Final Justice at Adobe Wells Page 5

  “I sure am, Señora.”

  “Please, call me Victoria. With so many of my men in the mountains, I believe I could send out no more than four or five. But I must admit, they are not excellent gunmen like the fabled El Brannon.”

  “Only in storybooks is there an El Brannon.”

  FOUR

  Brannon and Fletcher reposed in the shade of the sprawling oak, guzzling strong, thick coffee. They calmly surveyed the bustle of activity around them.

  Several young boys strung lanterns throughout the courtyard. Women with deep creases around their eyes swept the baked dirt yard. Children scooped up chickens to return them to the hen house. Dogs scampered and barked. A huge black and white cat sat on the roof of the big house, ignoring the entire scene. The air peppered with shouts of command, good-natured retorts, and laughter. Much laughter.

  “Brannon, these people—these Mexicans—they have a great ability to celebrate and enjoy life.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. They just lost 850 head of cattle. El Patron was shot last summer. They might be under attack at any moment. Yet tonight it’s fiesta time.”

  “The Celts are that way, you know. It must be our cold Anglo-Saxon blood,” Fletcher said.

  Brannon nodded.

  Lord, I sure could learn a lot from these folks. Everything is always a crisis with me. Lisa perpetually told me that. Even Elizabeth noticed it. Velvet maintained the same. As did Rose… and Harriet. Well, I’m not going to look for lost cattle tonight. So, I’ll celebrate... it’s fiesta!

  “I say, Brannon, I believe Señora Pacifica has invited in the neighbors.” Fletcher motioned toward a fringed carriage that rolled into the yard.

  Two women exited the coach wearing brightly-colored silk dresses with several gentlemen in frock coats. Two armed guards escorted them.

  “I’m certainly glad you insisted we leave our formal coats in Tucson. I believe your exact words were, ‘We’re cowboys, not bankers.’”

  “We’ll need a bath,” Brannon said, “and we’ll need fresh clothes—or maybe we should just wash these? At least we could brush them out.”

  Fletcher laughed. “Now isn’t this a fine sight? Stuart Brannon, the terror of Yavapai County, fussing around like a schoolgirl about what to wear.”

  “There’s no reason why we should try to look our worst, is there?”

  “Of course not.”

  Brannon paced back and forth under the tree. “It’s not that I never dress up. I mean, I had that formal frock coat at Velvet’s wedding, remember?”

  “I remember you showed up with blood and dirt from head to foot and had to borrow the Reverend’s coat.”

  “I don’t want to embarrass Victoria, that’s all.”

  “Victoria? Ah, it’s a beautiful woman that’s driving the legendary El Brannon to such trepidation.”

  “Hardly. It’s a matter of common manners and—”

  “Flashing dark eyes, teasing smile, and a rather lovely figure?”

  Brannon stopped pacing and stared at Fletcher. Suddenly a wide smile broke over his face. Then he coughed back a chuckle and finally unleashed a full-fledged roar of a laugh. He tried to gain control. “This is the stupidest I’ve acted in twenty years.”

  “Watch out, Stuart, that’s the second time you have laughed so hard this year. Keep this up and someone will begin to suspect you’re human after all.”

  “I remember once when Lisa and I went to a New Year’s ball at the Nash home in Prescott. Everyone was in costume.”

  “You went in costume?”

  “Yep.”

  “That Lisa was a remarkable woman. What did you wear?”

  “A serape and big sombrero. Mostly I ducked my head down and sat in the corner hoping no one would spot me.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Until the butler mistook me for a vagrant and asked me to leave.”

  “Is that the sombrero that hangs by your fireplace?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Where did you ever get such a hat?”

  “A present from a lady in Las Cruces.”

  “What lady in Las Cruces?”

  “Don’t ask,” Brannon said. “It’s a long and rather boring story.”

  “Don’t let this go to your head, but you look about ten years younger when you smile. You really should do it more often.”

  “Mr. Brannon!” Howland charged across the courtyard. “I have been visitin’ with Miguel. He talked to this other fella, and it seems there were two Anglos in Magdalena yesterday trying to hire some hands to push cattle across the desert.”

