Authors: Michael McGarrity
For a good hour he kept expecting to hear vehicles approaching from the village, but the only sound was the crunching of his shoes on the gravel underfoot. Ahead, the mountains seemed no closer. A huge, puffy white cloud hung over the highest peaks,
crowned by a fanlike cloud that spread across the entire range. From the underbelly of the cloud an angry sheet of rain closed like a gray curtain over the mountains.
The storm, so far away, taunted Tyler with the luxury of unavailable shade and coolness. He trudged on. Starting out, he'd figured to catch a quick ride along the state road, which he'd assumed would be well traveled. So far, not one vehicle had passed in either direction.
He hadn't thought to bring water. His mouth was dry and the sun scorched his face. A harsh, gusty wind from the storm stung him with sand. He used his satchel to shield his face and had to turn around to protect himself when a dust devil came down the road and pelted him with gravel.
In all directions the land offered no escape or protection from the elements. Crouched at the side of the road, Tyler stopped walking until the winds abated and the storm drifted north, gradually returning the mountains to view. He knew from the maps he'd studied at the post library that Kerney's ranch was off the state road somewhere in foothill and mountainous terrain, but he could only guess how far he'd come and how many more miles he'd yet to travel.
Behind him, the village of Tularosa had long disappeared from view. Already running out of steam, Tyler decided to turn back if a vehicle didn't come his way in the next ten minutes. If he did manage to thumb a ride west, he might just take it straight on to Engle, get a room, and strike out again in the morning to Kerney's ranch.
He started his retreat to Tularosa just as a black Buick coupe came into view. Tyler stuck out a thumb, faked a gimpy limp with his bad foot, and gratefully watched the Buick coast to a stop
beside him. He looked inside the open window and a man with a sweaty, red face leaned across the car seat and opened the passenger door. “Climb aboard,” he said.
Tyler cracked a smile. “Thanks. I was starting to think nobody used this highway.”
“It's desolate, that's for sure. Where are you heading?”
“To a ranch my buddy owns.” Tyler got in, closed the door, and laid his satchel on his lap. The backseat of the coupe was filled with boxes. “It's off the highway up in the foothills. You moving?” he asked.
The man chuckled and nodded. “California bound. Got a new job as a procurement agent for a company in San Diego that does business with the navy. I decided to take the scenic route. Name's Mark Behr.”
Behr extended his hand and Tyler shook it. “I'm Fred.”
“Saw you limping a bit, Fred.”
Tyler nodded. “Wounded in Italy,” he lied.
Behr gave him a quick once-over. “Sorry to hear it. You look a little old to have served.”
Tyler shrugged nonchalantly and kept lying. “I signed up right after Pearl Harbor. It was the right thing to doâfight for your country and all. I figured since I have no kin, my age didn't matter.”
Behr nodded his approval and gingerly touched his chest. “I would've done the same myself except for a bad ticker. I'm sorry I've missed out.”
“Be glad you didn't have to go,” Tyler replied, trying to sound as world-weary as possible, remembering his years in the shit-heap state prison in Santa Fe. “There's nothing good about war.”
“Yeah, I suppose you're right.” Behr peered through the windshield at a bank of dark clouds that had descended over the
mountains, moving in his direction. “Looks like more bad weather is coming. Do you know what the road is like up ahead? I sure wouldn't want to get stuck out here.”
“Can't say that I do.”
Behr gave him a thin, worried smile, tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and slowed the Buick in the face of the oncoming storm. “If the road turns real nasty, do you think your buddy would let me lay over at his ranch until it clears up?”
Tyler smiled broadly and nodded enthusiastically. Behr's request had just made his fishing expedition a whole lot simpler. “Sure he will. He's a good guy. Why, he'll put you up overnight if need be.”
Behr's expression lightened. He was a beefy guy, maybe forty, with a soft gut and small hands that didn't match the rest of his body. “That's a relief. I'm glad I stopped to pick you up.”
“Me too,” Tyler replied with genuine appreciation.
Behr offered Tyler water from a jug on the front seat. He took several big swigs before returning it to the seat cushion just as thick raindrops splashed against the windshield. The rain turned to hail, pounding the roof of the Buick with the relentless
rat-tat-tat
sound of a machine gun.
“Jesus,” Behr said, between clenched teeth.
