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Slaughter At Stringybark Creek

Chapter Eight

(c) Cederwyn Whitefurr

25th August, 2017

All Rights Reserved.

Lachlan felt the adrenaline flowing through him, causing his paws to quiver and a cold sweat seep through his paws as he crouched behind an ancient ghost gum, golden ears flicking too and fro. Not too far away, kookaburra's, disturbed by the equines approach were still raucously cackling and laughing – almost as if trying to ward off the two equines. Lachlan had never experienced such emotions – excitement at his first robbery as a bushranger, conflicted with his fear of failure – a failure he new had two possibilities.

Owen hadn't hidden the truth from Lachlan – far from it – as what they were about to do had unforeseen consequences and undoubtedly, repercussions if they were caught. One consequence – either of them – or both, could be shot dead on this dusty roadside, their corpses left for the scavengers. Secondly – they'd be captured and the usual punishment was death by hanging – something Lachlan still bore memories from so long ago, having watched his mother die in such fashion.

A single green-bottle fly landed on Lachlan's pale furred nose and began to crawl, making his eyes narrow in irritation as it tickled the fine hairs and brought him to the brink of a sneeze. Stealth was needed, move silently and cautiously, Feredwyn had reinforced this in him over many practice trials – and his golden coat still bore the scars of more than one failed lesson. He did not begrudge her what she had done – as painful as it was – as each scar he thought of as a lesson and it only encouraged him to try better.

Now, it all come down to this...for he heard the thudding of hoof beats, the creak and rattle of the coach and the team that were being driven by the crack of the whip – and he swallowed and slicked his ears back, waiting for the right moment. On the other side of the road, Lachlan knew Owen was hidden and waiting, for Owen was to be the one who would take lead on this hijacking, Lachlan would back him up and act as a lookout.

*

Lachlan watched as the stage drew closer and closer, drawn by two sweat lathered horses. Both their muzzles were foamed with flecks of saliva, and the dappled sunlight that shone down through the overhanging branches, sparkled on the sweat on their bodies. Lachlan's hands tightened on the rifle as he inwardly despised the two humans who sat on the front of the stage, one armed with a long whip that he used to drive the team.

“No horse should be treated like that - “ Lachlan growled, as his eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

An ear shattering crack snapped Lachlan out of his thoughts, before the man with the whip clutched as his chest and gasped, then pitched from the narrow bench seat on the coach then fell to the ground, the crack of his neck almost muffled as the horses screamed and dug their hooves in, panicked and alarmed. Owen wasted no time and stepped out onto the road and held one hand up in a halting gesture, the other clutching a revolver.

“Stand!" Owen snarled, the drizabone coat snapping in the wind and making him look even more imposing.

Lachlan's eyes widened – he had not expected it to turn violent – but he had his orders, and he too stepped out onto the roadway, puffs of dust being disturbed by his leather shod hooves as he brought his rifle up to cover Owen.

“Don't shoot - “ Moaned the man on the coach, as he quickly assessed the situation and dropped the reins and held his hands skywards.

“Nice and easy...friend - “ Owen growled, as he moved sideways and hurriedly snapped a glance at the stage, before walking back to the front and placing a hand on the harnesses which held the team.

Snorting and confused, the two horses stepped from left hoof to right, nostrils flared and flanks heaving as the took deep breaths, still exhausted from their heavy exertion. Lachlan moved closer, then took a glance at the stage, then tried to divide his attentions between Owen and the human who sat trembling on the bench seat.

“That pistol on your hip - “ Owen snorted, then gestured with his own at the human. “Step down – real careful like...my associate here, will relieve you of it."

Obediently, the human man stepped off the coach, keeping his hands raised as he watched Lachlan approach. Lachlan's paws were trembling, the rifle he held quivering, but he slipped the pistol out of its holster then stepped back.

“Now..." Owen smiled, but it wasn't the gentle, warm smile Lachlan knew – this was cold, predatory and cruel – he glanced at Lachlan, then gestured with the pistol and turned his attentions back to the human. “Right friend, what do we have here I wonder..."

“I'm just a stage coach driver - “ Stammered the human, as she swallowed, flicking his gaze from Owen, who towered over him, to Lachlan and back again.

“Eyes on me!" Owen snarled, his anger rising as he pulled the hammer back with an unmistakable click. “You just relax..."

