Sitting in the middle of the pull-through center of the barn sat a Ford F-450 truck, with a stake bed and lift gate. And, it was fully loaded with a 2,500-gallon water tank, a metal windmill with pipe legs laying flat in the truck, boxes of fittings and so much more that Jack couldn’t see.
Matt ran down to the opposite end and opened the other sliding doors, allowing the inside of the barn to light up.
“The truck’s a 2009 with over 100,000 miles on it,” Matt observed, “but it purrs like a kitten and is used to running over rough country taking irrigation supplies out to the farmers. We were loading the truck for a new pump and irrigation set- up for a customer out by Clarkdale when the boss sent us home because of the CME warning. It was designed to allow the windmill to do the water pumping and there’s a 25-foot long pump shaft laying over there on the ground, ready to be loaded. The farmer wanted three-quarter inch PVC for his main water lines and then half-inch for his irrigation heads, to increase the pressure. It sounds to me like that’s exactly what you’re planning on doing, Jack,” Matt concluded.
“Exactly,” Jack responded. “But we’ll need lots of the larger PVC, at least 1,500 feet to make sure we have enough to get across the mesa and then several hundred feet of the half-inch to move the water from the village storage tanks to the greenhouse, kitchen, and baths.”
“I think you’ll find all you need in the stalls if it’s not already on the truck,” answered Matt. “You’re in charge of making sure we get enough of the right-sized PVC. What we can’t get on this truck we’ll load on a trailer it can pull, so get more than you need now because I’m not sure we’ll be able to get back here later.
“I know you need more storage tanks, too, and we can load them on another trailer we can pull with Colby’s truck. You just point out what you want in the yard and I’ll start loading them on a trailer with the forklift while you’re counting out the PVC and other supplies you need. Philip can help me with the loading.”
Jack pointed out the storage tanks he wanted and several large, circular stock tanks that he felt would work for the fish tanks Travis had talked about. Then he went back inside to start identifying the PVC and supplies they needed.
Using the forklift, Matt and Philip got everything loaded and then strapped down. Matt knew the extra-wide load was a ‘ticket waiting to happen,’ but who was going to write it?
Matt hooked the trailer to Colby’s truck and then turned it in the right direction to drive out later. Philip returned to his guard duties and Matt returned to the barn.
Jack had already loaded several small electric pumps, an old fashioned hand pump and several new hand pumps, and had pulled out a piece of PVC from each of the stalls that needed to be emptied. He figured that would mark it for ease in identifying the stalls later. Seeing the load that Jack was preparing, Matt went back out to the forklift and pulled another long trailer in behind the Ford. They then began loading all the equipment and supplies.
“You know what I found at the other end of the barn?” Jack said, excitedly. “Pallets loaded with 100 pound sacks of winter wheat seed,” answering his own question. “If we seed the saddle in the fall we’ll have a wheat crop next spring. There’s enough seed for at least two plantings and then we’ll have to save our own seed for the future. There are also sacks of Bermuda pasture seed we can spread around wherever we’re not planting wheat and we’ll get a head start on growing some erosion control and making life a little easier for ourselves,” he bubbled.
“Great idea,” Matt responded. “We have a till we can hook to the backhoe, if we can find the room to put it on the trailer.”
“We’ll find room,” Jack said in a way that ended the conversation.
They began loading all the things Jack wanted, which would take them another hour.
◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘
When the trio exited the ruins, Colby jumped down first, then Tanner, holding Carly’s hands, slowly lowered her down to Colby and then jumped down himself. They found Bud standing at the top of the saddle on the opposite side next to the backhoe. He looked like he was carefully sizing up the situation when the trio came up to him.
“I was just taking a gander at how to grade the saddle so we can set up our tents and such,” Bud said to no one in particular. But it was Colby who responded. He told his father about the roadway they’d need to get down to the bottom of the saddle, how they thought the tent site should be graded, how the drainage should be provided, where the temporary latrine and the septic tanks should be placed, and how a ramp would be useful on a temporary basis to get building supplies up to the village. He didn’t tell him about the construction ideas they had for the greenhouse, figuring he’d have enough to concentrate on with the backhoe work. He did tell his dad that they were now referring to the saddle as Duwa Valley. Bud liked that.
