Black Falcon 3 four men went to mow

 

3 Four men went to mow

 

 

Luke had never meant to get into a brawl. He had stopped in the small township of Eastbend for provisions, and having filled his saddle-bags with necessities like oatmeal, canned meat, beans, tea, and dessicated vegetables, he had headed for the saloon.

The local hooch was unfortunately not forgettable, so he had ordered a cup of tea to chase it down. So long as the water boiled, it was hard to spoil a good strong cup of tea.

When the four hard looking men walked in, and the locals went quiet, Luke sighed and surreptitiously loosened his Smith and Wessons in their holsters.

He sat back, however, looking relaxed.

A man slid into the seat beside him.  He was a lean man of indeterminate age. He was wearing a star.

“They’re nothing to do with me,” said Luke.

“Didn’t think they were,” said the marshal. “Name’s Sam Stubbins. I’m the law around here.”

“Luke Sokolov. I chase bounties and good whisky.”

“None of either of those round here,” said Sam, humorously. “Wondered if you’d stand as deputy if these road agents start anything.”

“I tried that, once,” said Luke.  “Accepted a position of marshal to stop people causing trouble. I stopped them. Gave them due warning. But it wasn’t what the people wanted.”

“Being a law man can be hell at times. Will you help?”

“I learned my lesson,” said Luke. “I had a feeling that I could go from marshal to chief participant in a necktie party.”

Sam sighed.

“I can understand your reluctance, under the circumstances,” he said, hearing the bitterness in the young man’s voice.

The marshal moved away.

One of the four newcomers came over and dropped down heavily beside Luke.

“Ain’t you the babyface!” he said. “Too young for a man’s drink, eh?”

“Don’t spill my tea, waddie,” said Luke.

“Don’t call me waddie!” the man thumped the table. “I’m Jason Cain!”

“I said, don’t spill my tea,” said Luke.

“I’ll spill you woman’s drink if I want to,” said Cain. He reached towards the mug.

Luke was faster.

“If you want it spilled, I’ll do the spilling,” he said, and poured the near-boiling beverage deliberately into Cain’s crotch. He got up and sauntered over to the bar as Cain screamed, plucking at himself.

“Your rotgut rots brains, too,” Luke said. “The fellow spilled my tea. Get me another.”

One of Cain’s friends slammed a glass of what passed for whisky down in front of Luke.

“Learn to drink a man’s drink, babyboy,” he said. “It’ll put hairs on your chest.”

He cried out to find Luke’s revolver up his nostril.

“Would you like to smell the hair in your nose burning?” said Luke. “It won’t be for long. The four-four cartridge would carry on up your nasal passages, and pass somewhere through your frontal lobes, carrying on out of the cranium and probably into the ceiling, carrying what you laughingly call your brain matter with it. Which has a tendency to be a rather permanent solution to the offence you take over what I drink.”

It is doubtful whether Cain’s friend understood a fraction of Luke’s clinical discussion of the probable effect of being shot up the nostril, but he got the gist.

He held up his hands in peace, stepped away, and started to turn.

He swung back with speed, aiming a vicious blow at Luke.

Luke knew his sort, and blocked it.

Things went downhill fast from there, and Luke was fighting three of them.

He was not fighting alone; Sam Stubbins had joined him.

The three soon lay unconscious on the floor.

“I owe you, Mr. Stubbins,” said Luke. “I’ll take your badge until they’ve left town.”

“Sam,” said Sam. “Where’s the other?”

Luke strolled over to the batwings.

“You got any ordinances on public lewdity?” he asked.

“Sure have,” said Sam.

“He’s sitting in the horse trough with his Levis and longjohns round his ankles,” said Luke. “It isn’t a pretty sight. Fellow should be arrested before any woman is shocked.”

“You help me to haul these three to the calaboose first,” said Sam.

“You got a kettle and tea down there?”

“Damn right I have, and coffee,” said Sam.

“I prefer tea,” said Luke.

 

He went back, sporting his star, to heave Jason Cain out of the horse trough.

“You’re under arrest for public lewdity,” said Luke. “Given the choice, I’d also charge you for being an infringement of Darwin’s laws of evolution, since you appear to be some sort of degenerate ape, but we don’t enforce the laws of nature here.”

“I’ll get you for this, Sinclair,” spat Cain.

