Scared that I couldn’t face the place without you.

Afraid to come back.

Afraid not to come back.

It’s not the same.

At least there are voices tonight. Voices and laughter and songs. Of course, they’re the wrong voices and laughter and songs.

I know what you’re sayin’… two years is long enough.

Well, Lisa honey, I thought it would be.

But every woman’s smile makes me miss you all the more. And the closer I get to them, the more my mind drifts to you. There’s two of them down there that… they don’t know me very well. But they think they do. I know which one you would pick.

‘Stick with Miss Harriet. She’ll make you governor someday.’ You know I’ve heard that line before.

‘That Miss Lisa—she brings out the best in you, boy. If you let her, she’ll put you in that big mansion in Prescott.’

You and Harriet would have been the best of friends…or the worst of enemies.

But don’t overlook Miss Julie’s type. When she regains her strength… she’d make a ranch wife. She’s a stander, too. She’d pull calves, shoot coyotes, mend fences, and raise a yard full of kids, and never complain. She’d run the ranch when I was away and never gripe about the mud on my boots. All she wants is someone to love her.

But it’s not me.

Lisa, I can’t make ’em happy. I can’t even make me happy. The only good thing that’s happened lately was this crazy land grant claim on the ranch. Now I’ve got a reason for hanging on… a reason for fighting them.

Don’t get me wrong.

It feels good to be home.

Real good.

Jenner came riding up to the trees, leading El Viento. “You up to a ride?”

“Yeah, I suppose I could give it a try.” Using the tree for a prop, he pulled himself up. “Bring him around by these rocks.” With a hard yank on the horn and a leap, Brannon flung his right leg over the saddle and pulled himself up.

Jenner handed him the reins. “Mr. Brannon, the sergeant says you’re one of the best Indian fighters in Arizona. Now I don’t aim to be an Indian fighter, but I would like to stay alive. What makes a man a good Indian fighter?”

“To tell you the truth, Jenner, I never thought about it much. But I guess I would say, first thing is to try to avoid every fight you can. Make friends with them, avoid them, back away, or whatever it takes. Don’t look for fights.

“Second, never, ever underestimate their strength, intelligence, and especially their courage. The men who came out here to fight ‘dumb’ Indians are all dead.

“And then, third, hit them hard with everything you have as quick as you can. They understand and respect strength and bravery. You’ve got to show them what you have right from the beginning. I hear you’re riding up in those eastern mountains tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir, that’s what the sergeant says.”

“Why don’t you ask him if a civilian rancher could ride along as a scout or something? Just up to the springs or so. I’ve got company to entertain.”

“Do you mean that, sir?”

“Jenner, you don’t have to call me sir.”

“No… Mr. Brannon, you’re right. I’ll go check with the sergeant.” And he spurred his horse on down the slope to the ranch.

Before he hobbled over to the house, Brannon checked in with Sergeant Cloverdale and agreed to ride out with them in the morning. He ate supper in the house with the Bartons, Miss Reed, and Miss Cancino.

“Listen, folks, I hope I’m not too poor a host, but I’m going to ride up the ranch a ways with the troops in the morning.”

“Do you feel up to it?” Mr. Barton asked.

“I thought I’d find out. I know that country up there and figured I could guide them.”

“When will you be back?” Reed asked.

“By evenin’… that is, if you all promise to stick around another day or so.”

“Well, eh… certainly,” Barton spoke up. “But we don’t want to be a burden.”

“Absolutely no burden. I know those mountains above the springs better than anyone in the Territory. I’d like to point Cloverdale and the boys in the right direction.”

Nelson Barton set down his blue enameled coffee cup. “What about the C.V.L. men? When do you expect them to return?”

“If Jedel is in Santa Fe, like they say, it will be weeks. But even if he’s not, I’m guessing they will come in here with a stack of legal papers and a sheriff to evict. It seems to be the way corporations work.”

“What about the gunfight with the C.V.L. men earlier?”

“They got carried away because of my reputation. This Burlington, or whatever his name is, he’ll try to do it legal. Then later on he’ll send in his hired guns. Actually, I wish you’d stick around a couple weeks until they do show up. I’d appreciate your advice about the so-called land grant papers.”

“We must get to Phoenix,” Barton said, “but there’s no reason we can’t wait a little longer.”

“I’d appreciate more rest before we start out,” Cancino offered.

“I agree with Julie,” Reed said. “Maybe we can wash out some of the road dust from these clothes. You do have a washboard and soap, don’t you, Stuart?”

He glanced down at his clothing, then back at the women. “Eh, yes, ma’am—although it might seem difficult to believe.”

“Nelson, help me assist Julie to that big chair by the fireplace. Now, Stuart, you sit in here with Miss Cancino and visit while we straighten up.”

Tucking a pillow behind her friend’s back, Harriet whispered, “It’s your turn, girl.”

“Are you serious?”

“Go for it.”

Even though the temperature hardly warranted it, Brannon stirred the fire and added a couple of sticks of firewood. “Julie, you’re a tough girl. That was a bad bullet you took up in Prescott.”

“Aren’t they all bad?”

“What I meant was… sometimes a bullet doesn’t do as much damage as other times. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I admire your courage—and your smile.”

“My smile?”

“You’ve got one of the most beautiful, natural smiles in the world. Makes a man feel right at ease with you from the beginning.”

“Thank you, Mister, I mean, Stuart.”

He walked over to the mantle and lifted up a photograph that had been lying face down. “Did I show you my Lisa? Now, look at that smile. It’s almost the same, don’t you think?”

“I think,” she said softly, “that if I have to compete with a woman that beautiful, I’ll never have a chance.”

“How old are you?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“That’s one way to avoid an answer. You look about… twenty-three or twenty-four. But you’re younger, right?”

“I’m nineteen.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Well, with all the things you’ve done… now don’t get sore if I’m wrong… about forty?”

“You’re a bit wide of the mark. But I’m going to be spending the rest of my life looking back. Do you know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll always be talking about how things used to be, what I’ve done in the past, and about my Lisa. You don’t want to live in my past. It’s too violent, and too sad. Anyway, I’m not very good at expressing myself. What I’m saying is, if I was nineteen and we both had good legs, you’d have to run all the way to San Diego to keep me from catching you.”

“You mean that? You’re not just saying that?”

“I don’t lie.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do. Stuart, would you say we are good friends?”

“We are new friends… yep, I would say good friends. I don’t go around kissing total strangers on the lips, you know.”

“Would it be all right if I told people down in Phoenix that I was a good friend of Stuart Brannon?”

He chuckled. “You certainly may do it, but I’m really not sure that will impress many folks.”

“It impresses me.”

“Julie, you take it easy with that smile. You’ll break a lot of hearts with that weapon.”

“You have a very nice way of telling a girl you’re not interested in her. I don’t feel nearly as bad as I thought I would.”

“I still owe you a dance.”

“And I intend to make you pay. Can I give you some advice?”

“Please do.”

“You aren’t going to find many woman on earth better than Harriet Reed. I suppose you know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I just leave the two of you in here for a few minutes and Julie already has you saying, ‘I do,’” Harriet teased as she entered the room.

“Well, I do need to get some rest. Harriet, could you help me?” Miss Cancino asked.

After dark, Brannon perched under a lantern on the front porch of the house when the soldiers all turned in.

Harriet greeted him. “Well, cowboy, are we going meet out on the porch again?”

“It’s our destiny, Calypso.”

“Did you sail by the siren without altering your course?”

“Yes, but I have to admit I tugged at the ropes that held me to the mast.”

“When did you first read The Odyssey?”

“In a country schoolhouse in the middle of Texas when I was ten. And you?”

“In a New England boarding school when I was twelve. Some stories last a long time. That’s the kind I want to write.”

“I believe you will. Now tell me, why did you push me and Julie into the living room together tonight?”

“Because you’d never get around to talking to her if I didn’t.”

“How did you know what I would say?”

“Intuition.”

“Well, do you know what I’m going to say to you?”

“I suppose you want to tell me you’re madly in love with me, can’t stand the thought of living without me, plead with me to marry you by Saturday, and insist on a honeymoon in the Sandwich Islands.”

“What?”

“Maybe I was off a little. But yes, I really do know what you’re going to say to me. But do you know what I am going to say to you?”

“I’d rather not guess.”

“Okay, I’ll give it to you straight. I like being around you. Somehow you’re able to combine morality and integrity with a western recklessness that puts you in the middle of every major conflict within three hundred miles. I’ve spent my life hiding from all that, and it’s been a boring life.

“The problem with you, Stuart, is that every woman has to compete with Saint Lisa who will never again ever have to raise her voice, say something dumb, comb her messy hair, or have female problems. Now before you get mad and throw me out on my ear, let me add, your love for your wife is part of your strength. If you felt any other way, I, for one, would be disappointed.

“But… here’s what you didn’t know. I think I can share you with her. In fact, I believe in time, you will be able to share some of your heart with me too. What I’m saying is, I’m not pushy, but I am persistent. Don’t expect to excuse me with some wise and witty saying. I’m going to stick to you like mud to a hog.”

“Mud to a hog? Is this Miss Harriet Reed talking?”

“Actually, it was Katie McGregor.”

“Who?”

“She’s the heroine in my novel.”

“She sounds like my kind of gal. I’d like to meet her sometime.”

“Oh, you will, I’m sure you will. Now it’s your turn. What did you want to say to me?”

For the next several hours he told her.

 

So, dearest, with Mr. Brannon and the soldiers gone, I have time to write to you after all. I truly wish you could meet Julie. She’s just like you—if you take away eight years at boarding school. I can’t believe I was so insufferable toward her at first.

 

After that conversation last night with Stuart, I feel that our relationship has made great progress. His normal reaction is to cut of f all relationships with women as soon as he recognizes some attraction. This is one woman who won’t let him do that. Anyway, don’t go buying a wedding present real soon, but the day will come, girl—the day will come!

 

Give my best to Rachel.

Affectionately yours, Miss Harriet Reed

 

“Some riders coming down, Harriet.” She glanced over at Julie who pointed to the south road.

“Mr. Harvey?” she called across at the barn. “Is Mr. Barton over there?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell him we have company.”

The whole party left at the ranch stood on the front porch by the time the man and woman on horseback rode into the yard.

“Good mornin’,” the woman called. “Is Stuart around?”

“He left on a little jaunt with some soldiers. May we help you?” Mr. Barton offered. “Say, aren’t you Judge Quilici?”

“And you’re Barton from the Land Office? My word, what are all you folks doing down here?”

“House guests, but our host slipped out with the troops.”

“We noticed the tents. Is there Indian trouble?”

“Not yet,” Barton replied. “Just a little scouting, I believe.”

“Well, our ranch is just over a couple mountains from here, so we rode in to see how that injured foot of Stuart’s is progressing.”

“Uh-hum,” Harriet coughed.

“Oh, excuse me,” Barton apologized. “Judge Quilici, may I introduce my wife, Gwendolyn, my sister-in-law, Miss Harriet Reed, and Miss Julie Cancino of Prescott. I believe you might have met Mr. Gonzales and Mr. Harvey from the Land Office.”

“And,” Judge Quilici added, “this is my wife, Sage.”

“Sage?” Reed questioned. “S-a-g-e? How delightful. May I borrow it for a character in my novel?”

“A woman of high culture and beauty, no doubt,” Mrs. Quilici teased.

“You really must plan on staying the night,” Harriet added. “It will be late before Stuart returns, and I know he would want to visit with you.”

Judge and Mrs. Quilici dismounted, and Mr. Harvey led their horses to the barn.

“How long have you known Stuart?” Sage asked Harriet.

“Since last fall. We first met him up in Colorado.”

“Actually, Judge,” Mr. Barton said, “I would appreciate your perspective on this Spanish land grant thing. These fellows Brannon came up against, what legal authority do they have?”

The two men wandered back into the living room where they spent most of the rest of the day pouring over papers Barton brought in his valise.

At one o’clock, when Harriet returned to the porch, she plopped down next to Julie reading a book.

“How do you pronounce this name?”

“Aga-mem-non,” Harriet replied.

“Don’t you think this is rather bizarre for all these people to be together on this ranch? It’s like something historic is about to take place.”

Harriet smiled and patted her shoulder. “You’ve been reading too many books.”

“Do you know what? I think I just wiggled my toes.”

“Seriously?”

“There’s nothin’ too serious about wiggling a toe. Unlace my right shoe, would you?”

Harriet tugged at the shoe and sock. With foot lifted on a cushion, Julie wiggled her big toe. “Did you see that? I did that.”

“You certainly did.”

“I never thought I’d be so happy wiggling my toe.”

Both women nearly doubled over in laughter. They noticed neither the dust nor the rattle of a wagon until the young man, horse trailing behind, rolled a supply wagon into the yard.

They turned to stare, but they couldn’t stop laughing.

“Where’s Mr. Brannon? Who are you?” the young man called.

“And who are you?” Julie snickered.

“I’m Earl Howland, and I work for Mr. Brannon. Where is he? What are you doing here? Why are those tents out there? Whose horses are in the corral? And what’s so funny?”

Reed caught her breath. “Excuse us, Mr. Howland. Believe me, we weren’t laughing at you. We were laughing at Julie’s toe. She can wiggle it! Look.”

“Who are you and why are you here?” Howland slowly bent over and lifted his rifle from the floor of the buckboard.

Sage Quilici came to the doorway. “Earl! Glad you made it back safe.”

“Mrs. Quilici, what’s going on?”

“Well, why don’t you come on in and grab a little left-over dinner. These are all friends of Brannon’s from Prescott. Come on and eat, then I’ll fill you in. You can unload the wagon later.”

Howland banged his dusty brown hat on the wagon, replaced it on his head, and climbed down.

“Earl Howland, I’d like you to meet Harriet Reed and Julie Cancino.”

The women grinned at him.

“And this,” Harriet giggled, “is Julie’s famous wiggling toe.”

“Harriet, really!” Julie blushed and smiled at Howland.

He nodded at Miss Cancino. “You’re the woman who got shot up in Prescott.”

“How did you know?”

“Mr. Brannon said you had a smile that would melt the stiffness out of a boiled shirt.”

“He did?”

“He’s right, too. Nice to meet you, Miss Julie… and you too, Miss, eh, ma’am.” He nodded at Harriet, then followed Mrs. Quilici to the kitchen.

Harriet glanced at Julie. “Didn’t we say this was a historic day?”

“Miss Reed, just how old would you say Mr. Howland is?”

“I don’t know, Miss Impressive Smile, but that young man is handsome enough to make more than your toes wiggle.”

“You know, I’m still a little hungry. Do you suppose you could help me into the kitchen?”

 

] ]

 

The Triple B had just settled down after Howland unloaded supplies when another cloud of dust appeared from the north.

Harriet motioned to Julie. “If we get two more visitors, we will qualify for our own post office.”

“As long as they’re handsome men, I suppose we can find room.” She shaded her eyes to peer at the tall rider with a thin mustache who rode straight in the saddle.

The stranger tipped his hat. “I beg your pardon, ladies, I say… is this the Brannon ranch, or did I get myself horribly lost again?”

“Mr. Fletcher?” Harriet sputtered.

“Eh… Miss Reed? I do believe it’s Miss Reed. It is still Miss Reed? My word, Brannon didn’t get married yet, did he?”

“It’s still Miss Reed. Stuart mentioned you were coming in sometime in the next few weeks. I don’t believe he was expecting you so soon.”

“Where is Brannon, and what exactly is going on here?”

“If you’d like to put your horse with the others in the corral, I’ll tell you.”

It was one of those evenings when the sun stayed up forever, the breeze was mild, and every problem in the world seemed less severe. The whole crew sat out on the porch and in the yard after supper, getting acquainted and waiting for their host to return.

About 9:00 p.m. most decided Brannon and the troops would not ride in before morning, so they found their way to their quarters. Howland and Fletcher crowded into the bunkhouse with the other men.

Harriet sat outside for a long while and finally carried the lantern into the house.

“Did he come in yet?” Cancino asked from under the covers.

“No, but I’m sure he’s safe, being with the troops.”

