Quincy and the West Part 6

Quincy was pretty tired of dumb.  To his misfortune, dumb was an overly abundant resource in Port Plain.

He guided his borrowed horse and its wobbly unsure hooves toward the plume of smoke that was once a high flying biplane.

“Is it so hard to listen to my orders? ‘No Day Flight’ the sign read,” Quincy muttered as the horse ran.

The sheriff hoped the pilot survived the crash for no other reason than a desire to kill the man himself.  “Mess with my peace.  I tell you what, horse, this pilot better hope one of his parents is a senator or I’m liable to,” he stopped his speech as the wreckage came into view.

The pilot was alive, for the moment.  Quincy saw the leather cap wearing human surrounded by a company of goblin soldiers who looked about as happy to be at work as himself.  He spurred the horse to pick up the pace.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, there fellas,” the sheriff said to the goblin troops.  They turned their armaments on the horse, standing a full head above the creatures.  The sheriff dismounted and showed his golden star badge.  The two camps did not speak the same language, but they were beginning to understand each other symbols.

The goblins lowered their weaponry and moved to form a shoulder to shoulder line.  Long snouts, slits for ears, and wide, wide eyes stared at the sheriff.

“Alright, that’s great, thank you.  I know you don’t know what I’m saying, all you are hearing is ‘cookie bread coffee’, and I did not know I was hungry until this very moment, but I need you to let this pilot,” Quincy pointed at the pilot, “come with me,” he motioned at himself.

One of the goblins raised his rifle.

“You understood that! I mean, it’s too bad it upset you, but you understood the gesture! That is wonderful,” Quincy was pretty pleased.

The goblin started speaking and did not stop.  Quincy was well familiar with the sounds, the inflection, the mood of the language of his neighbor; this was quite an angry tirade.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Quincy said shaking his head.  The goblin began waving his rifle about.

The pilot removed his cap and stepped nearer to Quincy.

“He’s saying we are not to move until their commander arrives,” the pilot said as he rubbed his head.

“You can understand them?” Quincy’s shock was not unnoticed.  The goblins began looking between themselves and the humans standing before them.

“I learned a lot when I was their prisoner during the war, Sheriff Quincy,” the pilot said.

Quincy faced the pilot, “who are you?” he asked.

“Friends call me Holland.  We’ll chat after our meeting with the commander,” Holland pointed to the hole in the ground that brought the goblins to the surface.  A tall, goblin stood at the entryway and scowled.

“He doesn’t look happy,” Quincy said.

“Well, I should not have been flying during the day,” Holland said.

Quincy was tired of dumb.

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