Bryan of Carrizo Creek

By Warren C. Ellis

When his father was killed and his mother passed away two years later, Bryan and his brother sold their farm in Tennessee. All was well until the brother ran off with Bryan's girl.
Almost distraught, Bryan left Tennessee to homestead a spot in wild, harsh, unsettled Southeastern Colorado Territory. His dream was to settle down, forget the past and live a quiet productive life. It didn't happen quite that way.
Bryan befriended a rancher named Clyde Everly and Clyde had a beautiful, spunky, young daughter. There was also an old, mysterious Indian Medicine Man that proved to be a valuable friend.
Bryan's uncle Jim joined him in the adventure. Jim was somewhat of a wonderer, gambler and his speed with twin six guns was un-matched.
The constant threat from Indians, Mexican Banditos, other questionable characters, the elements, as well as wild creatures, made it necessary for folks to maintain a high level of vigilance.
Then, there was "Wil", the runaway slave who was being pursued by bounty hunters that didn't care much about anybody.
Emotional and surprise events are presented throughout, with a little humor and an unusual, eerie ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 5, 2004
• ISBN: 9781453594537

Warren C. Ellis

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Book preview

A NEW BEGINNING

Bryan Muise pulled his horse to a stop on a small hill and looked back along the trail. (Any rise at all in this country is a hill.) He shaded his eyes and gazed into the distance—was that dust he saw?

He took a small telescope from his saddle bag, extended it to full length and scanned the horizon—nothing. Maybe it had been his imagination. There were Indians and outlaws in the area and there was nobody to help him in case one or the other showed up.

Bryan dismounted, stretched and then walked back to his packhorse. He made sure all the tie down straps were still tight and then allowed the horses to continue resting for a few minutes. He remounted and rode on. Bryan had been in the saddle since before daybreak and was getting tired.

As if by magic, a shallow ravine appeared up ahead and Bryan rode into it. As he proceeded, the walls became higher and steeper. Boulders lined the sides and rims as the ravine became more gorge-like.

Good place to ambush a fellow, Bryan thought. The sand along the ravine—or gorge—bottom muffled the horses’ hooves, somewhat. He rode further, about two miles and came to running water. The small stream obviously started from someplace further up ahead and disappeared in the sand where the horses stood.

Bryan urged his horse forward and after another mile or so brought him to a stop. The stream was deeper here and the gorge—or canyon—had widened out to some sixty or seventy yards. The stream flowed into two small pools and the trickling sound it made was quite pleasant. There was plenty of grass for the horses—he would make camp in this spot for the night.

As always, Bryan saw to the needs of his horses first. He unpacked and unsaddled the animals, even before taking a drink of water. Without proper care, a horse might develop problems of some sort and a man without a healthy horse in this wild country was almost as good as dead.

With the horses attended to and hobbled, Bryan went to the upper pool, fell on his stomach and drank his fill of the surprisingly cool water. He then went to the lower pool, washed the dust off his face and splashed water on his arms and the front of his shirt. The water would evaporate soon, but would feel cool for a while, at least.

Bryan debated with himself for a minute. Should he build a fire or not? He wanted hot coffee and warm food; he would build a small fire.

He went to his pack, opened it and pulled out a leather bag that contained six steel tipped arrows and three other objects. He wanted fresh meat tonight and would have to hunt for it. Two of the objects were limbs for a bow he had fashioned a year or so back. The third object was the bow handle; made of wood and buffalo horn.

Bryan placed the larger ends of the limbs into the openings of the handle. He then secured them by forcing a piece of leather into the handle along the topside of each limb. The string was made of braided horse hair; a piece of rawhide was wrapped midway to protect the hair from the force of an arrow when the bow was fired.

Assembled, the bow was a little longer than four feet; disassembled, it was about two feet long and could be easily packed away until needed. He would hunt with his bow; a weapon he had been using since childhood. There was no need to advertise his where-a-bouts by firing his rifle or pistol.

Bryan pulled another bag from his pack and removed a pair of buckskin pants and a pullover buckskin shirt; last, he removed his moccasins. He quickly changed clothes, then placed his dirty garments in the lower pool and weighted them down with rocks. The dirty clothing would soak while he hunted.

By this time, the small fire had burned down to glowing embers and Bryan placed a small pot, containing water and coffee grounds, in the center of the fire pit. He positioned rocks around the pot and covered it with a lid. If he wasn’t gone too long, the coffee would still be hot when he returned.

He carried his saddle and pack to a small overhang near the campfire and stashed them there, out of sight. As an extra precaution, he piled some loose brush in front of his gear. The hiding place wouldn’t really keep a passerby from finding his things; but he felt better, anyway, with his belongings hidden as they were. Bryan thought, Best take my pistol along, as he buckled the gun belt around his waist.

The sun was still a ways above the horizon as Bryan left camp. He walked quietly up the canyon floor, along the stream, watching for signs of game—preferably rabbits. There were numerous deer tracks, but he didn’t really want to shoot a deer with his light bow.

After about three hundred yards, Bryan angled up the left side of the canyon and cautiously stepped out in the open. Carefully, he scanned trees, rocks and bushes for any movement—satisfied that no other person was present, he secured an arrow to the bow string and walked just off the canyon rim; searching for his quarry.

As it often happens with wild animals; there, from seemingly no place, sat a rabbit; under an ancient, twisted Juniper Tree. The rabbit had not yet detected Bryan’s presence. Bryan slowly lifted the bow and drew the string back. As a hunter, he understood wild animals, where they hid, how they acted and what they were most likely to do next.

