The Last Ranch

by Michael McGarrity

  Back in town, they saw each other every chance they could; usually at Mary’s apartment, where Erma, if she was home, would stay discreetly in her bedroom unless Matt was invited for supper and to spend the night, or when they double-dated at the movies with Erma and one of her many beaus who constantly buzzed around her in hopes of winning her hand or gaining access to her bed—which was a rare but more likely possibility.

  Matt spent most of the Christmas holidays in town with Mary, returning to the ranch alone for a few days while Mary frantically prepared lesson plans for her teaching job at the elementary school, which would start when classes resumed after the first of the year.

  His hopes for the state livestock inspector position were dashed when the job went to the nephew of a powerful state senator who owned a big outfit in the Bootheel. Without the GI Bill to pay his living expenses, he was hard-pressed to stay in town without a job. Gus Merton had generously offered to advance Matt’s name for a position at the college in the Ag Department’s equine program, if he would only apply, but while he wanted nothing more than to be with Mary, he felt that he’d renege on his responsibilities at the 7-Bar-K if he did so.

  They talked it over and decided Matt should go back to the ranch, take stock of what needed to be done to make the operation profitable, and come to town when he could. Once Mary had settled in at her job, they’d switch back and forth between town and the ranch on the weekends.

  Soon after returning to the ranch, Matt drove to the Rocking J to visit with Al Jennings about their cattle partnership. With the understanding that Matt would immediately pick up his share of the work managing the mingled herd, Al agreed to an equal split of profits based on the livestock tallies at shipment. They’d continue to use the pasturelands on both spreads to keep down overgrazing, and jointly maintain the fences, help with the calving, ramrod the spring and fall works, and do all the major maintenance at the windmills, dirt tanks, and live water sources. It was as close as they could come to combining the two ranches without legally merging.

  At home, Matt was in a quandary about Jim and Millie. Their pay stretched the budget, but it was clear that Jim did most of the manual work and the place would be a mess without Millie. Patrick mostly puttered, took naps, showed up for meals, and in the evenings listened to his radio in the living room. Matt didn’t fault him; any man with three-quarters of a century under his belt, who’d spent a lifetime working sunup to sundown and got stove up badly more than once while doing it, deserved his retirement.

  To keep things as they were, he asked Patrick to contribute his entire veteran’s pension to cover Jim and Millie’s salary so they could stay on. He readily agreed.

  “Hell yes, I’ll do it,” he said as he picked up a livestock bulletin and headed for the bathroom. “Just keep me in victuals, feed me a good meal, let me sleep in my own bed, don’t boss me around, and I’ll be plumb happy.”

  “I can’t promise the last one,” Matt replied.

  “Didn’t think you would,” Patrick grumbled.

  Every week, Matt made his first priority to honor his agreement with Al Jennings. Alternating between the Rocking J and the 7-Bar-K, the two men met regularly to divide up the chores. One weekday morning over coffee at the Rocking J, he learned from Al’s wife, Brenda, that she was pregnant with their first child. They’d been trying unsuccessfully for years to have a baby.

  Matt whooped in delight at the news.

  “I never thought we’d do it,” Al said with a sly grin. “What with the doctor saying it wasn’t likely gonna happen after all this time.”

  He slapped Al on the back. “I knew you had it in you, old horse. Congratulations.” He pushed back from the kitchen table and gave Brenda a hug. “When are you due?”

  “Six months,” Brenda replied, radiating happiness. “But my doctor says I’ll need to spend the last three months in town off my feet. We’ll rent a small place close by in Hot Springs. I have an old friend from school days who lives there. She’ll look in on me from time to time and keep me company when she can.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Matt said, knowing they would need more help than someone occasionally looking in on Brenda while she stayed in town. That meant Al would have to be away from the ranch more than usual. With his pa long dead and his mother recently passed away due to old age, when Brenda’s time came someone would have to jump in and help manage the Rocking J. It meant giving up some weekends in town with Mary.

