Although the days were long and work was often hard, there was a sense of contentment to ranch life that wasn’t easy to find within the confines of town. His parents never left the ranch unless they had to, and the only time Kevin truly missed living in T or C was when he got to longing for a girlfriend.
The ranch kids on the surrounding Jornada spreads, some of which were twenty or more miles distant from the Rocking J, were all a lot younger than he was, and while there were some really cute girls around his age involved in FFA and 4-H, he simply didn’t have the time to participate. He looked ahead to the future thinking surely he’d someday get lucky, but that didn’t cure what ailed him.
At school, he enjoyed JROTC, especially studying military history and learning proper military etiquette. He was particularly keen about orienteering and marksmanship training. The instructor, James Bingham, a retired army major who’d fought in Africa and Italy during World War II, soon had the class of eighteen students marching like regular soldiers and passing his spit-and-polish uniform inspections. By the middle of the term, they’d twice been to the Sheriff’s Posse shooting range, practicing for the rifle qualification test. So far, Kevin had posted the highest scores in the class, which would have qualified him as an expert marksman in the regular army.
Along with his other classmates, he was required to wear his uniform once a week, sometimes more, and no one at school dared make fun of them about it. Principal Becker made it clear at the first assembly of the year that any ridicule directed toward JROTC students would be dealt with harshly. Barred from open demonstrations of scorn, Jeannie and her tight circle of antiwar protesters would turn away in silence whenever anyone wearing the JROTC uniform passed by. Kevin always made it a point to give her a cheerful hello when it was his turn to be shunned by her and her pals in the school corridors.
Since the start of school he’d gained another pound of muscle, added a half inch in height, and healed up nicely from his cracked ribs. The upcoming fall rodeo was to be held on the university campus in Las Cruces, and he was raring to go. Excused from classes early by Principal Becker on the Friday before the weekend rodeo, Kevin and Dale caravanned with their parents to Las Cruces towing horse trailers filled with ponies and equipment. Both boys got to drive the whole way, which added to their excitement and enthusiasm for the weekend ahead. No longer were they being treated like kids.
After arriving, they registered with rodeo officials, paid their entry fees, unloaded and took care of the ponies, unhitched and parked the horse trailers, and found a motel on the west end of Main Street that offered reduced room rates to rodeo contestants and their families.
Erma had asked everyone over for drinks and an early dinner after their arrival in town, so they unpacked in a hurry and made the short drive to her house, where she greeted them at the front door with hugs and kisses all around.
Because they’d be competing in the morning, Kevin and Dale were served soft drinks, while Matt and Al opted for beer. They gathered in the living room, the women on a large couch with glasses of red wine and the guys on easy chairs clustered near a long coffee table that fronted the couch.
“I can’t wait to watch you two compete,” Erma said, raising her glass in salute to Kevin and Dale.
“We’ll do good,” Dale said, tipping his pop bottle in reply. “Promise.”
“Well, you’d better. I told all my friends to come out and root for you.”
“That will sure help,” Kevin said, remaining cautious. Rodeo was a sport with too many unknown variables, especially when it came to the horse, the rider, the livestock, and the luck of the draw.
“Of course it will.” Erma beamed agreeably, turning her attention to Mary. “I’m building a new house.”
“You’re what?”
“In the hills east of the university. It will have wonderful views of the valley and the Organ Mountains.”
“Are you selling this place?” Mary asked, somewhat amazed by the news.
Erma looked shocked at the mere suggestion. “Heavens no. It’s too valuable as a rental property.”
Matt grinned and slapped his leg. “That’s the way to do it. I swear, you remind me of my mother. In her day I believe she owned more property than any other woman in Las Cruces.”
“That’s my kind of gal.” Erma stood. “Would you like to see the plans?”
