ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING - Part 3

Chapter 28

THE LONG VALLEY WAR

March 15th

The flashes of light coming from the valley were easily seen from the top of the Bench close to the ranch. That was the signal that we looked for. It came at 3:00 in the morning on the 15th of March and it came from a sympathetic neighbor. The enemy was on the move and so was I.

It had been only fifteen minutes ago that the knock on my door in the dark of the early morning had set me in motion. I had dressed in my 3-D camo then caught up my roan. With the saddle on my horse, I was now pulling the latigo tight on my cinch. Without putting a foot into the stirrup, I grabbed the pommel of the saddle and swung up onto the back of my horse. The roan was already moving out and I leaned down and grabbed my rifle that was leaning against the hitching rack. My roan was my go-to-horse. He was in his prime and the coldness of the night gave fuel to his desire to run. I let him go. With a shake of his head and his long mane flowing, he hit the dark trail at a run. He knew the trail well and I gave him his head.

The time had come. The waiting was over. I loved the feel of the roan's powerful muscles moving beneath me as he ran. I couldn't help but notice the brightness of the stars above me. The taste of the cold air on my face was pleasant and it reminded me how much I loved life, how much I loved this land.

In a few short moments the roan had carried me to the rim of the basin. I could tell Dan was already moving all the remaining men to the emplacements. I would like to have grasped his hand and speak to him again about anything—everything—to tell him again that I was proud of him, but that time was past for now. Forever?

For another five minutes I let the roan run. He showed no desire to slow and resisted when I pulled him in. With a firmer pull on the reins, he gave his head and broke gait. He dropped to a high trot that ate up the ground. He would have me in position in plenty of time.

Using two old cattle trucks, the organized force from the valley would be shuttling men to a staging area six miles up the valley. This is where the valley rose up and the Bench bent down, allowing access again to the top of the Bench. This was no surprise to us as their plans had been leaked to us by our sympathizer. Besides, there was no other good plan that the natural geography could offer them.

I meant to create havoc at the inception of that plan. They intended to make the staging a two-step process. They were having all the men moved to the first position at the valley and Bench intersection.

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Then they would make the second shuttle to the designated spot from which they would launch their strike. They would be in place to make that strike from the east side of our basin as the sun rose. The sun would be to their backs and in our faces.

The first staging area was a place that afforded them good cover and protection. It was unwise to risk any aggression against them up to that point. It was between the first and second staging areas that I hoped to slow them.

I brought no one with me to help engage in this guerrilla warfare. First, it left me free to know that any movement I saw would be from hostiles. This would allow me faster reaction by not requiring me to discern friendlies from hostiles. Second, it left all remaining forces to strengthen the basin.

An hour passed and the roan brought me to my desired position. The high sandy ridge where I stopped ran above the dirt road, the dirt road upon which the cattle trucks would soon be moving men to the second staging area. In the darkness the pinions and cedars were dark shadows on the ridge. The starlight made the dirt road a pale ribbon that weaved like a snake below me.

I slid out of the saddle and stepped to the head of the roan. He pushed against me with his soft nose as if he was wondering about the strange clothes that I wore.

I scratched his forehead, "1 thank you, boy, for the lift. You have ever been a faithful steed."

I respected him more than any of my horses. I thought of when I had broke him years ago. He was the first horse since my youth that had unseated me and dumped me on my head. He was a wonderful bucker when he chose to do so. Never did I forget that, but he also would give me his all when I asked for it. He had a deep heart, what we cowboys called "having bottom."

Stepping back to the saddle, I undid the cinch and pulled it off. His back was wet with sweat. Returning to his head, I unbuckled the throat latch and slid the bridle over his ears and he opened his mouth, letting the bit drop out.

In bewilderment the roan watched me as I stowed his gear beneath the limbs of a cedar tree.

"What are you hanging around for ol' boy? Get out of here."

The roan did not move. I walked up to him, wrapped my arms around his neck, gave him a hug and then slapped him on his rump. With that he spun on his hocks, and with dust kicking up in the dim light, disappeared into the darkness.

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I moved off the skyline of the ridge and down till I was within 150 yards of the road. With a large sage brush to my front and scrub oak to my back I waited. This position I had chosen weeks ago and it was good. The rains had cut a small ravine between the sage and oak which allowed me to lie in it. Even in the light I would be invisible to the eye as long as I remained still.

Beneath my camo jacket I had on my tactical vest. The right side of the vest had six 30-round magazines for my AR. The left side had my 45 Sig Saur auto with two extra magazines above it. Along with my 45 auto, I still had my 44-40 Colt revolver strapped to my hip. I had been unable to part with it and the weight of it resting on my thigh was comforting.

Inside the tactical vest, on both sides, there were zip pouches. Each pouch held three more, 30-round magazines with another hundred rounds of .223 ammo still boxed. When taking into account that my 30-round magazines were loaded with only 28 rounds each, I was packing 560 rounds for my AR. It was considerable weight but there were too many unknowns ahead and being prepared was a trait that was deeply woven into all that I did.

Along with the ammo, I had enough energy bars for two days. To my back, the tactical vest held a gallon of water in a bladder pack. It was water that most people cut themselves too short on. When a man started to fight, to push himself physically, he could soon become dehydrated.

I waited, and the eastern sky began to grow bright. I looked through my scope down at the dirt road. I did not have my night vision scope attached to my rifle but it was light enough that I could see the cross-hairs through my regular scope. Another 15 minutes passed before I heard the rumble of the approaching cattle trucks.

There were two, actually, three things that I wanted to accomplish. First, I wanted to slow them so that when they launched their attack the sun would have risen high enough to be out of the eyes of our defenders. Secondly, I desperately wanted to take out the DHS agent, the lieutenant Zackary Williams had left to run this operation. Third, well, I did not want to think about the third.

Each of his lieutenants were seasoned warriors with proven abilities to lead. This lieutenant was the one who had organized and trained the men from Long Valley and he would be the one to hold them together.

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The rumbling grew louder and the trucks drew into sight. There were two old one-ton cattle trucks with Omaha beds. These were the trucks ranchers had hauled their cattle in a generation ago. The cabs were rounded and rusty. Behind the cabs, the trucks had flatbeds that were enclosed by old wooden sidewalls. I could not see them but behind those wooden walls would be men. If the men were packed in standing up, both trucks could have fifty or more men in each. I wished all I had to do was to start shooting through the old wooden sides, with each shot inflicting multiple causalities. I knew that was foolish thinking because the lieutenant was no fool.

The trucks whined and moaned under the strain of a heavy load. Inside of the wood walls of the cattle truck it would be reinforced with sand bags or something else that would defeat the bullets of my AR or any deer rifle. I wished I had a fifty-cal but I did not. I did have a magazine loaded with steel core penetrators and that magazine was in my gun.

I opened fire, putting rounds through the engine hoods and radiators of both trucks. I was shooting with the sound suppressor on my rifle and the greatest noise was the ping of the bullets punching holes through the tin of the engine hoods.

The trucks ground to a halt and all became still with nothing moving. I waited. Then there was a shrill blast from a whistle followed by an eruption of men from the first truck. It was like smacking a wasp nest. Moving fast, men spilled over every side of the wooded cattle racks of the first truck.

I was shooting fast and they were moving fast. A second, but deeper sounding, blast from a whistle pierced the early morning air again. All of the men from the first truck went to ground. They opened fire on any dark spot on my hillside as the second truck spewed men. The men had been supplied with M-4 rifles. Similar to my AR, they could shoot a single shot for each pull of the trigger, or with a flip of a switch, each trigger pull would release a three-round burst of fire.

Their guns were set for three round bursts and they were shooting without sound suppressors. The canyon reverberated with the noise of the gun fire and I could hear the buzzing of bullets everywhere.

The first whistle sounded again and all the men that had been firing rose up and charged the hill in a four-second sprint. The second group of men went to ground and took up the firing like the first group had done.

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I did not cease to fire and the skill that was developed over a lifetime of shooting at game on the run paid off. Men were dropping and I was on my second magazine but they were closing fast as they kept repeating the four-second charges.

With heart pumping and adrenaline flowing, I had failed to see the white SUV of the lieutenant pull up behind the last cattle truck. It had arrived with a horse trailer in tow and had stopped forty yards behind the cattle truck. The men that had been in the horse trailer were already out and on the run up the ridge. They were being led by the DHS agent in a flanking maneuver. At more than two hundred yards out and in low light, they made poor targets as they ran between the trees. I got off three shots before they gained the top of the ridge, They were all misses.

Another whistle sound, another charge, men above me and behind me, I needed to move. I shot twice more and the action of my rifle locked back with the firing of the last bullet in my magazine, my second magazine.

I dropped the empty magazine in the pouch on my left thigh and slammed a fresh magazine home. My eft thumb pushed the slide release and the rifle's action sprang forward, charging the gun with a live round. The small ravine I had been laying in was my backdoor and it would be closing fast. I must gain the top before the flankers reached me.

Crab crawling as fast as I could, I went up the ravine. At the top of the ridge I was exposed for a mot-nent and something tugged at the top of my shoulder. I did not pause but rose and sprinted for a group of pinions to my left. From the corner of my right eye I saw the movement of the flankers. Someone called out and gunfire sounded. Taking a slide like a baseball player, I went under the limbs of a bushy pinion tree. Rolling to my belly, I pushed my rifle forward and up to my cheek. My cross-hairs found a man that had gone to a knee and was bringing his gun to bear upon me. I pulled my trigger twice and the man pitched forward onto his face. I could hear bullets cutting through the limbs above me. Two more shots at a moving man and I rolled behind the tree.

The trees were thick here and provided concealment but little cover. Men from the cattle truck were topping the ridge and that put hostiles to my front and left. The DHS agent was expending men but he had men to lose and knew what he was doing. In another moment he would have me pinned down. I rose to my feet and sprinted again. The DHS agent was trying to catch me in a pincer movement and it was closing in on me fast.

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I was glad the trees were thick. Still, they were burning ammo, shooting randomly through the trees in my direction. I could hear the buzz of bullets all around me as I ran. I continued going left, staying to the higher ground. Fifteen yards ahead of me a clearing in the trees appeared. The last tree before the clearing was a scraggly cedar, not much taller than me and I grabbed the thin trunk as I passed. This spun me behind the tree and I went to a knee. I had covered about 160 yards in my sprint and my lungs were burning as I sucked for air. My gun was up again and I laid the barrel against the tree trunk, and with my left hand, held both the trunk and the rifle barrel. With my chest heaving, I was trying to steady my aim.

The DHS agent had kept his men on the run as they followed after me but they had not traveled as fast as I had. I had gained some ground. All I could see were flashes of men passing through the trees sixty yards back. At the head of them, a young man appeared between the trees. He had young legs and a recklessness to him that had carried him ahead of the rest. I did not hesitate and my aim 'Vas true. He spilled forward into the sand and brush. Then without aiming, I sprayed the remaining bullets in my magazine randomly into the trees as fast as I could pull the trigger. I needed them ducking their heads for just a moment. As the action locked back with the last bullet, I turned and sprinted across the clearing.

Most of the men in Long Valley had been hunters before the gun control laws and they could shoot. To the next group of trees it was forty yards and I had covered all but five when I heard gunfire again. I could see several puffs of dust in front of me then something clipped my boot heel and I tripped. Tucking my head, I rolled head first and came up on my knees. I could feel wet on my back and it was running down to my waist. The trees were in front of me with a windblown hollow at the base of the closest tree and I dove into it. My mind was racing, was I shot in the back? I could move and I did. The eddy of the wind that had made this hollow had deposited the sand in a low ridge that ran up to higher ground. I jumped out of the hollow and over the sand dune. The ridge gave me protection and I crawled upward till I was high enough to see over the trees into the clearing behind me. Here I dropped the empty magazine from my rifle and put in a fresh one, my fourth one.

The men were just coming to the clearing below me. Most paused but two made a dash to cross it. I was panting hard and it was difficult for me to get a bead on them. It took too many shots but I dropped both before they crossed the clearing. No one else tried to cross; they either went to ground or took cover. None could be seen now. For a moment I had stopped their advance. I was buying time.

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I could feel the back of my pants that were now soaked wet. I felt no pain but I must be losing a lot of blood. I put my hand to my back and then drew it back in front of me. In bewilderment I looked at my hand. It was wet with water and not blood. It took a moment to click in my mind, but at last, it did. A bullet had passed through the side of my bladder pack of water without hitting me. Relief washed over me at the same time I felt thirsty.

Keeping my eyes on the clearing, I put the hose of the bladder pack to my mouth and drew deeply. One, two, three long draws of water and then air. It was empty.

"Jake," I said to myself, "I’m glad it ain't summer."

From the exertion, I was already sweating. Had it been summer, at this rate of physical expenditure, the risk of demise from dehydration would have competed with that of being shot.

The early morning was growing lighter but the sun had not yet crested the eastern hills. It was light enough for me to make out dust rising above the trees beyond the clearing. Dust that gave away the position of men moving away, both to my left and my right. My neighbors were not letting up pressure on me. Two flanking parties were on the move. There was nothing to see to shoot at and I did not want to get caught in this jaw that was ever snatching at my heels, so I moved.

Backing Into the trees, I stood up and took off on a fast jog angling to my right this time. I wanted to head the flanking party on that side. As I went, I kept looking for the tell—tale sign of dust that would give me the location of the moving men.

Five minutes, ten minutes, I kept going. Then there was some dust rising less than a hundred yards ahead. We were on a collision course. I drew down in a thick patch of oak and blended in. The trees behind the oak patch gave me a backdoor. Always a backdoor. I always looked for spots that gave me a way out and I must have the judgment to go through that door before it closed.

At fifty yards the men started coming into view and there were a lot of them. With speed, swiftness, and sheer numbers they sought to cut me off. The men were spread out as they began to appear. I started shooting.

They could not see me and this time they did not go to ground. They returned fire in my general direction as they sprinted forward.

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I fired as quickly as I could as the running men closed the short distance. No more time! I took off running. The movement caught their eyes and it was a foot race. I dodged in and out among the trees and they continued shooting on the run. Another shot rang out and a man screamed in agony. Someone had shot one of their own in the mayhem but they did not stop. The sound of shooting would bring the second party bending in this direction.

"Damn!" How did that agent get them organized and trained so well in a months' time? It was the young men with good wind and strong legs that pressed me hardest. I was glad that running had been a routine in my life but the young legs required me to dig deeper to keep up the pace.

After an hour of running, shooting and running some more the sun rose and we were half way back to the ranch. Another hour passed of deadly hide-and-seek, shoot and run and the rim of the basin drew in sight, causing my pursuers to break off the attack.

I crawled behind a rock in the shade of a tree and rested a moment. No more dust, no more sound of running men, no more gunfire. My mouth was dry and it was only morning. My eyes scanned the trees and brush. No movement. They must have reached the final staging position and were regrouping.

Time passed and I looked at my watch, 8:42 a.m. I had slowed them some but not near what I wanted to. When this morning had started there were three things I wanted to accomplish, one, slow them down. Successful? Maybe. Two, take out the DHS agent. Failure. Three. I now thought about the third goal. Survive till night, and night was a long ways off.

If we could hold them off till night, and if I could stay alive, my night optics would help even the odds. If I figured right, the only other person with night vision ability would be the agent.

