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    Caldera: Book III - A Man of Blood
    Caldera: Book III - A Man of Blood
    Caldera: Book III - A Man of Blood
    Ebook408 pages4 hours

    Caldera: Book III - A Man of Blood

    By Dan Baldwin

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    Caldera continues his quest to find and determine the meaning of family within the violent times at the end of the Apache Wars. His quest is hampered by the arrival of an unknown half-brother, a Harvard educated tinderfoot with plans for a takeover of his (and Caldera’s) father’s enormous business empire. While his half-brother ruthlessly carries out a business plan, Caldera faces life and death choices in a war between mining communities, as a “regulator” hired to hunt down the most dangerous renegade Apache in Arizona, and as a man who must at different times face down two unforgettable women: Honeybee and Fanny Blue. Tiring of violence and bloodshed, Caldera leaves the country and settles in for a peaceful life in Cuba – 1898. Once again, he becomes a fighting man, acting as a scout for the Rough Riders where he finds battle, betrayal and, perhaps, the love of a beautiful Cuban freedom fighter.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDan Baldwin
    Release dateJan 30, 2015
    ISBN9781310553288
    Caldera: Book III - A Man of Blood
    Author

    Dan Baldwin

    Dan Baldwin is the author of westerns, mysteries, thrillers, short story collections and books on the paranormal. He is the winner of numerous local, regional, and national awards for writing and directing film and video projects. He earned an Honorable Mention from the Society of Southwestern Authors writing competition for his short story Flat Busted and  a Finalist designation from the National Indie Excellence Awards for Trapp Canyon and Caldera III – A Man of Blood. Baldwin received a Finalist designation in the New Mexico-Arizona Book Awards for Sparky and the King. Bock’s Canyon earned the Winner designation in the 2017 Best Book Awards. Baldwin’s paranormal works are The Practical Pendulum – A Swinging Guide, Find Me as told to Dan Baldwin, They Are Not Yet Lost and How Find Me Lost Me – A Betrayal of Trust Told by the Psychic Who Didn’t See It Coming. They Are Not Yet Lost earned the Winner designation in the New Mexico-Arizona Book Competition. How Find Me Lost Me won the Winner designation in the Best Book Awards 2017 competition and the Finalist designation in the New Mexico-Arizona Book Competition.

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      Book preview

      Caldera - Dan Baldwin

      A Man of Blood

      The Smashwords Edition

      Dan Baldwin

      A Four Knights Press publication

      Copyright © 2014 by Dan Baldwin

      Revised 2015.3.21

      Smashwords License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this ebook, please purchase an additional copy for each person with whom you want to share it. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

      Note: to provide the reader with more of a sample from the actual story, most of the traditional front matter and the Table of Contents appears at the end.

      Dan Baldwin walked into the Arizona desert over twenty years ago. He heard the mountains, sensed the past, held relics from the ancients, and envisioned a saga. The saga is the recently published Caldera where Baldwin weaves western vistas, lore, and geography into an absorbing journey. The author seduces the reader with Caldera in order to experience the once and only gritty West. The title character, recalled in flashbacks by a father figure to an investigator, experiences and creates the good, the bad, and the dangerous. After reading Caldera I knew that I had been somewhere. And I wanted to return. Looks as if that’s going to happen.

      ~George Sewell, Author: A Gnome, A Candle and Me; Habits, Patterns and Thoughts That Go Bump in the Night; and The Krismere.

      As a writer, I’m always pleased to see another writer succeed. As a professional freelance editor, I’m even more pleased when an editing client succeeds. I read a lot of manuscripts. Every now and then, one comes along that screams for a sequel. That was the case with Caldera. Although Caldera is a long novel that left me more than satisfied, it was such an excellent story that it also left me hungering for more…I predict this will be a saga in the grand style of James A. Michener, but without all the misplaced modifiers.

      ~Harvey Stanbrough, Pulitzer Prize nominee for poetry. Author Writing Realistic Dialog & Flash Fiction; Punctuation for Writers; Six Days in May, Leaving Amarillo, and Longing for Mexico

      Drawing on local lore and geography, Dan Baldwin’s action-packed Caldera series delivers local history right into your face. It’s rogue and rough characters, whose only tug of heart might be to bury the dead, reflects frontier reality to its spitting detail.

