Claude nodded. “I understand. You’ll be on the highway before nightfall and the traffic is always light, so there should be no problem reaching the border in a few hours.”
He stepped off in the direction of the barns. “Let’s go get your ponies. I just put them in their stalls and gave them oats after letting them roam in the paddock so they would not be restless on the journey to their new home.”
“That’s mighty thoughtful of you,” Matt said.
Claude shrugged. “They deserve only the best treatment, which I know you will provide.”
“You can count on it,” Matt said.
At the stallion barn, Matt and Kevin looked over Petreo and Centavos before carefully loading them in the trailer. They said goodbye to Claude, who invited them back anytime, and drove down the tree-lined boulevard. A bright-orange sunset was behind them as they passed through the two Mormon settlements, reached the paved, empty highway, and turned north. An hour into the drive under a night sky and no moon, the left rear tire on the truck suddenly went flat, rubber thumping on the pavement, the rear end rattling.
The horse trailer started to fishtail but Matt slowed in time to keep from losing control and eased the truck off the road. He could hear Petreo and Centavos snorting in displeasure as he gently braked to a stop.
“Get those ponies out and hobble them while I unhitch the trailer,” he ordered Kevin. “And stay with them.”
Kevin nodded and jumped out. Matt waited until Kevin had the last pony unloaded before unhitching the trailer and pushing it back from the truck. He got the spare, fired up the Coleman lantern, and jacked up the rear end. He was loosening the lug nuts on the flat when the sound of an approaching vehicle and headlights appeared on the roadway. He stopped and stood.
“Stay where you are,” he called to Kevin. “And only speak English if you have to speak at all.”
The vehicle pulled off the pavement, the headlights on high beam. From the outline of the vehicle, Matt could see it was a pickup truck.
“You got a flat, hombre?” a voice asked in Spanish as a truck door slammed shut.
“What’s that you say?” Matt replied.
“Norte Americano?”
“Yes,” Matt replied, trying to see in the glare. Another truck door closed. Two men at least.
“You speak Spanish?”
“No.”
“Okay, I talk in English.” The man reached through the open truck window, switched the headlights to low beam, and in Spanish quickly told his partner to look into the trailer. “You got horses with you?” he asked.
A shadowy figure passed on the far side of Matt’s truck. “Yes, two. They’re nearby.”
“Okay, that’s good. My amigo will look after them while you change the tire.”
“My son is with them.”
“Bueno.” In Spanish he told his partner to bring the boy to him and then switched back to English. “Nice truck.”
“Thanks.” As the man drew near, Matt knelt and tried to remain composed as he removed the lug nuts.
The man stood over him. “I think once you’ve changed the tire, we’re going to take your nice truck, the trailer, and your horses too.”
In the light of the Coleman lantern, the man smiled down at him with a pistol in his hand.
“Take whatever you want,” Matt replied. Footsteps made him turn to see Kevin come into view behind the horse trailer accompanied by the second man, who was apparently unarmed. He had Kevin’s arm twisted behind his back. “Are you all right?” Matt asked.
Tight-lipped, Kevin nodded.
“Tell me about the caballos,” the pistolero said to his partner.
“Primo, two fine stallions from El Pajarito Rancho.”
Matt removed the last nut, pulled the tire off, and let it clatter to the ground at the pistolero’s feet.
The man’s smile widened as he poked Matt’s shoulder with the barrel of his six-shooter. “Drop the tire iron.”
Matt let it go.
“Give me your wallet.”
Matt stood and handed it over.
The pistolero put the wallet in his shirt pocket.
“How much money?” he asked.
“About forty dollars.”
“That’s good. You got papers for your horses, jefe?”
Matt nodded, stood, and brushed dirt off his hands. “I’ll get them.”
“Send the boy.”
“He doesn’t know where they are. He can put the spare on while I get the papers.”
The pistolero considered it, shrugged, and said in Spanish to his pal, “I’m going to kill them both anyway, so let the boy be helpful.”
Kevin’s captor pushed him toward Matt. White-faced, Kevin stumbled forward.
Matt smiled reassuringly. “Put the spare on, son. It’s going to be all right.”
The pistolero nodded. “Sure, everything is going to be okay, boy.” He waved his gun at Matt. “Okay, I follow you.”
Matt stepped to the open driver’s door, reached under the bench seat, quickly unsnapped the holster to the horse pistol, turned, and shot the pistolero twice in the chest. Before he hit the ground, Matt fired a round in front of his amigo’s feet.
“Don’t move,” he said in Spanish.
The hombre raised his hands and froze. Kevin stood motionless, staring at the dead man.
“Get some rope and hog-tie him,” Matt ordered, waving the horse pistol at the startled Mexican.
Dazed, Kevin blinked. “What?”
“Hog-tie him, dammit!” Matt snapped. “Get on the ground facedown,” he ordered the man.
The man dropped to the pavement and Kevin trussed him up as tight as he could.
Matt retrieved his wallet, searched both men for identification, and found police badges on both of them.
“They’re Mexican cops,” he told Kevin.
“What are we going to do?”
“Clean this mess up and go home,” Matt replied.
