Standoff At Sunrise Creek

by Stephen Bly

  “Mr. Brannon, I don’t know why I should wear this but you don’t have to.”

  “Did you ask her?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She said ‘yes.’”

  “So when’s the big day?”

  “After we drive those cows up from Mexico and I build her a house. I figure it will be next spring. Is that all right with you, Mr. Brannon?”

  “Earl, this has absolutely nothing to do with me. But it sounds fine.”

  Supper finally ready, Gwendolyn appeared at the door and invited the men inside. Gonzales and Harvey volunteered to take turns out on the porch scoping the Collectors in case of a raid.

  “You look very nice in that dress, Mrs. Barton,” Brannon remarked.

  “Thank you, Stuart. Your Lisa certainly had some lovely things.”

  “They always said she had good taste in everything but husbands. And, Miss Julie, is it symbolic that you chose the white dress?”

  “Harriet picked it out for me. This material is so smooth it makes me feel really special.”

  “You’re stunning,” Fletcher declared.

  “She looks good all the time,” Howland replied.

  Harriet Reed strolled into the dining room.

  I knew she would wear the rose dress… it was bound to happen.

  Memories flooded his mind. He had a strong urge to hold Miss Reed in his arms.

  “Well,” she said, “is this dress less frightful?”

  “It’s ravishing,” Fletcher called out.

  “Stuart… are you all right?” she pressed.

  “You remind me of someone… and I really appreciate the memories.”

  “That’s it? My word, Brannon, that’s not much of a compliment,” Fletcher said.

  “No, Mr. Fletcher,” Reed said, “it is the ultimate of compliments from Stuart. And I am flattered he would offer it to me.”

  Except for the occasional report from the scout on the front porch, the party was lighthearted and the time flew by quickly. The laughter, though shallow, was needed.

  You make a lot of plans for the future when you aren’t sure if you’ll make it through the night. No idea is too wild, no scheme too irrational, no dream too absurd.

  One by one he surveyed the guests in his house.

  Lord, this is what was missing after Lisa died. People… laughter… excitement… that’s what I want this place to be. The most enjoyable stop between Prescott and Tucson. I don’t know how to do that on my own. Lord. Lisa could do it. Wouldn’t she shine with a group like this?

  As the sun set, Brannon signaled for their attention.

  “I don’t want to spoil our party, but it’s about time to go to work. Here’s what we do. As soon as it’s dark, Edwin and I will crawl—”

  “I say… crawl?”

  “You can change clothes, of course. Then we’ll station ourselves out there with the dynamite. Since we’ve used it in the mine, we’ll take that detail.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Howland asked.

  “I want you to keep laughing, singing, dancing. Make them think we’re totally unconcerned with their activity.”

  Brannon pulled his black hat off a peg in the wall and shoved it down on Howland’s head. “Earl, you stay by the window. In the shadows you’ll look like old man Brannon himself.”

  “So they can shoot at him?” Cancino challenged.

  “I don’t think so. They must still have orders not to ride in with guns blazing. But if they think I’m in here, they won’t expect me out there. We only need to fool them for a while.”

  “So we live it up inside?”

  “Right. At the first blast from a gun or dynamite, shut off the lanterns and take your positions.”

  “What if they don’t come down tonight?”

  “Then it’ll be a long party. I don’t think this will be the worst night. By tomorrow they’ll either straighten out the aim on the cannon or they’ll roar down that mountain.

  “But… if things turn out badly, well, as Edwin knows, I’ve spent most of the past two years fighting other people’s battles. And now… it feels good to fight one of my own. But I couldn’t have done it without all of you.”

  “Stuart, go stretch your wire before we change our minds,” Reed needled.

  Working on their hands and knees, Brannon and Fletcher cordoned off the yard with a strand of barbed wire stretched a foot above the ground. Back in the barn, they each set six half sticks of dynamite and stuffed them in their pockets.

  “Well, Edwin, do you ever think of riding out of here, catching a schooner around the Horn, and going home?”