Several miles out I could see dust rising from the gathering of more men from the valley. I had been surprised at the efficiency of the operation of the force that was coming against us. As much as I felt that Zackary Williams and his lieutenants were evil men, I had respect for their abilities. The rumors that had filtered back to us over the years of what great things Zackary had done were clearly understated. These men were the elite of the elite.

One more careful scan of the land before me and I slipped away from the rock, making my way to the north side of the ranch basin. I stayed to the thickets and out of view of any of our defensive emplacements. I did not want to get shot by friendly fire. I arrived at the foxhole I had previously prepared for myself. It was a hundred and twenty yards off from the north rim of the basin and provided a good field of fire. From here I could provide some outside support to this side of the basin.

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I had dug the foxhole out below a large slab of yellow sandstone that was shaded by a larger than normal pinion tree. The tree could be easily identified by those defending the basin. They knew that this is where I would be, if I was alive, and that I would not be re-entering the valley until this fight was through.

I looked to the rim and thought of the ones who were in the emplacement closest to me. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and shook my head slowly. How did I give in and let my girls talk me into letting them man an emplacement. Dan had stood quietly behind them as all three of my daughters confronted me ...

"It's not right. We won't do it," HayLee-H had demanded. "We stay back at the house while all the men fight at the rim. This is our home and we love it as you do. We all die someday, Dad, and there could be no better cause or place where we could lay down our lives. We are not married. We have no children to care for and no husband to fight in our place," added KayLee-K.

Dan had shrugged his shoulders. He had not been able to convince them to take up the defense at the house.

Cat had jumped in, "Dad you can't ask our neighbors to take up the first line of defense of our own place while we take a safer seat in the back."

As much as I did not want them there, I could not deny them. To do so would be to ask them to be less than I had raised them to be. I was proud of them and scared for them. Sandy had stood next to my girls and I knew that she had cast her lot with theirs.

"I'll be in there with them, Dad," Dan had tried to reassure me. "With Sandy, we have a full team for an emplacement."

I jumped into the shaded foxhole, sat down and leaned back against the cool dirt. For a moment 1 took the indulgence of allowing myself to shut my eyes and rest—just for a moment. I could not keep my girls off the front line, but I made sure their emplacement was the one closest to my foxhole.

I thought of how close I had come to not making it to this place. The heel of my boot was torn by a bullet and my bladder pack had been shot through. The men that had chased me had not been forced or driven, they were motivated. I thought of what Bill had said to me a few nights back—

"They hate you, Jake," he had said.

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What had I done to them? I had not robbed them, I had not assaulted them, nor had I threatened their wives or children. I, along with the rest of the ranchers, had given freely to them of our livestock in amounts that we felt we could or were willing to do. We had feelings of compassion and concern for our neighbors that were suffering. But when we were no longer free to make those choices, when they claimed that our cattle now belonged to everyone, those feelings vanished. In a few hours, in overwhelming numbers, they would charge the muzzle of our guns while claiming patriotism and martyrdom. The ideal of Americanism had been twisted so as to become a mirror opposite.

A moment longer of rest and I opened my eyes to look at my watch: 9:21 a.m. It was mid-morning and I had already been going hard for six hours. I desired water and laughed at myself. For a person who always tried to be prepared and look ahead, I had failed to put extra water in my foxhole. A simple thing, a thing I would not have overlooked 99 times out of a 100, but this time I had. I was hungry and wanted to eat an energy bar but without water it would not be wise to do so.

I had put my Winchester 270 deer rifle with two hundred rounds of ammo in the foxhole along with my range finder. I also had thought to put in my spotting scope and extra ammo for my AR but no water.

Pulling myself up to my knees, I looked over the edge of the foxhole. The five minutes that I had closed my eyes were longer than I should have. I made a quick scan of the vicinity then, more thoroughly, my eyes re-studied the area. I saw nothing.

In the distance, there was dust rising from what I guessed to be the remaining men coming up from the valley. No cattle trucks to move them now. They would be marching on foot. The dust cloud was five miles out and it would take an hour and a half to cover the distance.

I set up my spotting scope and trained it on the area below the dust cloud. Between the openings of the trees I could see men walking as they moved along the dirt road on the back side of the bench. I looked at my watch again: 9:31 a.m. It would be 11:00 before they were all regrouped. Another thirty minutes to an hour before they would be in position to launch a strike against us. High noon.

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I could do with a drink of water. I thought of the cool spring water flowing in my little valley just beyond the ridge. I had been raised on that water, even so, in this high desert land I had never taken it for granted. For a moment I considered walking over, getting a canteen and coming back. It was not a good idea. The men on the rim had been hearing the firefight that I had waged for the last several hours and they would be keyed up. I had told them I would not return to the basin until the fighting was over. If I walked over there, a friend would shoot me before they knew it was me. Besides that, I might give away the position of my foxhole to some sniper that might be sent ahead of the main assault.

I slowly turned the spotting scope, studying the land carefully. The scope was on a short tripod at the edge of the foxhole. We were shaded and I had planted a few thin bushes to the front of the hole. I could see through them easily enough and they helped to break up the outline of my head behind them. It was a well camouflaged spot.

Two hours passed as I kept up my watch. I only took a few short breaks, once to reload my empty magazines for my AR, then I was back at the scope. The view of the scope passed by a tree southeast of the basin and I saw a movement. The tree was an ancient black willow that rose above the shorter cedar and pinions. I focused the powerful scope and could see a man climbing the tree. What was the distance from here to that tree? More than 800 yards? A I took out my range finder. The large tree made a good target for the finder to register the distance. Putting the red reticle of the rangefinder on the tree, I pressed the button: 817 yards. That was a long, long shot. I had made a few 400 plus yards shots while hunting during my life but very few. I was not a marine sniper nor did I have a 338 Lapua or a 50 cal. The Lapua shot a bullet that weighed over 400 grains and the 50 cal was over 700 grains. My 270 was shooting a 130 grain ball and the bullets for my AR were only 69 grains.

The 130 grain 270 bullet, when zeroed at two hundred yards, dropped over twenty inches at 400 yards and over forty inches at 500 yards. At 800 yards I would be lobbing in the shot. The ballistics on my AR at this distance were much worse. My scopes on both rifles were quality scopes but the AR went up to 9 power of magnification and the scope on the 270 went up to 13 power. My spotting scope was 30 power.

I watched the man as he climbed higher until he found a perch in a high fork. There he settled in and pulled out a pair of binoculars. I recognized the military dress of the man. He was the DHS agent.

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I pulled back from the spotting scope to consider my options. I really wanted that man. As I thought, I noticed the dust from the rally point begin to advance. As it advanced it grew wider and wider as the men spread out. They were coming. I became anxious inside, feeling different than I had earlier this morning This morning it was only me that they had been shooting at. Now it would be my family too.

I tried to rein in the rising anxiety and refocus on the man in the tree. I could see that he was not going to be in the first wave of the attack. He would be watching, gathering intel on our positions, looking for a weak point. I knew that he had some radio communication ability. When everyone else's electronic circuits in their radios had been fried from the nuclear strike, all the DHS agents had not. Theirs were hardened. He would have the ability to coordinate and control some of the attack.

I had not much time. I scooped up a pile of damp sand a foot from the edge of the foxhole where I could rest the fore stock of my Winchester. I did not have sand bags or bi-pod to steady this long shot so I rested the rifle on top of the pile of sand. I cranked the scope up to 13 power and looked through it. I found the tree and then the man. He was so much smaller in my rifle scope than in the spotting scope. I put the cross-hairs on him, and because the distance made him so small in my scope, the cross-hairs covered much of his body. I raised the cross-hairs about seven feet over his head and they wobbled with the beating of my heart.

I pulled back from the scope and picked up a small handful of sand then let it trickle from my fingers. The dust drifted eastward in a mild breeze. Pillowing the fore stock of the rifle a little deeper in the sand I then looked through my optics again. This time I held the cross-hairs seven feet high and a half foot to the side of him. I was trying to compensate for the drift of the bullet. At that distance even a mild breeze would affect the shot.

It was hard to steady the cross-hairs. I drew in a breath, let most of it out and squeezed the trigger. The rifle recoiled in my arms and I lost view of my target as the barrel lifted from the shot. I worked the bolt of the gun back, discharging the spent cartridge. In the same motion I slammed the bolt forward, charging the chamber with a fresh round, and brought the rifle back to the sand pile. Looking through the scope, I found the tree. The man was gone from the fork. Had I got him!? At the base of the tree a man rose from the ground and darted from view.

A mild "wing" at best. He moved too well to be hit seriously.

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"Damn." . . . I needed to quit swearing. I didn't like my girls to hear me talk like that.

The dust cloud from the approaching men had spread out to rim a quarter of the basin. They stopped in the thickness of the trees less than a quarter mile off. It became still as the breeze died.

Dan and the ranchers had done a good job of clearing the limbs and brush away from in front of the basin. Once the attackers got within a hundred yards of the rim they would have little cover. It was hard for me to believe that they would make such a bold attack that promised massive casualties, but they had little choice. If they did not prevail over us, they and their families would starve. If they did prevail they would not spare any of us, men, women, or children. They were fighting for food to stay alive and each mouth cut the pie a little thinner.

Turning my left wrist towards my face, I read the hands on my watch: 11 a.m. Returning the gaze of my spotting scope to the trees in front of me, I could tell that the men had crept closer to the edge of the clearing. They stopped a hundred yards back from the cleared zone, two hundred yards from the rim.

I leaned my Winchester against the back of the foxhole and picked up my AR. Peering through the rifle's optics, I found a man laying half concealed behind a sage brush. I had no sooner laid my crosshairs on him when the familiar whistle blast pierced the stillness of the air. The man sprung from his hiding with a wild yell. There was a matching chorus of yells as more than 250 other men rose from hiding and charged forward.

Within thirty-five seconds they would be upon us. The noise of the gunfire and screaming men became a distant blur in the back of my mind.

I seemed to be in a focused tunnel as my reflexes took over. Running man, cross-hairs, pull trigger, running man, cross-hairs, pull trigger. I was firing as fast as I could while still trying to make every shot count. After a lifetime of shooting running rabbits, running coyotes, and running deer, this was no different. Men were falling but there were so many of them coming.

The sprinting men had covered a third of the ground and my AR's action locked back as my first magazine went empty. Muscle memory made the quick change of magazines one flawless movement of my hand. I was firing again. My family in the defensive emplacement next to me were shooting ARS and we were laying down a withering amount of lead.

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The charging men in front of us covered another third of the distance and started to falter, then broke. Their charge stopped in the middle of the cleared zone as their courage evaporated. It was the worst thing that they could have done. In confusion, some started to fall back while others looked for cover, and Still others continued a timid advance.

They were closer and moving slow. They made great targets and it devastating for them.

My second magazine went empty. As I inserted a third one I looked to my right. In horror I saw men breaching the rim three hundred yards off.

There had been only one person with an AR in that part of the rim. The rest of them were shooting bolt action or lever action rifles. They could shoot only four to seven shots before needing to reload and the reloads were much slower than our ARs.

The men to our front were retreating and I turned my fire to the failing emplacements. I could tell that Dan, Sandy, and my daughters had done the same. Besides us, there would now be supporting fire for the overrun emplacements coming from those positioned below at the house and barn.

It was too much for our enemies. They fled as fast as they had come and we did not let them go freely. We fired until there was not a fleeing person to be seen.

The dust began to settle amidst the cries and moaning of the wounded and dying. I looked at my watch: 12:16 p.m.

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Chapter 29

FRIENDS

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends
John 15:13

March 15^th

I sat on my seat and leaned against the back wall of my foxhole. I listened to some men crying from pain while others moaned. For the second time this day my body had been charged with adrenaline, and for the second time, I sat as it drained out of me. I felt depleted, exhausted.

I rested, listening to the unhallowed sound of dying men. Then, not far from my foxhole, a wounded man called out a name.

"Bishop. Bill. Bishop. Please, I hurt. I'm so thirsty, just a little water, please."

"No! No! No!" The words raced through my head. "Not that." It was our weakness, our Achilles heel, an appeal to our compassion.

On the ground between my foxhole and the emplacement that sheltered my family, lay a man writhing in the dirt.

"Bishop, oh Bishop, I'm so thirsty .. ." he broke off and started to cry.

A figure rose up from the emplacement next to Dan's. It was my old friend Bill. He held a canteen and no gun.

"Stay back Bill, stay back!" I called out.

"I can't Jake. You know I can't." And he walked towards the crying man. I watched and prayed. On he came till he knelt in the dust by the man. Gently he raised the man's head and pressed the canteen to his lips. Even from this distance I could hear the man swallowing the water. He drank and drank. With my own body craving water, I empathized with the wounded man. I could not help but blink tears from my eyes as I watched the act of compassion.

Setting down the canteen, my large old friend scooped up the wounded man in his arms and stood up. He turned to go and a shot rang out. Bill shook from the impact. With the man still in his arms, Bill's back arched and then this giant of a man fell like an old redwood tree.

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My family had been watching as I had and when Bill fell, horrors of all horrors, HayLee-H sprung from her emplacement and ran towards him. That caused me to spring from my foxhole and I ran with all that I had in me. I hollered at HayLee-H but she would not stop. I must stop her! I must get her to safety! Dust kicked up before me and then I heard the report of the rifle. I sprinted on. More gunfire.

"Please dear God, please," The silent prayer wrung from my heart.

HayLee-H's long blond ponytail flowed behind her and her fair face was fixed. Determined to help a fallen friend, she could not be dissuaded.

How the mind does it I do not know but, as my body raced, my mind slowed down. Like pictures from a camera flipping slowly before me, frame by frame, I watched my daughter run. The fluid movements of her athletic body, her fair skin and beautiful face, so much like her mother. The fear in my heart was driven by the love I had for her.

I reached her before she reached the Bishop. Still sprinting, I bent my shoulder. I planned to catch HayLee-H in the midsection and fold her over my shoulder that I might carry her to safety. Just as I bent forward, Hay-Lee's face went slack and she stumbled. Before she could fall I had her over my shoulder, without breaking stride, I continued my race forward.

Subconsciously I heard more gunfire as I exerted myself. My running legs pounded the ground, my heart thumped my chest, my lungs on fire. The edge of the emplacement opened before me and in we went, head first. Crashing to the floor, I rolled to the wall and HayLee lay on the floor.

I rose to my hands and knees struggling to catch my breath. KayLee-K was already next to HayLee. Her cheek was close to HayLee's mouth and nose hoping to feel a breath. She had two fingers pressed to the side of her throat feeling for a pulse.

I did not move. KayLee-K did not move. No one moved. The only sound in the trench my ragged breaths. My breathing began to slow and still KayLee-K did not move. At length my breathing returned to normal and KayLee-K sat up. She looked me in the face, and I knew that my daughter was gone.

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SORROW

I will weep bitterly ... because of the spoiling of the daughter of the people.
—Isaiah 22: 4

March 15^th

As in the day that KayLee-K had learned of her mother's death, so it was this day, there were no tears. I cradled HayLee in my arms and carried her to the ranch house as KayLee-K followed. In the basin we were sheltered from sniper fire. As we passed the barn mothers and daughters were weeping over the bodies of their husbands and brothers who were just slain.