With a moan of despair, the humans eyes snapped back to Owen, who snorted and glared as the man trembled, then a growing puddle began to form under his feet as he wet himself from fear. Owen wrinkled his nose, the strong scent unpleasant to his equine nostrils, before he laughed sarcastically.

“How old are you...boy?" Owen spoke, as he looked the quivering man up and down. “Are you a child?"

“Twenty three – sir - “ Stammered the man, as he swallowed and sank to his knees, placing his hands on the back of his head. “Please don't kill me – I just signed on yesterday and - “

Owen shook his head in disgust and apathy. “Humans...well, today's your lucky day son! Ironclad here - “

Gesturing at Lachlan, who kept his head lowered, as if trying to hide his identity, turned away, but not before the human seen that unmistakable golden coloured fur and the silvery mane.

“Ironclad here, it's his first day too – so you two have something in common. Now, enough pleasantries – what's on that stage there, and don't try to be smart...I don't like people who lie to me." Owen snorted as he stepped forwards, then placed the still hot barrel under the humans chin, forcing his head up.

“It - “ Stammered the man, as he looked downwards, but a snort from Owen made him look back up into the dark eyes of the Clydesdale, who glared back. “It's money for the bank – they needed some cash to pay for - “

“I don't give a tail flick what they wanted it for “ Owen groused, as he glanced at Lachlan, then gestured with his free paw, ordering Lachlan to go to the back of the stage. “Now, we can do this two ways – you be a good little boy, sit quietly and don't upset me...or...well, I'm sure you can guess, I'm not a horse you want to play games with..."

Lachlan walked behind the stage, then clumsily pulled the iron bound trunk down off the stage, it falling to the ground with a solid thud. As strong as Lachlan had become, even he struggled to drag the heavy iron bound trunk off to the side of the road and down into a ditch. Sweating, partially from fear, and partially from exertion, Lachlan shouldered his rifle and began climbing back up the ditch wall – when he heard the shriek of the human, followed a second later by the muffled gunshot.

“You killed him!" Lachlan screamed in fear, eyes wide as he scrambled over the edge and stood shaking.

“I did - “ Owen replied, as he holstered his pistol, then turned away, as if killing the unarmed human had been no more violent than swatting away a fly.

“He..." Lachlan began, before he fell to his knees, furred fingers splaying on the ground and he was violently ill.

“He was a hindrance – and he saw your face!" Owen suddenly snarled, as he backhanded Lachlan across the side of the muzzle, knocking him to the ground. “His death is on you Colt! I told you, hide your identity – sure – they'll see your coat, and your mane...but you have markings that are unique to you! How long before you think he'd have been found – then the whole police force would have been looking for you. This was sloppy work – very sloppy..."

Lachlan lay on the ground, his nostrils flaring in anger, and causing puffs of dust, as he slowly stood up and his fists began clenching, as he lifted his head to glare at Owen, who merely raised an eyebrow and stood his full height – his imposing stature quickly cowing Lachlan.

“Feredwyn was right – you're not ready for this...life." Owen snorted, as he turned away and began unharnessing the two horses.

“Not for cold blooded murder - “ Lachlan gasped, as he wiped blood from his muzzle and flicked it away. “There was no need to kill them, we're not murderers..I'm not a murderer!"

With a pause, Owen froze, then looked over his shoulder. “Not yet, no...there might come a day, a night, whatever – where you'll not be offered a choice. I know these two – well – did know them..."

Still angry, Lachlan stamped over, then glared at Owen.

“They'd have shot both of us dead, as soon as they seen us - “ Owen replied simply, one ear flicking. “Go look at them – look closely Colt..."

Sickened, Lachlan reluctantly went and glanced at both, before his stomach flopped over and he turned away from the second one, retching piteously.

“Notice anything?" Owen asked, as he unhitched the team and lead them forwards, before slipping the bridles off, finally releasing them with a light swat on the rump, which caused the two geldings to take off.

“No - “ Lachlan wheezed, as he fought to control the bile that surged up his throat.

“They're both known killers – of our kind. Look at the marks on their belts, think those are just ornamental? Each of those marks are signs...signs that one like you, me, or even Feredwyn, have been killed by them. They're lackeys, for lack of a better word – of someone you hate the most – other than me, as of now..."

