One Step Over the Border (26 page)

“I don’t remember. Everything gets confusing. I can’t sleep, for fear they’re going to sneak up on me. I can’t leave. They
stashed bulldozers, generators, and lights over in that draw. The minute I’m gone, they’ll flatten the place and lock me off
our property.” She glanced down and tried to brush dried purple stains off her T-shirt. “I know I’m a mess, but you don’t
have to stare like that.”

Hap pulled off his cowboy hat. “You look fine, ma’am.”

“Fine?”

“Well, a good scrubbin’ would help, but that’s true for all of us. This dang Texas heat makes us all a little rank.”

When she smiled, her full, wide lips revealed straight teeth. “That’s what I love about cowboys. They try to charm and be
honest at the same time. Most men give up on one or the other.” She nodded at the sacks. “Did Milt tell you to bring me groceries?”

“No. Erika, down at the park entrance, slipped us a note,” Hap explained.

“She did? I have to admit you came at the right time. I don’t think I’d have lasted two more days.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Hap asked. “I’m guessin’ the park service wants this land and you don’t want them to have it.”

“Didn’t Milt tell you?”

“We don’t know anything other than you are his sister, Rosa,” Laramie said.

She dug through the boxes of groceries. “This is better than Christmas. Who are you guys? Don’t tell me your names are Butch
and Sundance.”

“I’m Hap; he’s Laramie. We cowboyed several fall gathers up in Wyomin’ with Milt. We even worked one spring along the North
Platte in Colorado with him.”

She grabbed a big box of Frosted Flakes. “It almost makes a gal believe in Divine Providence.”

“You’ll need more to eat than bread and dry cereal. I’ll fry us all some bacon and eggs,” Hap suggested. “They’ll spoil on
us real soon if we don’t cook them.”

Laramie and Hap toted the food while Rosa cradled her Winchester.

“Do you need someone to stand vigil on those guys at the gate?” Laramie asked.

“They won’t come in during the day. They know they’ll be shot for trespassing.”

The one-room cabin had a full, covered porch across the front. Inside there was a fireplace, a woodstove, a small table with
one chair, and a bedframe of leather straps with a sleeping bag on top. Sheets covered the windows.

“What happened to the panes?” Hap asked.

“They busted them out one night, trying to scare me off.”

Hap studied the cobwebs at the peak of the ceiling. “How long have you been back here?”

“Over a year now. But they didn’t start harassing me until May.”

Hap tucked his sunglasses into his shirt pocket, then rolled up his sleeves. “How have you survived?”

“I had a wonderful garden. The spring supplies all the water I need. In fact, the creek from our spring provides water for
the park headquarters as well. But the goons sprayed weed killer on my garden. Everything’s ruined.”

Laramie peered out the open front door. “Real nice guys. When was that?”

“About a month ago.” She dug through the box of papers. “This is so great… this is the hard evidence.”

Hap built a fire in the woodstove. Rosa sat on the only chair. She kicked off her heavy boots to reveal sockless, dirty toes
and long, unpainted toenails.

Laramie lounged in the open doorway. Short juniper scattered the dirt yard. A dusty gray Subaru was parked beside the cabin.
“What’s the full deal here, Rosa?” he asked.

Rosa swallowed a lump of bread. “Where do I begin?”

“At the Alamo.” Hap laughed. “Every Texan I ever met has stories clear back to the Alamo.”

Laramie stiffened. “That’s not something us Texans joke about.”

Rosa held up her hand. “No, no… Hap’s right. This story has an Alamo connection.”

“See?” Hap boasted.

“I believe one of my problems involves a personal vendetta, but I’ll need to provide the background. My family… the Rodríguez
side, anyway… lived in Texas before Stephen Austin and all that bunch came here. During the battle for Texas independence,
several members of my family died at the Alamo. Some rode with Houston at San Jacinto. That’s history and can be proved. It
encompasses five generations, but Ernesto Rodríguez gained title for this 160-acre parcel in 1859. The papers were signed
by Governor Sam Houston himself.”

“It’s a harsh piece of land. I wonder why that great-granddaddy of yours wanted it,” Laramie asked.

