Backlands (31 page)

“Shit,” Pa said eyeing the official government envelopes.

Matt waved the envelopes at him. “They raised the taxes for this year. I guess they figure every landowner has to pay more to help the government end the Depression.”

“Let me see those.” He snatched the letters and with his head bowed started reading as he walked slowly away.

On the way back from the mailbox, Matt had shot a large black-tailed jackrabbit. He dressed it for a stew for dinner, and it made a welcome break from beef. Matt ate dinner eagerly and in silence, and Pa matched him.

After sopping up the stew juice with a crust of bread, Pa pushed his empty plate aside. “I'm guessing that offer you made to pay the taxes means you would sell the house in town to do it,” he said.

“That's right. And the offer still holds.”

“How long would it take to sell it?”

“I've got a ready buyer. It could be done by the end of the year, I reckon.”

“Would you see enough cash to get us even on the taxes?”

“And then some, I'm hoping.”

“And you want sole ownership of the Double K in return?”

“Yep.”

“I'd be working for you?”

“I don't see it that way. Except for borrowing money against the ranch or selling it, you'll still have a big say in running the spread. I don't plan to stay here forever. I still want to finish college. After that, I don't know what I'll do.”

“I don't hanker on the idea of needing to come running to you to buy livestock, pay bills, or get credit at stores.”

“Would it embarrass you to have folks know you've turned the Double K over to me?” Matt asked pointedly.

Pa swallowed hard. “I guess it ain't fair of me to think of it that way. If you're willing to save the only place I've ever called home, I'll be proud to tell folks you're the ramrod and owner of the Double K.”

Pa's words stunned Matt into silence. He offered his hand across the table and Pa shook it. “We have a deal, with one minor condition,” he said.

“What's that?”

“If Juan Ignacio ever wants to be part of the Double K, you'll welcome him back as your son and treat him as a partner.”

Pa bit his lip and fell silent.

“It's right and you know it.”

Pa nodded in agreement. “You have my word on it.”

They shook hands again.

By the middle of December the deal was done. The house on Griggs Avenue sold for two-thirds of what it was worth before the crash but still produced enough money to pay all the taxes, leave enough to cover two more years, and have some extra for operating expenses.

As they completed all the paperwork with Lawyer Lipscomb, Patrick remembered back to the day Emma had forced him—in the very same office—to acknowledge Matt as his son. On that day, he'd been raging mad at her, never imagining that child would grow up to save his old bones and the Double K.

He signed the special warranty deed giving Matthew title and sole possession of the ranch, shook his son's hand, took him to dinner to celebrate the event, and raised a glass to toast him as the new owner of the Double K. In a way he'd never imagined, it felt like a burden lifted.

Wondering what had gotten into the old man to make him so amicable under the circumstances, Matt was flabbergasted once again.

W
ith taxes paid and a little extra in the kitty, Matt and Patrick doubled their efforts with the mustangs, only to meet with continued failure. Unless each pony was ridden daily, they reverted to blowing snot, pitching, bucking, and twisting as soon as Matt or Patrick stepped into the saddle. They were thrown so often, it soon became clear no amount of hard work or horse savvy would tame the critters enough to make them useful.

In late winter they turned the mustangs loose and watched them gallop onto the flats, tails high and whinnying gleefully as they thundered through the mesquite and crossed the wide arroyo. Matt was happy to set them free.

After dinner that night, they held a council. If they hunkered down, bought a few steers to fatten on the high-country pastures and slaughter for their own use, sold the truck, and bought harness ponies for the wagon, they could get through the year without much hardship. Patrick would take care of the ranch and use his pension money for feed, victuals, and whatever repairs they could afford while Matt looked for work. They put pencil to paper and figured if Matt found work at forty dollars a month, they might be able to survive until the drought ended, the economy improved, and on-the-hoof beef prices rose. Then they'd restock, Matt would get back to ranching full-time, and maybe they'd eke out a small profit. It was the best they could hope for.

To get started, Patrick would sell the truck and buy the livestock while Matt made the rounds of the big outfits, looking for work. If nothing panned out, he'd scout for town jobs in Las Cruces, Alamogordo, Capitan, or Carrizozo. They'd part company in the morning, Matt heading east to the Three Rivers outfit to start searching for work, and Patrick west to Hot Springs to sell the truck, scout for harness ponies, and buy a couple of steers. Matt would send a note if he landed a job. If not, he'd be back at the Double K in two weeks.

In the morning Matt left on horseback, packing all his cowboy gear, trying to imagine what the old-time Texas stockmen must have thought seeing the belly-high grasses of the Tularosa for the first time. They probably figured to have discovered paradise, not knowing that drought and overgrazing would turn it into a desert landscape in less than a generation.

Patches set a steady pace and Matt's thoughts roamed to Gene Rhodes's story of Ma making a hand. Would he have made a hand in her eyes? He sure hoped so.

Thoughts of Ma and the old days didn't keep him from worrying if trying to save the Double K would cost him his dream of finishing college. If the Depression hadn't struck the country like a tornado, he'd be an upperclassman now, with money in the bank, a steady income from the trust, a house free and clear, and prospects for a good life. The memory of Beth popped into his mind, and he shook off the what-ifs. It did no good to dwell on them.

