Backlands (14 page)

F
ormer Lincoln County sheriff John William Owen, known to all as Jake, ranched on a small spread outside Corona that barely broke even in a good year. As sheriff, Jake had gained a name for himself as a crackerjack investigator. After leaving office, he'd parlayed his reputation into a moneymaking proposition that helped keep the ranch afloat by hiring out as a private detective on cases that caught his interest.

Most of his work came by way of district attorneys, judges, and sheriffs around the state who needed someone to take on tough investigations no one else could handle. It was 1925, but the caliber of police work in New Mexico was still mired in the territorial years of the last century, except now most sheriffs rode in cars, not on horseback.

Jake's current case hadn't come to him through the usual sources. Edna Mae Bryan, a woman from Mitchell County, Texas, had asked him to search for her missing brother, Vernon Clagett, who'd last contacted her by letter in 1920 while working at a ranch on the Tularosa. In it, he'd mentioned meeting a fellow named Pat Floyd, an old pal he'd known in Arizona, and his plans to return to Texas for a visit as soon as he saved some money.

Because she hadn't kept the envelope and couldn't remember where it had been mailed from, Jake decided to start from scratch in Las Cruces, where Vernon had mailed an earlier letter to her.

According to Edna Mae, her brother was an ex-convict, a drunk, and—due to the recent death of an aged uncle—sole heir to a hundred and twenty acres of land in West Texas, where an oil boom was making millionaires out of dirt farmers. In '23 a well called the Santa Rita #1 in Big Lake had started it all. Chances were good that Vernon's quarter section was oil rich, so he needed to be found alive or proved dead so Edna Mae could get on with the job of making herself and her kin wealthy.

That was all the information Edna Mae had supplied, but Jake had done some letter writing to prisons in the Southwest and learned that thirty-some years ago Clagett served time in Yuma Prison for robbery and manslaughter. In with a copy of the prison records sent to him was a photograph of young Vernon, looking mean and tough.

He began the search for Vernon in Las Cruces, showing his picture around at stores, speakeasies, hotels, and diners, but nobody remembered him from five years back. Likewise, the Pat Floyd moniker rang no bells. He tried the towns of Engle, Alamogordo, Tularosa, and Carrizozo with the same results before returning to his Corona ranch, where he outfitted himself for a tour of every ranch on the basin.

In truth, he wasn't at all hopeful of finding Clagett or Pat Floyd, who was most likely a drifting drunk like Vernon. Both were probably buried in unmarked graves somewhere in the West, never to be heard from or seen again. But Edna Mae was paying him top dollar, and she deserved his best effort to find the man or prove him dead.

Jake knew the basin better than most men but was also wise enough to know that there were hideaways, cabins, old homesteads, and remote ranches he'd miss completely if he failed to get information and directions from stockmen along the way. He also knew using a motorcar to take him where he needed to go would be pure folly. The old trails and wagon roads would simply be too much for such a vehicle. So he began his journey in the midsummer heat ahorseback, riding along the eastern edge of the Tularosa traveling south, zigzagging back and forth from high country to flats, up and down canyons, stopping wherever folks lived to ask about Clagett and Floyd. After two weeks with half the job done and no results, he returned home, out of supplies and out of steam. He rested his ponies for a few days, caught up on chores, re-equipped, and set out again, this time drifting toward the western slope of the basin.

He made several stops at ranches on the northern fringe, crossed the malpais to the low hills that ran up against Workman Ridge, rode south for a spell, and veered west to Estey City, a copper-mining settlement struggling to survive despite a lack of water. He questioned residents without success about Clagett and Floyd before turning south to camp for the night at Mills Ranch, nestled at the toe of the Oscura Mountains.

In the morning, he crossed to Mockingbird Gap in the San Andres Mountains and began working his way down the eastern slope. At Dick Gilliland's spread he was treated kindly to lunch, reminisced with Dick for a time about the cattle wars in the old days, and went on his way empty-handed, feeling less and less positive about finding Edna Mae's missing brother. He rode into the Hightower Ranch headquarters late in the afternoon, weary from a long day in the saddle, and got invited to dinner.

