Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

As he hustled to keep up, he wondered how many more twists and turns there’d be to his new tenure as marshal. And if this Connie person feeds people.

The Sanchez ranch lay in a narrow valley next to the Big Springs basin. The land here was not quite as rough, with the forest broken by small glades and clearings full of grass. In the distance, Trent could see cattle grazing on a plateau, and on another were horses. All of the animals had guards. Someone was very smart. Cattle represented food. Horses represented transportation. Anyone controlling a herd of cattle, or the horses for that matter, could have about anything they wanted. Provided they could hold it. Coming out on a wider trail that led to the main house, a low bungalow with a red-tiled roof and wraparound porch, they hitched up their packs and started toward it.

“Hold it.”

The voice had come from the side, next to a gigantic outcropping of limestone, and Trent silently cursed himself for not being more careful. From the way Katie acted, he thought they might be more welcome at her friend’s ranch.

The man who rode around the rock was lean and dark. Both hands handled his rifle as he guided his horse with his knees. His wide-brimmed hat sat on the back on his head, revealing shiny black hair. Smoke from a small, black cigarillo made his eyes squint at them, but Trent doubted he missed anything. This man looked to be all tough whang-leather and sharp spurs. There was no doubt about the M-4 carbine pointed at them.

“You have business here?” The voice was soft and musical, with no trace of an accent.

Katie spoke up, flustered. “You must be new here. I’m a friend of Consuelo’s.”

Motioning them forward with his off hand, the rifle didn’t waver. His voice was polite and calm. Despite himself, Trent was impressed. “That we shall see. Today is not a good day for visitors.”

“What about our weapons? We’ll not be giving them up.” Trent’s voice was firm.

The man just shrugged and motioned them on. He had no doubt this man could take them both if trouble was offered.

“Have you had trouble?”

“Each day has its own.” The brusque reply was both philosophical and grim as the man followed them toward the house.

As they neared the long porch that circled the house, a woman came busting through the door. Long black hair framed black snapping eyes, and the low cut dress revealed her dusky complexion. Short and voluptuous, her dress trimmed in jewelry, she looked more like an Indian princess than a Mexican landowner.

“Katie.” The woman exclaimed as she hugged the tall blond girl. “Welcome back. We were so worried.”

“How’s it going, Connie?”

Consuelo’s dancing eyes sobered a moment as she held her friend at arm’s length. “It goes. How do you like my new foreman?”

“He seems very capable.” Katie smirked at her. “And very handsome, too.”

Trent was watching the retreating man on the horse, and was thinking of joining him, when Connie turned his way. “And who is your very handsome man?”

Katie pulled him by the arm as they moved toward chairs on the porch. “Connie, this is John Trent.” She waited for the name to sink in. It didn’t.

“How do you do?” The black-haired beauty let her eyes roam over him from head to foot. Her Mexican accent was suddenly thick as syrup. “I am the Contessa Maria Consuelo Gonzales Pelenque y Sanchez. You are most welcome to my home.”

He didn’t know whether to doff his hat, bow from the waist, or fire a twenty-one gun salute. Lacking the proper guns, and not knowing the protocol, he compromised. “Damn!”

“That’s what I said the first time.” The new voice came from within the house. “Of course I’ve been here a lot, so I’m used to it.”

The door behind them opened and a big man eased himself on to the porch. The truculent voice and mocking eyes set warning bells off in Trent’s head. Slowly, his hand went from his belt to resting on his pistol. The loop over the hammer was already off. His gaze met Katie’s, looking for direction. Somehow, she had led them into a nest of snakes, and he decided to walk soft, not wanting to step on the wrong one. Her eyes were on Consuelo, and he suddenly realized what had happened. He’d been in the woods way too long.

Consuelo was obviously flirting with him, Katie was gearing up for an old-fashioned clawing match, and another man was staking out the Mexican girl as his own territory, leaving Trent in the middle. This was just too damned complicated.

The man had stopped and was staring at him. “I know you.”

“I doubt it.” Trent replied evenly, watching the man like he’d watch a cranky copperhead. “And you are?”

“Pagan Reeves.”

The man said it as if the name was supposed to mean something. There was something about him that made Trent want to reach out and slap him. “I know the name, can’t say it’s nice to make your acquaintance.” This was one of the men Colonel Bonham talked about. Brutal and ruthless, Reeves was supposed to have no side but his own. The two men stood, staring at one another.

Katie couldn’t keep the news to herself. Pulling Consuelo to a table, they sat as she dropped the bombshell. “John is a United States Marshal.”

“A marshal.” At first, the Mexican girl was unimpressed, and then confusion took over. “Like, a lawman marshal?”

“The army assigned him to Big Springs to keep the peace and sort out the troubles.” Katie continued, seemingly oblivious to all the side-play.

“Alone?” Consuelo said in incredulous tones as she shuttled her gaze between Katie and Trent. “Have you seen the town since you have returned?” All trace of an accent was gone. “There are at least fifty mercenaries in town alone. They have just about run all the honest people off. We hear there is some big-cheese camped out in the hills, just waiting for everyone to clear out so he can move his families in. We need an army here, not one man.”

A little stung by the lack of confidence, he moved off the porch. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to make do.”

The contemptuous voice of Pagan Reeves followed him. “You won’t last a day.” Reeves stood with his hand close to his holstered pistol. “I remember you now. You’re the Army courier. Scout. Supposed to be a real tough man.”

Reeves mocking voice was pushing it and Trent didn’t want anything to happen here because of the women. Too many get hurt in shootouts, and not necessarily the people doing the shooting.

“You’ll be dead in a day.” Reeves continued taunting him. “Maybe I should just save the boys in town the trouble and run you off right now.”

Coldly angry, he turned suddenly and, his earlier caution gone, faced Reeves. “Why don’t you do that? You run me off. You have a fancy auto-loader pistol and probably have at least fourteen shots to my six. Come on. Use it.”

Their eyes locked and he kept getting closer. Finally, they were facing each other with less than a foot of space between them. “How about it, Reeves? You gonna pull that shooter?”

Pagan Reeves was sweating. Any gunplay now would get them both killed. Neither could miss. He was desperately looking for a way out when a stern voice interrupted them.

“Enough of this.”

Moving into his line of vision, Trent saw the man who had escorted them to the house. He was holding a large bore Smith and Wesson as if it was part of his body. He pointed it at Pagan.

“Sure, anything you say, Chico.” Pagan said immediately, trying to regain some of his bravado. He backed off slowly, trying to leave the impression he was reluctant to move. Looking maliciously at Trent, he mounted his horse. “Trent. You come to town and you’ll die. Big Springs is mine. I have the town, and the men to hold it. But you come on ahead, Marshal. You just come on.”