He and his kin had many reasons to journey to the other side of the lake where he knew they would be able to hunt the large animals that grazed there in the deep grass along the edge of the lake. That open area between the water and the forest of trees that circled that lake abounded with lush grass that supported huge herds of bison, mammoths, and even the much larger and prized wooly mammoths would sometimes graze there. Most importantly, there were deposits of salt that all animals including humans relished. They could hide in the trees knowing that their scent would blow away from the prey animals rather than to them. It was impossible to get near them on his side of the lake, the side where the protective cave was, the wind would always blow the humans smells to the animals. Here, on the side where the sun sets, they had to depend upon small animals and an occasional deer. On the side where the sun rises they could easily sneak up on larger animals and deliver a deep lance. They needed the larger animals on the other side of the lake because of the fat content in their meat. The fat could be combined with summer plants making a food that would get them through the long, dark and cold winter months.
Making the journey to the other side was an imperative, the clan depended upon it. He knew the journey there would be a challenge; the swampy lower end of the lake was also the home of saber toothed lions, bears and dire wolves. Sometimes, larger animals became mired in mud, making them easy prey for the carnivores. The trees used for cover was also scarce there; we humans would be exposed at times.
It was the wolves that worried him most. Like the hunters themselves, they hunted in packs, always looking for the solitary beast that would find itself mired in mud, diseased, or simply too old to keep up with the herd. He knew that just like the animals they hunted, in large groups or herds they were safe but once separated from the herd they would enter the food chain of the carnivores. Clan Protector was worried; his herd of humans was becoming smaller every year. There were fewer men who could engage in the hunt and more females, like his daughter, at home to care for.
The mammoth that they hunted would be a welcome relief from the venison, rabbits, and other small game that was easily obtained on the cave side of the mountain where they lived. They knew by instinct that by eating only lean meat they would suffer greatly during the long winter months when no greenery could be found. Despite the huge stores of roots, nuts, wild onion, leaves and fruit they stored inside of their cave, by mid-winter it would all be gone. It would lose its life force, that magic that kept them alive. The food that provided the vitamins and nutrients that would ward off the disease that would become known as scurvy in another day would become useless. They needed stores of mammoth meat that was marbled with fat that would sustain them through the winter. Mammoth meat and pine tree needles, for some reason a hot drink made from these kept the sickness away.
Mixing the fatty meat with berries, vegetable products and nuts and then enclosing it in animal intestines then drying it all produced a food that kept them healthy though the winters. The fat itself provided them with a multitude of necessities that provided them with much more than just food; it powered their lamps that provided them with light that was necessary to live in a cave. It was used as ointment that kept their skin from flaking and itching during the long winter nights and even provided a bit of protection from the wind that always blew from the direction that the sun set. It kept their leather and fur clothing supple and flexible. Without it they would need to move to another cave where game could be found and that would be a very dangerous move.
He knew that there were other men out there, like themselves but much smaller and more numerous. Despite all manner of attempting to make peace with these smaller creatures, they had given up. They were numerous and like themselves, they were all territorial and they had discovered the bounty to be claimed on this part of the lake. Clan Protector knew that they would have to watch for them. Maybe they would have to hide and wait until the other people had killed all they wanted. Most strangers would consider you just another animal, a food source.
After his small hunting party gathered up small leather packs with foodstuffs and cutting implements made from the volcanic glass that was found where there were mountains of black burnt rocks, they gathered up their atlatls and short spears that would be used to wound the beast. No one ever just went up and killed one of the huge beasts; it had to be wounded, then the hunters would follow it until it finally bled to death. Sometimes it took days, even weeks. It would then be cut up into slabs that could easily be transported on travois all the way back to the cave where it would be stored deep within the coolest parts of the cave, away from other prowling animals that surely would attempt to take it away from them. In the deep recesses of the cave it would keep for many moons, until the first green leaves would return in the spring.
It took only two days for the men to arrive at the south eastern edge of the lake, but they immediately spotted a problem where the lake spills over into a shallow winding river. A scout or hunter from one of the clans of small peoples had spotted them. Clan Protector watched him as the warrior ran as fast as he could, fleeing to the eastern shore to where the sun rises and the waves were much larger. Running along the shoreline and then darting into the trees. Clan Protector could see wood smoke from many fires where a large band of people were camped in the small cedar trees that hid them.
The smaller people were superstitious about the much bigger humans that lived around them. They were different. Not human like us. They are animals. Besides they too wanted the rights to hunt game in this ideal place. Although they were much smaller, there were many of them and within a few moments it was obvious they were preparing to give chase. About two double handfuls of them ran out in the open and followed the pointed finger of the scout to where he had spotted Clan Protector and his small band of hunters. In Clan Protectors hunting party there were fewer of them than there were fingers on two hands. There were many-many handfuls of the other smaller but deadly visitors. Clan Protector and his small band of hunters had only one clear choice; to flee back to the safety of the cave. There, they would be relatively safe from even large bands of the new people. Clan Protector had experienced other encounters with the new comers. It had happened before, several winters ago, a band of the smaller humans had followed them to the cave where instead of killing them, the small warriors were killed and eaten by the clan. Unfortunately, this time things could be very different. There were many of them and this time, the newcomers would conceive a diabolical plan.