“We’re going on down to the Ranger Station to see what we can help with there and begin loading the tents to bring them up,” Tanner said. “We’ve got another three hours until lunch time, so why don’t you plan on joining us then,” he said.
“Okay,” Bud responded. “I can get the road and tent site graded by then, and then I can take the backhoe back down to the bottom of the hill to refuel it, and drive my truck back to the Ranger Station. That way I can pick up the last piece of culvert with the backhoe and bring it back up to Duwa Valley,” he said with a smile, “and set up the drainage channel. Then I’ll dig the latrine and septic tank pits while y’all start setting up the tents. I’ll see y’all in a few hours. I hope you’ll have some good lunch ready.”
The trio mounted their ATVs and drove away as Bud climbed into the cab of the backhoe. All had things to do.
◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘
“What do y’all think you’re doin’?” the old man said. There were three of them: the old man, probably in his late sixties, dressed in bib overalls with a sweat-stained denim shirt, a slouch hat, and well-worn work boots; a man in his thirties wearing Levis, a Grateful Dead tee shirt, an ASU baseball cap, and cowboy boots; and, a teenager in jeans, a muscle shirt, Nike’s, and a sweat-stained John Deere hat. They were all well-tanned and dirty, like they’d spent a long, hot day working in the fields, and all carried hunting rifles. They stood just outside the locked gate with the barrels pointed toward Colby’s truck.
Jack had just pulled the truck toward the locked gate, with Philip beside him in the cab, and the loaded long-trailer behind him. They were waiting for Matt to lock up the barn and follow them to the gate with the key to open it when the three men had stepped forward.
Philip had the rifle with him but was hesitant to show it for fear it might precipitate a gun battle. And, they were outgunned.
At that point, before an answer to the old man’s question was necessary, Matt pulled up in the big truck with another long trailer. He stepped down from the truck, having already accessed the situation and, as he did so shouted to the three men, “Is that you Henry, Henry Stenton?”
The old man immediately showed recognition on his face. “Matt, is that you?” he said. “What are y’all doing haulin’ out all that stuff?”
Matt had known Henry and his son, who went by Junior or JR, and grandson for many years, since Little Hank, as they called the teenager, was born. He had hauled lots of irrigation supplies to the Stenton farm out southwest of town on numerous occasions and had even been invited into the Stenton house for a piece of Mrs. Stenton’s famous apple pie.
The Stenton farm had been in the family for over 150 years and consisted of several thousand acres of rolling grazing land, several hundred acres of corn and wheat, and another couple hundred acres of alfalfa. The land stretched along Oak Creek and on to its confluence with the Verde River. Cattle grazed on the rolling hills and sheep, goats, and horses lounged on the verdant pasture that surrounded the 1850’s vintage farmhouses in which the senior and junior Stentons resided. Both houses were tucked among a large stand of oaks and cottonwoods on a knoll overlooking Oak Creek. They had a huge barn t
hat Matt had delivered equipment to numerous times. A large fenced chicken roost and yard adjoined one side of the barn while the opposite side was attached to a long covered shed usually stacked high with baled alfalfa hay. Behind the main house and outside the shade of the large trees, Mrs. Stenton had a large garden, the envy of all the other farm women in the county.
“Yes, it’s me,” answered Matt as he strode toward the gate with the key in his hand.
The old man stepped forward, telling the other two to lower their guns.
“I’m building a new water system with these folks over in the Village of Oak Creek,” Matt continued. “They needed help and this is the only irrigation supply in the area, as you know.”
“But why are you building a water system,” said Henry. “Didn’t those folks get hit by the same calamity as us?” he inquired.
“They sure did, but they’re neighbors of my wife’s folks and there’s no power to run the Water District’s pumps, so they’re rigging their own water supply,” Matt answered, trying to simplify things as much as he could.
