by Nan Ryan
“Go on. It’s so peaceful and pretty out here in the evening,” said Tessie, “and there’s a full moon tonight.”
Anna went out onto the Martin’s back porch, descended the steps and walked out to the very back edge of the big yard. A full white moon was already beginning to rise from behind the towering Guadalupe Mountains.
Enchanted, Anna stood there in the fading twilight with her arms folded over her chest, enjoying the quiet, majestic beauty surrounding her.
When Brit walked out into the yard and came to stand beside her, it seemed somehow completely natural. There was no need to turn and acknowledge him. She knew that he knew she was vitally aware of his presence. Neither spoke. In companionable silence the two of them stood side by side and watched the huge harvest moon slowly rise above the soaring mountain range.
Before them, floating across the empty, darkening sky, a golden eagle leisurely winged its way toward its mountain nest. Red-tailed hawks rode the mountain thermals below El Capitán Peak. And, silhouetted against the evening sky, an imperial mountain lion took a regal stance on a lofty peak. It seemed that nature itself wished to please the pair.
They were pleased, and neither wanted the interlude to end. Both felt somehow that if they didn’t speak, didn’t say a word, that the other wouldn’t turn away and leave. Would stay to share the magic of the night, the beauty of the savage land.
Not daring even to let himself so much as look at her, Brit wondered what Anna would say if he admitted that he had followed her outside because he was helpless to do otherwise.
Her eyes fastened on the rising moon, Anna wondered what Brit would he think if he knew that she was fighting hard to resist the strong urge to touch him.
While they stood there watching the spectacular moonrise, Anna was struck with the sad realization that her time with Brit was short—that this time next year, or perhaps even this time next month, he wouldn’t be here.
Or she wouldn’t.
For Brit the strain suddenly seemed to become unbearable. He had to speak to her, to have her acknowledge that he was here and that it was okay with her.
He said softly, in a low, drawling voice, “The full moon striking the top of El Capitán Peak is really something to see, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Anna replied, nodding. Then she stunned Brit by adding, “Now in just a minute…one more minute…it’s almost there…yes…yes, there it is! The moon’s starting to touch the top of Washboard Peak.”
Brit turned and looked at her hard. Anna felt his eyes on her and stiffened, wondering what she had done wrong.
Uneasy, she said, “Good night, Brit,” turned and hurried away.
Brit swallowed hard.
Washboard Peak. That’s what she’d said. That’s what she had called the jutting rise of rock just below and a little west of El Capitán. LaDextra had told him, many times, that when Anna was just six years old she had looked up at the strangely configured spire of rock with deep ledges cut across its face and declared it looked just like a giant washboard.
Nobody else called it Washboard Peak. To everyone but Anna it was known as Cathedral Peak.
Brit felt a shudder ripple through his tall frame.
Could it be that she really was Anna?
Thirty-One
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Dr. McCelland and Beverly Harris?” Anna said, incredulous. “I can’t believe it!”
“Well, believe it,” said Sally Horner, “because it’s the gospel truth.”
The two friends were out in the shaded grape arbor on a blistering Saturday morning. Sally had come to spend the day at The Regent for the first time in weeks. She had just arrived and was full of gossip to share with Anna. The best—and most shocking—being the news that the good doctor and the red-haired widow were the talk of the town.
“But they are so…mismatched,” Anna said, unable to envision the two of them together.
“Apparently they aren’t,” said Sally with a meaningful look. “I know for a fact that every free minute the doctor has is spent at Beverly’s house.”
“Really?” Curious, Anna asked, “Do you suppose they…that is…do you think that the two of them are…?”
“Intimate? That the word you’re looking for? You bet your boots they are,” Sally stated emphatically. “I’ve seen the doctor leaving her place in the wee small hours of the morning. Besides, haven’t you noticed how different he is?”
“Yes,” Anna admitted. “I have. I noticed it this past Monday when I went with him out to the Texas Star. He couldn’t quit smiling and I knew then that something was up.” She sighed, shook her head worriedly. “But Beverly Harris? Poor Dr. McCelland.” Her delicate jaw tightened and she added, “She seduced him, I know she did.”
