moll, Lighting-hand-Lil lives here; I’ve heard she’s a hostess,” his tone sneered, “at the saloon. Known as Big Betsy.”

“You’re too late for either of them,” said Sam.

“Too late? What do you mean?”

“If... and it’s only  if... Lightning-hand Lil is indeed the same person as Big Betsy, I’ve got her in the jailhouse investigating taxation fraud,” said Sam, who had settled on this with Betsy as a reason to hold her. “I’m waiting for an accountant to sort out the rights and wrongs of it.”

“And have you got Doug Waller in jail as well?” sneered the colonel.

“He’d be smelling a bit if I had,” said Sam.  “He’s been dead three years.”

“Dead! Are you sure?”

“I’ve seen the body,” said Sam.

“Why haven’t you told the authorities?”

“I have told the authorities,” said Sam. “Not my fault if you got out of date information. My deputy’s having tea in the saloon if you want to issue your challenge formally.”

“I’m not going to soil the honour of my blade on some sodbuster,” snarled the colonel.

“Mr. Sokolov is a gentleman,” said Sam. “His father runs tens of thousands of head of cattle as well as many wheatfields. And if you’re challenging, he has right of choice of weapon.”

“And does he have a sabre?” demanded the colonel.

“He does,” said Sam.

 

oOoOo

 

The colonel crashed through the batwings of the bar.

“What an uncouth fellow you are, to be sure,” said Luke. “You damaged my boot, you know.”

“You bastard!” growled the colonel. “I am going to carve out your tripes.”

“You want a death duel? All the same to me,” said Luke, indifferently, examining his finger nails. “Dawn tomorrow do you?  I hope you’re content with a one-fisted sabre duel, I only brought one with me, so unless you have more than a pair with you....”

“Who fights with two sabres? Are you insane?” said the colonel.

Luke shrugged.

“I was taught with two,” he said. “But I’ll fight with one.  See you tomorrow; take your ugly mug back to your brother’s place.  It may have been improved with a boot in it, but even so, it offends me.”

“I’ll fight you now!” snarled the colonel, starting to draw his blade.

“In the street, if you please,” said Luke. “You don’t want to make a mess in here, do you?”

The two men strode into the street, which promptly emptied.

Two men with those expressions meant business.

Faces appeared cautiously at windows; anything the deputy marshal did was a treat to watch.

“Who’s your second?” asked Luke.

“My brother; he’s in town; I’ll have him sent for,” said the colonel.

“Likewise I will send for Sam Stubbins, the sheriff; he’ll act for me,” said Luke.

There were always small boys fascinated by fights who could be sent with messages.  Sam had been waiting; Brad Chesterton strode up.

“What is this madness, Sheriff?” he demanded. “Your boy had better apologise, the colonel surely learned how to use a sabre properly in the cavalry.”

“Your brother challenged; Luke has right of choice of weaponry,” said Sam. “Yes, I know he’s your brother, and I’ll be questioning you later about a certain matter of theft from the mails. Meantime, Luke is not about to back down.”

Chesterton looked aghast that the relationship was known, and the colour drained from him. He decided to give up the pretence, however.

“Well, my brother certainly won’t back down,” said Chesterton. “Sokolov kicked him in the teeth, and that’s too much.”

“Not having heard what your brother said, I am unable to comment if it was too much. Though if Luke was on horseback and your brother on foot, I will suggest he was in the wrong.”

“He stood up on his horse’s back to kick my brother!” growled Chesterton.

“A consummate piece of horsemanship, not to fall,” said Sam. “A little showy; most of us would just have hit him. However, I think the preliminaries are covered; shall we get under way?”

 

When the two men drew swords, only their seconds were unsurprised.

The number of watchers increased; if there were not going to be any stray bullets, it would be a fine show.

Luke saluted.

His opponent blinked.

“That’s not what I would call a sabre,” he said, belatedly saluting with his.

“Yours isn’t what I call a sabre,” said Luke. “Bit of a toy, really. Do you want me to take a handicap?”