Tyler's thoughts raced ahead. Maybe he should make this trip more than a simple fishing expedition. Kerney and his lady friend were in El Paso at Fort Bliss, which probably meant his old man was looking after the little girl at the ranch. Why not kill the old man and snatch the girl? That would surely cause Kerney enough harm and anguish.
He glanced at Behr. If he eliminated him as well, he'd have a getaway car plus the bonus of whatever money the man was carrying. Tyler grunted with satisfaction. He'd kill both Behr and
Kerney's pa, and when he was finished with the girl, he'd dump her body in the desert. He'd abandon the car in Las Cruces and return to Fort Bliss as though nothing had happened. It was a perfect plan. He grinned at his sound thinking.
Behr had tensed up, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as the torrent came down in sheets. He cast a nervous glance at Tyler. “What ya grinning about?”
“I'm looking forward to seeing my old pal and his family, that's all,” Tyler answered gleefully.
***
M
att, Patrick, and Al kept the small herd of ponies moving through the first pulse of the storm, but the second one stopped them in their tracks with a driving rain and lightning that lit up the ominous charcoal dark clouds. They threw up a rope corral to pen the agitated animals and hunkered down in their rain slickers under the bellies of their mounts to wait it out. In between the thunderclaps, wind, and pummeling rain, they could hear the throaty roar of water rushing in a nearby arroyo.
Although they were cold and wet, not a word of complaint passed among them. Monsoon season was still more than a month away and this unexpected, welcome, early storm was filling dry dirt tanks with water, soaking pastures of still-dormant native grasses, making sluggish mountain streams run fast, and replenishing the dry, cracked earth baked by the sun. There would be mud-soaked flatlands, washed-out trails, eroded ranch roads, leaky roofs, some flooding, and critters scattered everywhere, but for every rancher on the basin the storm was a boon rather than a burden.
When the rain slackened and the western sky cleared, Patrick rose slowly, clutching his stomach, a sour look plastered on his face.
“What's wrong?” Matt asked.
“Nothing.” Patrick grimaced and turned away to re-cinch his saddle.
Matt stepped over to Patrick and looked him in the eye. “Don't lie to me.”
“Gut ache, that's all,” Patrick snapped. “Let's get these mares and their babies home.” He started to mount, grabbed his stomach, and sank to his knees in pain. “Dammit,” he moaned.
“I'm taking you to town to see the doctor,” Matt said.
Patrick rose slowly and climbed on his pony. “No, you ain't. It's a gut ache, is all. I'll be fine. Just give me a minute. If I start feeling worse, I'll ride home on my own. You two can handle these mares and their babies.”
“We can throw these ponies over into my pasture and you can ride on home with him,” Al proposed to Matt.
Patrick shot Al a dirty look.
Al flashed him a smile. He'd lived on and managed the 7-Bar-K while Matt was in the army. Patrick's sourpuss didn't faze him a bit. Besides, the old-timer looked downright ill. “It will save a bunch of time.”
Matt gave Patrick another worried glance. At a steady pace, in two hours they'd have the ponies settled safely on the Rocking J pasture. From there, they could go straight home over the mountain. He nodded at Al. “Okay, and once again I'm obliged.”
“No need for the thanks,” Al replied.
Patrick undid one end of the rope corral and shooed the mares out, the foals following alongside their mamas. “Well, stop jawboning and let's get going,” he snapped, fighting to control his expression. The pain in his gut felt like a hot poker.
Matt had never seen his pa look so poorly. He wondered if Patrick was in a hurry to get home and die in his bed. He eased his
pony behind the last mare and hurried her and her chestnut foal along. “You ride alongside, where I can see you,” he ordered Patrick, who did as he was told.
***
I
n the storm, Tyler would have missed pointing out the ranch turnoff if it hadn't been for the 7-Bar-K wrought-iron sign at the side of the road. Several miles in, Behr got the right front wheel of his Buick stuck in a deep muddy rut on the ranch road. Flustered and red in the face, he gunned the engine, spun the wheels, and sank the tire deeper. He gladly turned the driving over to Tyler, who freed the Buick by slowly backing it up in reverse.