Addie Hightower served up her famous beef-and-bean casserole with homemade bread to soak up the juices, and Jake just couldn't say no to seconds. Over coffee on the porch, Earl recalled that Patrick Kerney at the Double K had taken on a hired man some years back who might have been Vernon Clagett. Earl remembered the year, 1920, because he'd seen the man at the Double K the day Patrick had given a party for his ex-wife, who'd died soon after.

Jake showed him Vernon's photograph. After studying it for a while, Earl couldn't decide if it was the same man or not but guessed it just might be. Jake raised Pat Floyd's name to Earl, but it didn't ring a bell. Nevertheless, Jake turned in for the night encouraged to have his first inkling of a lead since he'd started spending Edna Mae's greenbacks to find her brother.

***

A
t the chicken coop pen, Matt stopped cleaning bird droppings and watched the approaching rider. He was astride a pretty calico pony leading a sorrel packhorse. Because he had his hat pulled low, casting a shadow on his face, Matt couldn't make him out. He looked lean and wiry and sat easy in the saddle.

Pa had left home early to deliver some ponies to Engle for rail shipment to a ranch in Cimarron and wasn't due back until evening. Matt called up to the house that a rider was coming and walked to the horse pasture fence to greet the visitor.

The man drew rein at the gate, pushed back his hat, nodded, and said, “Howdy, I'm Jake Owen and I'm looking to speak with Patrick Kerney.” He had a bushy white mustache that covered his upper lip, a high forehead, and thick ears that stuck out from his head.

“I'm Matt Kerney,” Matt replied. “My Pa's not here right now, but light and sit a spell.”

“Thank you kindly.” Jake eased out of his saddle. At the house, a pretty Mexican woman holding a toddler stepped onto the veranda. Jake tipped his hat and the woman waved in return.

“When will he be back?” he asked.

“In time for dinner,” Matt answered. “Are you looking to buy some ponies?”

“After passing by some fine-looking colts in the pasture, I'm mighty tempted to do just that,” Jake answered genially. “No, I'm trying to find a man who hasn't been heard from for some time, name of Vernon Clagett.”

Matt nodded. “I know him. He worked for my Pa, but not for long.”

“You're sure of that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“About five years ago?” Jake asked.

“That's right. He wasn't too friendly around folks. Kept to himself mostly. He took off one night.”

“You saw him leave?”

“No, sir. My Pa said he asked for his wages and left.”

“He just rode out at night?”

“He didn't have a horse, so he walked, I reckon,” Matt replied.

Jake paused. Why would a hired man without a horse quit at night and just walk away, especially from a remote ranch miles from anywhere? He'd save that question for Patrick Kerney. “Are you sure of all this, son?”

The question peeved Matt. He inclined his head in the direction of the woman on the veranda. “There's no reason for me to lie. Ask her, if you don't believe me.”

“I'm not doubting you,” Jake said soothingly. “But remembering something from five years ago can make facts get hazy.”

“Are you the law?” Matt asked.

“I used to be the sheriff of Lincoln County,” Jake replied. “Now I do private detecting work. Mind telling me who the lady is?”

“Evangelina, my Pa's wife,” Matt answered. “She was here when Vernon quit and left.”

“Mind if I water and rest my horses?”

“Go ahead. There's coffee on the stove when you're done.”

“Thank you kindly.”

Matt returned to cleaning the chicken coop and pen, a job he truly despised, wondering what was so dang important about finding a man who left the Double K five years ago. From what he recalled about Vernon, he couldn't think of one good reason anyone would want him found in the first place.

He'd read novels about private detectives but had never met a real one before. As he watched Mr. Owen water his ponies, tie them to the hitching post, loosen their cinches, and climb the stairs to the veranda, Matt determined to find out more about this mystery.

