Hard Country (9 page)

He’d been given the job of fetching the new mounts from the fort because the menfolk had gone to Lincoln to testify in a hearing about John Good’s killing of a cowboy allegedly caught stealing cattle from the ranch.

Kerney had heard that the dead man in question had been bushwhacked by Good because of some old feud back in Texas. Given the way Good bridled at any perceived slight or wrong, Kerney didn’t doubt the possibility.

So far, he’d avoided Good’s mean streak by holding his tongue and doing his job, but he wasn’t happy with the situation and planned to move on after drawing his pay at the end of the month. To where, he wasn’t sure.

The absence of horses in the pasture told him that Good and his kin had not yet come back from their visit to the circuit court. He turned the horses out into the corral, stripped to the waist, and cleaned up at the water trough next to the barn. Across the way, John Good’s wife, Jewel, watched him from the ranch-house porch.

She was a tall, stern-looking woman with thin lips, a square jaw, and a quarrelsome personality that contradicted both her names. She turned and went inside without so much as calling out a howdy or giving a wave in Kerney’s direction.

After feeding his horse some oats and putting it in the corral, Kerney chopped firewood, carried it to the cookstove, and hauled well water to the kitchen without one word passing between him and Good’s wife and daughters. When he finished his chores, Good’s plumpest daughter served him a meal of fried chicken and beans, again without a word spoken. He ate it on the porch stoop with the western sun hanging large over the distant mountains.

As he sipped the last of his coffee, a horseman came into view on the lower meadow, approaching at a slow pace. Kerney squinted and recognized Cal Doran’s paint horse, Patches. Smiling, he stood, waved, and waited.

Robertson’s hired gun on the cattle drive that brought Kerney from Texas to the Tularosa, Cal Doran had become a good companion on the trail, and over the past year their friendship had deepened.

“Haven’t seen you since I quit Pat Coghlan,” Kerney said as Doran pulled up and dismounted.

“I quit him myself soon after. I can’t abide a man who expects loyalty without earning it.” A rangy man with intelligent and watchful eyes, Cal took off his gloves, slapped some dust from his chaps, and looked over Kerney’s shoulder. “Who’s the woman standing at the door inside the house?”

“Mrs. Jewel Good, the rancher’s wife, I imagine,” Kerney answered. “She seems to think she needs to keep an eye on me. Dick Turknet is working for Coghlan now.”

“Now, that’s disturbing news,” Doran replied with a rueful smile. He’d shaved off his mustache since last Kerney saw him and now looked even more boyish. “I heard that Charlie Gambel is riding with Dick and the cousins,” he added. “That’s a group of compañeros to stay shy of.”

“Too late for me,” Kerney replied. “I met up with those bright lads gone bad earlier today. Charlie promised to see me again real soon.”

Cal laughed. “So Charlie’s a hard case, is he?”

“He’d have me believe so,” Kerney replied. “What brings you up the canyon? Looking for work?”

“Nope,” Cal said. “I’ve got something for you.” He took an envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to Kerney. “A mule skinner down in El Paso was asking around about you. When I allowed I might know you, he gave me this to pass along.”

Kerney’s name on the grease-stained envelope was misspelled and barely legible. “What else did he say?”

“Said this fellow in a mining camp up north was asking anyone heading south if they knew you.”

Soon after arriving on the Tularosa, Kerney had sent a letter to Ida’s shopkeeper brother in Dodge City with money to settle the account for the care of his son. He’d also enclosed a letter to Ida asking that it be forwarded if her whereabouts were known.

Quickly he tore open the envelope and read the note:

Ida dead eight weks ago come Sunday. I cain’t care your boy no more myself. Come get him or I give him away to someone who can.

Virgil Peters

Kerney’s expression hardened. “Did he say where he met this man?”

“Arroyo Hondo, north of Taos,” Cal replied. “You look like something bit down on you terrible.”

“I need to get up there pronto.” Kerney stepped off hurriedly toward the corral.

Cal kept pace. “Mind telling me why?”

Kerney handed Doran the letter as he got his saddle and entered the corral.

Cal read it quickly and gave it back. “How old is the boy?”

“Coming on four years.” Kerney heaved the saddle over his horse’s back and tightened the girth strap. “His name is Patrick.”