  “Life with you has spoiled me for anything else. I sat at a formal dinner in San Francisco last week. For two hours the ambassador from Russia tried to explain why the $7,200,000 paid for Alaska was far too cheap a price, and I realized all I could think about was riding down into Mexico and buying a thousand head of cattle. This land makes you think, feel, reason, and act quickly. Anything else is just coasting.”

  “Okay, Lord Fletcher, let’s go to work.”

  “Quite right.”

  “You stay at the corner of the barn. If you hear them on the north or east, go to it. Don’t throw them too close to the house.”

  “You know, they are going to come in from the south… or maybe the west.”

  “Yeah. That’s why I’m down there. Have a cigar.”

  “A cigar? Where did you get these?”

  “From Barton.”

  “I don’t smoke. And Brannon, you don’t smoke.”

  “For the fuses. Lay it on the ground, and it’s hardly visible. A match flares up too much.”

  For an hour, Brannon sat with his back to a cottonwood tree in the front yard, waiting to hear sounds of intruders.

  If they find the wire and go over it, they’ll be on top of us before we can act. Lord, help us!

  Brannon sensed movement on the hill.

  He couldn’t see or hear anything.

  But he knew they were moving.

  He relit the cigar.

  Then he laid all six half sticks of dynamite in a row beside him. Holding one in his right hand only a few inches above the glowing cigar, he waited—and waited—and waited.

  Then it came.

  Straight from the south.

  A scream.

  A shout.

  A curse.

  And shots fired wildly.

  He lit the dynamite and tossed it with all his might.

  The explosion lit up terrified and confused faces. He threw another to the same place, then lit another and tossed it to the west.

  Blasts rang out from the north as Fletcher contributed to the mayhem. Brannon tossed two more. He could see men scrambling back up the hill. Pulling to his feet, he staggered toward the fleeing men, lit another stick, and heaved it far into the dark night.

  A glowing object flew in his direction.

  They threw it back!

  He dove for the cottonwood and rolled behind it, hands clamped over his ears. But the explosion was not as close as he feared. In fact, the fleeing Collector completely missed his target. The dynamite fell under the front steps of the bunkhouse.

  The explosion sent splinters clear across the yard. The front door of the bunkhouse blazed. He wanted to run put the fire out, but realized if any men hung close, his silhouette against the flames would make an easy target. Several gunshots fired randomly at the house. Then the shouts and cursing ceased.

  “I say, Brannon?”

  “Edwin? Over here.”

  “My word, aren’t we going to try to save that building?”

  “Nope. It’s too dangerous. Let it burn.”

  “Did they sneak up and torch it?”

  “Nope.”

  “What happened?”

  “Dynamite. They threw a stick back.”

  “Good heavens, we were fortunate they only hit the bunkhouse.”

  “That’s what I was thin
king.”

  “Will they return?”

  “I don’t think so. But pass the word to keep the posts all night long.”

  Right before dawn, Fletcher and Brannon and Howland crawled out and took down the barbed wire. They dragged it back into the barn and joined the others on the porch. The ladies still wore their party dresses.

  “It’s a beautiful morning, Mr. Brannon,” Cancino greeted him.

  “Yes, it is. Every morning you’re alive is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Reed slipped her arm in Brannon’s. “I believe I have enough material for a whole series of books. But I’m going to have to call it fiction.”

  Brannon liked the feel of her arm in his and the rustle of the rose dress next to him. “Why’s that?”

  “Because no one would believe it’s true. Come on, Gwen’s fixing breakfast.”

  “Mr. Brannon,” Howland yelled. “You better take a look at this. Some guy pulled up to the top of the rim in a buck-board and—and—” His voice trailed off.

  “And what?”

  “I think they fixed the cannon.”

  Brannon shouted commands. “Get behind those barriers. If they hit the house, they’ll charge down immediately afterward. Go for Jedel. The others are just hired hands.”

  A distant puff of smoke, then an ear-banging report, followed by an explosion behind the house.

