by Stephen Bly
“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.”