      ~AnnaElise Makin, journalist/author

      Dan Baldwin’s Caldera is, first and foremost, a fast-paced, fun read. In Horizon’s West, Jim Kitses seminal study of the classic Western, the founding of the West was essentially a dust-up between civilization (order) and wilderness (chaos). Dan paints that picture with a brush of fine details. The characters are bigger than life and the reader gets a sense of the tough skinned, tough minded men and women who settled what would eventually become the state of Arizona. But the story isn’t just a typical rendition of the White American settlers (order) triumphant over the landscape and the savages (chaos) who live there. The settlers bring a great deal of their own chaos and the native Pimas have an established civilization suitable for its surroundings. The read is a wonderful blend of fact and fiction, well researched and well told. I highly recommend this book to anyone interested in the Old West, powerful characters or just great story telling.

      ~Micah S. HacklerAuthor, Sheriff Lansing Mysteries

      If not for the fact that I had known the author in college, I never would have read Caldera. In fact, westerns are not my usual genre of choice for leisure reading. I must admit that I began reading it with an equal mix of curiosity, skepticism and optimism. By the time I had finished (to paraphrase David Alan Coe), I realized that my friend had written the perfect western novel.

      Dan Baldwin’s novel, Caldera, is a rich experience on so many levels. His plot lines are anything but predictable – exciting and gritty to be sure, yet frequently elevated to the spiritual, even the supernatural – sometimes disturbing, but always unforgettable. His characters, even the secondary and lesser ones, ring as authentic and as contrasting as wind chimes of pottery and brass. Baldwin’s novel portrays the real Wild West, and in particular the Arizona territory, as it truly was before statehood and great migrations rendered it civilized and long enough afterwards to present a historically balanced and well-researched story.

      The characters of Caldera defy the stereotypes of heroes and villains, of Native Americans, Hispanics, and White peoples. They reflect the variety and complexity of the era – cowboys and Indians; drifters, gamblers and empire builders; soldiers and settlers; farmers, ranchers and renegades; townspeople, prostitutes, merchants and madams – all against a varied and beautiful, but raw and unforgiving landscape. Be forewarned, reading Dan Baldwin’s Caldera places one in a vast and virtual reality – an experience hard to leave and harder to forget, lingering long after the last word whispers an echo.

      ~Annette Tolbert, University art instructor

      The story and its rich cast of diverse characters immediately grabbed me and pulled me into the harsh reality of the badlands of the post-Civil War (a.k.a. The War of Northern Aggression as it is still referred to in parts of the South) Arizona Territory. It is a world populated by grizzled frontiersmen, fierce Apache raiders, peaceful Pima allies, dangerous Mexican outlaws and a host of other believable, period-appropriate characters who must interact with one another in an ever changing dance of survival of the fittest and most resourceful. The ‘action’ scenes are frequent, varied, and compelling. It is also a story of relationships, love stories, deceptions, friendships, betrayals, temporary alliances, and grudging coexistences. The many references to Native American culture, customs and language are authentic and well researched. Dan has written the perfect western novel.

      ~Gus Wales, Advertising Executive

      for Jack Tolbert

      "One of these days

      I’m gonna climb that mountain

      Walk up there among them clouds

      Where the cotton’s high

      And the corn’s a-growin’

      And there ain’t no fields to plow"

      Prologue

      The witch stirred her bubbling vat of pinto beans with the working end of a walking stick. Nearby, on a cracked slab of old planking, flies circled a short stack of warm tortillas. Caldera tried to sit up, but he only had the strength to rest on his elbows and stare at the old hag. She looked more like a gnarled cottonwood worn gray by wind and water than a human being. He grunted in pain. Belle McKenzie’s poison enflamed his arteries and veins and every breath seared his insides with agony. The gashes across his belly where she had raked him with the broken bottle of poison dripped blood onto the old woman’s porch. She laughed – a coarse and sadistic sound.

      Time to make choice, young Caldera.

      He coughed as he spoke. Where am I?

      Hell.

      He coughed again and wiped blood on his sleeve. The hell it is, old woman. This is your house in Privy.

      Same thing.

      He struggled more, but found only the strength to sit up with his back resting against a strong sapling hacked down and used to support the flimsy, brush roof over the witch’s porch. The smell of pintos was strong. He was hungry and as he rubbed his belly he discovered that his gut wounds had healed.

      I’m dreaming, ain’t I?