“Well, I guess you know what you’re doin’, son,” Henry responded. “I just didn’t want some strangers rippin’ off Mr. Colson’s stuff. But, since you work for him I guess it’s all right.”
Jake Colson was the owner of the farm supply and had been Matt’s boss since before the twins were born.
“I’ll square things with Jake later,” Matt said, and unlocked the gate. “How are you folks doing?” Matt asked.
“Well, it ain’t no picnic but then it weren’t no different for my grandparents when they settled out here. We don’t have any electricity but we got water in the creek and a windmill that pumps cool, clean well water for us and the livestock. We’ve got a generator and some big gasoline storage tanks that should carry us for quite a spell as well as a damned large supply of propane. We grow most our own vegetables and with chicken, beef, lamb, and goat meat, I don’t think we’ll starve any time in the foreseeable future,” he chuckled.
“Mr. Hudson,” Little Hank, who had up ‘til then been quiet, inquired, “how’s Mattie doing?” Despite the fact that Little Hank wasn’t little at all, standing a good six foot and solid as a rock; the linebacker running backs didn’t like to be acquainted with; it was nevertheless the nickname his family used when he was a child and it had stuck. Little Hank was one year ahead of Mattie in school and they had been somewhat of an item the previous school year. She said that as big and rough as he was, he really was gentle as a lamb.
“She’s doing just fine, Hank, and I’ll be sure to tell her you asked,” Matt responded, choosing not to call him Little Hank.
“I’d sure like to see her again,” Hank blurted. “Do you think that’s going to be possible what with everything that’s happened?”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Matt answered, “but it may take some time. We’ll see what we can do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hudson, I’d greatly appreciate it,” Hank replied. Despite being a big kid, at this time he acted more like a shy young boy that, at the very least, was smitten with Matt’s daughter.
“Would you mind locking the gate behind us?” Matt asked Henry, who responded, “sure.”
With the conflict avoided, both Jack and Philip breathed a sigh of relief and at the wave of Matt’s arm drove the truck and trailer out of the yard, heading towards the Village. Matt was right behind them with the big rig and watched Henry dutifully lock the padlock on the gate in his rear view mirror. Matt waved back at Henry and he and the boys all waved back. Matt was sweating profusely and was relieved that the three armed men hadn’t been strangers, but old friends. It made the trip back to the Village and the Ranger Station a lot more comfortable.◘
Chapter 17
Surprises
It was like a Maverick reunion, of sorts, as Jack, Matt, and Philip pulled their trucks and trailers into the Forest Service maintenance yard. When they were just a couple of miles away Jack had used his two-way radio and talked with Bishop who, along with all the others, except Bud, were loading trucks and trailers with the goods from the storage sheds.
Everyone had been concerned about them because they had been gone so long and were out of communications range, leaving their minds to fabricate all kinds of calamities that might have befallen the trio. But, here they were, safe and sound. A time for celebration.
The ladies were preparing a smorgasbord of random leftovers: chips, crackers, slices of cheese, fruit that would soon spoil, and various nuts, pretzels, and power bars. Bishop contributed to the feast with a big batch of barbecued hot dogs. They set the serving table under the extended awning of Bud’s motor home and Bishop had set his small barbecue to the side of it. The large smoker was parked behind the motorhome, too large for the current cooking need.
As they were ready to start eating Bud arrived in his pickup and joined in congratulating Matt, Jack, and Philip on their obvious success; seeing the trucks and trailers loaded down with equipment.
As they relaxed in the stack chairs they had set up, Jack regaled them with their adventure in Casey’s Corner and how Matt had saved the day when he recognized old man Stenton. Of course he stretched out the story of the confrontation to build up the suspense until ‘Marshall Matt’ had stepped to the fore. They all got a great laugh out of the story, especially Matt’s wife, Kristen, who knew the whole Stenton family very well. Mattie didn’t think it was very nice to make fun of “Little Hank.”
