“I’m being serious,” Mary retorted. “I want to go back to teaching, and we can really use the money.”
Matt opened his arms to embrace the vast, moonlit basin. “Teach where? There are no more schools on the Tularosa, because there are no more families with schoolchildren living here to teach.”
“I know that,” Mary replied tartly, unwilling to let Matt get off dismissing her idea so sarcastically. “I’ve been thinking that I could teach in T or C, live there during the week, and come home on weekends.”
“You’d leave Kevin here with me and Patrick?” Matt asked disbelievingly.
“No, he’d come with me.”
“Then I’d never see the two of you at all. Besides, who’d look after Kevin while you’re teaching? You can’t carry him off to school with you. And even if you could, I can’t afford to rent a place for you to live.”
“Didn’t I hear you say earlier that we couldn’t keep going on like this? If the ranch isn’t making us a living, why stay? Wouldn’t it be easier for all of us to live in town until the drought ends? Then we can come back and pick up where we left off.”
“Patrick isn’t gonna move to town,” Matt predicted emphatically.
“So much the better if he stays here,” Mary replied. “He already said he wants to.”
Matt looked at Mary suspiciously. “So you two have already talked this over, have you?”
“Don’t make it sound like I’ve been going behind your back,” Mary retorted.
“Well, haven’t you?”
“And don’t get sore at me for trying to help, Matthew,” Mary shot back. “Think about what I’m proposing: Patrick lives here, where he wants to be, looks after the place, and takes care of the ponies; Al and Brenda check on him from time to time and bring supplies if he asks, and we’ll come out weekends and during school holidays.”
“It makes sense,” Matt admitted grudgingly. “But I already told you, we can’t afford a place in town.”
“Yes, we can,” Mary countered. “I saved a good deal of money when I was in the navy and most of it has been earning interest in a bank since the day I arrived in Las Cruces. When I’ve offered in the past to contribute it to the ranch, you’ve always refused and urged me to save it for Kevin.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, but now it’s time to use that money for all of us. After we come back from the line cabin we’re going house hunting in T or C. I want us to buy a place in town, and don’t you dare give me any grief about it. Your mother did exactly the same thing for you when you were much younger than Kevin.”
Matt sighed. “Okay, I know when I’m outmaneuvered, outgunned, and utterly defeated.”
Mary smiled sweetly. “You’ll never be defeated. And I bet you’ll find getting a job or at least landing some regular work a lot easier once we’re settled in town.”
“Speaking of work, what makes you so sure the schools will hire you?”
“What?” Mary asked, pretending she didn’t understand the question.
“You heard me,” Matt prodded.
“Because they already have,” she reluctantly admitted.
“Oh, I see. What if I decide not to go along with this plan of yours?”
“I’ll turn down the job and cancel our house hunting, but you won’t have a very happy home life for the next year or two.”
Matt couldn’t help but laugh. In some ways she was a lot like Emma, his strong-willed mother he still dearly missed. “You’re tough as nails when it comes to getting your own way.”
“No, I’m very sweet, sexy, and obliging,” Mary corrected. She got up, settled down on Matt’s lap, and kissed him long and deep to make her point. “Now take me to bed.”
Matt tickled her all the way to the bedroom.
***
The next morning in the barn after breakfast, Matt told Patrick he was going along with Mary’s plan to move the family to T or C during the school year.
“It’s best for Mary and Kevin,” he added.
“You’re not selling the ranch to the army?” Patrick asked, relief showing on his face.
“Why would I do that?”
“I was scared you might, that’s all. Just to be done with it and get on with your life. This place is about to blow away.”
Matt shook his head. “That’s not gonna happen. This is more than just a place to live; it’s our history.”
Patrick looked out the barn doors at the family cemetery on the hillside above the ranch house. “Except for memories and the folks we have buried here, right now it’s not worth a bucket of spit to anyone but the government.”