      You’re in the middle ground.

      Seems to be the way of things.

      She stirred again. Whiffs of steam swirled from the pot and floated around her stringy gray hair. Her head looked like some long dead animal trapped and hanging in a tree after a flash flood. Middle ground, Caldera. You must choose now the road of your future.

      A man ain’t got no choice ‘bout his future, old woman.

      You’re not like other men. You choose. I help you. The wrinkled lines in her face squeezed into a horizontal position. No one other than the witch would have called that movement a smile.

      The flames scouring Caldera’s insides cooled down and floated away like a mist caught by the morning sun. His pain was gone. I am dreaming. But I remember you. When me ‘n Benny came to collect your taxes–

      I made you a promise then, didn’t I?

      Yeah. I remember that, too.

      What did I promise you?

      Pain.

      My promise true?

      Yeah, kept your damn promise. Pain for everybody I ever cared about. You didn’t say nothing about that.

      Then you know my words are true.

      Yeah.

      You believe?

      Yeah.

      Say it!

      Damn it, I believe.

      Good. Now I help with your future?

      Just how the hell are you gonna do that, old woman?

      She stirred the pintos and raked the walking stick across the bottom of the vat to loosen those that had burned and stuck. She bent over face down into the steam and breathed deeply. I give you choice, young Caldera.

      He rubbed his belly again and breathed in the rich, earthy smell. I ain’t all that young.

      All the world is young to me. You make choice. Now.

      What choice, witch?

      Famous choice. Caldera can live a long life, good life, but nobody will ever know his name.

      Or? There’s always a damn ‘or.’

      Or Caldera can be famous, maybe even a… what’s the word… hero. Her face crinkled again. She apparently liked what was coming next. But you die young. Soon I think.

      I am dreaming.

      Choose your future, Caldera. What do you want!

      Caldera stood up, his strength fully returned, and walked over to the witch. He looked her straight in the eyes. I want me a plate of beans.

      PART ONE

      Smith

      Chapter One

      Caldera rolled out of the dream and into the dust. His guts blazed and every breath stoked the flames. Blood from the gashes across his stomach splattered the sand in the wash where he writhed and rolled. He had believed the worst of it was behind him, but the poison was still in his system. Its effects tortured him with searing agony. He held in a scream and then another. He would be easy prey for any wandering Apache warrior or gold-crazed lunatic haunting the south end of the Superstitions. Caldera pounded his right fist into the sand once, twice and three times before he fainted.

      He fought his way back to awareness, not wanting to face the old witch and her nightmare world again. As the sun crawled down behind the high ridge to the West its deep golden rays flared around the unexpected.

      Caldera faced the biggest, most god-awful size elephant in the world. Its skin was a hard, smooth gray and its one visible eye was a dark shadow. The long trunk fell into the earth. The beast seemed to be looking south toward the Pima villages and Privy. Hell, a hundred men could ride its back. The beast had to be bigger than any building in all of Arizona Territory. How such an animal could get here in the Superstitions was beyond him. Life itself was almost beyond him. Damn I’d surely like to hear that thing roar ‘for it stomps me into the ground.

      Bastard’s winkin’ at me. He passed out.

      Holy Christ, mister, what the hell happened to you!

      Caldera heard the familiar sounds of a man dismounting a horse. He heard footsteps and then felt the warm edge of a canteen against his lips. Drink it slowly, mister ‘less it comes gushing out your innerds. Who cut you like that?

      Belle.

      Uh-huh. You keep talking, mister. I ain’t got time to bury you proper, so you just keep talkin.’

      Poison, too…. He faded out again, this time to the sound of ripping cloth. Maybe his guts were tearing apart, too. When he came around again the heat of the sun was cooling. Sundown was near. Prospect?

      Huh?

      You done come to save me again?

      Sure, mister, sure.

      I didn’t kill her, Prospect. Everybody knows that now. You too?

      Sure. You keep talking while I clean this glass out of your stomach. Who didn’t you kill?

      T’Othern. Her ‘n the baby. It was Belle. She done it.

      Prospect?

      Yeah?

      Caldera coughed and shook his head, fighting to stay conscious. I surely hate that you had to kill your friend, Prospect. It was them or us. He felt a coolness to his stomach followed by a tightening sensation. He was being bandaged.

      Go on.

      Your friend, he shouldn’t have been with McCracken. The movements around his stomach suddenly stopped and then resumed.