The colonel sneered.

“You won’t get very far very fast with something that heavy and slow,” he said. “You’re already handicapped. I have a fast, modern, precision blade.”

“It’s what I know,” said Luke. “Perhaps your fast blade will make up for being an old man.”

“I’ll show you how old I am!” ground out the colonel, coming in with a fast thrusting motion. Luke knocked it aside.

Both went onto high guard. The colonel came in hard and fast, and Luke parried, his sword disengaging before the colonel realised he had done so, making the older man lose balance slightly. Luke caught the man’s forearm on the tip of his sabre, and the colonel gasped to see blood.

“So sorry, do you need a breather as you are so feeble?” asked Luke.

The attack was frenzied, and Luke had to concentrate on his parries.

He learned a lot about his opponent’s style, however.  Luke pressed a cross-cutting attack, allowing the parry, and with a side step came up from the moulinet move to lightly cut the colonel’s face.  So light was the touch and so sharp was Luke’s blade, the colonel did not even realise he was cut.

“So, do you really want to fight to the death, or do you want to leave it as three cuts?” asked Luke, conversationally.

“I am going to kill you,” said the colonel. “This is stimulating, and I will enjoy cutting you up.”

“Oh, well, so long as we have established the rules,” said Luke. “Having cut you twice, if it’s not to three, I don’t have to be careful not to hurt you.”

“What? You cut me once, by accident, boy!”

“Twice, on purpose,” said Luke. “The wrist and your face.”

“You didn’t touch my face...” the man tailed off as he could feel wetness dribbling down his face. “You little shit!” he screamed, and went for Luke.

Luke had been waiting for it. He parried, went back onto high guard, pressed in an attack, disengaged from the parry, spun his sword in the moulinet, and let its weight help with the momentum to carry it up under his opponent’s ribs.

The colonel looked surprised for a moment, then a stream of blood came out of his mouth.

“They call it ‘hellish quarte,” said Luke. “You didn’t learn that one?”

The colonel gurgled and fell to his knees; and then onto his face.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” said Luke.

 

“He... he murdered my brother! Arrest him!” cried Chesterton.

“I heard him say he was going to kill Luke as well as you did,” growled Sam. “It’s legal enough in a duel. And I’m not sorry to have a vicious killer like your brother underground. I don’t like his methods.  And I don’t like how you tried to conceal that he was coming, to prevent me protecting a victim of the man he was pursuing, either. I know you’re not a thief as such, Brad Chesterton, but you assaulted Moses and stopped the mail, and that’s a federal offence, you know.  You’ve been prevented from committing cold blooded murder, you’ve acted as an owlhoot, and yet you act like you’re in the right. What in tarnation is wrong with you?”

“I... I didn’t want any trouble over Andrew!” said Chesterton. “I only took the mail for you, I left the rest to be found.”

“You also shot over the heads of the horses to make them run,” said Sam. “And once again escape by the skin of your teeth from being a murderer. If Luke had not caught up with the team and managed to slow them enough before the road bend, those five young women would have ended up in the river at its fastest and most treacherous. You disgust me, Brad Chesterton, and if you come to my attention for one more thing, so help me, I am going to hand you over for stealing the mail, and see how you do in a federal courtroom! But I have better things to do than to feed your stupid mouth in my jailhouse, so take your brother’s body and get the hell out of town and if I see you again before spring it will be too soon. Save to make an ex-gratia payment to Moses Burrell, whom you half killed.”

Chesterton growled; but he did not want to go to jail. Moses Burrell would have a generous payment.

 

Luke had cleaned his blade and returned it to its scabbard.

“And you can do the paperwork on it, young Luke!” said Sam, severely. “And well done.”

“Betsy will sleep quieter at nights now, I wager,” said Luke.

Sam gave a grim smile. He knew perfectly well that was why Luke had forced the colonel to lose his temper and call for a fight to the death.

As bounty hunters went, Luke Sokolov had a softer centre than most.

 

 

I know where I'm going but I've run out of steam a bit 

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.

