Outback Heritage

by K'Anne Meinel

  “He doesn’t act that way with anyone else,” the man mumbled resentfully as he took her bag to fasten it to the back of his saddle.

  “That’s because he loves me, and he merely tolerates everyone else,” she said laughingly as she walked to the horse’s side where Paco helped her to scramble into the side saddle.

  “A side saddle?” she murmured to him quietly.

  “I thought this once you might like to look like a lady,” he answered saucily.

  “You thought right,” she indicated the fine dress she was wearing, clearly not riding attire, and she grinned in return. She looped her knee over the saddle to hold herself on the back of her stallion and adjusted her skirts.

  Side saddle or astride, she was a good rider, and they were soon on their way. They rode rapidly away from the town, spectators watching as she effortlessly controlled the big stallion. Two more riders following behind grinned happily as Carmen greeted them.

  “Any problems while I was away?” she asked Paco, who rode next to her with his hand near his pistol, always alert.

  He shrugged. “What are problems these days?” he hedged in answer.

  She sighed. She knew what the problems were. They were the same they had always been there in her father’s time and in her grandfather’s time. Her father hadn’t had the same prejudices to deal with from the whites streaming into the state but her grandfather and cousins had. Her father had to deal with the Mexicans because he was one of those hated gringos. Her mother had loved him, and he had not only loved her in return but adored and worshipped her. He had been nearly devastated when she died giving birth to a little boy, who hadn’t survived much beyond his mother. In her absence, he had heaped his affections on their only daughter and heir, his letters to his brother and cousins proudly telling of their niece and cousin and her accomplishments. As a result, his brother had left his only heir and niece his half of the station in Australia. He could have left it all to his cousins who lived there but he hadn’t. Carmen wondered at that. Why hadn’t he left it to the cousins? They knew the Outback, and they knew the station. She lived in America and knew nothing about running a sheep station.

  She also knew in all probability that her father had confided in his family about all the problems they had encountered on their own ranch here in the Central Valley. Drifters, con-artists, and bureaucrats were constantly trying to put aside the old land grants that the Mexicans had had for hundreds of years, long before these others had moved into the rich state of California. Their own ranch was relatively small, yet solvent because her father had been white and her grandfather was a Don, but still, people coveted the rich land. After the death of first, her father and then, her weak husband, Carmen was alone. She had her four children to raise, and she would do this as she saw fit. She had received many offers for their little ranch, but she had held out for two years now despite the pressures mounting exorbitantly. Slowly, her cattle had been stolen. She had tracked down the thieves numerous times and hung them as a warning to others, and still, others came to try again. But her horses were her babies, and they were jealously guarded. A new kind of horse and cattle thief had come into the valley, and she knew it was only a matter of time until they outmaneuvered her. She had meant to ask the city attorney, perhaps she would write to him…not that Mr. Wainwright but Mr. Larson.

  When she returned to the hacienda, Carmen learned that someone had run off with several heads of cattle and three of her prized horses. They had caught up with both thieves, but their heads had been blown away before her men could hang them. “I think someone is trying to impress you,” Paco informed her.

  Carmen had been courted often during her two years of widowhood but found no one who excited her. She had married a man too weak to protect her. She had been too young to realize there were things more important than looks. Still, he had given her beautiful children, his good looks and her Hispanic and European heritage coming through in the children. His death had been a relief. She had mourned him properly, but she intended to marry for love next time, if there was a next time.

  “Mama, Mama, Mama,” three voices yelled in chorus as she pulled up and slid from her saddle. After ground tying her horse, she opened her arms and the children ran into them. Three little boys hugged her exuberantly as a Mexican woman came out with a little girl in her arms.

  After giving the boys each a hug and a squeeze, she reached for the little girl. “Mama,” the small girl said shyly as she smiled endearingly, a dimple on each cheek.

  “Rachel, my darling. How are you?” Carmen asked the little girl, who held her close.

  “Mama, can we go ride?” asked the oldest of the three little boys.

  “Why don’t you take Dancer to the barn and unsaddle him,” she responded. The boys lit up at the importance of the job. Not everyone could handle Dancer, but the stallion allowed them to pull him along to the barn, strangely docile in the presence of the little boys.

  “You know that horse is a killer?” Paco mentioned quietly as he watched the children heading to the barn.

  Carmen laughed with genuine humor and said, “Then you better hurry up,” as she carried her daughter into the house.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Carmen wrote her letter to the attorney in San Francisco. She didn’t believe in procrastinating. She was kicking herself. She had just been there, and she could have asked his advice on the ranch and the problems they had been having.

  She was so very tired. She had washed up before dinner. The welcome food had filled her, but the trip had exhausted her. Dealing with the problems on the ranch was slowly eroding her confidence. She had plenty of help, mostly from cousins and other relatives who lived in the vicinity, but she knew it was only a matter of time before the thieves stole what was rightfully hers. After writing her letter, she asked one of the boys that worked on the ranch to take it into town and mail it when he went for supplies tomorrow.

