Blackthorne Episode 140

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lackthorne

Cinemagenic 140

Truth

“Truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time,

but it ain’t going away.”--Elvis Presley.

The rider was Paul Bronson.

1(medium close-up) What the fuck is happening?

2(sound cue) snare drum bapping and saxophone

squawking.

3(three-shot) You might could grab a bucket and find

out, snapped a tall puncher as he scurried off to join

the fire brigade.

How in hell did it start?

You got  me, boss Paul. I ain’t even awake yet, said

a young ranch hand who was starting to run off too.

No, Shorty, wait, the gambler said, swinging down, and

leaving his fancy reins free. The cowboy turned back to

him, the huge fire behind him ripping into the sky.

It was Buck, Paul whined.

Who?

Buck, Rod Buck.

Did you see him?

No, Paul snarled, I didn’t have to. I know it was him.

The puncher rubbed his peach fuzz chin: I did hear

something about Ryker being drunk, and some think

he’s in there. I don’t think anyone’s seen this Buck

feller. You might could try and sober up so’s you

could help out, then he trotted off to join the

firefighters.

Johnny Eagle is dead, Paul yelled at the man’s dust.

4(close-up) Buck’s face, as the words surged like ice

water in his veins. Johnny Eagle is dead.

The hunter lie flat as a stone, waiting like a rattler.

5(sound cue) violins off key.

6(one-shot) Paul reached into his fancy black coat, 

and produced a silver flask, that flashed golden flames

as he tipped it up adding fuel to the fire in his guts. He

began shuffling toward the main house, his head 

bobbing slightly, then he stopped. He remembered his

neglected steed standing in the yard, still saddled. He

returned to the horse, scooped up the reins, and 

began walking it toward the first corral where Buck 

was coiled in wait.

Son of a bitch, the gambler mumbled, I know it

was Buck. He is out of jail, and out of his mind.

Our ass is in the frying pan now. That bastard

is relentless. When I tell Cash that fucking breed

is dead, then we will...

7(sound cue) blues guitar slide.

8(two-shot) Buck was on him in an instant. He

smacked him on the neck with his Colt, and he

dragged him into the corral. The horse followed. 

Buck stacked up three bales of hay for cover.

He began to lightly slap the gambler’s thin face.

   Paul woke up with a whimper. His eyes were

wide with fright and bloodshot. Buck’s thick

hunting knife was being held to his throat. He

started to speak, but Buck held a finger to his

mouth for silence. One last horse screamed in

agony, and Buck could hear Cash’s voice among

the melee. Buck just stared at the Bronson whelp 

and began to unclench his emotions.

What did you say to that hand?

Nothing much.

Buck sliced a small cut under Paul’s chin.

Alright! the gambler gulped, squirming under Buck’s

weight, I asked who started the fire.

Buck widened the cut with a flick from his razor sharp

blade. Jesus, don’t kill me. I’ll tell you everything, just

don’t cut me no more.

What was the last thing you said to that puncher?

I told him that your Indian was dead.

Who? holding the tip of the blade above Paul’s right

eye, dripping blood.

Johnny Eagle.

When did he die?

Last night, this morning. Doc announced right after

you lit out of town and woke everybody up. I heard

he died peaceful, he never woke up.

Why did he die?

What?

Why is Johnny Eagle dead?

Buck slapped the gambler hard across the face. 

Paul’s nose bled, tears welled up in his red eyes.

Somebody shot him, some gunmen, Paul yelled.

Who hired them?

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub OLN