Blackthorne--Review VII--41-45

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Blackthorne

Cinemagenics 41-45

Review--Part VII

“Alright, the two month hiatus secondary to road trips, time 

off & vacations is over, so before many of you lose interest

it is definitely time to return to my review of past episodes.”

--Glenn

Forty-One: Salutations--The sheriff to the stranger, “I thought

you had already slapped leather, big man.” Buck said, “Nope,

I didn’t want to miss the show.” Johnny seemed to recognize

Buck. Suddenly a golden eagle landed on the peak of a

nearby barn with a rattlesnake in its beak. Buck held out the

silver--Ey, muy hombre, I think these belong to you.”

Johnny said, “You make it too easy for this pinche gordo to

wriggle free.” Buck plunked the three silver dollars into 

Johnny’s hand--I doubt he will crawl very far. We can cut off

his tail another day.” Graff to Buck, “And who in the bloody

hell are you?” The sheriff spoke up, “Calls himself Rod Buck.

Some fellas tried to kill him today, & the barber got wounded.

You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Graff?”

Johnny & Buck grinned. Graff, “Well, Christ no--why would 

I know anything about that? There’s gunplay in this town all

the time, Hop.” He turned to the tall hunter. “Buck, you say?

I just want to get all the facts straight for my report to Mr.

Bronson.” The sheriff said, sarcastically, “So, Mr. Graff, do

you have all the facts straight?”  There was a peal of

laughter. Graff pushed his way through the crowd, suffering

the jeers, & made his way to his office, behind the corral. A

wrangler walked up to Johnny & handed him his wide belt

with the two big knives on it. Sheriff to the Eagle, “There 

will be no more trouble, right?”  Johnny nodded yes. The

crows dispersed. Soon Buck & the Eagle stood alone in the

dusty street facing each other.

Forty-Two: Sauntering--Buck said, “Have a drink with me,

Fiero.”  The Eagle nodded. They unwrapped their horses’

reins. Johnny, “Do you belong in Negro-Espina?” Buck,

“I suppose. I was born here.” Johnny, “Then you are the

one”. Buck, “Who?” Johnny, “The one Bill Buck used to tell

us about--you know, the absent son, run off angry to hunt

buffalo.” Buck, “Then, you knew my father too?”  Johnny,

“I buried him.” As they walked they talked about their

horses, El Blanco & Jesus, & Buck’s huge black dog,

Cheewa, “black puma”. Buck turned toward THE CHINA

DOLL, but Johnny stopped him, “I take money from

Bronson, but I try not to give it back to him. I only drink

whiskey at Pedro’s--do you know it?” They wrap reined in

front of the Cantina. The Eagle looked around,” They 

watch us.”  Buck, “Fuck ‘em”. Johnny, “Good, yes, Red

Face will run to Bronson, but it is of no matter. Come,

meet Mateo.”

Forty-Three: Toque--They entered the cantina, a small

space with a half bar, no railing, no stools. The bartender

was short & husky, with a rope burn scar on his neck. His 

long dark hair was tied back, & his smile was decorated

with bad teeth. Johnny, “Mateo, today is whiskey. I have

money from Graff.” Mateo, “Graff, se, one gordo bendejo.”

Johnny, “Yes, one very sad pinche hijo de puta.” The ten

tables were peopled by charros & mestizo peasant farmers.

A young vaquero played a guitar, & sang softly to a saloon

girl. A bead curtain parted loudly & a pretty buxom saloon

señorita made a beeline to Johnny, just as Mateo delivered

a bottle of whiskey & three glasses. “That’ll be four-bits for

the burn.” Johnny introduced Buck. Mateo, “Ay, carumba.

So he has come home at last. Good, good--just in time.”

Johnny, “And what do you need, Lisetta, my pretty bird?”

Lisa smiled, “First your cock, then your pesos.” Johnny,

“You really tempt me, your sweetness swells my heart--

but please fly away--I must speak with this silent buffalo

across the table.”

Forty-Four: Patriarch--As the saloon cutie left, Buck asked,

“Tell me, old caballo, what’s the story here?”  Johnny

replied calmly, “Nothing. I am your man. There can be no

one else.” Buck, “Two weeks ago I decided to return here,

yet somehow, it seems many folks were expecting me, How

does that cinch up?”  The Eagle, “Because your father loved

you.” A ten year old Rod buck stood in a smoky

saloon staring at his father’s back, who was drinking at the

bar. The bartender let Bill know his son was behind him. The

old man whirled around & snarled, “What? What!!” The boy

began to weep silently. His father said, “Get out of here!

What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you want from

me?” The boy just stood there. “God damn it, Roddy, get the

fuck out of here. Go back to the ranch. Maybe the squaw will

share her tit with you “. Buck, “My

father was a mean drunken asshole.” After a moment, 

Johnny said, “Your father is dead, but you are very much alive

--and now you are the Buck. That’s all there is--simple.” Buck,

“Sorry, I still don’t savvy.” Johnny, “You wrote a few letters to

him, right. He read them to some of us.” Buck, “He was a 

damn fool.”  The Eagle, “He became a drunk, yes, & he died 

hard, alone, but he was not a fool.” Buck was silent, then said,

“I’m just bone-busted tired. Everything I once knew is dead,

turned to blow-sand ghosts & scorpions in my boots.” Johnny,

“Your father had a dream.” Buck,”When I saw him last, he was

fresh out of dreams.”

Forty-Five: Pact--Johnny, “Deep sadness, yes, but beneath

that bitter bark there is still a son who will breathe life back

into the ruins of the ranch, who will put magnificent horses

back into the high meadows at Antlered Buck.”  Buck, 

“You’re telling my my father dreamed of horses?”  Johnny,

“Yes, he dreamed it so hard, he died with hoof prints on

his face.” Buck’s eyes became moist. Johnny, “But do not

think too much of the past. You are alive, & all alone now,

--just like me.” Buck, “Will you work for me?”  The thick

knife from the Eagle’s left hip suddenly bit deep into the

table next to Buck’s hand. In the same instant, Buck came

out of his chair with his Colt cocked in his right hand. The

Indian held the hunter’s gaze as he moved up to him,

pushing the Thunderer out of the way before thrusting out

his calloused brown hand. They shook hands firmly. Johnny,

“I will proudly stand with you, fight others with you, watch

your back & be your companero.”  The Colt was re-holstered.

The Bowie knife was re-sheathed. Then they noticed all the

charros in the cantina re-holstering their weapons. Mateo,

“Hey, you hombres play rough.” The place erupted in

applause & laughter; the music resumed. Johnny, “You are

rattlesnake quick for a big man.”  Buck, “As you are for an

old one.”  They sat down. Buck, “It won’t be a Sunday picnic

working for me, Bronson has a fucking army.”  Johnny

smiled, “You know, sometimes I think I can hear my death

song on the winds of dawn--but just the melody, no words.”

Buck, “Yeah, me too, Pard.” 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN