Dark Moon Crossing (17 page)

“That’s Wolf’s Head. It actually straddles the
border,” Payton replied, slowing for a cattle guard. “And to anticipate your
next question, its name is derived from a prominent rock formation on the
southern tip.” He hitched his shoulders, grinning wryly. “Personally, I think
it looks more like the head of a mule.”

I tossed him a quick glance, recalling Bethany’s
sarcastic remark concerning a shrine for someone named Laura, and I couldn’t
help but wonder why anyone would want to be buried in such a remote spot. “I’m
confused. I thought we were only a mile or so from the border, but the
mountain looks to be further away than that.”

“Remember, the border doesn’t run in a straight line.
A couple of sections of the Sundog span it, as well as a huge section of Tohono
O’odham reservation land which actually runs along it for, oh, I don’t know,
maybe seventy-five miles and then stretches south into Mexico.”

As he continued talking, I noticed the saffron-tinged
rangeland giving way to patches of blackened ground strewn with the withered
remains of mesquite bushes, scorched yucca plants and yellowed prickly pear.
The devastation expanded until it extended on both sides of the road as far as
I could see. “Looks like they’ve had one heck of a grassfire.”

“That,” he said with a broad sweep of one hand, “is a
perfect example of the problems caused by this God-awful border mess.” The
sharp undertone of resentment in his voice softened slightly when he added,
“Sorry. I forgot you’d probably find a statement like that offensive.”

“Why would you think that?‌”

He slid a sidelong glance at Brett who appeared
totally focused on his game. “Well, you did say you were here to report on the
rally and since I noticed that your companion is Hispanic, well, I assumed your
sympathies probably lean towards the illegals.”

Oops! I’d almost forgotten that was supposed to be my
cover story. “Don’t be too quick to make assumptions. Lupe is here on an
unrelated matter, but it’s my intention to do what I always do and that will be
to write an objective piece containing the facts of the situation.” It
suddenly dawned on me that in the twenty-four hours since giving my hastily
fabricated reason for being here to Hank Breslow, a genuine interest in the
border problems had blossomed. The boiling cauldron of opposing forces in this
region was great fodder for a feature article. Maybe several.

He flicked me a considering look before refocusing on
the road. “That will be refreshing. The media’s been having a field day lately
pandering to these border rights groups and the Mexican politicians we’re
trying so hard not to offend. Their articles are completely biased and they
make the ranchers in this area out to be the villains when all they’re trying
to do is protect their own property. Talk to Champ Beaumont. Talk to Dean.
Talk to any other rancher dealing with this nightmare day in and day out.” The
tremor of emotion in his voice and the little splotches of color in his cheeks
left little doubt where his sympathies lay. But in a quick turnabout, he
concluded with a blasé, “Glad I don’t have to deal with it.”

A sudden ringing made me jump and I stared in
astonishment as Payton fished a tiny cell phone from his shirt pocket and said,
“Yeah?‌” He listened intently. “Really?‌ Listen, I’ve got company. Catch you
later,” he said, abruptly ending the conversation as I pulled my own phone from
my purse and powered it on. Sure enough, the ‘roam’ message pulsed back at
me. “Well, what do you know?‌” I murmured, shaking my head.

“What?‌” asked Payton.

“Who would think there would be cell service out here
in the middle of nowhere when I haven’t been able to use this damn thing since
I left Tucson.”

He chuckled. “I know what you mean. The signal is
erratic at best. There’s a very narrow corridor where we can get service. The
mountains probably block it.” As if to demonstrate his statement, the ‘no
service’ message blinked at me again as we dipped into a ravine. “I see what
you mean.”

He arched a concerned brow. “You need to call someone?‌
I can turn around and go back until you pick up a signal again.”

“Thank you, but it’s nothing that can’t wait until
later.” I tucked the phone back in my purse, content with the fact that I’d
have all evening to make calls back home and probably spend some time on the
Internet doing more research.

We rode in silence for another minute or two until a
wooden ranch house bordered by a hodgepodge of outbuildings, corrals and
tin-roofed sheds along with another building in the early stages of
construction, came into view. “Is that going to be a new house?‌” I asked,
referring to the framed-in structure.

Payton turned left into a long driveway spanned by
barbed wire. “No, that’s the new barn. The old one went up like a tinderbox
in the middle of the night about two weeks ago.” His words came out crisp and
bitter.

I stared. “You’re saying illegals set the fire?‌”

“I’m saying exactly that.”

“On purpose?‌”

A quick shrug. “Who knows?‌ You saw the end results
as we came in. The fire spread so fast, it scorched over thirty acres of prime
grazing land.” He cast a sidelong glance at me. “Are you in the market for an
ironic footnote to your article?‌” There was presumption of mocking challenge in
his question.

“Always.”

“Needless
to say, Dean about had a stroke. He rounded up a couple of his hands and they
finally tracked the group down hiding in a clump of greasewood. Now, here’s
the kicker. One of the them was a young woman in labor and because he was the
only one around who knew what to do, Dean ended up delivering the baby.” He
brought the truck to a halt and shoved it into park. “Can you believe that?‌
Instead of these interlopers suffering the consequences for being the
lawbreakers that they are and causing untold damage to the ranch, the
punishment for their deed was to have our own government grant the newborn
American citizenship. And, of course
we
all end up paying for the
mother’s medical and living expenses until they’re deported. Think about how
fair that is when you write your story.”

I
definitely would. As I stepped from the truck, it struck me that nothing he’d
told me so far was more indicative of the fearful atmosphere in the region than
the sight of heavy iron bars crisscrossing every window of the weathered ranch
house, which was encircled in a barrier of chain link fencing at least eight
feet high. Two German Shepherds, barking ferociously, paced the interior,
eying me with suspicion. In stark contrast to the idyllic western setting of
cattle and horses grazing peacefully under an endless sweep of majestic blue
sky, the house presented a disturbing picture. It more resembled a prison
compound. For the first time since my arrival, I felt a flash of anger towards
the undocumented immigrants, anger that American citizens should be forced to
live this way in their own country. I could only imagine how the residents who
had to deal daily with these problems must feel. It was little wonder the
ranchers were forming coalitions and White power movements were flourishing.

“There’s
Uncle Dean,” Brett shouted, running towards a tall, rangy-looking man of
perhaps sixty whose deeply wrinkled complexion bore testimony to years spent
baking in the Arizona sun.

“How
you doin’, Squirt?‌” the older man inquired, swinging him effortlessly onto his
shoulders. Payton introduced me and after a hearty handshake he ushered us
through the sturdy gate and into a spacious flag-stoned entryway that opened
into a large room saturated with the sugary aroma of fresh baked goods.
Self-consciously, I clutched my growling midsection as my gaze swept over the
gleaming copper pots in the modern kitchen that occupied the left hand corner
of the room. The center contained a dining area that led down two steps into
an airy family room filled with bulky pine furniture, accented with tangerine
and turquoise pillows. A magnificent floor to ceiling beehive fireplace
dominated the right side of the room.

“What’s
cooking?‌” Dean called to a silver-haired Hispanic woman, kneading dough on a
butcher-block counter.

“Oatmeal
raisin cookies,” she replied, flashing a gold-toothed grin. “You will also
have fresh pecan rolls with honey for breakfast.”

“Ah,
you spoil me, Inez,” he said, with a lopsided smile, lowering Brett to the
floor before turning to me. “So, you’ve come to check on my little patient,
huh?‌”

“Yes,
thank you very much for looking after her. Is she going to be all right?‌”

“She
suffered a nasty concussion. I stitched the gash behind her left ear and she’s
going to be favoring her left hind leg for awhile, but other than that, I
expect she’ll recover.”

My
mood lightened as we followed him along a narrow hallway with an uneven stone
floor. As we passed several bedrooms and a bathroom in various stages of
remodeling, Payton said, “You’re doing wonders with the old place, Dean.” The
wistful quality of his words, coupled with the nostalgic glaze in his eyes,
brought to mind his earlier remark about having lived on a ranch in another
life and I wondered again about his poignant response.

