Standoff At Sunrise Creek

by Stephen Bly

  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 bandann
a 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.