“Or they’re safe being with Brannon. I have a feeling that anyone married to him will spend many a night out on the porch worried sick.”

“Yes, you’re right about that.”

“What do you think of the Englishman?”

Reed faked an English accent. “Mr. Fletcher? I say… he’s quite an interesting chap.” She turned off the lantern and crawled under the comforter. “Are you wiggling those toes again?” She tried to sound serious.

Somewhere in the midst of more giggles, both fell asleep.

Deep in the middle of the night Reed thought she heard the troops ride in. She wanted to get up and check… but she was too, too sleepy.

Even Stuart Brannon couldn’t wake me up now.

 

 

 

 

Eight

 

 

 

First came the sound of gunfire from the bunkhouse. Then a shout. Nelson Barton banged at their door. “Ladies, get dressed. There’s trouble out front.”

“What is it?” Reed called.

After no reply, Harriet cautiously pulled open the wooden shutter on the window and peeked out. She viewed a tranquil scene of a mountain slope to the east and the morning sun cresting the ridge. Facing the back of the house, the small bedroom she shared with Miss Cancino offered no sight of the front yard and the roads leading out of the valley.

She helped Julie dress. “No time to look beautiful, girl.”

“But what kind of trouble? Indians?”

“I don’t know. Put your arm around my neck.”

“Harriet, I’m scared.”

“Me too.”

“I wish Mr. Brannon were here.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Is there an extra gun around?”

“A gun?”

“It’s the best way to meet trouble.”

“Miss Cancino, you surprise me.”

“Harriet, I’ve spent my life livin’ on the other side of town from folks like you.”

“I did see a revolver hanging by the back door. Is that what you mean?”

“Yeah, I want it.”

Reed carried Julie, revolver in hand, to the living room. They heard a clamor on the front porch.

Judge and Sage Quilici and Nelson and Gwendolyn Barton stood outside the open front door. Two men sat horseback, and a third stood a few feet from the Bartons.

“I know that man,” Cancino whispered.

“Who is he?”

“He beat up Sylvia one time—real bad.”

“Look, Mister, I don’t care who you are or how many women and kids you have in there. You’re trespassing on private property.”

“This is insane,” Barton shouted. “This Territory will not be run by two-bit criminals.”

With jarring quickness, the man’s fist caught Barton on the chin and sent the land agent sprawling back against the door. Mrs. Barton cried out and stooped to assist her husband.

With her right arm clutching Harriet’s neck, Julie struggled to the doorway. As the man reached down for the revolver on his hip, she shouted, “Mister, you touch that gun and you’ll have a hole in your head big enough to drive a mule through.” She raised the cocked pistol within three feet of the man.

“That’s a dangerous toy for a woman to be playing with. Surely you don’t think I’m afraid of being shot by some saloon girl?”

“Surely you don’t think some saloon girl would hesitate to separate what little brain you have from the rest of your worthless body.”

“Julie,” Harriet whispered, “I think I’m going to faint.”

Speaking between clenched teeth, Julie replied, “Don’t you dare.”

“Well, boys,” the man said to the riders, “I guess we’ll have to shoot our way out of here.”

“I say now, I do believe you’re correct about that.”

Everyone on the porch whipped about to see Fletcher, Howland, and Harvey holding rifles.

The other two covered the men on horseback, and Fletcher stepped up to the porch. “Sorry we’re late. We were trying to determine if the others were going to open fire.”

“How many others?” the judge asked.

“Around fifty, I guess. Gonzales is keeping watch.”

“So they brought a whole outlaw army,” Sage Quilici asked.

“One shot from down here and they ride in, bullets flying. If you value these ladies’ lives…” The man slowly reached for his gun.

Fletcher’s rifle butt caught the man in the stomach. The barrel crashed against his head. He tumbled off the porch and into the yard.

“Mr. Fletcher,” Reed gasped.

The two on horseback started to go for their guns, but rifles quickly pressed into their backs.

“My word, I’ve been around Brannon much too long. Judge, help me throw this old boy across his saddle,” Fletcher called. Turning to Howland, he barked, “Pull their guns, bullets, and rifles.”

“You cain’t—”one started to complain. But the slide of a rifle barrel up his back to his neck silenced him.

“These guns are being confiscated as evidence of assault and attempted extortion,” the judge explained. “Since you are working for Warren G. Burlingame, we’ll hold this proof until he shows up to claim them.”

“When we come back, there won’t be any evidence left,” one man threatened.

“You are facing a judge, a presidential-appointed land agent, U.S. federal troops, assorted other guns, mean women, and Stuart Brannon. Is C.V.L paying you good enough for that? Before you boys come riding in here, I’d demand a raise,” Fletcher said.

“I don’t see no troops.”

“You see those army tents, don’t you? We aren’t growing tomatoes in them.”

“If you go towards the buildings, we will have to ask the troops for assistance.”

“You got no legal right to be here.”

The judge waved his finger at the men. “Until any land grant is settled, this land belongs to Stuart Brannon.”

“That’s not what the attorneys say.”

“Well,” the judge went on, “you send down the lawyers, and we’ll discuss the legalities of the matter. But anyone else who rides down here with gun drawn, threatening ladies, will be shot on sight.”

“Hank Jedel’s going to be mad—real mad. You don’t think we’ll just ride away, do you?”

“And you don’t think we’ll disappear, do you?” Sage Quilici offered.

“Well, it looks like a standoff.”

“You can stand anywhere you want as long as it’s not on the Triple B Ranch,” Howland said.

“Earl, I never thought you’d double-cross us like this.”

Howland raised his rifle.

“Don’t shoot him, Mr. Howland,” Cancino called.

He lowered the rifle. “A man is known by his friends. I make my stand with these folks. And you’re making your stand with the likes of Jedel.” He slapped the rump of the horse, and all three horses bolted up the trail.

At the top of the southern hill, the other riders waited.

“Mr. Barton, how’s the jaw?”

“No damage… yet.”

“Sorry about holding off, but we thought for sure the others would ride in. I think the tents fooled them.”

Harriet began to breathe again. “It won’t fool them for long.”

“If Brannon and the others ride back soon, we should be all right.”

“Will they really attack?” Reed asked.

“That’s a good question. We’ll need a quick defense,” Fletcher replied. “My word, Brannon, I do wish you’d get home.”

Within fifteen minutes the six men and four women secured the bunkhouse, barn, and house. Harriet scurried to deliver breakfast to everyone.

“You look like Florence Nightingale moving through the troops in the Crimea,” Fletcher remarked.

“And this looks like a war.”

 

] ]

 

Stuart Brannon had every intention of riding to the upper end of the ranch and returning home the same day. But what they found in the mud near Jinete Springs caused him to reconsider.

“What do you think, Brannon… maybe a dozen ponies?”

Unable to dismount and remount, Brannon studied the tracks as he leaned over the saddle. “Sergeant, it looks about that way. Of course, I’ve seen two Apaches make tracks look like a hundred, and fifty braves can cover up their trail until you’d swear not even a jackrabbit passed through.”

“So what are you sayin’?”

“That a dozen is a good guess, but be prepared.”

“You do agree that they’re fresh?”

“Some of them still have water standing in them, and the grass is bent—with a warm, dry day like yesterday, I’d say last night or this morning. You going to follow them?”

“For a while. I need to find out how many there are. My orders were to apprehend Two Slash for questioning, push any others back onto the reservation, and locate an eastern trail through these mountains.”

“Even if there’s only a dozen or so, it will be difficult to get them out of these mountains.”

“Is it all rocks and trees from here on up?”

“All except the caves and canyons.”

“I suppose we should return to the ranch, pack up camp, and then come back. But with these tracks so fresh, maybe we ought to follow them into the mountains for the rest of the day and try to determine how many there are. That way we’ll know whether to pursue or send for additional troops.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Brannon lifted his bad foot with his hands and repositioned it. “You’ll need to stick to the tree line and contour around this mountain. There’s no trail, but the boulders are too rough down below, and the timber is too thick up above. When you come to a long, steep draw with a little stream, you’ll need to turn north and ride right up the stream. Then you’ll—”

“Brannon, any chance I could talk you into riding on up there with us?”

“You know, with all those folks back at the ranch—”

“They ain’t going to leave until we return, right?”

“No, I don’t suppose so.”

“How about us ridin’ up there until dark, makin’ a little cold camp, and then return to the ranch tomorrow? If we get far enough away from the springs, maybe the tracks will be easier to read.”

Brannon hesitated. “Let’s water the horses and grab a bite to eat. And I’ll think on it, Sergeant.”

Jenner helped Brannon ease down and took care of El Viento. Brannon hopped over to some shade and propped his swollen foot up on a rock. Most of what he could see of the foot was purple and yellow.

Lord, when are the fights not my fights? Yet how can I send them up there, just the sergeant and a bunch of kids? They don’t know their way around these mountains yet. If I knew for sure there would be no fighting, I could let them wander around… but if they run into a band like Two Slash’s, it would be a mighty rough battle. And there’s no one else around who could scout them through…

Lord, what am I doing up here in the first place? I ought to be back at the house… yet if these boys get in a fight…

The sergeant sat down next to Brannon. “Well, Brannon… you going to ride with us?”

“With no boot and a foot the size of a head of cabbage I can’t do you a whole lot of good. Still, if you get lost, I’ll have to come back up here and find you… so I guess I’ll ride with you and save myself a trip. Now, mind you, I will be turning back at the crack of dawn.”

“Sounds fair enough. You ready to go on?”

“Let’s do it. This foot will either get better or fall off. Either way will be an improvement.”

The Apaches stuck to the timberline, just as Brannon predicted, but they kept the horses more on the edge of the rock. That meant it was easy to follow their tracks but almost impossible to predict their number.

For three hours the soldiers rode single file with Brannon at the lead through the mountains. Each man’s rifle lay across his lap, and his eyes scanned both the trees and boulders.

Brannon halted the troops as they crossed a very small stream. “Twelve horses, tops… maybe only ten,” he told the sergeant.

“Could be Two Slash then?”

“Could be. Providing they stole more horses. We only left them with six, remember?”

“How far ahead of us?”

“I don’t know. Sometime today.”

“Do you think they know we’re up here?”

“We’ll find out.”

“That’s what I came up here for. I believe we’ll camp here at the stream.”

“If you’re going to camp, it might be best to find a more defensible position.”

“Do you think they might attack?”

“Nope. But up here you only get to be wrong once.”

“Maybe we should go into those rocks?”

“Perhaps. Why don’t you and the boys fill up the canteens, and Jenner and I will scout up there for a campsite.”

Within minutes, Brannon and Jenner lost sight of the others.

“Mr. Brannon, how close do you figure we are to the Indians?”

“A few miles, I suppose.”

“Why don’t we hurry up the trail and catch them?”

“What’s the first rule I told you yesterday?”

“Eh… try to avoid a fight if you can?”

“Especially if they know you’re coming,” Brannon added. “My advice would be for you to never get too close, but sort of herd them back onto the reservation. Then you can single out the troublemakers and deal with them one at a time.”

“Makes sense to me.”

A split-second, chilling stillness rolling down Brannon’s back caused him to rein up on El Viento. Jenner kept going, pulling slightly ahead of him.

He wanted to halt Jenner and listen.

He never got that chance.

After a sickening thud, Brannon didn’t need to look. His rifle at his shoulder, he fired two shots before Jenner, arrow in his chest, fell to the rocks. Brannon leaped out off the saddle, staggered, and fell to the ground. Jenner struggled to get his breath as Brannon fought to remove the arrow.

El Viento, followed by Jenner’s horse, retreated back towards the creek. Brannon shielded Jenner and searched the rocks. He thought he saw movement up the mountain to the right. Glancing at Jenner, Brannon leaned over and closed the eyelids over frightened, lifeless eyes.

Lord…

There was nothing more Brannon could think to say.

Knowing that the sergeant and the others would soon be coming behind him, Brannon dragged himself through the rocks in pursuit of the Indian.

Maybe it’s a trap to draw me into an ambush. If so, then they don’t know about the sergeant and the other men. Maybe there’s only a couple…

Stumbling, falling, mostly crawling, Brannon kept low behind the rocks and boulders as he inched his way up the mountain. Several tries at putting a little weight on his injured foot did little good. He resorted to crawling along, dragging his right leg. After a few minutes of making little progress, Brannon dragged himself into the protection of the underside of a large boulder and glanced back down the mountain. From there he could see Jenner’s body. Cloverdale and men spread out and cautiously approached their comrade on foot.

Then there was a grinding, like sandpaper across a rough surface.

Brannon knew the sound. Moccasins on granite.

He’s above me. If I could only move quickly. He’ll shoot Cloverdale, but I can’t reveal my position… or can I?

Brannon let out a blood-curdling war cry. Down below, Cloverdale and the others dove behind rocks with guns pointed toward Brannon.

At the same instant, the warrior above him on the rock leaped down, throwing a knife at Brannon. Brannon rolled away from the rock without time to pull a trigger. The Indian was on him before Brannon could raise the rifle.

In the duel for possession, the Indian’s knee slammed down on Brannon’s injured foot. For a split second he thought he was going to pass out, but with a final burst of strength, he smashed the rifle barrel against the Indian’s head. Brannon noticed the deep scars on the Indian’s upper arms.

With head bleeding, the Indian scooped up his knife and charged at Brannon, who still lay on his back. He pointed the rifle at the Indian, but the warrior was too quick. The ill-aimed shot hit Two Slash in the shoulder and spun him completely around, still facing Brannon. Left arm dangling, he again dove at Brannon.

The second shot ended his pursuit.

After a brief moment of quiet, he heard Cloverdale shout, “Brannon!”

He waved the barrel of his rifle at the troops. “Up here!”

“How many are there?”

“Don’t know…” Brannon was so out of breath he could hardly speak.

“Can we send a couple men up to you?”

“No! Hold your positions. Watch the horses and dig in. They could come from any direction.”

“Is it Two Slash?”

“Yeah. He killed Jenner, but I took care of that.”

“He’s dead?”

Brannon looked again at the Indian’s body. “Yeah, he’s dead.”

Fifteen minutes later, Cloverdale called, “Brannon, I’m coming up.”

“Keep low, Sergeant—real low.”

Brannon wrapped his bandanna around his bleeding, injured foot.

Cloverdale inched his way up, took a look at Two Slash, and stared at Brannon’s foot. “Are you all right?”

“It got smashed and the pain’s next to unbearable, but no new injuries.”

“How’d it happen?”

“Jenner? Just like it always happens. We were riding out of those trees, and an arrow came out of nowhere. You never see them coming.”

“The boys are pretty hot. They want to pursue.”

“They want to chase them through these rocks at night?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, the way I got it figured—either they’ll attack us before dark, or they’ll retreat and ride all night. They could be back on the upper end of the reservation before dawn, and there’s no way we could identify any of them.”

“That might be, but my men aren’t going to just ride away. They have to try to follow.”

“Yeah… I know. How about we creep up this hill at least until the sun goes down. If we haven’t found them, we head back down.”

“In the dark?”

“Until we get to Jinete Springs. If they reach the reservation, you might as well wire the agent and let him handle it from there.”

“You think it’s safe to mount up?”

“I hope so, Sergeant. I really hope so.”

After the horses were brought, several of the men tied Jenner’s body to his saddle. Two of them approached the dead Apache with their knives drawn.

Brannon cocked his rifle and shouted, “Don’t touch him.”

“Are you going to scalp him, Mr. Brannon?”

“No one is going to scalp him.”

“But he killed Jenner.”

“And he’s dead. You mutilate his body, and there will be twenty-five more warriors on the trail. Only next time you might not be around, and they’ll ride right down Sunrise Creek to the Triple B.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Throw him across the front of my saddle.”

Soon the troops started climbing the rocky hillside. Progress was slow, and the sun slipped behind the western horizon when they came to the mouth of a shallow cave among the boulders.

“This was their camp,” Cloverdale called.

“Look, Sergeant, they lit out in a hurry toward the southeast.” Brannon rubbed his leg, which hurt too much to keep in the stirrup.

“Straight for the reservation?”

“That’s my opinion.”

“Are we going to pursue?” one of the soldiers asked the sergeant.

