|
Short Stories & Tall Tales
Lucky Luke Newton
Tom Sheehan
"What are you gonna do for the rest of your life, Luke? What are you lookin' for?" Jed Calvern was sitting on the seat of the hay wagon and getting as much free sun as he could while looking around at the horizon, the peaks and valleys and the wide grass of West Texas, as though in complete wonderment of all things, including his best pal, Luke Newton, just about to pitch the last forkful of the day up on the wagon. They considered themselves all-round help for the ranch, with a fierce loyalty to the owners and children they had seen born and raised, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Boxford and family, a girl and two boys. Both men, orphaned early, had troubles remembering any other home they lived in, meeting on the road as youngsters and picked up by Jack Boxford who liked their looks and knew their hunger and thirst, and so he brought them home for good.
Boxford was really pleased once when he told his wife what he overheard a conversation between Luke and Jed: Luke leading it off by saying, "We're part family, part farmer, part cowhand." And Jed replied, "And part lucky that Jack came along when he did."
Luke, heaving with practiced ease, was ready with his reply, the way he was always ready, with a bit of impatience in the mix, getting things done while the doing was good. He never did tomorrow what he could do today, and had already touched on the future in innumerable ways, which was like beating someone to the punch or the gun.
"You might not believe me, Jed," he said, tossing in some generated interest for his pal's enjoyment, "but I'm waitin' for a woman who'll love me like today ain't comin' back tomorrow, and that's the gospel truth of the matter."
Jed, nodding again at his pal, appreciation in his words, said, "Wasn't Cheryl like that?" He paused and added, "and them others?"
"None mattered much but Cheryl, except there was one girl who didn't like horses."
"She won't get far."
"She didn't," Luke said, the laugh already built up in his throat, and the two old pals laughed their way through the whole afternoon of haying. Sundown came with a lazy and powder red sky further off west, and Luke volunteered his assessment on their efforts; "We got a lot done, Jed. Few hands'd work like we do, old farm boys from the first scratch of dirt. The Mrs. said when we got our lot done, the two sons'd finish the chore. And sister Emma's due in from school one day this week and their momma wants to show Emma they've growed up some."
They'll be breakin' trail with us one of these days, or draggin' the rear like the old gent breaks new hands in. They look to be just the kind of men the old man is, square as a gold dollar, great judges of horses and cattle, straight shooters." His voice changed as he said, "And a good judge of woman too. The Mrs. is queen of them all, looks soft, cooks mean, sews like winter needs her." Luke had already admitted to himself that Jed had a special way with words.
He cocked his head to one side, intent suddenly as though someone called him from afar. A smile broke on his face. "If you listen, Jed, and I mean real close, the birds'll charm you to sleep or make you go explore for them. "
"They ain't hidin' any, are they? I heard some this mornin' before you rolled over. Made me think of some sweet thing whisperin' my ear out of control. Think Emma's comin' home's got anythin' to do with it, like we're gettin' ready for a big surprise of what almost a year done for her?"
Luke eyed Jed sideways, saw his good looks that always turned the ladies around at the saloon, made them look like he was never their brother but was as good looking, all blond and tanned and strong as an ox without looking like one. Luke felt he was lucky having this one friend. Nothing ever come between them, least of all a woman not yet a woman. An image of Emma in pigtails rushed through him and left him just as quickly ... a girl on the run to wherever she was going and not yet knowing where that was. He could hear her voice and the way she sang just the way the birds came at him, as if intended for his listening alone. It must account for something, he argued with himself, but forgot it as fast as it had hit him.
He had no intention of shutting out Jed from anything. Pals didn't do that. Pards didn't do that. Not ever.
