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.
***
Mary 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.”
***
Al 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 inc
ursion 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.
16
With the army’s closure of the state highway across the Tularosa Basin and the demise of Engle to virtually a ghost town, Matt had switched all of his business dealings to Hot Springs, the Sierra County seat nestled in low, rock-strewn, sandy hills along the Rio Grande. The natural mineral springs drew some tourist business to the town, as did the nearby Elephant Butte Reservoir, which when finished in 1916 created a manmade lake forty miles long and tamed a long stretch of the often wandering, sometimes destructive river. But mostly the town thrived on local commerce, government services, and a hospital to treat children with polio that had been built during the Great Depression. A number of motels on the main drag catered to motorists traveling along US Highway 85, a major roadway now completely paved that more or less paralleled the river from Las Cruces to Santa Fe, and there was the usual mix of bars, diners, and assorted stores and businesses that supplied the various needs of the citizenry. Yet the town remained devoid of charm to the point that it rarely made a favorable impression on anyone, including the folks who lived there.
With the completion of spring works on the 7-Bar-K, Matt left Jim Sawyer at the cabin to keep an eye on the cow and calf herd in the north pasture, said goodbye to a rejuvenated Patrick at the ranch house, who’d promised to take good care of the ponies, and headed first to Engle to pick up the mail, then on to Hot Springs to do banking and pay some bills before driving to Las Cruces to see Mary.
In Engle at the little general store that also served as the post office, he collected his mail and sat outside in the truck reading Mary’s letters. There were six, all dated before he’d sent her a short note apologizing for his delay in corresponding. He read them in order and as the tone changed from Mary’s usual cheerful affection to her worry about his silence, Matt’s alarm escalated. In one letter she asked him to call on a Saturday morning and promised to wait by the telephone until he did so. Why would she want to do that? Had something bad happened? Was she sick? He shuddered at the thought of losing her to some illness. Or did she ask him to call so she could politely throw him over by long distance to avoid any face-to-face unpleasantness?
Why not? Matt speculated. An absent boyfriend who lived to hell and gone on a ranch outside of nowhere wasn’t the greatest catch for an educated, good-looking woman who could have her pick of any of the eligible town bachelors. The mere thought of losing her to another man depressed him. What had he done to screw up so badly, other than by necessity being out of touch for a very short time? Surely, it wasn’t just that.
Early March winds had kicked up on the Jornada and dust whipped through the open truck windows, coating Matt and everything inside. The hell with going to Hot Springs. He put her letters in the glove box and cranked the engine. Ranch business could wait; Mary was too important. He thought about trying to call her from the pay phone outside the train station, but most likely she was still in her classroom at school. He wheeled south, anxious and troubled to learn what awaited him in Las Cruces.
***
It was long past school hours when Matt arrived in Las Cruces. At the apartment, Erma’s car was gone from the street and there was no answer to his knock at the door. The landlady, Mrs. Lorenz, told him the girls had left earlier all dressed up to go out, although she had no idea where—but after all it was a Friday evening. For several hours, until hunger got the best of him, he waited in the truck for Mary to return while Mrs. Lorenz every now and then suspiciously peeked at him through a window. He decided to leave the truck parked in front of the apartment so that Mary would know he was around in case she arrived home before he returned, and walked the few blocks to a diner on Main Street, where a group of noisy soldiers from the proving ground had commandeered three booths at the back of the establishment and were chowing down on food that was at least a peg or two better than the usual army mess-hall fare.
He sat at the counter eavesdropping on the boisterous jabbering of the young men in uniform as he ate a meal of broiled pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes with gravy. Finished, he left two dollars on the counter to cover the check and the tip and returned to Mary’s apartment. The lights were on inside, cars were arriving, and Erma was at the open front door gaily greeting several well-dressed couples. Record-player music and the hum of lively conversation drifted from inside.
Matt balked and retreated to the street corner. It was most definitively a party that he hadn’t been invited to attend. More cars arrived, filling up parking spaces on both sides of the street. Gus and Consuelo Merton showed up, as did several other college professors Matt recognized.
For better or worse, he decided to get it over with. He used his handkerchief to wipe his boots clean, brushed the dust off his jeans, took a deep breath, marched to the front porch, and knocked on the door. Erma appeared, blocked the doorway, and looked him up and down.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said flatly.
“Sorry to intrude on the party, but I’d like to speak to Mary if she’s free.”
Erma stood aside. “Come in.”
Matt stalled. “What’s the occasion?”
A hint of delight that Erma couldn’t suppress danced in her eyes. “We’re celebrating the opening of the inaugural student art league juried show on campus. My watercolor of the Organ Mountains took a first-place blue ribbon.”
“Congratulations,” Matt said, sincerely pleased for her accomplishment. He knew how much her art meant to her. “That’s wonderful.”
“Thank you.” Erma’s standoffishness cracked a tiny bit and she managed a smile. “Mary’s inside. Last I saw her she was in the kitchen.”
“Should I duck when she sees me?”
Erma stepped back. “That will be entirely up to you.”
The front room was filled with guests clutching wineglasses, smoking cigarettes, and chatting to one another with great gusto. He was halfway across the room when Gus Merton intercepted him.
“Where have you been?” he thundered, clasping a hand on his shoulder.
“Wrestling with overprotective mother cows and skirmishing with the US Army,” Matt replied with a grin.
“Ah, the plights of the modern-day rancher in
the wilds of New Mexico,” Gus replied with a sympathetic smile. “I want to hear all about it. Are you here for the weekend?”
“I plan to be.”
“Good. Come to dinner at the hacienda tomorrow. Bring Mary.”
Matt shrugged. “I sure will, if she’s free.”
Gus raised his chin in the direction of the kitchen. “By all means, find out if she can join us. Consuelo will be sorely disappointed if she can’t.”
He gave Matt a gentle push toward the kitchen as he turned to speak to a matronly woman obviously eager to gain his full attention.
In the kitchen Mary was deep in conversation with a good-looking fella Matt didn’t know. When she saw him, she broke away and hurried over.
“I saw your truck when we got home,” she said tonelessly. “Let me get my jacket and we can talk outside.”
Matt nodded. “Okay.”
On the sidewalk, she silently led him away from the party.
“Are you upset with me?” he asked as they reached the corner.
Mary stopped, turned on her heel and faced him under the dim glow of the street lamp. “I have something to tell you. I’m pregnant.”
Matt took a breath and sighed in relief. “That’s it?”
“Excuse me?”
A smile lit up his face. Relieved and delighted by the news, he grabbed her by both arms. “I thought you were going to dump me. We’re going to have a baby?”
Mary could hear the pleasure in his voice. She bit her lip to keep from crying and nodded. “Yes, we are.”
Matt wrapped her in his arms. “Marry me.”
He didn’t question her, doubt her, or retreat from her. All her fears that he might do so evaporated. His instant and complete commitment to her was so overwhelming it felt almost surreal. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
His arms tightened around her. “Yes, I am. Will you?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Mary answered.
“Gus and Consuelo have invited us to dinner tomorrow night. Other than Erma, I’d like them to be the first to know.”
The Last Ranch Page 19