  “They might be the ones who rustled the Pacifica herd. Did they get any takers?”

  “Only a couple of drifters from the States.”

  “We’ll ride to Magdalena and check it out tomorrow.”

  Howland replied, “That’s where I had another idea. Me and Miguel and Estaban who works here want to ride into town tonight and hang around to see what we might pick up on the streets.”

  “There’s a fiesta tonight. A party would do you good.”

  “Mr. Brannon, with due respect, the only party that will do me good is the one after the weddin’. I’ll either sit in the bunkhouse all evenin’ and pine for Miss Julie, or I can go to town and get us a head start on them rustlers.”

  “My word, did you ever notice how much Earl is sounding like a young Stuart Brannon?” Fletcher said.

  “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult. Okay, Earl, it sounds like a good idea to me. But don’t make a play. And don’t let anyone know we’re thinking of chasing them down.”

  “No, sir, we’ll wait for you to come in tomorrow.”

  “Where will I find you?”

  “At La Serpiente Dorada, wherever that is.”

  “The Golden Snake? Sounds like an elegant place.”

  Señora Pacifica swirled up to them as Earl turned to leave. “Don’t retreat because of me, Mr. Howland.”

  “No, ma’am… eh, Señora. I was just leavin’. My, oh my, Mr. Brannon, don’t she look purdier than a cactus flower on a green hill in spring? You sure do make me miss my Julie.” Earl blushed and hurried toward the corrals.

  She grinned. “How long have you kept that poor man out on the range?”

  “Earl is marrying the most dangerous smile in Arizona in a few weeks. Makes a man kind of susceptible to feminine charms.” Brannon strolled with her toward one of the wooden benches that circled a small oak tree.

  “He should be happy then. It is an exciting time. I was sixteen when I married Don Rinaldo, but I remember it well.”

  “My Lisa was eighteen. Did I ever tell you about—?”

  “Miss Harriet Reed related your tragedy when we visited at Prescott last year. How is Miss Reed? She seemed to be a very delightful, intelligent lady.”

  “Harriet’s a jewel in a rugged land. She’s a very good friend. She should captivate the party-goers at Buckingham Palace.”

  “England? Is she going to England?”

  “Someday she will. The way Fletcher keeps finding reasons to go to Prescott makes me a bit suspicious.”

  “I’m surprised. A year ago I would have sworn it was Stuart Brannon she had her eyes on.”

  Brannon pulled off his hat. “It’s hard to explain the pain of the past to someone else.”

  “I believe we both have tasted the bitterest of cups.”

  “There are many heartaches on this earth. Some of them we create for ourselves. Some of them are inflicted on us by others. And some… well, some of them are only for the Lord to decide their origin.”

  “Yes, and there are many joys here, too. Don Rinaldo and I were very happy during our twelve years of marriage.”

  “I presume you have children.”

  Señora Pacifica lowered her head.

  Brannon stumbled an apologize, “I’m sorry if I—”

  “No, that is fine. I’m afraid the Almighty felt it better I did not bear children. There were several misc
arriages.” She raised her head and appraised the busyness of the fiesta preparations. “They are my family. Fifty-three people live here at the moment. Every woman is my sister. Every man my brother. Every little one my child. I’m not being melodramatic nor patronizing. They are my life. Sometimes in the tears of the night, I believe God has shown that my purpose in life is to provide for these special families.

  “Now,” she sighed, “I will stop talking. I don’t expect you to understand my simple Latin heart.”

  “I do understand. People are worth living for.”

  “And dying for. What is your divine purpose, Mr. Brannon?”

  Brannon sat in silence for several moments.

  “I’ve been doing a little searching for that myself. A man has to have more purpose than shooting men that need to be shot.”

  “Yes, it is a beautiful, harsh land… but the Lord has been gentle with me. Now, enough of that. We must prepare for the fiesta. Do you know this is the first time I have put off the black? This yellow dress was Don Rinaldo’s favorite.”

