Standoff At Sunrise Creek

by Stephen Bly

  “Stuart,” Fletcher called. “Up ahead.”

  Hank Jedel rode past the carriages and into the yard.

  “Get him out of here,” Brannon demanded.

  “Mr. Jedel is the foreman for Casa Verde.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the President of the United States, get him off my place, or I throw him off.”

  “Mr. Brannon, we cannot progress with this kind of attitude,” Greenspan protested.

  Jedel sat in the saddle with his hands resting on the horn.

  Brannon walked up close to the horse. “Jedel, get out of this yard now.”

  “I hardly think you’ll be the one givin’ orders, Brannon,” he said.

  Brannon grabbed Jedel’s vest, and before the man on the horse could draw his gun, he was yanked out of the saddle. He crashed to the ground.

  Jedel jumped to his feet, but Brannon’s right uppercut sprawled him back to the ground. Jedel went for his holstered revolver, but the toe of Brannon’s boot caught his hand and sent the gun flying. Brannon had his own gun out of the holster and shoved it hard underneath Jedel’s chin.

  “Mister,” Brannon said, “you’re leavin’ this ranch right now. You have threatened, harassed, and attacked us for the last time.”

  Keeping the gun in place, Brannon backed the man out of the yard and shoved him towards the onlookers. Jedel stumbled and fell once more. Brannon turned and, with his back to Jedel, walked over and rejoined the others. The watching crowd broke into applause and cheers.

  “That,” shouted Stailly, “is exactly the kind of behavior we are trying to avoid.”

  “Then, gentlemen, may I suggest you keep Jedel and his outlaws out of my place.”

  “And I suggest,” Jamison continued, “that this inquiry be held indoors so that such outbursts to attract the attention of the crowd will not happen again.”

  “I presume Mr. Weedin is invited as an independent witness?” Brannon said.

  Jamison nodded approval.

  Brannon conceded, “I cannot offer you the comfort of my home, since the Casa Verde Land Corporation burnt half of it to the ground. But you may certainly use my barn.”

  “Is there a table on which we may spread papers?”

  “There’s a wagon.”

  “That will do.”

  As Jamison, Toppington, and the lawyers carried in several satchels of papers, Brannon barked orders. “Edwin, you come with me inside the barn. Nelson, even though you’re not allowed to take sides, I would appreciate your advice.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Earl, you and Harvey and Gonzales keep the Collectors out of the yard. No one takes a step towards any building.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stuart?” Reed called.

  “Harriet, if you ladies could fix a meal for this group in here, it would be appreciated.”

  She scurried towards the house.

  For over two hours the Casa Verde lawyers explained their position and Burlingame’s claim to the land. Brannon took only five minutes to explain his.

  “Brannon admits to abandoning the land for two years. We submit to you he only came back to claim it after he knew it belonged to Casa Verde.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “In order to make a profit. Undoubtedly, you thought we would offer you money to leave.”

  Brannon’s cold stare caused the C.V.L. attorney to scoot back to the far side of the wagon.

  Turning to Jamison, Brannon continued. “As you can see from this letter dated June 14, 1876,1 was advised by authorities in Prescott that the soil-borne disease that killed my cattle would be best treated by ceasing to graze the land for at least two years. Following that advice, I took employment elsewhere.”

  “That was three years ago.”

  “I was delayed on other matters.”

  Greenspan spoke up. “Mr. Jamison, how do we know that letter was not forged?”

  Barton broke into the conversation. “I can certify that this particular letter has been in my safe for the past three years and I personally took it out of that safe and handed it and other papers to Mr. Brannon only a few weeks ago.”

  “And,” Fletcher broke in, “I can state that in the two years that I have known Stuart Brannon, he has spoke of nothing except returning to this Arizona ranch. I can produce other witnesses who will supply the same information.”

  “You understand, Mr. Brannon,” Jamison continued, “that it is possible for a Spanish land grant, in accordance with the treaty of Guadalupe Hildago, to supersede even the most legitimate claims?”

