Lupan Buchannan
By
The White Wolf
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PUBLISHED BY:
Lupan Buchannan
Copyright © 2012 by The White Wolf
Short Story Fiction
Lupan Buchannan
The early morning April sun gently caressed the stone walls of the Superstition Mountains, warming them slowly. A few hours from now they would reach temperatures of 100 degrees or more.
A tall lean man in a black broadcloth suit sat on his horse on a rock shelf where he could easily see the length of the little canyon and its water tank. His bowler hat wasn’t much for keeping the sun out of his eyes, but at this time of the day, that didn’t matter much. What he had in mind would not take much longer. Then, he could ride back to town and enjoy a good meal at the restaurant and go about his business. Somewhere, not far away, a dove cooed softly offering a false sense of safety.
The man licked his lips nervously and considered his position again. He had all the advantage. He looked down into the canyon, he had rocky spires to this front, which concealed his presence and provided him protection from any fire that might be returned. When he spoke, his voice would echo from the walls making it difficult to pinpoint his location.
It would not be long now before a miserable old half-white, half-Navajo man would lie dead in that canyon, waiting for the buzzards and ants to consume his worthless hide.
A movement at the northern end of the canyon caught his attention. He smiled coldly and slid a long-barreled shotgun out of its boot. Through the receding shadows he could see several head of young cattle bunched together and headed south through the canyon. Behind them rode a broad-shouldered man with a flat wide-brimmed hat, a bright red shirt and a wide smile.
The tall man edged his horse closer to the rock spires and rested the shotgun on a small outcropping of rock. Its muzzle now commanded the view of the canyon. The man licked his lips one more time and looked upon the man below with awful intensity.
The man in the canyon rode with a lariat in his right hand, using it to haze any of the wild stuff that might be determined to turn and go back. He was pretty confident that the water tank ahead would keep them moving in the right direction. When the cattle fanned out to get at the water, the rider stopped for a moment and watched. The man up in the rocks caught his breath. At this distance the smiling man was too far away to ensure a killing shot, even with a double load of powder. Then, as if on command, the rider moved up to the tank with the cattle and allowed his horse to drink—reaching for a canteen himself.
The tall man sneered, “Just where he belongs, face down in a stagnant pool with scrawny water skippers walking all over him.”
“Mr. Buchannan?” his voice boomed out commanding attention from all. Even the cattle started at the menacing sound.
The canteen froze in front of Buchannan’s lips. His eyes darted carefully around, trying to find its source. His ears heard the sound of danger and his mind understood the threat. His hand slowly lowered the full canteen down in front of his heart. There would be no time to reach for his rifle or pistol.
“How can I be of service, Mister,” Buchannan responded gently.
“I want to talk one last time about your daughter, Buchannan,” The hidden man demanded with confidence.
Realizing who owned the voice, Buchannan felt an uncomfortable chill climb down his back like a scorpion to settle in his guts. “Miller! Woodrow Miller,” he said through his teeth. “Miller, I told you before, she is a young woman of her own mind. She has no desire to marry you or anyone else. She desires education, hard work and freedom.” He pictured his daughter as he spoke and her gentle spirit touched his soul once again.
“That girl needs to be married. She is of age. Who else would want her? She’s too tall and skinny. She reads too much and worse of all she’s more of a mongrel than you are. Her mother was a too-tall slave breed-mix of Negro and Chinese. And then you added your blood and came up with an ornery critter that needs to be tamed and taught her place—and I intend to teach her that place.”
Hot anger flooded Miller as he thought about the arrogant little girl who held her head too high and dared to look down into the eyes of good Christian white people. He would teach her good, she would never stand straight again, even if he had to break her back…and the only thing she would be looking at would be the ground as was proper for her kind.