“Not my name, waddie,” said Luke. “If you want to kill me, do it under my own name. Or my soubriquet, the Black Falcon.”

“Hey, are you sayin’ you ain’t Paul Sinclair?” demanded Cain.

“Nope,” said Luke. “Never heard of the fellow.”

“But you’re a young fellow, dressed in black... Oh fuck,” said Cain.

“I wouldn’t; not until the burns heal,” suggested Luke.

 

oOoOo

 

“That Jason Cain fellow called me Paul Sinclair,” said Luke to Sam.  Luke was cooking omelettes as fast as Sam could eat them; the lean sheriff had admitted to being unmarried and an indifferent bachelor housekeeper.

Luke, not for the first time, was glad that his mother had insisted that he should be proficient in taking care of himself.

He dished himself up his own omelette, and brought it over to eat, opposite Sam.

“Paul Sinclair, eh? Well, you don’t look like him, but I guess describing him would give a description that would fit,” said Sam. “Young, slender fellow, dark hair, wears a black suit; dresses like a lawyer, as it happens. Largely because he is one. He’s the son of a local rancher who died recently, and he came back from the east to take on the ranch.  Though seems he’s planning on breaking up the land to sell to homesteaders.  It’s breaking the heart of Clem Sinclair, his cousin.”

“Hmm,” said Luke. “You’ll have to let them out, I suppose.”

“In the morning, yes,” said Sam.

“I’ll make you pancakes first,” said Luke.

“Sure you won’t settle full time?” asked Sam.

“Sorry,” said Luke.

“You’re thinking that Clem has reason to call in hired guns to kill Paul, and make it look like an accident, or provoke Paul to draw first,” said Sam.

“Crossed my mind,” said Luke.

“I find it hard to envision,” said Sam.

“Then envision who might have the desire, the will, and the money to pay for killers for hire,” said Luke.

“I... I suppose Paul’s ramrod might,” said Sam. “Mighty hot-tempered is Abe Friend.”

“Takes offence easily? Leads with his right? That sort of man?”

“Yes,” said Sam.

“Does he hold a grudge once he’s knocked a man down?” asked Luke.

“No,” said Sam.

“And Clem?”

Sam shuffled.

“Clem’s a jovial fellow... he can sulk if things don’t go his way.”

“You know, I think we might go out and see Clem and Paul,” said Luke. “I think Paul’s a fool to sell a good ranch to be split up, but it’s his land if his pa left it to him. Though it depends on the land.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” said Sam. “But he’s seein’ the way to make it pay him, so he can get back east to his lawyerin’.”

“Myself, I’d pay Abe and Clem as joint managers to run it, in his shoes,” said Luke. “But there you go.”

 

oOoOo

 

Lazy S ranch was a nice spread, with some fine looking cattle. It had rich, dark soil, and lush grass.

“Good for crops. If he does sell out, reckon my Da’d be happy to take his beeves,” said Luke. “And hire on those who drive them.”

Sam shot him a look.

“That came out as natural as any big rancher’s son,” he said. “You reckon your father could find room for two thousand head of beeves?”

“Hell, yes,” said Luke. “He’s got a spread the size of many a county.  We sit on three states; been there since before they were states. Colorado, Kansas, and Nebraska. Planning to split it as dowries for my sisters if need be; we never got run off our land by the government when they were shifting people out of Indian territory account of how my mother cured a chief’s son of typhus.”

It had also been useful, when protecting runaway slaves, to shift them over the border and yet still protected.

“What on earth are you doing as a... well, some sort of drifter?” said Sam.

“I’m a bounty hunter; figured I owed it to the country that took us in to do my bit for law and order; and build up a good bank account in case my parents or siblings need cash in a hurry. You are an unusual marshal; I never talk about myself.”

Sam chuckled.

“I have that effect on minor criminals as well,” he said. “I had you pegged as a straight-shooter, and I’m glad I was right. Howdy, Abe.” He greeted a big man who had ridden up on a bay horse.

“Sam. You got a new deputy?”

“Just while there’s some trouble in town. Rode out to see Paul; someone has a grudge against him.”

“You can count me in on that,” growled Abe. “Won’t see sense.”

“Would you work for another man, if he took the herd and the hands that delivered it?” said Luke.

Abe frowned at him.

“I might, if there was no other choice,” he said. “This is a nice little valley, though.”