  “Yes, sir, and I’m sure you understand that so-called documents supporting those grants can be purchased in most every town on both sides of the border?”

  “Indeed,” replied Jamison, “indeed I do.”

  “Mr. Brannon?” Howland called from the door. “Miss Harriet has some dinner prepared. She wants to know when you would like it served, and where?”

  “Mr. Jamison,” Brannon interjected, “would this be a good time for a meal break?”

  “I would be delighted.”

  The entire group moved to the yard and settled into chairs brought out of the dining room.

  After serving, Reed sat next to Brannon. “How’s it going in there?”

  “There’s more of them.”

  “What?”

  “More people have ridden up, haven’t they?”

  “Yes, they keep wandering down both roads. It’s like going to a circus.”

  “They’re coming to see the elephant.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “They’ve heard about gunfights and land feuds all their lives, but most folks have never seen one. So they’ve come to experience it. Like the country farmer that had never seen a circus, they’ve come to see the elephant.”

  “Hmmm ... but you didn’t tell me. What happened inside?”

  “About two hours of pretty words and legal mumble jumble, and then fifteen minutes of facts.”

  “Has Jamison come to any conclusions?”

  “No—and remember, all he can do is make a recommendation to the Secretary of the Interior.”

  “Mr. Schurz?”

  “Yes, do you know him?”

  “I certainly do.”

  “Really. What I’m saying is, the matter can’t be solved in this meeting today. When all these folks go home, we’ll still be in the same fix.”

  “I pray will be over before tonight. I, for one, don’t believe I could go another night without sleep.”

  “Please keep sending fresh coffee over.”

  As the men reassembled in the barn, Brannon walked over to Howland. “Earl, are you having any trouble out here?”

  “Not yet, Mr. Brannon, but those Collectors seem to have scattered themselves all around the outside of the place. They’ve mixed in with the crowd. If someone gave a signal and they all moved in at once, we couldn’t stop them.”

  “Help me up on that chair.” Brannon let out a yell that startled everyone within shouting distance. “Folks, thanks for coming. I want to mosey out and visit personally with all of you later on, but we’ve got this big meetin’ going on right now. In the meantime, look around you. There are about fifty gunmen who have been hired to try to take my land away. Now don’t jeopardize your safety, but I would appreciate it if you see one of these men start to sneak towards my home, if you’d just tap him on the back of the head with an axe handle, it might remind him to stay away from my place.”

  Howland helped him down, and he limped back over to the barn.

  Jamison spoke first. “Gentleman, I want to give you my opinion of this case. I will start first with Mr. Brannon’s claim because it’s much simpler to deal with. His papers are correct. If there are no previous claims to this land, the ranch is his. There is no case of him either permanently abandoning the land nor proof of wrongful intent to extort money from Casa Verde Development Corporation.

  “As for the DePalma-Revera Land Grant claim itself, Mr. Bu
rlingame’s lawyers have submitted 106 documents to support their claim. After nine months of consideration and two trips to the archives in Guadalajara and Mexico City, I now give you my conclusion.

  “First, of the 106 documents, only 14 address the situation of this particular land grant. The rest are merely background statements and prove nothing whatever about this property. “Second, eight of the remaining documents show evidence of tampering. And though they claim to be certified copies, they do not match ones found in Mexican archives. I conclude that they are forgeries. These have mainly to do with tracing the lineage of the De Palma-Revera family.

  “Third, I will recommend to the secretary that the remaining six documents are forgeries based on the following observations:

  “a. The stylus used to form the letters was metal rather than quill, and therefore they cannot be the age claimed.

  “b. There are nine different Spanish words used repeatedly in those pages that didn’t come into usage until after Mexican Independence.