  He looked at his chum, who appeared both thunderstruck and excited about the prospect of fatherhood, and said, “You’re gonna want to be with Brenda as much as you can, so I’ll look after things here when you need to be gone.”

  With tear-filled eyes, Brenda kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a one-in-a-million friend.”

  Al squeezed Matt’s shoulder. “We’re obliged.”

  “Enough of that,” Matt replied, reaching for his hat. “We’ve got feed cake and salt licks to put out before we throw the cattle over to the fresh pasture.”

  The two friends set aside their impromptu celebration and got to work. It took them two full days to move the cattle due to some cantankerous mother cows protecting their premature calves, a difficult birth that resulted in the loss of a 7-Bar-K calf, and the discovery of a bloated Rocking J heifer dead from eating poison weed.

  They parted company with the cattle scattered over the high pasture Patrick had bought years earlier from a sheepherder and later sold to Al’s pa. With Maverick in the bed of the truck, Matt drove home unhappy over the loss of the calf. It not only hurt financially, it was also a damn shame. And although he accepted the fact that nature ultimately took its toll on all life, he fervently hoped Brenda’s pregnancy wouldn’t end in catastrophe. His friends deserved better.

  ***

  At home after dinner, Matt put the kettle on the cookstove and took a hot soak in the bathtub before settling behind his desk to read the mail. All of the tension in his neck and shoulders that had soaked away in the tub came roaring back as he scanned a registered, typewritten letter from White Sands Proving Ground. It read:

  Dear Mr. Kerney,

  Pursuant to the March 1, 1946 special use permit signed by the Secretary of War providing for the expansion of White Sands Proving Ground, you are hereby advised that a recently concluded aerial and ground survey of the 7-Bar-K Ranch conducted with your written permission by personnel of the U.S. Geological Survey has determined that certain lands presumed to be part of the original patent secured by one John Kerney are in fact within the White Sands Proving Ground boundaries and thus fall under the jurisdiction of the United States Army.

  Enclosed you will find a map prepared by the Corps of Engineers showing the revised survey boundaries for your ranch. You have thirty days from receipt of this letter to remove any and all private property located outside the 7-Bar-K boundary lines. After that time said property will be seized and disposed of by the government.

  Should you have questions please contact my office.

  Maj. John Reynolds, US Army

  Adjutant

  White Sands Proving Ground

  “Dammit,” Matt snapped.

  From across the room, Patrick turned down the volume on the Amos ’n’ Andy Show. “What’s stuck in your craw?”

  Matt stepped over and showed him the letter. Patrick snarled, crumpled it, and threw it on the floor. “It’s robbery and I say we fight it. Otherwise we’re gonna lose a fourth of our land to those bastards.”

  “I bet they’re just getting started.” Matt picked up the letter and smoothed it out. “I’ll see a lawyer pronto and have him talk to the army.”

  Most of the land the army wanted to take was marginal at best, but it included one good, small pasture. If the army prevailed, it meant Matt would have to reduce the size of his herd after spring works.

  Patrick grunted. “The business end of my horse pistol would be more
convincing than any lawyer’s fancy words.”

  “You’d go to war with the army?” Matt asked incredulously.

  “Hell yes and why not? This country was born in rebellion.”

  Matt sighed. “Let’s try the peaceable way first.”

  “Suit yourself,” Patrick replied, reaching for the volume knob on the radio.

  ***

  On his way to see a lawyer, Matt detoured to the Rocking J to give Al the news about the army’s land grab. Al had news of his own, showing Matt a letter he’d received from the army challenging the title to the two sections of pasture Patrick had sold to Al’s father. According to the letter, the sheepherder who originally homesteaded the land had recorded his deed on the wrong county plats, thus invalidating Al’s title to the land. He had thirty days to remove his cattle.

  “They want control of every blasted acre from the San Andres east to the Sacramentos,” Al said.