Everyone, including Brannon, peered at Cloverdale. “Nope.”

“Sergeant,” one of the men yelled. “We found this pony.” He led a short gray horse over to Brannon and Cloverdale.

“Was he tied up or running loose?”

“Eh… tied. Why?”

“That means they left this pony on purpose.”

“Why?”

“Because it belongs to Two Slash.”

“So he could escape?”

“Nope. So we could send the body home.”

“You going to send him home on that pony?” the man protested.

“Yep.”

“Sergeant?” the soldier complained.

“The purpose is to stop the killin’, not increase it,” the sergeant replied. “Send it back to ’em like Brannon said.”

They stumbled their way back down the mountain. They reached the creek under a full moon. The night was half gone when, cold and tired, they reached the springs on the upper end of the Triple B Ranch.

They didn’t make much of a camp.

They didn’t need one.

The pain in Brannon’s foot kept him awake most of the night.

That and thoughts of Private Jenner.

Lord, why did I ask Jenner to go with me up in those rocks? Why did the arrow hit him and not me? Why did I stop and he go on? Why didn’t I ride back to the ranch this afternoon and let the troops go on their own? They might have gotten lost and never stumbled into those Apaches at all.

Both sides fightin’ for what they think is right. But only one side will win. Maybe… maybe it will never be resolved. A violent land ruled by violent men? It’ll be different someday—if there’s anyone left alive to enjoy it.

I am not a violent man!

 

] ]

 

Cloverdale didn’t push his troops the next morning, but most of the men awoke by sun-up. The talk around the campfire centered on things like saddles, weather, and food. No one really wanted to say anything.

Several of the men came over to Brannon. “Did ya have to fight him hand to hand, Mr. Brannon?”

“He jumped me before I could get my rifle up.”

“How come you screamed like that? It just about turned my hair gray.”

“I was afraid he would shoot one of you. He didn’t know I was that close. I was hoping to startle him into making a mistake.”

“I guess it worked.”

“Yeah, it worked this time.”

The grass was just as tall, the flowers just as pretty, and the water that trickled down Sunrise Creek was just as cold as when they rode up the trail the day before. But the mood of the troops differed.

They want a fight.

They’re angry and afraid.

They want vengeance.

It’s got to be justice, Lord. This country has got to be settled on justice, not revenge.

Sergeant Cloverdale spurred up beside Brannon. “Think we’ll ride on down to Phoenix with Barton. I’ll need to know if this is part of a wider outbreak or just one band.”

“I’m sure the folks will like the protection.”

“I don’t know…” Cloverdale paused. “I figure some of them ladies were just as happy to stay right on the ranch.”

“You ever think about quitting the army, Sergeant?”

“Every time I lose a Jenner… or a Taylor. I must have quit in my mind a hundred times.”

“But you never do?”

“Brannon, this is all I know.”

“Oh, that sounds good to the recruits, but it doesn’t wash with me. I’ve run across ex-soldiers panning for gold, breaking wild horses, running saloons, punching cattle… you name it.”

“Well… maybe so. Why do you keep at it? You don’t have to be up here. Me and Jenner didn’t have a choice once we signed on. So why don’t you pull out of this country?”

“I have too much invested in it. Not just time and money, but heartaches, sorrows, and delights as well.”

“There’s a high cost to settle a new land,” the sergeant said.

“Yep, it takes a Jenner and a Taylor, a Lisa and the baby, a young Julie and a stray bullet…”

“And a Stuart Brannon?”

“Yeah… and a Sergeant Cloverdale. But we’re too close to the finish line to quit now. The cost has been great, and I guess I want to stick around long enough to make sure it was all worthwhile.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s it, isn’t it? Something keeps nagging at a man’s insides… telling him it will all be worthwhile. Did you ever think of joining the army?”

“Never.”

“Too bad.”

“Sergeant,” one of the men called. “You want to look at this?”

They looked up to see a private who had been scoping the ranch, still a good distance away.

“What are you lookin’ at?” Cloverdale asked.

“He was trying to spot Miss Julie,” another of the men teased.

“Eh, I was… you know—looking to see if everything is all right.”

“And?”

“It looks like… it looks like there’s, ah, a lot of men down there.”

“What? Where?” Brannon whipped around on El Viento and grabbed the brass telescope from the man’s hand.

“What is it?” the sergeant asked.

“Collectors! Casa Verde Land Corporation Collectors.”

“How many?”

“Forty… fifty. I can’t tell.”

“And the Bartons? What about Miss Julie?” one of the soldiers asked.

“From where that gang is camped, high up on that south road, I’d say it’s a draw,” Brannon replied.

 

 

 

 

Nine

 

 

 

“Can these bones live?” Brannon mumbled.

“What?” Cloverdale retorted.

“Ezekiel 37—the valley of dry bones. I left this ranch covered with the bones of dead cattle. Now the place is covered with people. Do you know there are more people on this piece of ground right now than have ever been on it before?”

“Not exactly a quiet, remote ranch at the moment. What do we do?”

“I won’t ask government troops to settle my land claim, so you might want to stay out of the line of fire.”

Cloverdale looked back at his men and glanced down at the ranch house. “We, of course, try to avoid getting entangled in domestic disputes. Those fall under the jurisdiction of the county sheriff. However, since we’ve lost one of our men due to an unprovoked ambush by Indians, I’ve decided we’ll continue to camp at the Triple B Ranch, to try to prevent future Indian attacks on settlers.”

“And if you happen to be fired on while doing your duty?” Brannon asked.

“We will, of course, defend ourselves.”

“Thanks, Sergeant.”

“What do we do first?”

“I really don’t think they’ll fire on the U.S. Cavalry, but ride down with rifles ready. If it doesn’t compromise your defense, I’d like for us to ride in single file… stretching out the line as long as we can. They’ll have us outnumbered three to one, but those odds aren’t bad if we can make it to the yard.”

“And if we don’t?”

“You boys will have to do whatever army regulations allow. I’m going into the yard and defend my ranch.”

“Line ‘em up… spread them out… and take it slow,” the sergeant hollered.

Brannon led the column of troops right down the middle of the valley toward the ranch house and barn. Cloverdale followed, then came Jenner’s body and horse and the other troops.

“Sergeant,” Brannon called back, “have you got a bugler?”

“Yep. What do you want?”

“How about Taps?”

“For Jenner?”

“Yeah… and to give the rest of them serious thought.”

 

] ]

 

Fletcher and Howland stationed in the bunkhouse, closest to the Collectors. Gonzales and Harvey guarded the horses and barn. The Bartons stood guard at the back door, with Judge and Mrs. Quilici at the front. Julie Cancino insisted on sitting on the front porch in her chair, a revolver in each hand.

They all watched as the Collectors mounted up, swept out in a wide arc, and paced slowly down the hill. Harriet Reed, acting as runner, took more ammunition out to Fletcher and Howland in the bunkhouse.

At Julie’s insistence she wore a gun, holster, and belt over her shoulder. “What are they doing?” she asked.

“Moving in ‘til they draw fire,” Howland suggested.

“Then what?”

“They can say they were defending themselves.”

“They really want to kill us?” she asked.

“They only want us to leave, but they’ll stop at nothing to see that happen.”

She heard an eerie, distant sound. “What’s that?”

“A horn, perhaps?”

“Where?”

Howland, Fletcher, and Reed stepped out the door to gaze around. Judge and Mrs. Quilici stood on the porch of the house.

“My word, it’s Taps,” Fletcher exclaimed.

“Look up the valley,” Howland shouted.

“It’s the troops.” Reed held her hand over her eyes to spot the column. “They’re coming back,” she yelled across to Julie. “But why Taps? You only play that at the end of the day.”

“Or when someone dies,” Howland added.

“Dead? Oh, no.” Reed panicked. “No, not Stuart.” She darted towards the house.

“Really, Miss Reed—” Fletcher began.

But instead she skirted the south side of the building and rushed up the valley towards the oncoming troops. She hiked her long white dress above her ankles and ran even faster.

Please, Lord, not Brannon. We need him! I need him!

As she broke out into the open behind the house, a rider on a bay horse dashed out from the band of Collectors and circled the ranch.

“He’s heading for Miss Reed,” Howland yelled.

Fletcher began to sprint after her, but a barrage of bullets forced everyone back into the buildings, except Miss Cancino. She absolutely refused to be budged from her chair.

For a few moments those in the barn, house, and bunkhouse returned fire. The distance between the warring parties was so great that all shots, from both sides, did little more than kick up dust.

 

] ]

 

Brannon saw the Collector break out and gallop towards the back of the house. Then dozens of shots rang out, like a string of distant firecrackers on the Fourth of July.

He spurred El Viento up a notch, and the soldiers did the same.

Suddenly, he saw her.

It must be Miss Reed. Julie can’t walk. Mrs. Barton wouldn’t. He’s after Harriet!

Brannon cocked the Winchester and spurred El Viento. The big black horse sensed the urgency and bolted away from the troops and down the valley.

She’s too far. I can’t get there. Harriet, go back!

 

] ]

 

Reed heard rifle fire and the rumble of hoof beats. She stopped to catch her breath. She looked up in surprise to see how far away the column of troops remained. A stinging slap of a hemp rope banged against the back of her neck. She almost tumbled head over heels. Then, abruptly, she was yanked off her feet, a rope around her waist. Dragged backwards in the dirt, Reed grabbed for the revolver in the holster still clinging to her shoulder.

“I’ll shoot,” she screamed.

The man with the dirty face on the bay horse stopped dragging her for a moment to reach for his own gun. In sheer terror, Harriet pulled the trigger. Nothing happened but a feeble click.

“No!” she screamed.

“Took a shot at me, did ya?” he sneered. “Well, that makes it self-defense, don’t it?”

He aimed his revolver.

In panic, Harriet pulled back the hammer and squeezed the trigger again. This time the Colt .45 blasted away, sending a bullet behind the ear of the horse. The animal staggered and fell backwards, pinning the man’s right leg as it fell.

“You killed my horse,” he screamed, trying to yank his leg free and retrieve his weapon.

Harriet’s entire body quaked. She couldn’t close her mouth. She tried to stand, the rope still cinched around her waist, but she collapsed to her knees.

“I’ll kill you,” the man threatened.

Another horse rode up behind her. She whipped around with the gun pointed and cocked. When she saw it was Brannon, she dropped the gun, fell to her hands and knees, and sobbed.

She didn’t want to cry. But she couldn’t stop.

Brannon rode past Miss Reed and straight at the downed gunman.

“She killed my horse,” The man was still screaming. He found the strength to wrench his foot out from under the horse and roll over and grab his revolver.

Brannon dove from the saddle, and the barrel of the Winchester crashed alongside the man’s ear, as his hand grabbed the revolver handle. A shot fired into the dirt, and the unconscious man crumpled.

Crawling around the dead horse, Brannon hurried to Reed. She swayed on her hands and knees, covered with dirt, in hysterics. He sat on the ground next to her and pulled her to himself, rocking her in his arms.

“It’s okay, Harriet… it’s all right now… everything’s fine .”

When she finally stopped crying, she and Brannon were surrounded by army troops. The man who chased her was gagged and tied.

“Sergeant,” Brannon called, “could you help me to my saddle?” Once aboard El Viento, he again addressed the sergeant. “Could you hand up Miss Reed? She can ride in with me.”

Brannon cradled her on his lap, and she held her arms tight around his neck.

The gunfire at the ranch stopped as both sides watched the drama in the valley behind the house. The soldiers rode in first, followed by Cloverdale leading the bound Collector on foot, then Brannon and Reed.

The sergeant quickly stationed his men around the circumference of the yard and tied the prisoner to a tree.

Brannon rode up.

Julie beside herself trying to stand. “Brannon, is Harriet—? Did she get hurt?”

“Judge! Sage?” Brannon exclaimed. “What are you doing in all this?”

“Just a simple neighborly visit, Stuart.” Mrs. Quilici assisted Harriet off the horse and led her into the house.

Gwendolyn Barton helped Miss Cancino, and all four women disappeared into the back rooms.

“Good heavens, Stuart, I’m gone for a few weeks and you start a war.”

Brannon whipped around in the saddle. “Edwin! Well, it’s about time you got here.” Brannon slipped out of the saddle and collapsed on his bad foot. He grabbed out and caught the Englishman around the neck.

“I say, is that your foot or an eggplant?”

“Put me on that bench,” Brannon ordered, “and then tell me what’s going on here.”

“Me? I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Brannon and Fletcher had barely begun to visit when Howland shouted from the bunkhouse, “A rider’s coming, and he’s waving a white flag.”

A man on a paint horse trotted towards the buildings. As he entered the yard, he held the reins high with both hands. “Brannon,” he shouted, “you and me need to talk.”

Earl Howland followed the man across the yard with his rifle held to the man’s back. “Jedel, if there is any hint of deception in this visit, you will be shot dead on the spot.”

“Yeah, and if I don’t ride back up there unharmed, those boys will crash down that mountain shooting everyone in this place.”

“Okay,” Brannon said, “we’ve got the formalities taken care of. I presume you rode in here to apologize for your unsocial behavior.”

“I rode in here,” Jedel shouted, “to give you all one last warning. I want to make this clear. You are all trespassing on Casa Verde Land Corporation property, which is owned by Burlingame and Associates through a deeded Spanish land grant. This site has in fact been designated the headquarters, and, as such, we’ll need you to clear the premises before nightfall.”

“We’ve been through this with your other boys,” Brannon reminded him.

“Yes. Well, I believe it’s important for everyone to understand the gravity of the situation. Of course, those of you who happen to be caught here as guests will be allowed to leave, taking either the north or south roads. You will not be followed or harassed in any way.”

“Just like Miss Reed wasn’t harassed coming out to meet the troops?” Fletcher challenged.

“That was totally unauthorized, I assure you. Sergeant, since army troops are not supposed to be used to settle domestic disputes, I presume you will be leaving soon?”

“Jedel,” Cloverdale roared, “I will leave whenever I want to. We’re staying here to protect settlers from an Indian attack.”

“But there aren’t any Indians around here.”

“Mister, I’ve got to bury one of my best men who was bushwhacked up in those hills last night. So don’t go telling me where Indians is or ain’t.”

“Then you aren’t moving your troops?”

“Not until threat of Indian attack subsides or I’m ordered to leave.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Cloverdale roared.

“Do I understand that all of you are staying?”

“Every one of us,” Nelson Barton replied.

“A dumb choice. You might be chased out, carried out, or drug out—but none of you is staying in this valley.”

The judge marched to the front. “That grant has not been approved by Congress. By what authority do you make such claims?”

“By the authority of fifty armed men.”

“Forty-nine,” Brannon corrected and nodded toward the man tied and gagged at the tree.

“The fact of the matter, this property will be secured for the Casa Verde Land Corporation. We will attempt to do that without injury to innocent bystanders, U.S. troops, or ladies. But if you insist upon staying in the line of fire, I can make no guarantees.”

Brannon staggered over to the man. “Jedel, I’m surprised at your sudden conversion to bravery. The last we met up in Black Canyon, you were trying to bribe the sheriff into letting you go to Mexico. You were a worthless murderer then, and you’ve done nothing to show any improvement. The only one here that needs to make a decision is you.”

With lightning speed Brannon pulled his pistol, cocked it, and laid the barrel up against Jedel’s temple. “Have you ever thought about what in life’s worth dying for, Jedel?”

“W—w—what?” he stammered.

“Look around at this ranch. I’ve already decided that it’s worth dying for. You and those men up there are going to have to come to the same conclusion.” Brannon reset the hammer and hobbled back to the bench.

“What about all these others, Brannon?” Jedel screamed. “Do they want to die for your so-called ranch?”

“They’re all free to go.”

“And I certainly hope they do.”

“It might be a long time,” Judge Quilici warned.

“I don’t think so, Judge,” Jedel sneered.

“Jedel, you bore me,” Brannon replied. “Get on your horse and get out of here. You have threatened the lives of honest men, soldiers, and some of the Territory’s most charming women. I will not tolerate that on my ranch. If you ride up here again, I will personally throw you off.”

“You’re making a grievous mistake that could cost the lives of innocent bystanders. Their blood will be on your hands, Brannon.”