I carried HayLee up the steps of the porch to find her border collie standing before the door. The dog stood upon its hind legs putting a paw on my waist. He sniffed the body of his master, and with soft worried whines, dropped back to the porch. KayLee-K opened the door for me and I entered with the dog following us. In the house I laid HayLee on my bed then sat down on the wood chair from my desk. KayLee-K knelt on the bed beside the body of her sister and the dog lay upon the floor. With a wet cloth she carefully wiped the dust from HayLee's face and the trace of blood from her lips. Undoing the hair band that tied HayLee's long pony tail, KayLee-K unwound the braid and began to brush it.

I sat watching a sister render some of the last acts of service that one could give to another. There was, once again, nothing that I could say. There would come a time when my words might lend comfort, but not now.

I leaned back in the chair and rested my body. My heart... I was struggling to understand what was in my heart. As I watched KayLce-K care for her sister's body, a solemn and peaceful feeling filled the room. That comforting feeling crept into my aching heart. I wanted to hate. I wanted to hate the man who had killed HayLee, the men who had come against us, the men who hated us. But I could not hate them. When I tried to hate, the feeling was washed out of me by the vision of an old bishop giving water to an enemy, by the vision of a daughter running to the aid of the fallen, both willingly giving their lives for another.

This world had become brutal and men had become monsters, yet, in it all, there was still beauty, there was still love.

I could not hate them, but I would kill them ... It would not be many hours before dark and in that darkness I would hunt them. I would hunt them, I would kill them, and I would drive them from my land, my home, and my family.

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KayLee-K finished caring for HayLee then lay down beside the body and closed her eyes. I sat quietly and watched the sunlight travel across the bedroom floor as the hours passed by. Our enemies had not given up the fight. For them only one choice remained, conquer us or die. Die from fighting or die from starvation. They had come close to succeeding with the mass attack they made this morning. It had cost them dearly and they would not make another daylight assault. They had not sufficient food to give them time to lay siege against us. Their next attack would be under cover of darkness. In the darkness we would be unable to see to shoot them until they were upon us. In the dark mayhem, many of them would shoot each other but there was no other choice for them to make now.

The room began to grow dark as the sun slid from the sky. I would hit them before they hit us. I stood up. KayLee-K was already sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Daughter, I know you intend to return to the emplacement to fight but I'm asking you not to go. I could not bear to lose both of you. For your father's sake, KayLee-K, please don't go."

KayLee-K nodded her head and I walked out the door.

I walked out of the house and past the barn. At the place where the path crossed the stream, I knelt down and drunk deeply of the cool water. At the rim of the basin it was now dark enough that I was safe from sniper fire. Walking across the battle field, I jumped into my foxhole. In the darkness I felt for my AR and found it. From my tactical vest I withdrew the soft case that held my night vision scope. From practice, I was able to exchange my daytime optics with my night vision by feel, using no light. It had been dark when I had started this fight and it would be dark when I finished it. I walked toward their rally point. They were rested and now gearing up for the attack. They did not expect me. They did not expect a lone man to come against so many.

There was firelight ahead, dancing off the green boughs of the cedars and pinions. It was easy to walk quietly in this sandy country, and as I drew close, I eased into the soft branches of a bushy cedar tree. Putting my rifle to my shoulder, I panned the vicinity.

In an open area beyond the firelight, men were gathered in groups of what looked to be twenty-five men to a group. There were five groups, running from right to left. They were sitting, resting, waiting for orders. At the fire's edge the agent was kneeling on one knee, talking to five men who were standing before him. I could hear the indistinct sound of his voice as he talked. With his hand he pointed, jabbed and waved as he emphasized the directives he was giving. The elbow of the arm that was not waving or pointing was resting on his knee that was raised. There was a wrapping around the thigh of that leg. I had indeed winged the man as he had sat in the black willow earlier.

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He had a cap on his head with the bill turned backwards. Strapped over the cap and to his head was an NVD, a Night Vision Device. It was a monocular made for the use of one eye. It was turned upward and above his eye. In this position it would be off. Once he pulled it down it would be on, covering his right eye.

I was fifty yards out and this was too easy. The tight groups of men were in the most optimal setting for getting shot. Their leaders were identified by standing together in the firelight.

A large, solid cedar tree was forward and to my left. Its branches were high and its trunk was thick. I moved up behind it taking a knee. This tree would give me cover from bullets that would soon be fired randomly into the dark. With my sound suppressor on my AR there would be no muzzle flash to give away my location.

The crosshairs glowed red in the green light of my scope. I put the crosshairs on the base of the throat of the DHS agent and pulled the trigger. His hand that had been emphasizing his words stopped its motion. He froze in place for a moment, then toppled head first into the fire.

The five men were slow to comprehend what had happened and two more of them were falling before any moved. With a shout, the remaining three turned to run towards the resting men. The last one had not made six strides before they all had bullets through them.

The men in the groups came to their feet not sure what was happening. They could not see in the dark as I could and I let it rain upon them. My bullets came like hail driven by a furious wind.

Fear jumped through the grouped men like electricity. The closest group started shooting blindly, their muzzles flashing in the dark The furthest group to my left started shooting in the dark. Like an unseen hand moving over the group furthest to my right, they turned and started firing at the group to the left. All the firing in the dark gave the impression that they were under a full scale attack.

The group on my left returned fire at the muzzle flashes coming from the group on my right. The groups in the middle were caught in the crossfire and began shooting in both directions.

There were no leaders to bring order to the chaos and it spun out of control. Like throwing gasoline on a fire, I fanned the flames onto any group that looked to come under control. I focused my fire on them and they would re-erupt.

In amazement, I watched a full scale massacre being self-inflicted. well, mostly self-inflicted. I was already through three, thirty-round, magazines when, in desperate panic, the remaining men broke and fled. By instinct they ran back the way they had come and I went after them.

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I was like a predatory shark in the dark waters of a night ocean. They could not see me strike and the fear was palpable as they fled in confusion. These men had pursued me hard at the beginning of this day, seeking to cut off my life, now I had become the pursuer and their lives were being cut off.

Through the night I pursued them, as they fled back across the bench. Panic drove the men as fast as they could go and they retreated the six miles back to the canyon with the disabled cattle trucks. I had been going for nineteen hours but at this moment I was not tired, I was driven.

As I pursued, I could hear the men in the back wheezing for air as fear made them push their lungs to the bursting point. They were the older men, the men that were less conditioned, and they were the first to fall under my fire. The younger men, the men with better lungs, outdistanced them.

When a man steps across the line and engages in physical violence, the time for preparation is over. The men in the rear of those that fled were not prepared and they fell fast. With each momentary stop I made to fire my gun, the young men in the front gained more ground. At length there were no more old or slow that I had not killed.

I could not overtake the rest of the men as they continued their flight down the dirt road, but the Bench was my backyard. I had grown up on it and knew every draw, every ridge, every cow trail, deer trail, and anthill. The dirt road made a loop to the right and then back to the left as it prepared to descend into the canyon where the cattle trucks had been left. A half mile before the road started the loop to the right I cut off, taking a sand ridge to my left.

The intensity of the night fighting drove the exhaustion from me.

My body was firing on all cylinders and I let my legs stretch out as I ran down the ridge. Cutting across country this way, I would head the fleeing men. The sandy ridge continued to descend and curve to my right as it neared the sheer ledge of the bench. It became steeper and several times I was sliding downward like a snowboarder on snow. The canyon with the trucks opened below me and I was beyond the cattle trucks.

Sliding to a stop behind a car-size boulder, I collected myself and my wind. This was another good spot with the road forty yards below me. The road was in the bottom of the canyon and there were no trees or rocks big enough to give cover to a man.

My breathing had almost returned to normal when I heard the men coming. In a ragged trot about two dozen men struggled past the trucks.

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More than half had dropped their guns in their efforts to keep ahead of me. As they neared the point below my boulder I opened fire on them, starting with those who still held rifles.

It was too much for the broken men. Crying out, they raised their hands, pleading for me to stop. I stopped.

Some men were down, not moving. Several writhed on the ground. Of the ones that remained all had their hands up with half of them falling to their knees. One of the men that were standing called out.

"Jake, Jake Bonham, is that you? Don't shoot any more. Please don't shoot."

I recognized the voice. It was Ted Richard. He had graduated from high school the same year that the twins had. I had always liked the boy and had enjoyed watching him play ball.

"It's me, Ted."

"Don't shoot, Jake, we're done."

"Tell me, Ted, why should I quit shooting?"

"For Heaven's sake, Jake, look at us! We are all that are left. My dad and brother are dead. What do I tell my mother and my sisters?"

"Ted, did I come to your town? Did I come to your home? Did I come there and try to kill your family and take your stuff?"

"Jake, we had no food, you did and you broke the law by not sharing."

With those words that he spoke, I felt like shooting him. We had shared. We had given and were still willing to give.

"Ted, you've just about convinced me to start shooting again."

That caused the men to cry out again, pleading to me.

"Is that the truth, Ted? Is it the truth that I and the other ranchers and farmers didn't share?"

There was a long pause.

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"No. I guess not," came the reply after the pause, "but people were still hungry."

"Ted, I know your family. I know that you're a Mormon and that your prophets and your bishop have been telling you folks a long time to store up food. I know that in your yard you have a fancy truck, two four-wheelers, and a nice boat. I know that during the summer your family spends most weekends water-skiing at Lake Powell. In the winter you all have fun snowboarding at Brian Head. Now that you're hungry, you, and people like you, pass some law claiming that the fruits of my life's work now belongs to everyone." I was getting mad.

My glowing crosshairs were fixed upon him. In this dark night, in this setting, the sophistry of socialism peeled away and the truth of natural law stood clear and firm.

Ted slowly lowered his hands as his head dropped down.

"I know you're right, Jake. I think deep in our hearts most of us knew that we were wrong to attack your ranch. Because of our suffering it was too easy to believe what they were telling us, telling us that you were the cause of all our suffering."

I did not reply and let minutes drag out. The men that had been writhing on the ground were still and I figured them dead.

"'Jake," Ted started again, "can we go home?"

"Are you all willing to swear by all you hold dear not to take up arms against us again?" I asked.

"We swear, Jake, we swear," he replied readily with all the men nodding and giving voices of agreement.

"All right, Ted. You and the boys leave your guns and go home."

Their guns were already on the ground, and with relief, the remaining fifteen men headed down the road. Ted was the last to leave and before he turned to go he lifted his head and asked hesitantly, "How is your family, Jake?"

I knew what he was really asking. He had grown up going to school with my twins. They were friends and he particularly liked HayLee. He had never gotten up the courage to ask her out before she had left for college. I marveled at how hunger, fear, and hate could drive good people to do horrible things.

"She's dead," I answered the real question.

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He dropped his head again, unwilling to walk off with the others.

"Head on home, Ted," I said.

"Home? How do I go home and tell Mom that Dad is dead, that her son is dead .

With the thought of HayLee lying dead on my bed, I interjected, with a cutting edge to my voice, or how they helped to bring death to my family."

At my words, his head dropped even more and his shoulders sagged. For a moment he said nothing, then I heard a sniffle. The magnitude and personal impact of what his actions had helped to wrought was sinking in. Here in this dark night, the lies and hate that he had taken refuge behind, that had given him a false sense of justice, could no longer cover him and he stood naked.

In a voice that quavered with emotion, "We were so hungry, Jake, so hungry and scared."

If this young man ever lived through these trying days how would he ever be able to move past the memories of what he had done. As I looked upon him, into my mind flowed the memory of an old man giving relief to an enemy, of a young woman running to the aid of an old man.

My heart began to melt. I wanted this young man to live. I wanted him to be able to rise up, to move past, to raise a family of his own.

Unzipping the inside pouch of my tactical vest, I pulled out all my energy bars and set them on the boulder before me.

"Ted, I'm going back to the ranch. It may be hard to see this boulder next to me but on top of it I have placed some food bars. When I leave, you are welcome to them. Then, in two days from this coming morning, meet me at your bishop's old barn. I will have half a dozen head of cows there for a start. If you want to begin to make things right, start by taking care of the children and widows that are left."

I started to retrace my steps back up the sandy sides of the canyon when I stopped and called back to Ted.

"One more thing. Make sure Ann Rafferty is there. No Ann, no cows."

The picture of the bowed head, sagging shouldered young man was still on my mind when I returned to my ranch in the greying light of a new day.

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Chapter 31

FREEDOM'S COST

What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives everything its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated.
—Thomas Paine

March 16th

In the grey light I walked down the trail entering the basin. Again, I stopped where the path crossed the small stream and knelt down to drink. After I had quenched my thirst, I remained kneeling by the flowing water of the spring. I liked the sound of the flowing water as I rested. The exhaustion that I had felt so many hours ago returned and rested upon me with a multiplied weight.

Kneeling there, I looked at my camouflaged pants, my tactical vest, the AR in my hands. They were all so foreign to my normal attire. The only thing that was normal was the old 44-40 buckled to my waist. Except for the old pistol, I wanted everything off; as if by shedding these clothes I could shed the actions of the last 27 hours.

Putting the butt of the rifle on the ground, I used my gun to help push myself up to a standing position. I started to walk past the barn towards my house when in the deep shadow of the barn there was a movement, a slight movement. I stopped. I could not make out what was in the dark shadow but I sensed a person there, a person that had been waiting, waiting a long time. The feeling of danger was not there. I stood there longer and the understanding of who was in the shadows came to me. It was Sandy.

"Cowboy," the soft words floated quietly through the air, "I am glad that you have returned. Your God has watched over you."

My God watching over me? My best friend was dead, my daughter was dead. Had my God watched over me? I searched my heart. Inside was pain and hurt, but no bitterness, no hate. Standing in the pre-dawn light, my mind reviewed the past night and day. I thought of the self-inflicted massacre of my enemies. I thought of the powerful example and lesson seared in my mind by the death of those I loved.

There was no other answer, my God had watched over me. Even now, in this moment, He had placed one here who gave me comfort. Her simple words, her closeness, eased some of the hurt and weariness.

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I wanted her closer. In this day of pain I wanted more of that comfort. To have someone to lean upon, a safe harbor for a wounded heart, but I could not go to her. For so many long years I had leaned upon no one, confided the deep feelings of my heart to no one, how could I do it now? I did not know how.

"My God has watched over me, over us all." I stood there a moment longer, then, without another word, walked away.

Inside the house it was darker, with no light lit in the great room. I stepped to the door of my room and pushed it open. A single candle burned on my desk. KayLee-K was still keeping vigil over her sister's body. By the light of the candle I could see relief come over her face as I entered but she did not rise, nor did she speak.

I went to my dresser and pulled out a clean set of clothes. A new pair of Wranglers, a clean white shirt, my black cowboy boots (no spurs), my black string tie, my white hat with the black band and small silver Conchos. They were my go-to-church clothes.

I left and went to the main washroom, bathed thoroughly, shaved, and dressed. The last thing I put on was the gun around my hip. It felt comfortable and I felt normal.

I went to the porch. The morning sky was clear overhead but tall thunder clouds loomed far off to the southwest. The sound of the old cattle truck could be heard as it sat idling by the barn. Men were loading the bodies of their dead on it. The bodies were wrapped and tied in bedding. The last body loaded was that of the bishop. A few women with all the small children climbed in next. There was no room for anymore. The rest walked behind as the truck was put into gear and slowly moved down the dirt road to the wood gate. They were going to bury their dead.

