Hard Country (50 page)

“We can get you a buggy for town, if need be,” Cal said.

“I’m not an invalid,” Emma said sharply. “I can walk.”

As they left the hotel for the bank, an automobile pulled to a stop outside. The driver cut the engine, jumped out, pulled off his goggles, and went up the steps looking about as pleased as a man could be.

Cal, Patrick, and Emma gave the machine a close look. It was a lot like a buggy, with a front seat and a backseat, a stiff high top, big back wheels, little front ones with hard tires, and a carbide lamp. Cal allowed the only thing it lacked was a horse, and although it had made one hell of a racket and fouled the air, the contraption intrigued him. If a mechanical engine could cart people around, maybe it could be used to pump water out of the ground. That appealed to Cal as a much more practical use.

Patrick wanted to buy one. Emma wanted to be taken for a ride in it.

“I bet it will get stuck in a ditch five miles out of town or just up and quit running for no reason,” Cal predicted.

“Maybe so,” Patrick said, peering at the wheel sticking up from the floor, which somehow steered the thing. “But the time will come when people will trade their horses for these machines.”

“I don’t think I want to be part of a world where folks give up riding ponies.”

Patrick laughed. “You’re getting downright cantankerous, old man.”

“And I plan to stay that way too,” Cal replied as he headed Patrick and Emma down the street toward the bank.

Inside they met with banker George Bowman and his son Henry, who looked over the ranch deed and title papers Patrick had brought along, inquired about the outfit’s outstanding debts—the Double K owed sixty-five dollars to Adam Dieter’s mercantile in Tularosa and thirty dollars to a feed store—and asked what the loan was for.

“My wife is having a baby and the doctor says she needs to stay in town under his care until then,” Patrick answered. “There have been some problems in the past, if you get my drift.”

“Ah,” George Bowman said. A heavyset man with a round face covered with whiskers, he gave Emma a concerned look. “I’m sure we can accommodate you and the missus. Do you have an amount in mind?”

Patrick nodded and glanced at Emma. “We’ve been thinking with rent, food, furnishings, cooking and heating wood, doctor bills, and all, until the baby comes, five hundred dollars.”

“You should think of buying instead of renting,” Henry Bowman said. A thin fellow with a receding hairline, Henry sported a droopy mustache that covered his upper lip. “Real estate is booming. We’ve got over three thousand citizens living here now and more folks are arriving every month. Prices on houses have gone up ten percent in just the last year.”

Patrick glanced at Cal. “What would it take to buy a place?” he asked.

“You can get a good house on a small lot near the new Women’s Improvement Park for about what you want to borrow, perhaps a little more,” George Bowman replied. “It would be a wise investment.”

“If you’d like something more modest,” Henry added, “there are a few smaller adobes along Griggs Avenue for sale. It’s a lovely, tree-shaded lane.”

“Buying makes sense,” Cal said. “It’s better to own property rather than put
dinero
into some landlord’s pocket. I say we should do it. I’ll add my John Hancock to the loan papers, but put the title to the house in Patrick and Emma’s name.”

“You’d like them to own it jointly?” George Bowman asked.

“Yep.”

“Are you agreed?” George Bowman asked Patrick and Emma.

“That’s fine by us,” Patrick said.

“Yes, yes,” Emma said, almost speechless. The thought of owning a house in town was so grand it nearly bowled her over. She had never considered the possibility before.

“Then it’s settled,” Cal said, getting to his feet. “I’ll leave it to you to work out the details. Just make sure the loan amount is enough to cover buying a place and all that they’ll need for Emma’s stay in town.”

“Certainly,” George Bowman said, turning his attention to Patrick and Emma. “You can start looking right away. If you find something you like, Henry here can negotiate on your behalf with the owner.”

“Where are you headed?” Patrick asked Cal, who had his hand on the doorknob.

“You ain’t the only ones with business in town,” Cal replied with a smile and a wave. “See you at supper.”

* * *

O
n the street, Cal hurried quickly to Albert Fall’s law offices, where he waited half an hour to see the judge.

“It’s been a while, Cal,” Fall said with a smile as they shook hands in his office, a wood-paneled room with shelves filled with thick law books. “What brings you to see me?”