  “c. The only DePalma-Revera listed in the records of the governor of Santa Fe was a Domingo DePalma-Revera who was apprehended by the governor’s troops and shot for leading a rebellion against the Crown. It would hardly seem likely that this same governor would give him one of the largest land grants of all time.

  “Therefore, it is my recommendation that the grant be denied.”

  After a tense pause, Greenspan answered with carefully chosen words. “We were aware that coming to this hostile situation would make it almost impossible to get a fair hearing, and we will appeal this recommendation.”

  “Where does this leave me now?” Brannon asked Jamison.

  “The land is yours until proven otherwise.”

  “And what should I do with these Collectors at my door?”

  “That is a matter for the Yavapai County Sheriff, who unfortunately resigned last week.”

  “Mr. Brannon,” Howland interrupted again, “Judge and Mrs. Quilici are here, and they have someone with them.”

  “Before you end this inquiry, I would like to get their report.” Brannon limped towards the door.

  “By all means,” Jamison agreed as he gathered up his papers.

  “Judge,” Brannon called.

  “Stuart, I see most of your house is still standing,” Sage commented.

  “Mr. Jamison, representatives of Casa Verde, Stuart,” the judge began, “I would like to introduce to you Miguel Lejandro Alvarez, who has been released into my custody from the Arizona Territorial Prison in Yuma.”

  Jamison frowned. “He has bearing on this case?”

  “Indeed. He is serving time for trying to sell fraudulent Spanish land grants in the Yuma area.”

  “What has this to do with our case?” Greenspan complained.

  “First, he has confessed that he sold a box of papers to Warren G. Burlingame in San Diego, California, about fifteen months ago. Second, he says the papers in the Surveyor-General’s possession are identical to the ones I bring you from Yuma, except the name and location of the grant have been altered.”

  “His testimony won’t stand,” Stailly countered.

  “These documents will.”

  Jamison studied the pages presented to him. Glancing up at Brannon, he noted, “This will never go to Congress. I will recommend in a telegram that the claim be immediately dropped and that those involved in the deception be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. You will hear from me within the month. Gentlemen, my work is through here, and I, for one, would much prefer to be in Tucson.”

  Tom Weedin, who sat on a sack of oats while he listened to the entire proceedings, hit the barn door running. He informed the crowd of the decision and had his wagon rolling up the hill before Brannon and the others emerged from the barn.

  Jubilant cheers rang out as the men exited the barn. The people who sat all day and waited, lost restraint and flooded down into the yard, shaking hands, shouting, and laughing.

  In the confusion, Jamison and the Casa Verde lawyers climbed back into their carriages.

  “Mr. Greenspan,” Brannon called out several times through the noise. He hobbled close to the wagon. He shouted, “where does it go from here? What’s Burlingame going to do now?”

  “That, of course, is his decision. However, due to the seemingly endless negative publicity over this so-called Yavapai County War, we’ve been instructed that if the case ruled against us, we’re to pay off Mr. Jedel and his men and abandon the Corporation Collection Agency. As of this moment, there are no more Collectors working for Casa Verde.”

  The excitement began to calm down after an hour of revelry.

  By late afternoon, some of the onlookers journeyed back up the trails, both north and south. Others still gathered in the yard and surrounding area.

  Brannon found Howland. “What happened to the Collectors?”

  “Those San Francisco lawyers paid them off, and most filtered right out of here. There’s a half a dozen up next to the cannon. Mainly it looks like they’re drinkin’. Maybe they’re tryin’ to figure how to drag it out of here.”

  “And Jedel?”

  “He’s up there with them.”

  By the time the sun set, about thirty gawkers remained at the ranch. They set up camp near Sunrise Creek and decided to wait until the following day to return to their homes.

  Fletcher grabbed Brannon by the arm. “Stuart, we’ve got more visitors.”

  Two of Jedel’s men rode up to the south side of the yard.

  Brannon limped toward them carrying his Winchester. “What do you want?”

  “Jedel wants to call you out. He says it’s time you stopped hiding behind those skirts and faced him straight on.”