 

black falcon 9 part 1 Family Matters

 

9  Family Matters part 1

 

Luke was glad to receive a message via the telegraph from his father.

“Miss you, son, but do what is right.  Your mother says keep your feet warm. Good luck, Pa.”

Luke smiled. There were a multitude more words in the terse wording of the telegram that he could read between the lines, telling him of the love of his parents, and their support of his choices.  At least he was happy with his telegram, unlike Brad Chesterton, who was scowling at his missive.

“Bad news?” asked Luke.

“You keep your nose out of my business,” snapped Chesterton.

“Oh, well, if you feel that way, I won’t bother to try to be neighbourly and rebuilt relations soured by your attempted murder, because I don’t actually care, and I doubt I’d bother to piss in your ear if your brains were on fire,” said Luke. “Unless it was to stop it spreading.”

Chesterton’s hand strayed towards his gun.

“You’re offensive, boy!” he snarled.

“Not as offensive as you are, ugly,” said Luke. “Do you really want to get in a gunfight? You’re too slow, too old, and as I am contemptuous of you, I’d do something like take your ear off and mount it as a trophy, and you’d be called ‘One-ear Brad’ for the rest of your life. I wouldn’t be merciful enough to kill you.  But I tried to open dialogue with you. You aren’t interested so I don’t care if Fingers Blackman here in the telegraph office sends  message clear all the way from Mexico to Canada that I think that Brad Chesterton is an egregiously lacklustre, languid, lazy, lamentable lump whose brains, if he has any, are a turgid concoction of venal and venomous vestigial veracity.”

“I can’t get all that down to send for laughing,” said Blackman, the telegraph operator.

“What do all that mean?” growled Chesterton.

“I said you’re a lazy sonofabitch who drips with malice and tells half-truths,” said Luke. “But if you have redeeming features, as I’m in the business of preventing trouble not caring for souls, I don’t really care.”

Chesterton did not want to tangle with a man who could cut a rope with his rifle at half a mile, and he walked out, glowering.

He had plans, moreover, which would make the puppy regret his words.

 

oOoOo

 

Luke was ecumenical in his worship, and cheerfully attended the local service. He got some strange looks for crossing himself, but nobody actually made any noises of objection. His father had been raised Orthodox, his mother born into the Church of England, and at home they had a cheerfully chubby little Irish Catholic priest, who was happy enough to compromise around minor doctrinal differences and ignored the Cossacks crossing themselves from right to left, not left to right. Luke had cheerfully assimilated several ways of worship, and admired Mr. Hill’s practical Christianity.

Church, too, was a way of keeping in touch with the community, which was important for a deputy law man, and Luke exchanged greetings with people he rarely saw, unless in town to buy supplies.

He raised his cap to a maiden of some thirteen summers, who he had last seen the day the great blizzard had struck.

“Now, I trust you’ve forgiven me, Miss Kitty, for interrupting your picnic,” he teased her.

She went pink, and grinned at him.

“Oh, Mr. Sokolov, you saved our lives,” she said. “We had our picnic in the yard, and it was hard work just getting into the house, and all the little ones clung together in a chain to follow Pa, and he and Ma and I carried the smallest ones, and Billy carried the hamper, and we got inside. Pa counted us and then he said some very naughty words, and Ma said, ‘William!’ in that tone, you know?”

Luke grinned.

“It’s a universal mother tone,” he said.

“Yes, and we were all as quiet as mice,” said Kitty. “That was a big storm, and you are clever!”

“I was barely a man when the last long winter happened, and I learned a lot,” said Luke.

“We hadn’t come west when that happened, but Pa said it couldn’t surely be as bad ever again,” said Kitty. “It’s hard work making a new farm from nothing, but at least we got all the harvest in, and it was pretty good, though I reckon I’m going to be sick of salted green beans.”

“You try them fried with apple and onion, and a little bit of bacon goes a long way in that.  And you can make a water and salt pastry and roll it thin, and put anything in, spiced if you feel like it, and fry it. The flat pies are called chebureki, and they are good trail rations too. You can pad it out with rice or cooked lentils too,” he added.