“Yes, but it’s more suited to crops and milk-cattle than beeves,” said Luke. “Your young boss can see that with more settlers, sooner or later the government will force him to sell up, and then he’ll get less. He’s come from the east; there’s probably talk about it that he’s heard. You might want to talk to him about it, instead of cussing him out.”

“What man could take the risk?”

“One who has diversified to run cattle and horses and grow wheat, and who owns lands on the boundaries of a couple of states and can afford to bite his thumb at the authorities whilst their lawyers wrangle,” said Luke. “You have two thousand beeves?”

“Around that,” said Abe.

“I’ll be offering forty-thousand for the lot, as long as the experienced hands come.”

“That’s daylight robbery! They’re worth almost twenty-two dollars a head.”

“But they’ll lose weight on the journey,” said Luke. “And I can arrange the money to be wired to the bank inside of days. It’s up to the owner to haggle, though he’d be a fool not to take your advice.”

“I... will talk to him,” said Abe. “Excuse me; I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

He wheeled his horse and rode away.

“Abrupt sort of fellow,” said Sam, half apologetically.

“I have no problem with abrupt,” said Luke. “I have problems with those whose words and faces have forked tongues.”

“C’n tell you’ve spent time around Injuns,” said Sam.

“I learned a lot from Wahali Ditlihi... Brave Eagle, the chief’s son, later chief,” said Luke. “He put up with my brother and me trailing around behind him.”

They came up to the ranch house, and Abe was there at the door to let them in.  He showed them through to an office, where a dark haired young man in sober eastern attire met them.

“Mr. Stubbins, I know,” he said, shaking Sam’s hand, and advancing a hand to Luke.

“Luke Sokolov,” said Luke. “I’m assuming you know more than the locals about various ordnances pertaining to the enforced purchase of land with the intent of opening up to settlers?”

“An educated man!” gasped Sinclair. “Oh, I beg your pardon; I sometimes feel as if I speak a different language to that of the folks I grew up with.”

“I can speak cowpoke, if I have to,” shrugged Luke. “But my mother got quite irritable if I clipped my adverbs and left the –ly off the end.  Has Abe told you my offer?”

“Yes; I think it’s fair. Certainly a lot better than I would get if I were one of many selling in a hurry,” said Sinclair. “I can write you out a bill of sale.”

“Give Abe a couple of days to convince the team he wants to take,” said Luke.  “I need to send a wire to my father, and draw on his bank. But say we close the deal on Friday?”

“That sounds fair to me,” said Sinclair. 

“I hear your cousin is not keen on the idea of you selling,” said Luke. “Did you explain?”

“I tried. He seems to think that we can fight the government,” said Paul. “I want to know how!  And how does your father intend to manage?”

“By having land on three states and fighting bureaucracy with red tape,” said Luke.

Paul stared.

Then he roared with laughter.

“Oh, that’s rich!  And me a lawyer and not thinking of anything like that.  But we aren’t even on a county line, alas.”

“And your soil is rich, and perfect for raising crops,” said Luke. He drew Paul Sinclair over to one side, and spoke quietly. “Mr. Sinclair... Paul... were you expecting to go into town today?”

“Yes, but one of the hands called me to settle a dispute, so I never did. I usually go for a drink on a Monday, and to pick up small things in the store.”

“Your hand saved your life, I think,” said Luke, seriously. “And I wonder if it was deliberate, not wanting to speak in hearsay, as you might say.”

Paul frowned.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“The four men who were causing trouble called me ‘Sinclair,” said Luke. “We’re of a height and build; I wear black. Someone hired them to cover killing you; men like that usually manage to get away with random shootings, if they swear the other man drew first.”

Paul looked aghast.

“But who would want me dead?” he asked.

“A lot of the people who work for you,” said Luke. “I’m guessing you’ll sort out to gift the most loyal and long serving with land before you sell the rest, but I doubt they know this, and someone reckons he can inherit the land and hold it.”

He blinked.

“It’s hard to believe.”

“I know; but I’m asking you to let me have a suit of your clothes, and to say that you are going into town tomorrow regardless, as you missed going today.  I want you to set out of the house, and as soon as you can, double back. Go spend the day in a bunkhouse.  The hoodlums will be let out perforce, and we’ll see what we see.”

“I... very well. But I should not let you take risks for me....”

“I was talked into being deputised.  It’s what I’m not paid much to do,” said Luke. “Also, I object to these fools being made patsies for an evil man’s scheming.”