They worked quickly. While Kevin changed the tire, hitched the trailer, and got the ponies loaded, Matt threw the body of the dead cop and his hog-tied partner into the back of the Mexican’s truck, drove a half mile into the desert, and parked behind a thicket of agave plants that partially obscured the vehicle from the highway. He dropped the police badges and the cop’s pistol on the floorboard, grabbed the Coleman lantern, rolled up the windows, got out, locked the cab, and threw the keys away.
“You’re gonna leave me here?” the cop asked in Spanish.
“Yes, I am. You’d better hope someone finds you before the vultures or the coyotes discover your dead partner come sunup.”
“¡Chinga tu madre!”
Matt laughed harshly as he started back toward the lights of his truck on the highway. “Good luck, amigo.”
***
Kevin was ready to go. They scrambled into the truck, Matt behind the wheel, and drove away, hearts pounding, constantly shifting their gaze to the side mirrors expecting to see the flashing emergency lights of a police car coming up fast behind them. The border station was closed when they reached Palomas, and they crossed into New Mexico without incident. They passed through Columbus and on to Deming before stopping on the outskirts of town to give the ponies a breather from the trailer and feed them some oats.
“You’re never going to mention one word of this to anybody ever,” Matt said grimly as they walked the horses across an empty cotton field under a rising half-moon. “Especially your mother.”
“No, sir, I won’t,” Kevin promised somberly. “Did you mean to take Gramps’s horse pistol into Mexico knowing it was against the law?”
“Mexico is a different world,” Matt said. “Anyone who goes there unarmed would be a complete fool.”
Kevin stopped walking Centavos and looked at his father. “Did you kill that
other policeman? I didn’t hear any shots.”
“I did not,” Matt replied. “That would have been murder, not self-defense. I left him tied up in the back of the pickup. Hopefully, he’ll be found.”
“And if not, he’ll die.”
“That’s possible,” Matt replied. “Are you upset that I had to shoot the pistolero?”
Kevin shook his head. “No, I’m glad you did. Otherwise we’d be dead.”
Matt clasped his hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “That’s right. Remember, not a word.”
Kevin nodded solemnly. “I promise.”
35
For weeks Kevin worried that the police would come to arrest him and his dad for murder. He kept waiting for a news story out of Mexico about one or two dead policemen, but there was nothing. His apprehension faded when he figured that if the other cop had survived, he wouldn’t want to admit to any wrongdoing. Maybe he’d concocted a story about being ambushed by bandits. But reassuring himself didn’t keep Kevin from having occasional nightmares about that night on the highway. The faces of the Mexicans were always ghostlike; only his father stood out clearly. Time and again, the horse pistol in his dad’s hand spewed orange flames as the man fell dead on the side of the road in slow motion, his dad calm and expressionless as he pulled the trigger. Kevin wondered if he could ever shoot another human being without flinching or shaking. He doubted it.
After spring works, when the cattle had been gathered, the calves branded, and the herds thrown onto fresh pastures, ranchers traditionally took a breathing spell. To stimulate interest in his ponies, Matt took out ads in regional livestock and agriculture trade magazines using the photographs he’d bought from Jeannie, inviting interested parties to visit and look over the 7-Bar-K cow ponies that would be sold at auction in March. The ad also contained photos of Petreo and Centavos, with captions detailing their bloodlines and offering stud services at reasonable rates.
At the auction, all the ponies sold and the two stallions brought in a sizable amount in negotiated stud fees, enough so that Matt recouped half of what he’d spent to buy them from Delfino Díaz.
That night with Al, Brenda, and Dale joining in at the supper table to celebrate the successful auction and partake of one of Mary’s special beef casseroles, Matt raised his beer bottle high.
“We’re on our way,” he predicted with a satisfied smile. “Along with the ranchers who bought, we sold to two pro rodeo cowboys who promised to come back again next year and bring their friends. That’s a market that’s only gonna get bigger for us.”
“Stop gloating and eat,” Mary said sweetly as she slid a plate heaped with beef casserole and green beans under his chin.
Matt’s fork froze in midair as he grinned. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“He can’t help himself,” Al replied between bites. Everybody laughed.
As a conspirator pledged to silence, Kevin marveled at how guilt-free about killing the Mexican his father seemed to be. Was it really so easy to shake off taking a life? Did war teach a person how to do that?
Matt met his questioning gaze with a smile. Kevin smiled back, wondering if they’d ever again talk about what happened in Mexico. He didn’t think so.
***
As always, the annual all-state high school rodeo coincided with spring break and Kevin felt ready. Both families packed up and left for the host town of Deming in the cool of the morning. They drove the back way to Hillsboro, then south through lovely grassy hills past the ghost town of Lake Valley, once the site of the richest silver deposit in the country, and finally west along a little used highway that ended just north of Deming.
The chamber of commerce had put welcoming banners announcing the rodeo on the streets and a local country-and-western radio station was broadcasting live from a popular diner. The DJ was interviewing favored contestants who’d won at regional events. As team roping contenders, Kevin and Dale were scheduled to be interviewed later in the afternoon.
