The Baron War

by Jory Sherman

  As the sun rose higher in the sky, the fog began to roll off the creek and mix with the white smoke from the rifles and he felt secure in his position. So far, his men had not set the barn afire, and that began to worry him. He wanted to ride onto the grounds and see everything that Martin had built laid to waste. He wanted to see Martin dead, or on his knees, begging for mercy.

  The firing died down and Matteo could see the Martin house was fully engulfed in flames. He smiled and ticked his horse in the flanks with his spurs. It was time, he thought, to ride in and claim victory. He checked his rifle and pistol as he rode out from under the trees and left the creek behind. He did not know that at that moment Carmen Sifuentes was speaking to Al Oltman and Roy Killian, telling them not only had she seen Matteo ride past her adobe house, but that she knew where he was at that very moment. Roy and Al were still near the barn, and they had taken their toll on those numbers of Matteo’s men who had ridden past them unwittingly in their circular courses.

  Roy told Carmen to go back to her home and that he would tell Martin and her husband about Matteo. She, as well as they, had seen the big house in flames, and she was weeping when she left them to return home.

  Matteo rode toward the burning house, his eyes fixed on the column of smoke that marked its death, and on the flames that continued to consume the rear of the house. He did not hear any shooting and he was satisfied that he was the victor and that soon he would lay claim to all of the Baron lands and make them Aguilar property once again.

  He rode to within fifty yards of the barn and along a pole fence that enclosed a corral, when he heard the click of a lock. His heart felt as if it had stopped and he lifted his rifle to swing the barrel toward the sound.

  “Aguilar, you make one more move and I’ll blow you clean out of the saddle.”

  Matteo froze, trying to recognize the voice.

  “And if he don’t do it, I will,” another man said. “Drop that rifle. Now.”

  For a long second, Matteo considered his chances against two men.

  Then, out of the smoke, he saw three men in dusters riding toward him. They all had rifles pointed at him. They rode out of the rising fog and the smoke and looked like ghosts in their white dusters.

  Bewildered, Matteo remained frozen, unable to move or think.

  And then he heard another click as another man cocked his rifle. The man was directly behind him where he could not see who it was, but he knew the man could be no more than two or three meters away.

  “Matteo,” Roy said, “I’ve got your sorry head in my sights and my finger’s on the trigger. Drop your rifle and grab yourself a piece of sky right quick.”

  Matteo’s heart sank and he heaved a sigh. He wondered, just then, if he wanted to live or to die.

  47

  ANSON FIRED HIS rifle at one of the charging riders, then threw himself down and rolled, just as another rider fired at him. He heard the ball whiz past his ear and saw it plow a long furrow in the ground. He heard Peebo shoot as Anson grabbed the butt of his caplock pistol and drew it.

  Anson moved again and heard two quick shots in succession. Peebo cried out and Anson, out of the corner of his eye, saw him twist violently to one side. Through the clouds of cotton-white smoke he saw one rider lean out of the saddle as if reaching for something just beyond his grasp. Anson cocked the hammer of the Colt’s back and tracked one of the oncoming men. He squeezed the trigger and then stood up and shot the man again as he slumped in the saddle.

  “Peebo?”

  “I’m hit.”

  “Christ. I saw one go after Pa down there by the house.”

  “Your pa shot him, but look.” Peebo, grimacing, pointed to the side of the house, which was exploding outward.

  Anson saw a flaming beam fly out and fall right where his father was standing.

  Two men lay on the ground a few yards away. Neither moved. The third was still leaning outward, but his boot had slipped through the stirrup and he was caught there, a blood-rimed hole in his chest. Anson caught the reins of the horse and saw that the man was wheezing, blowing blood out of his mouth. His eyes were glazed with the frost of a dying man. His lips moved, but no sound came out, only bubbles of frothy blood.

  “We got all three,” Anson said. “You get hit?”

  Peebo stood up on wobbly legs and Anson saw him holding his left arm. Blood streamed through Peebo’s fingers and his face was contorted in pain.