I had told Dan of the night's outcome and I could see that my neighbors felt it was worth the risk to bury their loved ones in their own cemeteries. I could understand that.

Not all of them left. A few remained on the rim to keep guard. I knew why they had remained and I was grateful. We would not have to worry while we laid our loved one to rest.

I went to the horse pasture and caught up HayLee's palomino. That was the Bonham tradition. Then I caught up KayLee-K's palomino, that was not tradition but it was fitting.

I led them to the hitching rack by the barn and began to groom their golden coats. It was springtime and they were losing their winter coats so I brushed them till no loose hair remained. Then I brushed their white manes and tails till all the tangles were gone. They were a beautiful matched pair of horses.

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Next I wiped all the dust from both saddles of the twins and put them on the palominos. I returned to the house, to my room. KayLee-K had wrapped her sister's body in the finest quilt of the home. Around the body, the quilt was tied with long silk hair ties that the girls had used for their hair. On the bed next to the body sat HayLee's boots and hat. These I picked up and took outside.

Back at the rack I placed the hat over the pommel of HayLee's saddle. The boots I tethered together by a leather lacing. I placed them over the seat of her saddle with a boot hanging on each side.

Now I led both horses to the hitching rack that stood next to the gate of the cemetery. Before I tied them to the rack, I looked at the great old cottonwood trees that over-watched the cemetery. They were beginning to bud out with the coming spring. How many years had these trees stood and witnessed the short lives of man, of their comings and goings on the earth I did not know. I did know that in generations past they had seen other Bonham horses, saddled, with no riders, tied to this hitching rack.

KayLee-K came down the path from the house. Pausing at the garden plot, she picked up a spade then continued on. She had not yet put on her Sunday dress and she stopped where I was tying up the palominos. As she ran her hand down the neck and mane of HayLee's horse I noticed a tremble in that hand. Embarrassed by what she thought to be a show of weakness, she quickly withdrew her hand. Turning from the horse, she brushed past me and walked through the picket gate. Her emotional gate was closed with all the pain locked inside.

She started to dig and the spade easily turned up the damp dark earth. I leaned against the gate post and watched. I waited as she dug and the mound of fresh earth piled up next to the open grave. KayLee-K was almost knee deep when I could wait no longer.

"KayLee-K, it's my turn. This is the last thing I do for HayLee. I'll finish the grave."

KayLee-K did not object but I was the only one of the family that she would have given up the shovel to. The protection that she had around her fallen sister was felt by all and all respectfully gave KayLee-K space. At this time, I was the only one able to approach HayLee's kindred soulmate.

I extended a hand and helped her from the grave, Taking KayLee-K's place, I resumed the digging. Digging a grave for a fallen loved one is the final acts of love and service that can be rendered in this world. I needed to finish the grave; I needed to do this for my daughter.

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Except for the sound of the spade sinking into the earth and that earth being tossed on the pile, it was quiet and peaceful. The call of a mourning dove could be heard in the branches above. I continued to dig and the grave became deeper. I was nearly done when something clinked against the blade of the shovel. It had a different sound than when the shovel would strike a small rock and I knew what I had hit.

Kneeling down in the grave, I continued to dig, carefully and more slowly. As I removed the dirt the bottom of a large Indian bowl revealed itself. It was turned upside down and the surface was smooth and grey. With my hands, I carefully dislodged the bowl from its centuries old resting place. This 'Vas not the first ancient Indian artifact to be uncovered on this knoll.

I turned the bowl over and on the inside it had black designs painted. The designs were of lines that turned at right angles, forming different sizes of squares. I sat this bowl on the ground next to the grave, opposite of where I was piling the dirt.

Back at the bottom of the grave I found another bowl. Smaller, it too was upside down and had been sheltered beneath the first bowl. This was a very fine bowl of red clay. The black designs were both on the in and outside of the bowl. They were flowing lines that crested like waves.

When I picked up this bowl, the skull bones of a small child were revealed. Clearly, with love, some parent had buried their child here in a time gone past.

As I remained kneeling in the bottom of the grave, I wondered about the child and the short life it had lived. Had it been a boy or a girl? Had the child brought joy to its father as HayLee had done for me? Had that father felt as I did when he dug this grave? I thought of the Indian bowls that had been laid here over the child. An act of love. I could not help but believe he had loved his child as I did mine. In a strange way, it gave me some comfort. This pain and loss I felt inside were the common lot of man. I knew that there was a God and, somehow, in all this pain were lessons He wanted us to learn.

I would dig no more. I would not disturb the bones of the child. Placing the shovel across the top of the grave, I used it to swing myself out of the hole. It was time to lay my daughter to rest and I would lay her next to this child.

KayLee-K and I returned to the house, and while she went to put on her Sunday dress, Dan and I finished the last of the preparations. We placed the wrapped body of HayLee on a blanket that had cords tied to each corner and in the middle.

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KayLee-K was now dressed in her Sunday clothes as was all of the family, including Sandy. It would have felt unnatural not to have her there. They all filed into my room and stood around the bed with the body of HayLee lying upon it.

I looked around at my family. There were holes. Mom was gone. Little Jamie was gone, and now HayLee was gone. These were holes that could never be filled. But there were new faces too. There was Vondell, the baby that Cat had rescued. The baby had brought comfort to Jill, a grieving mother. Then there was Sandy, she being older than my children had brought a motherly feel to the family.

All, except for Jill who held the baby and family Bible, grasped the edges of the blanket that was under HayLee. Picking her up, we carried HayLee from the house to the grave with her loyal dog following us.

Using the cords attached to the blanket, we lowered her body in the earth. Again, I laid the shovel across the opening of the grave and swung down. Cat handed me the Indian pots and I placed them next to HayLee and the bones of the child.

Climbing back out of the grave, I dusted off my pants, straightened my string tie and took off my hat. Jill handed me the Bible and it opened easily to the familiar spot.

"John 11:25, Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live."

My daughters, Jill, Cathy and KayLee-K, sang "Amazing Grace."

I tried to sing along but at the third verse I was unable sing and keep my emotions in control.

Through many dangers toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace hath brought me safe thus far,
And Grace shall lead me home.

Home. I had tried to gather all my loved ones home, here at the ranch, but they were not all here. There was another home and another Father who was trying to gather his children home and now He had one of mine.

The singing ended. KayLee-K and I took turns with the spade, covering the grave. With the grave covered and mounded the family returned to the house leaving me and KayLee-K at the graveside.

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KayLee-K stood at the foot of the grave fighting back tears. She trembled and her knees buckled as she collapsed on the mound. She pushed herself up to her hands and knees, trying to regain control. The eyes that did not cry could no longer hold back the tears. They coursed down her cheeks and dropped upon the fresh earth.

"Dad, what is to become of me? The half of me is gone and I shall never be whole."

Worried and sensing the pain, HayLee's dog crawled up and put her muzzle on KayLee-K's thigh.

KayLee-K struggled but could not stop the tears. How could my heart bear this the sorrow of my child?

All control failed and KayLee-K sprang to her feet and cast herself into my arms. I held my daughter as the sobs, trembling, and tears came, unchecked.

I did not know how long I held her, but I did know that there was a price for freedom and that price was a very dear price.

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ANN RAFFERTY

March 18^th

My six large calves bawled as they called for their mothers. There were another twelve hefty yearlings with them in the Bishop's corrals along with three cull cows.¹ These had been brought by the other ranchers and farmers of the valley.

We sat upon our horses with the pole corrals to our left. Behind us, the old wood barn stood tall, giving us both shade and a wall to our backs. Here we waited, but not all of us. Dan was fifty yards up the hill, shaded from the morning sun by several pinion trees. With his rifle, he covered the location below, giving us some protection. All of us on horses were well armed. Before us stood 28 men from the valley and twice that many women.

They were waiting too. We were all waiting for Ted Robinson and Ann Rafferty. The people had come, pulling wagons, pushing wheelbarrows, carrying bags and backpacks. Some carried guns and most all carried butcher knives. The word had spread that there would again be beef for the butchering this morning at the Bishop's barn.

Health wise, some looked good but most were showing the effects of not having enough food. None looked happy. That was understandable. Some had lines of bitterness on their face, while others showed grief and sorrow. There were a few, I could tell, who had an air of gratitude about them. Even in these trying times, their faces were more peaceful.

While we waited I studied their faces. There were women who looked at me with hate, blaming me for the loss of their loved ones. As long as that spirit of hate prevailed there would be more blood and suffering. That suffering would continue until we as a people, as a country, were once again humbled. Till we once again were willing to respect a man's God-given rights—the right to his life, the right to his freedom, the right to own and control property.

It was the women that did not have the angry looks upon their faces that gave me hope that this land could one day heal. I wanted them to live, to raise their children, to teach their children to be a moral people. Our country had progressed so far down tyranny's path that most people did not even consider that a government forcing from one man and giving it to another to be immoral.

1. A cull cow is a cow that a rancher is removing from his herd to be replaced a better producing cow.

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These were indeed trying times for all. If this peaceful little valley could experience such conflict and internal strife, so much bloodshed, I trembled to think of what was happening in the large cities of this country.

How, as Americans, had we come to this? I knew. I had been taught, I had studied and I had watched. I was not surprised, but all these people standing before us had been surprised. TO them, this day had been inconceivable. I had heard the words—words of denial, words of self-deception, words to ease consciences that had been pricked by the truth of what was coming. "It can never happen here." "It won't get that bad." "This is America."

Such foolish words. Such blind people. When the country had long passed the point of no return, they still believed that with the next election cycle things would turn around. Moral character and moral fiber were no longer requirements for those who ran for public office, but such ideas were openly mocked.

They refused to see, that regardless of which party was in power, the government never ceased its enslaving march of tax, spend, borrow, spend, print, spend. They thought that the tin can of debt could forever be kicked down the road, that the party would never end.

Now the tin can had hit the wall and the party was over. The payment had come due and it was paid by blood and suffering.

An hour passed by with nothing being said between the two groups and little being said within the groups. I looked to the highway and saw three men coming. They turned off the paved road and onto the dirt road of Alamo Lane. Two men were walking beside Ted Richards as he pushed a wheelbarrow. In the wheelbarrow sat a women with hands tied in front. It was Ann Rafferty.

Ted pushed the wheelbarrow forward and stopped it on the ground between the two groups. Keeping the wheelbarrow steady, he allowed Ann to climb out. With her hands tied, she was not graceful.

There she stood, not at all looking like the old Ann Rafferty—the cute Ann in the tight skirt, the Ann with the smiling face, the Ann of honey words and fair promises. She had on a dress shirt and slacks that, not long ago, were beautiful and costly, now they were stained and smelly. She reeked and her short hair had not been brushed.

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"Here she is Jake. Now what?" Ted asked.

I nudged my horse with my spurs and he stepped out from among the other riders, reining to a stop in front of Ann.

Ann, it's time. Today is the day I hold at least one politician accountable. Blood has been spilled from one end of the Glendale Bench to the other. Wives are without husbands, and mothers are without sons." I paused, then continued, "And a father without a daughter. Ann, you are like so many other politicians throughout so many countries. For your own glory, your own power, and your own survival, you stir up, you divide, you fan the flames of hate, then you step out of the way and let others fight and die."

Ann Rafferty, you may not have pulled a trigger on a gun but blood is on your hands nevertheless. I'm leveling a capital charge of murder against you."

"Murder?" Ann shot back. "You're the murderer, Jake. You're the one who broke the law and withheld food. If you had not led the ranchers in rebellion against this government, none of this would have happened!" She spoke with venom and hate as she spit the words out. "You broke federal law, you broke the laws that this community passed by democratic vote. You Jake, you're the criminal!"

"Tell me Ann," I replied, "Suppose two friends of mine and I wanted your car and we could all vote, you included. If the vote came out against you, three to one, then would your car belong to us?"

"That's foolish, Jake. A car is not food."

"What if we needed the car to go get food? Could we take it then?"

Ann did not answer so fast this time. A good politician was quick to sense exposure to truth from a simple argument.

"You're twisting things, Jake."

I continued:

“No, Ann, it's pretty simple. If a man cannot own and control his own property, he does not have freedom. Just because you need it, you have no right to take it, even if a majority agrees with you. Generations ago people in this country took care of one another without the government in the middle. When the big flood came through here in my grandfather's day, when homes and crops were wiped out, they all pulled together. They did

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it willingly and freely. They were not forced or threatened by a government. It drew us together as friends and neighbors. What you have done has divided us and caused bloodshed.

Right now, Ann, if everyone here voted to see if you should be executed for what you have done, you would get a majority who would be willing to set you free. The laws have become corrupt. And when a people supports plunder through a majority vote and then enforces that vote by bloodshed, they have become a corrupt people too.

Looking at the people standing before me, I continued, "Where can one find justice now? Where is the honorable judge? Where is the jury that will render a just verdict? Just days ago you were killing us to take what was not yours."

I turned back to Ann, "For what I am about to do, Ann, I must give an accounting to God. May He have mercy on both our souls."

I unbuckled the leather strap that held my lariat to my saddle and shook out a loop. Fear was evident in the eyes of Ann Rafferty. With a quick spin of the rope and deft flip of my wrist, the loop sailed out and settled over her head. She tried to duck but was too slow. I snatched the slack out of the rope and it tightened around her neck. I pulled her up till she stood next to my horse.

Her hands pulled at the loop as she desperately tried to put her fingers between the rope and her neck. No one in the crowd moved. Again, I touched the sides of my horse with my spurs, walking Ann and my horse into the opening of the barn. With my right hand, I held the rope around Ann's neck. With my left hand I tossed the coils of the rope over an open rafter. The end of the rope fell, dangling in front of me. I dallied it around the horn of my saddle. With a quick jab of my spurs, my horse jumped forward and the rope zipped over the rafter, pulling Ann's body off the ground. It was not pretty and it was not quick. My horse stood, holding the rope tight. Hanging there between earth and sky, the tortured soul of Ann Rafferty was released from its mortal frame to face the tribunal of a just and merciful God. The same justice I would face in a coming day and the same mercy for which I would plead.

I let go of the rope and her lifeless body landed in a heap upon the ground. I walked my horse forward until, once again, I stood over Ann Rafferty. I swung from the saddle and took my rope off her neck. Swinging back onto my horse, I coiled my rope and buckled it to the saddle.

The message was brutally clear, but facing the crowd, I spoke anyway.

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"It's simple. You leave me alone. I'll leave you alone. Leave my family alone. I'll leave your family alone. Leave my home and property alone and I'll leave your home and property alone. If you need help, ask me. If I need help, I'll ask you."

With that, I rode away.

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Chapter 33

THE SOCIETY

March 19^th

The Bonham ranch that lay above the mouth of Long Valley atop the sheer sandstone ledges was like a medieval castle poised on a critical trade route. Just as those castles controlled the flow of essential goods on those routes, so did the Bonham ranch. Zackary 's lieutenant had been unsuccessful in eliminating that bastion. The resistance was contagious and it was spreading to the town of Kanab.

So much of the Society's success to seize great power in this world rested upon the control of food and power. With the great destruction that had come upon the earth and was still being wreaked, the dam was a critical piece for jump-starting this new consolidation of power. To gain that control the Society needed armies. Armies needed food, fuel and arms. Energy was essential to produce those things in the needed quantity.

The Society's grand vision was to rule this world as they believed it to be their right. They were wise in their own eyes and knew that if they could gain control they could impose their will and raise this world to a lofty state of utopia.