“I - “ Lachlan blinked, then looked down at the first body, before he saw the notches on the belt – having originally mistaken them for some form of ornamental purpose.

“Still feel bad? You should, as I said – you let them see your face – that white blaze of you, may as well just walk straight into Stringybark right now as naked as the day you were foaled! Never – ever – let your victim see that! Your coat and your mane? Well, I'm sure there's more than one Palomino...but that blaze with the offset edge, that's a pattern you can't mistake...and those white socks?"

“I never - “ Lachlan began, then looked down at himself. “I never thought - “

“That's half the problem – you never thought...it's on you Colt, nobody else, you may as well have pulled the trigger yourself, so this is on you...want to live long enough to become a bushranger? You'd do well to listen – as next time – I might not be around to clean up..."

As Lachlan glanced at the bodies again, he retched and sank to his knees, unmindful of what Owen was doing. With a cruel smile, Owen gripped Lachlan tightly by the mane, then pushed his head forwards and there was the click of the pistol – before Lachlan screamed as a gunshot rang out and a burning fire erupted in his left ear. Screaming, he clutched at his ear, then the pain made him pull his paw away and he saw the blood on the furred fingers.

“You shot me!" Lachlan wailed, tears running down his cheeks.

“I did," Owen shrugged, then holstered the pistol. “Now, the story you're going to tell...is they shot at you, clipping your ear, and you returned fire and shot in self defence..."

“I - “ Lachlan whimpered, feeling the burning in his wounded ear.

“Better the ear, than the forehead - “ Owen snorted, before he released Lachlan and turned his attention to the locked trunk.

“I trusted you!" Lachlan shrieked, as he rose and his knees gave way, making him slump back onto the dusty road.

“First mistake - “ Owen laughed sadistically. “Now, practice your story, because if I find out you tell Feredwyn what really happened – next time – it won't be your ear..."

*

Sgt MacGoven snorted, farted and scratched at his chest, before he sat up and clutched his head in his hands. He'd had hangovers before, but this one felt like a herd of wild horses had used his head for galloping practice and as he staggered out into the main room of the Police Station and looked around through bleary and bloodshot eyes. Finally, he found a bowl of water and splashed some onto his face, before he coughed and slumped into a chair.

“Kelsie, you slut of a foal - “ Sgt. MacGoven snarled.

With a creak from the wooden door that made the Sargent feel like broken glass was being ground into his skull, the paint filly stepped into the police station, her iron shod hooves clapping against the wooden floorboards.

“Sir?" Kelsie asked, her ears pricking forwards, but inwardly, she recoiled at the stench of sweat and alcohol that clung to the stained uniform he wore.

“Don't get smart - “ Growled the Sargent. “Where's that gods damned - “

Quickly assessing the Sargent's mood and from experience, Kelsie knew she had to virtually tap dance on eggshells – and not break one – so angry and volatile was the Sargent after one of his excessive nights. Without a word, she crept over to the cupboard and produced a old tin cup then a small vial of white powder. Even the clink as she used a spoon to measure out some of the powder, made the Sargent swear up a storm at her. As carefully as she could, she stirred the powder into the water, then timidly placed the cup within range of the Sargent and stepped back. He snatched it up, slopping most of it onto the floor, then he downed what was left and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Kelsie kept her muzzle shut, knowing the Sargent was volatile and violent at the best of times, even more so with a massive hangover. Carefully, she placed the cell door keys on her table and stepped outside, leaving the door open and the vile language that followed her made her shiver.

As she yawned and rubbed her eyes, she glanced out down the main street of Stringybark, before scratching idly at her mane. Pondering, she looked up and down the dirt road, then frowned. Whilst it was about 10am, or so Kelsie thought, it was not uncommon for the morning coach to be late...with the state of the roads – more like goat tracks than roads, really...

Walking down the side of the road, exchanging pleasantries with both human and anthropomorphic alike, Kelsie stopped by the printers where they were finishing up the posters. Taking one, she looked at it, then shook her head, thinking the caricature looked nothing like a horse – but they weren't exactly proficient artists.

“Golden palomino, silver mane, about six feet four..." Kelsie read to herself, as she walked on down the road. “Well, that's wonderful – I know about eight Palomino's that match that description!"

