The Last Ranch (19 page)

Dear Mr. Kerney,

Pursuant to the March 1, 1946 special use permit signed by the Secretary of War providing for the expansion of White Sands Proving Ground, you are hereby advised that a
recently concluded aerial and ground survey of the 7-Bar-K Ranch conducted with your written permission by personnel of the U.S. Geological Survey has determined that certain lands presumed to be part of the original patent secured by one John Kerney are in fact within the White Sands Proving Ground boundaries and thus fall under the jurisdiction of the United States Army.

Enclosed you will find a map prepared by the Corps of Engineers showing the revised survey boundaries for your ranch. You have thirty days from receipt of this letter to remove any and all private property located outside the 7-Bar-K boundary lines. After that time said property will be seized and disposed of by the government.

Should you have questions please contact my office.

Maj. John Reynolds, US Army
Adjutant
White Sands Proving Ground

“Dammit,” Matt snapped.

From across the room, Patrick turned down the volume on the
Amos 'n' Andy
Show.
“What's stuck in your craw?”

Matt stepped over and showed him the letter. Patrick snarled, crumpled it, and threw it on the floor. “It's robbery and I say we fight it. Otherwise we're gonna lose a fourth of our land to those bastards.”

“I bet they're just getting started.” Matt picked up the letter and smoothed it out. “I'll see a lawyer pronto and have him talk to the army.”

Most of the land the army wanted to take was marginal at best, but it included one good, small pasture. If the army prevailed, it
meant Matt would have to reduce the size of his herd after spring works.

Patrick grunted. “The business end of my horse pistol would be more convincing than any lawyer's fancy words.”

“You'd go to war with the army?” Matt asked incredulously.

“Hell yes and why not? This country was born in rebellion.”

Matt sighed. “Let's try the peaceable way first.”

“Suit yourself,” Patrick replied, reaching for the volume knob on the radio.

***

O
n his way to see a lawyer, Matt detoured to the Rocking J to give Al the news about the army's land grab. Al had news of his own, showing Matt a letter he'd received from the army challenging the title to the two sections of pasture Patrick had sold to Al's father. According to the letter, the sheepherder who originally homesteaded the land had recorded his deed on the wrong county plats, thus invalidating Al's title to the land. He had thirty days to remove his cattle.

“They want control of every blasted acre from the San Andres east to the Sacramentos,” Al said.

“And north of Carrizozo as well, I reckon,” Matt added. “If they can't steal it, they'll lease it and never give it back. If we lose both pastures, we won't have enough grazing land to get us through to fall works.”

“Can we stall them through to the fall?” Al asked.

“That's a question for a lawyer, and I'm on my way to see one.”

“I'm going with you,” Al said, rising from his chair. He gave Brenda a quick kiss, told her not to worry, and piled into Matt's truck for the drive to Hot Springs.

Along the way they talked about the trouble losing land to the army would cause. They'd have to move the herd off the Rocking J pasture, where the grass was good, and probably spend money on feed to fatten them up. Spring works were coming, and that meant gathering all the mother cows and their babies for doctoring and branding at either the Rocking J or 7-Bar-K headquarters. For convenience, they decided the Rocking J would do best. First, they'd throw the heifers, yearlings, and steers onto the 7-Bar-K north pasture, where the windmill produced a steady flow of water and the fencing was secure. Matt would send his ranch hand Jim Sawyer to stay at the line cabin to look after the cattle. Maybe Patrick would agree to go as well.

If in the end they lost the land permanently to the army, they'd have to cut back on cattle production in order not to further degrade the remaining rangeland. Matt thought it might be time for him to give up cattle altogether and return to raising ponies. A top hand with horses, Al suggested that if Matt made the switch they should still keep their informal partnership going. They sealed it with a handshake.

In Hot Springs, they met with Charlie Hopkinson in his downtown storefront office. The eldest son of a rancher with pioneer roots in the Lake Valley hill country, Charlie had chosen the law over livestock. In his thirty-year career, he'd been retained for one reason or another by just about every rancher in five counties. A rotund, bookish man who loved poetry over ponies and literary conversation over cattle, Charlie was known to be a fierce courtroom adversary. After reading the letters sent by the army, Charlie peered at Matt and Al over his spectacles.

“Save your money, boys; it's a fight you can't win,” he counseled.

“Why is that?” Matt asked, agitated by Charlie's quick dismissal of their grievances.

