Standoff At Sunrise Creek Read online

  “Forty-nine,” Brannon corrected and nodded toward the man tied and gagged at the tree.

  “The fact of the matter, this property will be secured for the Casa Verde Land Corporation. We will attempt to do that without injury to innocent bystanders, U.S. troops, or ladies. But if you insist upon staying in the line of fire, I can make no guarantees.”

  Brannon staggered over to the man. “Jedel, I’m surprised at your sudden conversion to bravery. The last we met up in Black Canyon, you were trying to bribe the sheriff into letting you go to Mexico. You were a worthless murderer then, and you’ve done nothing to show any improvement. The only one here that needs to make a decision is you.”

  With lightning speed Brannon pulled his pistol, cocked it, and laid the barrel up against Jedel’s temple. “Have you ever thought about what in life’s worth dying for, Jedel?”

  “W—w—what?” he stammered.

  “Look around at this ranch. I’ve already decided that it’s worth dying for. You and those men up there are going to have to come to the same conclusion.” Brannon reset the hammer and hobbled back to the bench.

  “What about all these others, Brannon?” Jedel screamed. “Do they want to die for your so-called ranch?”

  “They’re all free to go.”

  “And I certainly hope they do.”

  “It might be a long time,” Judge Quilici warned.

  “I don’t think so, Judge,” Jedel sneered.

  “Jedel, you bore me,” Brannon replied. “Get on your horse and get out of here. You have threatened the lives of honest men, soldiers, and some of the Territory’s most charming women. I will not tolerate that on my ranch. If you ride up here again, I will personally throw you off.”

  “You’re making a grievous mistake that could cost the lives of innocent bystanders. Their blood will be on your hands, Brannon.”

  “And take that worthless hired man of yours with you. We’re not about to spend a dime feeding him. We’re keeping his rifle, handgun, and saddle to be sold and the money given to Miss Reed for the damage done to her dress and person. Is that a fair ruling, Your Honor?” he asked the judge.

  “It would certainly be a minimum sentence,” Quilici replied.

  “You folks are all at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Jedel shouted. “This is a historic spot where the DePalma-Revera Land Grant will be settled—not in Tucson or Washington, DC. And all of you are on the wrong side of the line.” Jedel threw his left foot into the stirrup, pulled it back down, and turned. “Brannon, I should have killed you years ago. You’re a marked man. There’ll be another grave up by those piñons before long. You aren’t riding out of this valley alive.”

  “I’m not riding out of this valley at all.”

  Jedel mounted his horse and rode to the bound man. Howland released him from the tree, still hand-tied and gagged. Jedel forced the man to trail along after him as they worked their way back up to the others.

  “He’s right about one thing, Stuart,” Judge Quilici intervened. “A little Arizona history is going to be made right here.”

  “Oh, yes, I can see the title of the novel,” Fletcher droned, “Brannon Blasts the Collectors.”

  “You folks will have to excuse our foreign cousin here.” Brannon scowled. “His literary background makes him a tad dramatic.”

  “Hah!” Fletcher shouted. “In the confusion, I forgot to give you this present I picked up at a bookstore in San Francisco.” He slapped a small book into Brannon’s hands.

  “What?” Brannon exclaimed. “Where did you get this? What is this?”

  “As you can plainly see, it is Brannon Tames the Town by Mr. Hawthorne H. Miller. I rather like the lithograph on the cover… although Rose Creek looks slightly too European.”

  “But… he can’t… I didn’t authorize… this is—”

  “Say, Mr. Brannon,” Howland spoke up, “can I read that book sometime?”

  “It’s a popular number in San Francisco, and I hear New York City is flocking to get a copy,” Fletcher said. “For fifty cents more I could have purchased a volume signed by Mr. Stuart Brannon himself. It was nice of you to sign all of those, Stuart.”

  “This is… is... ” Brannon stammered.

  “This is the West, Stuart,” Judge Quilici chided. “I do believe a dime novel is the least of your current problems.”