They pulled into the arena parking lot, listening to Todd Marks, the current all-around state champion, modestly discussing his chances of repeating. He mentioned a few cowboys who worried him some, but Kevin wasn’t among them. Kevin didn’t know if he should take offense at the omission or be happy to be overlooked. He decided the latter. If he was that underrated, maybe Todd wouldn’t see him coming.
After unloading the ponies, Kevin’s and Dale’s parents took off for the motel while they stayed behind to walk, water, and feed their restless animals. At the registration table they lined up behind two pretty cowgirls to sign in and pay their entry fees. The taller of the two had long dark hair under her cowboy hat. Her high cheekbones and intelligent, smoky eyes reminded Kevin a little bit of the folksinger Joan Baez.
He leaned closer. “Are you barrel racing?”
The girl turned and looked him up and down. “No, I’m here to sign up for prom queen.”
Kevin blushed at the well-deserved sarcasm. “That was pretty stupid of me.”
Next to him, Dale chucked. So did the girl standing with his tormentor.
“Not stupid,” the girl replied. “Just inept.”
“He hasn’t had a girlfriend in a while,” Dale explained.
Kevin dug an elbow in Dale’s side, took a step back, and tipped his hat. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
“No bother. Will you be at the dance tonight?”
“What dance?”
“At the American Legion Hall. It’s a fund-raiser for the state high school rodeo association, but free to all participants.”
“I reckon so, if you’ll be there.”
“I might be.”
“Then I’ll be there if you’ll dance with me.”
“I might.”
“Would it be inept of me to ask your name?”
The girl shrugged. “Kim Ward.”
“And I’m Loretta,” Kim’s companion said.
“I’m Kevin Kerney, and this here is Dale Jennings.”
Loretta gave Dale a sweet smile.
“I know who you are,” Kim Ward replied as she stepped up to the table. “If I don’t see you tonight, good luck this weekend.”
“We’d better go dancing tonight, old boy,” Dale whispered in Kevin’s ear as he dug an elbow in his side.
Kevin swatted his arm away.
***
Informed of the rodeo association fund-raising dance at the American Legion, both sets of parents decided to go as well. On their way from the parking lot, Kevin hung back and asked his father why he’d never joined a veterans’ organization.
“I never saw much sense to drinking and telling war stories, most of which are BS,” Matt replied.
“You never talk about any of your old army buddies.”
“My war was a short one,” Matt replied curtly. “I didn’t have much time to make a lot of friends.”
Inside, Kevin looked around for Kim Ward but didn’t see her. Dale had cornered Loretta, the girl who had been in line with Kim. Kevin asked where she was.
“She’ll be here,” Loretta replied as Dale led her out on the dance floor.
The hall was festooned with bunting and banners put up by the rodeo association, and the band was playing two-step music that had the crowd filling the floor. The bar along a side wall was packed with men around Matt’s age sipping longneck beers and watching the action.
Twenty minutes passed before Kim showed up, looking spectacular in a rose-red cowgirl shirt and tight jeans that showed off her firm, athletic figure.
“There you are,” Kevin said, intercepting her as she crossed the edge of the dance floor.
“Do you know how to dance?” Kim asked.
“I do,” Kevin replied, silently thanking Jeannie Hollister for teaching him how to move his feet.
“Let’s see.” She took him by the hand and pulled him onto the floor
. “You better not be lying to me, cowboy.”
As they danced, he learned she was from Deming, a senior about to graduate, and lived with her mom on twenty acres outside of town. When the band stopped for a break, they stepped outside to cool down.
“You’re not too bad,” Kim said as they stood in the cool of the night.
“That’s because you made me look good,” Kevin replied.
She stepped close and kissed him on the lips. “Want to go to a party?”
“Where?”
“Close by. Come on, I’m driving.”
“I’ll get Dale and Loretta.”
“Just leave them be.”
“Okay. Let me tell my parents first.”
“I’ll ask them,” Kim proposed. “Point them out to me.”
The band had started back up. Inside they found Kevin’s parents dancing to an Elvis Presley ballad. With permission granted as long as Kevin didn’t stay out too late, they piled into Kim’s old Chevy. Five minutes later they stopped in front of a small farmhouse. One lonely lamplight shone behind the curtain of the front window.
“Where are we?”
“My house.” She reached over and caressed the erection that pressed hard against the fabric of his jeans. “We’re the party. My mom’s at work.” She nibbled his ear. “Come on.”
He saw no reason not to and had no desire to resist. Still he asked, as he tumbled out the passenger door with Kim sliding across the seat behind him, “Are you sure?”
“I’m on the pill.”
Later, when she deposited him at the motel-room door, he was no longer a virgin twice over. His parents were asleep in one of the double beds. Certain that he smelled of sex, he undressed quickly and got under the covers in the unoccupied bed, hoping it would go undiscovered. He fell asleep within minutes.
***
On Saturday, Kevin didn’t see Kim until he’d completed the first rounds of team roping with Dale and saddle-bronc riding. Both events had been stellar, and if he kept it up he had a shot at leading the pack at the end of the day.
Barrel racing was about to begin when he approached Kim as she waited next to her pony.
The Last Ranch Page 38