“What in blazes are you gonna do with a four-year-old boy?”

“Be his pa, which I haven’t been for one damn day of his wretched life so far.”

“That’s a heavy load for a hired hand on horseback,” Cal said. “You’re going to need some considerable help to raise up that pup.”

“If I don’t go get him, then I’m the sorriest man who ever forked a horse.” Kerney led his mount out of the corral, looped the reins loosely over a railing, and turned for the barn. “I’ll get my gear and bedroll.”

“Better hold up there, horse,” Cal said with a nod at the ranch house. A woman came toward them at a hurried pace. “Seems your leaving has raised some curiosity. Is that rancher Good’s wife?”

“It is.” Kerney touched the brim of his hat when she drew near. “Ma’am.”

“Where are you going?” she demanded indignantly, dismissing Cal Doran with a stern look.

“Mrs. Good,” Kerney said. “I don’t like leaving you short, but I need to draw my pay and be on my way.”

“Draw your pay?” Jewel Good snapped. “You know my husband’s rule. No wages paid until the end of the month.”

“I can’t stay. I’m in a tight spot. I need to fetch my son from a man who has been caring for him and now threatens to give him away. Surely you understand.”

“Humph,” she said in a huff, giving Cal a hostile glance. “Going drinking with your friend is more likely the truth, I’d say.”

“Just hold up one minute, ma’am,” Kerney said. “I don’t appreciate your words, and I’m owed my wages.”

“I have no money to give you.”

Kerney knew better. He bit his lip to keep from calling the woman a liar and mounted up. “I’ll get my bedroll and be gone.”

“I’ll ride with you a ways,” Cal said. He gave Mrs. Good a winning smile, removed his hat, and said, “Ma’am, if I may say a word or two?”

“What is it?” she replied tartly.

“The way I see it, the only good thing about you is your name, which you plainly don’t deserve.”

Mrs. Good turned livid. “Get off this ranch.”

“Gladly,” Cal said with a broad, courtly sweep of his hat.

* * *

D
uring their time in New Mexico, neither Kerney nor Cal Doran had strayed far from the basin, but they knew that the mail coach came to Tularosa from the village of Las Vegas, on the high plains, a far ways north of Fort Stanton. Because the road was a well-traveled route, Kerney figured he’d be able to make good time. Once in Las Vegas he would find out the quickest and best way to reach the mining camp at Arroyo Hondo before striking out for the high country.

After riding through most of the night and stopping for a few hours’ sleep before traveling on, they arrived at Fort Stanton late in the day, where Kerney expected he and Cal would part company. Instead, after the colors had been retired for the evening and the troop formation dismissed from the quadrangle, Cal grinned at him, clicked his heels together, saluted, and said he’d decided to sign on for the duration.

“Are you sure?” Kerney asked. A small group of Mescalero Apaches wrapped in blankets came out of the squat administration building and sat on the ground in front of the building. The Indian agent stepped out and tried to wave them away. The Mescaleros didn’t budge.

“You’re good to ride along with,” Cal replied, “and I’ve got a hankering to see Santa Fe. I understand the town is dirt ugly, but some of the women are fetching and a good game of chance is easy to come by. After we find your boy, I’ll say adios and leave you to get in trouble on your own.”

“I appreciate the company,” Kerney answered, pleased to have Cal’s companionship and his gun hand.

They left the quadrangle and found a stage driver who told them the wagon road to Las Vegas was passable and mostly tolerable except in wet weather, when the mud made for a blasted muddle. He mentioned that a good day’s ride would get them to the stage stop and tavern in Red Cloud Canyon.

While Cal watered and fed the horses, Kerney went to the trader’s store and stocked up on provisions. As he settled up with the clerk, Ignacio Cháves walked in and hurried over. He had
Twice-Told Tales
clutched tightly in his hand.

“I saw your horse outside with Señor Doran’s,” Ignacio said, smiling broadly. “This book is
maravilloso
, when I can make out words.”

Kerney took a guess at the word. “Does that mean marvelous?”

“
Sí
. But I tell you now a man named Charlie has asked about you. Not be
importante
maybe, but I think he is not your friend.”

“No, he’s not,” Kerney replied. “Stay clear of him, if you can.”

Ignacio stuck his chin out defiantly. “Perhaps no.”

“Have you had a run-in with Charlie?”