In Tularosa he stopped at the general store and was surprised and happy to learn that Porter Knox, Evangelina, and Juan Ignacio had returned and were temporarily staying with Evangelina's parents until they could find a place to rent. Matt hadn't seen them since Tía
Teresa's funeral, so he hurried over to Flaviano and Cristina's casa to say hello. When he knocked on the door, Evangelina opened it, squealed in delight, and wrapped him in a bear hug.

“Look at you,” she said after releasing him. “You are so grown-up and handsome.”

Matt blushed as she pulled him by the hand into the warm, empty kitchen. It was late in the day but there was nothing cooking for dinner but a big pot of frijoles. The Depression and the drought had hit the Hispanic villages extra-hard.

“None of that talk, now,” Matt joshed. “Where are my brother and your husband?”

“Sit first and have some coffee.”

As Evangelina scooted to the fireplace for the coffeepot, Matt noticed a big hole in the toe of one of her shoes and the threadbare shawl that covered her shoulders. She'd lost weight and her hair was streaked prematurely gray. She brought him a full cup and sat with him at the table. The black brew tasted more like chicory than coffee, but it was hot and Matt drank it gratefully.

Evangelina said, “Porter and Juan Ignacio are in the fields with my father preparing for spring planting—God willing we get some rain. They should be back soon.” She forced a smile. “You'll stay for dinner.”

“That's mighty kind,” Matt said, thinking he needed to contribute something to the supper pot, like a dressed chicken from the butcher shop. “I never expected you would leave Albuquerque,” he added. “I heard at the general store that you've moved back. Is it for good?”

Evangelina shrugged, the bright smile frozen on her face. “
Tal vez.
Time will tell. Porter lost his job and we had to give up the house.” She paused to keep her composure. “He'll find work; I know he will.” She patted his hand and changed the subject. “Are you still living in Las Cruces?”

“I'm back at the Double K.”

Evangelina's expression clouded and she bit her lip to keep silent.

Matt smiled reassuringly. “It's okay. You don't have to worry about me; I own the brand now.”

Her eyes widened. “The ranch is yours? Patrick is dead?”

“Not dead; he's just not the boss anymore.”

Evangelina laughed in pleased amazement. “I must hear how you did it. Emma always said you were going to be one smart
hombre.”

“I got my smarts from her. Do you think Juan Ignacio will remember me?”

“
Sí,
he remembers you. I never let him forget who he is and where he comes from. He'll be so happy to see you.”

Evangelina's mother, Cristina, entered the kitchen with a pretty little girl in her arms, whom she introduced as her granddaughter, María Teresa Armijo Knox. Released from Cristina's arms, María smiled shyly, ran straight for her mother's lap, and settled in. As Evangelina stroked her daughter's hair, she told Matt with great pride all the wonderful things her María could do—so many he lost count.

Cristina also insisted that Matt should stay for supper, adding that he must spend the night before traveling on to the Three Rivers Ranch. She'd aged some and grown wide around the waist, but her eyes still sparkled as she talked about how happy she was to have Evangelina and her family home and not so far away in Albuquerque. Evangelina said nothing to contradict her mother, but her expression was resigned and much less enthusiastic.

Flaviano, Porter, and Juan Ignacio arrived from the field, chilled by a dry, cold wind that had swept into the basin from the north. After warm greetings and handshakes all around, Matt sat with Juan Ignacio outside in the sunny courtyard, protected from a breeze that whistled through the trees.

At ten, he was tall for his age, all arms and legs under a frayed sweater and blue jeans that stopped at his ankles.

“You're gonna be taller than me, I bet,” Matt predicted.

“That's what Madre says. She says we look alike
también.
”

Matt studied Juan's face carefully. “Maybe so—a little bit anyway. What do you think?”

Juan stared at him for a moment and said, “Kind of, I guess.”

“Is that all right with you?”

“Well, at least you aren't
mucho
ugly,” Juan said with a grin.

“Ouch, that hurts,” Matt said. He punched him lightly on the arm and asked if he was happy to be back in Tularosa.

Juan's smile faded and his expression turned bitter. He spat out, “No.” Complaints tumbled out of him. All his friends were in Albuquerque, his school was better there, his teachers nicer, and until they moved they had their own house with a garden and a yard, electricity and a bathroom. He missed swimming and playing along the Rio Grande with his pals. Porter had sold his bicycle to a neighbor, and the radio too. There was no radio or even electricity in his
abuelo
's house, and no money to go the movies or even buy a penny candy.

His new school was boring and he hated it. The kids called him a coyote because he was only half-Spanish and teased him, saying he was a
güero
because of his lighter-colored hair. They laughed at the way he spoke Spanish in the northern style and said he was a
maricón
because he knew all the answers in class. He'd been getting into fights and never wanted to go back to school again. He just wanted Porter to move the family back to Albuquerque.