For the ignorant masses, they held great contempt. The unwashed were foolish, ignorant, and in need of so much guidance. They were incapable of governing themselves. Every aspect of their lives should conform and bend to the will of the Society. For more than a hundred years they had been building and preparing for the implementation of this grand scheme. It had taken many hundreds of small steps over a century to move this forward.

Always, the enemy was the common man who held fast to the idea that he should be free. The idea was too strong, and held by too many, for them to attack it openly in the beginning. Slowly, they started with the implementation of such things as Social Security. To get men to give up self-reliance, or freedom, it had to be sold as an effort to care for the unfortunate. The simple mathematical facts that a program such as social security could not be financially sustained, were always dismissed. Step by step they had been able to change the culture of America until Americans willingly gave up bucket loads of freedom and swallowed such things as nationalized health care. Promising Americans help, handouts, a hand up, or to make things fair, required the spending of vast amounts of money, money that did not exist. It was obtained by taking the country off the gold standard and printing money out of thin air. By printing money and borrowing money they bought the freedom of the American people.

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Zackary Williams thought it ironic that a small ranch stood in the way of this century old effort. A simple cowboy had hindered the flow of the needed food out of Long Valley. That food was necessary to sustain this small community. This small community was necessary to bring the power plants on-line.

It was time to take this man out—a man that he had known from his youth, a man who had been a friend to his father. That this small thing could potentially derail this world-transforming plan was indeed ironic.

Zackary's life's effort, his life's ambition, had made a full circle. His journey from this place out to the far reaches of the world, with all his obscure associations and actions, now came back to the place of his birth. Two men of similar birth and upbringing had become the opposite of each other. Zackary knew that neither he nor Jake Bonham could co-exist. The principles that Jake Bonham lived by could not be tolerated by the models that consumed his life.

The history of the world always broke down to the most basic of ideas. The idea that the weak bowed to the rule of the strong, was on his side. The idea that Jake Bonham held, that even the smallest of men should be free to choose their course and reap their own reward, was largely on the losing side of history. It would be again. Zackary Williams would make sure of it.

This time he would gather just his lieutenants, those viciously efficient men, who had been with him over the years. Together they had eliminated many elements that had stood in the way of the Society.

No matter how far up in the power structure Zackary had risen, he still loved the actual implementation of control. To crush, to control, and to subjugate was an appetite that was never satisfied. With each feeding the appetite only increased. He loved this, this was his life.

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Chapter 34

JUDGE OF THE QUICK AND THE DEAD

March 22^nd

The ranchers and farmers returned to their homes and I helped drive their livestock back to their fields and ranges. Before they went, they helped bury all those who had died fighting against us. The graves were unmarked and far from my little valley.

For several days I rode the range alone, cutting for tracks in the sand. I was not at ease and my heart ached. Of all the losses in my life, the loss of HayLee left the most painful hole.

It was the death of HayLee and the sadness of KayLee-K that caused the pain. It was the death of Ann Rafferty that caused the unease.

Of all the people that I had killed, the hanging of Ann Rafferty troubled me most. She was a woman. In the cowboy culture of the Bonhams, women were respected. A man was expected to fight for and defend a woman and her children. To us, that was part of being a man. Work hard, put a roof over her head, food on her table, and a fist on the jaw of any man who disrespected her.

I know that Ann would have mocked that kind of thinking, but she was dead. No man had stood to defend her. She was dead and I had no doubt that the day would come when she and I would stand before the bar of God and account for our actions. How would we fare?

On this early morning I was lost in a silent world of my own thoughts and emotions. I was riding the roan and he traveled across the ranch, choosing his own course through the sage brush and trees. At last the roan stopped of his own accord and I did not urge him on. He stood silently for a time and then turned his head to look back at me, as if to ask, "What's troubling you?"

"I have killed a lot of people and many of them I thought were my friends," I spoke to him. "I have a lot to work through in my heart and mind."

The roan turned to face forward but did not move. This was as good as place as any. I swung from the saddle and dropped the reins. As the roan was good at ground tying, I did not bother to tether him to anything. The sagebrush gave way to a clearing which had a small sandstone pinnacle in it. I walked to the south side of the pinnacle and here the chill of the early morning breeze was blocked with the sun warming the rock.

Removing my hat, I knelt down in the sand.

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The first man I had killed, who was he? I had never seen him before but there were things that one could know from that brief encounter. First, he was a father, like me. Second, he was trying to keep his family alive, also like me. What made us different? Were we different?

If one believed in Darwinism it was not wrong in what he did, it was simply evolution and survival of the fittest. No right no wrong, no good no evil. But I did not believe in Darwinism and I knew there was a God to whom I must give an account. So why did I kill him? I could have gotten my family safely past him.

I then thought of all my neighbors I had killed in the battle. I did not have to kill them ether. I could have obeyed their laws and let them take my ranch. Ann had promised that if we would all share and share alike we would all be okay, it being the only "fair and legal" thing to do.

That brought me to Ann. I didn't have to hang her, did I?

Three separate types of killing I had done. The first, the father, was not a direct threat to me or my family. The second, my neighbors, were coming to kill me. The last, Ann, what had Ann done? She had not actually lifted a gun against me or my children.

Did a man have the right to take another's life? Did anyone have the right to take my daughter's life? What was the difference between the loss of Hay-Lee's life and the loss of their lives?

I knelt a long time in the warm sand with thoughts and feelings coursing through my soul. Then a distant memory came to me. I had been very young but the memory was a powerful one.

It had been branding time and I was barely big enough to climb to the top rail of the corral to watch. A friend of Grandpa's had come to help. The man was heeling calves and dragging them to the fire to be branded. One particular calf was being branded while the cowboy on the horse held the heel rope tight. As normal, the calf bawled loudly when the hot iron was put to its hide.

The calf's mother was a descendant of the original long horns that the Bonhams had brought from Texas. She was packing a mean set of horns with black tips and took after the man running the branding iron. The man jumped on the fence and the cow spun on the horse and rider. The old cow raked the horse before the rider could get out of the way. The horse was not well broke and went to bucking and successfully threw the rider. The cow was still on the prod and as the cowboy struggled to his feet the cow gored him through the back. The cow had killed the cowboy.

I had not thought of that incident for a long time, why did it come to me now?

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Was the cow wrong in killing the cowboy? Did not God put into the cow the instinct to protect her calf? Was it not her natural right? If that cow had the right to defend her life and the life of her calf surely I had the same right, did I not? It appeared to me, that right came to every living thing at birth. It was natural law. Or the laws of nature and nature's God.

A man had the right to defend his "life, liberty and property." If a man could defend his "life, liberty and property ' then he could also help another defend their "life, liberty and property."

The cannibalistic father had taken an innocent women's life. I felt sadness but not guilt at taking his life.

I felt greater sadness at taking my neighbor's lives, but again, searching my heart, no guilt feelings. They had come against my family and our "life, liberty and property."

Ann. Was I justified in taking Ann's life? By the government's laws she was in the right and I was in the wrong. What about natural law? Are the laws of nature, or nature's God, subject to man's law?

Again, I did not believe in Darwinism. Just as God had put into that cow the right and instinct to protect what was hers, that same fire burned in my soul.

Of all the people I had killed, each had picked up a gun, except Ann. Strange, the one who caused the most death never pulled a trigger.

I searched my heart again. I was troubled because Ann was a woman but I felt no guilt.

My knees were cramping but I did not get up. Bowing by head, I spoke to God. I asked Him to forgive me if I had done wrong. I told Him I was doing the best I knew how. Then I asked Him to comfort KayLee-K's heart. For some reason I couldn't ask Him to take the pain from my heart. Finally, I plead that He would keep the rest of my family alive. "I'm okay if I go, God, but please let my family live."

I stood up and in the distance I heard a lone coyote howl. The breeze blew a dark cloud across the warm sun and I felt a chill.

*  *  *

It had been less than three months ago that our country had been hit and it was hard to believe that so many dark days could be squeezed into that short space of time. Two great forces had collided—liberty and tyranny. Which would prevail?

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The victory we had in the Long Valley War gave a false sense that liberty was winning in this part of the land. I was not fooled. There was a dark wolf that would stalk us soon. A dark wolf that was more dangerous than all the men we had faced in the war. Like all wolves, he would come silently and he would come with his small deadly pack.

It was on the seventh day after I had hung Ann that Ted showed up. He came just before dinner, riding a bicycle. The person on watch had given the warning as he approached the wood gate and I stepped out onto the porch. He opened the gate and then closed it after pushing his bike through. I waited at the railing as he rode towards the house. When he reached the steps of the porch he stopped his bike but did not get off.

"Hi, Jake."

"Hi, Ted. What brings you up here?" I asked. There was no small talk.

"I need to tell you something Jake. Zackary Williams made it back from Page six days ago. He and his lieutenants are coming for you soon."

The same chill I had felt before went up my back. It shouldn't have. I knew that this day was coming. "That's good information. How did you find out?"

Ted shrugged his shoulders, "l'd rather not say."

"Why tell me at all?" I asked.

"I've been thinking a lot about the words you said. What you said to me the night you let me live. I know that had we prevailed we would not have let you live, nor any of your family. I thought about what you said when you hung Ann Rafferty. They were hard words and it was a hard thing you did. A lot of people liked Ann, including me, but the more I thought, the more it made sense. We had no right to come against you. Jake, I'm really sorry. I know that saying I'm sorry won't bring HayLee back, but I am sorry." He stopped speaking for a moment then asked, "Why did you let me live? Why didn't you hang me with Ann?"

"Ted, maybe I can help you understand why I didn't hang you by asking you a few questions. If Ann Rafferty was alive right now, would she be here saying that she was sorry for what she had done?"

"No," Ted answered without hesitation.

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I asked the next question, "Who was the motivating voice that started the war?"

"Ann," he replied.

"Before the war started, did I threaten her or seek her life?"

"No," he replied again.

I asked my last question, "If Ann were still alive would she leave me alone or would she still try to have me killed?"

Ted thought a moment then answered, "She hated you even more after we lost the battle. And I know that the very day after the battle she sent for Zackary Williams. She would not have stopped."

"You have answered your own question, Ted. Sometimes we make mistakes, sometimes we choose wrong, and sometimes people get hurt or die. There is room for forgiveness; there is room for a fresh start. But there is also something called evil. When one seeks to control another, it is evil. That evil is only stopped when it encounters a power greater than itself. I stand for freedom, Ann stood for control. You are young and you chose like a stupid kid.

"Ted, outside of my family, the dream I have held most dear is that

I would one day truly breathe free air, the same air that our ancestors breathed in this land a hundred years ago. I am determined to taste that air or die gasping for it."

Ted did not make a reply, and like that night in the canyon, I again felt sympathy for the young man.

"Maybe someday we can breathe that air together, Ted. Maybe we can be friends and neighbors once more, but I have one request to make of you."

"What is it, Jake?'

"I ask that if, for some reason, I do not live through these days and if we once again become a free people, that you'll taste that air for me. That you'll cherish that freedom. That you'll protect it and preserve it. That you'll teach your children to honor it and love it as I do."

"I can do that, Jake. I'll stand with you. I'll stand on freedom's side of the line."

"That's a good man, Ted. Now head on home, I've got things I need to do."

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Chapter 35

RED AND BLUE

March 22nd

Life was not so dear that I was willing to bow down and kiss tyranny's hand—to ask for permission, to ask for a morsel, to ask for free health care. I had already counted the cost and paid some of the price. Those payments rested in the silent earth of Bonham cemetery. I was willing to make the last full payment, and if I did, it would be nice if someone would gather my body off the range and lay it to rest next to them.

They were coming and I must go out to meet them. I feared Zackary Williams and his four lieutenants more than the army that had attacked us. They would come with stealth, cunning, and skill. They would come with night vision, thermal vision and comm. With their communication equipment, they would work like a wolf pack, seeking to flank me, to catch me in crossfire. They were seasoned, they were experienced, and they had worked as a team a long time.

My fear was not for my own life, but it was for my family. It was for my family and my friends that had stood by me. If they cut me off, one by one they would cut off my family and friends. With us dead, they would put things back in order, their order.

For some reason I had become a lightning rod, a focal point. Or to put it in cowboy terms, a burr under their saddle. That was okay by me. Someone needed to be willing to stand up and face the lightning strikes. I was no fool and I knew that my chances of surviving their strike were small. But if I could take out Zackary Williams and maybe one more, it would give my family a small chance against the rest.

I did have some advantages. They must fight in my backyard. I knew the lay of the land like they would not. They would have topographical maps and satellite images. And Zackary knew the land a little on a personal level. But they could not know it in the great detail that I did.

I had another advantage that I hoped that they would not recognize until it had cost them. By now they surely knew that I had night optics for my rifle. From the first agent that I killed, it was seen that their night optics were a single power optic. The optic on my rifle was a six power and that gave me greater range. If I could engage them at night and be able to keep distance between us, I would have some advantage.

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There was one more advantage that I would use, another sacrifice, another dear price to pay ...

I must be going. If what Ted Robinson had said was true, Zackary and his men could be moving against me at any time.

Once again I withdrew my camouflage clothing from my drawer. They had been cleaned, and I dressed. If I ever lived through these days to see better, I would burn these clothes. I detested what it meant when I put them on. The only thing that felt natural was the old six-shooter which I once again buckled around my waist.

Dan had gone to catch up my horse and I could hear him returning with the roan. I had on my tactical vest with my 45 Sig Saur in the holster attached to it. This time I would also carry my tactical pack. It was a small pack that contained what I needed to stay out for three days.

It was getting dark and lamps had been lit. When I entered the great room they were all there. All of my family. There was Dan and Jill with their children, Will and Vondell. There was KayLee-K standing next to Cat and there was Sandy. Everyone was standing, no one was sitting.

We were a small family, nothing in this great scheming world. We controlled no great wealth, ran no empire, commanded no army. A simple family in a simple spot of earth, but to each other, we were everything. How could wealth or power compare to the feelings we felt for each other, and right now that feeling burned like a fire. No one spoke. Words would not have been adequate to express the feeling that flowed like a warm current between us.

I took a knee and my family followed. With difficulty, I expressed to my God my deep gratitude for allowing me to be a father to such a family. I asked that He would watch over them, and if He be willing, that they might live to raise children in a free land. I prayed that if He would grant that petition, I would ask Him for nothing more. I rose to my feet, hugged them each, and walked outside.

Sandy followed me and stood next to me as I paused at the steps. The stars were starting to appear in the night sky. I looked at Sandy's face but the stars did not give sufficient light for me to see her eyes. I would like to see those eyes again.

She put her fingers to my cheek and in the dark she found the scar that her knife had given me. Tenderly, she traced it back and forth, as if recalling memories. Then she rose upon her toes and kissed me. It was tender, sweet, and short.

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In the darkness I mounted my horse and rode to the rim of my little valley. Riding along the rim, the first hound that I came to was Red. With reduced manpower, I had re-positioned my dogs here to help assist in the guarding of the basin. When I unsnapped the chain from his collar, Red jumped around for joy with the anticipation of a hunt. Squatting upon my heels, Red came to me and I scratched his long ears.

"You've been a good ol' boy, Red." He wagged his tail enthusiastically. Red did not know that I was preparing to place him in harm's way.

