Death on the High Lonesome (18 page)

B
y midday, Virgil and Ernesto were well off the mesa and on the semidesert flatland where bunch grass or any other graze was a much rarer commodity. It was the kind of rangeland where a cow-and-calf unit needed about ten acres. Typical of a huge area in the Southwest, it made Virgil appreciate the lush bottomland of his own ranch. Remembering the trek up to the High Lonesome, Virgil also appreciated how much easier it had been to return, although he knew the distance to the ranch was going to be more than they could accomplish in a day's ride, particularly with Ernesto sitting atop two saddles lashed together. Even a gentle canter was a stretch to make up time. At least it was not a trip made in the one-hundred-degree heat of summer. Virgil was certain that journey had been done many times over the years. Cold, clear, late November worked for him. Looking over at the boy on Ringo, he smiled at the caricature of a nomad on a camel. Completing the image, Ernesto had wrapped a scarf across his face to protect against a windburn.
Virgil knew a dilemma where the boy was concerned awaited him once he got down to High Lonesome ranch. He was conflicted because he knew as sheriff there was one way to go, but there was a history with this boy that would be hard to ignore.

They had ridden steadily into late afternoon, stopping only occasionally so Ernesto could adjust or reset the saddles, checking for any friction marks or saddle sores on Ringo. During their last stop at the base of a wash where a small pool had formed, they watered the horses and ate. As Virgil was replacing Jack's saddle, he saw the rolling thunderheads on the horizon, felt the dampness in the wind. It made the decision to take shelter for the night much easier. He saw little sense in pushing the animals for the ranch in a cold, dark rain over ground that he had never ridden in daylight. They rode for another hour until Virgil spotted a rock overhang a little way up a slope. He explained to Ernesto his plan for the overnight, then together they climbed up toward the mesa, leading the horses on foot to the overhanging rock. By the time Virgil had built a pit fire with some dead cottonwood they had scavenged along with dry grass for tinder, the sky had filled with gunmetal-gray clouds broken only by streaks of lightning. From under the escarpment Virgil and Ernesto and the two horses watched while rolling thunder accompanied the bolts that lit up the panorama. At last the rains came with an intensity that Virgil knew would soon turn the almost-dry wash where they had not long before watered their horses into a raging torrent. These were the kind of gully washers that many times had caught unsuspecting animals and people, robbing them of their lives. Secure in the choice of shelter, they spread out the saddle blankets and ate what food they had while they watched the storm spend its fury over the land. At one point before they turned in for the night, Virgil prodded Ernesto for some of his history.

“
Mi madre está muerta
,” Ernesto said in response to Virgil's inquiry. “No one,
hermanos
or
hermanas
, in Mexico.
Todo en Estados Unidos
,” he added.

“¿Dónde?”
Virgil asked.

“¿Quién sabe?”

“You have no idea where?”

“Maybe California, maybe Florida,” the boy answered. “Me, the last. The youngest.”

Virgil listened to his words, realizing it was an immigrant story as old as time. When all familial ties are gone, the search for a new life begins. Ernesto was the latest in an unending line. Before long, while Virgil looked out on a landscape he could barely see, he could hear in the intermittent moments of silence Ernesto's regular breathing and he knew he had drifted off.

As the storm released its energy he felt a kind of calm. The last couple of days had been therapeutic for him. He went looking for Charlie Thompson to displace an overload of anxiety and it had worked. It had always been that way for him—a step or two back so he could move forward again. When he got down to the Thompson ranch and Hayward, what he had left behind would still be there, waiting for him. He was ready.

C
esar picked up the phone on the third ring. He was relieved to hear Virgil's voice. Virgil had never been an open book, but Cesar had the closeness born of their years together. He knew about the lost plane in the Superstitions along with the deepening mystery of High Lonesome. So the timbre of Virgil's voice told him something he was anxious to hear.

“Hey, old-timer, if you can get off your rocking chair, you can come up to High Lonesome and get me and Jack.”

“Well, I was gonna take a nap, but I guess if I have to . . .”

A little more than a half an hour later, Virgil was standing outside the Thompson ranch house waiting for Cesar when Marian joined him.

“How are you, Virgil?” She had seen him stretching, then rubbing his lower back as she looked out the kitchen window.

“Stiffer then a fence post,” he answered. “Been riding that desk chair in my office a lot more than Jack lately. Three serious days in
the saddle, I feel like my backbone is ready to pop through my skin.”

“You could come back in the house, strip down, then I could rub your lower back. We're well past the formal stage in our relationship.”

They traded glances, each offering the other a hint of a smile.

“That's a mighty tempting offer, Marian. Probably the best I'll get today, but if I was to take you up on that, I might start to get achy in other parts and Cesar's going to be pulling into the place soon. I do appreciate the offer though.”