  Brannon tugged off his black hat and scratched the back of his head. “Let’s set some kind of guard duty around here.”

  Brannon Tames the Town! I can’t believe it.

  Soon Brannon reset all the defenses.

  “Sergeant, I don’t want to use your men for this land squabble. But having you camped out here will be a deterrent. So, withdraw to that area around your tents, and do whatever you need to. We’ll keep one man at the bunkhouse, one at the barn, and one here on the porch. If they make a move during the daylight, we’ll have time to set up before they can get here. The others can rest and take shifts.”

  “Do you think they’ll actually attack?” Fletcher asked.

  “They have to try something. Those men will get restless sitting on a hillside day after day. If they don’t do something, they’ll start to drift out of here.”

  “You are going to just sit around and wait for someone to start shooting? My word, are you growing old?”

  “Somehow land disputes in this Territory have to be settled on a basis other than who has the most guns.”

  I am not a violent man.

  After surveying all the area, Brannon checked in with Sergeant Cloverdale.

  “You’re walking on that foot now?” the sergeant asked.

  “Thanks to this crutch that Howland made for me. I think Two Slash busting it open again helped it heal faster. Drained it out, or something. What’s your current spyglass report?”

  “Looks like they’re settling down for a siege.”

  “Just a matter of who waits it out the longest?”

  “At least, that’s what they want us to believe. Jedel and two others rode out on the south road.”

  “Going to get further instructions, no doubt.”

  “Or reinforcements,” the sergeant offered.

  Brannon limped slowly across the yard to the main house. He met Gwendolyn Barton in the living room. “Ma’am, how’s Miss Harriet doing?”

  “Why don’t you go check? I believe she would like to see you.”

  Brannon hobbled down the hall and knocked on the door. “Excuse me…may I come in?”

  “Please do,” Miss Cancino called out.

  Reed reclined on the bed, and Cancino sat in a chair next to her.

  “Who is taking care of whom?” he asked.

  Cancino chuckled. “We’re a pair, we are.”

  “When it comes to gunfights, I’m afraid Julie has me beat. You know that was the first time I’ve ever fired a gun. I can’t believe I shot the horse. What I mean is, I can’t believe I actually tried to shoot that horrible man.”

  “You had to protect yourself. Why were you running out there anyway?”

  “If you two need to talk alone, you could shove me out into the hall or something.”

  “Are you trying to leave me in this room alone with Mr. Brannon?” Harriet chided. “You stay right where you are and wiggle those toes. Did you hear that she can wiggle her toes?”

  “The movement is coming back?” Brannon exclaimed.

  “Maybe.” Cancino beamed.

  Brannon said softly, “Harriet, you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I ran out there because I had a horrible, sinking feeling they were playing Taps for you. I panicked and now I’m horribly embarrassed.”

  “Nothing embarrassing about being scared.”

  “What I’m most ashamed of is I prayed that it would be anyone else but you. It was unchristian. I had little sympathy for the soldiers. I do hope the Lord will forgive me for my inexcusable selfishness.”

  Brannon stared at Reed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with dirt
on your face before. It becomes you.”

  “Boy, that Brannon is a sweet-talkin’ thing,” Julie teased. “What he’s saying is, ‘Girl, wash that face.’ If you two are finished, maybe we can get cleaned up a bit.”

  “Do you think they’ll try anything, Stuart?”

  “Not with Jedel gone.”

  “So we just wait it out?”

  “Yep, both sides perched and ready for battle hoping that the other one backs out before any shots are fired.”

  He spent the next hour sitting on the bench in front of the house discussing the situation with Barton and the judge.

  “As I understand it, absolutely no one has clear title to a land grant until the Congress says so.”

  Barton paced along the porch. “The Surveyor-General of the Territory has the responsibility of ascertaining the origin, nature, character, and extent of all claims to land under the laws, usages, and customs of Spain and Mexico. He submits his report to the Secretary of the Interior, who gives it to Congress for a vote. If it passes, they issue the party a patent deed on the land.”