“I want to draw up a new will leaving my half of the Double K outfit to Patrick Kerney’s wife, Emma.”

Fall motioned Cal to sit. “Do you currently have a will?”

Cal nodded and handed Fall his copy of the will Albert Fountain had drawn up years ago.

Fall read it quickly. “Do you want to completely remove Patrick as your inheritor?”

“Nope,” Cal said. “Just the ranch part, including livestock. He’ll still get my personal possessions.”

“I see,” Fall said. “How familiar are you with the legal rights of married women?”

“Since I never married, not one bit,” Cal replied.

“New Mexico law is based on old Spanish law,” Fall said, “which gives Patrick’s missus certain protections. Whatever they earn or own during the marriage belongs to both parties, regardless of who earned it or whose name is on the title. And should she survive him, she’ll have full legal access to Patrick’s estate. Also, during their union she’s entitled to a privy examination before a judge to make sure she isn’t being pressured by her husband to sell property belonging to her in whole or part.”

“That’s all well and good, Judge, but we both know laws change, and not always for the better. I want Patrick and Emma to share owning the Double K no matter what, with an equal say in it.”

Fall raised an eyebrow. “Is there trouble between them?”

Cal shook his head. “No more than what any couple bickers about, I reckon. Truth is I favor them both as if they were my own children, and I want that made clear to them.”

“You can put those very words in your will,” Fall said.

Cal nodded. “Good enough.”

“Do you have any additional instructions or advice you wish to give either of them?” Fall asked.

“I’m not looking to turn this into a sermon, Judge,” Cal said.

Fall smiled. “Earlier, you said you wanted them to have equal say in the ranch. That could be spelled out as a condition of your bequest, making it more binding on both parties.”

“I like that notion,” Cal said. “Put it in.”

Fall nodded. “Very good. I’ll have the document drawn up by my clerk immediately. Come by in the morning and we’ll go over it together.”

Cal got to his feet. “I’ll see you then.”

“I understand Sheriff Baker in Otero County is looking for an experienced deputy,” Fall said as he walked Cal to the door. “I could put in a word for you, if you’re so inclined.”

“I’m obliged but not interested,” Cal replied. “I’m too long in the tooth to be riding for the law and have enough work for three men at the ranch. See you
mañana.
”

Cal stepped outside Fall’s office feeling good about what he’d done. Las Cruces was golden brown in the afternoon sun. To the east the fluted peaks of the Organ Mountains, showing every wrinkle and cleft in the brilliant light, dominated the horizon. Near the town, the rich farmland along the river valley muted the surrounding desert with a ribbon of green. A team of mules pulled a wagon with hay bales stacked eight rows high down the dusty street past a mercantile store where a group of Mescaleros were loading up supplies.

Cal approached the group hoping to find James Kaytennae among them, but he wasn’t there. He asked an old Apache man sitting in a wagon if James had come to town.

“Who are you?” the Apache asked, squinting at Cal from under his hat.

“Cal Doran.”

The old man nodded. “I know that name. James not here.”

“
Gracias.
”

“Now you ask me another question,” the Apache said.

“What question is that?” Cal asked.

“Why I give Henry Fountain a pony. James tells me you want to know.”

Cal laughed and slapped his leg. “It’s not important anymore.”

The old man grunted. “Good, because I not say why to you anyway.”

Cal smiled. “That’s fine by me. Tell James howdy for me.”

The old man grunted again.

Cal nodded good-bye, strolled across the street to the Tip-Top Saloon, ordered a whiskey, and glanced around the crowded room. There was nothing fancy about the place, and no familiar faces, but it looked like a rowdy crowd had gathered, ready to get drunk and run wild.

Cal finished his drink, turned to leave, and found Doc Evans blocking his way. Evans’s long greasy hair had been cut short and his skin was pasty, sure signs he’d been cooling his heels in prison for a spell.

“I spent two years locked up in the Santa Fe Penitentiary because of you,” Evans said loudly, slurring his words a bit.

“Doc, I didn’t recognize you,” Cal replied amiably, easing his hand to his six-shooter.

“Did you hear what I said?” Evans snapped, about as drunk as a man could get and remain standing. He leaned to one side and almost lost his balance.

“All I did was arrest you for altering brands.”