An Uneasy Feeling
Leaving the Serpiente ranch house that cold December day left everyone in a moody feeling. Suddenly the ranch work was done and a “blue northern” had covered all of northern New Mexico in an icy grip. Here in central New Mexico, where winters were normally mild and wet, it had been spitting snow all day yet the snow never accumulated, only blew across the road drifting in tiny rivulets of crust around brown yucca plants. Driving up the rutted dirt road in the snow was a hypnotic sensation. Only rarely did a glimpse of warming sunlight filter through the dark angry clouds, when it did it left the scene looking like a classic oil painting with the scenery saturated in vivid colors.
With the road almost frozen, the traction was pretty good but there were spots. Wherever a side arroyo crossed the bed of the road, the road dropped down into cold, wet mud. The day before there had been a thin layer of running liquid water. That water was still there but it was in the process of freezing, making traction easier, but now climbing out on the opposite bank would be a challenge.
Everyone was tired, after busting their collective butts rebuilding several structures that desperately needed repairs. Serpiente, the name given to their ranch, had been in desperate need of repairs. The roofs of two buildings were starting to sag badly, looking rather oriental. Constructed years ago, they were built with the easiest to acquire materials, the cheapest that could be found. They had to be torn down and completely rebuilt. Several other small structures required the entire roof structu
re to be torn off and then new rafters built from re-sawn two by six planks of lumber. Once they were structurally sound they were roofed with long sheets of corrugated metal to make them waterproof.
In New Mexico the question is never whether roofs are waterproof or not, but whether they are wind proof. More than a few corrugated panels had blown off these roofs. Then, of course, there was fencing. On a ranch, fence repair is a never ending job despite using the best barbed wire available. The problem is the post. Much of the ranch was still fenced with cedar post. Cedar posts are slow to rot but eventually all wood rots. Those that did had to be replaced with a steel post.
Cattle needed to be rounded up and taken by a trailer, one load at a time into Belen where they would be shipped to packing houses to feed hungry New Mexicans. They even had to spend a couple of evenings processing a couple of steers for themselves. The entire family worked to cut, wrap with freezer paper, and store the meat in the twelve foot commercial chest freezer they had recently purchased. They had also purchased a hog from a neighbor that had to be butchered and processed. Then, there were many more jobs that had to be done on a daily basis.
Those weeks leading up to the first major snow had been hectic. Hidalgo was stoic, like the Navajo he was. Whatever was going to happen would happen. Although Hidalgo was completely comfortable, if not downright sociable when around most people, during times like this his Navajo persona came out. As I would say, he seemed to go into a Zen state. Someone who didn’t know him might think he was depressed. Instead he was actually in a higher state of consciousness. In his mind he was always several steps ahead, somewhat like a chess player. Often he was in a mental world completely alien to his surroundings.
Corey on the other hand, was impatient, always looking for the next chore. He had long ago lost his childhood notions about work. His work was his life, he enjoyed it, and he had every intention of making the most of it, he always wanted to make a showing.
Sitting there in the truck seat and reflecting upon their situation, Corey and Hidalgo, who had usually worn leather gloves while working with the rough re-sawn wood, had still managed to inflict their arms and hands with a multitude of tiny splinters that required me to use needles in a meticulous effort to extricate them. Blisters had appeared that later had turned into calluses. Calluses are normal for working folks, but with Corey and Hidalgo a whole new set of calluses had formed. Those callused hands were the calling cards of a working rancher.
A working ranch was, and is, a small town. But even in the best of times the ranch was an operating nightmare. Although a good living could be made, it was a tough living, always requiring a multitude of skills. The smart rancher was schooled. He operated as his own accountant, lawyer, farmer, politician, mechanic, carpenter, veterinarian or anything else it took not to have to pay someone else to do it for him.
Operating cash was hard to come by, often coming only during the fall after the stock was sold. On a ranch such as Serpiente nothing was wasted. When an animal was slaughtered for meat, for example, everything was used except the hoofs, hide, and bones. Small bones still flush with fragments of meat on them were used as stock for stews. Ken even enjoyed sucking the marrow out of them like all people before modern humans. Eventually even the waste bone and hoofs were used for fertilizer. The hides were cured and turned into all sorts of leather goods by a tannery in Albuquerque.
Most ranches in New Mexico survived because the owner could earn an outside income; another job, another income. The people who operated the ranch at Serpiente were actually well to do. They were wealthy by nearly all standards. Their adventures as historical detectives had left them with a small treasure consisting of gemstones such as emeralds along with a small amount of gold that they had accidentally accumulated. Most of this had long ago been banked for a time when things might get rough, but it did give them real operating capital and confidence. In the meantime, we lived within our means, off the ranch.
The family was constantly reinventing themselves, adapting to every new situation; typical proud Americans. We wanted to prove to ourselves that we could live within our means on a working ranch. They found they couldn’t stick to their vow of frugality, not and attend college as well as do all the things that their detective work required without dipping into the money, but it was their personal goal to try.