An affirmative chorus greeted her. She went upstairs, returned quickly, and spread architectural drawings on the coffee table. Everyone gathered close as Erma guided them through the drawings. The house would have a deep living room with a wall of windows facing southwest and a spacious detached studio on the north side tied into the house by an enclosed courtyard with entry gained from a large kitchen and dining area. To the rear of the living room through a long hallway there would be two bedrooms, each with a full bath. Bedroom windows would look out on the Organ Mountains to the east. A curved driveway would lead to the attached garage on the south side of the house, above which would be a small one-bedroom apartment that Erma planned to rent out. The builder would break ground in a week.
Finished with her explanation, she turned to Kevin. “I expect you to be my first tenant when you start at the university.”
Kevin’s eyes widened. “Me?” he idiotically replied.
Erma laughed and poked him in the side. “Yes, you. It’s already been arranged with your parents. They just didn’t know you’d be living in a different house.”
“Lucky stiff,” Dale grumbled.
Erma glanced at Al and Brenda. “Should I make it into a two-bedroom apartment?”
“That’s very kind but there’s no need,” Brenda replied. “Dale has decided to enlist in the air force when he graduates in June.”
“Oh,” Erma said politely, holding back on her impulse to criticize Dale’s decision. “Well, it will be here for him when he gets out and decides to continue his education.”
Dale smiled at the idea. “Cool.”
Erma rolled up the drawings and put them aside. “I’ve roasted a couple of chickens for dinner and made a chocolate cake for dessert. Who’s hungry?”
***
In the morning after the opening ceremonies, which included all the contestants cantering around the arena and the playing of the national anthem, the first event of the day was steer wrestling. By the luck of the draw, Kevin was slated to go last. The stands were packed with spectators. Just about every ranching family in the southern part of the state was in attendance, along with a large number of Aggie college students, faculty, and staff. In addition, townspeople, mostly families with children, had come out to watch the show. Over the next two days, two go-rounds for each event would decide the winners, including the all-around title.
Kevin watched his competition anxiously from behind the chutes as they took their turns, assisted by hazers who kept the steer running straight so the contestant could drop from his horse, grab the steer by the horns, and wrestle it to the ground. The clock stopped when the animal went down. Most of the contestants had good times and only one got disqualified. It took coordination, technique, and strength to post a fast time in the event. The cowboy with the best combined times would win. Dale was his hazer and did a great job, but Kevin fell short with a time of 6.1 seconds, which put him in second place. Still, it was a good start for his all-around score.
Barrel racing was next, which gave Kevin a breather before the team-roping event with Dale. After the cowgirls finished their go-round, they were up first. Kevin made a perfect break out of the box, dropped his loop neatly over the steer’s horns, and swiftly turned the steer so Dale could rope both hind legs. It was picture perfect and both boys were grinning with pleasure as they doffed their hats and left the arena. They were in first place with a two-second lead that would be hard to beat if they stayed consistent on Sunday.
He took a third in saddle-bronc riding, barely reaching the ei
ght-second mark before tumbling off the pony. He was pleased with the ride, although he thought the judges had scored him a little bit low. He was still in contention, however, and figured he needed at least two wins and maybe two second-place finishes for a shot at the all-around title.
His last event of the day, calf roping, came after bull riding. It was a timed event that required chasing a calf on horseback, roping it, flanking it onto its side, and tying down three legs. Kevin’s calf proved uncooperative and he finished the go-round in last place, which dimmed his prospects of winning the all-around buckle. But in rodeo, spills, penalties, disqualifications, and ornery livestock could quickly reverse the standings. Tomorrow would be another day. He stayed encouraged.
On Sunday, Kevin climbed in the all-around standings with a first with Dale in team roping, a first in saddle-bronc riding, and a second in steer wrestling. His only hope to take home the buckle rested with the calf-roping event. He needed a great time to offset the previous day’s last-place finish. Kevin did his best and turned in a respectable performance, but he couldn’t overcome the deficit from the day before. The title went to Todd Marks, a cowboy from Glenwood. He got the buckle and Kevin got a plaque, presented to them during the closing ceremony by Dr. Julius Nicolls, chair of the Animal Husbandry Department at NMSU. Matt thought that was a hoot.