  Over the next few days, the sophisticated clothes she had bought in San Francisco were tucked away in favor of a split skirt, knee-high boots, and a corduroy shirt that she tucked in with a belt sporting a pretty powerful looking gun hanging from it. Carmen worked her ranch as much as any owner in the valley. She supervised the workers that lived there and the migrant workers that came and went with the seasons. She worked her own horses, her babies, after having started a breeding program that was the envy of many horse lovers. That was why her horses were frequently the target of thieves as well as buyers. She had started with a thoroughbred mustang cross, then introduced a Hanoverian Belgian cross, and as a result, the horses she had were tall, muscular, and hardy. They could ride all day, pull heavy loads, and still were beautiful. She only sold horses that didn’t live up to her high standards. The two dozen adults she had left, some with foals, some still pregnant, were part of her breeding program. They were expensive, but they were still her babies. She kept a watchful eye on them. Dancer was father to many of them. He had been the firstborn of the original crosses, and he was a beautiful example of good, selective breeding. He was also very dangerous. He had killed several people, who had made attempts to steal him or part of his harem. He was strangely gentle to Carmen and her children though. He tolerated Paco and a couple of the handlers, but anyone else was in danger from the large, midnight-blue-colored stallion. His coal black eyes penetrated with an icy chill, but his beauty left you breathless. His offspring were every bit as beautiful as he was, but none were as mean.

  Carmen rode Dancer around the ranch in the following weeks, inspecting and prying into every aspect of her operation. Dancer protected her and got her where she needed to go…fast. Nothing felt better than giving him his head and allowing him to take her where he would, rapidly crossing the miles of ranchland. She loved this land she had been born to, and yet, she was coming to resent it. It had killed her father, her husband, and indirectly, her mother and grandfather. She was tired of the strife, and she was tired of the battle. She owned and worked this land—it was hers by
right of inheritance—but still, she had to fight for it more often than she liked. She looked at the acres of tilled land, the orchards, and the animals in her fields and wondered how long she could hold on. She instinctively knew that the time of large rancheros was coming to an end, and she was curious what would happen to the Dons and their offspring as the Americans came in and tried to take over. There would be bloodshed, of that she was certain.

  Weeks after she returned from the city, she received another thinly veiled threat in the form of an offer from another shady businessman in town. She received at least one like this every month, so she simply ignored it. However, when someone began taking shots at her workers and scaring them off, she realized this one was different. The others had merely been nuisances, but it seemed that someone really wanted this ranch, small as it was, and they were determined to get it. She increased the patrols by her cousins and ranch hands but still near misses occurred. She herself went out and practiced with her rifle and pistols, nearly hitting a trespasser once. The near misses stopped for a time after that, but she began to think she might have to order her people to shoot all trespassers on sight, and that couldn’t be allowed. If they shot a trespasser, the law wouldn’t help her. She was aware that the Anglos made the laws to favor themselves, not the Hispanics, who had lived here for hundreds of years.

  She received a reply from Mr. Larson about looking into the problems of their valley. He expressed his condolences and promised to have friends in high places investigate the matter. When no further incidents had occurred for a while, she wasn’t sure if the harassment she had been receiving ended because of her shooting back or because of Mr. Larson’s influence, but she was very grateful it had stopped. Her lawyer went on to say they hadn’t heard from Australia yet, but they would let her know as soon as they did. She had known their inquires would take months, even years, with the distance a letter had to travel.

  The fruit crops were all in and sent to town when Paco came back with an odd sight. Mr. Larson was following on one of their spare horses looking awkward mounted on the horse in his San Francisco suit.

  “Why, Mr. Larson,” Carmen said, astonished to see him. “This is a delightful surprise,” she told him. “Why didn’t you use a buggy?” she asked as she helped steady him once he slid off the horse.

  “Sheer pride,” he said disgustedly. “I thought I’d be like this young buck here,” he indicated Paco with his thumb, who was grinning unrepentedly as he gathered the reins and turned back to the barn. The wagons of supplies made their way into the covered sheds. “Apparently, my body is not as agile as my mind.” He straightened slowly, grateful for her steadying hand on his arm.

  “Well, come in and put your feet up. Dinner is almost on the table. You’ll join us for a few days, won’t you?” Carmen offered.

  “Yes, my dear, I will. Thank you. I was hoping you’d ask. I’ve always been curious about the ranch your father inherited…from your maternal grandfather, wasn’t it?” he asked as they made their way up the stairs.

  “Yes, my pappy had a land grant that was confirmed when California became part of the United States. My father’s marriage to his daughter allowed a gringo into their sacred halls,” she joked, knowing the prejudices worked both ways between Mexicans and whites.

  “So you said in your letter,” Patrick Larson replied as she led him into a cool room in the front of the large ranch house. He sat in a well-upholstered leather chair gratefully.

  “Can I get you a drink before dinner?” she offered.

  He accepted gratefully and was surprised by how smooth the gin tasted. “This is wonderful. Where did you buy it?”