  “It’s beautiful, but Earl beat me to the praise. Your Don Rinaldo had excellent taste. I wish I’d known him better.”

  “You would have been good friends. As we rode home from Arizona last year, he said, ‘That Brannon, he is the kind of man who makes you forget there is a border between our countries.’ No more, no more,” she chided herself. “Felicia tells me I must talk about something besides the past.”

  It is pleasant, however,” Brannon added, “to have a conversation with one who also lives in the past.”

  “Yes. Now would you like to wash up? Let me show you to your room.”

  “What I’d like is a hot bath and my Sunday clothes I left in Tucson,” Brannon admitted. “I feel rather wild and woolly, not being able to dress proper for your party.”

  “You do not need to change for my benefit. But I will tell Juan to warm some bath water for you and Mr. Fletcher. I have many of Don Rinaldo’s clothes in a trunk, so please, both of you, help yourselves.”

  “Oh, no, Señora, I—”

  “Do you think it will ever be possible for you to call me only Victoria?”

  “Victoria... I... I couldn’t wear Don Rinaldo’s things. It wouldn’t be—”

  “Stuart, what did you do with your wife’s dresses?”

  “I kept them right there in the closet for a long time and then put them in a trunk.”

  “Is that where they are now?”

  “Well, no… I, eh, gave them to Miss Julie, Harriet, and her sister, Mrs. Barton.”

  “Do you regret that decision?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “And I will not regret your wearing my husband’s clothes. However, I must warn you. We have many guests coming to the ranch tonight to meet El Brannon. I am afraid they will be disappointed if they find you dressed as El Patron.”

  “I can at least brush things off a bit and hang my gun on the wall.”

  “Yes, use the brush, but by no means hang your gun. The revolver is at the heart of the El Brannon legend.”

  The big house at Rancho Pacifica stood in the exact center of the compound. Its U-shape framed a small courtyard separate from the other buildings. Huge front doors remained open most of the time, giving the living room an open-air feeling.

  A massive rock fireplace and hearth lined the back wall of the room Brannon estimated to be one hundred feet long and fifty feet wide. It served as living room, dining room, and general meeting place. The floor of the entire house was covered by large, red tile squares, and the rooms held a bounty of leather and oak furniture.

  The two wings to the sides contained bedrooms. A suite of rooms on the north belonged to Señora Pacifica and Felicia, her maid and confidante. Rooms on the south were reserved for personal staff and guests.

  The kitchen was a separate building straight behind the big house. Between those two buildings spread a huge, lattice-canopied patio which housed many tables for daily meals. Most of the other homes were flat-roofed adobe structures backed up against the thick outer wall.

  The facility reminded Brannon more of a village than a ranch.

  Fletcher left the bedroom wearing a black, waist-length jacket with silver trim, his hair slicked back, and his face clean-shaven, except for his mustache.

  He motioned to Brannon. “Your turn, cowboy.”

  “And where are you headed?”

  “I understand some ranking politicians from Mexico City will be here, and I have a matter of some international significance to discuss with them.”

  “Can’t you leave all of that to Queen Victoria?”

  “Now, now,” Fletcher bowed, “no disparagement on Her Majesty.” He turned at the doorway. “I suppose now we each have a Victoria, don’t we?”

  Brannon poured another steaming pitcher of water into the tub. He slipped down into the relaxing wetness and leaned his head against the upright back of the tub. Closing his eyes, he thought of Victoria and the bright yellow silk dress with black lace trim. A big, yellow flower tucked into that handsome dark hair would certainly be a heart-stopper.

  She’s changed since last year. ‘Course then I only saw her as another man’s wife. I guess she still is. She seems older. Not old, but mature… hardened. She’s just had a rough year. It begins to show right around the eyes first.

  After his bath and shave, Brannon sorted through the clothes, selected a clean white shirt that felt smooth and slick, and pulled on his duckings. After brushing the trousers and vest, he drew a fresh, red bandanna from his stash, tied it about his neck, and glanced in the tiny mirror by the doorpost.

  I don’t suppose this bandanna will clash with her dress.

