Disaster At Devil's Canyon: Blue River Wilde Western Adventure (Half Breed Haven Book 7)

by A. M. Van Dorn

  When he first came to work as a sawyer for Cedar Ledge four years ago, he had been dumbstruck just as every new employee was. The Wilde family with the four stunning daughters and their hour-glass figures would have set themselves apart under normal circumstances, but the fact that one was white, the other a mulatto, yet another that was Mexican, and the fourth an oriental woman put them in a league of their own.

  Of course, he was just as quickly warned by the other men not to entertain any notions of getting with them. The four women were free spirits who had no problem seeking out men of their choosing. Any man who tried to court them usually came away with a degree of frustration that could usually only be satisfied by a trip to the local cathouse in Alamieda.

  This had never been a problem for Burnham until about six months ago. He rarely saw the women, but when the manager of the mill retired those six months back, the ranch owner, Judge Wilde, had put his youngest son, the half Yavapai Indian brave Blue River in charge of the timber operation. Blue River had been under the tutelage of the former manager, Walt Jeffries, for close to two years now and had been a natural when he stepped into the role of running the operation. However, what changed for Burnham was that now that the Indian was more involved, his sister Cassandra seemed to be dropping by the mill more frequently now to visit with him.

  Every time she was there, Burnham had found excuses to speak with her even if it was just pleasantries. He could not help himself, the woman was incredible and not just in her looks. Everyone in Alamieda knew she and her sisters were some of the most capable women the West had ever seen. Their adventures seemed to Burnham like real-life versions of the fanciful dime novels that were so popular. The Daughters of Half Breed Haven, as many an Arizonan had called them, were a force to be reckoned with, and Cassandra was their unofficial leader.

  All had come to a head in terms of his longing for her when Blue River unexpectedly asked him to deliver a message to his sister, Lijuan, down at the ranch house itself. Burnham had never been there and he welcomed the chance to go inside. Still, he felt a little apprehensive. Though Blue River was his immediate boss, all the working men knew that the ultimate boss was the half-Asian daughter Lijuan. Not long before Burnham had arrived at Cedar Ledge, their father "Whip" Wilde had turned over the operation of the ranch to Lijuan so he could focus on his career as a circuit judge. Lijuan had been an excellent choice as her business skills were second to none.

  Lijuan, however, had a well-earned reputation as being a hardnosed type and no-nonsense. That immediately put him on guard, to say nothing of how she had a penchant for carrying around the weapon of her choice on her belt … a blacksmith's hammer of all things. He had no idea how and why she had picked such a thing as a weapon. Burnham just knew she was no one to be trifled with, especially since she kept him gainfully employed. When he had knocked on the door, he did hope he might catch a glimpse of Cassandra, but as it turned out, he had been rewarded beyond his wildest dreams.

  Good fortune had smiled on him when Cassandra, in a flowing and casual purple dress, had been the one to open the door and graciously show him in. Normally, he should have been awestruck by the old but well-preserved and beautiful walls of the great sitting room of Cedar Ledge where the family obviously gathered around to enjoy each other's company. He could have also simply delighted in the view the ceiling-to-floor-length glass windows gave of the distant mountains that made up the very heart of the five-hundred-square-mile ranch. But all of that was lost on him, being in the presence of Cassandra Wilde.

  For the first few seconds after being invited to sit, he had happily eyed her entire hour-glass figure, unable to stop his gaze from lingering on all her natural curves. Of course, her blond hair and green eyes always got the best of him but he had spent more time admiring her thin supple lips and her enthralling cleavage which was luckily visible underneath her dress.

  For fear of staring too much though, he had quickly told her that he was at the house to deliver a message to her sister, but she informed him that their brother Dutch, a Calvary captain at Fort McCallister, had stopped by earlier and had invited Lijuan to lunch in Alamieda. Cassandra had then promised to relay the message to her as soon as she returned.