***

B
ased on his recent travels, Jake decided the Double K was one of the nicest-looking outfits on the western slope of the Tularosa. The well-built, large house sat on the shelf of a hill overlooking the basin, with a barn, a windmill, a water tank, several outbuildings, and the corral below near a narrow streambed. A small, mud-plastered adobe casita sat behind the main house, enclosed by a courtyard wall connected to the house. The barn was weathered but bigger and more solidly constructed than any Jake had recently seen, and everything, including an old chuck wagon parked beside the barn, appeared to be in apple-pie order. Beyond the house, higher up on the hill, a small family graveyard surrounded by a low picket fence looked out on the Tularosa. It was about the prettiest resting place Jake had caught sight of on the basin.

With the kitchen door open, a cooling breeze coursed through the room. Over a cup of good, hot coffee, Jake spoke to Evangelina about Vernon. She attested to what the boy had said.

“He wasn't a nice man,” Evangelina added. “I was happy when he left.”

“Wasn't nice?” Jake echoed, trying not to let the pale
birthmark that covered most of her cheek and part of her forehead distract him. It didn't hide her prettiness. Under the table at his feet, the little button was playing with a miniature cast-iron horse on wheels and a toy Model T Ford coupe. A boy of two with blue eyes, he didn't look one bit Mexican. He pushed his toys back and forth on the floor, scooting along behind, making motorcar and pony noises and talking to himself in Spanish.

“How so?” Jake asked.

Evangelina shrugged. “Just with the looks he gave me and the way he smiled. I think he would like to do mean things to women. Why do you search for him?”

“His sister in Texas wants to find him. Where did he bunk when he worked here?”

“In the tack room in the barn.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“There's nothing of his there, not even the bunk, but you can look if you wish.”

Jake drained his coffee and stood. “Much obliged. What's your little boy's name?”

“Juan Ignacio Kerney,” Evangelina replied, smiling with obvious pride, “but we call him Johnny. Will you stay for dinner?”

“I will, and thank you kindly.” On the veranda he came upon Matt. “Mind showing me the tack room?” he asked.

“Why do you need to see it?” Matt asked.

“Maybe Vernon left something behind that will help me find him.”

“I doubt it,” Matt said as he opened the barn door. “Things get lost around here and never found.”

“Why do you say that?” Jake asked.

“Pa's been looking for some papers he misplaced years ago. I think he's been through every nook and cranny on the ranch. He hasn't found them yet.”

Jake held his tongue as he stood in the middle of the tack room, although he was suddenly mighty interested in knowing what Patrick Kerney had been searching for over such a long time and if it had anything to do with Vernon Clagett. He took a quick look around. Saddles, bridles, halters, and ropes were all in their proper places, neatly put away. A big old Mexican cabinet stood against a wall next to a large chest. The boy sat on the chest watching Jake closely.

“Are you looking for a corpus delicti?” Matt asked jokingly.

“No, I'm not,” Jake answered. “But you're a smart young fella to know what that is.”

“I'm moving to town when school starts so I can go to high school,” Matt replied with a touch of self-conscious pride.

“High school,” Jake repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That sure is ambitious. I bet your pa is proud.”

“Not so much,” Matt said. “He'd rather keep me on the ranch helping out.”

“That's what most boys your age do, I reckon.”

“I know, but I'm not ready to quit my schooling. Do you know my Pa?”

It intrigued Jake that such a young lad would stand so openly against a father's wishes, but it wasn't any of his business. “I've made his acquaintance a time or two,” he answered.

“Aren't you gonna search for evidence?”

“I don't see a need to. Where would you look?”

“Anywhere that isn't obvious, like behind and under things.”

“That's good thinking,” Jake replied as he turned to the door.

“Why do you want to find Vernon?” Matt asked.

“His sister needs him at home in Texas,” Jake answered. “Family business and such. Think your pa will let me bunk here for the night?”

Matt nodded. “But the casita is a lot nicer. It even has a chamber pot and a washbasin.”

“This will do me fine,” Jake replied, eager to take a closer look at the tack room without any company.

***

S
everal miles from home, Patrick was intercepted by Matt, who'd ridden out on Patches to bring exciting news that a private detective named Jake Owen was at the house looking for Vernon Clagett.

Patrick's pulse quickened. “What did you tell him?” he asked as indifferently as possible.