“And take that worthless hired man of yours with you. We’re not about to spend a dime feeding him. We’re keeping his rifle, handgun, and saddle to be sold and the money given to Miss Reed for the damage done to her dress and person. Is that a fair ruling, Your Honor?” he asked the judge.

“It would certainly be a minimum sentence,” Quilici replied.

“You folks are all at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Jedel shouted. “This is a historic spot where the DePalma-Revera Land Grant will be settled—not in Tucson or Washington, DC. And all of you are on the wrong side of the line.” Jedel threw his left foot into the stirrup, pulled it back down, and turned. “Brannon, I should have killed you years ago. You’re a marked man. There’ll be another grave up by those piñons before long. You aren’t riding out of this valley alive.”

“I’m not riding out of this valley at all.”

Jedel mounted his horse and rode to the bound man. Howland released him from the tree, still hand-tied and gagged. Jedel forced the man to trail along after him as they worked their way back up to the others.

“He’s right about one thing, Stuart,” Judge Quilici intervened. “A little Arizona history is going to be made right here.”

“Oh, yes, I can see the title of the novel,” Fletcher droned, “Brannon Blasts the Collectors.”

“You folks will have to excuse our foreign cousin here.” Brannon scowled. “His literary background makes him a tad dramatic.”

“Hah!” Fletcher shouted. “In the confusion, I forgot to give you this present I picked up at a bookstore in San Francisco.” He slapped a small book into Brannon’s hands.

“What?” Brannon exclaimed. “Where did you get this? What is this?”

“As you can plainly see, it is Brannon Tames the Town by Mr. Hawthorne H. Miller. I rather like the lithograph on the cover… although Rose Creek looks slightly too European.”

“But… he can’t… I didn’t authorize… this is—”

“Say, Mr. Brannon,” Howland spoke up, “can I read that book sometime?”

“It’s a popular number in San Francisco, and I hear New York City is flocking to get a copy,” Fletcher said. “For fifty cents more I could have purchased a volume signed by Mr. Stuart Brannon himself. It was nice of you to sign all of those, Stuart.”

“This is… is... ” Brannon stammered.

“This is the West, Stuart,” Judge Quilici chided. “I do believe a dime novel is the least of your current problems.”

Brannon tugged off his black hat and scratched the back of his head. “Let’s set some kind of guard duty around here.”

Brannon Tames the Town! I can’t believe it.

Soon Brannon reset all the defenses.

“Sergeant, I don’t want to use your men for this land squabble. But having you camped out here will be a deterrent. So, withdraw to that area around your tents, and do whatever you need to. We’ll keep one man at the bunkhouse, one at the barn, and one here on the porch. If they make a move during the daylight, we’ll have time to set up before they can get here. The others can rest and take shifts.”

“Do you think they’ll actually attack?” Fletcher asked.

“They have to try something. Those men will get restless sitting on a hillside day after day. If they don’t do something, they’ll start to drift out of here.”

“You are going to just sit around and wait for someone to start shooting? My word, are you growing old?”

“Somehow land disputes in this Territory have to be settled on a basis other than who has the most guns.”

I am not a violent man.

After surveying all the area, Brannon checked in with Sergeant Cloverdale.

“You’re walking on that foot now?” the sergeant asked.

“Thanks to this crutch that Howland made for me. I think Two Slash busting it open again helped it heal faster. Drained it out, or something. What’s your current spyglass report?”

“Looks like they’re settling down for a siege.”

“Just a matter of who waits it out the longest?”

“At least, that’s what they want us to believe. Jedel and two others rode out on the south road.”

“Going to get further instructions, no doubt.”

“Or reinforcements,” the sergeant offered.

Brannon limped slowly across the yard to the main house. He met Gwendolyn Barton in the living room. “Ma’am, how’s Miss Harriet doing?”

“Why don’t you go check? I believe she would like to see you.”

Brannon hobbled down the hall and knocked on the door. “Excuse me…may I come in?”

“Please do,” Miss Cancino called out.

Reed reclined on the bed, and Cancino sat in a chair next to her.

“Who is taking care of whom?” he asked.

Cancino chuckled. “We’re a pair, we are.”

“When it comes to gunfights, I’m afraid Julie has me beat. You know that was the first time I’ve ever fired a gun. I can’t believe I shot the horse. What I mean is, I can’t believe I actually tried to shoot that horrible man.”

“You had to protect yourself. Why were you running out there anyway?”

“If you two need to talk alone, you could shove me out into the hall or something.”

“Are you trying to leave me in this room alone with Mr. Brannon?” Harriet chided. “You stay right where you are and wiggle those toes. Did you hear that she can wiggle her toes?”

“The movement is coming back?” Brannon exclaimed.

“Maybe.” Cancino beamed.

Brannon said softly, “Harriet, you didn’t answer my question.”

“I ran out there because I had a horrible, sinking feeling they were playing Taps for you. I panicked and now I’m horribly embarrassed.”

“Nothing embarrassing about being scared.”

“What I’m most ashamed of is I prayed that it would be anyone else but you. It was unchristian. I had little sympathy for the soldiers. I do hope the Lord will forgive me for my inexcusable selfishness.”

Brannon stared at Reed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with dirt on your face before. It becomes you.”

“Boy, that Brannon is a sweet-talkin’ thing,” Julie teased. “What he’s saying is, ‘Girl, wash that face.’ If you two are finished, maybe we can get cleaned up a bit.”

“Do you think they’ll try anything, Stuart?”

“Not with Jedel gone.”

“So we just wait it out?”

“Yep, both sides perched and ready for battle hoping that the other one backs out before any shots are fired.”

He spent the next hour sitting on the bench in front of the house discussing the situation with Barton and the judge.

“As I understand it, absolutely no one has clear title to a land grant until the Congress says so.”

Barton paced along the porch. “The Surveyor-General of the Territory has the responsibility of ascertaining the origin, nature, character, and extent of all claims to land under the laws, usages, and customs of Spain and Mexico. He submits his report to the Secretary of the Interior, who gives it to Congress for a vote. If it passes, they issue the party a patent deed on the land.”

“So,” the judge added, “there’s a lot of politickin’ in Washington about these grants.”

“Which Burlingame and his gang are very good at,” Brannon added.

“That’s correct, but I’m convinced this is a fraudulent claim.”

“Which means the Surveyor-General will recommend turning it down?”

Barton nodded. “Without question.”

“But if Burlingame can pull strings, he can at least keep it tied up in Congress for quite a while,” the judge chimed in. “And that means continuing to extort rent money from lots of folks.”

“If the Surveyor-General reports not only a false claim, but also a purposeful attempt at deception, that would cut Casa Verde Corporation’s congressional support.”

“Would that end the matter?” Brannon asked.

“For all practical purposes.”

“So you’ve got to prove Burlingame or his attorneys falsified documents, changed dates and names, forged signatures—or at least knowingly bought such documents from someone else who did those things.”

“Which is all pert’ near impossible to prove while sitting down here on the ranch,” Brannon said. “What all need to go down to Tucson and examine the documents.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Or have the Surveyor-General bring all the papers here,” the judge offered.

“Would he do that?”

“At the request of Mr. Barton and myself, he might.”

“I believe the judge is right. On-site verification would be a part of his report. It might be worth a try. But how do we inform him?”

Brannon glanced at Quilici. “Judge, I have a big favor to ask of you and Sage.”

“Oh?”

“I want the two of you to ride out of here. Tell the Collectors you need to get back to your ranch and then keep going. Go straight to Tucson and talk to the Surveyor-General to see if he will agree to come up here.”

“It might take days… even weeks,” Quilici warned.

“It’s either that or settle it with guns. If we shoot it out, I will regret not having exhausted every other possibility.”

“Do you think they’ll let the judge ride out of here?” Barton asked.

“Yep, he’s too important to shoot. Besides, if they think our resolve to stick around is weakening, they might be content to sit still and not do anything for a while, hoping others will leave.”

“I hate to cut down your defenses,” the judge added.

“We’ll manage. Will you do it?”

“Let me step into the kitchen and check with Sage.”

Within thirty minutes Judge and Mrs. Quilici rode their horses up the trail to the south. Brannon stood with a spyglass in hand.

“Four men met them on the road,” he called out. “They’re talking… the judge is pointing towards the house. Sage said something… there! They left. They’re on their way. Sergeant, watch to see if any Collectors try to follow them.”

After four tense days, they observed Jedel ride over Despoblado Pass alone and re-enter his camp. Meanwhile, Brannon noticed increasing anxiety build among those staying at his ranch.

At supper he called a meeting.

“I think they’ll try something tonight. The longer we keep possession of these buildings, the better will be our chances.”

“Will they try to kill all of us?” Miss Cancino asked.

“I don’t think they’ll try to kill anyone other than me, and maybe Earl. They want to scare the rest of you into leaving. If he got hold of Burlingame, I would expect some attempt to evict us that doesn’t harm the ladies. If I were them, I’d try to burn us out.”

Fletcher spoke up. “How will they get that close? A diversion?”

“I suppose.”

“What will we do?”

“Extra guards—and water and wet blankets to put out a fire.”

Howland scowled. “Is that all we can do?”

“Nope. We can set fire to their camp first.”

“What?” Miss Reed gasped.

“Now that’s the Brannon we know and love,” Fletcher quipped.

“We’ll need to do it in a nonviolent sort of way, of course.” Brannon pulled out his revolver and spun the chamber. “As soon as I figure out one.”

Handing him a plate of stew and piece of bread, Miss Reed sat down next to him.

“You changed your dress,” he commented.

“Mine are all filthy.” She grimaced. “I borrowed this one from Julie.”

“I noticed.”

“What do you mean, you ‘noticed’?”

“I noticed you don’t seem to fill it out as well as Miss Cancino does.”

Her elbow flew in Brannon’s direction. The entire contents of his plate dumped into his lap.

“Oh, my, I’m terribly sorry,” she huffed. “Maybe Miss Cancino can assist you in cleaning up. I need to go to my room and slip into something that fits better.”

“Boy, Brannon, you’re a real charmer,” Cancino snickered. “I’m sure glad I dumped you when I had the chance.”

“Go wiggle your toes.” Brannon glared as he tried scraping stew off his duckings with a spoon.

 

 

 

 

Ten

 

 

 

Howland approached the barn. “I think we’re all set, Mr. Brannon.”

Brannon pulled his revolver from his holster and slipped a bullet out of his belt and into the sixth chamber.

“We going to need a full load?” Howland asked.

“Perhaps. Cloverdale and men will come up and help put out any fires. But if it comes to a gun battle, they’ve got to defend themselves first. Now we’ve got to get our attack planned out.”

“Stuart, we aren’t going to try to set fire to their camp, are we?” Fletcher inquired. “There’s nothing up there to burn.”

“What I had in mind was a response that would remind them that every attack on the ranch would cost them something. I figure if they start trying to set a fire down here, we’ll burn down their chuck wagon.”

“I say, that doesn’t sound horribly drastic considering what they will attempt.”

Brannon leaned against a hitching rail to take some weight off his injured foot. “Edwin, I’m trying real hard not to have anymore killings. I don’t want to give those Collectors any justification for riding in here, guns blazing. As for the chuck wagon…” He turned to Howland. “Earl, you’ve ridden with the wagon. What do you think?”

“You burn down the chuck and you might start a war. Besides their supplies, that wagon will be filled with bedrolls, personal belongs, extra bullets—you name it. I’ve known whole crews to quit when the chuck wagon’s lost.”

Fletcher glanced across the yard at the flickering lights in the house. “How do you propose to do this pusillanimous deed?”

“One of us could crawl up there through the tall grass and wait until they start something. When they see their own rig burning, they might have second thoughts about pressing the attack.”

“You really think that will catch their attention.”

“Guaranteed. A couple sticks of dynamite are hard to ignore.”

“Dynamite, you say?”

“Yep. Earl brought me a boxful from Florence. I was planning on using it up near the springs to build a diversion pond. I believe I can spare a couple sticks.”

“How many of us will it take to complete this counter assault?”

“One.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“But you can hardly walk across the yard, even with a crutch.”

“Exactly. That makes me next to useless in carrying water and putting out fires. But quite handy at crawling.”

“I’ll do it, Mr. Brannon,” Howland offered.

“Thanks, Earl, but I need you here.”

“What if they don’t attack?”

“Then we wait until they do.”

“Night after night?”

“Yep. That’s my plan.”

 

] ]

 

Brannon offered final instructions before he left.

“Stuart, I say, are you able to pull this off?”

“We’ll find out. In one hour turn off all the lanterns and mind your positions. I expect they won’t make a move until about an hour after the lanterns are out.”

“What do we do if there’s no diversion?”

“Try not to let them burn down the place. If you have to let a building go, abandon the bunkhouse—then the barn. And don’t let the women get hurt. If they burn us out… well, we’ll fight them from the rocks.”

“Mr. Brannon, where’s your Winchester?”

“Can’t carry it, Earl.”

“Which way you heading out?”

“Through the back of the barn, up the hill towards the piñons, then over to their camp. Take your positions… and I’ll meet you for breakfast.”

“Why the back of the barn? It’s a pretty dark night.”

“Because I don’t know how far down the hill they have men stationed.”

Brannon hobbled through the barn, tossed the crutch into the corner, and dropped to his knees. He tucked two sticks of dynamite his left coat pocket. Caps, fuse, and matches were in the other. With one Colt in his holster and another in his left hand, he kicked the bottom barn board loose, pried it away from the building, and crawled out. His black hat fell to the dirt, and he tossed it back inside the barn.

Not exactly a crawl. Certainly not a walk. By dragging his right foot, Brannon scooted along in the dirt behind the corrals and across the rutted path that served as a road into the ranch.

Stars cleared overhead. No sign of a moon.

He got to the foot-high grass at the base of the hill and struck out diagonally towards the two piñon pines and the grave sites. Surely nobody would sit at those graves on a dark night.

Lord, You know I’ve got to hold onto this ranch. I don’t have it in me to let go. There’s got to be a way… some way to do it without killing half the people on the place.

His right hand was raw and his trousers dirty by the time he reached the piñons and the graves. Even though the night was beginning to cool, sweat plowed through the dirt on his face and neck. His right foot throbbed. So far, he had seen no one and heard nothing.

Within a few minutes of his arrival, he saw the flickering lanterns go out back at the ranch. Immediately, all the campfires of the Collectors snuffed out as well. Brannon crawled towards their camp.

He soon developed a pattern of dragging himself about five feet, then stopping to listen for sounds of a night guard. He was beginning to have doubts as to whether he had the strength to crawl all the way back to the barn.

Footsteps!

He threw himself flat into the grass.

“Smiley?” a voice whispered about twenty feet to the left of him.

“Yeah?” came a reply in front of him.

“You’re supposed to move closer to camp. We’ll be going down in less than an hour. You seen anything?”

“Yeah, over by those graves.”

“Did you check it out?”

“I ain’t going over there. It was probably just a coyote.”

“Yeah… the women are in the house. Howland and the Englishman are in the bunk. Brannon and the other two are in the barn.”

They’ve been scoping us!

“I don’t know how I got stuck drawing guard,” one man complained.

“You can trade tomorrow night.”

“You mean, you boys are goin’ to leave something until tomorrow?”

“Yeah, they said we’re aiming for the house tonight. Ain’t even going to try to torch the other buildings.”

The house! Lord, protect the women!

“The boys should have the roads blocked by now. They even sent six men around by the crick. They ain’t going to run away from this.”

“Is Jedel still jumpy?”

“You’d think it was Robert E. Lee himself down there. Brannon can’t be all that good.”

“Don’t tell that to Hank Jedel.”

If he possessed two good legs, Brannon would hurry down the hill to give a warning. The only thing he could do was act quickly on the chuck wagon and hope this would bring some of the attackers back to their own camp.

When the men moved on, he swung around the camp to the high side and scooted towards the campsite. He searched the dark horizon for the profile of the chuck wagon. A slight outline against the starlit night gave him some direction. He moved quickly forward.

He got within fifty feet from where the campfire had been earlier. The core of the camp was empty. Maybe three guards, but all on the perimeter. A wrangler with the horses.