Buchannan shook his head sadly as he heard the man’s words. He loved his wife and children dearly and had encouraged them to study, work hard and respect all others. And, now this eastern man had come to the area and within a week of his arrival had started voicing his intentions to marry the fourteen year old girl. At first he had tried to win her favor with smooth talk and offers of sweets. She had wisely ignored the talk and politely declined the sweets. She had told the family that Mr. Miller had made her feel uncomfortable.
Then Miller had come out to the ranch and offered a heady sum for her hand in marriage. Buchannan had not taken offense, but he felt an unusual irritation with the man. He had gently chided Miller. And told him that if and when she ever married it would be of her own choosing and volition—now this.
Buchannan spoke carefully, “Mr. Miller, people are valued by God for what is in their soul not their height, looks, smarts or color of their skin. My daughter is a gentle soul, obedient to the Lord and her parents. She would not be happy with you, nor you with her. Why do you want what is not good for either of you?” he asked, letting the canteen come to a rest on the saddle horn, lowing his defense.
There was silence for a long moment, then Miller spoke up. “I just wanted to give you a chance to see if you were smart enough to see things the way they are supposed to be and do what is right.”
Miller sighted the long barrel on Buchannan’s chest and then looked up and tipped his hat. “You have a nice life, Mr. Buchannan.” Then he pulled the trigger.
Several days later, Miller found himself sitting in the cool shadow inside sheriff Koltrion’s office. Along with him was Buchannan’s widow, her only daughter, Irma, who was plainly in shock along with her five brothers. All were a misshapen mixture of Chinese, Negro, Indian and White. It was hard to tell where one started and the other had stopped.
“They didn’t have those big happy smiles on their faces now. They had been taught a valuable lesson and many others would follow,” Miller thought as he tried hard to put on his best sad face.
Behind Irma and her mother stood a tall skinny, blonde-headed blue-eyed Mormon farm boy that he had seen around town. This churlish upstart had a hand on each woman’s shoulder, trying to be supportive and worse, he had assumed a protective air that the other boys were also assuming. This was intolerable, even from a hell-spawned Mormon. This interloper would be dealt with later.
Sheriff Koltrion came in from the back, closing the iron barred door behind him. His features were also touched by sadness. Taking a seat behind his desk, he leaned forward placing his elbows on the desk and interlocked his fingers. “As you know, we found the remains of Mr. Buchannan out in the superstitions, not far from there, up in the rocks, we found an abandoned shotgun that was used to bushwhack him with. The shotgun removes the possibility of an Apache attack. Besides, no effort was made to take the horse or any of the weapons. So, that brings us to who would benefit from Mr. Buchannan’s demise.” The sheriff looked about the room from person to person. “I suspect that whoever waylaid him, knew about his habits and knew where he was gong to be working that day. That pretty much fits everyone in this room, except for Mr. Miller.”
Koltrion eyed Miller carefully. “Seems Mr. Miller has asked for and offered a sizeable sum of money for Irma’s hand in marriage. And was, I’m sure, politely rejected.” Then h
e shifted his gauge to the skinny blonde boy. “Joseph, you spend a lot of your free time out at the Buchannan place, if not all. Just for the record, what is your interest?” A smile pulled at the corner of his eyes as he spoke.
Joseph was obviously caught off guard as he glanced around him. Then he regained his compusure and spoke with confidence. “These are good people and they welcome me as a son and brother.” He smiled down at Mrs. Buchannan and gently squeezed her shoulder. “A wise man seeks out company that is good for his soul.”
Sheriff Koltrion smiled. If his Mrs. Were here she would be in tears. “Now, what about you, Mrs. Buchannan? You have any fights, arguments with your husband?”
Wandela Li Buchannan looked shocked that her love and loyalty for her husband be questioned. “No sir, not now, not ever.”
“Wandela, I know that because you are a woman you can’t hold property. I also know that you have raised your children to seek out education and a more cultured way of life. So, I suspect you would loose far more than you could possibly gain by your husband’s death.” The sheriff filled his face with a grave look. “Now, you Irma, are a different story all together. You know