Standoff At Sunrise Creek

by Stephen Bly

“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.”

&nbs
p; “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.