The cook’s around here somewhere.

Scooting flat on the ground, Brannon figured thirty feet to the chuck wagon.

I’ve got to get this dynamite into the wagon. If it bounces to the ground, it will make more noise than damage.

He heard footsteps near him. Brannon pulled his revolver from the holster. He didn’t dare click back the hammer. Whoever it was stepped a few feet from his head and sneaked towards the chuck wagon. Then he heard a rattling of pots and pans.

No, don’t start cooking now.

“Hey,” a voice shouted from the other side of camp. “Who’s gettin’ in my wagon?”

The rattling stopped.

“I said, who’s over there?”

No reply.

“I’ve got two barrels of a shotgun pointed across the camp. Identify yourself or you’ll get both barrels.”

“Cookie, wait! It’s me—Felix. I’m just digging for a little sugar for my coffee.”

“Get away from that wagon or I’ll bust open your worthless skull. There ain’t no old boy on this green earth that’s digging in my wagon. You got that?”

“Relax, you cranky old man, I—”

Brannon heard a thud and yelp.

“Hey… you almost hit me with that knife.”

“A mistake I won’t make again.”

“I have half a mind to lead you down right now.”

“I doubt if you even have half a mind,” the cook spat out. “Get on out of here.”

The man stomped east.

Brannon waited.

A lantern lit at the far side of the chuck wagon and Brannon rolled back into the shadows. The bearded face of an older man appeared in the reflected light as he shuffled toward the wagon.

They must be born that way. All chuck wagon cooks look exactly the same.

After a quick inspection of his cupboards, the cook walked to the front of the wagon, opened the canvas flap, and pulled out another lantern. He filled the second lantern with kerosene and stuck the jug back into the wagon. He turned the one lantern off, and made his way back across the campsite.

The front door’s open and kerosene’s inside. Couldn’t ask for anything better than that.

Brannon now worked quickly in the dark. He pulled out the two sticks of dynamite. Lying on his back, he poked a deep hole in the end of the dynamite with his knife. Cutting the fuse to a foot and a half in length, he gingerly crimped the blasting cap to the fuse by biting it with his teeth. Finally, he shoved the cap and fuse into the hole in the dynamite and gently tamped it in place.

With both sticks prepared, he slowly inched closer to the front of the wagon. At about ten feet, he sat up, stuck his gun back into his belt, and practiced the throw towards the wagon. He was tempted to light the dynamite and get the action started.

I am not a violent man. I will not start this fight.

Brannon waited for what seemed like an hour. Then, torches flared up, completely surrounding the ranch house. Brannon counted about twenty.

He sat up and lit both sticks of dynamite. He heard the reports of gunfire echoing up from the ranch. When the fuses started to glow and sparkle, he tossed both sticks into the front of the wagon, turned, and dove for the weeds. With his face close to the dirt, he crawled back towards the piñons.

The explosions rocked the ground and banged hard against Brannon’s eardrums. He whipped around to see a double burst of flames. Supplies flew through the air in every direction. Bits and pieces of burning material littered the whole camp, dispatching scraps of flame and debris. What was left of the wagon, mainly the utensil box, wheels, and water barrels, now caught fire and crackled in the mountain breeze.

As he heard men rushing toward the burning wagon, he redoubled his efforts to reach the graves. Out of breath, his raw hand bleeding, his ducking worn clear through at the right knee, he finally reached the two piñons.

He collapsed against the base of a tree as he heard the shouts of men around the chuck wagon, but the sight that captured his attention—ten foot flames leaping from the top of his house.

I’ve got to get those women out of there and back to Prescott.

The Collectors near the campsite fought their own fire and occasionally shot at the shadows. Staying wide of the main route back to the house and keeping low in the weeds, Brannon crawled on his hands and knees back to the ranch. Amid shouts, men ran back up the hill towards camp. In the confusion, some of the Collectors shot at each other.

Again and again Brannon tumbled in the rocks and grass and rolled through the dirt. His right foot completely numb wouldn’t support any weight at all. He wrapped his bandanna around the palm of his bleeding hand and scurried the best he could down the hill.

Lord, don’t let those ladies get hurt. It’s my fault. Don’t let them pay… I couldn’t live with that!

Halfway down the hill he rolled over in the grass and lay on his back, puffing. The gunfire continued in the Collectors’ camp, but he could no longed hear any from the ranch headquarters. He thought he could see people on the roof of the house, and the flames seemed to be dying back a little.

By the time he reached the barn, he could see no fames at all, but a thick cloud of smoke filled the yard. He yanked up the loose board and scooted into the barn.

“Harvey? Gonzales?” he called.

With no reply, he grabbed his hat and the crutch, and hopped, stumbled, and staggered towards the house.

“Stuart?” Miss Cancino called from the porch.

“Yeah… where’s everyone?”

Howland stepped out into the yard. “Around back.”

“How in the world did you get that fire out?”

“The soldiers formed a bucket brigade. Fortunately your diversion worked, and half of them tossed down their torches and ran back up to camp.”

“We kept them from coming into the yard, so they could only get close back there,” Julie added.

“Anyone get hurt?”

“Fletcher’s up on the roof somewhere.”

“Earl, post Harvey and Gonzales back at the outbuildings in case they get mad and rush back down here. Julie, are you safe on the porch?”

“Safe? No one’s safe being within ten miles of you, Stuart Brannon. But I’ll be all right.”

Hearing shouts in the back of the house, Brannon pushed through the smoky living room and into the back bedrooms. A lantern cast a dreamy look about the place as shadowy, coughing bodies staggered through the rooms.

“Brannon,” Sergeant Cloverdale shouted, “that was quite an explosion.”

“Edwin’s trapped on the roof,” Harriet yelled.

“Is he shot?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Burnt?”

“No… just stuck! He fell through. He crawled up there with a wet quilt to fight the flames, and the roof collapsed under him. His feet are dangling down in the bedroom.”

Several soldiers milled around the outside of the house, trying to decide how to rescue the Englishman.

“Edwin? Can you hear me?”

“Brannon? I say—I’d prefer not to stay in this position all night.”

“The rest of the roof collapsed, and there doesn’t seem to be a way to get over to you,” Brannon shouted.

“My word, think of something.”

“Are you straddling any timbers?”

“No, I’m holding on with my arms.”

“Listen, when I tug on your foot, you hold your hands straight above your head.”

Brannon went into the bedroom. Burnt timbers and shingles littered a wet bed. Fletcher’s feet swung about a foot above Brannon’s outstretched arms.

Brannon began to cough.

“Nelson, you and Mrs. Barton open all the windows in the house. Sergeant, bring a couple other men and come in here.”

The soldiers crowded into the small back bedroom.

“Hoist me up there.” He pointed to Fletcher’s legs.

They grabbed Brannon and lifted him straight up until he could lock his arms around Fletcher’s feet.

“Now drop me,” he shouted.

They did.

The weight of Brannon on his legs unwedged Fletcher, and the two men crashed onto the soaking wet bed, which promptly collapsed. They rolled to the floor. Brannon stared upward, completely exhausted.

“Drag us out of here, Sergeant,” he shouted.

Within moments, all of them, except for a guard or two, crowded the front porch.

Propped on the bench beside Miss Cancino, Brannon sucked up the fresh air and coughed his lungs clear. “Earl, at the first hint of dawn, I want you to hitch up those two carriages. Folks, this is the end of the line. I am grateful for your support, but sitting up there on that hillside tonight, watching the roof blaze up, I realized I would rather die than have to bury another woman in those piñons.

“Sergeant, the first thing in the morning, I want you and your men to escort these folks out of the valley. Earl, I’ll pay you a month’s wages, but you should ride with the soldiers. I think you can make it, too. Edwin, this is a good time for you to take another jaunt to San Francisco.”

“I say, Brannon—”

“Look, I don’t want to be dramatic or sound like Martin Luther, but everyone comes to a place in their life when they say, ‘This is it… here I stand. God help me.’ Well, this ranch is my place. I lost everything I ever valued right in this house. When I die, I’m going to die right here. But I’m not going to put you through another battle. You have already suffered more than enough.”

“Are you through with your speech, Mr. Brannon?” Howland said.

“I’m through.”

“Well, I ain’t leavin’,” Howland said. “You promised me twenty cows and a bull. I aim to make a ranch out of that, and I’ll build myself a house and a barn, and then if I can get the nerve, I’m going ask Miss Julie to marry me. And you and all your fancy talkin’ aren’t going to cheat me out of that.”

“Earl, the odds aren’t very good that I can deliver on that promise.”

“I’ll take my chance.”

“I’m not leaving either,” Miss Cancino added.

“Look,” Brannon huffed, “I didn’t ask you if you wanted to leave. I will not put ladies in danger again.”

“Oh, save it, Brannon,” she replied. “You try to throw me out off this ranch and I’ll shoot you in the other foot. If you get too dramatic, I’ll get out the violins and remind you how it is that my legs are paralyzed! I want to stay. A girl who can’t walk across the room isn’t going to get many better offers than I just had.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Brannon said. “You have to get out of here.”

“Stuart,” Harriet began, “I think you really should allow—”

“Miss Reed, don’t you begin on me. I have no intention of allowing—”

“Mr. Brannon,” she shouted, “in the past few days I have been shot at, roped, dragged through the dirt, nearly burnt alive, and soaked to the bone. I do not have with me one, not one, stitch of clothing that could be worn at any civilized function. I do not know what the future holds—whether I will be slaughtered by savage Indians, shot by marauders, burned alive in a barn, or die as an elderly, tottering rancher’s widow. But I am not going to go back and sit on the front porch of a Victorian home and crochet doilies. Is that understood?”

“This is insane… it’s not your battle,” he said to Barton.

“Gwen and I are not exactly the heroic type that you stir up in others.”

“I stir up?”

“But there is something heroic going on here. We came out to this country to contribute something that would help to settle this land. We wanted to be an active part in helping Arizona achieve statehood. We wanted to give our efforts to something that would make a difference. Well, a country ruled by armed bands of men will never be a settled land. We’d like to make our stand right here. It’s not for you… it’s for the whole Territory, for the next generation.”

“It does have a tinge of the historic, Mr. Brannon,” Gwendolyn added. “I don’t mean to be theatric, but we want to see what happens here.”

In desperation, Brannon glanced at Gonzales and Harvey. “Men, you get to—”

“Mr. Brannon,” Harvey said with a heavy Texas drawl, “my granddaddy rode with old Sam Houston at San Jacinto. He always said it changed his life something permanent. Well, this isn’t east Texas, and you’re not Mr. Houston, but it just might be as close as I get. Someday I want to look back and say, ‘I fought alongside Stuart Brannon at Sunrise Creek.’”

“I’m with Harvey,” Gonzales said. “If I ride out now, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I’d stayed.”

“Listen… I’m not making myself clear… Edwin, explain—”

“Face it, man. You can’t chase them away. You can’t chase any of us off. Everyone here has his own motive for sticking it out. We aren’t doing it just for you. We’re doing it for ourselves. You, of all people, Stuart Brannon, know that life is seldom rational.”

“But they’ll come back and next time they’ll—”

“I say, we really must put Brannon to bed. He’s mumbling on and on in incoherent phrases.”

“Sergeant…?” Brannon said.

“We must stay until my messenger comes back from Prescott with orders. It’s strictly a military decision. Of course, several of the men figure if they stick it out, they might warrant a mention in the next dime novel.”

“They what?” Brannon shouted.

“Relax.” Cloverdale broke into a grin. “If your goal in life was to die a lonely martyr, you’re out of luck. It looks like we’re all staying.”

Within the hour they resumed their positions, with Brannon on the front porch sitting next to Cancino and Reed.

“You ladies should go inside. Try to get some sleep,” Brannon insisted.

“Our room is full of smoke, the roof caved in, and the bed is broken and soaked with water,” Harriet reminded him. “We’ll just sit out here if you don’t mind.” She stepped into the house and re-emerged with a quilt which she tucked around Miss Cancino and herself. “Stuart… is this a battle between good and evil?”

“You mean—in a spiritual sense?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I knew. There’s nothing evil about a valid land grant. But something is wrong with private armies that use threats and coercion to extort money.”

“I would like to think that we’ve made a stand for good.”

“It’s not always easy to discern, is it? Jedel and his type are simple to categorize, but when I’m honest, well… I wonder if I would ever let this place go, even if God Almighty told me to directly. Being on the side of ‘good,’ fighting so-called ‘evil’ has probably disguised a lot of selfish intentions.”

“God will assist us if we’re right,” she said.

“And forgive us, I hope, if we’re wrong,” Brannon replied.

“He is generous to forgive.”

“Miss Harriet, it is that one attribute of the Lord that gives me constant hope. It’s what keeps me plugging away during the day and allows me to rest at night.”

 

] ]

 

“Stuart, wake up. Look up there. Isn’t that a wagon on the road?”

Brannon jumped up from the chair. Instead of collapsing on his injured foot, he was able to stagger across the porch to the rail. Daylight broke in the east. Brannon rubbed his eyes and stared into the distance.

“It is some kind of wagon.”

Fletcher hiked across the yard from the bunkhouse. “What do you make of it?”

“Let’s go check with Cloverdale. He’s got the spyglass.”

By resting his right hand on Fletcher’s shoulder, Brannon managed to hobble to the soldiers’ quarters. Within moments, Cloverdale was out of his tent and scoping the new arrival. “It’s those two men who left last week with Jedel… Oh, no,” he groaned.

“What is it?” Brannon quizzed.

“A cannon.”

“A cannon? You mean a—”

“I mean a cannon. They can sit up there and lob shells into any of these buildings.”

“But individuals don’t own cannons, do they?”

“They do now.”

“Maybe they’re just trying to scare us,” Fletcher offered.

“Well, it’s working.” Brannon rubbed the stubble of his three-day beard.

“This has gone far enough,” Cloverdale huffed. “We’ll have to confiscate that weapon.”

“Do you have the manpower?” Fletcher questioned.

“That remains to be seen. Until I develop a plan, I want to station men throughout the ranch yard. I want my men in every location and highly visible. Any shot fired will have to aimed straight at the U. S. Army.”

After breakfast, Brannon, Fletcher, and Cloverdale sat on the front porch to finalize plans.

“There’s no easy way to do it,” Brannon repeated. “If they want to shoot it out, lots of men are going to die.”

“If they fire on government troops, they’re finished in Arizona. It will defeat their purpose,” Cloverdale offered.

“No,” Brannon said, “it would defeat Burlingame’s purpose. Some of these men care little for land grants that will belong to someone else. They just want to win the battle today.”

“We’ll find out which soon enough.” Cloverdale paced with his hands clutched behind his back. “There’s no reason to hesitate any longer. We’ll—”

“Sergeant!” One of the soldiers sprinted to the ranch house. “Troops are coming.”

Cloverdale marched to the middle of the yard.

“Up the trail to the north… ” He shoved the spyglass towards the sergeant.

“It’s Captain Wells.”

“I say,” Fletcher remarked, “that is rather good timing.”

“Like an answer to prayer,” Brannon added.

 

 

 

 

Eleven

 

 

 

 

Everyone except Cancino stood in front of the half-burnt ranch house as Captain Wells led fifty-six men into the yard.

“I knew it would work out. I just knew it,” Cancino bubbled.

“Like the ending of a good novel,” Reed said. “When all is lost—the heroes arrive to save the day.”

“Gives you a little hope for this land, doesn’t it?” Barton said.

“What do you think, Stuart?” Fletcher said.

“I don’t think anybody sent troops to save this ranch,” he replied.

“That would be highly doubtful.” Cloverdale stepped out to meet the captain.

After a long discussion, Wells dismounted, but kept the rest of his troops horseback. They walked over to Brannon.

“This is Captain Wells,” the sergeant announced, “and we need to talk privately on this situation.”

Brannon nodded toward the corrals. “Sorry for being so slow, Captain. I took a shot in my foot. This has been the first day I’ve been able to stick it in a boot.”

“Mr. Brannon, I’ll be very blunt. I understand the urgency of your situation. But I have been ordered to withdraw Sergeant Cloverdale and the troops. We have been assigned to pursue the Apaches over the mountains and back to the reservation.”