***
At the awards assembly at the end of fall term, Kevin made the scholastic honor roll again and received four JROTC uniform ribbons for physical fitness, academic excellence, orienteering, and serving on the rifle team. After the cheerleaders got their letters and Coach Bradley passed out varsity letters to all the jocks, Principal Becker took the stage, called Kevin and Dale up, and in a surprise announcement awarded them varsity letters in rodeo.
“Although we don’t have a rodeo team or even a club, both Kevin and Dale have represented our school with honor, winning a number of events,” he said, handing them the letters and accompanying certificates of achievement. “They will compete as Hot Springs Tigers at the all-state high school rodeo championships in Deming next spring, and I want you all to wish them well.”
The cheers, whistles, clapping, and foot stomping made both boys blush. The football team, including Joey Stewart, the basketball team, the track team, and the baseball team all gave them a standing ovation. Soon, the entire assembly was on its feet. From the corner of his eye Kevin could see even Jeannie Hollister was standing and applauding.
The editor of the weekly paper took their photograph. It made the front page of the next edition with the caption: HOT SPRINGS TIGERS RODEO COWBOYS HONORED. Mary and Brenda got copies of the photograph from the editor and had them framed.
***
By the start of the Christmas holidays, the small horse barn and paddock Kevin had helped build was finished. Soon after the Las Cruces rodeo, Matt had driven to Mexico and purchased two stud stallions from Delfino Díaz, the owner of El Pajarito Ranch in the foothills outside the small Mormon community of Colonia Dublán. The Kerneys had done business with the Díaz family all the way back to the frontier days, when Patrick and Cal Doran had pushed a herd of cows across the border to sell to Delfino’s father, Emiliano.
El Pajarito Ranch raised some of the finest quarter horses in North America and their prize stallions were coveted by breeders on both sides of the border. After close inspection, Matt bought two horses and had been waiting impatiently for the government livestock import papers from the Department of Agriculture to arrive in the mail so he could go fetch them. The documents came two days before Christmas.
He’d brought back photographs of the horses. One was a five-year-old chestnut named Petreo and the other a six-year-old gray named Centavos. “Stony” and “Cents” had been named by Díaz’s young granddaughters. Both stallions were fine-looking animals proven at stud. He was eager to have them service his mares and had already contracted with two ranchers to stand them at stud for their brood mares.
On the Monday after Christmas, Matt and Kevin left for El Pajarito towing a new two-stall horse trailer. Arriving in Las Cruces, they headed west to the town of Deming and south to the border town of Columbus. They stopped so Kevin could tour some of the few remaining buildings of old Camp Furlong, the US Customs House, and the remnants of the first combat airfield in the United States. During the Mexican Revolution, Pancho Villa and his raiders attacked the town, which later became the headquarters for General Pershing’s punitive expedition into Mexico. Kevin knew about the battle from his JROTC class and planned to write about it to fulfill the military-history requirement in the spring term. For an hour, he took snapshots, made notes, poked around some adobe ruins on the outskirts of the tiny village, and made rough sketches. At a small general store he bought six postcards with neat photographs of the old camp and airfield. Back at the truck, Matt, who was eager to collect his ponies, fired up the engine as soon as Kevin came into sight.
At the border crossing, they waited their turn to be questioned by a Mexican official who stood outside a small guard station with a sign on it warning that it was illegal to bring any kind of firearms into the country. When Matt reached the checkpoint, he presented his driver’s license, proof of auto insurance, and the government papers needed to transport livestock into the United States. After inspecting the horse trailer carefully, the officer waved them through and they entered the dusty, dirt-poor town of Palomas, populated mostly by braceros—farm workers and their families who legally crossed into the United States at harvest time. With no one to stop them, the rest of the townspeople usually just sauntered across illegally at will. A few wealthy families in the town owned most of the businesses designed to snag US dollars from passing motorists, and they kept it all to themselves.