“I trust you are not just acting under bravado?”

“Nope. I know how good I am. Oh, what horse do you ride?”

“I’ll pick the black, since I see that’s what you rode.”

“You catch on fast,” approved Luke. “Leave at eight.”

He rode away with the sheriff, carrying a bundle.

“What are you up to?” asked Sam.

“After you let those noisy fools out tomorrow, Paul Sinclair is coming into to town. And we’ll see just who tries to kill him.”

Sam gave him a long, hard look.

Then he nodded.

“Reckon if you can save us an unrighteous killing I can forgive you subjecting me to the sight of Jason Cain’s hairy tackle,” he said.

 

oOoOo

 

Luke let himself out of the back door of the marshal’s office, dressed in Paul Sinclair’s clothing.  It was close to nine as he rode back down the main street, just as Sam let the proddy troublemakers out of jail.

He heard the sound of hoofbeats, and a man thundered into town, pulling up just in front of Paul.

“Don’t go any further, Paul! These men are out to kill you and rustle the cattle!” the man called. He drew a gun and fired towards the rabble. Luke dismounted, making sure to keep his face down.

Jason Cain drew his gun as the man Luke presumed to be Clem Sinclair dodged behind the batwings of the saloon. The other troublemakers also drew their guns. Luke only bothered with one Smith and Wesson, fanning it to hit each of the newly released gunmen in the hand or arm.

It was so fast that the single gunshot following the fusillade was audible. Luke, however, had been expecting it, and had heard the click of the hammer which preceded it. He dropped to one knee, the bullet fanning over where his head had been a split second before. He spun on his knee and his own revolver spoke once, aiming just above the red spittle of flame.

There was a moment’s silence, then the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Sam strolled out of the marshal’s office.

“He took the bait?” he said, sadly.

“Well, Sam, to my way of thinking, a man who is jovial but sulks when he doesn’t get his way is usually a man who hasn’t even the balls to be a bully, and usually plays dirty tricks,” said Luke. “You’d better check it was Clem; and I’ll testify he was shooting towards me, not the others.”

Sam went into the saloon, where the barkeeper was hiding behind the bar.

“Sam? He said he had to protect his cousin,” said the barkeep.

“He was lying,” said Sam, sadly.

Clem Sinclair had a round hole through the forehead just above his nose.

 

Jason Cain and his confederates were ready to testify that they had been paid by Clem Sinclair to cause trouble, and to hassle Paul Sinclair, but not to kill him.

“But he was ready to let us take the fall and swing for him,” Cain spat. “The bastard, can’t even do his own murderin’.”

 

oOoOo

 

Luke exchanged a cheque wired in exchange for the bill of sale, which was sent on its way to his father; and Paul Sinclair shook his hand.

“I admired Clem when I was little,” he said, sorrowfully. “Pa took him in, an orphan, and raised him; I don’t know what happened.”

Luke looked inscrutable.

He could see how a man raised to be steward, putting all his effort into the land, whilst the true son of the house was sent to college, and did not really love the land the way Clem did, might have gone off the rails.

But it didn’t excuse murder, and in such a cowardly way.

 

black falcon 2 part 4 the man who liked women

 

The man who liked women part 4

 

 Luke was content to sit and eat a picnic in a glade; food carried on the inside was, to his mind, a good way of carrying it.

There did not seem to be a lot of point stringing it out any longer. Luke got his parasol box down, and eased out his Winchester.

“I think we can drop the masquerade, now, Fillies,” he said, cocking the Winchester on his hip.

“Wh... what?” Fillies gaped as he spoke, completely confused.

“You’re going to drop that gun belt nice and easy, and put on these handcuffs,” said Luke, tossing a pair of handcuffs over.

“But, my dear lady...” Fillies tried.

“Drop the belt,” said Luke.

Fillies went for his gun and yelped as Luke shot it out of his hand.

“You’re a monster and an unnatural female!” cried Fillies, dropping the gun belt. “You’ve broken my hand!”

“I’ve likely dislocated your thumb,” said Luke. “Don’t make a fuss.”

“All very well for you to say,” growled Fillies. “I could do with a bit o’ sympathy and nursing.”

“What a shame you’re going to be disappointed,” said Luke. “Get them shackles on.”

Fillies complied, and Luke retrieved his captive’s gun belt.

“You’re cautious,” said Fillies.