“Captain, we’ve got women here.”

“The sergeant has informed me of the arrival of artillery, and I am quite aware of the context of all of this. Most everyone in the Territory is. But my orders have come from the War Department. When we all signed on, we agreed to follow orders.”

“What do you mean, ‘everyone in the Territory’?” Brannon said.

“You have seen the newspapers, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t seen a paper in a month.”

Captain Wells turned and shouted to the troops, “Lieutenant, bring me my saddlebags.”

While they waited, Brannon said, “If you have to leave, you must escort the ladies out of here.”

“I can’t even do that,” the captain replied. “We’re headed right up Sunrise Creek, and I have specific instructions not to pursue any action that might be construed as taking sides in the Yavapai County War.”

“The what?”

“They’re calling it the Yavapai County War.”

“Who’s calling it that?” Brannon bellowed.

“The newspapers.” Taking the saddlebags from the lieutenant, he pulled out several clippings. “Here’s one from the Florence Enterprise and another from the Prescott Miner. I understand they’ve sent the story to San Francisco, New York, Chicago, and Washington, DC.”

“Tom Weedin in Florence?”

“Yes, he wrote the initial story based on information from Judge and Mrs. Quilici. He paints quite a picture of your heroic struggle against the Collectors. Here. Look at this.”

Brannon read aloud: “Veteran Indian fighter and lawman, Stuart Brannon, is in the battle of his life as he stands off Casa Verde Land Development Corporation’s army of so-called ‘Collectors.’ Trapped on his Triple B Ranch near the mouth of Sunrise Creek, Brannon and several other prominent Arizona citizens are holding off the hired guns that support Burlingame’s claim to the spurious DePalma-Revera grant.”

“And here’s one from the Miner.” The captain handed him another clipping.

Brannon stared at the papers.

“Stuart Brannon, A. T. pioneer cattleman, has drawn the line against the Collectors, refusing to succumb to their extortion… undoubtedly the action along little Sunrise Creek will be heard all the way to the hallowed halls of Congress. Perhaps, at last, they will move to settle these land grant matters.”

The captain gestured. “Mr. Brannon, you are free to keep those if you’d like. It seems your friends, Judge and Mrs. Quilici, are determined to force the Surveyor-General to come up and investigate this situation. The notoriety certainly is gaining you support in the Territory. However, Mr. Burlingame has friends in Washington… and I presume they’re responsible for my orders. I assure you I have no other choice.”

Sergeant Cloverdale stepped closer to Brannon. “Stuart, I flat told the captain I didn’t think my men would want to abandon their position, but I was informed if we didn’t follow orders, we would be locked in irons and hauled back to the barracks for court-martial.”

“Sergeant, I completely understand your predicament. Go ahead and strike camp. I’ll tell the others. Captain Wells, I wish you well in your pursuit of the Apaches. On some other day, I would volunteer to lead you through the mountains.”

“Good day, Mr. Brannon, and good luck.”

It will take considerably more than luck.

Brannon hobbled back to the house and the waiting crowd.

“I say,” Fletcher called,” where are the soldiers going?”

“To help Cloverdale strike camp.”

“Good heavens, are they leaving?”

“Yep.”

“Are you serious?” Mr. Barton said.

Gripping the newspaper clippings in one hand, he motioned for them to pull in closer. For the next ten minutes he tried to explain.

Reed broke the depressing silence, “Well, we were right about the significance of this event.”

“Shall we pack up and ride out of here now?” Fletcher asked.

“It’s too late for that,” Miss Cancino replied.

Brannon frowned. “I want them to fire the cannon.”

“You what?” Reed exclaimed.

“I want the records to show that it took a small army and an artillery piece to drive Stuart Brannon from his land.”

“And how do we stay alive in the process?” Fletcher asked.

“That’s what we’ll have to determine. They won’t use it with the army in view, so we have a little time.”

After Cloverdale and men packed camp and joined the captain and his troops, the sergeant rode by Brannon. “I have seriously considered the cost of being court-martialed, but I must confess I am afraid to face that fate. Besides locked in irons, I would be of no help to you. Mr. Brannon, I believe you might need this more than I.” He handed Brannon his spyglass.

“Sergeant, thanks for the loan. I will return it to you the next time I’m up in Prescott.”

“I will look forward to that meeting,” he concluded.

They watched as the long column of troops left the yard and began the climb up the valley floor alongside Sunrise Creek.

“Kind of like clutching the rail of a sinking ship and witnessing your only lifeboat go down,” Fletcher noted.

“How long do you suppose until they fire that weapon?” Barton asked Brannon.

“Several hours, I reckon. I want us to abandon the bunkhouse and the barn. The house has thick adobe walls and a fairly good root cellar. We’ll use it for protection.”

“I’m not leaving the front porch,” Cancino insisted. “I want those fifty men to know they’re shooting those cannon balls right at a crippled woman.”

“I’m staying with Miss Julie,” Howland said.

Reed slapped her hands to her hips. “We’re all in this together. Let’s sit out here and give them a target.”

“I’ve got a feeling,” Brannon continued, “that we won’t be the first target. They’ll aim for the bunkhouse, hoping we’ll flee once we see the damage they can do.”

Gwen Barton inquired, “Then we’ll be safe if we stay by the house?”

“If they know how to use that thing. If they don’t, who knows where a shell might land,” Brannon cautioned.

A light breeze from the northwest blew most of the morning under the clear sky. They stacked cordwood four feet tall in front of the porch, opened the root cellar for possible use under attack, and distributed their weapons around the perimeter of their defenses. Even though the hours were spent in preparation for battle, Brannon noticed a light, almost reckless attitude in everyone.

Fletcher who commented on the situation. “Really, Brannon, it’s almost like a game. The women giggle. The men, who probably never dodged a bullet in their lives, joke about bravery. Harriet’s recording everything for a book. Howland is making plans for the location of his future ranch. And Julie’s begging us to hold her up so she can practice walking. Don’t they realize that in a matter of hours we could all be dead?”

“They know that, Edwin. They’re scared. So you cover it up with levity. It’s better than tears and sorrow.”

“Do you ever seriously think about death, Brannon? I use to… but I guess I don’t anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Well, there are two reasons to be afraid of dying. Because you don’t know what happens after death. But the way I got it figured, the crucifixion and the empty tomb solved that dilemma—if we’d only trust in it.”

“You said there were two problems.”

“Some people are afraid of death because of what they have to give up here on earth. They can’t bear to think about being separated from loved ones and of all the experiences they’ll miss. I guess, for me, death would be a reunion, not a separation.”

“Lisa and the baby?”

“Yep.”

“It never heals, does it?”

“Nope.”

 

] ]

 

 

The June sun slinked halfway down the western sky when Howland hollered from the barn loft, “Mr. Brannon, they’re loadin’ up that cannon.”

“Is it pointed this way?”

“Yeah.”

“Bring that spyglass and come on down.”

“Where do you want us to be?” Reed called.

“In Prescott.”

“Stuart!”

“Look, any of you who want can flee into that root cellar.”

Barton shrugged. “It won’t matter all that much. We might as well watch from the porch together.”

“Well, Stuart,” Harriet said with a sigh, “you certainly know how to entertain guests.”

Brannon put his right hand on Howland’s shoulder. “Earl, keep a scope on that cannon. I want to know if they immediately load up another round, or start charging down the hill, or whatever.”

“Yes, sir. It looks like Jedel with the torch. Hang on, folks, here it comes… wait... somethin’s wrong.”

As Howland shouted, Brannon heard a tremendous explosion. They all ducked behind the stacks of firewood.

“Where is it?” Reed called.

“Is it still coming in?”

“What happened?”

“Over there… ” Someone pointed to the other side of Sunrise Creek.

“They hit a Cottonwood tree.”

“On the other side of the creek?”

“That’s over a half-mile away.”

Howland thrust the spyglass into his hands. “It busted up. Looks like the cannon lost a wheel and broke loose from the mounts.”

A sense of immediate relief swept across their faces. They hollered and hugged.

“The Lord did it. He broke their cannon,” Harriet proclaimed.

Brannon quieted them down. “Folks… even without that cannon, it’s the same men who burnt down half the ranch last night. And now we don’t have the soldiers. We survived this round, but to quote the papers, the war isn’t over. We’d better get ready for the next round.”

“Are you going to crawl back up there tonight?”

“Nope, Earl, it would be too dangerous now. But we might use some half sticks of dynamite to drive them back up the hill.”

“How’ll we know when they’re comin’ down?”

“A trip wire will sound the alarm.”

“What alarm?”

“Caterwauling when they stumble into that fancy new wire you brought me.”

“We going to put up a fence?”

“Nope, just a small barrier.”

“What good would that do? They can go right over it.”

“If they knew it was there. We’re going to put it up after dark.”

Fletcher now held the spyglass. “They might be trying to repair the cannon.”

“They’re going to fire that thing again?” Reed asked.

“Probably not before tomorrow,” Brannon suggested. “Let today’s trouble be sufficient for today. Right now, you ladies have got to do something about those dresses. You look frightful.”

“Well, I’m glad you noticed,” Reed said. “but now’s hardly the time to…”

Brannon jammed his sleeves above his elbows and pointed at Reed. “That’s where you’re wrong. I think we should all dress up. Tonight we have a banquet.”

“Are you serious ?”

“Serious? No, it’s frivolous. That’s why we need to do it,” Brannon asserted. “Mrs. Barton, could you be in charge of meal preparation?”

“Why, yes, Mr. Brannon. The kitchen is still in working condition. But, really… I don’t—”

“And nothing’s wrong with the dining room,” Brannon added. “After all, we have a lot to celebrate.”

“Oh?” Reed raised an eyebrow.

“We’re all alive and…”

“And what?” Cancino asked.

“If Howland gets off his duff, he and Julie will have something to announce to us.”

“Stuart,” Harriet cautioned.

“Do you understand, Earl?” Brannon pressed.

“Yes, sir, I do. And I aim to take care of that this afternoon.”

“That still doesn’t solve the problem of our—what was the word? Frightful appearance?”

“Miss Reed, you and the ladies go search through that cedar chest in the corner of the living room. Should be a dress or two there, and I’ve got a feeling they’re going to fit you just fine .”

“Are they Lisa’s?”

“Yep.”

“We couldn’t—”

“Harriet, by morning everything in this house could be burnt to the ground. It would be a tragedy to never see those dresses on pretty ladies again. I would appreciate you giving them a try.”

“Very well, we’ll look into them. But we expect you men to do the same! And,” she continued, “you better pull what you need out of the house because until supper this place is off limits to men.”

Brannon left Howland on the porch with Miss Cancino and the spyglass, with instructions to shout a warning if the Collectors moved down the mountain toward the ranch buildings. Then he and the other men surveyed the grounds and planned their defenses for the night.

“Really, Brannon, why this charade?” Fletcher queried.

“Diversion.”

“Us or them?”

“Both. Maybe we can get our minds off this constant anticipation—and maybe convince the Collectors we have let down our guard.”

“Which we won’t?”

“Precisely. We’ve got to stop them before they burn any buildings, because I don’t think we’ve got the manpower to put out another fire.”

“How about the wire?” Barton questioned.

“Edwin and I will string it right after dark. It’s part of the plan.”

“What plan?”

“I’ll let you know, as soon as I have one.”

 

] ]

 

By late afternoon, the men did their best to scrub and shave. All but Brannon wore coats and ties. He gave his only dress coat and tie to Howland.

“Mr. Brannon, I don’t know why I should wear this but you don’t have to.”

“Did you ask her?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said ‘yes.’”

“So when’s the big day?”

“After we drive those cows up from Mexico and I build her a house. I figure it will be next spring. Is that all right with you, Mr. Brannon?”

“Earl, this has absolutely nothing to do with me. But it sounds fine.”

Supper finally ready, Gwendolyn appeared at the door and invited the men inside. Gonzales and Harvey volunteered to take turns out on the porch scoping the Collectors in case of a raid.

“You look very nice in that dress, Mrs. Barton,” Brannon remarked.

“Thank you, Stuart. Your Lisa certainly had some lovely things.”

“They always said she had good taste in everything but husbands. And, Miss Julie, is it symbolic that you chose the white dress?”

“Harriet picked it out for me. This material is so smooth it makes me feel really special.”

“You’re stunning,” Fletcher declared.

“She looks good all the time,” Howland replied.

Harriet Reed strolled into the dining room.

I knew she would wear the rose dress… it was bound to happen.

Memories flooded his mind. He had a strong urge to hold Miss Reed in his arms.

“Well,” she said, “is this dress less frightful?”

“It’s ravishing,” Fletcher called out.

“Stuart… are you all right?” she pressed.

“You remind me of someone… and I really appreciate the memories.”

“That’s it? My word, Brannon, that’s not much of a compliment,” Fletcher said.

“No, Mr. Fletcher,” Reed said, “it is the ultimate of compliments from Stuart. And I am flattered he would offer it to me.”

Except for the occasional report from the scout on the front porch, the party was lighthearted and the time flew by quickly. The laughter, though shallow, was needed.

You make a lot of plans for the future when you aren’t sure if you’ll make it through the night. No idea is too wild, no scheme too irrational, no dream too absurd.

One by one he surveyed the guests in his house.

Lord, this is what was missing after Lisa died. People… laughter… excitement… that’s what I want this place to be. The most enjoyable stop between Prescott and Tucson. I don’t know how to do that on my own. Lord. Lisa could do it. Wouldn’t she shine with a group like this?

As the sun set, Brannon signaled for their attention.

“I don’t want to spoil our party, but it’s about time to go to work. Here’s what we do. As soon as it’s dark, Edwin and I will crawl—”

“I say… crawl?”

“You can change clothes, of course. Then we’ll station ourselves out there with the dynamite. Since we’ve used it in the mine, we’ll take that detail.”

“What do you want us to do?” Howland asked.

“I want you to keep laughing, singing, dancing. Make them think we’re totally unconcerned with their activity.”

Brannon pulled his black hat off a peg in the wall and shoved it down on Howland’s head. “Earl, you stay by the window. In the shadows you’ll look like old man Brannon himself.”

“So they can shoot at him?” Cancino challenged.

“I don’t think so. They must still have orders not to ride in with guns blazing. But if they think I’m in here, they won’t expect me out there. We only need to fool them for a while.”

“So we live it up inside?”

“Right. At the first blast from a gun or dynamite, shut off the lanterns and take your positions.”

“What if they don’t come down tonight?”

“Then it’ll be a long party. I don’t think this will be the worst night. By tomorrow they’ll either straighten out the aim on the cannon or they’ll roar down that mountain.

“But… if things turn out badly, well, as Edwin knows, I’ve spent most of the past two years fighting other people’s battles. And now… it feels good to fight one of my own. But I couldn’t have done it without all of you.”

“Stuart, go stretch your wire before we change our minds,” Reed needled.

Working on their hands and knees, Brannon and Fletcher cordoned off the yard with a strand of barbed wire stretched a foot above the ground. Back in the barn, they each set six half sticks of dynamite and stuffed them in their pockets.

“Well, Edwin, do you ever think of riding out of here, catching a schooner around the Horn, and going home?”

“Life with you has spoiled me for anything else. I sat at a formal dinner in San Francisco last week. For two hours the ambassador from Russia tried to explain why the $7,200,000 paid for Alaska was far too cheap a price, and I realized all I could think about was riding down into Mexico and buying a thousand head of cattle. This land makes you think, feel, reason, and act quickly. Anything else is just coasting.”

“Okay, Lord Fletcher, let’s go to work.”

“Quite right.”

“You stay at the corner of the barn. If you hear them on the north or east, go to it. Don’t throw them too close to the house.”

“You know, they are going to come in from the south… or maybe the west.”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m down there. Have a cigar.”

“A cigar? Where did you get these?”

“From Barton.”

“I don’t smoke. And Brannon, you don’t smoke.”

“For the fuses. Lay it on the ground, and it’s hardly visible. A match flares up too much.”

For an hour, Brannon sat with his back to a cottonwood tree in the front yard, waiting to hear sounds of intruders.