  “So,” the judge added, “there’s a lot of politickin’ in Washington about these grants.”

  “Which Burlingame and his gang are very good at,” Brannon added.

  “That’s correct, but I’m convinced this is a fraudulent claim.”

  “Which means the Surveyor-General will recommend turning it down?”

  Barton nodded. “Without question.”

  “But if Burlingame can pull strings, he can at least keep it tied up in Congress for quite a while,” the judge chimed in. “And that means continuing to extort rent money from lots of folks.”

  “If the Surveyor-General reports not only a false claim, but also a purposeful attempt at deception, that would cut Casa Verde Corporation’s congressional support.”

  “Would that end the matter?” Brannon asked.

  “For all practical purposes.”

  “So you’ve got to prove Burlingame or his attorneys falsified documents, changed dates and names, forged signatures—or at least knowingly bought such documents from someone else who did those things.”

  “Which is all pert’ near impossible to prove while sitting down here on the ranch,” Brannon said. “What all need to go down to Tucson and examine the documents.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Or have the Surveyor-General bring all the papers here,” the judge offered.

  “Would he do that?”

  “At the request of Mr. Barton and myself, he might.”

  “I believe the judge is right. On-site verification would be a part of his report. It might be worth a try. But how do we inform him?”

  Brannon glanced at Quilici. “Judge, I have a big favor to ask of you and Sage.”

  “Oh?”

  “I want the two of you to ride out of here. Tell the Collectors you need to get back to your ranch and then keep going. Go straight to Tucson and talk to the Surveyor-General to see if he will agree to come up here.”

  “It might take days… even weeks,” Quilici warned.

  “It’s either that or settle it with guns. If we shoot it out, I will regret not having exhausted every other possibility.”

  “Do you think they’ll let the judge ride out of here?” Barton asked.

  “Yep, he’s too important to shoot. Besides, if they think our resolve to stick around is weakening, they might be content to sit still and not do anything for a while, hoping others will leave.”

  “I hate to cut down your defenses,” the judge added.

  “We’ll manage. Will you do it?”

  “Let me step into the kitchen and check with Sage.”

  Within thirty minutes Judge and Mrs. Quilici rode their horses up the trail to the south. Brannon stood with a spyglass in hand.

  “Four men met them on the road,” he called out. “They’re talking… the judge is pointing towards the house. Sage said something… there! They left. They’re on their way. Sergeant, watch to see if any Collectors try to follow them.”

  After four tense days, they observed Jedel ride over Despoblado Pass alone and re-enter his camp. Meanwhile, Brannon noticed increasing anxiety build among those staying at his ranch.

  At supper he called a meeting.

  “I think they’ll try something tonight. The longer we keep possession of these buildings, the better will be our chances.”

  “Will they try to kill all of us?” Miss Cancino asked.

  “I don’t think they’ll try to kill anyone other than me, and maybe Earl. They want to scare the rest of you into leaving. If he got hold of Burlingame, I would expect some attempt to evict us that doesn’t harm the ladies. If I were them, I’d try to burn us out.”

  Fletcher spoke up. “How will they get that close? A diversion?”

  “I suppose.”

  “What will we do?”

  “Extra guards—and water and wet blankets to put out a fire.”

  Howland scowled. “Is that all we can do?”

  “Nope. We can set fire to their camp first.”

  “What?” Miss Reed gasped.

  “Now that’s the Brannon we know and love,” Fletcher quipped.

  “We’ll need to do it in a nonviolent sort of way, of course.” Brannon pulled out his revolver and spun the chamber. “As soon as I figure out one.”

  Handing him a plate of stew and piece of bread, Miss Reed sat down next to him.

  “You changed your dress,” he commented.

  “Mine are all filthy.” She grimaced. “I borrowed this one from Julie.”

  “I noticed.”

  “What do you mean, you ‘noticed’?”

  “I noticed you don’t seem to fill it out as well as Miss Cancino does.”

  Her elbow flew in Brannon’s direction. The entire contents of his plate dumped into his lap.