Kitty giggled, stood on one leg, and nibbled one of her flaxen plaits.

“Ma, listen to Mr. Sokolov, teaching me how to cook, and him a bachelor!” she said.

“If a bachelor can’t cook, he suffers,” said Luke. “Rice stores and goes with anything. And the more interesting you can make your string beans, the better it is. And frying uses less fuel than a lot of things.”

“It sounds very interesting, Mr. Sokolov,” said Kitty’s mother. “I’ll try anything once. And any new way of presenting what might become a boring diet has to be good.”

Luke raised his hat to the women, and went into church. He hoped the tenderfoot family would make it through the winter. He only listened with half an ear; and after church made sure to catch up with Dave Smee, the storekeeper.

“Dave, when the Evans family come in for supplies, you make sure you give them over weight on everything, and you tot it up to bill me,” said Luke. “Try not to get caught at it, though. I don’t want them to find out.”

“You’re a good man, Luke,” said Smee. “I can make sure of that.  And let Mrs. Evans think there are things of offer, too, if she’s in the shop alone.”

“Thanks, Dave,” said Luke. “Evans is a hard worker, and Billy too, and it isn’t their fault they came west at a bad time for getting started.”

“I bought in a heap o’ everything as soon as you made that warning,” said Dave. “Dried goods won’t go off, and if we don’t need it, I can sell at cost to people if it lasts so long.”

“It won’t,” said Luke. “Thanks for taking me seriously.”

“Oh, well, you ain’t been wrong yet,” said Dave. “And Granfer Perrin’s knees have been playin’ him up, and that only happens when the wind’s in the wrong quarter. And that means bad weather. I’ll help that little family out, and we’ll split the costs; they’re nice people, and those kids are the future of the town. One day all them little girls will be wives buying from me, and Billy and Lloyd farming.”

Luke clapped the storeholder on the shoulder.

He would have been amused had he heard Smee say to the Reverend Hill, “That boy might be a mackerel snapper, but by george, he’s a better man than most, and don’t want his charity known.”

 

Once the false front on the log cabin was raised, Luke was about to ride out on a patrol when Billy Evans came pelting into town on the family horse.

“Mr. Sokolov! Mr. Sokolov, sir, I seen the mail held up!”

“Where, Billy?”

“Down in the hollow, near our farm, we was expecting a letter, and... and the coach will stop to give us mail, and... and a man in a mask was holding it up! And stealing the mails!” Billy, a sturdy twelve-year-old scrubbed his hand across his eyes. “Cold wind,” he said.

“Go tell Sam,” said Luke, leapfrogging onto Blackwind’s back via the rump, an act which had Billy so filled with youthful admiration that he almost forgot his woe.

Nightwind was happy to go from wait to gallop as soon as Luke landed on his back, with a yelled “Pobihty!” Nightwind responded best to the Ukrainian commands he had been trained with.

“Oh, that is one special horse,” breathed Billy, and then, mindful that his errand was urgent, ran to find Sam.

 

 

Luke galloped towards the site of the holdup, and took Blackwind down the steep side of the valley which few horses would dare to tackle. Blackwind snorted derision at the perilous slope and cantered down it half-sideways without hesitation. He trusted his rider not to expect more than he could manage. The stagecoach was a runaway; and Luke grimaced to leave the still figure of the driver; he might be dead, whereas any passengers had a chance to live if he could catch the coach and stop it before it came off the steep bend which gave Eastbend its name.

Luke urged Blackwind to a full out gallop, and got up to stand in the saddle, leaping onto the lead horse.  It would not be enough, the second leader was too panicked. He grimaced, stood again, and with the consummate skill of a man who has been handling horses since he could walk, straddled to stand with a foot in each saddle, and reassure both horses with his hands on each rein, speaking calmly.

The coach slowed enough to come round the steep bend, Luke feeling the coach rock slightly as it fishtailed more than he would have liked, and he was bringing the horses to a trot as they swept into town.

