by Stephen Bly
Hap shot a glance at Laramie. “Is she quarantined? Does she have some infectious disease? Is she under house arrest?”
Davenport watched a sedan and minivan roll up to the entrance gate. “You don’t know what’s going on here?”
“I reckon we don’t. We promised a pal that we’d stop and bring greetings to his sis. We’re on our way to El Paso. Got jobs waitin’ for us there. Like we told… uh, the blonde…”
“Her name is Erika.”
“Like we told Erika, we just want to drive through the park and head on out.”
Davenport’s face twitched with obvious impatience. “Take my advice and just go back out the way you came. You don’t want to get involved in park business.”
“What’s there to get involved with?” Laramie said. “We just want to visit Rosa.”
“Not today, boys.”
The man reminded Hap of his algebra teacher in high school, high strung and authoritative, needing to be in charge, but not quite able to pull it off. “Are you saying that, as American citizens who paid our entrance fee, we’re denied entry to a national park without an explanation? I don’t reckon our congressman will be pleased to hear that.”
Davenport paced in front of the black pickup. “There’s no reason to start shouting congressman. I didn’t say you were prohibited. I just said you’d be better off turning around.”
Laramie leaned back against the hot hood of the truck and popped his knuckles. “Thank you for the advice, but I think we’ll go see Rosa.”
The swollen muscles in the man’s neck pulsed. “Don’t let some fool cowboy pride get you to do something dumb. I’m telling you, don’t mess with us.”
Hap started back for the pickup. “Fool cowboy pride has kept us alive for years. You ain’t tellin’ us what it is we aren’t supposed to get messed up with, so we’ll just keep on our way.”
Davenport stomped back to the trailer. “Not with those horses, you won’t. You’ll have to leave them in the corral. We’ll call a vet for inspection.”
“I already showed Erika the vet papers,” Hap explained.
“We have reason to be concerned that they might be carrying the West Nile virus. Therefore, I have the legal right to hold them until a new vet check is performed.” It sounded like a memorized speech.
“This is a bunch of bull. What are you really up to?” Laramie pressed.
Davenport rested his right hand on the grip of his holstered handgun. “We want you out of the park before dark. This way, you’ll have to come back for your horses.”
“This is crazy.” Hap felt his neck stiffen with frustration that visiting a friend’s sister could turn into such a hassle. “How can you get away with treating ordinary citizens like this?”
“We have the legal right.”
“The right to harass?”
“Don’t get cocky with me.” Davenport folded his arms across his chest. “You can leave your trailer here if you want. Some of the roadway is narrow. Just park it over by the corral. Enjoy your day in the park, boys.” The man stomped to the office.
After Laramie unloaded the horses, Hap unhitched the trailer. The barren corral was no more than twenty square feet of faded, three-rail board fence, a wide gate, and a small water trough. There was no sign that animals had inhabited it for a long time.
“I’m wonderin’ if those papers Milt sent with us have somethin’ to do with this squabble,” Hap commented.
“I think it’s more than a squabble.”
“But it’s not our squabble. Let’s get this stuff to Rosa and mosey on down the road.”
Laramie eyed the kiosk. “Here comes your pal Erika.”
“Are you going into the park?” she called out. In the bright Texas sun her hair glistened almost white. She had a certain bounce in her step that Hap associated with teenage girls and kangaroos.
“Yep, but we didn’t like the treatment by your boss,” Hap said. “He seems pushy and arrogant.”
Hap read volumes into the way she rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Hey, I forgot to give you this brochure. It’s all about local noxious weeds and poisonous animals. Read it carefully.”
Hap took the four-color printed brochure. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“I’ll keep an eye on your horses,” she said, then whispered, “be careful… some weird things are going on back there.”
Hap frowned as they hopped into the truck and eased back out on the park road. “We are divin’ into ‘weird things,’ partner. Somehow I don’t think this will be that borin’ day you ordered.” Hap tossed the color brochure to Laramie.