  “They missed. They overshot,” Cancino hollered.

  “Earl, run around and see what kind of damage was done,” Brannon called.

  Fletcher manned the spyglass. “They’re loading again… no… no, something’s wrong… they can’t get it loaded.”

  “It’s too hot. They used too much powder. They’ll have to let it cool off.”

  Howland sprinted back. “Mr. Brannon, they hit the privy.”

  “The old one or the new one?”

  “The new one. It’s nothing but a pile of splinters.”

  “Fortunately, they don’t seem to know how to aim that thing,” Barton interjected.

  “I don’t know.” Brannon shrugged. “Maybe that was their target. It could add a certain urgency to settle this matter.”

  “There’s more of them, Stuart,” Fletcher called out from behind the spyglass.

  “More Collectors?”

  “No, more wagons up on the rim. My word, it looks like women, children, men—whole families.”

  Twelve

  “Families?” Brannon grabbed the spyglass.

  “On the north road. I think someone’s up there too,” Reed called out.

  Brannon switched his scope to the other side of the valley. “I see them. Several riders, a freight wagon, a carriage—there’s a stagecoach. How in the world did they get a stage up that goat path? And a tent. They must have come in last night.”

  “What are they doing here?” Fletcher inquired.

  “Maybe they’re bringing supplies to the Collectors,” Cancino suggested.

  Brannon handed the spyglass back to Howland. “I don’t know what’s going on. There are some women and children on that south rim. Maybe… maybe Casa Verde is bringing in squatters to show a land feud rather than a battle of hired guns. It’s crazy. At this rate, the Triple B will be the third largest town in the Territory by nightfall.”

  Howland shouted, “This is it. I think they’re coming down.”

  “The wagons?”

  “No, the Collectors. They’re all tossing on saddles.”

  Brannon rubbed his grimy forehead and pushed back his hat. “Well, let’s get ready for them. Get to your positions, check your ammunition, load your guns to the maximum. Ladies, you’ll need to—”

  “Do you have any clothesline rope?” Reed asked.

  “Have what?”

  “Clothesline rope. I want to wash out a few things and hang them up in the yard,” she replied.

  “Is this a joke?”

  “Stuart, as you all know, I am next to useless at shooting anything except a horse. So I believe I can serve us best by standing unarmed in the middle of the yard, doing my laundry.”

  “Brannon,” Fletcher blurted, “remember Janie Mulroney? Perhaps Miss Reed has also broken under the pressure.”

  “No, you’re right, Harriet. Can’t you see, Edwin?”

  “I say—another diversion?”

  “No, no! We’re surrounded by witnesses. How can they shoot at unarmed women doing their chores? If we look like a fort, if we fire at them, they’ll claim to have an excuse for attacking. This is an ordinary working ranch, and that’s what we’ll be.”

  “An ordinary ranch with half the house burnt down, the bunkhouse in ashes, and a privy blown to shreds,” Fletcher reminded him.

  Brannon hopped around. “Carry your weapon out of sight, but go about your business. Hurry, ladies, bring out your wash. Nelson, string a line across the front yard. Gonzales and Harvey, start cleaning up around the bunkhouse.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Howland asked.

  “Pull a couple horses out of the corral and groom them. Take your time. Act like nothing is going on.”

  “I’ll heat up the forge and pound out some horseshoes in front of the barn.”

  “And me?” Fletcher asked.

  “Eh… well, you sit out there in the middle of the yard with Julie and read.”

  “Read? My word, Brannon, you don’t expect us to—”

  Miss Cancino called out, “Read to all of us.”

  “Oh, all right, but it does seem terribly loose,” Fletcher protested.

  Within minutes, the whole crew in place, each one became visible to the people on the north and south rim, as well as to the Collectors.

  “Here they come,” Cancino shouted. “Read, Mr. Fletcher.”