  Burnham, disappointed to see that his presence would be short-lived, had reluctantly prepared to excuse himself when Cassandra had stunned him by saying she was just sitting down to lunch herself. She asked him if he would like to join her.

  Through his astonishment, the lumberjack had quickly accepted her invitation, barely hearing her when she explained that her other sister, Honor Elizabeth, originally was going to dine with her but a matter had called her away elsewhere on the ranch that she had to deal with. This had left a whole extra meal that needed eating and that the old cook, Mrs. Chow, would have one of her famous fits if she prepared the food for nothing.

  Burnham had mutely let himself be led to the dining room by Cassandra a minute later. Entering, he noticed with astonishment the room was built in the corner of a wing of the large house that directly faced the west. It wasn’t the room itself that gave him the awe but the sweeping view through one of its glass windows, imagining the most beautiful sunsets this view would afford. For a second, as Burnham sat, he could also imagine the view during sunrise as well. Of course, the morning sun would rise in the opposite direction, slowly lighting up the visible mountains in a glorious way. The second window, giving a most beautiful view of the valley, all the way into town, with rays of light bouncing off the roofs of the buildings of Almeida making them appear as sparkling dots in the distance.

  Soon, over the course of their meal in the dining room, Burnham lost interest in the beauty that was beyond the windows and focused on the pair of green eyes that stared back at him as the pair began to speak on diverse topics. They laughed and conversed heartily, as he could not help but to ask her about some of the many adventures the four women had become embroiled in over the years. Cassandra was just getting ready to start another story about a bank robbery she and her youngest sister Catalina had foiled a few months back when he suddenly realized Blue River was likely to be wondering where he was. He wasn't aware he spoke about it out loud until the oldest Wilde daughter simply laughed and told him not to worry if Blue River had a problem with him being late getting back. She would smooth it all over, she had assured him. The sincerity in her voice put him at ease and he sat back and listened to her story.

  When he finally came away from that encounter with her, he knew in his heart that she was someone that he could love. He also knew the odds were against him. Everything he knew about Cassandra Wilde and her sisters were that they were not the types interested in settling down. Yet none of that mattered. The time he spent with her was intoxicating.

  The past few days afterward, he kept going back over the pros and cons of making his play for her. He was an employee of the ranch, however, but technically, he did not work for her. Sure, the scuttlebutt around the bunkhouses were that all seven of the Wilde family received equal shares in the ranch's two main sources of income … their successful cattle operation led by Catalina and the timber business in which he worked. But again, that didn't make Cassandra his boss. Cassandra, in fact, was known to be some type of special lawman who received her assignments directly from her uncle who happened to be the governor of the territory.

  To Burnham, that was more of a stumbling block. Cassandra was frequently away from the ranch on her missions, often roping the other three sisters into whatever she was into when they could get away from their responsibilities. What would it be like to have a woman who was away so much? More than that, what would it be like to have one who was constantly putting her life in danger?

  All of this, he knew was getting ahead of himself. First, he needed to officially ask her out and see if he could spark a relationship with her. Once he got back to Cedar Ledge, that was what he intended to do. Now though, Burnham temporarily let his mind wander from his favorite subject of Cassandra to an unusual lookin
g rock formation to the left of the wagons. For a moment, he wished he had not forgotten his journal underneath his mattress back at Cedar Ledge. When he traveled, he liked to make note of unusual things he saw so that he might revisit them someday when he was on his own time. If he had had the journal, he would have jotted the unique formation down. Perhaps someday he and Cassandra could visit it if they were a couple.

  He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he was barely aware that the slender man next to him was speaking. Eventually, noticing that the driver’s lips were moving, Burnham brushed away his thoughts of the blond Wilde beauty and turned to him.

  “What was that now, Charlie?” he asked.

  Charlie’s face had become ashen suddenly, alerting Burnham a little too late.

  “Holy Christmas!” Charlie yelled with fright just as an arrow came from nowhere and hit him straight in the chest.