“Family lore claims that he needed a stopping place above the heat of the desert when traveling a trade route between Mexico
and central Texas. I’m not sure about that. Some say he smuggled goods back and forth, but in those days it was hard to tell
a customs agent from a smuggler. Anyway, it’s been in the family since and used as a vacation cabin, whenever anyone wanted
to get out of the desert heat.”

“We didn’t know what kind of geology to expect down here,” Laramie said.

“Do you know anything about Big Bend National Park?” she asked.

“It’s our first trip,” Hap admitted.

“During the Depression, lots of land got forfeited to the state for nonpayment of taxes. Down in this area, it’s so rugged
and remote, and mostly unfarmable, that people let it go back to the government. Not my great-grandfather. He loved it up
here. He somehow always got the taxes paid. By 1933, the state of Texas found they had about 160,000 acres of this rugged
land along the big bend of the Rio Grande. So, they formed the Texas Canyons State Park. Private property like ours dotted
the park map. The state petitioned President Roosevelt to make it a national park, so the state wouldn’t have to pay for the
maintenance.”

“Is that when it became a national park?” Laramie asked.

While Hap cooked, Rosa snacked on dry cereal, placing one flake at a time on her pointed, pink tongue. “I think the war interrupted
the process, but in 1944, seven hundred thousand acres were given to the federal government. That’s when the park got established.”

Laramie stepped over to the table. “But some parcels remained private?”

“Yes, that’s when the park service began a campaign to buy everyone out.”

“And your family didn’t want to sell?” Laramie reviewed the papers.

“Not sell. But they offered to trade property.”

Hap caught himself staring at the slight curves in Rosa’s silhouette. “Land swap?”

“Most people didn’t mind an exchange for less rugged and remote land.”

Laramie picked up a stiff yellow document. “Is that an authentic signature of Sam Houston with all those fancy scrolls?”

“I hope so.”

The breeze through the cabin felt pleasant to Hap, like a summer evening in the Bighorns. “So, your family didn’t want to
swap land?”

“We weren’t even asked. Certain people in the park service maintain that great-grandfather was Mexican, not Texan. Therefore,
he should never have been given the property in the first place. That’s what Davenport informed me.”

Hap forked twelve sizzling slices of sweet-smelling bacon onto a paper towel. “So they don’t want to pay or trade because
they claim it’s already theirs.”

“That’s about it. A year ago, as their perceived gesture of goodwill, they notified us to take anything we wanted from the
cabin, because it was going to be demolished.”

“So, you’ve been hugging the ranch, so to speak, ever since?” Laramie said.

“That’s about it.”

Hap beat the eggs with a large, almost clean wooden spatula. “So what is it you want from them?” He dug through the sack of
groceries for paper plates.

“I know we can’t keep the park from getting the land,” Rosa explained. “This same thing happens around all national parks.
I don’t mind that others enjoy it, too. We just want a fair price. Or better than that, some type of equitable land exchange
and a couple other assurances. I want to be treated with respect, as a rightful landowner.”

“You said some of this is personal?” Laramie questioned.

“That’s the strange part.” Rosa dug a red apple out of the box. She rolled up her T-shirt and wiped the fruit, which revealed
her flat, brown stomach.

Hap jerked his gaze back to the frying pan when the eggs started to burn.

He surveyed the littered shelf behind the stove. Most items showed the dust of years of neglect. “Have you got any pepper?”

“Sorry.” She chomped on the apple and wiped the dribble off her chin with her shirtsleeve. “Davenport arrived as superintendent
and assumed dictatorial command. Most of the veteran, year-round staff have transferred out of here.”

“So this jerk, Davenport, marched in and started making trouble?”

“The first thing he did was hit on me. I think he thought he would romance me out of the place. He told me I was the ‘girl
of his dreams.’ Can you imagine any man saying that?”

Hap spun around with a pan full of bubbling, snapping eggs. “I can imagine it.”

She stared at Hap as a slow grin broke across her lips.

“Anyway,” he muttered, “what did you say to Davenport?”

“I told him where to go and where to stash his inflated ego. He flew into a rage about cleaning out the illegal squatters
from the park.”

Laramie meandered back to the open doorway. “Some men don’t take ‘no’ well.”

“He’s also ticked because he can’t prove any ancestors at the Alamo. He can’t admit that I’m more Texan than he is.”

“The park service won’t put up with a personal vendetta, will they? Did you go above his head?” Hap asked.