  “We have our own still. It’s a family recipe.” She grinned as she sipped her own glass.

  He shook his head. “Totally self-sufficient out here, aren’t you?” He smiled as he took another delightful taste.

  “You didn’t come all the way out here to drink our gin, did you?” she teased. She had to admit she was surprised to see the powerful attorney all the way out here in the valley.

  He grinned. “Get right to the point, eh? That’s fine,” he took another sip. “You wouldn’t happen to make whiskey too, would you?”

  She laughed and rose to take his now empty gin glass and pour a bit of the darker alcohol for him. “No, I don’t make whiskey, but this should take care of the few aches and pains you might have.”

  He took a sip and sighed appreciatively. The whiskey was also smooth and tasted excellent. He looked around the sparsely furnished room, noting the few pieces in it were comfortable and functional. The chair he found himself in invited the user to sink in and relax. He knew he would fall asleep in it, if he weren’t careful. It had been a long trip out to this ranch he had been so curious about. “Are we alone?” he asked in a moderately low voice as he glanced at the archways to the room.

  She shrugged. “My children are around somewhere and also their nurses, my cousins, and a few workers, but they won’t interrupt, if that’s what you are worried about.” She looked at him curiously, wondering why he had made this trip from the city.

  He glanced around again. “I just don’t wish to be overheard. Do you have an office or perhaps a den?”

  She nodded and beckoned. They entered the cool hall, the tiles a deep rich red-brown and crossed it to a double-doored room. She opened one side, and he followed her into a richly appointed room, even more richly appointed than the living room they had just left. This room had obviously been a man’s study or den, judging by the bull horns on the walls, the furniture upholstered with cowhide in various patterns, and the rich, dark, wood furniture and shelves. She gestured to a couch and took a seat across from him as she looked at him curiously, waiting for him to begin his story of what had brought him to the ranch.

  Patrick cleared his throat and took another sip of the whiskey. “Well, let me begin. I investigated the situation here at the ranch, and you do own the title outright. However, there are wheels being set in motion to put aside all land grants for the past one hundred years, and this would include your grandfather’s land grant. Your grandfather was a wise man. By marrying his only daughter to your father, a white man, he was assured that the land that had been in his family for generations would be protected. Here is where it gets tricky though. Someone, and I honestly don’t know who, wants to take issue with the fact that your father was British and not American. They want to put aside the land grant based on that.” He held up a hand to keep Carmen from interrupting before he finished. “It’s going to be an expensive legal battle for you. As far as I’m concerned, you would win, but it might begger you, which is what someone might be counting on. You are a natural-born American citizen, but you are a woman, and they will try every dirty trick they can to do you out of what is rightfully yours. Again, you would win with me representing you, but at what cost?” He looked at her sorrowfully. She was pretty with her black eyes and long, curly, brown hair that was so dark it was almost black. The dark good looks inherited from her mother combined with her Anglo father’s looks had produced a very pretty woman.

  “You’re saying I have to prove I own my own land?” she asked, incredulously.

  He nodded. “Essentially, that is what it boils down to. These men are determined. They don’t believe the Mexicans should have any say in this land. They believe the land is American, even if the Mexicans were here hundreds of years before the whites. I will fight for you, and I will win, but they will use every underhanded trick they can think of, if they haven’t already.”

  She thought about the potshots, the near misses, and the thefts. She had thought these were random and separate acts, but they might all be part of someone’s harassment plan to convince her to give up. “What do you recommend?”

  He smiled. “I recommend we fight. Paco mentioned you patrol your place, but if you can afford it, I recommend you increase those patrols. I will win, but it will take time.”

  She sighed. She was tired of worrying all the time. “I wond
er if I will live to see my children grow up to take over the land that rightfully belongs to them?”

  He smiled. He had children of his own. They were not lawyers like him, but he understood how a parent would want to leave a legacy to their children.

  “That’s not the only reason you came though, is it?” she asked, astutely.

  He shook his head as he took another sip of the fine, and he suspected, expensive whiskey. “No, we heard from Australia. Their offer has been increased, but they asked for time payments. The preliminary assessment indicates their previous offer wasn’t nearly enough. It was much less than the one we have just received. Based on property values, which are very low there, the land isn’t worth much, but the improvements, the buildings, the cattle, and the sheep are worth much, much more than they offered.”

  “So, are they trying to take advantage?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so, not really. If you look at the value and amount of land they have, it’s adequate, but it’s not an excessive offer. We are looking at the value of everything as a whole and that changes the structure of not only their offer but the station as an asset.”

  She thought about what Patrick had just told her. Her cousins’ offer had been too low, but maybe they didn’t realize she would know to assess the value on the stock and improvements. Perhaps, they thought she would only think in terms of land. “Do you know anything about Australia?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “I have the assessor’s preliminary information of course, and I have a copy here for you to read.” He took a sheaf of papers from an inner pocket and handed it to her as he took a final sip of his whiskey to finish it.

  She unfolded it and began to read. There was a knock on the door. Looking up, Carmen called, “Come in?”