If Billy had been impressed by his hero before, his eyes almost popped out of his head at the sight of the deputy marshal with a foot on each of the two lead horses, gentling them to a stop. Luke threw the rein to the agent of the stage coach company, and whistled to Blackwind. The faithful horse trotted up, and Luke tossed himself onto his saddle, to wheel and ride off.

Sam had taken Jed and Bart, being competent horsemen, and not otherwise occupied, and Luke caught up with them as the sheriff administered first aid to the driver.

“Sorry I left you,” said Luke. “I had to stop the coach before it tipped into the river.”

“Yes, of course,” whispered the driver. “Bastard hit me on the head, and fired to make the hosses run.”

“Which would have been murder without the coach being stopped,” said Sam, grimly. “If there was anyone inside.”

“A passel of ladies going out as mail order brides,” said the driver.

“Well, they owe their lives to Luke,” said Sam. “Bart, can you take Moses Burrel here into town on your nag? Jed and Luke, perhaps you can backtrack?”

“Do my best,” said Luke. “Did he rob the ladies?”

“No, all he wanted was the mail,” said Burrel. “Didn’t ask if we had any paychest or anything, or if the ladies had jewellery, grabbed the mail and rode off with it.”

“People do send money through the mail,” said Sam. “More anonymous that, than having to fence geegaws, but then, so’s gold.”

“Why mail money when it’s faster and safer to wire a transfer to a bank?” asked Luke.

“Some people don’t trust the wire,” said Sam.

“No accounting for folks,” said Luke. “Right, come on, Jed; you won’t learn any younger.”

“What are we looking for?” asked Jed.

“Hoof marks, primarily, going away and recent,” said Luke. “I imagine we’ll be going upstream a way,  few horses could handle going up that slope; though if anyone has, we’ll likely find a heap of scree, disturbed fallen debris, below where he went up.”

Jed nodded, and followed.

“See this? The nag rode into the river,” Luke pointed to the hoofprints going into the river. “It’s an old trick to throw people off your trail, to go up or down river a way, and get out where you feel like, on either side, and without casting for trail on both sides, up and down stream, you can’t tell. But here we have two advantages. Care to guess?”

“Uh... I suppose so,” said Jed. “He couldn’t hardly go back downstream, could he? He’d soon be visible by anyone coming to the coachman’s aid.”

“Yes, the only way would be if there was a good place to leave without showing much sign on the other side downstream, and there isn’t,” said Luke. “I also doubt he even crossed it. The river’s in spate, and nobody but a fool is going to ford it when he has a good chance of getting wet. Which at this time of year might be fatal. I suggest we keep on going this side, and see if he splashed through the shallows to come out a little later.”

“Are you part Indian?” asked Jed.

“No, but I learned my craft partly from a friend who is,” said Luke. “There’s more people can track than Indians, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” said Jed.

“That’s why I’m teaching you, lad,” said Luke.  “When I move on, you’ll be a better deputy if you can track.”

“Deputy?”

“Well, if you plan on staying here, you’ll want a trade, and you’ll want some work to give you some capital to set up as a carpenter, if that’s what you want.”

“I hate carpentry,” said Jed. “I like being outdoors, and doing the building of houses, but I’d rather be out riding.”

“Deputy work isn’t all riding after criminals,” said Luke. “There’s the paperwork to do as well.  When we’ve done our tracking, I’m going to have to write up about coming on the stagecoach and having to stop it, and then the chasing of the person who did it. I expect when they have more fancy lawyers out in the west we’ll also have to learn all that photography malarkey to have proof we saw the hoof prints, rather than a man’s word being his bond.”

“It isn’t always,” said Jed.

“Well, no, I suppose not,” said Luke.  “Oh, hello, what’s that in that bush ahead?”

That turned out to be the mail bag, the letters spilling out of it.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” murmured Luke, quoting a book his sister Alice owned.

 

 

I'm 2/3 of the way through part 2 so should have that for tomorrow