One ear flickered, as she snorted and shook herself, before she turned and saw the Doctor making his way towards her. Kelsie paused, her tail swishing slowly from side to side, almost as if it had a mind of its own, before he come closer, then looked down at the poster she had in one paw, then up at her.

“What are the police doing about the burglary?" He asked her, looking impatient and frustrated.

Giving him the poster, she nodded towards it. “Well, this is a start, I was thinking of asking around town, seeing if anyone knows him – questioning the usual suspects, then, expanding the search acordingly. I don't know why he broke into your office and ransacked it – have you had time to itemise what was taken? I confess, I don't understand medicine and such.."

“Everything and anything!" Sighed the Doctor. “Aspirin, other drugs – some I'm sure he'd not want to take, as they're solely for easing medical issues with young women..."

With a blush, the filly held up a pale paw and nodded. “I get the idea Doctor... Rest assured, we are doing – well I am doing – what I can, to try and find the person who robbed you. I, well, Sgt MacGoven is – indisposed..."

With a disgusted sigh the Doctor looked at the filly, who merely rolled her shoulders and in that subtle gesture, it was understood exactly what she meant, and the Doctor shook his head.

“It's bad enough - “ He sighed piteously. “That he has such ill-feeling towards - “

Raising an eyebrow, the filly drew a breath, as her eyes narrowed. “Please mind yourself Doctor..."

“I was going to say, anthropomorphic people. I'm not insensitive young lady, not like some in Stringybark. I grew up with both human and anthropomorphic people, I treat them equally, but I confess – anthropomorphism do pose some rather – difficult cases at times. I originally trained as a Doctor of Medicine, but I soon had to study veterinary practices, as there are some physiological differences between our two people."

With a soft whicker of laughter, the Filly relaxed, the tension visibly sliding from her, as she smiled shyly. “Like how I

look like a two legged paint horse? Yet you, are a mostly hairless ape descendant?"

“Well, yes – I don't truly understand the physiological origins of your people, but I'm more than happy to treat you, just as I would be happy to treat a human. Other than subtle things – and not so subtle – I don't discriminate against our two races. I think of us as people, irregardless of physical appearances." He smiled, then gently reached out and took her left paw in his hand, turning it over and back, then lightly trailing his fingertips over the fine fur. “Take your hand...here. You have less bones than a human hand, but those you do are stronger and slightly different – your nails at the end are like the same material your hooves are, but you have human like hands and fingers, a modest ability and flexibility like my own hands and some things are difficult for your kind – but as our societies grew together, they mostly learned to adapt to our differences, rather than have them as discernible boundaries."

Releasing her furred paw, he smiled at her, then looked down at the poster and chuckled to himself. “Couldn't they be a little more – descriptive? I know three equines who match this rough description – two of which are mare's!"

With a whicker, the filly chuckled, then nodded. “I know quite a few Palomino's myself – do you remember anything specific? Anything that can help narrow down the herd, as it were? Any distinguishing marking, scars, anything?"

Frowning, the Doctor thought, then sighed and shook his head slowly. “I'm sorry Constable, nothing instantly comes to my mind. It was dark, all I recall was his leather clad hooves, and his golden coat and silvery mane...I know that's not much help."

“You certain it was a male?" Kelsie asked, raising an eyebrow. “Absolutely certain?"

“Well, modestly certain – body shape and height and musculature...very certain it was a male, yes. I'd definitely say I'm firm in my beliefs on that."

“Thank you Doctor, you've been an immense help." Kelsie smiled, and touched his forearm in a friendly gesture.

As she walked off, the Doctor frowned, then shrugged and went his own way, busy with his own life and responsibilities. Kelsie mentally thought over the names and ages of the Palomino's she knew, now she was certain the doctor had seen a male, it narrowed the number of possible suspects immensely. Still, whilst a crime had been omitted, it wasn't exactly like a murder, so it wasn't high on her priorities...

*

Lachlan feared Owen now, realising the kind, gentle façade he had portrayed, was a mask – a mask that Owen had torn away with little thought or regard for Lachlan's feelings. He genuinely had developed a friendship with Owen and Feredwyn – now his world was turned upside down, and he did not know what to think. Not to mention, Owen had put the blame of the murders on Lachlan, something which made the young Colt almost physically sick with stress. His shot ear burned like fire, which kept his mind flaring, but he remained silent as they carried the heavy trunk between them.