“I had a chance to send one long email about a month ago, spelling out my grievances, but I can’t do much else. I haven’t
heard back, but to be fair I haven’t checked my email in weeks. Davenport will level this place and lock me out if I leave.
It would take months to fight in court. By then, no telling what would happen.”

Hap divided the scrambled eggs onto three paper plates. “These groceries will sustain your misery for another week or so.
What then? What is your plan?”

“I counted on Milt to help me out. Most of my family thinks it’s all a lost cause, that there’s no reason to fight. But Mamma
made sure the taxes were always paid, as did my grandfather. I think for their sake, and for the sake of great-granddaddy,
I need to press the case. I wanted to write an account of the facts, backed up by these documents, and ask Milt to take it
to the media. I need someone to know what’s going on here. I don’t even think the other park service people really know what’s
happening.”

“Shoot, we can do that for you. We can carry out some papers for the media, can’t we, Laramie?”

“That part seems simple enough.”

The wind picked up and blew the sheet curtains straight into the cabin. Dust off the floor swirled around and Hap tried to
shield the eggs with his hat. “Better than just sendin’ a story, why don’t you go out to the newspapers or television yourself?
They’re always wantin’ to hype some controversy. Havin’ a purdy gal—an articulate lady such as yourself—will add punch to
the complaint.”

“My car won’t run. I think they dumped something in the gas tank.”

Laramie perused the gray Subaru. “They ruined your car? That’s a crime, isn’t it?”

“Only if I can prove it.”

Hap stirred the eggs. “They want to chase you off, and then they sabotage your only way of escape?”

“They aren’t too bright.”

“When you say ‘they,’ do you mean the whole staff here?” Laramie asked.

“Davenport and the two at my gate have been the only ones I’ve known to take an active part. The regular staff seems afraid
to even talk to me, but they’ve never harassed me. I don’t think those two guards are even park service guys.”

Hap carried over the plates piled with steaming food. The aroma of smoke and sweet fried meat permeated the room. “Hey, listen
to this plan… one of us will sneak you out. The other will stay to protect the place.”

He pulled up an old wooden trunk to use as a chair, then crammed a forkful of steaming eggs in his mouth. “You see,” he mumbled,
“Davenport expects us out of here by sundown. We have to pick up our trailer and horses. He’ll be so happy to see us go, I
reckon he won’t check real close who’s in the truck.”

Rosa padded barefoot across the rough wooden floor to retrieve a large bottle of red sauce. Her calloused feet left tracks
in the dust. She handed the bottle to Hap.

He took it and grinned. “A gal who likes Tabasco? Will you marry me?”

“No.” She plopped back in her chair. “It’s a well-known sociological fact that spice-based relationships are doomed to fail.
Now, how are you going to sneak me past Davenport?”

Hap swamped his eggs with red Tabasco. “I figure we wait until almost dark and pull a hat down over your eyes. We can drive
straight to Fort Stockton or Odessa, arrange an interview, and sneak you back to the cabin by daylight.”

“If I get out, I need to get to a computer. There’s no electricity here.” Rosa chomped a huge bite of steaming Tabasco-drenched
eggs.

Laramie strode over to the open doorway, plate of food in hand. “Sounds to me like a bad plan that doesn’t have a chance.”

“Good.” Hap wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “That’s something we’re used to.” He dug through the grocery sack. “I
thought for sure we bought a jar of pickles.”

Rosa untied the bandanna from around her neck and wiped her narrow chin. “I had some homemade ones, but that was supper, last
week.”

Hap jumped up. “Good grief, do you see that, Laramie? Come here, quick.”

“What?” Rosa’s hand flew to her face. “What are you looking at? What’s wrong with me?”

“Absolutely nothing. I’m looking at the birthmark under your right ear.”

She covered her neck with her hand. “Technically, it’s not a birthmark. I mean, I was born with it… lots of women on my mother’s
side of the family have it. But they say birthmarks are not genetic. We just call it ‘the mark.’ So what?”

Laramie shook his head and muttered, “I’ll be. I never thought we’d see one of those.”

“I’m sorry if it looks ugly.”

“Just the opposite, it looks wonderful… beautiful,” Hap exclaimed.

“I’ve never had anyone say that before. It’s always made me self-conscious. That’s why the bandanna.”