When I rode to Belle's dog house, I did not unsnap her, nor take her chain, as I had Red's. I did get down and scratch her ears.

"Belle, ol' girl, watch over my family. You have a good nose, let them know when those snakes come."

I rode to Blue's dog house.

'Blue, ol' boy, you're coming with me and Red. This may be our last ride. I hate to put you boys in such a bad way but without you two I don't have much of a chance."

My hounds were the last of the three advantages that I had. This was hard for me. I had raised them from pups and we had many fond memories over the years of hunting. I was going to use them to help watch my blind sides, and it would probably cost them their lives.

Red and Blue fell in behind me as I turned the roan south. My enemies would come from the south. I was sure they would come up through the rim of the Bench where Kanab Creek cut an opening in the ledge. It was about twelve miles away and there was a road there that would give them access. I had considered trying an ambush there but they would be expecting it this time. I needed a different place.

From Kanab Creek, the road ran along the backside of the Bench and then dropped down into the canyon that had the cattle trucks, the cattle trucks that I had shot up. It was the same road that the valley people had used and it made a big loop behind our ranch range. There were too many deep draws and small canyons for anyone to be able to drive from that road to my little basin. If a person had a bulldozer, he could have built a road across that rough country, but we Bonhams rode horses and didn't need a road. We also liked the increased isolation it gave us.

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I put my horse to a trot and the hounds picked up the pace. As I rode in the dark, I considered my options. This was going to be harder than when I had ambushed the men in the cattle trucks. On top the Bench was not a bottleneck that Zackary Williams and his lieutenants must pass through. There were more than half dozen cattle trails that cut across the rough land and Zackary's men would each take a different one. They would not be bunched in a group where a sniper might take out several at once. No, they would come spread out, and at night.

With their night vision, Zackary and his lieutenants would be lethal to those guarding the basin. I had taken the night vision optic off the DHS agent that I had shot. It was used by Dan. He had insisted on taking every night guard, again making me proud, but it would not be enough. Five with night vision coming against one with night vision still made the odds five to one.

On top of that they had thermal imaging. A man hiding in camouflage or behind foliage can escape detection from one looking through night vision devices. But thermal imaging reads the heat signature of the body. That made it possible to see a person that was hiding in thick foliage. I had to try to even the odds.

I must engage them here, here in the rough terrain of the Bench, away from my family. If I was able to take two of them out, it would make the odds three night visions to one. Three to one, when it came to the lives of those you loved, was still terrible odds. But it increased the hope that I had—the hope that not all my posterity would be cut off, that some would live to see better days.

With all the different paths that they could take, I needed more eyes. More eyes, ears and noses. My hounds could give me all three. They could smell things coming even when they could not be seen or heard.

I now used my knowledge of the terrain. I rode to the deepest ravine that cut through the land between the road and the ranch. Here I would engage them. I would pull them into a game of cat and mouse. Both sides of this deep draw were choked with scrub oak and the bottom was thick with willows. To get across it, without using a chainsaw, you had to follow an existing cow trail. The problem was that the ravine was long and there were too many trails for me to cover by myself.

At the north end I stopped and chained Blue in a patch of oak that was on the rim of the ravine. Here was a good trail that crossed the draw and I left some food and water for him. This could take several days before things played out. With a final hug and a scratch of Blue's ears, I rode south.

230

RED AND BLUE

I rode for a mile where the ravine was even deeper. Here I placed Red with her food and water. Another hug and a scratch of the ears. This was hard. They would give me warning when someone tried to cross anywhere close to them, but once sounding the warning, they would be taken out. So many sacrifices to be paid and those payments were taken from the most tender places of the heart.

I then rode back to the middle where another good trail crossed. This is where I positioned myself. I chose this place for several reasons. First, it had a good cow trail that crossed the draw. Second, it was the most likely place that at least one agent would cross. The road on the far side was less than a mile away. That made this spot the closest point between road and ravine. Lastly, there was a large sandstone outcropping with good cover in front of it.

That sandstone outcropping was important to me. It would help me to counter their thermal imaging devises. The large rocks gathered the heat of the sun's rays during the day like a great heat sink. In the night, by lying next to them, my body's heat signature would be washed out. Once I left the cover of the rocks, however, their thermal devices could pick me up.

Here I turned my horse loose, and settled down for the wait. I took the time to make my position comfortable and well concealed. It was sandy at the base of the outcropping with enough brush and foliage for my camo to blend in with. The outcropping rose above me a good ten feet.

My night optics was already on my AR and I turned the switch on. I removed the rubber shroud that covered the front lens. The light in the scope's tube glowed green. Placing the rifle to my cheek, I looked across the draw. Plain as day, I could see the cow trail on the opposite side of the draw. It wound down the steep bank, in and out of the thick oak. As the trail descended it completely disappeared from view as it entered the thick willows. The far rim of the draw was no more than seventy yards away. I hoped I would be lucky enough to have an agent pick this path.

I panned my scope to my right. More than three hundred yards off was another trail that dropped into the deep ravine. There were only three spots on that trail in which the oaks gave enough of an opening for me to see the trail. The first opening was at the top, as the trail started its descent. The other two were close together not far below the first. It was the last opening that gave me the best shot. The clearing was a good fifteen feet across. Maybe an agent would cross there. I took the time to make me a rest for my rifle, a rest where my rifle would line up on that spot. This is where my six power night vision scope gave me great advantage over their single power.

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ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

Panning my scope to my left there was nothing but scrub oak with branches just beginning to bud out. Beyond my sight was Blue, a half mile away. The deep bellow of his bark would easily carry across this distance in the night air.

I thought of the hunts we had over the years. As a seasoned hound man, the individual voices of my dogs were as distinctly different from each other as Dan's was to Cathy's. Not only that, when they barked the tone of the bark told me what they were doing Whether they were trailing a cold track, a hot trail or had jumped a lion, each bark was different. I may not have tactical communications like Zackary's team but I had communications nonetheless. Blue had my left flank and Red had my right.

I settled down and waited. Patience was the key now. In the history of the Bonhams they had fought Comanche, Apache, and Navajo. There was an old saying that had been passed down from that fighting and I took it to heart. "He who moves first, dies." In guerrilla warfare the first one to move often gave away his position and was the first to take a bullet.

I would wait. I would be patient. They must move. They must pass by me.

The hours passed and the world turned. I picked out the North Star and it stayed fixed as the other constellations slowly trekked across the night sky. This setting was not strange to me. Lying alone beneath the stars of heaven had been too much a part of my life in these last years.

My thought turned to my family and Sandy. Would I see them again? Would I see Sandy again? I thought of my life. My forty seven years had passed so quickly. They had been good years. Good horses to ride, a beautiful land to ride in. So many fresh sunrises. So many sunsets with cloud formations and colors uniquely arranged and painted by the hand of God. But of them all, it was my family that filled my life with the greatest happiness. I wanted the rest of them to live. I didn't want to lose one more, not a single one. I wanted them to live, to marry, to raise a family. I wanted them to taste of the joys that I had as a father and the pride of watching their own children grow into strong men and women.

This was beyond me. It was beyond my abilities and skills. These five that were coming had done this kind of man-killing most their lives. They had successfully pitted themselves against the best in the world.

I too had prepared. I had not been negligent or slothful. I had done all I possibly could do, but I was still out of my league. I prayed that the hand of Providence would once again smile upon me, upon my family, upon this land.

232

RED AND BLUE

The night gave way to sunrise and no one came. The morning sun rose to a noon sun and then an evening sun and still no one came. The night came again followed by another day and a night. I could not remain awake, and slept in short stretches, trusting my dogs to alert me.

*  *  *

I was now starting the third night of my solitary watch and the night was young. A breeze rose and then died leaving it very still. That was good. The stillness maximized my ability to hear sound and I did hear something. In the far distance the faint sound of a vehicle could be heard. There were no lights to be seen but I expected none. I would not have to wait much longer.

The sound of the vehicle ceased. How far out? A mile? More? They were coming. I waited. I watched. I listened. I did not move. The anticipation grew and I hoped that one of them would choose the trail before me.

My senses strained as I looked and listened. My heart rate was picking up and my calloused palms grew sweaty. How many minutes had passed? Fifteen? Twenty? Then, the soft sound of sliding sand.

In the green light of my scope I studied the far bank. More sound of sliding sand. I couldn't see anyone. He was there somewhere, somewhere in the thick cover of the scrub oak. If I had thermal imaging I could pick him up in the thickness of the oak. There! A movement on the slope to the left of the trail. I looked more closely through my scope. Sand slid again on the steep slope and a foot was revealed below the thick patch of oak. Now I could see him. Inside the oak patch a man was looking through a hand held thermal imaging monocular.

A careful man, he did not step into the open trail. Slowly he panned the bank where I lay. The large heat signature of the rocky outcropping was troubling him. I watched as he would pause each time he passed my location with the thermal imaging device. The monocular was tethered around his neck on a lanyard cord and now he let it hang free as he reached up to pull down his night vision that was strapped to his head. That was the distraction I was looking for. He was just releasing his grip on the night vision that he had pulled over his right eye and my fed cross hairs were on the base of his throat. I pulled the trigger. My Hornady V-Max ball was a frangible bullet designed for varmints like coyotes. It would expand and fragment upon impact, creating massive tissue damage. The man crumpled without a sound.

233

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

A silent prayer of thanks. The man had been delivered front and center for me. Four more to go.

Through the cool night air, Red's deep voice now pealed to my right. One or more men were now crossing the ravine at the hound's location.

"Thanks ol' boy for letting me know," I said ever so softly to myself. I now had a bead on the general location of at least one more bad guy.

The intensity of the barking increased, then a sudden yelp and silence.

"Red, I'll meet you on the other side, ol' boy." I found it hard to swallow. There seemed to be a lump in my throat. I swallowed harder. It was time to move. Whoever was there knew that their position was now given away. They would contact each other by their tactical comm and one of them would not answer. They would know that one of their team members was down. That was good. They must now stop their advance on the basin. They had an enemy in their midst and they could not leave an enemy sniper to their rear.

Blue's rich voice sounded now, off to my left. That meant that not all the remaining agents were crossing on my right. I now knew that I had agents to my right and left. I was in the middle and that was not good but not knowing that I was in the middle would have been much worse. Blue had done his job and pegged the location of another agent. I could now move out of a pincer move that would get me caught on two sides. They would know that I was in their middle because the dead agent in the middle would not answer them.

Blue's barking picked up tempo and then, without a yelp, went silent.

"Blue, tell Red hi for me. I may be along soon and I'll scratch both your ears."

That darn lump was still stuck in my throat. Pushing up from my position, I quickly and quietly moved off. Taking a backward angle, I headed towards Blue's side of the draw. Now that I knew the proximate location of the agents, I double-timed it north, making a loop in front of the agent or agents that had crossed on Blue's side.

Looking at my watch, I checked the time of my travel at double-time speed. I needed ten to fifteen minutes to get on the far side of them. I ran for six more minutes and pulled up beneath a cedar tree. I was sure I now had all the agents to my south.

234

RED AND BLUE

I rested a moment, listening, while I got a bearing on my location. Again, I was glad to be fighting in my backyard. I quickly knew where I had stopped. There would be a small knoll not far ahead and that is where I went. Within a few minutes of travel the cedars trees gave way to a natural clearing of sage brush and grass. Several hundred yards into the clearing was a small tree-covered hill. There was a good hiding spot with brush and trees at the top Of the hill. I didn't go there. I left that as a decoy. Rather, I took a less obvious hiding place on the left side of the hill. Here I once again waited. There were four wolves out there looking for one fox. And with their thermal imaging and night vision, the wolves had the longer fangs.

This time I had no large rocks to wash out my heat signature but I did have distance. The trees at the edge of the clearing were about two hundred and fifty yards away. I crouched down behind a large stump of a cedar tree that clung to the edge of a shallow wash. The old tree had been cut down by someone using an ax. It was an ancient stump and I would bet that it had been chopped down by my great grandfather.

The tales I had heard in my youth of my great grandfather came to mind. Where had he made his last stand when he was killed by the Navajo warriors? I wondered if it had been close to where I was now.

"Grandpa," I said quietly to myself, "1 would like to have known you in life. It is a strange circle that we have passed through. Where you once were, I now am. I may meet you soon and I have a question I have always wondered about. Why was it important that the Navajo warriors were buried next to you?"

Immediately the face of Sandy appeared in my mind. It was indeed a strange circle. I thought of our chance meeting in that night blizzard. Was there a connection between her and the warriors?

From birth to death, I had watched men travel between the eternities. There so much I did not know but I did know that there were things that could not be seen. I knew that death did not cut off the love between the living and the dead.

Laying my rifle across the top of the stump, I was able to see above the sage brush and into the trees. It was on my second sweep with my scope that I saw the man. He was just inside the tree line and was looking at me with his thermal device.

235

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

I was quick with the crosshairs and the trigger. The man went down and the sound of the impact of a bullet hitting a living body carried back to me. I had shot enough deer to recognize the sound. He was still moving and I put three more bullets into him.

"Blue, those are for you. Your life was not wasted."

I panned the area again and didn't see other agents. I needed to choose a new spot and I stood up.

The bullet hit my leg before I heard the shot of the rifle and the leg buckled. My body crashed over a sage brush and into the shallow wash. A hail of bullets cut through the bush above me. The shock of the bullet hitting me had caused me to lose my grip on my rifle. In panic I felt for my gun. It had not fallen into the wash with me. I edged up to the bank and felt for the rifle. With relief my fingers wrapped around its barrel and I pulled it to me.

Something was wrong with it. In the darkness I ran my hand over my gun. A bullet had hit my scope and taken out the front lens. Several more bullets had hit the gun with one going through the receiver. I was without a rifle. And without my scope, they owned the night.

"Damn it to ... " I stopped. It was silly, but I didn't finish the string of swear words as if I was afraid my girls would hear me. I did move, using my elbows and one good knee.

The sun was rising, my leg hurt and I needed rest. I was surprised to see this day, for it had been a long night. The three remaining agents had worked the angles. One would put pressure on me while the other two would try to flank me. Several times they had pinned me down and only my intimate knowledge of the land had allowed me to slip out of their hands.

The sun warmed my cold body and I was grateful for it. Not only did the sun warm me, now their night optics and thermal devices did not give them an extra advantage.

My 45 Sig Saur was running low on ammo, with my remaining magazine down to seven bullets. But I was getting close to my destination. For the moment I had again slipped away from them but I had left a good blood trail. All night I had worked my way westward, closer to the edge of the Bench. It was not far now but my leg was bleeding badly. Again, I needed to try and stop the bleeding.

236

Chapter 36

CROSSING OF SWORDS

March 26^th

Ahead of me was a short ravine that was choked full of scrub oak and brush. It was steep and emptied into a deep wash with a broad sandy bottom. The broad sandy bottom stretched forty yards and then bent out of sight behind the massive roots of a dead ponderosa pine tree. There were not a lot of ponderosa pines on the Bench but the ones that grew here were big. This one had been a patriarch of its time but was now dead. It had fallen, ripping its roots from the right bank of the wash. How old this tree was, I could only guess but it had died long before my father's time. The bark had fallen off the trunk and the bare wood was weathered grey with golden streaks of pitch running its length.