“Yeah, with our luck an army of noxious weeds will ambush us.” Laramie opened the folder. “Whoa, Erika wrote you a note on the brochure. It says for us to stop at the store at the park headquarters. ‘Take as many groceries to Rosa as you can. She has no refrigeration.’”
“Groceries?”
Laramie turned the brochure sideways and continued to read. “She also wrote not to mention she told us this or she’ll get fired.”
“You get the feelin’ ever’one knows what’s going on but us?”
“Geez, Hap, here we go again. How do you do this to me?”
“Don’t blame me this time, partner. You were the one all fired up to tell Milt we’d come down to see his sister.”
“I trusted that a destination without a Juanita would provide a quiet change of pace.”
Loaded with two cardboard boxes of assorted food items and a couple of loaves of bread, Laramie and Hap rolled south toward Panther Pass at the junction west of the Visitor Center. The desert landscape of prickly pear cactus, creosote, and sotol soon gave way to evergreen sumac, mountain mahogany, and beebrush. When they reached the pass, they entered a chaparral of juniper, small oak trees, and piñon pines strewn across the rugged, barren mountains.
“It’s nicer here than in the desert, but who in the world would want to live here?” Laramie asked.
“Milt’s sister, I guess,” Hap replied. “Makes you question her intelligence, don’t it? Sorta reminds me of the summer in that Owyhee Mountains cowcamp.”
“A nice place, except for the constant tourists.”
“Tourists? That was the loneliest place on earth. We only saw two vehicles in twelve weeks, and they was both game wardens.”
“Yeah, it was a veritable Idaho freeway.”
They followed the hand-scribbled map that Milt Tryor had provided. As instructed, they circled behind the ranger station and took a dirt road marked For Park Personnel Only. Short cedars and pines walled the horizon, preventing any kind of extended view.
“Milt’s note says take every right-hand fork from now on until we reach a gate that says Keep Out. Maybe we should have asked him more questions before we signed on to this deal.”
Every right turn raised them higher up the mountain. In the north sides of the draws they spied clusters of pine, fir, and aspen.
“It’s getting prettier.” Laramie stuck his hand out the window and cupped the air. “And cooler. This might be a pleasant visit after all.”
“Then again…” Hap pointed on up the dirt road. “Looks like company.”
Two unmarked trucks bookended the roadway in front of a closed, battered, metal slatted gate.
Hap slowed the pickup to a stop. “Open the gate, Laramie.”
“You think they’ll let me?”
“Let’s find out. This is still America, ain’t it… home of the brave and land of the free?”
“Where do you cowboys think you’re going?” a burly man with a goatee demanded. Beneath the dust, his black boots looked new, synthetic, his accent East Coast. He toted a bag of sour cream and onion pork rinds.
Hap considered the man’s challenge and concluded that condescending tones, just like western drawls, must be handed down from one generation to the next. “To visit a friend.”
“Time to turn around. You’re not going through here.” The shorter one made sure they noticed his hand on a shoulder-holster
ed revolver.
“You boys been watchin’ too many Marlon Brando movies. Your boss already phoned you and told you we were comin’. He must have mentioned that we have a legal right to go in there. Open the gate, Laramie.”
“Don’t touch that gate, mister,” the shorter one warned.
Laramie glanced over his shoulder. “Do they let you pack a loaded gun or do you have to keep your one bullet in your pocket like Barney Fife?”
The taller man stalked Laramie. “Look, we’re tryin’ to help you. It’s not good for your health to proceed. It’s like a… think of it as an infectious disease. “
“Is that so?” Laramie swung open the wood-and-wire gate with the hand-painted Keep Out sign. “Which are you, virus or bacteria?”
Hap eased the pickup forward. He recognized the tight veins on Laramie’s neck and knew his partner was getting steamed.
“What’s in the boxes?” burly goatee bellowed.
“Enriched plutonium,” Hap mumbled.
“What?”
“Everythin’ in them boxes was purchased in the park at official stores,” Hap explained. “You boys hungry? I didn’t buy any Twinkies.”
“We want to search this rig.”
“Well, I’m sure you do. And I’d like to spend the afternoon in Bill Gates’s vault… but some things just aren’t meant to be. You look at nothin’ in this rig without a warrant,” Hap challenged.