“I know about you,” said Luke. “And now. Let us discuss the location of your hidden store of gold.”

Fillies sneered.

“I ain’t tellin nobody nutt’n about that. Even if you can take me in, it’ll be there when I get out.”

“You killed the lady who left her old man for you; you’re going to swing,” said Luke.

“They can’t prove nutt’n.”

“I think you’ll find they can match the bullets to those fired from your gun,” said Luke. “But that’s up to a jury; I don’t much care. You’re worth $1250 dollars to me alive, and ten percent of your haul if I can take that in. Alive doesn’t say you have to have any working limbs attached, though.”

Fillies stared in horror. Then he tried to run.

Luke was waiting; he had a lariat hung from his saddle, and rested his rifle, and twirled it a couple of times, before throwing and dropping it over Fillies’s head. The owlhoot tried to pull the slender figure of Luke over; but Luke’s slight build belied his strength. He hitched the end of the lariat over his saddle horn.

“Try to keep up,” he said. “I imagine it would be worse being dragged through light woodland here and into the heavier fringe between here and the railway.” He jumped onto Fillies’s horse, grabbing the bridle of the sorrel mare. “Yee-haw!” he called.

He set the pace as a fast walk for a horse, and perforce, Fillies must trot to keep up, without being pulled off his feet.

Luke had not realised there were so many ways of miscalling a woman – Fillies still had not twigged – that he had never heard before.

He slowed down as the forest thickened; he did not really want to drag Fillies on a rope end. An unfortunate stump might put paid to the man’s career permanently. And that would be a costly error. If he was likely to be a danger to the public, so be it; but Luke did not account Fillies that highly. He admitted that the capture had only been easy because Fillies was taken by surprise; but that had been the whole point. Luke had planned every step of the way.

His valise, a carpet bag which expanded very nicely, had contained everything he might have wanted; his saddlebags were stored, for a fee, like his horse. And under his costume, he wore his own shirt, and a pair of lightweight cream duck canvas trousers. He preferred black, but it had been a concession to expediency, in the light of risking Fillies seeing what was under his skirts. He had lightly tacked a wide strip of broderie anglais to the base of each trouser leg, and looked forward to pulling it off.

 

Fillies looked horrified as they emerged from the forest near the railway track.  Luke dismounted, took up the slack on his lariat, and lashed Fillies to a tree. The man was too exhausted from running to make much protest. Luke stripped off his skirts and petticoats, folding and stowing them in his carpet bag, took off the ridiculous jacket, the top of his dress, and, under Fillies’ fascinated gaze, the corset. The fascination turned to horror.

Luke dumped the bonnet into a bush; he hated it with a passion. The veil was good lace, and probably one of his sisters could use it. His white shirt and cream pants offended him slightly, but needs must.  The embroidered lace went. He fished out a string tie, a vest, and a jacket, and put them on. A rather battered and squashed Stetson needed to be thumped into shape; and a cloth, dampened in a convenient rill, dealt with the makeup. With his revolvers on display, he felt more himself.

“You were a man all along?” Fillies was horrified.

“If you want to catch mice, set a bait of grain. If you want to catch a squirrel, use nuts. To catch a man who fancies himself with the ladies, a lady,” said Luke. “Now, I suspect I can find your gold without you, but we shall see.”

 

 Luke began a methodical search; and started turning up wheels and metal in the bracken and undergrowth of the forest. He untied Fillies and shifted him, closer to where most of the debris was to be found. He did not bother to explain to his captive what he was doing; that was apparent. He did not bother to explain his reasoning, either.

“How?” asked Fillies, goaded beyond measure. “How did you get this far?”

“I can read a map,” said Luke. “If I’m unlucky, I’m not the only one, and someone else has already lifted all the gold, not content with ten percent. But people don’t seem to use the gumption God gave an ass.”  He methodically marked the debris, and found a trail of sorts between it. Some planks lay embedded in new growth, having made something of a road into the forest.

The mossy mound by an old tree looked slightly too square to be natural, and Luke smiled, grimly to himself.

He checked on Fillies, who appeared to have fallen in on himself, as bombastic men often do when their world falls apart.  Nevertheless, Luke checked his knots, and removed from his prey the folding knife he was easing into his hand. Fillies cursed, and tried kicking.

Luke used the man’s own gun-belt, minus the guns, to secure his legs.