“Because they've got proof that your title to the lands in question is invalid.” Charlie leaned back in his chair. “Hear me out. To mount a case it would take a complete new survey of the 7-Bar-K to prove them wrong—if they are wrong—and a judge to set aside the army's claim that the Rocking J technically doesn't own those two sections. No judge I know is going to do that.”

“Why not?” Al demanded.

“Because none of them wants to be branded as taking an unpatriotic stand against the army. No matter who I approached on the bench to hear your case, I guarantee he'd take it under advisement, wait until the army assumes possession, and then wash his hands of the whole matter by kicking it over to federal court.”

“You know that for a fact?” Matt queried.

Charlie nodded. “I do. I play poker with every one of them the third Thursday of the month.”

“What about the ranchers that are signing new lease agreements with the army?” Al asked.

“The government isn't questioning the title to those lands.” Charlie tapped his pen on the desktop for emphasis. “And that's because either the state or federal government controls over ninety-five percent of it leased out for grazing. Even with a new lease, those folks forced off their ranches aren't going to be allowed back for the next twenty years—probably never, if you ask me. All they get is some money, and in most cases not a lot of it either.”

“What can we do?” Frustration tinged Matt's question.

Charlie pondered the question for a moment. “As far as I know, you two own the only remaining privately held ranches in the San
Andres Mountains. My best guess is that eventually the army will come to one or both of you with a purchase option.”

“You're telling us we won't have a choice,” Matt declared.

“Pretty much.” Charlie swung his chair around, searched through a bookcase, unfolded a large map of the Jornada and Tularosa Basin on his desk, and asked for the exact locations of the two ranches.

Matt and Al pointed out their boundaries. The 7-Bar-K was now completely encircled by the proving ground. With the loss of the two sections, the Rocking J sat right on the western edge of the military installation, most of it stretching into the Jornada tablelands.

“You can hang on for a while or sell out when the army comes a-calling with an offer,” Charlie proposed with a sad smile.

“How long is a while?” Al asked.

Charlie raised the palms of his hands skyward. “Who knows? Next year? Five or ten years from now? But if you want to dig in your heels and stick it out, I'll gladly represent you. The best I can do is slow them down once they decide to come after you. What we don't want is for the government to condemn your property. Cash money at a fair price will be our goal. It's up to you to decide if my time is worth it.”

He folded the map and put it aside.

Matt and Al exchanged looks. “We're sticking,” Matt announced. “How much is your retainer?”

“At this point, with everything so uncertain, a retainer isn't necessary.” Charlie got to his feet. “We'll take it step-by-step as the need arises. Just make sure I know about everything that transpires between you and the government from here on out. And I mean everything.”

The three men shook hands.

“For now, as far as I know, you're some of the last holdouts the army can't bully off their land,” Charlie said. “I'm proud to represent you.”

“Ain't that being unpatriotic?” Al jokingly chided.

Charlie laughed. “Maybe, but it sure isn't un-American.”

Matt and Al drove back to the Rocking J without much jawboning. When they turned off onto the Rocking J ranch road, Al asked Matt what he was going to say to Patrick.

“Nothing, except that we've hired Charlie Hopkinson to look out for our interests. That should keep him calm.”

“That old boy isn't gonna budge off the land,” Al predicted. “Neither would my pa if he were still with us.”

“I'm not inclined to budge an inch myself,” Matt said. “I already gave them my left eye. That should be good enough.”

Al nodded sympathetically. “But it puts a pall over just about everything we do from here on out, doesn't it?”

Matt nodded. “As if drought and not enough pasture for the cattle we've got isn't bad enough.”

“Are we gonna stick to our plan?”

“You bet we are,” Matt said emphatically.

Al smiled. “I feel better already.”

Matt smiled in return. “Me too, partner. Me too.”

A week after meeting with Charlie Hopkinson, a carbon copy of a letter he'd written to the commanding general of White Sands Proving Ground on Matt's behalf arrived by mail. In it, Charlie complained about a lack of adequate warning to remove Matt's property from the “disputed lands” and the “unconstitutional” refusal of the army to allow Matt to challenge the findings of the new 7-Bar-K Ranch land survey. Attached to the letter was a note from Charlie explaining he'd sent it to start a paper trail of protest that might prove helpful in any future legal actions against the federal government. The next time Matt saw Al, he learned Charlie had done the same for him.