“Thanks.
I can only pray that those goddamn wetbacks don’t burn the rest of the place to
the ground after I’ve spent the bulk of my retirement renovating it,” he
griped, his forehead bunching in a scowl. “I should have thought twice about
letting Twyla talk me and Henrietta into moving down here into this damned
hornet’s nest.”

“I
wish I could wave a magic wand and just make the problem disappear,” Payton
remarked with a sigh, “but I’m sure everyone over at the big house appreciates
you being here to protect the southern flank.”

Dean
grunted his response and ushered me into a small, irregularly shaped room at
the far end of the hall. It was crammed full of boxes, an X-Ray machine, a row
of cages, a metal examining table and various other pieces of medical equipment
that had obviously once resided in a veterinary hospital. In another corner
stood sections of shelving packed full of more cardboard boxes, piles of books,
and several more of the same types of coolers Payton used for his snake
collections.

Brett
rushed to one of the cages and wiggled a finger through the wire. The kitten
lay at the farthest corner rolled into a tight ball. Disturbed by the noise,
she stirred and cracked open brilliant green eyes. “She’s so cute! I’ll ask
Mommy if we can keep her.” His expectant gaze locked onto Payton, who shook his
head sadly. “Sorry, little buddy, your mom is allergic to cats, remember?‌
That’s why you have Rascal instead.”

His
face fell. “Oh. Where will the poor kitty live?‌” “I guess she’ll
be going home with me.” The sound of my own voice amazed me. I hadn’t really
made up my mind until that exact moment. I directed a questioning glance at
Dean. “That is, if she’s ready to travel.”

He
looked uncertain. “I wouldn’t mind having another day or so to observe her.
Any chance you could pick her up on Tuesday?‌”

“Not
really. I was planning to leave tomorrow afternoon.”

He
rubbed his chin, considering my answer, then said, “Tell you what, I have to
pick up my wife at the airport in Tucson tomorrow at one-thirty, but we should
be back here by three at the latest.”

I did a quick calculation. If I kept my lunch date
with Payton in Arivaca, that meant I’d have to double back here afterwards to
pick her up. But, then, that might work to my advantage, giving me a couple of
hours to check out Sasabe and Morita. After that, I could just zip up route
286 instead of returning to the Interstate. “That should work out for me.”

The two men beamed their approval, but tears of
disappointment brimmed in Brett’s eyes. In an obvious effort to distract him,
Payton swept the boy into his arms. “Hey, partner, what do you say we go
lasso a couple of those nice, hot cookies from Inez?‌”

Brightening perceptively, he clamped his hands around
his father’s neck and sniffed, “Okay.”

I wouldn’t have minded joining them for a few cookies
myself but Payton said, “We’ll run along and give you some time to bond with
your new companion.”

I thanked him and turned to Dean as he opened the cage
door. “Come on over and introduce yourself.”

Bending to eye-level, I reached inside to stroke the
cat’s soft fur. “Hi, there, sweetheart.” At first there was no response and
then a great rattling purr filled the cage. Slowly, she rose, arched her back,
yawned, and then stared up at me with questioning eyes. Her deep orange color
made me think of marmalade. Yes. Marmalade would be a great name. Suddenly, I
couldn’t wait to show her to Tally, but I’d have to ask Ginger if she could
keep her while we were on our trip. Dean encouraged me to hold the cat so I
carefully reached in and pulled her out, cradling her to my chest like a baby.
As I stroked her, the vibration of her contented purrs ignited a warm glow
inside me and I knew I was a goner.

“Where do you call home?‌” Dean asked, leaning his
weight against the cluttered countertop, stuffing his hands in the front
pockets of his jeans.

“Castle Valley.”

He puckered his mouth. “Nice place. Ted Parkins is
the doc up your way. Good man. I went to college with him a couple of
centuries ago.” He inclined his head towards the cat. “This little lady’s
been on her own for quite awhile. If I were you, I’d get her in to see him
right away. She’s going to need inoculations and you’re going to want to get
her spayed pretty soon. I gave her a shot of antibiotics, but she should have
oral medication for at least another week.”

Oh, dear. Now I’d have to inconvenience Ginger even
further. “I’m leaving for California early in the morning. You don’t have any
antibiotics here, do you?‌ I’d be more than happy to pay you for them.”