“Now, you stay here like a good little boy before Ma gets cross with you,” he mocked.

 

The mossy mound turned out to be more planks over such gold as could not be stored in the hollow trunk of the tree.

Luke kicked vegetation off the plank pathway, and fished in his carpet bag for the coil of new rope he had in there. Running it round one of the railway wheels, upside-down, and round the back of the boxes in which the gold was stored, he made light work of dragging the heavy boxes over the damp and now mossy planks by using this makeshift pulley.

“How the hell you come up with that?” asked Fillies, impressed, despite himself.

“Because I’m cleverer than you,” said Luke.

 

Having lifted every last bit of gold, and sundry other monies, to next to the train line, Luke set his own detonators; and waited for a train. There was enough of the picnic left over to make a meal if he did not feed his captive; and Luke saw that as a waste of good food. He did hold his canteen for the man to drink, which he did, thirstily.

Then there was the distant discordant hoot of a train, breasting the other hill, warning anyone crossing the line. Luke sat pat at the detonators, and watched the locomotive come to a halt after they went off.

The fireman ran back.

“What is it?” he demanded. “You’ll face a fine if you haven’t a good reason to stop the train.”

“Oh, but I have,” said Luke, with an impish smile. His dimples popped. “In fact, I have fifty thousand reasons that your company lost to a bandit known as ‘Fillies,’ whose person I also have in charge, to collect the bounty on him. You can help me load his ill-gotten gains into the caboose.”

“Well, I’ll be all durn-jiggered,” said the fireman.

“You may very well be, but it’s against my religion,” murmured Luke, who was in a whimsical mood.

With the aid of the fireman and the guard, the monies and Fillies were stowed in the caboose to head back for the city.

Luke left the horses. The sorrel mare was a hire beast, and would sooner or later wander back to her stable.  Doubtless the other horse would go with her; and the livery stables would acquire a new hire beast.  Fillies might well have stolen it anyway, but sorting out ownership was not, Luke thought, anything to do with him.

 

oOoOo

 

“What am I supposed to do with the spondulicks which ain’t from the gold robbery, or the robbery from the man whose wife he killed?” asked the marshal, when Luke had triumphantly brought in his quarry and the loot.

“Advertise for anyone who has been bilked by him?” suggested Luke. “I can take it away, if you like.”

“You’ll leave it with me three months, and then you can claim it,” said the marshal.

“As you please,” said Luke.

He was happy with his cut.

Losing his moustache had been well worth it.

He called in at the hotel to throw a bag of paper money to Tommy.

“Put it in the bank; and by that, I mean an institution to store money, not a mossy bank in a forest,” he said. “‘He heapeth up wealth and knoweth not who will gather it.’ Your help is much appreciated.”

“Thanks, Mr. Falcon!” said Tommy, with enthusiasm.

He only counted it when Luke had left.

“Paw! He gave me two hundred dollars just for helping him disguise himself as a woman!” said Tommy, awed.

It would go a long way towards getting him a college education.

 

Darkwind was so pleased to see Luke again that he bit him, to show that he had not really missed the man.

Luke bit him back; and they rode out of the city and into legend.

 

black falcon 2 part 3 the man who liked women

 

The Man who liked Women part 3

 

They pulled up in the street where they were to stop for the night.

“Dang me, it surely goes against the grain to let that dame absquatulate with all my bottom dollar, I’m plum cleaned out,” muttered Dance.

“Don’t look at me,” said Burd. “It was your idea to take on the dame. You could hardly try for the reverend, and the sodbuster had your measure.”

“Well, I’m going to mark where she’s put for the night, and get it back,” said Dance.

“You’re a fool, Chuck,” said the drummer.

 “Well, excuse me,” said Dance. “She seemed so nice and innocent, despite having been warned against bad men.”

“Maybe she’s just lucky; she was too clumsy putting the ace in her sleeve to be a sharpess,” said Burd.

“You may be right,” mused Dance. “Besides, there ain’t a dame in the world who understands cards that well; they can’t count well enough.”

Luke’s hearing was acute, and he thought this a very revealing conversation; but he gave no sign that he had heard a thing. He did chuckle over the likely outrage his sisters might show, though.

 

Luke went up to his room, where he shaved and made up again. The problem with dark hair was the need to shave at least twice a day. Then he tripped downstairs, with impeccable makeup looking winsome and sweet, and twirling a parasol.