  For a split second, Burnham was too dumbstruck to move a muscle or utter a word. He watched with a growing alarm as Charlie's body slowly fell from the bench seat and smacked onto the dusty road. That jolted his senses eventually, getting him to tighten his grip on the rifle and look just in time in the direction that the arrow had come from to see about twenty Apache braves swooping down from the rocky landscape that surrounded the convoy of wagons.

  Burnham grabbed the reins then, attempting to control the horses with one hand and gripping the rifle in the other. He was in the lead wagon, and the others would be looking to him for guidance as to whether to make an attempt to outrun the marauders or stop the caravan and make a stand at fighting them off. The crushing reality came down on him that there was no chance to try and dash to an escape and he pulled on the reins, to halt the horses.

  The horses stopped on a dime as Burnham almost fell off the bench. He quickly turned and as he did he heard the whooshing sound of an arrow fly right past his head. The brave that had shot at him rode past him a few seconds later on a white horse with large brown spots. With his rifle in his right hand, Burnham grunted as he fired, hitting the brave spot on in his back and catapulting him to the ground lifeless.

  Burnham jumped off the wagon in a dead run around one of its sides and knelt down. He watched as a group of braves circled the second wagon, the driver trying to hold them off with a few shots and missing. The brave he fired at threw a tomahawk, and it struck the man in the head. The poor driver fell over on the bench of the wagon and the brave stood above him with pride, yanking the tomahawk out of his skull. The passenger had his rifle in his hands, but instead of shooting, he swung the butt of the rifle at the brave, not to hit him, but keep the brave away.Unfortunately, that proved an unwise move; Burnham watched as another brave came from behind and shot an arrow that struck the man’s back. As the man fell to the ground other braves busied themselves splashing some sort of liquid they carried in pouches made from animal skins on the wagon.

  The whole scene looked like a bad dream to Burnham. Only moments ago, he was daydreaming about the woman he loved and now he wondered if he would ever see Cassandra again. He laid back against the wagon wheel taking a few deep breaths and calmly began reloading. He heard in the background battle cries of the Apache. Burnham finished the reload of his rifle and gripped it with both hands. He closed his eyes, took a final deep breath, then stood up. He turned and started to dash away from behind his wagon. He saw arrows fly through the sky, and against the pink hues of the Arizona desert sky, he witnessed that those arrows were lit on fire. They hit the second wagon, and then he saw the ties instantly burst into flame from whatever the Apaches had coated them with. Looking further back, he saw his own wagon was also engulfed in its own funeral pyre.

  Turning his attention from the wagons Burnham quickly glanced to his left, then right. No braves. He ran as fast as he could towards the flaming wagon hoping to get past it and lose himself in the terrain that lay beyond it. Still, no Apache noticed him. It appeared he might make it when suddenly a brave emerged through the billowing smoke from the wagon.

  Burnham continued running, blasting off a shot and hitting the charging brave. The brave fell just as Burnham reached him. The hulk of a man looked up with disgust at Burnham and began to say something in his native tongue, but Burnham hit him in the face with the butt of his rifle, instantly silencing him. Burnham then looked to his left, seeing with a good amount of sadness the third wagon shooting past the flames of the second, making no attempt to stop for him and he really couldn’t blame them. The driver and the passenger were both firing their guns as they veered off the trail hoping to escape cross country.

  He tried to run towards them, and as he closed in on the wagon, the fourth wagon burst through the black smoke. He had to dive out of the way and hit the ground just as the horses passed him. Swiftly, he kept rolling to avoid the hooves and from the corner of his eyes, he could still see more lit arrows fly over his head as he laid on the ground. The arrows hit the side of the fourth wagon just as he managed to get up and swerve away from target. He thought he would get luckier as he escaped, but rifle shots suddenly echoed around him, the bullets hitting the ground next to him. He quickly scanned the area, rifle at the ready, and saw two armed Apaches on horseback, twenty yards away. He fired back without second thought, more as a diversion so he could get to cover.