“I suppose you're wondering - “ Owen snorted, as he rubbed his feathered forearm across his forehead and flicked away a rivulet of sweat.

Lachlan remained silent, each time his injured ear flicked involuntarily, sent a new cascade of pain lancing through him.

“Hmm," Owen grunted, and then grinned. “Maybe you're learning after all – life isn't fields of clover and happiness, you've already seen how cruel it can be, and for what its worth – I'm sorry about what happened to her..."

With a snort through his nostrils, Lachlan bit his tongue, but remained silent.

“Don't take that tone with me Colt, I've broken greater than you'll ever be – as I said, I'm sorry, but life is cruel, harsh and uncaring. I'm not your enemy, but after today, I don't think I'm your friend either – that's fine with me. Today was a lesson in how the life of a bushranger is. You think people – I use both in this reference – think they'd hand over the trunk we've spent the last two hours carrying, if you asked nicely? No, we're thieves, and as such, the law would come down on us like a..." Owen trailed off, then snorted. “Well, I don't have a way to explain it. Sometimes, bad things happen – they would have shot us dead and left us to rot in the forest, as soon as looked at us. Remember that, you might think you know people – but I've got more scars from bullets and humans cruel whips and other punishments – than you can begin to imagine. Oh, sure, you look at me, and think I'm some gentle giant – all clydesdale's have that reputation – but my own early years weren't gentle and kind – learn to read others, it'll do more to keep you alive, than relying on your sense of honour and morality...now, what do you tell Feredwyn?"

With a swallow, Lachlan twitched and glanced sideways, then answered in a short, sullen reply, about how he would lie to Feredwyn.

“I hate you - “ Lachlan whispered.

“Good," Owen smiled, genuinely smiled, then patted Lachlan's shoulder. “Now, bury that hatred, learn to use it and control it, never let it control you. Use its power to sharpen your senses and hone your claws on it – “

Lachlan paused, then put down his end of the chest, then turned to face Owen, having to tilt his head back slightly, as Owen towered over him.

“I don't have claws - “ Lachlan began, looking confused.

“Figure of speech, as it were. Listen, I'm cruel because I care, you understand? You won't last long as a Bushranger with goodness and morals...you'll have to make hard choices – sometimes without mercy. If it comes down to it, you want to establish your strength and dominance in the first moments – use stealth and subterfuge, get the drop on them – leave then unsettled and unsure, but above all, be certain of your actions! See how I acted at the stage? I surprised them, I saw they didn't have their side-arms on them – first mistake. A stage should always have the other driver armed and watchful..."

“You killed him in cold blood!" Lachlan suddenly screamed, as he struck out at Owen with clenched fists, his pain, rage and fear overwhelming him.

“I did what needed doing! As I said, I knew who they were, now..." Owen signed, taking Lachlan's strikes against his chest with barely a blink.

Lachlan slumped onto the chest, then began sobbing, clutching his head in his paws. “I – I don't know how you could do that..."

“Are you deaf?" Owen sighed. “They we working with the Sargent – you know what he thinks of us! If we let them live, he would have had a mob after us before the sun went down, and probably have us hanging before dawn. If we were lucky. I suspect we'd be caught, taken out into the bush here and if we were really fortunate – we'd be shot...trust me – I've had dealings with his kind before. They're not nice people, and I have no hesitation in removing such humans from the world."

“Clanton wouldn't approve..." Lachlan sniffed, as he hung his head, then wiped his paws over his eyes.

“No doubt," Owen admitted. “Yet how do you know? Has he ever pulled leather in defence of himself – or others? Has he ever been put in a situation, like I have, where your life depended on it? Have you ever asked him?"

Lachlan sniffled again, then shuddered and hung his head shamefully, allowing his guilt and sadness to make him insensitive to experiences he knew nothing about – and Owen obviously knew, from cold hearted experience.

“It – still doesn't make it right!" Lachlan sniffled, as he slowly stood up.

“Murder is never, right," Owen admitted. “Try to justify it all you want – but those men would have killed us without a second thought. I did us both a favour. Now, enough wasted time...let's get home – we got a trunk to open and hopefully, some money to make.

To Be Continued...