Moving the herd from Al's pasture to the 7-Bar-K north pasture meant trailing the stock a far distance over mountainous terrain unsuitable for vehicles. As a result the enterprise took on most of the trappings of an old-time cattle drive on horseback. Patrick proved to be a big help putting the chuck wagon back into shape, stocking it with necessary victuals and firewood, and volunteering to serve as the camp cook. Matt enlisted Jim Sawyer to
resupply the high-country cabin, tune up the north pasture windmill to ensure adequate water for the arriving cattle, truck sufficient feed cake and salt licks to last at least a month, and then meet them along the trail on horseback to help with the drive. All in all, money and time that could have been well used elsewhere went into satisfying the army's demands. It got Matt's blood to boiling and put Al into a foul mood as well.

Charlie's letter of complaint to the general did generate some unexpected help in the sudden appearance of the two range riders employed by the army who arrived with orders to assist in the removal of cattle from the Rocking J pasture. The men, Jamie Kyle and Marcos Vasquez, known to both Matt and Al, were experienced cowboys once employed by the San Augustine Ranch, a 150,000-acre spread now 90 percent owned by the army. They were genuinely sympathetic about the unhappy situation that had caused their arrival and readily fell to the task of gathering cattle for the drive.

Once under way it went slowly. Mother cows with their new babies couldn't and wouldn't be prodded or pushed, and about once every day a pregnant cow would drop a newborn calf, causing everything to come to a complete stop. In three days they reached the cabin in good spirits in spite of everything, moods turned around by the sheer enjoyment of working at a job they loved on a piece of beautiful high country, with panoramic glimpses of distant mountains crowned by pure white clouds in crystal-clear, turquoise-blue skies.

Jim Sawyer joined up with them at the cabin and they rested the herd for a day before pushing on to the north pasture. As they plodded along, the number of newborn calves increased. Matt and Al decided to establish a camp at the north pasture to complete spring works there rather than moving the herd once again downslope to the Rocking J headquarters.

They reached the pasture at midmorning on the sixth day of the drive with every cow and calf accounted for. Before Jamie and Marcos departed, Matt asked them to mail a note he'd quickly scribbled to Mary explaining his long absence from town. He hadn't been in touch with her since his return from the meeting with Charlie Hopkinson in Hot Springs.

After setting up camp, he sent Patrick and Jim back to the 7-Bar-K to restock and bring what was needed for branding and doctoring. Al left for the Rocking J to do the same and check on Brenda's well-being, which left Matt alone to enjoy some solitude. He turned Maverick out to graze and used his saddle as an improvised writing table to pen a long letter to Mary, describing all that had happened since their last weekend together almost a month ago.

Finished, he sealed the letter and put it away in his saddlebags, wondering if letters from her awaited him at the Engle post office, where the 7-Bar-K now got mail because of the army's permanent closure of the state highway from Tularosa to Rhodes Canyon. When he could, Matt made twice-weekly mail runs, but he hadn't been able to get to Engle during the past ten days.

They'd been writing to each other on the average of three times a week, and Matt sorely missed her letters. He hoped she hadn't stopped because of his silence, or lost interest in him for that very reason. He didn't like thinking of that possibility at all.

It riled him to think how much the blasted army had inconvenienced him, both in the pursuit of his livelihood and in his personal life. If both got ruined, he just might have to take up Patrick's horse pistol and join him in armed rebellion against the government.

The cattle, lazy and thickheaded by nature, had clustered around the water tank. Shaking off his ill humor, Matt saddled
Maverick and went to scatter them, certain he'd find a mother cow or two about to drop a calf and possibly in need of assistance.

***

M
ary arrived home to find a letter from Matt in the porch mailbox. She dropped her purse on the couch and tore it open. It read:

Dear Mary,

I'm sorry to be so lax in writing to you recently but I've been forced by the blasted army to move the cows Al and I pastured on land that has now been taken from him for the proving ground. Because of all the time and effort that's gone into gathering and moving the herd, we've decided to do our spring works right where we are rather than trailing them down to the Rocking J. It means I'll be camped here and out of touch for about another week.

I've been missing you and your company. I'll come to see you as soon as I can, promise.

Affectionately,
Matt

Mary sat on the couch and read the letter again. Even with the endearments it seemed so formal. Had he written it in a rush? Was he backing away from her? Nearly three weeks had passed with no communication from him other than this brief note. She had no way to know if he still cared until she saw him again. She wondered if she'd ever.

She examined the envelope. It had been mailed from
Alamogordo. If he'd gone there, with the state road across the proving ground now closed, he would have most likely driven south to Las Cruces and then east to Alamogordo. Why would he pass through town twice going and coming and not stop to see her?

The idea of it made her want to cry. Her last two letters had urged him to visit as soon as he could. She'd even written him on a Monday two weeks ago asking him to call her from the Engle train station on Saturday morning next, promising to wait until noon for his call, underlining that it was very important to speak with him. He didn't call or even write back to say that he couldn't.