Zzziiipp! The rabbit scarcely moved as the arrow penetrated a vital spot.

Bryan walked over to the animal, picked it up and removed the arrow. Good, he thought—the arrow had not been damaged and it could be used again.

Scarcely had Bryan completed skinning, dressing and fastening the rabbit to his belt when another hopped out of a pile of sagebrush. It suffered the same fate as the first.

Bryan didn’t like killing of any kind, but sometimes it was necessary. He always felt a twinge of regret when he shot an animal. He had never killed a man and hoped he would never experience the feeling of doing so.

The sun was just sinking from sight as Bryan made his way back to camp. It was always his practice to return to camp from a direction other than the one he left by.

As he walked, he enjoyed the beauty that surrounded him. The sunset was orange and red, set off by the deep blue of an early evening sky. There were numerous Juniper Trees, various types of brush and short Buffalo Grass. It seemed that suddenly, the world had come alive with the buzz of insects, the hum of diving Nighthawks and other sounds not discernible. From a Westerly direction and distant, came a howl—a howl that Bryan was certain had come from a wolf.

Bryan swung to the East, planning to make a wide circle back to camp. As he walked, his mind wandered back to Tennessee and the reason he had decided to come to this wild, un-tamed Territory of Colorado.

When Bryan’s father had been shot three years ago and his mother had passed away two years later, he and his brother Lester inherited a farm, which they decided to sell. Both boys received a fair amount of money from the sale of the equipment, land and farmhouse.

Bryan had never really liked farming, but had worked hard for his father, without complaining. His brother felt more or less the same as Bryan, so there was no disagreement about selling the property.

There was a girl by the name of Debbie that Bryan had planned to marry. When she announced, one day, that she wanted to live in New York City, Bryan balked. Lester saw what was happening and took advantage of the situation. Lester and Debbie disappeared one night, without a word. Bryan had no idea what had become of the two until he received a letter from New York explaining that they had left Tennessee one night, together, and were now living in New York, City.

Bryan felt betrayed by his brother and the girl. As he walked toward camp, he smiled; thinking to himself that the worst part about the incident was that at the time, he felt his pride had been bruised beyond repair. There was a little lingering anger and hurt, but Bryan knew he was better off without that sort of woman and he thought, That kind of brother.

When he left Tennessee, some of his kin had argued with him about going. His mind was made up, he was determined to go and nothing would change his way of thinking. Now, as he looked around, he saw a land that in no way resembled Tennessee, but it held a certain beauty that made him feel as though he had found his real home.

Bryan approached camp from a Northeasterly direction. He had departed up the canyon in a Southwesterly direction. Had he been observed; a young man of twenty-three that was about 5’ 10" tall and around 180 pounds, would have been seen. He was well built and stronger than most men larger than himself.

He walked quietly and moved much like a big cat, gracefully, but his physical condition was obvious with every move he made. His hair was dark brown, almost black, with eyes to match the color of his hair. He had a friendly face and a certain look of understanding well beyond his years. One would get the impression that, here was a man that was best not crossed, but would be a friend if you would allow it.

Bryan became a bit put out with himself. He had been walking along, thinking, when he should have been watching and alert. He realized something was amiss even though he had not yet reached camp; in fact, it was not yet in sight.

Bryan approached his camp cautiously and there, squatting beside the fire pit was a man! He had rekindled the fire and seemed to have helped himself to the coffee. There was something familiar about the man—who could he be?

Coming in, Bryan said. As soon as he spoke, the man at the fire moved his arm and in a split second he was holding a pistol in his right hand!

Bryan recognized the man; it was his Uncle James Conger! Bryan asked, Uncle Jim? The man holstered his weapon and answered, Yep.

Bryan walked over to his uncle, who had risen slowly from his position by the fire, and stuck out his hand. They shook hands and then Jim returned to his spot by the campfire. Neither man spoke as Bryan prepared the rabbits for roasting.

When both rabbits were securely fastened to a spit and had been placed over the fire, Bryan turned to his uncle and smiled. What in the world are you doing here? Jim replied, I could ask you the same thing.

Bryan said, You know the story. With Debbie and Lester leaving the way they did, there just didn’t seem to be much left for me in Tennessee. There is a piece of land someplace around here that I plan to homestead. With everything that happened in Tennessee, I just decided it was time to see some different country and start a new life.

I can understand that, Jim said. Too bad about those two; it seems a fellow just can’t count on folks to act the way you think they should. My best bet would be that you will be better off here in the long run.

Bryan responded, You are probably right—you still haven’t told me what you are doing here.

Jim studied his nephew for a moment and said I suppose I sort of want the same thing you do. My welcome on the riverboats and gambling houses was wearing thin. I have a number of enemies back there and figure it would just be a matter of time before one of them snuck up behind me with a scatter gun, or something.

Both men fell silent as Bryan rotated the spit over the fire. They watched as the meat turned a golden brown.

After the rabbits were fully cooked, the two men ate in silence. They were both hungry and even though roasted rabbit and hot coffee were the only things on the menu, they found their meal to be very satisfying.

With eating behind them, the men busied themselves about the camp; each preparing a lean-to, for shelter, out of Juniper branches. A small tarp was spread over the branches, for added protection, in the event of rain. Bedrolls were placed under the shelters. They would both sleep well tonight, each knew he could rely on the other for help if need be.

Bryan walked to the lower pool and retrieved his soaking clothes. He wrung as much water from them as he could and draped the still damp clothes over a dead Juniper branch to dry—then he