“A couple of .357s are the only warrant we need.” The short guy jumped in front of the truck, but Hap kept a steady pace forward.
“Do you wear name tags on your shirts so authorities can identify your bodies?” Hap herded the one tagged Kurt Munkk along the road.
The other one, labeled Manuel Ferguson, yanked his partner back. “Remember what ol’ Davenport said.”
“We’ll be waiting right here for you two,” Munkk shouted.
“What a delight.” Laramie closed the gate and slipped into the pickup.
“I thought that went well,” Hap said.
“Somehow I feel like a bear in a barrel trap. So far, so good. But how in the world do we get out of here?”
A rifle report and the simultaneous shattering of the side-view mirror on the passenger’s side made Hap tromp the brakes so fast, the engine died. Laramie slammed against the dash.
Hap pounded the black steering wheel. “Jist what I need, a matched pair of shot-out mirrors.”
“Was it one of the good fellas at the gate?” Laramie asked.
“No, it’s someone up ahead. Give me that old white T-shirt.” Hap crept out of the truck, waving the rag. “Wait a minute… don’t shoot. We’re lookin’ for Rosa Tryor.”
A woman’s voice filtered down from a thick grove of scrub pines. “What do you want?”
“We’re friends of your brother, Milt. He sent us here to bring papers and documents.”
“Where’s Milt?” she asked.
“He had truck trouble and got towed to Fort Stockton,” Laramie called out.
“We also brought two boxes of groceries and two loaves of bread,” Hap told her.
“White or wheat?”
Hap glanced back at Laramie, who shouted, “Wheat.”
“Okay, drive forward. But I’m not putting down the gun until I spot those papers… and the bread.”
When they drove around the grove of pine trees, they spied a small log cabin and the barrel of a Winchester .30–30 carbine.
Laramie got out of the truck toting the box of papers. Hap carried a loaf of wheat bread.
The brown-skinned woman, with her thick, curly hair pulled back in a bushy ponytail, grabbed the bread, tore it open, folded a piece and chomped on it.
Dressed in dirty jeans, heavy boots, and a white, sleeveless T-shirt, she wore no jewelry, and no makeup. A red bandanna wrapped her neck.
After the second piece of bread, the tension around her large brown eyes eased. She rummaged in the metal box, let out a deep sigh, then laid the gun against the truck’s bumper.
“All right! Thank you, Milt!” She glowered at Laramie and Hap. “I didn’t know whether to trust you or not. You don’t look like much.”
Hap tipped his hat. “Always glad to make a good first impression.” It seemed to him she swallowed the bread too fast, with little chewing. He studied her thin arms and waist. “How long has it been since you ate anything?”
“I don’t remember. Everything gets confusing. I can’t sleep, for fear they’re going to sneak up on me. I can’t leave. They stashed bulldozers, generators, and lights over in that draw. The minute I’m gone, they’ll flatten the place and lock me off our property.” She glanced down and tried to brush dried purple stains off her T-shirt. “I know I’m a mess, but you don’t have to stare like that.”
Hap pulled off his cowboy hat. “You look fine, ma’am.”
“Fine?”
“Well, a good scrubbin’ would help, but that’s true for all of us. This dang Texas heat makes us all a little rank.”
When she smiled, her full, wide lips revealed straight teeth. “That’s what I love about cowboys. They try to charm and be honest at the same time. Most men give up on one or the other.” She nodded at the sacks. “Did Milt tell you to bring me groceries?”
“No. Erika, down at the park entrance, slipped us a note,” Hap explained.
“She did? I have to admit you came at the right time. I don’t think I’d have lasted two more days.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Hap asked. “I’m guessin’ the park service wants this land and you don’t want them to have it.”
“Didn’t Milt tell you?”
“We don’t know anything other than you are his sister, Rosa,” Laramie said.
She dug through the boxes of groceries. “This is better than Christmas. Who are you guys? Don’t tell me your names are Butch and Sundance.”