All she could believe was that it was over between them. A feeling of abject misery froze her in place.

Erma found her sitting bolt upright on the couch in the fading light of day. “What's wrong?” she asked.

Mary handed her the letter. She switched on the table lamp, read it, and glanced at Mary. “You're crying over this?” she asked disbelievingly.

“A little,” Mary admitted.

“That's silly. He's working, that's all. He hasn't got a telephone, he's probably miles from anywhere, and he hasn't had a chance to pick up his mail.”

“That's one way to look at it.”

“That's the only way,” Erma countered. “Let's go out there this weekend and track him down. You'll see that I'm right.”

Mary shook her head.

Erma sat and took her friend's hand. “Why are you so intent on believing Matt will run like the dickens once you tell him you're pregnant with his baby?”

“I just am.”

Erma looked at Mary sternly. “If you're that convinced, why
don't we drive to Juárez this weekend and find an abortionist? That way the school board won't fire you for being a pregnant, unmarried teacher and you can start looking for Matt's replacement. Next time, will another cowboy do, or should it be someone who conveniently lives in town?”

“I'd never get rid of the baby!” Mary snapped. “And stop being so mean.”

Erma stroked Mary's hair. “Think this through. Do you want to move far away and start over again with a baby and no job?”

“I have money set aside,” Mary replied defiantly.

Erma wrapped an arm around Mary's shoulder. “You're scared, honey. I know I would be.”

Mary leaned against Erma and nodded.

“Why don't you give Matt a chance to prove he isn't a cad?”

“Do you think he is?”

Erma took a deep breath. “After Hank, I'm suspicious of all men, but Matt has always struck me as one of the good guys. Frankly, I've always been a bit jealous that he went for you and not me.”

“You never told me that before.”

“I never thought you'd let go of him before.”

“Is that what I'm doing?”

“You're planning for the worst instead of hoping for the best. Give him a chance to show his true colors.”

“Waiting isn't my strong suit.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes, very much.”

Erma gave her a squeeze. “Then you can do it. You're the bravest person I know.”

***

A
l and Patrick had spread the word about early spring works at the Rocking J and 7-Bar-K and over the course of the next few days, folks came to help, including Earl and Addie Hightower, who'd been displaced from their ranch, Miguel Chávez from Tularosa, and James Kaytennae and Jasper Daklugie from Mescalero. Brenda took charge of feeding the crew with Millie's able assistance, and Jim helped Patrick gather firewood and care for the ponies. Even Marcus Vasquez and Jamie Kyle came on the sly and worked for a day before riding off in early dusk after chow.

It was a bittersweet gathering of friends and acquaintances that put a sparkle in Patrick's eye and a spring in his step, and made Matt pause to recall many happy memories of times past. It also brought out the army by way of a small reconnaissance airplane that flew overhead several times a day to make sure no schemes were underfoot to plot sabotage or mount an armed incursion onto the proving ground.

Matt wondered what the pilot thought while circling around an encampment of wagons, people, horses, and cattle clustered near a hastily thrown up corral on the high side pasture of a remote mountain. From where he stood, it looked right off the page of a Eugene Manlove Rhodes novel set some seventy years in the past.

He took it all in. He loved the smell, feel, sight, and sound of it almost as much as the pleasurable companionship it fostered.

On one such flyby, Jasper Daklugie looked up at the single-engine plane with stars on its wings and wondered aloud if the army would let him ride in one.

“You're not in the army,” Matt reminded him as he freed a bawling calf Jasper had just branded.

Jasper smiled. “Soon, I go.” He touched the red-hot branding iron to another calf dragged over by James Kaytennae and the scent of seared hair again filled Matt's nostrils.

“But there's no new war to fight,” he replied, remembering James Kaytennae's prophesy of an armed conflict to come.

“Soon it comes,” James Kaytennae announced confidently as he roped an unbranded calf Earl Hightower hazed over to him from the far end of the corral.

The calm look of certainty on both men's faces gave Matt good reason not to challenge their predictions. Right or wrong, there was always a place in the world for oracles. And besides, on such a perfect day, he didn't want to think too deeply about the insane prospect of another war. Instead, he imagined that these remote, beautiful mountains would never again host such an old-fashioned assemblage of cowmen, womenfolk, ponies, and cattle. When spring works were done and all had departed, an invisible curtain on the old west would close once and forever. With a sudden pang, he wished Mary had been with him to see it.