  “And north of Carrizozo as well, I reckon,” Matt added. “If they can’t steal it, they’ll lease it and never give it back. If we lose both pastures, we won’t have enough grazing land to get us through to fall works.”

  “Can we stall them through to the fall?” Al asked.

  “That’s a question for a lawyer, and I’m on my way to see one.”

  “I’m going with you,” Al said, rising from his chair. He gave Brenda a quick kiss, told her not to worry, and piled into Matt’s truck for the drive to Hot Springs.

  Along the way they talked about the trouble losing land to the army would cause. They’d have to move the herd off the Rocking J pasture, where the grass was good, and probably spend money on feed to fatten them up. Spring works were coming, and that meant gathering all the mother cows and their babies for doctoring and branding at either the Rocking J or 7-Bar-K headquarters. For convenience, they decided the Rocking J would do best. First, they’d throw the heifers, yearlings, and steers onto the 7-Bar-K north pasture, where the windmill produced a steady flow of water and the fencing was secure. Matt would send his ranch hand Jim Sawyer to stay at the line cabin to look after the cattle. Maybe Patrick would agree to go as well.

  If in the end they lost the land permanently to the army, they’d have to cut back on cattle production in order not to further degrade the remaining rangeland. Matt thought it might be time for him to give up cattle altogether and return to raising ponies. A top hand with horses, Al suggested that if Matt made the switch they should still keep their informal partnership going. They sealed it with a handshake.

  In Hot Springs, they met with Charlie Hopkinson in his downtown storefront office. The eldest son of a rancher with pioneer roots in the Lake Valley hill country, Charlie had chosen the law over livestock. In his thirty-year career, he’d been retained for one reason or another by just about every rancher in five counties. A rotund, bookish man who loved poetry over ponies and literary conversation over cattle, Charlie was known to be a fierce courtroom adversary. After reading the letters sent by the army, Charlie peered at Matt and Al over his spectacles.

  “Save your money, boys; it’s a fight you can’t win,” he counseled.

  “Why is that?” Matt asked, agitated by Charlie’s quick dismissal of their grievances.

  “Because they’ve got proof that your title to the lands in question is invalid.” Charlie leaned back in his chair. “Hear me out. To mount a case it would take a complete new survey of the 7-Bar-K to prove them wrong—if they are wrong—and a judge to set aside the army’s claim that the Rocking J technically doesn’t own those two sections. No judge I know is going to do that.”

  “Why not?” Al demanded.

  “Because none of them wants to be branded as taking an unpatriotic stand against the army. No matter who I approached on the bench to hear your case, I guarantee he’d take it under advisement, wait until the army assumes possession, and then wash his hands of the whole matter by kicking it over to federal court.”

  “You know that for a fact?” Matt queried.

  Charlie nodded. “I do. I play poker with every one of them the third Thursday of the month.”

  “What about the ranchers that are signing new lease agreements with the army?” Al asked.

  “The government isn’t questioning the title to those lands.” Charlie tapped his pen on the desktop for emphasis. “And that’s because either the state or federal government controls over ninety-five percent of it leased out for grazing. Even with a new lease, those folks forced off their ranches aren’t going to be allowed back for the next twenty years—probably never, if you ask me. All they get is some money, and in most cases not a lot of it either.”

  “What can we do?” Frustration tinged Matt’s question.

  Charlie pondered the question for a moment. “As far as I know, you two own the only remaining privately held ranches in the San Andres Mountains. My best guess is that eventually the army will come to one or both of you with a purchase option.”

  “You’re telling us we won’t have a choice,” Matt declared.

  “Pretty much.” Charlie swung his chair around, searched through a bookcase, unfolded a large map of the Jornada and Tularosa Basin on his desk, and asked for the exact locations of the two ranches.

  Matt and Al pointed out their boundaries. The 7-Bar-K was now completely encircled by the proving ground. With the loss of the two sections, the Rocking J sat right on the western edge of the military installation, most of it stretching into the Jornada tablelands.