The ranch house, called Serpeinte was named after the serpentine canyons that contained a multitude of ancient pictographs or painted rock drawings or petroglyphs, usually of rattlesnakes which is in Spanish; Serpiente de Casabel, the serpent with bells on its tail. The ranch was the center of our world. We lived well because of our devotion to each other. We had become a real family. It was a working relationship and working together as a team we had accomplished all that we had set out to do. We were all working on the same game plan, yet as individuals we were all very different both in personality and skill; each of us an expert in our own way. The fact that they were all learned in their individual skills made each of us both interesting and irreplaceable. But there was much more to that relationship than sharing of skills. As historical detectives it was our individual skills that made us effective.
The distant mountains and typical scenery of New Mexico had disappeared in the weather. The only visible scenery which could be used to judge their progress was the small sandstone buttes and volcanic knobs very close to the rutted road. It didn’t matter; they had driven the route hundreds of times and knew it by heart. For entertainment they relived old times such as how funny it was when I walked into the kitchen and accidently let it slip that I would like to learn to paint oil paintings. I always thought of myself as somewhat an artist but had never had the money or chance to really learn. June had also expressed an interest in art; she wanted to cover the bare walls of the ranch house in art expressing the families’ exploits.
Then a week passed and Hidalgo drove up to the ranch house and came inside as if nothing different was going on. After dinner with coffee he causally asked me if I was really interested in learning to paint.
“Sure,” I replied, “I was thinking of taking a class or something.”
Hidalgos says, “I got some things for you today while I was in Albuquerque. If you think you can use this stuff, it’s yours.” We all walked out to the truck Hidalgo had been driving. The entire truck bed was full of artist supplies with dozens of pre-stretched blank canvases.
This all caused quite a stir. Now June and I owed something to Hidalgo and the tease was on. But it wasn’t the first gift Hidalgo had given me. That tease would continue until Hidalgo was in debt to me. Like sisters and brothers we couldn’t stop a playful tease, we all seemed to be family. Corey and I had developed a real working relationship with Hidalgo and under Ken and June’ s tutorage the three of us had created a world of adventures in which, we all worked together. The adventures of detective work took the edge off of the drudgery of ranch work.
Within a few days Hidalgo had taught me how to actually paint a landscape painting. I simply did exactly what he said even if it seemed wrong to me at the time. Hidalgo had learned the basis of painting while working in Durango. Before he got his job as a policeman he had lived with a young lady who completely filled the small house they shared with her art work. Hidalgo had watched her paint dozens of paintings and although he had never been offered a canvas to paint himself, which was disappointing to say the least, her point was there wasn’t enough room in the small apartment for two practicing artist. After all, she was the professional artist and it was her house she was renting, even though Hidalgo was paying half the rent and stayed in a separate bedroom as for her request. Hidalgo preferred it that way. Hidalgo had taken careful mental notes of how she acquired the effects she got on her canvases, and then found a better place to live.
Following Hidalgo’s simple instructions, such as mixing the Cerulean Blue with a little Titanium White to get the best likeness of a western sky, and then adding only the most subtle amount of Payne’s Grey to get a
sky that is light at the horizon and darker hued as you look up into the sky which is what he taught me to do, all done with a big brush because of all the blending that is done. “Look at the sky,” and I would, and then he would say, “Paint it using the techniques I have taught you.” I was able to paint a mountain scene; a truly marvelous mountain scene! At this point, I felt like I was ready for the Sistine Chapel.
Hidalgo had also saved my life, several times now. Even historical detective work can sometimes become dangerous work. People want to keep secrets, particularly if they involve great wealth, and particularly if it is purloined wealth, that they wanted for themselves. But now the members of the detective agency had hoped to do something a little less dangerous for awhile. I would normally have gone with Corey and Hidalgo at a moment’s notice but this time I was busily immersed in my new hobby and Corey and Hidalgo were relieved to be done with the drudgery of the ranch work.
A jackrabbit darted across the road in front of them and Cory had to jerk the steering wheel to avoid hitting it. All and all, they were pretty proud of their efforts as the ranch houses began to look brand new. At least the animals that lived in those structures would enjoy a relief from the monotonous cold winds that had enveloped the area. Still they had an uneasy feeling. Something else was bothering them, making their moods as cloudy as the weather. They were feeling a foreboding about the trip that couldn’t be put into words. They decided to blame it on the weather.
Don and Leslie Nelson
After reaching Los Lunas, Corey and Hidalgo pulled on to the old Isleta highway that splits off just north of Isleta Pueblo. There, between the black volcanic mesas they followed Coors Road until they came out on Central Avenue. They traveled a short distance west on Central where they had decided to find a café to enjoy some New Mexico food to warm them up. Instead of Rio Grande chili they had steak fingers out at Mac’s ‘Steak in the Rough.’ Being used to turning out an amazing amount of physical labor they were famished, both men ordered double helpings of ‘Steak in the Rough.’
The Family at Serpiente Page 42