      Gayle McCracken?

      Cut his throat.

      You?

      I cut him up before Belle cut me up. He heard the sputtering of a small fire and smelled the scent of burning wood. Fire… Apaches.

      Don’t worry none. We’re a long way from San Carlos. Most of them renegades are all stove up down in Mexico. We’re all right. He stepped away from the fire and brought a tin cup full of stinking broth. Drink this.

      What–

      Ain’t got a clue what it is, but the doc over at Globe swears by it. Cures just about anything except a gunshot.

      Caldera, woozy and wobbly, accepted the drink. After taking a deep breath and holding it, he drank all the foul broth at once. He gagged a couple of times, but finished it all without spilling or spitting it out. Now… what?

      I’m going to bed down over there. You’re gonna puke your guts out all night. Then we’ll head over to Rayeburn. Get you fixed up proper.

      You ain’t Prospect are you?

      Smith. Call me Smith.

      No. You’re– The first wave of sickness rolled through Caldera’s stomach. He turned over on hands and knees and heaved. When he lifted his head he could swear that damn elephant was winking again.

      The puking stopped just before sunup. Smith ate on a biscuit that Caldera refused to share. His savior helped him saddle his horse and mount up. He caught Caldera’s glance to the large rock formation protecting their camp. They call it Elephant Butte. You can see why.

      Yeah. I heard about it. Never seen it. The rocky outcrop was smooth and gray and the size of a dozen barns all stacked up on each other. From the right angle it surely did look like an elephant.

      I’ve heard the old timers talk about ‘seeing the elephant.’ I wonder if they meant this one. I don’t think so.

      They rode south. Caldera was weak and the cure he had taken the night before caused him to dry heave a couple of times. When they reached an east-west running road Smith led them east and through a low mountain pass.

      Smith was first to break the silence. You wanted?

      Nah. Not by nobody.

      The law?

      Ain’t no law in Arizona.

      There is for some. He paused and looked up to the forest of saguaro cactus that guarded the pass. Who’s this Prospect?

      Caldera reined in his horse. How do you know about Prospect?

      You was rambling on like a drummer at a dry goods store while you was sick. Didn’t mean to pry. His voice took on a harsh edge.

      He’s my Indian daddy.

      You don’t look Indian.

      Didn’t say he was blood. The tone of his voice indicated his desire to avoid the topic. You said your name is Smith? He stared into the man’s face.

      Yeah.

      What was it back in the States?

      Like I said, Smith. His hand moved slowly toward the Colt holstered to his right hip. Apparently he was unaware of the movement – a reflex.

      Caldera pretended not to notice. I know a lot of Smiths. Long Tom Smith. El Paso Smith. Tangleleg Smith. Hell, I recon there wouldn’t be no Arizona without the Smith clan.

      Smith’s hand moved away from his pistol as he laughed.

      The road moved downhill, weaving in and out of the low mountains as a hard gray rock gave way to the looser red and rocky earth when they approached a large creek bed. He saw Rayeburn in the relatively flat area carved out by uncounted seasons of rushing water. A large, rugged flat-top mountain dominated the area. Rayeburn looked like any of a hundred other boom towns – a mix of old adobe structures, new wooden buildings, tents, dusty roads and noise.

      Caldera glanced over his shoulder, one last glance west. Looks kind’a like Privy.

      Home?

      For some.

      Going back or running away?

      Nothing to run to. Nothing to run from.

      How’s the belly?

      Bleeding’s stopped.

      The other?

      ‘Bout like a bad hangover. I’ll make it.

      I think you done puked out all that poison in you.

      Hell, I half-assed expected to cough up my boots back there.

      Smith laughed. We’ll set you up for a couple of nights. Then you can cut your own trail.

      Caldera squinted, made a quick glance and Smith, and shook his head.

      You okay?

      Something in my eyes, that’s all.

      They rode into Rayeburn without causing much interest. Caldera saw immediately that it was a mill town and one built to serve the needs of the Silver King mine a few miles north. Tombstone, Privy, Rayeburn and others were really all the same town. People rushed in, took what they could from the land and each other and then moved on when the boom went bust. Most seemed to like the lifestyle. He looked at the familiar sight of an ore carrier. Four wagons hooked together and pulled by 20 mules lumbered through town, the bullwhacker’s whip occasionally snapping like the sound of small caliber pistol.