  “You can hang on for a while or sell out when the army comes a-calling with an offer,” Charlie proposed with a sad smile.

  “How long is a while?” Al asked.

  Charlie raised the palms of his hands skyward. “Who knows? Next year? Five or ten years from now? But if you want to dig in your heels and stick it out, I’ll gladly represent you. The best I can do is slow them down once they decide to come after you. What we don’t want is for the government to condemn your property. Cash money at a fair price will be our goal. It’s up to you to decide if my time is worth it.”

  He folded the map and put it aside.

  Matt and Al exchanged looks. “We’re sticking,” Matt announced. “How much is your retainer?”

  “At this point, with everything so uncertain, a retainer isn’t necessary.” Charlie got to his feet. “We’ll take it step-by-step as the need arises. Just make sure I know about everything that transpires between you and the government from here on out. And I mean everything.”

  The three men shook hands.

  “For now, as far as I know, you’re some of the last holdouts the army can’t bully off their land,” Charlie said. “I’m proud to represent you.”

  “Ain’t that being unpatriotic?” Al jokingly chided.

  Charlie laughed. “Maybe, but it sure isn’t un-American.”

  Matt and Al drove back to the Rocking J without much jawboning. When they turned off onto the Rocking J ranch road, Al asked Matt what he was going to say to Patrick.

  “Nothing, except that we’ve hired Charlie Hopkinson to look out for our interests. That should keep him calm.”

  “That old boy isn’t gonna budge off the land,” Al predicted. “Neither would my pa if he were still with us.”

  “I’m not inclined to budge an inch myself,” Matt said. “I already gave them my left eye. That should be good enough.”

  Al nodded sympathetically. “But it puts a pall over just about everything we do from here on out, doesn’t it?”

  Matt nodded. “As if drought and not enough pasture for the cattle we’ve got isn’t bad enough.”

  “Are we gonna stick to our plan?”

  “You bet we are,” Matt said emphatically.

  Al smiled. “I feel better already.”

  Matt smiled in return. “Me too, partner. Me too.”

  15

  A week after meeting with Charlie Hopkin
son, a carbon copy of a letter he’d written to the commanding general of White Sands Proving Ground on Matt’s behalf arrived by mail. In it, Charlie complained about a lack of adequate warning to remove Matt’s property from the “disputed lands” and the “unconstitutional” refusal of the army to allow Matt to challenge the findings of the new 7-Bar-K Ranch land survey. Attached to the letter was a note from Charlie explaining he’d sent it to start a paper trail of protest that might prove helpful in any future legal actions against the federal government. The next time Matt saw Al, he learned Charlie had done the same for him.

  Moving the herd from Al’s pasture to the 7-Bar-K north pasture meant trailing the stock a far distance over mountainous terrain unsuitable for vehicles. As a result the enterprise took on most of the trappings of an old-time cattle drive on horseback. Patrick proved to be a big help putting the chuck wagon back into shape, stocking it with necessary victuals and firewood, and volunteering to serve as the camp cook. Matt enlisted Jim Sawyer to resupply the high-country cabin, tune up the north pasture windmill to ensure adequate water for the arriving cattle, truck sufficient feed cake and salt licks to last at least a month, and then meet them along the trail on horseback to help with the drive. All in all, money and time that could have been well used elsewhere went into satisfying the army’s demands. It got Matt’s blood to boiling and put Al into a foul mood as well.

  Charlie’s letter of complaint to the general did generate some unexpected help in the sudden appearance of the two range riders employed by the army who arrived with orders to assist in the removal of cattle from the Rocking J pasture. The men, Jamie Kyle and Marcos Vasquez, known to both Matt and Al, were experienced cowboys once employed by the San Augustine Ranch, a 150,000-acre spread now 90 percent owned by the army. They were genuinely sympathetic about the unhappy situation that had caused their arrival and readily fell to the task of gathering cattle for the drive.