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Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. LUKE by Don Fraser The war between the North and the South was raging on. Luke was in a bar in Baltimore, when a shavetail, who was drunk, asked him to draw. Luke was very fast with a gun and he didn't want trouble with the lieutenant, but he had no choice. Luke drew his gun and killed him. Luke was scared, he had killed an officer of the Federal Army! All he could think of was running out the door, no one tried to stop him as he ran, got on his horse and spurred it hard. Everyone in the bar was too surprised at seeing a corporal shoot, and kill, an officer, so they never gave chase. Luke had never been in trouble in his life, in two short years he was promoted to corporal; he was a god-fearing man who went to church every Sunday and he read from the bible every night. He had gone into Charlie's bar to get a friend who had too much to drink but his friend did not want to go. He pulled away when Luke took his arm, and that is when the shavetail challenged him. Luke could think of but one place to go. He would head for Califonia where there was no war except with the Indians They were at peace with the army now, Luke had heard, but before he could get to California he had to cross the Arizona desert. He had a plan for that too, he would buy an over-sized canteen and with that, and the one that the army had issued him, he was sure to make it across the desert. There should be enough water for him, and his horse, if he used it sparingly. He stopped at the next town, went into the mercantile store and bought a very big canteen. "We sell a lot of them," the storekeeper had told him, "people use them to cross the desert, and some of them make it too!" "Well I'm gonna make it old man," Luke had replied, " I am gonna go to California, and buy me a cattle ranch." Luke started across the desert, he only took three swallows of water a day and would let his horse drink a little water, at the same time, out of Luke's hat. Luke saw an Indian lying on the ground with his horse standing over him, as if to protect him from the burning sun. Luke lifted the Indian onto his horse. The Indian and Luke looked each other in the eye and although they did not know each other's language, they knew they were to be friends from then on. Luke continued across the desert, he had been traveling nine days now, and, in the far distance, he could see some Indians riding his way. As they got closer he could see his friend was leading them. They stopped when they got to Luke. One of the braves could speak English and said. "The chief's son thanks you for helping him, when his pony fell. We will help you get to a village called Tuscon." Luke looked at the brave and said. "I thank the chief's son." The brave then turned to Luke's new friend and said something to him that Luke could not understand. They formed up a line of two, and started riding across the desert. Luke was leading the line, along with the chief's son, while the brave who could speak English was right behind them. Seperated by 20 yards, to keep the dust of the desert from getting in their eyes and nostrils, they rode that way for five more days. The Indians knew how to water their horses and themselves, keeping their water in what looked like a horse's bladder. When they, or their ponies, got thirsty, they would stop, wet a rag that they were wearing on their heads, and put it to their, and their ponies', lips. Then they would put the wet rag back on their heads, it seemed to protect them from the scorching sun. About two miles from Tucson, the chief's son, in his native language, said to the brave. "We are going to have to leave my white friend now. The people in the white camp will attack us, surely." The brave repeated what was said to Luke, and all of the Indians rode off waving. Luke rode into Tucson very dusty and tired from his journey across the vast desert. He saw a sign in a window that said 'hot baths here'. He knew that was what he needed, so he went in. He paid ten cents and a man filled a round tub with hot water that he took off the stove. "Are there any jobs in this town?" Luke asked the man. "No there's not! Nobody can afford to hire anybody, this will be a ghost town pretty soon." The man left the room, Luke took his clothes off and got in the hot tub. The hot water felt good touching his parched skin. The man partially opened the door and asked. "Is the water hot enough?" Luke answered, "it's perfect" and slumped down in the tub to enjoy his bath, washing and relaxing until the water was getting cold. He dried with the towel that was provided, put on clean clothes that he had brought with him into the bathhouse and left. He saw a hotel down the street, went in and rented a room for a week but he was getting low on money. He had barely enough to pay the hotel and for the livery stable to feed and bed down his loyal horse, which had carrried him across the scorching desert. He had little-enough money left to eat and knew that he must do something. After three days in the hotel he thought of a plan. He knew he was wanted for killing that shavetail, so why not commit another crime? He would rob the Tucson bank: he would do it by himself, there would be no one else to share the loot with. Then he would head for California again, across the desert. He had made it here, he was sure he would make it the rest of the way. He rinsed out his canteens and filed them with water in the restaurant. With his last money he got his horse out of the livery stable, and tied him to the hitching rail infront of the bank. Everything was set! Luke waited for the merchants and bar-owners to deposit their receipts from the night before then walked into the bank, pulled his bandana over his face and drew his gun. "This is a stick-up!" He said to the teller. "Give me all of the money in your drawer!" The teller nervously put the money in a bag, as Luke told him to, and handed over the bag of money. Luke backed out of the door and untied his horse, but just as he was mounting, a hail of bullets, hit him. The sheriff had been tipped-off by seeing Luke's horse tied-up infront of the bank. Wounded, Luke hurriedly mounted his horse and rode away. As he rode down the dirt-street, he could hear gunshots behind him and that made him spur his horse even more. After he had ridden in the desert for most of the day, Luke decided to take a drink from the small canteen. He gave his horse a drink and they settled down for the night to the sound of coyotes howling in the distance. Luke went to sleep with his head resting on his saddle; the bright moon seemed to be guarding him. He dreamt of his ranch in Califonia. It had green meadows and no fences, so that his beautiful horses could go anywhere, and eat all of the green grass that they wanted. The warm sun woke him up the next morning and over a campfire, that he had started by gathering some mesquite branches, he boiled a pot of coffee. Later he took the hobbles off of his horse, and put the bridle on, as his faithful mount just stood there. He threw-on the saddle and the saddlebags filled with new paper money, as one, got on his horse and continued across the desert. He had used the last of the water in the little canteen, to make coffee but he wasn't worried, he still had the big one, full. The sun was beating down and Luke had to satisfy himself with some water. His horse needed some too, so he put the canteen to his lips to take the alloted swallow. Nothing! He looked at the canteen infront of him and saw that it had a bullet-hole in it. All of the water was gone! Neither he nor his horse had anything to drink. 	He was more than halfway across the desert and had to press on. After a day he got off of his horse and started walking across the hot, desert floor. The next day he fell four times, his horse was also staggering now, he knew he could not go much further. Finally his horse fell, scattering the paper money to the winds. Luke tried to pick it up but he was too weak. He staggered on. Luke died in the desert. An old prospector saw some money blowing around, years later, the prospector went further and found some human bones. On the sand, infront of them, written on a piece of paper and held down from the winds by the sun-bleached bones of a hand, was this note. "I am so sorry, my god in Heaven, please forgive my sins!" The End
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