They accompanied the Mrs. and Mr. Boxwood into town to meet the Wilderwood Stage on its arrival, Emma leaping off the stagecoach before it came to a full stop, hugging, in order, her mother, her father, Jed, and then Luke, last ... and seemingly longest. And all those hugged, without saying a word, saw what a year away had done for Emma, bouncing there in her own sport of glory. Even bystanders were caught by the flash of effervescence now loose in Wilderwood, the sun in her blonde hair like a gold trail any prospector would follow on his knees, her eyes casting an inner light as though it was contagious, scattering goodness around Wilderwood. The general reception carried beyond that initial impact, for Emma was not gowned or dressed like a St. Louis school girl, but had, somewhere along the line, donned her "ridin' 'n' workin' clothes ... breeches, long-sleeve blouse, bandana on her neck, cowgirl hat and boots, and 'ready for home' written all over her person."
Struck dumb, Luke said nothing when Emma released him from her hug, her saying, without any coyness or sassy teenager talk, "Don't worry about it, Luke. I know. I've always known." It was a whisper of sorts, he realized, not meant for anyone else. But he saw Jed staring at Emma and him, even as she was whispering. At the same moment, the many times they shared a saddle came back to him, galloping all the way.
Luke made light of Jed's stare, thinking pards don't get ripped apart by young girls, especially young girls they've known equally well all her life and much of theirs. But the way Emma's body was still impressing him the whole length of his virile frame was akin to the way he felt when they rode double at times in some of these later years. God, he thought in quick reflection, he was almost twice as old as her. And for a moment he felt that sense of age run down through him.
It didn't last long, for suddenly, in a burst of blazing clarity, he was convinced she wasn't about to let him forget such moments. Not that girl. Not her. And lastly found himself able to say, "Not my Emma."
Jed, he was sure, probably saw that thought expressed across his face. "Well," he said lightly under his breath, "it is what it is. There's no way I can change this."
But the Mrs., being the Mrs., didn't miss a beat of the lives and sensations in motion around her: Emma broadcasting her feelings, almost in secret, but too precious to be kept secret, her husband Jack bent to the business of arranging Emma's luggage for the trip to the ranch while his hired hands stumbled in the wake of his daughter's arrival, the joy she had for Luke who was loved and beloved by her daughter, which she long suspected and now knew for real, and Jed, faithful old Jed, as much in love with Emma as Luke was but caught on the short end the way ornery life inevitably catches up to some people before they see it coming. Her heart, in her own wisdom and beauty and solace, went out to Jed, so innocent, so decent, so numb about some things, of which she was profoundly aware.
They had come into town on the family buggy which carried five passengers, and Jack Boxford had placed Emma's luggage in the boot of the buggy, let Luke help his wife into her seat and Jed help Emma to her seat, and said, "Jed, you can ride up with me and show me how you make Molly there do what she's always supposed to do. I heard you had her trained to tricks. Should have let you drive to town, but the Mrs. likes it like the old days." He laughed it away while his wife thought he might be smarter than she gave him credit for; Emma sat in the middle between her mother and Luke, and her mother felt no pressure from her daughter's body ... it was all in force on the other side, against Luke.
She nodded at the smoothness of it, the feminine wiles at exhibit, her daughter ready for the next stage in her life. She savored a most private glee.
Everything wasn't that smooth for the Boxfords, as soon proved when they arrived at the ranch to hear that rustlers had cut into their herd and driven off about 300 or 400 head of cattle, about a third of the herd. All the buggy occupants were off and running to get onto the search, with the Mrs., heading for the kitchen to scratch up meals needed for the hunt, the chuck wagon not geared for the hunt ... the drive a week away. And she tended one hand who was wounded in the rustling and one brought in by another one of the hands caught in a crossfire with the rustlers. One hand was killed by the rustlers and she arranged the burial.
Emma was in the quick mix of saddling horses, her father yelling at her to stay with her mother, but she shut him off by leaping on her horse and riding off with Luke and Jed ahead of her father. They immediately rode west toward the river, hoping to cut the rustlers and the herd away from the river where the circuitous mountains beyond promised hideaway spots big enough for the stolen heads of beef. Jed had bet the loss was almost half the herd as he quickly scanned the remaining herd on safe grass. "Jack," he had yelled out, "I think they got more than the boys reported. Looks like half the herd to me is here and half is gone," and he pointed the way they were headed.