  Anson dragged the dying rider from his horse, and laid him on the ground. He cringed when he heard the man make a gurgling sound in his throat. Then there was a rattling as blood bubbled up and subsided with the man’s last breath.

  “Lookie over yonder, Anson,” Peebo said, as Anson came over to see about his friend’s arm.

  Anson followed Peebo’s line of sight and saw several of Matteo’s men converging on the road, near the barn. Then, as they watched, one man lifted his arm, then dropped it, pointing toward the Rocking A. The riders followed him in single file as the leader put his horse into a trot.

  “They’re giving up,” Anson said. “Going back. But I don’t see Matteo with them.”

  “Did you ever see him?”

  “No.”

  “Well, maybe that’s him yonder with those men in dusters. And if I ain’t mistaken, that’d be Roy and old Al riding with ’em.”

  Anson saw the riders coming toward the burning house, three men wearing white dusters, surrounding a dark, thin man on an Arabian, flanked by Roy and Al. Anson sucked in a breath. “That is Matteo. Damned if it ain’t.”

  “We ought to string him up,” Peebo said.

  Anson turned and looked at Peebo. “Let me see your arm.”

  “Look all you want, son. It’s just a blood wound. Ball took a little meat with it, but it’s just a nick.”

  “Take your hand away.”

  Anson looked at the crease in Peebo’s arm. There was a lot of blood and some ragged flesh, but Peebo was right: The ball hadn’t hit bone.

  Down near the house, which was collapsing rapidly under the onslaught of the flames, he saw people carrying his father away from the fire. He felt a tug at his heart, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He pulled out a bandanna.

  “Let me put this around your cut, Peebo. I’ve got to get down there to see how my pa is.”

  “Do it, son.”

  Anson tied his bandanna around the wound on Peebo’s arm. He tied a loose knot. “It’ll soak up some of the blood. Feel like coming with me?”

  Peebo looked at the dead men. The sun was full up and the fog wafting away in airy wisps on the flat. “Yeah. Let’s go see about your pa. Can you hand me my rifle?”

  Anson picked up both rifles. “I’ll carry them, unless you want yours for a crutch.”

  “Sometimes you’ve got a real smart mouth, Anson. I ain’t crippled. Not by a damn sight.”

  The two started walking down the hill. Roy waved at them and Anson pointed in the direction they were going. He saw the men turn their horses to circle the burning house and meet them at the bottom of the slope.

  He looked at the house as the back walls began to shrink and fall in on themselves like sheets of burning paper. They crumpled and collapsed and sent showers of sparks flying into the air. The smoke column began to spread out over the sky high above them until it formed a thin gray cloud that would be visible for miles.

  “Sorry about your house, son,” Peebo said.

  Anson could not speak. He was sick to his stomach, gripped with a sadness that could not be expressed in words.

  And with the sadness a dread, heavy as an iron anvil, that his father might be lying dead on the ground. That was Doc Purvis kneeling over him, he knew now, and the women looking on, Ursula and Lorene, he thought, were like watchers at a deathbed.

  48

  THE WOMEN HUDDLED together in the storm cellar. Lucinda held Lazaro close to her, for he was trembling. They could hear the flames crackling on the wall that had fallen over the cellar door just after Esperanza had
jumped down and closed it. They could feel the heat from the fire. Esperanza looked up at the door, an expression of anxiousness on her face. Her shoulder throbbed, but the bleeding had stopped.

  “We’re going to be burned alive down here,” Hattie said.

  “Listen,” Wanda said. “I don’t hear any more shooting.”

  “They have stopped the shooting,” Lazaro said.

  “Maybe it’s all over,” Hattie said.

  “I hear voices.” Esperanza crawled up the steps and put her ear close to the door. “Help me push the door open.”

  “Thank God,” Hattie said. “I’ll help. Wanda, come on.”

  Hattie pulled Esperanza away from the slanted door. She and her daughter pushed up on the door. It gave away and flapped open. Sparks flew as burning pieces of the fallen wall fell away, but the opening was clear.