After ten more miles bouncing along the muddy, rutted road cut by fast-running rivulets, Tyler began to wonder exactly how far in the ranch house was from the state highway. The storm had cleared the basin and he could see nothing up ahead but uninhabited land with mountains to the west and desert to the east. He topped a small rise and the Buick nose-dived into a steep washout that had sliced across the road. Thrown forward, Behr cracked his head on the dashboard. Tyler left him whimpering in the car, holding a handkerchief to his forehead to stem the bleeding, and inspected the damage. Ankle-deep in muddy water, he bent down and checked the undercarriage. The Buick was high-centered on an exposed boulder half the size of the car. At the rear bumper he pushed the Buick to see if it would move. It didn't budge. Several more tries convinced him it would take a tow truck to dislodge it.
He reached through the open driver's door, killed the engine, and grabbed his satchel from the floorboard. He glanced at Behr,
who looked miserable as he held the blood-soaked handkerchief against his face. Plans change. The man and his car had suddenly become useless.
“What do we do now?” Behr whined.
“I'll walk on ahead to the ranch house and get help.”
Behr took the handkerchief away and shook his head. It was a nasty-looking gash. “I need medical attention. I'm not staying here to die by myself.”
Tyler reached inside the satchel for the .45 semiautomatic. “You ain't dead yet,” he said. He shot Behr twice in the chest, puncturing an artery that splattered blood across the dashboard. “Now you are,” he added with a smile.
Tyler searched him, found a wallet containing a windfall hundred and eighty-four dollars, put it in his satchel, grabbed the half-f water jug from the car, and considered his next move. Being so far from anywhere, he figured Kerney had to have some sort of farm vehicle at his ranch. That would have to do for his getaway. He regretted that he wouldn't have much special time to spend with the little girl.
He glanced at the car. Nothing connected him to Behr or the Buick. Still, why take any chances the cops might find something? From the backseat of the coupe, he took one of Behr's shirts from a suitcase, tore it into strips, tied the strips together, and snaked them into the gas tank. He lit the end of the jerry-rigged fuse, made sure it kept burning, and hurried away from the car, the inside of his muddy shoes sloshing wet.
When he stopped and turned fifty yards from the Buick, wondering if the fuse had gone out, it exploded into a ball of fire.
***
T
he distant sound of two gunshots brought Anna Lynn to the veranda with Matt's binoculars. She'd been at the kitchen table schooling Ginny in her numbers, a subject she did not easily take to, when the shots rang out. With Ginny at her side, she scanned south, east, north, and west, wondering if joyriding soldiers in jeeps were once again shooting up the countryside, although she doubted anyone, no matter how idiotic, would have been outside by choice in the violent storm that had passed over the basin. She hoped Matt, Patrick, and Al had found shelter during the worst of it.
It wasn't hunting season and the ranch was posted, so gunfire made no sense unless someone was in trouble or up to mischief. She considered getting in her truck to see what had happened, but decided it best to stay put and remain alert.
“What do you see, Mama?” Ginny asked, tugging at Anna Lynn's jeans.
“Just a lot of beautiful country, sweetie,” she answered. The ranch road was dotted with pools of muddy water and closer in she could see where the downpour had washed it out in places. The stream through the near pasture ran full, spilling its banks and fanning out across the coarse ground of the Alkali Flats. In the sunlight the basin sparkled with glistening wet mesquite, yucca, greasewood, and cactus, and the air felt moist and sweet, no longer dusty and dry. Off the veranda, the branches of the old cottonwood trees, soaked by the storm, bent lower to the ground.
“I'm gonna go see Peaches,” Ginny said.
“Peaches is fine,” Anna Lynn said. “We put her in her stall before the storm broke, remember?” They'd moved Peaches and Patrick's two old ponies into the barn from the near pasture minutes before the first downpour.
“She may be scared,” Ginny argued.
“The ponies are fine. You stay right here with me. We'll check on them later. Okay?”
Ginny nodded. “Let me see,” she said, reaching for the binoculars.
An explosion rang out before Anna Lynn could give Ginny the binoculars. It was followed by a cloud of smoke and flames that curled into the air. She focused on the smoke plume and guessed it to be three or four miles distant, out of sight behind a rise but somewhere near the ranch road. She swept the area looking for any movement. Other than grass waving in a gentle breeze, all was still. She couldn't imagine what had caused the blast, but combined with the gunshots it made her apprehensive and a little worried. A sudden misgiving that something bad was coming washed over her.