“We’re not selling and you’ll be holding down the fort.” Matt hung his pitchfork on a peg. “Will you be all right here on your own?”
Patrick smiled. “Don’t you worry about me. When are you moving?”
“Before Mary’s job teaching school starts.” Matt grabbed a cross-cut saw. “Help me prune back that dead cottonwood so Mary stays happy and Kevin can keep playing on it with his pard Dale.”
Patrick pulled on his work gloves. “It’s about time you figured out that your wife ramrods this outfit.”
***
They rode ponies to the cabin, Kevin with Matt gripping the saddle horn on Maverick, Mary astride Peanut, and with enough grub and water for an overnight stay stuffed into the saddlebags. The die-off of the last of the tall pines that once had sheltered the cabin was a sad sight to see, the branches bare of all but a few needles, the cones, picked over by jays, lying broken apart and scattered in the duff.
Matt figured the drought would soon kill all the remaining old-growth evergreens and the mountains would be bare of everything except scrub. The pretty high-country dell where Cal Doran had built the cabin now teetered on the edge of forever losing all its charm under a harsh sun with no comforting shade. He’d return in the cool of autumn and harvest the wood before it lost all its pitch.
Matt’s last visit to the cabin had been in early spring. Since the day it was built, the cabin had never been locked, and upon arrival he spotted evidence of recent use, including fairly fresh tire tracks, the cookstove ash box almost overflowing, and most of the stacked firewood used up and not replaced.
Even in earlier times before the ranch was surrounded by federal land, such findings would have been worrisome and unexpected. Folks who knew of the cabin, mostly neighboring ranchers, cowboys, or an occasional hunter, were free to make use of it; however, common courtesy dictated leaving it the way it had been found. But now with travel on the proving ground prohibited, Matt figured only army types who lacked good manners had ready access to the cabin.
That bothered him. If it was the army, why were they trespassing on the 7-Bar-K? What were they up to?
Resolved not to let his discoveries spoil the day, Matt had said nothing to Mary, and after cleaning out the stove and laying a new fire, he took Kevin to the corral and let him ride Peanut bareback as he led the pony at a walk.
Approaching his third birthday, Kevin sat relaxed on the pony, his little hands gripping Peanut’s mane, a smile plastered on his face. Soon he’d be riding all on his own under watchful eyes. Matt needed to fetch the old child’s saddle from the tack room and get to work restoring it.
“We need to get you a pony,” Matt said.
Kevin nodded enthusiastically. “I know. Mom told me.”
“She did?”
“Yes, and I want a gray one.”
“It has to be gray?”
“Un-huh, and little enough for me because I’m still small.”
“Is that what your mother said?”
Kevin nodded again, his blue eyes fixed on Matt’s face. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, I guess I’ve got my marching orders.”
“What’s a marching order?” Kevin asked seriously.
/> “A marching order is doing what your ma says, such as getting you a pony,” Matt replied as he gently pulled Kevin off Peanut.
“When?” Kevin asked, his eyes bright with excitement.
“Maybe for Christmas,” Matt replied, hoping to have some extra money by then.
Kevin’s face lit up. “I have to tell Mom.”
He dashed under the corral fence and raced to the cabin. When Matt arrived a jittery Kevin stood inside watching Mary chase an infuriated bull snake out the front door with a broom.
“Was that a bad snake?” Kevin worriedly asked Matt.
“Nope, a good snake,” Matt answered. “It just wasn’t invited for dinner. Later I’ll draw you a picture of a bad snake so you can tell the difference.”
“Okay.” Kevin turned to his mom. “Can I go outside?”
Mary nodded. “Stay close.”
Kevin scooted out the open door and Mary set aside her broom and gave Matt a kiss. “That’s for promising Kevin a pony at Christmas.”
“We should have enough money by then.” Matt took out the holstered pistol he’d packed in his saddlebag and put it on the high shelf with the canned goods.
“What’s that for?” Mary asked.