  “Let me get this right. He’s got a cannon and six men, and he’s calling me a coward?”

  “He’ll meet you at the creek—just you and him. We’ll stay up there on the hill. You can see us from here.”

  I am not a violent man.

  “Tell Jedel he is not worth the bullet or five minutes of my time.”

  “You backin’ out, Brannon?”

  The Winchester was at his shoulder and cocked before either man knew what happened. “Tell him I was not afraid of him when he had fifty men by his side, and I’m certainly not afraid now. If one of you boys wants to try me out, just make a pull for it.”

  “Wait,” one protested. “I ain’t drawin’ on ya. I ain’t whiskey-crazy. It’s Jedel.”

  “He’s going to be mad.”

  “But he’ll be alive. Now,” Brannon motioned with the barrel of the rifle, “get off my ranch.”

  Howland watched through the spyglass as the two riders drifted back up the hill. “They’re leavin’,” he called.

  “All six of them?”

  “No, just the two that were down here.”

  “That leaves four. Sounds almost tame after the past several weeks, doesn’t it?”

  “We going after them?” Howland inquired.

  “Nope. Maybe they’ll all be gone by morning.”

  “Will they come back later on?”

  “Only if someone pays them.”

  “Jedel ain’t in it for just pay,” Howland cautioned. “I’ve seen him insane when he’s drunk.”

  “We’ll post a guard and see who’s left up there in the morning. If they didn’t charge us fifty strong, I doubt if four of them will.”

  ] ]

  The evening much quieter than the previous one, everyone exhausted from the constant fear and tension, most considered moving on. They still had on their clothes from the night before, but none looked ready for a party.

  “I suppose you’ll be going on to Phoenix now?” Brannon asked Barton.

  “I’ve been away from the office so long we have just about decided to return to Prescott.”

  “When do you have to leave?”

  “Tomorrow, if you really think you don’t need us here.”

  Brannon scooted his chair back away from the dining table. “Are you a
ll going back to Prescott, Miss Cancino?” Brannon pressed.

  “Judge and Mrs. Quilici asked me to come stay with them until they go to Phoenix later in the month. I still want to give that sanitarium a try.”

  “You will be coming back up to Prescott soon, won’t you, Stuart?” Reed asked.

  “There’s one thing for sure, I’m going to need to buy a wagon full of lumber to rebuild this place. If you get on the trail first thing in the morning, you’ll be able to ride along with the folks down at the creek.”

  After quick exits to get some sleep, Howland helped Miss Cancino to the front porch. Reed and Brannon remained at the table.

  “I hope you’ll come back to the ranch sometime when it’s normal again, Harriet. I didn’t even get to show you around the place.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “Did I ever take you up to the piñon pines?”

  She sighed and tilted her head. “To the graves?”

  “Yeah, it’s the prettiest place on this entire ranch.”

  “I would expect it to be. You know, Stuart, most of us will never be quite the same after this siege.”

  “I don’t think the Triple B will stay the same either. It has been real nice to have the rustle of dresses in this house again. I didn’t realize how much I missed that.”

  “Just sit there for a minute and let me clear the table. I think Gwen has collapsed in a corner somewhere.”

  The next thing Brannon knew, he felt a soft hand touch his shoulder. He jerked his head straight up. He yawned. “Have I been asleep?”

  “Only a short while,” Reed replied. “But that chair doesn’t look very comfortable.”

  “Yeah… I think I’ll go on out to the barn.” He stood, stumbled on his bad foot, and caught himself on the table.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Just need a little rest.” He hobbled onto the porch and nodded at Howland and Cancino. “Earl, nudge me when you turn in, and I’ll take a watch. A drunk Jedel is capable of anything.”

  Within moments, Brannon was sound asleep.

  At first he thought the explosion was just in a dream—distant, hard to explain, unconnected with his need for rest.

  The cannon!

  He sat straight up in the straw.