“I’m sorry, Mattie,” her father said, “I didn’t mean to make fun of anyone. In fact, Hank asked about you and how you were doing. He also indicated that he’d sure like to see you again.”
“Oh, Daddy, do you think that’s possible?” Mattie asked.
“Well, I told him it might be a while, but we’ll see if we can’t work something out. We just have to make sure we have enough gas to get the truck there and back,” he said with a smile. “And, from now on we’ll just refer to him as Hank,” he added.
The tears Matt could see welling up in Mattie’s eyes made him reassure his daughter. She was the apple of his eye and it broke his heart to see her unhappy. We’ll work it out somehow he said to himself.
As the group sat enjoying their snacks and each other’s company, Tanner briefed them on their assessment of the Duwa site and what they thought needed to be done. He confessed he didn’t have any stories to tell, like Jack. That got laughter anyway.
Bishop interjected, however, that he and Michael did have some stories to tell about some discoveries they had made while moving things out of the sheds and onto the trucks and trailers and, though they weren’t near as interesting as Jack’s, there were some surprises.
He told them that while loading the tents on the ATV trailer, using the Forest Service forklift, they found that of the dozen tents stacked in the storage building, eight of them were the big army surplus tents they could use for housing and equipment storage; but three of them were slightly smaller white tents with big red crosses on the sides, showing they had been intended as medical tents. Bishop suggested that one of them could be used for its intended purpose, a medical tent, and equipped to function that way for “Nurse Brenner” and her assistant, “Nurse Escalante.” He smiled broadly at Mel and Jessie as he said it.
“The second one,” he said, “in my opinion, would be perfect for a food and medical supply storage area. I think they both qualify as medicinal.” He chuckled heartily at his own joke, not because he thought it was all that funny, but because he was trying to get everyone relaxed.
“And the third one,” he continued, “we can set up next to Travis’ temporary greenhouse to give him some shelter there and a place to store his gardening supplies.”
“That will be great,” Travis interjected. “But that only accounts for 11 of the tents,” he said to Bishop, “what happened to the twelfth?”
“Ah,” replied Bishop, “that’s the piéce de résistance I’ll let Michael tell you about.”
“Well,�
�� said Michael, “the last tent turned out to be a large white Quonset style tent that, according to the tag on the bag, is 22 feet wide, 54 feet long, and 12 feet high at the center. It’s called a ‘lunch tent.’ It has prefabbed aluminum ribbing and supports and zipper doors on both ends. With the folding tables and chairs we have we’ll be able to seat everyone in the tent for meals and meetings. In fact, the tables and chairs will only take up about half the length of the tent, so it can be our general purpose meeting and activity space. It will really come in handy at night and during bad weather.”
“It can even be used as a classroom space, Tara,” Bishop interjected, “so we don’t neglect our children’s education; especially when the bad weather arrives, as we know it will.”
“Okay, Michael, don’t stop now,” Bishop said, nodding at Michael.
“We thought the lunch tent was a great find,” enthused Michael, “but the real surprise came when we started moving the mobile water tanks and tents out of the shed and let the outside light reach all the way into the back of the building; and you’ll never guess what we found back there hiding in the dark,” Michael paused while letting the suspense build.”
“All right, what?” Matt said impatiently.
“A brand new, apparently never been used, field kitchen,” exclaimed Michael.”
Bishop explained that this compact field kitchen on wheels is the type used by the armed forces, fire brigades, and disaster relief organizations.
“This kitchen has all the cooking appliances we’ll ever need, no matter how long we’re living in Duwa,” Michael said enthusiastically.
Bishop added, “When the Forest Service purchased it they had it set up to run on electricity; I guess figuring they could either just plug into an electrical outlet or into one of their generators. It also has an emergency furnace so it can operate on solid fuels, too. I think, if we’re frugal with our gasoline we can operate the kitchen on one of our portable generators until we get our permanent kitchen facilities built in Duwa. Then, maybe Jack can rig it up to run on solar. At the worst, we’ll have to collect wood for the furnace unit.”
Sinagua Rising Page 18