The parasol box also contained his Winchester.

There were more people than the stage coach passengers eating in the hotel restaurant; it looked a popular venue.

One of them was faintly familiar.

Luke mentally removed the heavy beard and moustache and recognised Dan ‘Fillies’ Mikkeljon in the florid, dark good looks of the owlhoot. He had a straight nose, plainly never broken in brawling, winged eyebrows, and brown eyes, high cheekbones and regular features.

His eyes were also about as warm as the grounds of coffee left outside overnight in winter.

Luke was glad he was not just a helpless widow lady with a fellow like that around. He fluttered in pretty hesitation, and Fillies got up and came over.

“Can I help you find a place to eat, ma’am?” he said.

“Well, if you would... thank you, kindly,” said Luke. “I feel so far from home, it’s nice to know that not all of you strangers are just staring at me.”

“It’s on account of your beauty, ma’am,” said Fillies, gallantly.

Luke managed not to sneer.

He made a handsome woman; even pretty, when he smiled. But he was not beautiful.  His neck, though concealed, was too thick, his jaw too positive. But he simpered, nevertheless.

“Oh, fie, sir!” he said.

“I disremember when I saw a handsomer woman,” said Fillies, kissing Luke’s gloved hand.

Luke’s skin crawled.

He managed a girlish giggle and allowed himself to be led to the table Fillies had occupied, keeping all comers away by the expedient of scowling at everyone else.

“I can’t believe a lovely lady like yourself is travelling without an escort,” said Fillies.

“My escort died,” said Luke, huskily. “I am a widow, as you might tell by my clothes.”

“I’ve a mind to offer my services as an escort.”

“Why, how kind; it is something to consider,” said Luke, simpering. “Is my ticket good if I rest an extra day, here? I feel as if I have been shaken to pieces.”

“Why, I’m sure it is,” said Fillies. “It will give us a chance to get to know each other.”

“I am sure that would be delightful,” murmured Luke, glancing down at his hands demurely. He wondered what sort of women fell for this fatuous, inane, glutinous twaddle.

He confided in Fillies that he was travelling to accept the legacy of the fictional Thomas Brandon.

“My poor husband could have had a better doctor if only we had known Tom had died and left money,” sighed Luke, dabbing his eyes. “But it was just like Tom to be awkward about everything. I’m not much looking forward to seeing his folks.”

“Not much love lost?” Fillies was all sympathy. A widow woman at outs with her in-laws would fall ripe into his lap. He might even marry her to make his claim legal before she had a nasty accident.

“Oh! My poor dear husband was named ‘Seth’ which means ‘a substitute’ because his parents wanted a girl. They kept him in dresses until he was five years old, can you imagine? Sometimes he used to like to wear my... intimate garments. But he wasn’t really strange, just a little... confused... at times.”

“You poor woman,” said Fillies, and almost meant it.

Luke got a grip on himself. He should not see how much he could make the man swallow. It was almost irresistible, but he had a job to do.

Still, the thought of ‘her’ intimate garments had given Fillies a visible thrill, so that was good; if he was thinking with the brain that hung between his legs, not the one in his head, it would be much easier.

“Do... do you think I can ask you to arrange with them for me to travel on a later coach? I have a headache, and I should like to go to bed,” said Luke, drawing his veil down. He suspected that the wayward stubble was making its way forward again.

“Of course, of course,” said Fillies. “Let me see you to your room, little lady, and be sure you are safely there.”

“Too kind,” murmured Luke.

He let Fillies kiss his hand again at the door of the single room Luke had insisted on. And he shut the door firmly. He had preparations to make against the anticipated incursion of Chuck Dance.

 

Luke suspected that the doors all opened with one key; cheap rooming houses often did, as did many private houses.

He collected wax from the side of the candle to jam in the lock after locking it – it would bore out easily enough in the morning – to deter both peeping toms, and the insertion of a key. He put one of the rickety chairs from the room under the handle as well, to help hold it firmly. The window opened onto a balcony, which was an invitation to thieves, and Luke, who did not travel without means of warning, hammered a tack into each side of the window frame with the butt of one gun. To one, he tied a black thread; he hung the end over the other tack, tied to a small bell.  He usually used the bells to deter horse thieves, but personal security worked as well.

If anyone came in the window, they would disturb the thread, and the bell would fall to the floor, with a clatter. He placed a cushion under the bell, to muffle it. It would not be loud, but it would be loud enough.