  The two men that were on the fourth wagon jumped off as he kept moving and were running toward him. Burnham made eye contact with the first man, seeing that they both had the same expression of hopelessness in their eyes. The man was however hit with an arrow to the side of his head before he could run far off enough, his eyes still on Burnham as he died. Burnham spun around and gasped in pain as an arrow hit his right shoulder too. The momentum from the arrow knocked him back and he went down to one knee just as the other man from the fourth wagon ran to him.

  “Burnham! We gotta go! Get up! These ties are lost! I ain’t dyin’ for them!” the man hollered.

  He held Burnham’s shoulder and tried to drag him to the relative safety of a cluster of nearby boulders but at the sound of hoofbeats, the man let go of Burnham and pulled his pistol from his holster. He acted too late; a brave on horseback came from behind and scalped the poor man with his tomahawk. Burnham fell to the ground instantly, seeing the scalp of the man land right near to his right hand and splattering blood across his knuckles.

  Luckily, the man's revolver landed next to Burnham's left hand. He saw the brave stop and jump off his horse, and at the same moment, he seized the revolver. He successfully blasted two rounds, into the brave's stomach. As the brave fell dead to the ground, Burnham swiftly stood up, pulled the arrow out of his shoulder and quickly ran to the brave's horse. Stuffing the gun into his belt he jumped on, another brave, who looked young, came running at him and jumped on the animal, too.

  They wrestled atop the horse, each scratching at each other’s face and throwing hard punches. The young warrior was tough, but not as tough as a grown man with a wound that ironically seemed to increase his strength to fight for life.

  Burnham eventually threw the boy off the horse and charged in the direction the third wagon had veered off to. He rode like a bat out of hell, ducking flying arrows and gunshots, and making way through fire and dust. He almost reached the wagon, when he saw the warriors surrounding the horses. The Apache with their rifles opened fire coldly, killing the team right before his eyes. The men on the wagon tossed down their weapons, raised their hands and surrendered.

  Burnham quickly pulled the reins on the horse to turn around, and as he did, he was face to face with six Apache. He quickly raised his pistol, but before he could shoot, he was hit with an arrow in his chest, knocking him off the horse. Striking the ground hard, he was certain that he had broken his left arm when he landed. Looking at it, he confirmed his fears as he noticed the tip of a bone sticking out. When he stared back up, two braves towered over him while the other four took off behind him, toward the wagon.

  The two Apache looked at Burnham with a dark malevolence in their eyes. Burnha
m tried to gather the strength to pull his hand up and fire his pistol. He couldn’t. One of the Apaches finally walked away, the other staying back to watch over the other two prisoners being dragged over near Burnham. He watched as they were forced to their knees. He closed his eyes briefly then, unable to watch them being executed, but he couldn’t keep them closed when he heard a voice shouting in English.

  “This is Apache territory and this is war! One never to end while you crave our land. My people will kill all of you before your iron horse roams these lands!” One of the Apaches declared.

  “Just let us go,” Burnham heard one of the wagon men plead, “We’ll pass the message on.”

  “The Great Spirit smiles on you this day,” the brave said with an air of smugness, “We let you live for one reason only! Return to the railroad! Tell them to leave these lands or die!”

  “We don’t even work for the railroad. We were just hauling timber they bought from us,” the other carriage man pleaded.

  “That’s of no matter to me and my braves. All who align or help with the railroad shall meet the same fate that your white brothers met this day! If you value your life, spread the word and never return! This railroad and its iron horses will not claim our lands … not today … not ever!”

  It was obvious now what the braves fought for. They said nothing else now, each Apache jumping on top of his horse and riding away into the rocky terrain. Burnham watched with pain sieving through his entire body as their horses finally disappeared into the wilderness, leaving only dust behind them. The former hostages rushed towards him, cradling him and trying to see if they could tend to his wounds.