  “Oh, my, I’m terribly sorry,” she huffed. “Maybe Miss Cancino can assist you in cleaning up. I need to go to my room and slip into something that fits better.”

  “Boy, Brannon, you’re a real charmer,” Cancino snickered. “I’m sure glad I dumped you when I had the chance.”

  “Go wiggle your toes.” Brannon glared as he tried scraping stew off his duckings with a spoon.

  Ten

  Howland approached the barn. “I think we’re all set, Mr. Brannon.”

  Brannon pulled his revolver from his holster and slipped a bullet out of his belt and into the sixth chamber.

  “We going to need a full load?” Howland asked.

  “Perhaps. Cloverdale and men will come up and help put out any fires. But if it comes to a gun battle, they’ve got to defend themselves first. Now we’ve got to get our attack planned out.”

  “Stuart, we aren’t going to try to set fire to their camp, are we?” Fletcher inquired. “There’s nothing up there to burn.”

  “What I had in mind was a response that would remind them that every attack on the ranch would cost them something. I figure if they start trying to set a fire down here, we’ll burn down their chuck wagon.”

  “I say, that doesn’t sound horribly drastic considering what they will attempt.”

  Brannon leaned against a hitching rail to take some weight off his injured foot. “Edwin, I’m trying real hard not to have anymore killings. I don’t want to give those Collectors any justification for riding in here, guns blazing. As for the chuck wagon…” He turned to Howland. “Earl, you’ve ridden with the wagon. What do you think?”

  “You burn down the chuck and you might start a war. Besides their supplies, that wagon will be filled with bedrolls, personal belongs, extra bullets—you name it. I’ve known whole crews to quit when the chuck wagon’s lost.”

  Fletcher glanced across the yard at the flickering lights in the house. “How do you propose to do this pusillanimous deed?”

  “One of us could crawl up there through the tall grass and wait until they start something. When they see their own rig burning, they might have seco
nd thoughts about pressing the attack.”

  “You really think that will catch their attention.”

  “Guaranteed. A couple sticks of dynamite are hard to ignore.”

  “Dynamite, you say?”

  “Yep. Earl brought me a boxful from Florence. I was planning on using it up near the springs to build a diversion pond. I believe I can spare a couple sticks.”

  “How many of us will it take to complete this counter assault?”

  “One.”

  “Who?”

  “Me.”

  “But you can hardly walk across the yard, even with a crutch.”

  “Exactly. That makes me next to useless in carrying water and putting out fires. But quite handy at crawling.”

  “I’ll do it, Mr. Brannon,” Howland offered.

  “Thanks, Earl, but I need you here.”

  “What if they don’t attack?”

  “Then we wait until they do.”

  “Night after night?”

  “Yep. That’s my plan.”

  ] ]

  Brannon offered final instructions before he left.

  “Stuart, I say, are you able to pull this off?”

  “We’ll find out. In one hour turn off all the lanterns and mind your positions. I expect they won’t make a move until about an hour after the lanterns are out.”

  “What do we do if there’s no diversion?”

  “Try not to let them burn down the place. If you have to let a building go, abandon the bunkhouse—then the barn. And don’t let the women get hurt. If they burn us out… well, we’ll fight them from the rocks.”

  “Mr. Brannon, where’s your Winchester?”

  “Can’t carry it, Earl.”

  “Which way you heading out?”

  “Through the back of the barn, up the hill towards the piñons, then over to their camp. Take your positions… and I’ll meet you for breakfast.”

  “Why the back of the barn? It’s a pretty dark night.”

  “Because I don’t know how far down the hill they have men stationed.”

  Brannon hobbled through the barn, tossed the crutch into the corner, and dropped to his knees. He tucked two sticks of dynamite his left coat pocket. Caps, fuse, and matches were in the other. With one Colt in his holster and another in his left hand, he kicked the bottom barn board loose, pried it away from the building, and crawled out. His black hat fell to the dirt, and he tossed it back inside the barn.