“Well, if you don't get any relief, I'll be here. Looks like your ride is coming.”

Before Virgil could respond, he saw a cloud of dust on the ranch road. In another moment, he heard the sound of the pickup and the horse trailer.

“Yep. Looks like my Mexican father is coming.”

“Virgil, what about the boy?”

“I been wrestling with that for two days,” Virgil said.

“Why couldn't he just stay here?”

“What do you mean?”

“We owe him something, my family. The doctor told me Dad wouldn't have made it without him. Let him stay. We could use the help. He needs a family.”

Virgil looked toward the barns. He saw Ernesto lugging a bale of hay toward the corral. “Okay, but what happens when you leave in another week or two? I'm only postponing the inevitable.”

“I don't think I'm leaving. Oh, maybe for a brief time to take care of some loose ends, but I think my life is going to go in a different direction now. Since I've been here, I realize how much this place means to me. It's my anchor point.”

“But what about San Francisco?”

“Well, my husband is gone, my kids are in college, like I told you. They're going to start living their own lives. I've decided to start living mine, doing what I want to do. That's here, this place. I belong here. If Dad will consider it, I'd like to see this ranch become a going concern again. Think I could do it. Bring it back. At least, I'd like to try. Maybe that young boy could find a future here.”

Virgil looked at Marian. A slight breeze tugged at a few loose strands of her uncombed hair. He saw a look of determination that he hadn't seen before.

“You know, Marian, you really are a good-looking woman.”

“Why thank you, Virgil. There isn't a woman alive who wouldn't like to hear that. That's nice, but it sounds almost like a revelation.”

“It is,” Virgil said. “I mean, maybe I don't always say something I should, in the moment.”

She could sense his unease. “You mean, like the other night in the cabin.”

“Yes. But I wanted to say it now. Maybe the other night it would have got lost. But now, here, in the clear light of day I want you to know how I feel. You weren't just a moment for me. I want you to know that and I'm really glad you're staying. Whatever else, I'll be there if you need me. Hope I'm saying this right. I . . .”

Cesar had pulled the truck alongside the corral fence, shut off the engine, and was leaning against the front fender waiting for Virgil. Virgil raised his hand in a half wave, then turned to Marian. He could see tears in her eyes. She took a couple of steps toward him, then reached up and brushed his cheek with her lips.

“Virgil, you said it just right. You weren't just a moment for me, either.”

She reached up again this time, kissing him on the lips. In the next moment, she turned and ran toward the house. Virgil watched until she disappeared inside, then he put his hand to his face, touched a dab of moisture, wondering for a moment whether it was his or Marian's. When he turned toward the truck, he saw that Cesar had not moved. Virgil walked across the broad open area to meet the older man.

It was early afternoon by the time they reached the ranch. The dull ache in Virgil's back had eased some, but when he stepped out of the cab of the truck, he felt stiff all over.

“Who's the old-timer now?” Cesar said.

Virgil winced at the well-aimed jab. “Been a long time since I spent that much time in the saddle.”

Cesar gave a little snort.

“What?” Virgil asked.

“I noticed you were walking a little bit bowlegged. Reckoned it was from riding one thing or another.” He threw a knowing look at Virgil. “Nice-looking woman we left back there.”

Virgil took a couple of steps forward, accompanied by a grunt. Cesar had come around the cab.

“Well, you're always at me to get out, be more social.”

“Absolutely, but you got to pace yourself. You're not twenty-one anymore. Remember old bull, young bull. You can still get there, but you just don't have to be in a hurry.”

“Thanks for the philosophy. Yeah, well, ninety percent of this ache is from Jack. The other ten percent, well, let's just say you're right. She is a nice-looking woman. Now, since you got what you were after, do me a favor, unload Jack while I go inside and soak in the tub for about two hours.”

Cesar nodded, then walked to the rear of the trailer. He let down the ramp, then Jack backed out. He glanced at Virgil, stiffly going up the stairs to the porch, and a little smile crossed his face.

Virgil couldn't resist the lure of the bed when he climbed out of the tub. He was asleep in less than five minutes. When he awoke almost two hours later, he realized he was in the exact same position as when he first lay down. He swung his legs around, resting his feet on the floor. When he stood, he was pleasantly surprised that much of the ache was gone. He was taking inventory of the contents of his refrigerator a half hour later when Cesar walked through the kitchen door.

“You're pretty much wasting your time. A starving man wouldn't last more than a day with what's in there.”

“Guess that means I'm eating at Margie's.”

“You could actually go to a food store. Then watch one of those cooking shows to figure out what to do with the stuff you bought.”

“I can cook,” Virgil said as he took a box of cereal out of the cabinet over the dryer.