I worked my way down into the thicket of the small ravine and sat beside a large sandstone rock that the rainwater had exposed. I pulled my pack off my back, took out my canteen and finished off the last of my water. Next I took out my first aid kit. This was the second effort to wrap the bullet wound. In the night I had scarcely been able to find the time to put a wrap around my leg. Now I took the old bloody wrap off my leg and cut away part of my pants to examine the wound. It was not a pretty sight but I could tell that they were shooting FM] ball. Full Metal Jacket. That was fortunate, for the bullet had passed cleanly through my thigh without fragmenting. Had they been shooting frangible bullets, like the ones I shot, I would now be dead from blood loss.

With two fresh pads of gauze and a new roll of vet wrap, I re-wrapped my leg. I could stand and put pressure on my leg. I could even make a hobble run for short distances. I was glad for that, as I may need to do so before I reached the Indian cave.

That is where I had been working towards all night. I needed to get there. I needed the scoped rifle that was in the cave. There I had a chance, a chance to get one more of them. Even with my bad leg, I could climb down and get the AR. I would climb back up and I would run no more. I would not wait until night where they again would dominate the darkness. I would hunt them as they hunted me. If I could get just one more of them, that would leave Dan with the odds of two to one. He could do it. My son could take out the last two and save my family. I believed in Dan. I needed to get just one more.

Something sailed through the air and landed up in the thick draw behind me. Then a deafening blast ripped through the oaks, Shrapnel cut through the foliage with some tearing the flesh on my left shoulder. They had found me again. Another grenade landed closer as I threw myself behind the rock next to me. Another blast ripped the draw and shrapnel ricocheted off the rock. The next grenade would land on top of me.

237

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

I pushed myself to my feet and ran. Forcing my wounded leg to work, I crashed through the scrub oak as I ran down the draw. Grenades! I had not counted on grenades. I should have.

Another blast sounded behind me. They had the high ground and were driving me to the sandy opening below. I had no choice. I could not withstand the grenades in the small ravine.

As the ravine opened onto the broad wash bed, I stumbled and fell. I shoved to my feet and sprinted. Only forty yards to go. Forty yards and I would pass from sight behind the old ponderosa. From there I could slip away to the cave. The massive tree roots loomed before me when something slammed into my back. I pitched forward into the sand as the Sig Saur flew from my hand. Hitting the sand face first, my arms stretched out before me. Stunned from the shock of the bullet, I had no breath. My mind was dazed and my body struggled to draw air into my lungs. I lay in the sand, not moving. I felt like a prize fighter who had just been dealt a knockout blow.

I heard a laugh, it was Zackary, Zackary Williams. The man had won. I did not want to die with my back to him. Gathering my strength, I drew my arms under me and pushed up to my hands and knees. Blood had already pooled in the sand below me. Raising my head, I saw my 45 auto in the sand ten feet away. It might as well have been a mile away. Lowering my head, I looked at my chest. The bullet had exited the left side of my chest passing through my lung.

I pushed to an upright position on my knees. Bringing up one knee, I placed my hand upon it and shoved myself to a standing position. With effort I turned to face him. Dizziness rushed over me and I reached out to steady myself by grabbing one of the tree roots at my left shoulder.

Zackary walked towards me, stopping twenty feet away with his rifle barrel lowered. From the right bank another agent slid to the wash bottom and positioned himself beside Zackary. Then the last agent appeared from the oaks on the left bank and joined them.

"Well, Jake Bonham, you made a good run," Zackary said sarcastically.

He looked every bit of his reputation, rugged and strong, keen eyed and vicious. I did not answer him.

"This is the height of living, Jake. I love it. I knew you were tough, but three of my agents? That's good. At best, I figured you would only get one and if you were lucky, two. Three? That's real good. It's been years since I've lost that many."

I still did not say anything.

238

CROSSING OF SWORDS

"I had hoped to take you back alive. I was going to hang you by the light pole in front of the old church on Kanab's Main Street. You hanging there would help take the starch out of those thinking of getting out of line. But, it doesn't look like you could make the trip. I'll have to settle with taking your head."

Zackary stopped speaking and furrowed his brows. Ever the keen predator, he saw something in my eyes that he did not like.

Here they were. One, two, three, standing side by side, twenty feet in front of me. From the beginning of the conflict till now, never had I seen agents next to each other and never this close.

A wicked grin covered my face and Zackary furrowed his brows even deeper. A cowboy does not pack a six shooter all his life and not know how to use it. My grandfather had taught me the fast draw as a child. Seldom had a week gone by in my life that I had not practiced.

My right wrist flicked and with a blur, my hand Spalmed the rosewood grips of my 44-40. In a flash, the old pistol cleared the leather holster with the hammer eared back. By reflex, I pulled the trigger, the hammer fell, the gun bucked in my hand. The bullet took Zackary Williams between the eyes.

Reflex, speed, and muscle memory, Zackary was still standing when my second bullet struck the agent to his right. It entered below the right eye.

The agent on the left was barely raising his rifle when my third bullet clipped his chin and smashed through his throat.

I stood there in the sandy, wash holding on to the root of the ancient tree. The bodies of my enemies lay before me, not a twitch coming from them. Holding the old revolver in my hand, I could not help but spin it around my finger once before sliding it back into the holster.

My family was safe. I think I'll go tell them. Strange ... The earth was slowly tipping. It started to tip faster. That was very strange ... Suddenly the earth slammed into the side of my face and I plowed into the sandy wash. I blinked my eyes and the spinning world slowed to a stop. My eyes blinked again, more slowly this time. The sand of the wash bottom was cool as it pressed against my cheek. The sun was getting dark; it must be getting cloudy ... It is time to tell my children that they are safe but. ... I'm tired. I think I'll rest first, just a little. It must be getting ready to rain it is so dark.

239

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

I closed my eyes to rest, but heard the sound of a walking animal. I could not raise my head to look, I was too tired but I knew it was a horse. It stopped in front of me and I forced open my eyes. I could see the dark stocking legs of a bay horse. From off the horse a women's leg extended to the sandy floor. A turquoise velvet skirt was drawn up to the knee of the woman, exposing the light brown skin of the leg. The foot was laced inside a high top Apache moccasin. There was a knife scabbard stitched inside the moccasin with a bone knife handle exposed. That made me smile. It was Sandy, I would like to see those green eyes, but . . . the rain clouds must be getting very heavy. They are blocking out the light. It's very dark. I can't see ... I'm tired. I think I'll sleep.

240

Chapter 37

FREEDOM

A sound, a familiar sound. I could not quite place it but I knew that I had heard that sound many times before . . . There it was again. In the dimness, for a moment, a soft warm breeze caressed my cheek. I could not see anything; it was dim but not dark. Stillness now . . . then that sound, the soft rustle of a fabric. Again, a soft warm breeze passed over me. The dimness slowly gave way. There was a sliver of light. Heaven? A soft summer breeze rustled the drapes of an open window. My window.

Gentle light of an afternoon sun filled the room that was mine. I looked through the open window and could see the deep green leaves of the cottonwood trees that stood above the cemetery. Full leafs, deep green. That was the size and color of cottonwood leaves to be found in late summer. Late summer?

My eyes slid slowly from the window to a woman sitting in a chair. It was a rocking chair and the woman's long black hair was pulled back in a single ponytail. One foot on the floor and one foot tucked up to her on the seat of the rocking chair. The chair was slowly and gently rocking as the woman looked upon an open book she held in her hands. She was lost in reading. As in the first day that I had seen her, she had on the maroon blouse and the velvet turquoise skirt with the belt of silver conchos. The leg that was drawn up to her exposed the soft brown skin and the Apache moccasin. There was the bone handle knife.

Muscles that had not been used for a long time responded, and a smile came to my face.

I closed my eyes and memories flooded my mind. The drapes rustled again as another breeze entered the window. I drew in a deep breath. The air tasted differently. For the first time in my life, I was tasting the air of true freedom.

I held the breath a moment longer then let it out as I opened my eyes. The woman in the chair stopped rocking. I watched her as she remained motionless. Slowly she raised her face from the book and looked at me. There they were, those green eyes filled with light.

241

About the Author

LaVoy Finicum is a rancher and family man who lives in northern Arizona. As he has watched the freedoms of this great land of America being eroded away through unconstitutional legislation and outright thievery, he decided to do more than sit idly by. He wrote this novel in an effort to teach the principals of "natural law," to show that certain truths are "self-evident" and that our rights come to us from God and are "inalienable," meaning that they cannot be given away or taken away.

John Locke (England, 1632—1704) was a physician, statesman, and political philosopher who expressed the radical view that government is morally obliged to serve people, namely by protecting life, liberty, and property. He insisted that when government violates individual rights, people may legitimately rebel.

A recent example of this type of behavior was demonstrated when the Federal Government sought to take away the grazing rights from LaVoy's friend and neighbor, Cliven Bundy. This they did by force of arms. It was only when the common man stood up, willing to meet force with force, that those rights were preserved.

It is time to back up talk with action.

243

Post Script:

Mr Finicum wrote this novel and it was published in 2015 by Legends Library Publishing, Inc. while the federal government was pursuing its case against LaVoy's friend, Cliven Bundy of Bunkerville, Nevada, regarding the 2014 Bunkerville standoff. Bundy had ended his grazing contracts with BLM in the early 1990s and described his decision as "firing" the federal land managers. Federal "officials" sued Bundy in 1998 over his subsequent nonpayment of grazing fees and won a judgment that required Bundy to pay a trespass fine of $200 per day per animal that remained grazing on federal lands after that decision. BLM attempted to seize Bundy's cattle for auction to settle more than $1 million in unpaid grazing fines and trespass fees in 2014. An armed standoff between supporters of the Nevada rancher and federal agents ensued, and the BLM abandoned its efforts to seize the animals. Bundy and his supporters, including several of his sons, faced criminal charges stemming from the Bunkerville standoff incident, but a federal judge declared a mistrial in that case in 2017 after finding that prosecutors had withheld key evidence from the defendants. In January 2018 Nevada Chief Judge Gloria Navarro also dismissed that case with prejudice, which barred federal prosecutors from bringing any new trials against Cliven Bundy.

Meanwhile, Ammon Bundy, who was in the Bundy standoff, and fellow ranchers, including LaVoy Finicum, had occupied the headquarters of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge in Harney County, Oregon for a month, protesting the wrongful re-conviction of two area ranchers, the Hammonds, accused of federal land arson. In a mid-trial settlement agreement, the Hammonds agreed not to appeal the arson convictions in order to have other charges dismissed by the government. The Hammonds were also told the prosecutor would seek the mandatory minimum sentence of five years. Ultimately, Dwight Hammond was sentenced to three months' imprisonment and his son Steven was sentenced to a year and a day's imprisonment, which both men served.

In 2015, the sentences were vacated by the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit, which then remanded re-sentencing. In October 2015, a judge re-sentenced the Hammonds to five years in prison (with credit for time served), ordering that they return to prison on January 4, 2016. Stephen was scheduled to be released on June 29, 2019 and Dwight on February 13, 2020. They were pardoned by President Trump on July 10, 2018.

During the Harney county occupation protest on behalf of the Hammonds, for the first few weeks, law enforcement officers did not harass the protesters in their coming and going from the refuge. On 26 January 2016 however, the 'leaders' of the protest had driven two vehicles to adjacent Grant County, Oregon, where Ryan Payne was invited by a Canyon City, Oregon, logger to speak at a public meeting at the John Day Senior Center in John Day, Oregon. The Oregon State Police (OSP) and FBI used the opportunity to set a trap for the protesters on an isolated stretch of Route 395 as they drove north to intersect Highway 22 which ran into Canyon City. Drones, fixed cameras, and aerial reconnaissance were used in the surveillance.

The protesters' vehicles were a white 2015 Dodge Ram driven by LaVoy, followed by a Jeep. Dark-colored FBI and OSP SUV-looking vehicles pulled in behind the Jeep and started their dash-mounted interior blinking lights through the darkened windshield. Mark McConnell, an FBI informant and the driver of the Jeep pulled over and his passengers, Ammon Bundy and Brian Cavalier were handcuffed while other OSP and FBI agents surrounded and had drawn weapons with laser sights aimed at them. LaVoy continued driving a ways further before being followed by more dark-colored SUVs. LaVoy stopped in the middle of the road when the dark colored cars flashed their interior mounted emergency lights behind his pickup. Ryan Payne jumped out of the passenger side of the front seat of the pickup and OSP took from him the only handgun among their group.

About seven minutes after stopping, FBI or OSP shot at the pickup truck with a 40 mm round. Shawna Cox, a passenger in LaVoy's truck, recorded cell phone video of FBI and OSP's continual shooting at the pickup. After being shot at, Finicum bolted and resumed driving north. This was part of Greg Bretzing, FBI agent in charge's plan, to scare or otherwise force LaVoy into fleeing into their pre-deployed roadblock, 1 mile further to the north, chased by the dark-colored SUVs, effectively forcing them off of the road into one of the snowbanks on either side of the roadblock. It seems obvious that they were trying to evoke a shootout where the protest 'leaders' could be eliminated.  Shawna Cox, Ryan Bundy, and 18-year-old Victoria Sharp, were in the rear seat of the pickup. An OSP SWAT member, identified in the trial of FBI agent Astarita as "Officer 1," fired several shots with an AR-15, into LaVoy's truck as it approached the roadblock. Finicum veered off the pavement into the left shoulder snowbank to keep from hitting the roadblock, embedding his pickup into the bermed snow. The two OSP and four FBI posted at the roadblock were shooting at the pickup.

LaVoy exited and began walking away as best he could from the pickup, raising his hands above his head and because of his apparent difficulty with walking in the deep snow his raised hands lowered occasionally. While Finicum was leaving his truck, the FBI fired several more shots into the pickup wounding young Ryan Bundy, as recorded by Shawna's smart phone. OSP and FBI armed with rifles with laser sights positioned themselves to his left, while an OSP officer armed with handgun and Taser X2 approached LaVoy. As the officer with the taser attempted to move within 15 ft to shoot LavVoy in the chest with the taser, Finicum turned his body to the left so his jacket would take some of the force of the darts rather than his chest. He was then shot several times in the back by OSP members from the roadblock and from the pursuit vehicle.  For a long time after they had murdered LaVoy, the OSP and FBI continued shooting and shelling the pickup truck with larger ordinance trying to incite some return of fire, whereupon they would switch their weapons to full auto and riddle the car like what the FBI had done to Bonnie and Clyde's car years ago. Disappointedly, the OSP and FBI apparently planted a handgun on LeVoy and dragged the others out of the pickup, handcuffing them.

For their meeting in John Day according to Church of LDS member Ammon, the protesters were 'armed' with laptops, notebooks, smart phones, etc. when the gauntlet of OSP and FBI from ambush had shot multiple rounds at them forcing them off the road.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSG8yYGGy98
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJTNl5b6LKY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ms-Q52D2Pg

Since LaVoy was the only person that day deliberately murdered by the administrative state, apparently at the directions of then POTUS Barack Obama and Oregon Governor Kate Brown, maybe it was the quality of the content of this book that so upset them? Or was it something else? Was LaVoy’s murder just another means of distraction to take the attention away from some other illegal things that some people who are prominent in the Deep State were doing?

Dirty Harry Reid: The Desert Fox of Corruption

4/15/2014

Corruption: The standoff in the Nevada desert wasn't about a desert tortoise or a rancher's failure to pay grazing fees. It was about the state's senior senator again enriching himself and his family at public expense.