  “Go on, Mother,” Wanda said. “I’ll help Esperanza get out. Lucinda, bring Lazaro and follow me.”

  All of them stood outside. Hattie saw several people beyond the front of the house. She recognized Doc Purvis and his niece.

  “Oh, there’s Ursula, too,” Hattie said.

  “And some men on horses,” Wanda said. “And I see Roy. Do you see him, Mama?”

  “I see him.”

  The women and Lazaro started running toward the group of people. The entire sidewall of the house had collapsed and was smoldering. A burning hulk remained, still afire, and the chimney and fireplace in the front room were visible and still standing.

  “It’s just awful,” Hattie said, as she looked at the wreckage.

  Lucinda started to cry and Esperanza appeared stricken, her face drawn, her eyes glittering with dampness.

  “Oh, there they are,” Ursula exclaimed as everyone turned to look at the women and the blind boy running toward them.

  Doc Purvis had just finished wrapping a bandage around Martin’s head. The salve was already leaking through it, leaving a light-brownish stain. Martin looked like a wounded sheikh. Roy and Al were helping him to his feet. “You’ll be a bit dizzy for a time,” Purvis said. “That lump on your head will go down a lot slower than the dizziness will go away. Nasty blow, there.”

  “Much obliged, Doc.”

  Ursula looked around as if in a daze. “Where’s David?” she asked, looking at Roy.

  Anson stepped up and tapped Roy on the shoulder. “I’ll take him, Roy. You go talk to your mother.”

  “Thanks,” Roy said, slipping out from under Martin’s arm. Anson took up the weight until his father was standing on his own.

  Then Anson stepped away to look into his father’s eyes. “Can you walk, Pa?”

  “I can, but I’m not going to. Just let me stand here a minute and wait for this deck to stop pitching.”

  Anson laughed. “You’re going to be all right, Pa.”

  Al gingerly released his hold on Martin, but stood close to catch him if he fell. The women crowded around to look Martin over and he grinned sheepishly at them.

  “Doc, take a look at Peebo’s arm,” Anson said. “He’s got a little scratch.”

  Purvis turned around and saw Peebo’s bandaged arm. “Let me have a look,” he said.

  “Aw, Doc,” Peebo said. “I’ve had worse from a dog bite.”

  Roy led his mother away from the group assembled around Martin. The fog had dissipated, and so had the smoke from the black powder explosions. The house still burned, sending more smoke into the air, along with fluttering ashes and vagrant sparks.

  Sifuentes, Socrates, and several other Box B hands rounded the corner of the house and started walking toward the assemblage, big grins on their faces.

  “Al,” Anson said, “will you go back with me to get David’s body and carry it here? And I left my saddlebags back there, too.”

  “Sure, soon’s I talk to Kenny, yonder.”

  Martin took a step and turned around to look at the three horsemen holding Matteo between them.

  “Kenny, I see you caught yourself a fox in my henhouse,” Martin said.

  “He’s going to wear some stripes, Martin.”

  “Sorry about Caroline.”

  “Me too. I’ll be back soon and we can talk about it, if you want.”

  “We’re still looking for a Frenchman, name of Jules Reynaud. Have you seen him?”

  Martin shook his head.

  Al stepped out and walked up to Darnell. “Glad you got here, Kenny. You get the warrants?”

  Darnell patted his coat and nodded.

  “Howdy, Jim-Joe,” Al said. “Dan.”

  “Is Martin there going to join us?” Casebolt asked, looking over at Martin.

  “I’d say he’s had a taste of war. Let me ask him.”

  Al turned to Martin. Just then, Ursula broke down and began sobbing. Roy had his arm around her shoulders and was saying something to her the others could not hear.

  “David got killed,” Al said, just loud enough for Martin to hear.

  “Damn it all,” Martin said. Then he looked at his men and they all took off their hats and hung their heads.

  “You have a decision to make, Martin,” Al said. “I asked you a question before this fight started. I reckon this is just a little taste of what civil war is like. We can put your neighbor in jail, but there’s a lot more like him just waiting to take away everything you have. You can rebuild your house, but you can’t bring David back to life.”