At one point of the ride, Jed said, "It looks like they're headed for Los Lagos Canyon and there's one other way out of there besides up front. We could drive in hard behind them and at least pinch some of the herd in the canyon. At least that would cut the losses."
Luke was of another mind. "Why don't we split up; two wait here for the rest of the boys and two of us cut down through that sister canyon and start a fire at the other end of Los Lagos to pen the herd in the canyon. It could do the trick for us."
Before anybody responded, Emma was galloping off, yelling over her shoulder, "C'mon, Luke, we'll start the biggest fire they've ever seen." The sun followed her every bounce on the saddle.
Jed Calvern and his boss, Jack Boxford, were beat to the punch by an 18-year old girl who was suddenly dispensing orders. Boxford waved at Luke Newton and said, "Go ahead, Luke, but take good care of her. She's got a head of her own, but don't let anything happen to her." He spun to Calvern and said, "Jed, they remind me of me and her mother when we were their age," He shook his head, added, "Damned similar," thought some more, and qualified the day ahead of them, "We might as well set up best we can. I suspect some of these hooligans will be coming this way before we know it. Even before they know it." He pointed out a stand of rocky slabs fallen from the canyon wall. "That ought to do us just fine, in behind there. He dismounted and said, "Hide the horses behind that slab, Jed. They'll be fine in there."
The Mrs. had mustered what help she had about the ranch, one old babysitter from Emma's youngest days who was bound to stay forever, and her one-armed but happy son who was accomplished in many tasks of the easy kind. They had repaired some broken wire, reset a section of fence, started preparations for a dozen or more meals. The Mrs. was accomplished in tasks and giving orders in a soft and receptive voice.
Emma and Luke had raced down the sister canyon and brought themselves to the rear outlet of Los Lagos Canyon, where Emma leaped off her mount and started gathering dry brush and wood. Luke had seen some squaw pine, dead limbs still attached to tree trunks, and he roped down several larger ones and hauled them by rope to the narrowest part of the canyon outlet. Emma followed suit when she saw how much he had hauled to one spot. With doubled effort they soon had a big pile across the exit.
"If they drive them easy through the canyon," Luke said, "so they won't lose or bust any up, we've got some time to spare. Let's get some more dead brush like you were gathering and set the fire and hope it burns long enough to pen the herd or even turn them back."
Emma, looking glorious at business, a glow still about her carrying excitement, had just filled Luke Newton with a force and feeling he had not imagined. The dazzling sun set in her golden hair and radiated a healthy shine all about her. She looked at Luke, saw the expression on his face and said, "Luke, I've loved you since I was 15 or 16 and I had an awful year this year at school being away from you. I wanted to leave, almost did, but it would have broken Pa's heart. But not Mom's. She knows everything in the world about people and love and things like that. I'm going to try to be like her."
She paused, thought again of comparisons, and said, "In all ways."
Her arms were around him and he was swept into the sweetest kiss he'd ever known. He would have stayed there for eternity, but off the canyon walls they heard the echo of a herd of cattle on the move. Luke pointed to the other end of the pile and Emma ran to ignite that end and Luke Newton, his hands and heart and face burning with a heat he'd never known, snapped a match under dry, very dry, brush and kindling of various sources and the flames sprouted immediately.
With the rush of flames came a deal of smoke from pine needles, some green and some brown from age and dryness, and a gentle breeze mounted itself with the heat and the smoke and sent it in through the funnel-like structure of the Los Lagos Canyon ... it was like smoke in the flue of a fireplace, and it made itself known in short order where the herd, about one half of the Jack Boxford herd, sort of acknowledged it and came to a sudden halt, spun as if on their heels, and about-faced in the whole of their ranks.
The herd and the rustlers were all caught up in Los Lagos Canyon, as were Emma Boxford and Luke Newton when she took his hand and put it on one of her most sensuous spots and said, "I think I have dreamed of this forever, Luke."
|
|
|
|
|
Send this story to a friend
|
|
|
|
|