“You never know. Maybe some two-legged uninvited visitors will show up. Wave it at anyone suspicious who comes by while I’m gone. I’m going to take a quick look at the lower pasture. I’ll be back in an hour.”
Mary called Kevin into the house and Matt rode out, following the tire tracks that led down the cattle trail to the old Tularosa state road. Originally, he’d intended to go upcountry first and be gone for three or more hours, but the notion of unwanted visitors troubled him.
In ten minutes of easy riding he was at the pasture gate that had been deliberately knocked off its pins and moved aside. Littered around were a number of shot-up tin cans used for target practice, along with spent handgun and rifle shell casings. There were tire tracks from two different vehicles; one set stopped at the busted gate, the other set continued on to the cabin, maybe five or six times over a period of months from what Matt could see.
Who would want to be up here that often? If it was a stranger unfamiliar with the land, how would he know about the cabin in the first place?
He rode on a bit farther and found the bones of a deer scattered near the trail. A closer look proved it had been a young buck killed and field dressed for meat by someone who knew what he was doing, maybe a soldier but probably not.
He returned to the gate, flipped Maverick’s reins over the top strand of barbwire fencing to keep him from straying, and got to work rehanging the gate using baling wire and nails to jerry-rig it.
He’d about finished when he heard the sound of a fast approaching vehicle. He turned to see an older, bearded man in a military surplus jeep brake to a stop and reach for a rifle resting on the passenger seat. The back of the jeep was filled with supplies.
“What are you doing there?” the man asked in a high-pitched voice, his rifle pointed directly at Matt’s chest.
Maverick was twenty feet away with Matt’s rifle in the saddle scabbard. “Fixing the gate.”
“You’re trespassing,” the man said as he got out of the jeep, his gaze jumping from Matt to Maverick and back. “Don’t try anything.”
Matt looked the man over. He was maybe fifty or a bit older, thin but fit-looking with a sweaty face, narrow piercing eyes, and an odd head twitch that with all things combined made Matt uneasy.
“Raise your hands,” the man said, waving his rifle. “Go on, get ’em up.”
Matt did as ordered, thinking it best to say nothing.
“Who are you?” the man demanded, taking a step closer. “Tell me and don’t you lie.”
“My name is Matt. Who are you?”
“None of your business. How come you wear an eye patch? You a pirate or something?”
Matt shook his head.
“A thief?”
Matt shook his head again.
“You’re a thief.” The man paused and spat. “Where did you put it?”
“Put what?”
The man sneered. “The gold.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man pulled the rifle to his cheek and pointed it at Matt’s head. If he twitched too hard Matt was dead. “I’ll kill you for lying. Is it safe?”
“I don’t have any gold,” Matt said calmly, lowering his hands. “But I’ve got food on the stove at the cabin. Come on up, we can share a meal.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Nobody supposed to be here but me. Did Doc show you the cave before Charley Boswell killed him? Or maybe some of those army boys poking around from the proving ground found the passage and you killed them. Are you working with Babe? Have you got Doc’s maps Babe says she lost?”
“I don’t know any of those people,” Matt answered. But it finally clicked that this was one of those treasure hunters who’d been snooping around Victorio Mountain and other places searching for Spanish gold.
The man glared at Matt as he brought the rifle away from his cheek. “Yes you do. You carried that gold out one bar at a time and then blocked the passage. Sixteen thousand of them. Where you got it hid? Tell me now or you die.”
Convinced he was facing a loco treasure hunter, Matt remained silent, trying to figure a way to get the man to drop his rifle.
“What did you say?” the man asked with a sneer.
Matt shook his head. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
The man shook his head in disbelief, his sneer turning into a crazy smirk. “Yes, you did, I heard you talking to yourself and all.”
Matt decided he’d better play along. “Okay, you’re right, please don’t shoot me. I don’t have the gold but I have the maps.”
“I knew it,” the man crowed gleefully, showing broken teeth, stomping his foot. “Where are they?”