The bolster made a convincing sleeping figure, with the veil over the top, which in the dark looked enough like dark hair spread over the pillow. He put the corset back on after washing, and a nightgown over the top. Luke took the second pillow and a blanket, and rolled up on the plaited floor rug, hidden from the window behind the bed. Then he went to sleep, cat like.

 

The muffled tinkle roused Luke, and he was immediately fully awake. He eased himself out of the blanket, which he pushed under the bed.

Chuck Dance had not bothered to assault a sleeping, exhausted woman; he was rummaging in Luke’s overnight valise to regain his money. Luke slid quietly onto the bed, and screamed, loudly.

“Help! Rape! Robbery!” he warbled in a falsetto which sounded terrified as he hid laughter at the startled jump from the intruder. Dance hurried over to the bed, to try to silence the ‘widow’ who proved unexpectedly strong as he grappled ‘her.’ Luke used his hat-pin without compunction to mark the card-sharp’s handsome features and the top of his head to knock the intruder on the chin, which made him giddy enough for Luke to finish the job with an uppercut. All the time, he was wailing like a banshee.

He remembered to pull on the veil, and went to uncouple the chair from the door as the handle was rattling.  The hat pin took care of the wax as well, and he unlocked the door, to see a collection of people outside.

“That man! Have him taken in charge!” cried Luke. “Oh, I feel faint!” he tottered over to the bed and fell artistically on it.

Dance was heaved up unceremoniously by a couple of brawny cow pokes. The little drummer had poked his head in, and had vanished back to his own room discreetly.

“Has he hurt you, ma’am?” asked the proprietor, euphemistically.

“Oh! I am bruised but intact,” sobbed Luke. “He... I woke, and he was in my room! And when I shrieked, he jumped on me! He placed hands on me intimately!  I... I grabbed a hat pin from the stand, and... and I threw my head back to hit him. Oh! Take him away!”

“Now, then, ma’am, you’ll be just fine,” said the proprietor’s wife, bustling in. “I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, nice and milky, and you’ll do just dandy.”

“Strong, please, and not too much milk,” murmured Luke, who hated weak, milky tea.

“If you’re sure...”

“I surely would appreciate it,” said Luke.

By the time the good woman returned, the bell and thread had vanished, the bed was in its proper order, and Luke’s overnight valise was returned to its proper state, with no shaving kit visible. Luke sat in bed, swathed in shawls, and ready to be pacified with tea.

“The sheriff’s locked that fellow up,” said the proprietor’s wife.

“Oh! I am so relieved,” said Luke.

 

With such a night’s alarum, and the need to sign a deposition for the sheriff, there was no question of ‘Mrs. Brandon’ going on with the stage, and Luke, freshly shaved, beautifully made up, and well-rested, breakfasted well on porridge, and a full fry up. He gave his deposition to the sheriff, having been escorted by the assiduous Fillies, here living under the name of ‘Smith,’ and returned to the hotel.

“Well, Mrs. Brandon, can I do anything to help you today?” asked Fillies, solicitously.

“I surely would admire to ride out and blow away the cobwebs,” said Luke. “Can you hire me a horse? I... I can find you the money for it....”

Fillies was unaware of Luke’s unexpected monetary windfall from the gambler; the reverend would not mention such things, the taciturn farmer declined to gossip with anyone, and both the sharp and his confederate did not brag of losses.

“Allow me to make the hire of a horse a gift,” said Fillies, with heavy gallantry.

“Oh, how kind!” Luke clapped his hands with girlish glee, something he had seen his sisters do.

 

 

Fillies had procured a sorrel mare for Luke, who strapped his parasol case to the saddle.

“In case we should stop for a picnic,” he said.

“Oh, I think that would be in order,” said Fillies.

Riding side-saddle for a short way was no real hardship; Luke was used to hitch up one leg at a time, sitting back in the saddle, to rest on long journeys, as well as to perform Cossack riding tricks. The extra pommels could be accommodated in such tricks.

Fillies permitted his ‘fair companion’ to set the place and distance of the ride.

They were deep in the forest when it bore upon him that they had come coincidentally a long way towards his stash.

Fillies was a cautious man, and had he been with a man, he might have felt nervous. But as well as liking women, in terms of liking a commodity, he also despised them; and dismissed any slight qualms he might have felt.