      Smith led him to a small, run down adobe on the edge of town. The single window was boarded up and the door was a heavy blanket, more tumbleweed and dust than wool. A bench had been placed against the exterior wall. The smell of carbolic acid was strong.

      Caldera snorted. Crib, eh?

      A woman’s got a right to make a living. Same as a man.

      I got nothing against the profession, just what it leads them women to.

      Smith sat upright in the saddle. Mattie! Mattie, you in there?

      When there was no response he stepped down and walked to the door. Caldera remained in the saddle. Smith lifted the blanket aside. Mattie? A second later he turned away. She must be in town. I’ll go fetch her while you rest up here.

      Caldera dismounted and sat down on the bench. Damn, I’m tired.

      Smith didn’t bother to mount back up. He grabbed the reins. She’ll look after you ‘til you’re back on your feet.

      I ain’t staying in there.

      Damn straight, you ain’t. That’s what they call a business establishment. Fix yourself a lean-to and you’ll be all right. The snakes ain’t too bad around here. He grinned and led his horse down the street.

      Well, that settles it. He knows who I am. And that crooked-tooth smile of his tells me I know who he is. Caldera sighed. I wonder if he’ll try to kill me.

      Chapter Two

      The lean-to was completed by the time Mattie showed up. He looked up from his perch on the bench. He heard her stumbling along on the rocky street before he saw her. She was a short, stout woman trying to stagger with dignity. Her dress was old and worn – the edges of the skirt frayed and caked with mud and dust. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun with loose strands snapping in the breeze like lightning bolts discharging her life force.

      Mattie’s voice was husky, burned by whiskey and probably tuberculosis. Smith said somebody’d be waiting. You here for business? Her hand shot out and slammed onto the wall for support. Caldera moved so quickly she didn’t notice his support until he helped her into her crib. She rasped, Show me your silver.

      He handed over a few coins.

      Mattie held them tightly. They were the pathway to the next bottle. What’ll it be, mister?

      I ain’t here to make the chimney smoke, Ma’am.

      Ma’am! Hah!

      I just need a little shade for a couple of days.

      The floor’s yours. Toss your possibles in the corner.

      The familiar smell of carbolic acid and human degradation was overpowering. Thank, you, Ma’am, but I got a lean-to outside and– Caldera collapsed. When he hit the dirt floor his shirt flew open exposing the gash across his gut. He was bleeding again.

      Oh, my Lord. He was too heavy to pick up, so she sat him upright against her bed and began cleaning the wound. She grabbed her new bottle and took a couple of swallows. With a bit more than a little regret in her eyes she grabbed a dirty rag and poured some of the alcohol on it. She cleaned his wound as best she could, took another couple of swallows and passed out with her arms around him.

      Around sundown a tall man in a black suit approached the crib. Miss Mattie? He took a few steps closer, noticed the lean-to and the horse tied nearby. He leaned in, listening for the sound of a customer playing the organ. Silence. Mattie, it’s me. Eli. He stuck his head in the door and crooked his neck in surprise at the sight. His smile was genuine, but sad. Pieta, oh, our Pieta of the Rocks. Eli backed out and walked slowly back toward the center of town and the nearest saloon.

      The nearly overpowering stench of carbolic acid shook Caldera from the world of dreams into the twilight world of life in a crib. A miner stood in Mattie’s door and looked toward town. He spit on the ground and walked off. Mattie was washing down the oilcloth that covered her bed. A few coins had been placed on the corner of her night stand.

      Caldera yawned. I could’a stepped outside, Mattie.

      You was out cold anyway. No need to disturb your rest.

      What time is it getting to be?

      About three days since you got here.

      Caldera ran his hand through his hair as if trying to pull memory from the roots. The best he could do was a series of disjointed images: Mattie feeding him some kind of broth, Smith helping Mattie drag him to the corner of her crib, Mattie cleaning his wound, a foul-mouthed miner sitting on her bed, Smith’s face, chills, fever and tormented dreams.

      Mattie stepped across the room and gave him the once-over. Caldera ain’t it?

      Yeah. We met?

      She stepped back and sat on her bed. I worked at the Bull ‘n Belle a piece back. You wasn’t around then, but them girls sure talked up a storm about you.

      They was good people. Most of ‘em.

      "Your daddy and your stepmom, they

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