On the short main road through downtown they passed by a colorful array of brightly painted buildings that catered to tourists with large signs in English advertising discount prices on liquor, cigarettes, dental services, prescription drugs, handmade boots and saddles, and just about anything else you might need. Old men sat on the shady side of the street watching the traffic pass by. On dirt side streets, kids kicked soccer balls around or popped wheelies on bicycles. In front of the town grocery store, a hunchback beggar solicited change from customers. Matt told Kevin the several women loitering in front of a bar were probably in the flesh trade.
“The old-time cowboys on both sides of the border called them soiled doves,” he added.
“That sounds almost flattering,” Kevin mused.
“In a way, it was. For many of those old boys, the soiled doves were just about the only women they knew, and they were often treated with respect.”
The houses on the outskirts of Palomas were mostly small, unfinished adobe structures or simple shacks with old tires on the roof to keep the tin sheeting from blowing away. Outside of town the land looked no different from southern New Mexico, except it was more expansive to the eye, with hints of distant mountains like vague violet specks tumbling westerly at the edge of a sea of desert grassland, dirty and pale yellow under a blue sky.
It was a good two-lane road with little traffic. About halfway to the rancho, Matt pulled off to the side of the road and they broke out the picnic lunch Mary had packed. They ate in the shade of the horse trailer under a cloudless, breezeless blue sky. The day had turned mildly hot, about ten degrees warmer than back home, and it was a welcome break from the confines of the truck. Only three vehicles passed them during the time they were stopped, all traveling south.
An hour and a half later they entered a pretty valley of farmland and orchards bisected by the Casas Grandes River and dotted with tidy houses and barns no different from the Victorian homes in the Las Cruces neighborhood where Erma lived. Settled by Mormons, the village of Colonia Dublán looked like it had been picked up intact by a Midwestern tornado and dropped gently into the valley.
Before the Mexican Revolution, Rancho Pajarito had virtually surrounded Coloni
a Dublán and nearby Colonia Juárez, another Mormon settlement. At its height, it embraced almost three quarters of a million acres. Now confined to mountain foothills and high pasturelands west of the villages, the Díaz family still controlled more than two hundred thousand acres. Beyond Sierra el Pajarito, the place name taken for the ranch, the high Sierra Madres lurked to the west.
The rough and rocky road to Colonia Juárez cut through some low barren hills that gave way to an idyllic view of prosperous farms gathered along a small river that flowed downstream into the Rio Casas Grandes. They crossed it on a wooden bridge, followed a farm road through fallow fields, and climbed above the valley to a hacienda at the end of a long boulevard of bordering trees. The hacienda was long with an ornate parapet; tall, narrow windows; and massive, wooden double doors. It sat apart from a cluster of barns, paddocks, staff quarters, bunkhouses, and outbuildings—all pristine and gleaming white. Handsome ponies lounged in a nearby large fenced pasture and beyond the fence a small herd of cattle clustered near a stock tank. On the other side of the hacienda was an airstrip with an empty hangar.
Matt stopped at the ranch manager’s house and was met by Claudious Whetten, also known as Claude, a Mormon whose family had worked at the rancho since before the Mexican Revolution.
Blond and blue-eyed, he spoke English and Spanish flawlessly. “Señor Díaz sends his regrets that he cannot be here,” Claude said, shaking Matt’s hand. “The family traveled to Mexico City for the holidays.”
“That’s perfectly understandable,” Matt said, turning to Kevin. “This is my son, Kevin.”
“Mucho gusto,” Kevin said.
“You speak Spanish?” Claude asked in Spanish.
“I’m hoping to get pretty good at it,” Kevin replied.
“Que bueno.” He switched back to English, eyeing the afternoon winter sky. “You are welcome to spend the night.”
“I appreciate the hospitality, but it’s best we get back home pronto.”
The Last Ranch Page 37