  Martin looked at the burning hulk of his house, then at Anson. Anson was trying his best not to cry. His mouth was knotted into a fist and he drew a deep breath and held it.

  At that moment Ursula stopped weeping and turned to look at Martin. She caught his eye and nodded to him.

  Martin looked at the blind Lazaro, then at Esperanza and Lucinda. They stood straight and they held their heads high and level. Lorene put her arm inside her uncle’s. Hattie and Wanda, their faces smudged with soot, their clothes disheveled and unkempt, stared boldly at Martin, a noncommittal expression on their faces.

  “You’re right, Al,” Martin said. “I can rebuild my house, and I will. And you asked me to join the Texas Rangers and I said I’d think about it.”

  “You did,” Al said.

  “Well, we had us a little war here. Matteo, you tried to steal my land and you burned down my home. And you killed some friends of mine—one at least. And you broke the law by smuggling slaves up here to the Rio Grande Valley. You meant to sell humans like they were cattle and profit from it. You’re a thief and a scoundrel and now you’re going to jail for what you’ve done.”

  Ursula and Roy walked closer so they could hear what Martin was saying. No one there said a word or made a sound.

  Martin looked at Darnell and the other two Rangers, and drew himself up until he was standing as straight as the Mexican women.

  “I thought about it when the shooting started. If there’s going to be war—and I guess there is,” Martin said, “then I’d rather be fighting on home ground with men I trust, men who have helped me in my little battle here. So, Al, my answer is yes, I’ll join the Texas Rangers. But only on one condition.”

  “What’s that, Mr. Baron?” Al said, suddenly formal.

  Martin turned to his son.

  “If Anson will stay here and rebuild what’s been burnt and laid to waste and keep the Box B going. I want this to be the biggest and best cattle ranch in the country. Anson?”

  “I’ll do it, Pa,” Anson said, and his eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Then swear me in, Al. I’ll join your Rangers right here and now.”

  A chorus of cheers erupted at Martin’s pronouncement. The three Rangers threw their hats into the air. Sifuentes and Socrates both grinned. Lazaro smiled, too, and clapped his hands.

  Lorene looked at Anson and he looked at her. She smiled at him and he blushed.

  Then Al walked up and shook Martin’s hand. “You made the right decision,” he said. “We’re damned glad to have you with us.”

  “That goes for me, too, Martin,” Kenn
y said.

  Ursula pushed herself away from Roy and walked up to Martin. She put her arms around his neck and drew his head down. She kissed him on the lips. Everyone laughed and cheered once again.

  “You’re a fine man, Martin Baron,” Ursula said. “The finest I’ve ever known.”

  Martin shook his head as Ursula stepped away. He turned to Anson.

  “She’s right, Pa,” Anson said. “That goes double for me.”

  Martin’s chest swelled with pride. He turned away to keep from choking up and he looked at Matteo, who was scowling and had not said a word. The two men glared at each other for a long moment.

  And, then, Matteo lowered his head and slumped in the saddle like a man defeated and stripped of all honor before men much wiser and greater than he.

  BY JORY SHERMAN

  FROM TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES

  The Barons of Texas

  The Baron Range

  The Baron Brand

  The Baron War

  The Baron Honor

  Grass Kingdom

  Horne’s Law

  The Medicine Horn

  Song of the Cheyenne

  Trapper’s Moon

  Winter of the Wolf

  The Baron War

  “Mr. Sherman put enough strong female characters in The Baron War that some are suggesting the novel might bridge the Western genre’s eternal gender gap.”

  —The Dallas Morning News

  “Sherman explores character relationships in true family saga style, then leads the frontier folk into an inevitable bloody shoot-’em-up … Strong female characters and plenty of romance could help bridge the Western gender gap.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Fans of the series won’t be disappointed.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  The Baron Range

  “Sherman is a true to life cowboy … and has lived the life he writes about.”