  “Fate had brought Odysseus to the Kingdom of the Phaeacians. On the island where he had set foot stood their city with the palace of King Alcinous, father of young Nausicaa. She was in the full bloom of youth, slender and lithe like a reed and very beautiful … I say, this is rather—”

  “Read it, Fletcher,” Brannon shouted.

  “They stopped, Mr. Brannon.” Howland called out. “They stopped about halfway down the slope. The wagons are rolling. Those folks from up top are coming down too.”

  “So are the ones on the north rim,” Reed called out.

  “Everyone’s coming down here.”

  “What do we do now, Brannon?” Fletcher asked.

  Lord, this is… are they coming to watch us get shot?

  Lord, I’m not a violent man, but I’m getting to he an angry one. Whatever happened to my peaceful little ranch?

  The Collectors waited for the wagons to pass and fell in line behind them. Brannon had a strong desire to grab up his Winchester and meet the first wagon with rifle in hand. But instead he dropped an extra Colt into his coat pocket and strolled across the yard, waiting for the string of wagons.

  It took a long while for everyone to reach the ranch house. As they circled the outside of the place, Brannon noticed other rigs rolling down the mountains from the north and south.

  “Hello, Mr. Brannon,” one wagon driver hailed.

  He didn’t recognize the man.

  Julie waved at a wagon. “There’s some of the girls from the Lucky Dollar.”

  The first man to enter the yard parked his wagon beyond the burnt-out bunkhouse and walked straight to Brannon. “Stuart Brannon, I’m Tom Weedin from Florence. We met a few years back.”

  “Tom? How are you? What are you doin’ up here? What’s all this you’re writing about me?”

  “We’ve got to stop them. We’ve got to stop those phony land grant claims right now, Stuart. We’ve got to stop them right here at Sunrise Creek.”

  “Who are all these people?”

  “Sightseers.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been pumpin’ up this standoff pretty strong all across the Territory. We told folks if they want to know what’s really going on, they’d better come down and check the situation thems
elves.”

  “And they did? They all came to watch?”

  “That’s why they’re keeping their distance. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Who’s in this wagon?” Brannon pointed to the one group that actually rolled into the yard.

  “That’s Rugby Jamison, the Surveyor-General.”

  Fletcher came alongside Brannon.

  “Edwin, go alert the others. Get Gonzales and Harvey back to the house. Keep them spread out, and don’t let anyone infiltrate the buildings. This would be a good scene for the Collectors to try to slip in and take possession.” He turned to Barton. “I would like your expertise in this matter.”

  “Certainly.”

  Brannon, Barton, and Weedin walked over to the wagon.

  “Mr. Jamison? I’m Stuart Brannon.”

  “Ah, yes, the notorious Stuart Brannon. One can hardly pickup a newspaper without reading of you.” He glared at Tom Weedin.

  “Where are Judge and Mrs. Quilici?” Brannon asked.

  “I believe they made a quick train ride to Yuma. Let me introduce my associate, Mr. Toppington, and these gentlemen are lawyers for the Casa Verde Land Development Corporation, Mr. Stailly and Mr. Greenspan.”

  “Mr. Brannon, we traveled all the way from San Francisco to settle this matter,” Greenspan began. “You have caused us considerable consternation and delay by your actions here in Yavapai County.”

  “Not to mention adverse publicity,” Stailly said.

  “I caused you? I’ve been shot, fired on by artillery, under siege for two weeks, half my home is burnt up, and three hundred people moved in on my place—and I caused you consternation?”

  “This acreage, as all these people know, does not belong to you, but rather to the Casa Verde Land Development Corporation.”

  “Gentlemen,” Mr. Jamison intervened. “That’s exactly what I came to investigate. We will handle all testimony in an orderly fashion. I have examined the documents, and I will now listen to the claims of both sides. Do you have your attorney with you, Mr. Brannon?”

  “Attorney? Well, no… but Mr. Barton—”

  “Mr. Barton is employed by the federal government, just as I am, and cannot take sides in this matter.”

  “Then I will act as my own attorney.”