“So what?” said the practical-minded Sally. “She did him a big favor, if you ask me.”
“You don’t mean that,” Anna said.
“Oh, yes I do,” Sally replied. “I like Dr. McCelland. But he’s always been painfully shy and therefore needs an aggressive woman. If Beverly Harris has made him a happier man, then I’m all for it.”
“I know, Sally, but think how miserable he’ll be when she tires of him.”
“Looks like that isn’t going to happen,” said Sally slyly.
“What do you mean?”
“Word has it that the two of them are unofficially engaged.”
Anna’s lips fell open. “They are going to get married?”
“Yes, indeedy.”
Anna felt a quick rush of excitement at the news. But she tried to sound nonchalant when she said, “But I thought Beverly was—was…” She stopped talking, shrugged slender shoulders.
“Brit’s woman?” Sally finished for her. “Nope. Not since the Fourth of July.”
Anna’s heart kicked against her ribs. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Buck told me that Brit lost interest in Beverly sometime back in June, and that as far as he knows Brit hasn’t been with her—or anyone else—since July 4.” Sally then tilted her head, peered thoughtfully at Anna. “Know anything about that?”
“No,” Anna said, but she was secretly overjoyed to hear that Brit had not been with another woman since he had made love to her.
“I don’t believe you,” Sally said.
“What?” Anna said, distracted, her thoughts on Brit.
“I said I don’t believe you. I think something happened between you and Brit that Fourth of July night when you both disappeared for hours.” Sally paused, waiting for Anna to say something. When she didn’t, Sally added, “I think you are madly in love with Brit Caruth and just won’t admit it.”
Anna was silent for a long moment, then mused aloud, “Any woman would be a fool to love Brit.”
“Not if she’s the right woman,” Sally said, pushing a wayward lock of red hair out of her eyes. A hot wind had blown up from out of the west, rustling the vines covering the grape arbor and irritating Sally. “Dang these west Texas winds,” she complained. “Guess it’s going to blow all day like it did yesterday.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Anna agreed. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
The pair headed to the house as the winds grew stronger, catching their full skirts and blowing them out like bells around them. They squealed as they made a mad dash across the dying lawn, past the wishing well and up onto the back gallery. Inside, they rubbed their watering eyes and smoothed their wind-tossed hair.
Except for a half hour at noon when they joined LaDextra for lunch in the dining room, the two friends spent the day upstairs in Anna’s room, gossiping, listening to music and cursing the rising winds that sighed and moaned and rattled the windowpanes.
At midafternoon, Sally glanced at the clock on the mantel, made a face, quickly levered herself up off the bed and said, “Good Lord, it’s past four o’clock. I have to go. Buck’s coming for dinner tonight.”
Rising, Anna said, “It’s really getting serious between you
two, isn’t it?”
“Grave,” Sally quipped, deadpan. Then she laughed heartily and said, “Buck doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to marry me.”
It finally happened.
The telegram that Brit had been anxiously looking forward to receiving arrived later that same windy September afternoon.
Brit had just ridden in from three days down on the border at the Agua Fría division headquarters. Still dirty with trail dust and sweat, he had stopped by his office to check the mail.
He was seated behind his desk when the Western Union messenger arrived. Brit heard the hoofbeats, glanced out the French doors and saw a rider galloping up the long drive. He watched as the rider reached the front gate and he recognized cotton-haired Corky Stewart, a youth that Dub at the Western Union office frequently used to deliver telegrams.
Brit felt his heart slam against his ribs. He licked his dry lips and swallowed with difficulty. His first inclination was to jump up out of his chair and go rushing out to meet Corky. He made himself stay where he was. Nervously he waited as Corky dismounted, came jogging up the front walk and knocked on the door.
Brit heard Connie, LaDextra’s personal maid, say to one of the other servants, “That’s okay. I’ll get it.”