“If you’d let me be in Engle, I would have moseyed on down into Mexico and put that little confusion behind me.”

“That makes it a damn shame for you, all right.”

“If I wasn’t drunk I’d call you out,” Evans said.

“Now, there’s no sense getting shot if you’re gonna be too drunk to remember it.”

“You ain’t funny and you ain’t the law no more,” Evans said, wagging his finger. “Watch yourself or maybe you’ll go missing like Albert Fountain and his little boy did.”

He wobbled away to a table and plopped down on a chair next to his old saddle partner Lee Williams.

Cal didn’t ease his hand away from his leg iron until he was out the door. He waited a few minutes to make sure Evans didn’t come stumbling out of the Tip-Top bent on murder, before terrapinning his way to the hotel.

53

O
ver supper at the Don Bernardo Hotel, Emma and Patrick told Cal about the house they liked the best.

“It’s on Griggs Avenue, close to the park, and made of adobe,” Patrick said, “but the owner has added a low, hipped roof, like the one on the ranch house. Should keep it nice and dry inside.”

Cal nodded his approval as he cut a thigh off the roasted chicken and put it on his plate.

“It needs a coat of mud plaster on the outside,” Patrick continued as he sliced white meat off the fowl. “And the floors are dirt sealed in ox blood.”

“How many rooms?” Cal asked.

“Four,” Patrick replied as he passed the plate of chicken to Emma. “It’s a box cut into squares. Kitchen and front room at the street side, two bedrooms at the back. The front room has a fireplace.”

“It’s got water in the kitchen and a good cookstove,” Emma said, her eyes sparkling, “and windows in every room, with a nice big tree in the front yard.”

“Out back there’s a privy, a covered shed large enough to hold firewood and a buggy,” Patrick added. “The adobe wall in back needs work, but the house is solid. Out front is a picket fence.”

“Are you gonna buy it?” Cal asked.

“If we don’t find something better for what we can afford,” Emma said.

“Will it do for you?” Cal asked her.

She nodded. “It’s more than I ever figured on. Will you come look at it with us tomorrow?”

“I will, if you’ll wait on me until I finish some business.”

“What’s all this business you’ve got to take care of?” Patrick asked as he poured gravy on his chicken.

“I’m too hungry to talk anymore right now,” Cal answered, reaching for the bowl of vegetables. “Pass the biscuits.”

* * *

T
he house Patrick and Emma described over supper turned out to be the one they decided to buy. By the following morning the only thing lacking for the deal to go through was Cal’s signature on the Double K mortgage papers. Before heading to the bank, where George and Henry Bowman waited on him, Cal packed his gear and walked with Patrick to the livery, where he saddled Bandit for the ride home to the ranch.

“I’ll be along as soon as Emma’s settled in,” Patrick said as Cal led Bandit out of the stall.

“No hurry, old son,” Cal replied. “Take care of your woman first. The work will still be there when you get home.”

“You should look to hire us a hand,” Patrick said.

Cal cinched the saddle and put the bit in Bandit’s mouth. “Since I expect you’ll be making regular visits to town until the baby comes, I’ve been thinking in that same direction myself.”

“I’ll still pull my weight,” Patrick said.

“I know you will,” Cal said as he walked Bandit outside and paid the stable owner. “Where’s that wife of yours?”

“She said she wasn’t hungry and wanted no breakfast,” Patrick replied with a shrug and grin. “Truth is she’s in the hotel room making a list of what we need for the house.”

Cal laughed as he threw a leg over Bandit. “I bet she comes up with things you ain’t even thought of.”

“Maybe so,” Patrick said. “Do you need me to come along to the bank?”

Cal shook his head as he turned Bandit in the direction of the bank. “Ain’t necessary. See you at the ranch.”

Inside the bank, George and Henry Bowman watched Cal carefully read the loan and real estate papers before signing his name.

“We’ll put the remaining proceeds into Patrick’s new account after the real estate sale is satisfied,” Henry Bowman said as he gathered up the documents.

Cal leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “Can Emma get the money she needs when Patrick is back at the ranch?”

“She’ll be on a monthly allowance that we can disperse to her as needed up to a certain amount,” George Bowman replied. “Patrick will establish credit accounts at the various merchants and pay the household bills when he comes to town.”