“I’m Hap; he’s Laramie. We cowboyed several fall gathers up in Wyomin’ with Milt. We even worked one spring along the North Platte in Colorado with him.”
She grabbed a big box of Frosted Flakes. “It almost makes a gal believe in Divine Providence.”
“You’ll need more to eat than bread and dry cereal. I’ll fry us all some bacon and eggs,” Hap suggested. “They’ll spoil on us real soon if we don’t cook them.”
Laramie and Hap toted the food while Rosa cradled her Winchester.
“Do you need someone to stand vigil on those guys at the gate?” Laramie asked.
“They won’t come in during the day. They know they’ll be shot for trespassing.”
The one-room cabin had a full, covered porch across the front. Inside there was a fireplace, a woodstove, a small table with one chair, and a bedframe of leather straps with a sleeping bag on top. Sheets covered the windows.
“What happened to the panes?” Hap asked.
“They busted them out one night, trying to scare me off.”
Hap studied the cobwebs at the peak of the ceiling. “How long have you been back here?”
“Over a year now. But they didn’t start harassing me until May.”
Hap tucked his sunglasses into his shirt pocket, then rolled up his sleeves. “How have you survived?”
“I had a wonderful garden. The spring supplies all the water I need. In fact, the creek from our spring provides water for the park headquarters as well. But the goons sprayed weed killer on my garden. Everything’s ruined.”
Laramie peered out the open front door. “Real nice guys. When was that?”
“About a month ago.” She dug through the box of papers. “This is so great… this is the hard evidence.”
Hap built a fire in the woodstove. Rosa sat on the only chair. She kicked off her heavy boots to reveal sockless, dirty toes and long, unpainted toenails.
Laramie lounged in the open doorway. Short juniper scattered the dirt yard. A dusty gray Subaru was parked beside the cabin. “What’s the full deal here, Rosa?” he asked.
Rosa swallowed a lump of bread. “Where do I begin?”
“At the Alamo.” Hap laughed. “Every Texan I ever met has stories clear back to the Alamo.”
Laramie stiffened. “That’s not something us Texans joke about.”
Rosa held up her hand. “No, no… Hap’s right. This story has an Alamo connection.”
“See?” Hap boasted.
“I believe one of my problems involves a personal vendetta, but I’ll need to provide the background. My family… the Rodríguez side, anyway… lived in Texas before Stephen Austin and all that bunch came here. During the battle for Texas independence, several members of my family died at the Alamo. Some rode with Houston at San Jacinto. That’s history and can be proved. It encompasses five generations, but Ernesto Rodríguez gained title for this 160-acre parcel in 1859. The papers were signed by Governor Sam Houston himself.”
“It’s a harsh piece of land. I wonder why that great-granddaddy of yours wanted it,” Laramie asked.
“Family lore claims that he needed a stopping place above the heat of the desert when traveling a trade route between Mexico and central Texas. I’m not sure about that. Some say he smuggled goods back and forth, but in those days it was hard to tell a customs agent from a smuggler. Anyway, it’s been in the family since and used as a vacation cabin, whenever anyone wanted to get out of the desert heat.”
“We didn’t know what kind of geology to expect down here,” Laramie said.
“Do you know anything about Big Bend National Park?” she asked.
“It’s our first trip,” Hap admitted.
“During the Depression, lots of land got forfeited to the state for nonpayment of taxes. Down in this area, it’s so rugged and remote, and mostly unfarmable, that people let it go back to the government. Not my great-grandfather. He loved it up here. He somehow always got the taxes paid. By 1933, the state of Texas found they had about 160,000 acres of this rugged land along the big bend of the Rio Grande. So, they formed the Texas Canyons State Park. Private property like ours dotted the park map. The state petitioned President Roosevelt to make it a national park, so the state wouldn’t have to pay for the maintenance.”
“Is that when it became a national park?” Laramie asked.
While Hap cooked, Rosa snacked on dry cereal, placing one flake at a time on her pointed, pink tongue. “I think the war interrupted the process, but in 1944, seven hundred thousand acres were given to the federal government. That’s when the park got established.”