“Pouring out-of-date milk over a bowl of raisin bran don't exactly qualify as cooking. Me, I just had a burrito filled with leftover steak, chili, a little hot sauce, and a scoop of sour cream. Oh, and some rice and beans on the side.” Cesar patted his stomach. “Real tasty.”

“That don't show much culinary imagination. Hell, you'd have rice and beans with pancakes.”

“Maybe, but it tasted better than anything you're going to find to eat here.”

Virgil just scowled at that. Cesar left him standing in front of the mostly empty fridge along with an even emptier stomach.

It had gotten to that time of the year when the light begins to fade early. Virgil stood on the porch awhile noting the shadows in places where they hadn't been a couple of weeks earlier. He hadn't put on his uniform when he got up. Instead, he was wearing jeans that showed some wear and a new blue chambray shirt. There were times when he didn't want to be just a uniform. His matching denim jacket lay on one of the porch chairs. As yet the evening winds hadn't picked up, so he left his jacket there when he walked down the stairs toward the barns. Jack wasn't in the corral. He reckoned Cesar had bedded him down early in his stall, probably after giving him a thorough going-over. Checking his feet, working out any small stones with a hoof pick, maybe even painting his hooves to avoid any cracking. Probably also hosed him down, then gave him a good rubdown, combing his mane and tail, then currycombing and brushing him nose to butt. It was the kind of thing Cesar did because it was just the right thing to do. It was hard for Virgil to think of him as anything other than family. They had been so close so long that Virgil couldn't even remember a time when it hadn't been that way. First of the month, he always cut a check for Pedro and José, but there wasn't one for Cesar. When Cesar needed money he just wrote out a check for cash on the ranch account, but he always insisted Virgil sign it. He was no forger.

By the time he got down to the barn, Cesar was well into his end-of-day routine. Virgil watched him move down the aisle between the stalls with the wheelbarrow, checking each stall before he brought the horses in to feed. While the weather held, the horses were still left out at night. Most of the time Jack was with them, but Virgil figured tonight he'd probably stay in the corral, a little downtime for him after the workout he'd had during the last few days.

The cattle were out almost year-round, unless the weather turned rank. In winter that could be on the heels of a Blue Norther, which could drop temperatures forty degrees overnight and bring blowing snow creating deep drifts on the range. The driven snow along with the bitter cold could be disastrous. Over the years, as begun by his father before him, Virgil, along with the men, built loafing sheds out on the range, where the cattle could shelter from the extremes in winter or in summer. Virgil could remember only three times in his life when the winter weather had been so severe that the cattle had been rounded up and brought down to the home pasture. Winter kill occurred occasionally, but it more than likely was the result of a freak accident, a steer slipping on ice or predation by a mountain lion. Other than that, most of the losses were the result of the natural cycle. A cow with a prolapsed uterus undiscovered, after giving birth out in some arroyo where she had gone for seclusion, or a too-large bull calf wrong way in a cow. These were the events every cowman did everything he could to avoid, but on some level were unavoidable, no matter how much oversight was given.

Virgil followed Cesar down the aisle, scooping up grain from a filled wheelbarrow used for that purpose. He gave each horse the required allotment in the heavy, rubber feed pail that hung in the corner of each stall. Cesar had come up with the idea of hanging a feeding sheet on the door of each stall in the new barn, so anyone could check it to make sure they had given the correct ration. Virgil also checked the water buckets in the opposite corner from the feed buckets, filling them when it was required. When he and Cesar were finished with their routine, they met at the end of the barn, then opened the doors to the corral on the far side, where the horses had gathered and were
impatiently waiting. Not a word had been spoken. They stood in the half-light as the horses entered, each going automatically to their assigned stall. The last box stall was reserved for Star and her yet-to-be weaned colt.

“You know,” Cesar said when Virgil came alongside, “he could use some work if your appetite hasn't got the better of you yet.”

Virgil looked at the colt as he sidled up to nurse from his mother while she buried her nose in the grain bucket.

“He looks good,” Virgil said as he and Cesar stood leaning over the top rail of the stall. “Got some size to him, good straight legs.”

The colt finished nursing, then ambled over closer to where they were standing. Virgil extended his right arm between the rails, his hand palm up. The colt, ears forward, stood his ground.

Virgil started talking to him in a low voice. “Hey, son, easy.”

The colt watched, then after a few moments took a hesitant step forward, then another, until he reached a point where he could stretch his neck out so he could make contact with Virgil's outstretched hand. The soft velvet of his muzzle brushed Virgil's fingers. Virgil continued his monotone. The colt took a step closer, began to nibble, then suck on Virgil's fingers. Virgil reached his left hand inside the stall slowly, then while the colt worked the fingers of his right hand, he ran his left hand along the colt's neck. The process continued until Virgil could run either hand over the colt's head.