  That dress was made for dancin’.

  Dance?

  Oh, no… not a dance!

  I can’t dance. That’s all there is to it. I won’t do it. I danced for Lisa… once. And I’ll dance for Julie, because I promised.

  But that’s it. These people are natural dancers. I’d look like a wounded bear out there.

  ‘Sorry, Victoria, I’m carrying a bullet from an old wound and I can’t. Please forgive me, but I promised my dear, departed wife I would never dance with another.’

  Yeah, Lisa, you’re gettin a kick out of this, aren’t ya?

  He walked over to his saddlebags and searched for the locket with Lisa’s picture. He forced his hand to the bottom of the bag and felt the cool, gold locket and its soft chain trickle through his fingers. Then he dropped the locket and left it where it lay. Shooting one last glance in the mirror, he was surprised he didn’t look as tired as he normally did.

  Okay, El Brannon, smile. Act like you understand what they’re saying, and don’t wipe your mouth on your sleeve.

  ]

  Brannon stood amazed by the expanse of the fiesta underway in the spacious grounds of Rancho Pacifica.

  Four hours ago they didn’t know we were going to show up, and now people are rolling in from miles away. A piñata? Did they have time to make a piñata? And the musicians. Do they work here? Are they on call? Lisa planned a party months in advance. But this is better. Always keep a party only a few hours away. I could buy some piñatas in Tucson and keep them at the ranch… and perhaps —

  “You look handsome in that shirt.”

  He turned to see Victoria Pacifica approaching from the other side of the vast living room.

  “Then credit the shirt. I suppose it was one of Don Rinaldo’s favorites.”

  “Actually, he hated it. I bought it for him in San Francisco, but he seldom wore it. ‘I am El Patron,’ he would insist, ‘I cannot wear the shirt of a riverboat gambler.’”

  “I like it,” Brannon said.

  “So do I. It is yours. Please keep it.”

  “Oh, no… I didn’t mean to—”

  “Stuart, here is your first lesson in hacienda hospitality: it is a grave insult to refuse a gift.”

  “Victoria,” he said with his head tilted, “thank you for the shirt. Now ma
y I ask you another question of etiquette?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “With this room half-opened up and all, is it acceptable for me to keep my hat on?”

  “Of course. But tell me, why do you look so nervous?”

  “I suppose that’s the effect beautiful women have on me.”

  “You, too, have been on the trail much too long. Come. Let me introduce you to my friends.”

  She slipped her arm in Brannon’s and led him into the courtyard. “Would you rather I introduced you in Spanish or in English?”

  “Do they all speak English?”

  “No, but many would like to.”

  “Let’s make it English then. I won’t be so self-conscious about my grammar.”

  “Your grammar is very respectable. Did you learn your Spanish in Mexico?”

  “No, in south Texas.”

  “Ah, that is close enough.”

  “And where did you learn your English?”

  “In St. Louis. Going to school. But that’s a long story I’ll tell you another time.”

  Brannon stopped their stroll and looked her in the eyes. “Have you noticed that both of us seem to have many long stories from the past that we plan on explaining to each other at some future time?”

  “Yes, I believe you are right.”

  “Do you ever think we’ll be together long enough to tell all those stories?”

  “I am counting on it.” She answered softly, barely moving her lips, as the first guest approached them.

  For the next hour and twenty minutes Brannon shook hands with every man, woman, boy, and girl at the fiesta. Some more than once.

  After dark, when one of the workers approached Señora Pacifica and announced that the food was ready. A loud bell clanged and echoed throughout the hacienda. Everyone gathered by the great oak. Then the lady of the house took control. With Brannon’s aid, she stepped up on a bench and addressed the crowd.

  “Tienen que comprender, Don Rinaldo y yo… were some of many people whom El Brannon has rescued over the years. He is a man of valor and integrity, and it is my pleasure to introduce him as a good friend.

  “Please help yourselves to all the food that has been prepared by my most excellent staff. But first, our guest, Mr. Stuart Brannon of Yavapai County, Arizona… dira la benedición.”