Standoff At Sunrise Creek

by Stephen Bly

  “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, a
nd 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.