Sunlight is said to be the best disinfectant, and the end, at least temporarily, to the Bureau of Land Management's armed standoff with Cliven Bundy may be due in part to the exposure given to Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid's role in the attempt to confiscate Bundy's cattle and shut down his ranch.

"A tortoise isn't the reason why BLM is harassing a 67-year-old rancher; they want his land," journalist and blogger Dana Loesch notes. "The tortoise wasn't of concern when Harry Reid worked with BLM to literally change the boundaries of the tortoise's habitat to accommodate the development of his top donor, Harvey Whittemore."

Last year, Whittemore, 59, who headed a billion-dollar real estate company, was found guilty by a federal jury on three counts tied to nearly $150,000 illegally funneled to Reid's re-election campaign in 2007. Unfortunately, Cliven Bundy was not a Reid donor.

The Bureau of Land Management is headed by former longtime Reid aide Neil Kornze, who was confirmed by the Senate as BLM director on April 8, just as federal authorities descended on the cattle ranch. Kornze, 35, worked as a senior policy adviser on land-use issues in Reid's office from 2003 to 2011 before joining the BLM.

In a March 14 press release, the BLM announced support for "the Western Solar Energy Plan, a two-year planning effort conducted on behalf of the Secretary of the Interior and the Secretary of Energy to expand domestic energy production and spur development of solar energy on public lands in six western states."

Coincidentally, part of that solar energy expansion includes a plan by China's ENN Energy Group to build what would be America's largest solar energy complex. The site chosen with the guidance of Reid's son, Rory, is in Laughlin, Nevada. Laughlin is in Clark County, where Bundy's ranch is, and where Rory Reid formerly chaired the county commission. Rory is currently a lawyer with the firm of Lionel Sawyer & Collins and is representing ENN.

Reid, who just weeks ago was forced to return campaign money funneled to his granddaughter, has been one of the project's most prominent advocates, helping recruit the company during a 2011 trip to China and using his political clout on behalf of the project in Nevada.

As World Net Daily's Joseph Farah reports, BLM had posted on its website a document stating that the agency wanted Bundy's cattle off the land as part of a mitigation strategy for such solar panel power stations. BLM removed it when the standoff became national news, but not before it had been preserved on other web sites.

"Non-governmental organizations have expressed concern that the regional mitigation strategy for the Dry Lake Solar Energy Zone utilizes Gold Butte as the location for offsite mitigation for impacts from solar development, and that those restoration activities are not durable with the presence of trespass cattle," the document states. The "trespass cattle" in question would be Bundy's cows.

The BLM wanted Cliven Bundy out of the 600,000-acre Gold Butte area so the agency could use the land for future solar projects, including one represented by Reid's son, and de facto buffer zones surrounding the solar farms, an energy source favored by the Obama administration.

As usual, follow the money, even if the mainstream media won't.

Inside the Bundy Ranch standoff: The stakes go far beyond cattle

It was a tense standoff in rural Nevada with armed protesters closing I-15 for a while and facing off against even more heavily-armed federal agents.

For now, that volatile Bundy Ranch confrontation has been defused. But it's not over by any means. And we may well experience others that do not pause in non-violence.

These are profound disputes illustrative of abiding suspicions among average Americans and their government headed by a man who promised to bring people together but didn't. And it comes in an uncertain economic time when so many have given up big dreams to just keep what they have.

The specific Nevada dispute, such as it is, has been simmering for 21 years between a Mormon cattle rancher named Cliven Bundy and the Bureau of Land Management, better-known in the West as BLMM, the Bureau of Land Mis-Management.

But the far larger issue, most intense in the West, involves a mounting distrust and suspicion of all things federal -- Congress, the bureaucracy and especially an aloof president. His perceived interests are inserting an over-reaching government into the lives of every American for their own good from closing coal mines and rewriting restaurant menus to seizing private property and regulating cow farts.

The leaders of Syria and Russia are not the only ones who've noticed Barack Obama's empty words, faux red lines and chronic inaction. It's registered on his own countrymen as well.

Little known in the urban East, BLM is charged with managing nearly 300 million federal acres mostly across the West. That's an area equivalent to the second and fourth largest states combined, Texas and Montana.

Nevada is the seventh-largest state with 110,567 square miles. That's 1,626 times larger than all of Washington, D.C., 84% of it still owned by the federal government.

Anyone here ever rented from a landlord located clear across the continent? You get the set-up for conflicting priorities, miscommunication, misinterpretation, misunderstanding and missteps. Bundy's family has ranched the area since even before Joe Biden was born, back in the 1880's when Rutherford B. Hayes was president.

Sixty-six years later in 1946 BLM was created, ostensibly to organize a crazy-quilt of laws and regulations governing federal lands. In 1993, BLM notified Bundy that he could not graze his cattle on federal lands anymore because the desert tortoise there was now endangered.

Forget that this same federal government exploded atomic bombs in Nevada for generations with little concern for natural impacts. And it would like to store thousands of tons of nuclear waste there too.

So, for the sake of an endangered wild tortoise the Bundy family ranch became an endangered species. The feds are doing the same to thirsty California farms for the sake of an endangered minnow.

Bundy's response was very Western. He went ahead anyway. Legally, Bundy hasn't a leg to stand on. He doesn't own the land. He hasn't paid rent. And he's lost three court battles.

Armed with a court order, BLM decided the time had come for action, eviction of about 1,000 of Bundy's cattle, even separating newborn calves and mothers.

BLM saw no contradiction sending in dozens of armed federal agents to confront a 67-year-old man behind in his rent while the president of the United States and the nation's chief law enforcement officer traveled to New York to dine with and speak on behalf of the notorious Al Sharpton, who's been more than $1 million behind in his income taxes.

That's the kind of double-standard cronyism and de facto discrimination that gets people's backs up. Even if they don't drink tea.

So, in pickups and on horseback hundreds of angry strangers and militia members, alerted by email and texts, became Bundy supporters. They converged on the ranch. Tensions rose. And the BLM, remembering past deadly government-citizen conflicts named Waco, Ruby Ridge and Wounded Knee, released the seized cattle.

Now, here comes the political part that will seem quite familiar to Chicagoans:

A Chinese company has wanted to build an immense solar-panel farm in Nevada under the name ENN Mojave Energy. It would need additional tortoise habitat to mitigate its complex.

The local lobbyist who's represented the Chinese-backed firm is a failed Democrat politician named Rory Reid, who got his gully washed in the 2010 race for governor by Republican Brian Sandoval.

Oh, look! Reid also happens to be the son of Harry Reid, the dottering Democrat Senate majority leader for a few more months, who's somehow managed to become a millionaire on congressional pay.

Now, perhaps you understand why Bundy Ranch supporters smell a cattle-thieving, land-grabbing Washington political conspiracy where, clearly, none exists.

Oh, one other thing. Last week the Senate confirmed a brand-new director of BLM. He's Neil Kornze, at 35 an unusually inexperienced youngster to be running such a powerful agency with sprawling powers.

However, Nevada native Kornze had something special going for him in the Senate and Obama White House drive to get him the job. He was a senior policy aide to -- Wait for it! -- Harry Reid, whose son represented the Chinese solar farm.

Now, go wash your hands.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-DQXwZXHz6c

Harry Reid’s co-conspirators begins the #Gold #Butte #National #Monument, #Barrick #Gold INC., #Nevada #Mining, #Ormat “Geo-thermal”, Chinese Giant #ENN, “#CBD “Center of Biological Diversity, the #Legislative #Counsel #Bureau and #Commissioners “STEVE SISOLAK.”

AKA BARRICK GOLD INC

https://www.pacermonitor.com/public/case/7087900/United_States_of_America_et_al_v_Barrick_Goldstrike_Mines,_Inc?fbclid=IwAR1mslmDi0s7satciMAOWMFEV0dSh6SNHGE38XKf6o5zP08CY5y9-1tcpiA

Clives Bundy Ranch of Nevada

Vs.

-CORRUPT #BLM (Bureau of Land Management) acting Deputy Director Harry Reid “owns” to 200 acres in Searchlights, an Old BLM mining deeds inherited. While PROFITING from federal lands for "special interest" (such as #Minerals." Under the Endanger Species Act, Dirty Harry sending the BLM, #USFS and #DOFW to STEAL lands from hard working Ranchers. Which is why this corrupt public servants is in favor of the Gold Butte National Monument.

Judge Jeanine Pirro Opening Statement exposing Dirty Harry (Harry Reid) & BLM

https://youtu.be/trjJg_Up8xM

-Criminal BLM Deputy Director Neil Gregory Kronze was APPOINTED by DIRTY Harry Reid. Kronze is from #Elko, Nevada. Kronze's father Larry Kronze works for Barrick Gold INC., tied to Harry Reid and Harry Reid's son in law Steve Barringer. In which, Barringer is a #lobbyist and an attorney for Barrick Gold INC. in addition, favor Gold Butte National monument for his own financial gain

NOTE: As a BLM Director, Neil Kronze controls 84% of the Federal lands in Nevada, and over 84% of the Federal lands are for #government "special interest.” Such as, members of the American “#BAR” Association (corrupt #Politicians, #Judges, #Lawyers, #Lobbyist and #corporations ."

Watch CORRUPT Director Neil Kronze Of Bureau Of Land Management Squirm Under Questioning | DontComply.com

https://www.dontcomply.com/watch-the-director-of-bureau-of-land-management-squirm-under-questioning/?fbclid=IwAR3Y8oDkgqaOpl1NEMJZOSjkMEJLVGoWD2pKSNOSj9K4pEcb3CviRM0ic1A

-Neil’s father Larry D. Kornze a Geologist and General Manager of Exploration and Exploration Manager for Barrick Gold Corporation. He Barrick’s Betze Deposit outside Elko, Nevada.

Nevada Senator Harry Reid and his son’s represent mining companies.

-Son Rory Reid at Lionel Sawyer & Collins Law firm Nevada. Through Rory’s law firm, He represents ENN Energy Group. Also, Reid and Roy fixed a $5 Billion DEAL on behalf of the Communist Chinese Energy Gaint (ENN Energy Group), who intend to build the largest Solar Energy Complex in America. But most of all, Rory working in the County Commission, helped allocated 9,000 acres desert site that is buying well-below appraised value from the Clark County.

-Son Leif Reid at Lewis and Roca LLP. Reno, Nevada.

-Steven Barringer and Key Reid represent from mining to real Estates development to tourism and gambling to city of Las Vegas

-Reid’s son-in-law Steven Barringer practiced natural resource and environmental law at Las Vegas Law firm of Singer, Brown & Barringer and at law firm Dickstein Shapiro Morin & Oshinksy (Dickstein Shaprio), Lobbying firm McClure, Gerald & Neuenschwander (MGN), Director at American Vantage Companies and a lobbyist for mining interest and including Barrick Gold Inc. In addition, Practice law in Washington DC Steven Barringer LLC and favored the Gold Butte National Monument for Harry Reid

-corrupt Judge Gloria Navarro under her husband Brian Rutledge worked for corrupt commissioner Rory Reid and in favor of the hold Butt National Monument

-#Democrats like Steve Sisolak and Senator Tita, with Adam Laxalt and corrupt #Republicans (Dean Heller and Mark Amodie), betrayed the Bundy’s their own financial gain under the Gold Butte National Monument, Barrick Gold Inc and Dirty Harry Reid

-U.S. Department of Energy with the BLM: published The Programmatic Environmental Impact Statement (PEIS) for Solar Energy Development in Six Southwestern States Nevada (Bundy Ranch), Utah (Hammonds), Arizona, California, Colorado and New Mexico in 2012

-The Approval Resource Management Plan Amendments / Record of Decision (ROD) for Solar Energy Development in Six Southwestern States implement a comprehensive Solar Energy Program for Public Lands in those states and incorporated land use allocation, programmatic and SEZ-specific.

-BLM reported Regional Mitigation Strategy for “Dry Lake Solar Energy Zone” (BLM Technical Note 444); reveal Bundy’s Ranch land in question and part of a broad U.S. Department of Energy program for “Solar Energy Development in Six Southwestern States “on Land.” Such as Nevada and Utah.

-Agenda 21 “AKA Rewilding Program”: founder of Earthfirst Dave Forman is to push Humans out of rural areas entirely and into densely packed urban zones.

-Brightsource: was more or less allocated 83,000 acres for “Solar Farm Development” by BLM Director Neil Kronze and a big contributor for Harry Reid

On this trip to Washington DC; Shawna Cox, Jeff Banta and I meet with Clay Higgins, regarding  #Uranium One, Barrick Gold Inc., Calico Resource, James Comey, Peter Comey, Robert Mueller, Barrack H Obama, Clinton Foundation, Kate Brown, Ron Wyden, Jeff Merkley, Greg Walden, Boyd Britton, Steven E Grasty, Anna J Brown, Ann Aikens, Gloria Navaro, Harry Reid, Rory Reid, Brian Rutledge, George Soros, BLM, Daniel P Love, Greg Bretzing that is tied to the wrongful incarceration of the Hammond’s, Bundy’s and other political prisoners. But most of all, tied to the murder of Robert LaVoy Finicum

-Harvey Whittermore: was given a “procured environmental waiver” for 42,000 acres, by Harry Reid, for Coyote Springs Golf and Residential Development

-Jim Rhodes: built Harry Reid’s House in Seachlight “right smack of dab in Tortoise land.” But was fined for illegally contributing to Reid.

These criminals were mining for minerals; which is why they were pushing hard for the Gold Butte National Monument and Barrick Gold Inc.

Including, Kieran Suckling from the CBD Center of Biological Diversity. Including, Kieran Suckling from the CBD Center of Biological Diversity. The endanger tortoise was being used as a front for the the land and minerals

Dangerous Gold Butte Monument mine shaft entrances being closed – Las Vegas Review-Journal

https://www.reviewjournal.com/local/local-nevada/dangerous-gold-butte-monument-mine-shaft-entrances-being-closed/?fbclid=IwAR2LVjXxLuNFMZJAtbOdCSibv2nvO-2UOKRE3yFvb5Jvr4Chi-AwqP0H0yQ

Single Audit 2003 - Nevada System of Higher Education PDFNSHE | Nevada › nshe › uploads › Single...

Steve Sisolak . .... NOTES TO SUPPLEMENTARY SCHEDULE OF EXPENDITURES OF ... Community Services, School of Journalism, School of Medicine, School of Mines, School of .... Statements of Revenues, Expenses and Changes in Net Assets . ..... private donations, available resources and/or long- term borrowings.

https://nshe.nevada.edu/wp-content/uploads/Single-Audit-2003.pdf?fbclid=IwAR1QCWBwXe72tuW_CmWKYmER4BASxP9zus0NMzQ4RYNHJL6KClu8cAvq5BQ

congressional record—senate s1061 - Congress.gov

PDFCongress.gov › crec › 2011/03/01 › CRE...

mine. I have listened to their concerns and share their opposition to the mine. ... to thank Steve Sisolak, vice chair of .... terms on charges of ''spying for Israel,.

https://www.congress.gov/crec/2011/03/01/CREC-2011-03-01-pt1-PgS1061.pdf?fbclid=IwAR0DAWWGZAdZ0jzP3UD0Vtw4Lo24nKlZGAXGLmv94_q2dBg-E34kvLznCLc