If they find the wire and go over it, they’ll be on top of us before we can act. Lord, help us!

Brannon sensed movement on the hill.

He couldn’t see or hear anything.

But he knew they were moving.

He relit the cigar.

Then he laid all six half sticks of dynamite in a row beside him. Holding one in his right hand only a few inches above the glowing cigar, he waited—and waited—and waited.

Then it came.

Straight from the south.

A scream.

A shout.

A curse.

And shots fired wildly.

He lit the dynamite and tossed it with all his might.

The explosion lit up terrified and confused faces. He threw another to the same place, then lit another and tossed it to the west.

Blasts rang out from the north as Fletcher contributed to the mayhem. Brannon tossed two more. He could see men scrambling back up the hill. Pulling to his feet, he staggered toward the fleeing men, lit another stick, and heaved it far into the dark night.

A glowing object flew in his direction.

They threw it back!

He dove for the cottonwood and rolled behind it, hands clamped over his ears. But the explosion was not as close as he feared. In fact, the fleeing Collector completely missed his target. The dynamite fell under the front steps of the bunkhouse.

The explosion sent splinters clear across the yard. The front door of the bunkhouse blazed. He wanted to run put the fire out, but realized if any men hung close, his silhouette against the flames would make an easy target. Several gunshots fired randomly at the house. Then the shouts and cursing ceased.

“I say, Brannon?”

“Edwin? Over here.”

“My word, aren’t we going to try to save that building?”

“Nope. It’s too dangerous. Let it burn.”

“Did they sneak up and torch it?”

“Nope.”

“What happened?”

“Dynamite. They threw a stick back.”

“Good heavens, we were fortunate they only hit the bunkhouse.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Will they return?”

“I don’t think so. But pass the word to keep the posts all night long.”

Right before dawn, Fletcher and Brannon and Howland crawled out and took down the barbed wire. They dragged it back into the barn and joined the others on the porch. The ladies still wore their party dresses.

“It’s a beautiful morning, Mr. Brannon,” Cancino greeted him.

“Yes, it is. Every morning you’re alive is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Reed slipped her arm in Brannon’s. “I believe I have enough material for a whole series of books. But I’m going to have to call it fiction.”

Brannon liked the feel of her arm in his and the rustle of the rose dress next to him. “Why’s that?”

“Because no one would believe it’s true. Come on, Gwen’s fixing breakfast.”

“Mr. Brannon,” Howland yelled. “You better take a look at this. Some guy pulled up to the top of the rim in a buck-board and—and—” His voice trailed off.

“And what?”

“I think they fixed the cannon.”

Brannon shouted commands. “Get behind those barriers. If they hit the house, they’ll charge down immediately afterward. Go for Jedel. The others are just hired hands.”

A distant puff of smoke, then an ear-banging report, followed by an explosion behind the house.

“They missed. They overshot,” Cancino hollered.

“Earl, run around and see what kind of damage was done,” Brannon called.

Fletcher manned the spyglass. “They’re loading again… no… no, something’s wrong… they can’t get it loaded.”

“It’s too hot. They used too much powder. They’ll have to let it cool off.”

Howland sprinted back. “Mr. Brannon, they hit the privy.”

“The old one or the new one?”

“The new one. It’s nothing but a pile of splinters.”

“Fortunately, they don’t seem to know how to aim that thing,” Barton interjected.

“I don’t know.” Brannon shrugged. “Maybe that was their target. It could add a certain urgency to settle this matter.”

“There’s more of them, Stuart,” Fletcher called out from behind the spyglass.

“More Collectors?”

“No, more wagons up on the rim. My word, it looks like women, children, men—whole families.”

 

 

 

 

Twelve

 

 

 

“Families?” Brannon grabbed the spyglass.

“On the north road. I think someone’s up there too,” Reed called out.

Brannon switched his scope to the other side of the valley. “I see them. Several riders, a freight wagon, a carriage—there’s a stagecoach. How in the world did they get a stage up that goat path? And a tent. They must have come in last night.”

“What are they doing here?” Fletcher inquired.

“Maybe they’re bringing supplies to the Collectors,” Cancino suggested.

Brannon handed the spyglass back to Howland. “I don’t know what’s going on. There are some women and children on that south rim. Maybe… maybe Casa Verde is bringing in squatters to show a land feud rather than a battle of hired guns. It’s crazy. At this rate, the Triple B will be the third largest town in the Territory by nightfall.”

Howland shouted, “This is it. I think they’re coming down.”

“The wagons?”

“No, the Collectors. They’re all tossing on saddles.”

Brannon rubbed his grimy forehead and pushed back his hat. “Well, let’s get ready for them. Get to your positions, check your ammunition, load your guns to the maximum. Ladies, you’ll need to—”

“Do you have any clothesline rope?” Reed asked.

“Have what?”

“Clothesline rope. I want to wash out a few things and hang them up in the yard,” she replied.

“Is this a joke?”

“Stuart, as you all know, I am next to useless at shooting anything except a horse. So I believe I can serve us best by standing unarmed in the middle of the yard, doing my laundry.”

“Brannon,” Fletcher blurted, “remember Janie Mulroney? Perhaps Miss Reed has also broken under the pressure.”

“No, you’re right, Harriet. Can’t you see, Edwin?”

“I say—another diversion?”

“No, no! We’re surrounded by witnesses. How can they shoot at unarmed women doing their chores? If we look like a fort, if we fire at them, they’ll claim to have an excuse for attacking. This is an ordinary working ranch, and that’s what we’ll be.”

“An ordinary ranch with half the house burnt down, the bunkhouse in ashes, and a privy blown to shreds,” Fletcher reminded him.

Brannon hopped around. “Carry your weapon out of sight, but go about your business. Hurry, ladies, bring out your wash. Nelson, string a line across the front yard. Gonzales and Harvey, start cleaning up around the bunkhouse.”

“What do you want me to do?” Howland asked.

“Pull a couple horses out of the corral and groom them. Take your time. Act like nothing is going on.”

“I’ll heat up the forge and pound out some horseshoes in front of the barn.”

“And me?” Fletcher asked.

“Eh… well, you sit out there in the middle of the yard with Julie and read.”

“Read? My word, Brannon, you don’t expect us to—”

Miss Cancino called out, “Read to all of us.”

“Oh, all right, but it does seem terribly loose,” Fletcher protested.

Within minutes, the whole crew in place, each one became visible to the people on the north and south rim, as well as to the Collectors.

“Here they come,” Cancino shouted. “Read, Mr. Fletcher.”

“Fate had brought Odysseus to the Kingdom of the Phaeacians. On the island where he had set foot stood their city with the palace of King Alcinous, father of young Nausicaa. She was in the full bloom of youth, slender and lithe like a reed and very beautiful … I say, this is rather—”

“Read it, Fletcher,” Brannon shouted.

“They stopped, Mr. Brannon.” Howland called out. “They stopped about halfway down the slope. The wagons are rolling. Those folks from up top are coming down too.”

“So are the ones on the north rim,” Reed called out.

“Everyone’s coming down here.”

“What do we do now, Brannon?” Fletcher asked.

Lord, this is… are they coming to watch us get shot?

Lord, I’m not a violent man, but I’m getting to he an angry one. Whatever happened to my peaceful little ranch?

The Collectors waited for the wagons to pass and fell in line behind them. Brannon had a strong desire to grab up his Winchester and meet the first wagon with rifle in hand. But instead he dropped an extra Colt into his coat pocket and strolled across the yard, waiting for the string of wagons.

It took a long while for everyone to reach the ranch house. As they circled the outside of the place, Brannon noticed other rigs rolling down the mountains from the north and south.

“Hello, Mr. Brannon,” one wagon driver hailed.

He didn’t recognize the man.

Julie waved at a wagon. “There’s some of the girls from the Lucky Dollar.”

The first man to enter the yard parked his wagon beyond the burnt-out bunkhouse and walked straight to Brannon. “Stuart Brannon, I’m Tom Weedin from Florence. We met a few years back.”

“Tom? How are you? What are you doin’ up here? What’s all this you’re writing about me?”

“We’ve got to stop them. We’ve got to stop those phony land grant claims right now, Stuart. We’ve got to stop them right here at Sunrise Creek.”

“Who are all these people?”

“Sightseers.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been pumpin’ up this standoff pretty strong all across the Territory. We told folks if they want to know what’s really going on, they’d better come down and check the situation themselves.”

“And they did? They all came to watch?”

“That’s why they’re keeping their distance. Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Who’s in this wagon?” Brannon pointed to the one group that actually rolled into the yard.

“That’s Rugby Jamison, the Surveyor-General.”

Fletcher came alongside Brannon.

“Edwin, go alert the others. Get Gonzales and Harvey back to the house. Keep them spread out, and don’t let anyone infiltrate the buildings. This would be a good scene for the Collectors to try to slip in and take possession.” He turned to Barton. “I would like your expertise in this matter.”

“Certainly.”

Brannon, Barton, and Weedin walked over to the wagon.

“Mr. Jamison? I’m Stuart Brannon.”

“Ah, yes, the notorious Stuart Brannon. One can hardly pickup a newspaper without reading of you.” He glared at Tom Weedin.

“Where are Judge and Mrs. Quilici?” Brannon asked.

“I believe they made a quick train ride to Yuma. Let me introduce my associate, Mr. Toppington, and these gentlemen are lawyers for the Casa Verde Land Development Corporation, Mr. Stailly and Mr. Greenspan.”

“Mr. Brannon, we traveled all the way from San Francisco to settle this matter,” Greenspan began. “You have caused us considerable consternation and delay by your actions here in Yavapai County.”

“Not to mention adverse publicity,” Stailly said.

“I caused you? I’ve been shot, fired on by artillery, under siege for two weeks, half my home is burnt up, and three hundred people moved in on my place—and I caused you consternation?”

“This acreage, as all these people know, does not belong to you, but rather to the Casa Verde Land Development Corporation.”

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Jamison intervened. “That’s exactly what I came to investigate. We will handle all testimony in an orderly fashion. I have examined the documents, and I will now listen to the claims of both sides. Do you have your attorney with you, Mr. Brannon?”

“Attorney? Well, no… but Mr. Barton—”

“Mr. Barton is employed by the federal government, just as I am, and cannot take sides in this matter.”

“Then I will act as my own attorney.”

“Stuart,” Fletcher called. “Up ahead.”

Hank Jedel rode past the carriages and into the yard.

“Get him out of here,” Brannon demanded.

“Mr. Jedel is the foreman for Casa Verde.”

“I don’t care if he’s the President of the United States, get him off my place, or I throw him off.”

“Mr. Brannon, we cannot progress with this kind of attitude,” Greenspan protested.

Jedel sat in the saddle with his hands resting on the horn.

Brannon walked up close to the horse. “Jedel, get out of this yard now.”

“I hardly think you’ll be the one givin’ orders, Brannon,” he said.

Brannon grabbed Jedel’s vest, and before the man on the horse could draw his gun, he was yanked out of the saddle. He crashed to the ground.

Jedel jumped to his feet, but Brannon’s right uppercut sprawled him back to the ground. Jedel went for his holstered revolver, but the toe of Brannon’s boot caught his hand and sent the gun flying. Brannon had his own gun out of the holster and shoved it hard underneath Jedel’s chin.

“Mister,” Brannon said, “you’re leavin’ this ranch right now. You have threatened, harassed, and attacked us for the last time.”

Keeping the gun in place, Brannon backed the man out of the yard and shoved him towards the onlookers. Jedel stumbled and fell once more. Brannon turned and, with his back to Jedel, walked over and rejoined the others. The watching crowd broke into applause and cheers.

“That,” shouted Stailly, “is exactly the kind of behavior we are trying to avoid.”

“Then, gentlemen, may I suggest you keep Jedel and his outlaws out of my place.”

“And I suggest,” Jamison continued, “that this inquiry be held indoors so that such outbursts to attract the attention of the crowd will not happen again.”

“I presume Mr. Weedin is invited as an independent witness?” Brannon said.

Jamison nodded approval.

Brannon conceded, “I cannot offer you the comfort of my home, since the Casa Verde Land Corporation burnt half of it to the ground. But you may certainly use my barn.”

“Is there a table on which we may spread papers?”

“There’s a wagon.”

“That will do.”

As Jamison, Toppington, and the lawyers carried in several satchels of papers, Brannon barked orders. “Edwin, you come with me inside the barn. Nelson, even though you’re not allowed to take sides, I would appreciate your advice.”

“Certainly.”

“Earl, you and Harvey and Gonzales keep the Collectors out of the yard. No one takes a step towards any building.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stuart?” Reed called.

“Harriet, if you ladies could fix a meal for this group in here, it would be appreciated.”

She scurried towards the house.

For over two hours the Casa Verde lawyers explained their position and Burlingame’s claim to the land. Brannon took only five minutes to explain his.

“Brannon admits to abandoning the land for two years. We submit to you he only came back to claim it after he knew it belonged to Casa Verde.”

“Why would I do that?”

“In order to make a profit. Undoubtedly, you thought we would offer you money to leave.”

Brannon’s cold stare caused the C.V.L. attorney to scoot back to the far side of the wagon.

Turning to Jamison, Brannon continued. “As you can see from this letter dated June 14, 1876,1 was advised by authorities in Prescott that the soil-borne disease that killed my cattle would be best treated by ceasing to graze the land for at least two years. Following that advice, I took employment elsewhere.”

“That was three years ago.”

“I was delayed on other matters.”

Greenspan spoke up. “Mr. Jamison, how do we know that letter was not forged?”

Barton broke into the conversation. “I can certify that this particular letter has been in my safe for the past three years and I personally took it out of that safe and handed it and other papers to Mr. Brannon only a few weeks ago.”

“And,” Fletcher broke in, “I can state that in the two years that I have known Stuart Brannon, he has spoke of nothing except returning to this Arizona ranch. I can produce other witnesses who will supply the same information.”

“You understand, Mr. Brannon,” Jamison continued, “that it is possible for a Spanish land grant, in accordance with the treaty of Guadalupe Hildago, to supersede even the most legitimate claims?”

“Yes, sir, and I’m sure you understand that so-called documents supporting those grants can be purchased in most every town on both sides of the border?”

“Indeed,” replied Jamison, “indeed I do.”

“Mr. Brannon?” Howland called from the door. “Miss Harriet has some dinner prepared. She wants to know when you would like it served, and where?”

“Mr. Jamison,” Brannon interjected, “would this be a good time for a meal break?”

“I would be delighted.”

The entire group moved to the yard and settled into chairs brought out of the dining room.

After serving, Reed sat next to Brannon. “How’s it going in there?”

“There’s more of them.”

“What?”

“More people have ridden up, haven’t they?”

“Yes, they keep wandering down both roads. It’s like going to a circus.”

“They’re coming to see the elephant.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They’ve heard about gunfights and land feuds all their lives, but most folks have never seen one. So they’ve come to experience it. Like the country farmer that had never seen a circus, they’ve come to see the elephant.”

“Hmmm ... but you didn’t tell me. What happened inside?”

“About two hours of pretty words and legal mumble jumble, and then fifteen minutes of facts.”

“Has Jamison come to any conclusions?”

“No—and remember, all he can do is make a recommendation to the Secretary of the Interior.”

“Mr. Schurz?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“I certainly do.”

“Really. What I’m saying is, the matter can’t be solved in this meeting today. When all these folks go home, we’ll still be in the same fix.”

“I pray will be over before tonight. I, for one, don’t believe I could go another night without sleep.”

“Please keep sending fresh coffee over.”

As the men reassembled in the barn, Brannon walked over to Howland. “Earl, are you having any trouble out here?”

“Not yet, Mr. Brannon, but those Collectors seem to have scattered themselves all around the outside of the place. They’ve mixed in with the crowd. If someone gave a signal and they all moved in at once, we couldn’t stop them.”

“Help me up on that chair.” Brannon let out a yell that startled everyone within shouting distance. “Folks, thanks for coming. I want to mosey out and visit personally with all of you later on, but we’ve got this big meetin’ going on right now. In the meantime, look around you. There are about fifty gunmen who have been hired to try to take my land away. Now don’t jeopardize your safety, but I would appreciate it if you see one of these men start to sneak towards my home, if you’d just tap him on the back of the head with an axe handle, it might remind him to stay away from my place.”