Seconds later Connie knocked on his office door, then entered bearing a small silver tray. She crossed to him and held out the tray. On it lay the telltale yellow envelope. Brit picked it up. Connie continued to stand there looking at him and at the telegram.
“Thank you, Connie,” Brit said, dismissing her. “That will be all.” Clearly curious, she reluctantly turned away. “Please close the door behind you,” he requested, and heard her sniff indignantly.
Alone again, he withdrew a silver letter opener from its holder and neatly sliced the top flap of the envelope. He replaced the opener and took out the folded message. He laid the envelope aside and unfolded the yellow telegram.
He drew a quick, shallow breath and began to read:
Saturday, September 6, 1890
Mr. Brit Caruth,
Your suspicions have been confirmed. The young woman claiming to be Anna Regent Wright is in fact an Arizona woman named Margaret Sue Howard. Miss Howard was captured…
Brit read the entire message from the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Then he read it again. He carefully refolded the telegram. He put it inside the breast pocket of his soiled blue chambray shirt. Then he folded his hands atop his desk and stared off into space.
Here, at last was the proof he’d been waiting for. He’d been right all along. This beautiful woman claiming to be Anna was indeed an imposter. Time for celebrating. Or it should have been.
But oddly, he felt no satisfaction.
Brit exhaled heavily and closed his eyes.
His eyes quickly opened and he looked up when Buck Shanahan abruptly burst into the office, saying excitedly, “It’s happened, Brit. Fire on the Tierra Verde!”
The telegram resting against his heart instantly forgotten, Brit shot to his feet.
“Oh, Jesus,” he swore as he strapped on his gun belt and took a sharp-bladed hunting knife from the bottom desk drawer. His mind was racing. The only water left on the ranch was Manzanita Springs and the springs were surrounded by solid rock. The water couldn’t be channeled down to the fire and it was too far away for a bucket brigade. Brit rushed out of the house with Buck close on his heels. Cowhands, interrupting their free Saturday afternoon, were already gathering at the stables, saddling their mounts.
Brit shouted instructions. “Slim, take a dozen men, ride up to the mountain tract. Round up twenty or thirty head and bring them on down.”
“On my way, Brit,” said Slim.
Brit turned his attention to the old silver-haired vaquero, Cheno. “Cheno, you’ll drive the hack with a barrel of water. And load it down with feed sacks, brooms and saddle blankets. Get three or four men to help you. See to it that every feed sack and blanket on the place is wetted down and ready for the firefighters!”
“Sí, Patrón,” said Cheno, already turning away to do Brit’s bidding.
Brit quickly pivoted, addressed a tall, bowlegged cowboy with a cigarette dangling from his lips, one of the best horsemen in the desert southwest. “Jake, I’m depending on you to corral the remuda once we’ve reached the fire. Keep the horses out of harm’s way and have fresh mounts ready when we need them.”
“Count on it, Boss.”
“Jaurez,” Brit shouted, “you and your brother, Juan, take some of the boys and get a back fire going to protect the house.”
“Sí, Patrón.”
Already climbing into the saddle, Brit shouted, “The rest of you men, mount up and follow me.”
Anna and LaDextra had heard the commotion and had come out onto the front gallery. They saw the thick black smoke far to the south and bright orange flames shooting skyward.
“Dear Lord in heaven,” exclaimed a horrified LaDextra, “it’s heading this way. If they can’t put the fire out, the house will go up.”
Anna squeezed the older woman’s hand reassuringly. “Surely they’ll be able to put it out quickly.”
LaDextra said, “You’re forgetting, child, they have no water. How can you fight that kind of blaze without water?”
Anna had no answer.
The two women watched as Brit and the men galloped away, heading directly toward the growing inferno. LaDextra wondered what had happened. Had a careless cowhand flicked a cigarette away despite all Brit’s warnings? No, none of the men were that foolish. Most likely a bolt of heat lightning had struck the Tierra Verde pasture. The dead, dry grass had quickly caught and the flames, pushed by the dry, hot wind from out of the west, were now rapidly roaring northward.