“It is for my concern only.”

Kerney nodded gravely. Private matters were not to be questioned, and although Charlie wasn’t a hard-nosed outlaw yet, Ignacio would be no match for him. “Use caution, my young amigo.”

“First, I prepare myself.” Ignacio tapped his forehead with a finger. “I will be, how you say, smart.”

“Good.”

“Will you come back to Tularosa?”

“I plan to.”

Ignacio smiled as he slid his book inside his shirt. “I see you again.”

Kerney nodded in agreement. “Your English is getting better.”

Ignacio beamed. “I’ve been practicing. Talking only
americano
at the fort. It making my father loco.”

“Perhaps not,” Kerney replied, knowing full well how proud Cesario Chávez was of his son.

Outside the store, Cal waited with the horses. They said good-bye to Ignacio and rode out in the twilight. Soon they would be under a full moon in a clear sky and if they kept a steady pace would reach Red Cloud Canyon by dawn.

They crossed the river and at moonrise were past the flats north of the mesa. They topped a ridge above a narrow gorge and caught their first glimpse of a vast rangeland, the wagon road cutting through it, darkened by the shadow of close-at-hand mountains that ran east-west and dwarfed the lowlands.

“Now, that’s a sight,” Kerney said as his horse picked a careful way through the rocky wagon ruts.

“A nice piece of country,” Cal said, following behind.

“More pleasing come sunup, I imagine.”

They rode silently for a time, their eyes focused on the rough road as they made the steep descent to the great valley floor.

“I’ve been thinking on your predicament after we find young Patrick,” Cal said as they resumed riding side by side.

“Have you, now?”

“Yep, and I’ve come up with a solution. You’re gonna have to round yourself up a wife.”

Kerney brought his horse to a stop. “Not this old boy.”

Cal likewise drew rein. “You’ve got no choice, as I see it. Well, I guess maybe you could take Patrick along while you’re out on the basin gathering shaggy cows with a mind of their own. Although I doubt any rancher would hire you riding double with a young squirt. Without a wife, you might have to turn to crime and thievery to care for that boy, and I know you’re not inclined in that direction.”

“You’re thinking way too far ahead for me,” Kerney growled, uneasy with the truth of the matter. He flicked the reins and his horse moved on.

Steady riding throughout the remainder of the night brought them to the stage stop in Red Cloud Canyon just as the full moon set to the west and the fiery sun spread yellow light through a stand of tall trees.

Built with rough logs, the place was nothing more than a one-room tavern with a small kitchen attached to the back. A cowboy was passed out on the sawdust floor, his head pressed against a piece of firewood, and an old man slept on a cot in the kitchen next to the still-warm stove. Cal woke up the old man, who soon scratched together a breakfast of cold biscuits, beans, and bacon served on battered tin plates, and hot coffee as thick as molasses. As they ate, the man invited them to sleep on the floor for two bits each until the stage rolled in at noon.

Cal quickly turned down the offer before Kerney could open his mouth to say no.

Outside, away from the smells of sour-mash whiskey and rancid bacon grease, they unsaddled their tired horses, watered them, and turned the animals out into a fenced pasture. In the deep shade of the tall pines, they stretched out their bedrolls and let the sounds of the squirrels and birds foraging for food lull them to sleep.

As he drifted off, Kerney pondered how he’d be able to take care of Patrick once he found him. He didn’t have a notion in mind, not even one glimmer.

* * *

T
here were wonders to behold on the road to Las Vegas: distant mountains to the north and to the west; grassy, windswept rangeland as far as the eye could see; and stair-step mesas that dotted the horizon. The nights camped beside the road for a few hours’ sleep were quiet and peaceful, and during the day few riders passed them by.

The wagon road gradually climbed, then dipped again until it bordered a canyon riverbed thick with nesting birds, where the water ran fast and cool. They passed through small farming settlements where the villagers spoke a different kind of Spanish than that of the Mexicans on the Tularosa.

The thickly forested mountains that rose from the plains behind Las Vegas folded back into even higher peaks, still white tipped by the last of the winter snow. Deep gorges scored the mountains, which filled the skyline. From a distance, the range seemed impenetrable, and Kerney wondered if it augured a hard, toilsome ride through the high country to reach the mining camp at Arroyo Hondo.