Juan's misery brought back memories of the anguish Matt had felt as a child, especially over CJ's dying in France and Ma's long sickness and eventual death. He knew sympathy wouldn't soften Juan's distress. He stood up and said, “I'm going to the grocer's. Want to come?”

Juan wiped his nose with a sleeve to hide his sniffles, shrugged, and nodded. “Okay.”

Matt walked down the lane, with Juan silent and moody at his side. “Do you like chocolate?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“What's your favorite candy bar?”

Juan brightened a smidgen. “Baby Ruth.”

“Let's go get you one.”

At the store, Matt bought two Baby Ruth candy bars for Juan, a big homemade apple pie baked by the grocer's wife, a gallon of milk, and a bag of Arbuckle's coffee. Next door at the butcher shop he picked out two fat, dressed chickens. He paid for everything with some of the money he'd saved from the rent payments he'd received on the Griggs Avenue house.

“What's all that for?” Juan asked, his mouth full of candy bar as they stepped outside into the cold wind of a gathering dusk.

“I think we should have a fiesta to celebrate our family reunion,” Matt replied.

Too busy chewing to talk, but obviously in an improved mood, Juan nodded in complete agreement.

“Does your
abuelo
keep any beer or liquor in the casa?”

Juan swallowed. “
Sí,
beer he makes himself.”

“Good, that will make it a real party.” He watched Juan rip the cover off his second candy bar and take another big bite. “Let's get cracking, kid brother; I'm cold and getting hungry.”

“Me too,” Juan Ignacio Kerney Knox replied.

***

W
ith dinner over, the roasted chickens picked clean, and several gallons of potent homebrew consumed, Matt and all the extended family members Flaviano and Cristina invited to dine with them were in a festive mood. Calling for silence, Flaviano raised a half-drunken toast to Matt. He thanked Matt for the fiesta and announced that he had decided Matt should marry into the family. To facilitate such a union, he offered the last of his unmarried nieces, thirteen-year-old Bennia, as Matt's bride-to-be.

Wide-eyed in shock and blushing in embarrassment, Bennia stared at her uncle in disbelief before rushing from the room, hand to mouth to stifle either sobs or giggles. Matt couldn't tell which. All the Armijo men, including Bennia's father, Tobias, laughed and pounded the table, demanding her return, but it was to no avail.

Over coffee and apple pie, Porter—who was more than tipsy—asked Matt if he'd heard about an emergency work program President Roosevelt had proposed to Congress. All Porter knew was that it had something to do with conservation—planting trees and so on. It would put young men to work, as well as tradesmen with certain skills. Matt liked the idea that the government was finally going to do something about unemployment. “I hope it's true,” he said.

As the evening ended, Flaviano and Tobias cornered Matt. In a conspiratorial whisper, Flaviano said, “You can do no better than Bennia as your bride.”

Rocking on unsteady legs, Tobias agreed. “She is beautiful, no? And she is young and strong.”

“You honor me with your offer,” Matt replied. “I'll sure think on it some.”

As he rolled into the bed Cristina had prepared for him, he wondered if he was truly the most favored prospective suitor for young Bennia. Or were the Armijos simply looking for a way to feed one less mouth in hard times?

Early the next day, Matt said good-bye to his hosts, ruffled Juan Ignacio's hair and gave him a hug, and rode out of the village, groggy from too much beer and too little sleep. Over the next ten days he rode a wide loop, visiting the big outfits at Three Rivers, the Hondo Valley, and Lincoln, Capitan, and Carrizozo. Everyone was sympathetic but not hiring. In the tradition of ranching hospitality, Matt was always offered a meal, conversation, and a bunk for the night, which he gratefully accepted.

In the towns, once thriving businesses were shuttered, banks had gone under, and some of the swanky houses on the main streets stood empty. Warning signs posted on the outskirts advised hobos, transients, and vagrants to move on or face arrest.

On the Carrizozo Road he passed two families out of West Texas traveling in horse-drawn wagons hoping to homestead some land in New Mexico. They questioned him with interest about the Tularosa. He told them about the drought, and their keenness turned sour.

In Carrizozo, he stabled Patches in the livery, fed him a bag of oats as a well-deserved treat, and gave him a good brushing before bedding down for the night in a fifty-cent hotel room. At dawn, ten cents bought him breakfast at a diner across the street from the railway station. After a second cup of coffee, he set out astride Patches with the sun at his back, taking it slow and easy on the old trail that crossed the edge of the malpais. Stray off the path and the thin volcanic crust would give way under a horse and rider and drop them into a deep crevice, never to be seen again. Over the years, many unwary travelers and lost pilgrims had disappeared forever that way.

He arrived back at the Double K expecting Pa to be home, but the corral and pasture held no new ponies and the house was dark and empty. He turned Patches out in the pasture. Calabaza came over to greet him, and the two ponies trotted away for a private conversation. In the house, Matt lit a fire in the cookstove to warm up the kitchen and fixed a meal of canned vegetable soup and stale salt crackers. Through the window he watched dusk quickly turn to night. The ranch felt like an outpost empty of people and cut off from civilization. He resolved to look harder for work, not just for the money but for the human contact it would bring.