Howland helped him down, and he limped back over to the barn.

Jamison spoke first. “Gentleman, I want to give you my opinion of this case. I will start first with Mr. Brannon’s claim because it’s much simpler to deal with. His papers are correct. If there are no previous claims to this land, the ranch is his. There is no case of him either permanently abandoning the land nor proof of wrongful intent to extort money from Casa Verde Development Corporation.

“As for the DePalma-Revera Land Grant claim itself, Mr. Burlingame’s lawyers have submitted 106 documents to support their claim. After nine months of consideration and two trips to the archives in Guadalajara and Mexico City, I now give you my conclusion.

“First, of the 106 documents, only 14 address the situation of this particular land grant. The rest are merely background statements and prove nothing whatever about this property. “Second, eight of the remaining documents show evidence of tampering. And though they claim to be certified copies, they do not match ones found in Mexican archives. I conclude that they are forgeries. These have mainly to do with tracing the lineage of the De Palma-Revera family.

“Third, I will recommend to the secretary that the remaining six documents are forgeries based on the following observations:

“a. The stylus used to form the letters was metal rather than quill, and therefore they cannot be the age claimed.

“b. There are nine different Spanish words used repeatedly in those pages that didn’t come into usage until after Mexican Independence.

“c. The only DePalma-Revera listed in the records of the governor of Santa Fe was a Domingo DePalma-Revera who was apprehended by the governor’s troops and shot for leading a rebellion against the Crown. It would hardly seem likely that this same governor would give him one of the largest land grants of all time.

“Therefore, it is my recommendation that the grant be denied.”

After a tense pause, Greenspan answered with carefully chosen words. “We were aware that coming to this hostile situation would make it almost impossible to get a fair hearing, and we will appeal this recommendation.”

“Where does this leave me now?” Brannon asked Jamison.

“The land is yours until proven otherwise.”

“And what should I do with these Collectors at my door?”

“That is a matter for the Yavapai County Sheriff, who unfortunately resigned last week.”

“Mr. Brannon,” Howland interrupted again, “Judge and Mrs. Quilici are here, and they have someone with them.”

“Before you end this inquiry, I would like to get their report.” Brannon limped towards the door.

“By all means,” Jamison agreed as he gathered up his papers.

“Judge,” Brannon called.

“Stuart, I see most of your house is still standing,” Sage commented.

“Mr. Jamison, representatives of Casa Verde, Stuart,” the judge began, “I would like to introduce to you Miguel Lejandro Alvarez, who has been released into my custody from the Arizona Territorial Prison in Yuma.”

Jamison frowned. “He has bearing on this case?”

“Indeed. He is serving time for trying to sell fraudulent Spanish land grants in the Yuma area.”

“What has this to do with our case?” Greenspan complained.

“First, he has confessed that he sold a box of papers to Warren G. Burlingame in San Diego, California, about fifteen months ago. Second, he says the papers in the Surveyor-General’s possession are identical to the ones I bring you from Yuma, except the name and location of the grant have been altered.”

“His testimony won’t stand,” Stailly countered.

“These documents will.”

Jamison studied the pages presented to him. Glancing up at Brannon, he noted, “This will never go to Congress. I will recommend in a telegram that the claim be immediately dropped and that those involved in the deception be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. You will hear from me within the month. Gentlemen, my work is through here, and I, for one, would much prefer to be in Tucson.”

Tom Weedin, who sat on a sack of oats while he listened to the entire proceedings, hit the barn door running. He informed the crowd of the decision and had his wagon rolling up the hill before Brannon and the others emerged from the barn.

Jubilant cheers rang out as the men exited the barn. The people who sat all day and waited, lost restraint and flooded down into the yard, shaking hands, shouting, and laughing.

In the confusion, Jamison and the Casa Verde lawyers climbed back into their carriages.

“Mr. Greenspan,” Brannon called out several times through the noise. He hobbled close to the wagon. He shouted, “where does it go from here? What’s Burlingame going to do now?”

“That, of course, is his decision. However, due to the seemingly endless negative publicity over this so-called Yavapai County War, we’ve been instructed that if the case ruled against us, we’re to pay off Mr. Jedel and his men and abandon the Corporation Collection Agency. As of this moment, there are no more Collectors working for Casa Verde.”

The excitement began to calm down after an hour of revelry.

By late afternoon, some of the onlookers journeyed back up the trails, both north and south. Others still gathered in the yard and surrounding area.

Brannon found Howland. “What happened to the Collectors?”

“Those San Francisco lawyers paid them off, and most filtered right out of here. There’s a half a dozen up next to the cannon. Mainly it looks like they’re drinkin’. Maybe they’re tryin’ to figure how to drag it out of here.”

“And Jedel?”

“He’s up there with them.”

By the time the sun set, about thirty gawkers remained at the ranch. They set up camp near Sunrise Creek and decided to wait until the following day to return to their homes.

Fletcher grabbed Brannon by the arm. “Stuart, we’ve got more visitors.”

Two of Jedel’s men rode up to the south side of the yard.

Brannon limped toward them carrying his Winchester. “What do you want?”

“Jedel wants to call you out. He says it’s time you stopped hiding behind those skirts and faced him straight on.”

“Let me get this right. He’s got a cannon and six men, and he’s calling me a coward?”

“He’ll meet you at the creek—just you and him. We’ll stay up there on the hill. You can see us from here.”

I am not a violent man.

“Tell Jedel he is not worth the bullet or five minutes of my time.”

“You backin’ out, Brannon?”

The Winchester was at his shoulder and cocked before either man knew what happened. “Tell him I was not afraid of him when he had fifty men by his side, and I’m certainly not afraid now. If one of you boys wants to try me out, just make a pull for it.”

“Wait,” one protested. “I ain’t drawin’ on ya. I ain’t whiskey-crazy. It’s Jedel.”

“He’s going to be mad.”

“But he’ll be alive. Now,” Brannon motioned with the barrel of the rifle, “get off my ranch.”

Howland watched through the spyglass as the two riders drifted back up the hill. “They’re leavin’,” he called.

“All six of them?”

“No, just the two that were down here.”

“That leaves four. Sounds almost tame after the past several weeks, doesn’t it?”

“We going after them?” Howland inquired.

“Nope. Maybe they’ll all be gone by morning.”

“Will they come back later on?”

“Only if someone pays them.”

“Jedel ain’t in it for just pay,” Howland cautioned. “I’ve seen him insane when he’s drunk.”

“We’ll post a guard and see who’s left up there in the morning. If they didn’t charge us fifty strong, I doubt if four of them will.”

 

] ]

 

The evening much quieter than the previous one, everyone exhausted from the constant fear and tension, most considered moving on. They still had on their clothes from the night before, but none looked ready for a party.

“I suppose you’ll be going on to Phoenix now?” Brannon asked Barton.

“I’ve been away from the office so long we have just about decided to return to Prescott.”

“When do you have to leave?”

“Tomorrow, if you really think you don’t need us here.”

Brannon scooted his chair back away from the dining table. “Are you all going back to Prescott, Miss Cancino?” Brannon pressed.

“Judge and Mrs. Quilici asked me to come stay with them until they go to Phoenix later in the month. I still want to give that sanitarium a try.”

“You will be coming back up to Prescott soon, won’t you, Stuart?” Reed asked.

“There’s one thing for sure, I’m going to need to buy a wagon full of lumber to rebuild this place. If you get on the trail first thing in the morning, you’ll be able to ride along with the folks down at the creek.”

After quick exits to get some sleep, Howland helped Miss Cancino to the front porch. Reed and Brannon remained at the table.

“I hope you’ll come back to the ranch sometime when it’s normal again, Harriet. I didn’t even get to show you around the place.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Did I ever take you up to the piñon pines?”

She sighed and tilted her head. “To the graves?”

“Yeah, it’s the prettiest place on this entire ranch.”

“I would expect it to be. You know, Stuart, most of us will never be quite the same after this siege.”

“I don’t think the Triple B will stay the same either. It has been real nice to have the rustle of dresses in this house again. I didn’t realize how much I missed that.”

“Just sit there for a minute and let me clear the table. I think Gwen has collapsed in a corner somewhere.”

The next thing Brannon knew, he felt a soft hand touch his shoulder. He jerked his head straight up. He yawned. “Have I been asleep?”

“Only a short while,” Reed replied. “But that chair doesn’t look very comfortable.”

“Yeah… I think I’ll go on out to the barn.” He stood, stumbled on his bad foot, and caught himself on the table.

“Are you all right?”

“Just need a little rest.” He hobbled onto the porch and nodded at Howland and Cancino. “Earl, nudge me when you turn in, and I’ll take a watch. A drunk Jedel is capable of anything.”

Within moments, Brannon was sound asleep.

At first he thought the explosion was just in a dream—distant, hard to explain, unconnected with his need for rest.

The cannon!

He sat straight up in the straw.

Howland and the other men pulled themselves to their feet as Brannon dashed for the door.

“What did they shoot at?” he yelled at Fletcher, who was leading El Viento out of the corral. “What are you doing with my horse? Where’s the spyglass? What did they hit?”

“It’s just Jedel. I guess the others left in the night,” Fletcher replied.

“What are you doing with my saddle?”

“Take a look for yourself.” Fletcher handed him the spyglass.

“What am I looking for?”

“Your piñon pines.”

The pines? He blew up the pines? Lord, no, not Lisa and the baby!

Brannon frantically searched the hillside. Only one pine tree remained, leaning at a forty-five degree angle. The other was a gnarled pile of limbs and roots. For a moment he couldn’t take his eyes off the sight. He couldn’t speak. Fletcher tightened the cinch, and Brannon yanked himself into the saddle.

Fletcher handed up his Winchester. “I don’t suppose you want me to ride along?”

Brannon kicked El Viento hard, and the horse bolted out of the yard and up the hill.

“No… I didn’t think so.” Fletcher sighed.

Reed ran to his side. “What is it, Edwin?”

“I think—I think Jedel just pushed Brannon over the line.”

 

It’s hard to describe all the feelings at that moment. You realize I had just spent thirty-six hours in that same dress, Lisa’s dress, only slept maybe five hours in two days, and then had spent most of the time waiting to get shot or some equally horrid fate.

 

Hearing the explosion, I pulled myself together and ran to the front of the house. I noticed Mr. Brannon was on horseback and talking with Edwin Fletcher. Since I couldn’t find my shoes, I ran barefoot (yes, Harriet Reed—barefoot!) towards them, but Mr. Brannon had sprinted up the hill before I got there.

 

That’s when Mr. Fletcher, a really charming Englishman, told me about Jedel blowing up the trees and graves. I couldn’t believe it. Some acts are so vile they stagger and stun one’s senses, and that’s how I felt. I must admit I tore the spyglass right out of Mr. Fletcher’s hand.

 

You must get a sense of the scene. It is barely dawn—the mountains are still fairly green, the creek splits the valley, the empty sky is grayish-blue, a gentle but cool breeze floats across the yard. There’s the smell of horses, and ashes, and sweaty men.

 

In the scope I see a black horse—a big, very fast black horse galloping up the distant hill. Mr. Brannon’s hat is flapping on his back, held on by the stampede string. His rifle is in his right hand, and he is wildly spurring the horse. Then I move the spyglass up the hill and see the cannon and a man furiously working to reload. I almost fainted when it dawned on me the cannon was now pointed right at Mr. Brannon. He would literally be blown right out of this world!

 

From that distance, an interesting phenomenon occurs. You see the smoke from the cannon firing long before you hear the report of the explosion. Well, the smoke flew. Then came the horrible sound of the explosion. My heart sank, but I looked back, and Mr. Brannon was still galloping up the mountain.

 

As we learned later, the old cannon, still hot from the first shot, misfired and literally blew up. All I could see was Brannon riding into a cloud of smoke.

 

Then we heard three shots being fired, and finally I saw him, still mounted, race across the hill to the little cemetery. I was informed by Mr. Howland that what we heard were shots from a handgun, and Mr. Brannon had only carried his rifle with him.

 

Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Howland, and I mounted up as soon as we could (no, I did not ride sidesaddle) and made our way up the hill. The cannon was split on one side, and Mr. Jedel lay about twelve feet away. Mr. Howland and Mr. Fletcher dismounted and proclaimed Mr. Jedel dead. It seems a piece of the cannon hit him in the stomach, but he had time to fire three bullets at Mr. Brannon, who, as it turned out, escaped with only a hole in his hat.

 

I started to ride on over to the grave sites, but Mr. Fletcher wouldn’t let me. I was as angry as a schoolgirl at the time, but looking back, I know he, as usual, was quite correct.

 

It was early afternoon before Mr. Brannon returned to the house. Most of the crowd at the creek began their journey home. Julie left with Judge and Mrs. Quilici about midmorning. We had our carriages ready to depart and only waited to say good-bye to our host.

 

He didn’t speak to a soul until after he put the horse in the corral. I ran to him in the middle of the yard, and he put his calloused hands on my shoulders, touching the rose dress that had once been his Lisa’s. I don’t know if I can do justice to this scene, but his eyes told the whole story.

 

They were old. Red. Tired. Sad. And they belonged only to her.

 

I wanted to hold him in my arms and rock his deep hurts away, but the best I could do was drop my head and cry. We stood there in silence for a few minutes. Then the others were loaded and ready to leave. There was nothing more we could think of to say.

 

He looked up at me in the carriage and sighed. “Harriet, I didn’t shoot Jedel. I am not a violent man.”

 

I truly want to believe him.

 

To say the past several days since the Yavapai County War have been uneventful would be an understatement. After being around Mr. Brannon, I have a distinct feeling that all of life will be rather dull. I would be bored silly if I didn’t have my novel to work on and you to write to.

 

Mr. Fletcher did send word that he and Mr. Howland will be coming to Prescott next week to purchase a load of lumber. It will be like a wonderful little reunion to see them again. I did tell you Mr. Fletcher is an Earl or Lord or something like that, didn’t I?

 

Give my best to Rachel.

Affectionately yours, Miss Harriet Reed

 

 

 

 

~~THE END~~

 

 

About Stephen Bly (1944-2011)

An award-winning western author, he published more than 100 inspirational novels and nonfiction books, plus hundreds of short stories, cowboy poetry, devotionals, and articles for writers. He co-authored dozens of books with wife, Janet Chester Bly.

His historical western novel, The Long Trail Home, (The Fortunes of the Black Hills Series), won the prestigious Christy Award for excellence in Christian fiction.

Three other historical novels–Picture Rock (The Skinners of Goldfield Series, Crossway Books), The Outlaw’s Twin Sister (The Belles of Lordsburg Series),
and Last of the Texas Camp (The Fortunes of the Black Hills Series) were Christy Award finalists.

His most well-known character is cowboy, lawman and rancher, Stuart Brannon. Brannon receives at least a mention or cameo appearance in every Bly novel. He was working on Stuart Brannon’s Final Shot, Book #7 of The Stuart Brannon Series, at the time he passed away. Janet and sons, Russell, Michael, and Aaron, finished the novel for him. He left them 10% of the story, a 1-page summary, 2-pages of character names and a 4-month deadline. Stuart Brannon’s Final Shot was a Selah Award Finalist.

Read the story of their writing adventure here: DAD’S FINAL NOVEL

 

 

Discover Books by Author Stephen Bly at Smashwords.com

 

Smashwords Author Page

 

 

Also By Stephen Bly

 

 

The Stuart Brannon Novels

 

 

Hard Winter at Broken Arrow Crossing

False Claims at the Little Stephen Mine

Last Hanging at Paradise Meadow

Standoff at Sunrise Creek

Final Justice at Adobe Wells

Son of an Arizona Legend

Stuart Brannon’s Final Shot

 

 

 

Connect Online:

 

Facebook Author Stephen Bly Page

 

Facebook Bly Books Page

 

Pinterest

 

Twitter

 

Bly Books Website

 

Bly Books Blog

 

Bly Books Almost Monthly Newsletter

special deals and info on new releases:

SIGN UP HERE