Straight toward the house.
Thirty-Two
In minutes Brit and his men reached the roaring fire, dismounted and began to fight the blaze. But they had little ammunition to use against the rapidly spreading inferno. All the water tanks on and surrounding the Tierra Verde were nearly dry, most without an ounce of water.
Side by side, Brit and Buck beat at the raging flames with dampened saddle blankets, but knew they were making little or no progress. Fueled by the strawlike dead grass and whipped by the strong west winds, the fire was already becoming a fearsome, encompassing monster.
The wind was so high the blaze had jumped the fireguards as if they were not there. There was nothing to break the sweep of the roaring, raging flames. The awesome fire was quickly exploding into a holocaust that could burn thousands of acres, as well as any man, animal or structure that stood in its way.
With heat scorching their faces and thick clouds of smoke choking them, the cowhands beat at the flames with sacks, saddle blankets, brooms and chaps. It was simply an exercise in futility as they waited for the horses and cattle to be brought down.
Jake and his wranglers soon arrived with thirty or forty nervous, snorting saddle horses. Minutes later Slim showed up, herding thirty head of prime cattle and a couple of big Spanish bulls.
Brit looked around.
He now had enough men, horses and cattle.
He threw down his blanket and drew his pistol. He was glad that Slim had thought to bring a couple of bulls. They were much bigger than the cattle, and the heavier the carcass, the better the job.
Brit took aim and fired.
The first shot rang out above the roaring den and one of the huge Spanish bulls sagged to its knees, dead. Brit fired a second shot. The other bull keeled over.
Brit holstered his still-smoking revolver, hurried to the first fallen bull, even as Buck went to the other. Knives drawn, they swiftly split the dead bulls open down the middle so there’d be plenty of fresh blood, then turned them flesh side down. Both men swiftly mounted dancing saddle ponies that Jake had brought forward. Then they waited impatiently in the saddle as the men tied the dead bulls together side by side in order to cover a wider space.
With one rope tied to Brit’s saddle horn, another to Buck’s
, the pair dug their heels in the horses’ bellies and dragged the bulls down the fire line. Behind them shots rang out as the rest of the cattle were being slaughtered. Other mounted cowboys dragging bleeding carcasses would follow Brit and Buck on the line.
Dragging the heavy cattle was harder work for the horses than for the men. Because of the rapid speed of the fire, the horses had to lope while they dragged their heavy cargo. The thick smoke exhausted them quickly, so the cowhands had to change horses every half mile or so.
All the men knew that if they rode a horse too long over the burning grass, its hooves would be ruined. A horse with burned hooves took a year to heal. So Jake kept fresh horses saddled and ready to put into the line.
Working together like a well-oiled machine, the cowboys and vaqueros spaced themselves out to fight the little tongues of flame still ablaze after a drag had gone by. They had to run to keep up, so a new man was dropped every hundred yards for just that purpose.
He’d leave his horse where he started for the man fighting the fire to pick up and bring back to the main fire, there to drop out again when his turn came.
With amazing precision, the well-trained Regent cowboys soon had the drag line running smoothly. Every man was riding a horse and taking time about, dragging the cows, dropping out again to fight the remaining spots of fire when his time came.
While Brit and his bunch fought the lead fire, Juarez and Juan Valdez were busy setting back fires at the northern edge of the pasture in a valiant attempt to protect the mansion.
Up at the house, Anna heard the gunshots, jumped and turned questioning eyes on LaDextra.
“Brit’s doing what has to be done, Anna.” And the Regent matriarch explained the necessity of slaughtering the cattle.
The two women watched in growing horror as the inferno continued to blaze despite the unflagging efforts of the cowboys on the drag line. Wind driven, the flames were moving ever closer to the house.
“Oh, Robert, Robert!” LaDextra addressed her long-dead husband, wringing her hands. “Looks like the fire’s going to get this beautiful home you built for me.”