“I’ll take you to them.”
The man waved the rifle at the jeep and took a step back. “Get in.”
“The jeep can’t go there,” Matt replied, raising his chin in the direction of a nearby ridgeline with a switchback trail leading to the top. “I have the maps at my camp, just a short horseback ride away.”
“Stay away from that horse and long gun,” the man warned. “We’ll walk. You go first.”
Matt started out with the man three paces behind. Halfway up the trail it turned rock-strewn, eroded, and difficult, making it necessary to concentrate on climbing. Matt heard rocks tumbling down the trail behind him and turned to see the man looking at his footing, the rifle lowered. Quickly, Matt picked up a large rock, spun around, and hit him squarely in the temple. He dropped off the side of the trail and slammed headfirst into a boulder.
Matt stepped over and found him dead with a broken neck. The wallet in his pocket contained a driver’s license in the name of Dalton Moore. He put it back and stood over the body for a moment, working out in his mind what to do before deciding to leave everything just as it was. He didn’t want to tell Mary he’d just killed a man, or have his son see it, even though it had been done in self-defense.
And he sure wasn’t going to admit anything to Patrick. Best to say he’d found the abandoned jeep at the gate and the body of the dead man on the switchback. It would be up to everybody to decide to take his word for it or not.
He was angry at Dalton Moore for putting him in the situation and not at all happy having to pad the truth, but it was the best and quickest way out of what otherwise could become a complicated predicament.
At the cabin, he called Mary outside away from Kevin, who was playing with some toy horses and a cast-iron wagon, and told her in low tones that he’d found a dead body, trying hard to believe it himself.
“That’s terrible,” Mary said after hearing him out. “We have to report it to the sheriff
immediately.”
“We can call him from Engle on our way to town tomorrow,” Matt suggested.
“We can’t just leave him out here.”
“Of course you’re right. I’ll go back and cover the body with a tarp and rocks to protect it.”
“We should go home right away,” Mary said.
The aroma of dinner simmering on the cookstove did nothing for his appetite, which had been replaced by a tight knot in his stomach. “After I get back, we’ll head home.”
“Good. I’ll have everything ready.”
***
Five days later, the following article appeared in the Las Cruces newspaper:
TREASURE HUNTER FOUND DEAD
Dalton Moore, age 58, a local treasure hunter known to many in law enforcement for his repeated illegal attempts to find Spanish gold on White Sands Proving Ground, was discovered dead from an accidental fall on the remote 7-Bar-K Ranch by rancher Matthew Kerney.
Sierra County Sheriff Max Story said evidence showed Moore had been trespassing on the ranch and using a remote line cabin on the property for several months as a hideaway while searching for treasure around Victorio Mountain, a place rumored to contain a large hoard of precious metal and jewels.
At the time of his death, Moore, who had recently been hospitalized for mental problems, was wanted on an outstanding federal warrant for violating a court order prohibiting him from trespassing on White Sands Proving Ground. According to Sheriff Story, no foul play is suspected and the case has been closed. When contacted, Matthew Kerney referred all questions to Sheriff Story.
On the same day, the headline story on the front page reported accusations by high-ranking government officials that North Korea was still holding American POWs, violating the armistice agreement signed at Panmunjom a month earlier on July 27, 1953.
19
After the final bell on the last day of school, Mary Kerney and her young son, Kevin, now approaching seven, drove home to the T or C cottage she’d bought with her navy savings nearly four years earlier. Built before the start of the World War II, it sat on a double lot with a pleasant view of the nearby Rio Grande and the bleak yet striking Caballo Mountains that notched the sky to the east. Although close to downtown, the cottage was part of a quiet neighborhood away from the busy US highway that cut through the heart of town and the motels and bathhouses along the Rio Grande riverbank that catered to folks seeking medicinal relief at the numerous mineral hot springs that bubbled to the surface.
The Last Ranch Page 22