The Last Ranch (27 page)

The constant stop and search of Matt and his family was harassment, plain and simple. Most times the MPs took twenty minutes or more to inspect the 7-Bar-K vehicles entering the missile range reservation. The majority of the soldiers were deliberately slow and nitpicky as payback for pulling boondock duty they clearly disliked. Sergeant Marshall and PFC Ely were the exceptions; both hurried Matt and Mary through the checkpoint whenever they were stationed on the range road through Rhodes Canyon.

By summertime, the harassment escalated into an embargo when an official letter arrived from the judge advocate general at the base requiring all visitors and vendors wishing to visit or do business at the ranch to apply for a special permit and successfully complete a security background check. Estimated time for clearance was ninety days. Until clearance was granted, all would be turned away. Deliveries of gasoline, visits by the veterinarian, transportation of livestock and bulk supplies, and all social visits by friends were effectively shut down. The ranch became an isolated island.

Patrick's housekeeper, Marge Crowley, got her very own letter from the army that included a form for her to fill out and return so the FBI could investigate her background. It advised her that should she leave the ranch while the investigation was ongoing, she would not be allowed to return until her clearance came through, thus making her a virtual prisoner at the ranch. Fortunately, she was happy to stay put and take care of Patrick, whom she'd begun to treat as a surrogate spouse.

For his part, Patrick didn't seem to mind. In fact, Mary and Matt wondered if some spooning was going on between the two, but thought it impolite to inquire.

Even Al, Brenda, and Dale were banished from the ranch until they got cleared, but that didn't stop them from occasionally sneaking over the mountain on horseback to visit. Matt, Mary, and Kevin did the same, and all of them delighted in their illicit trespassing. Several times they got spotted by roving jeep patrols, but the ponies could go places jeeps couldn't, so they always made clean getaways.

To thwart such flagrant violations of national security and add to the nuisance value, the army started sending single-engine, fixed-wing aircraft on low-flying patrols over the ranch at odd times of the day and night. It had Patrick threatening to shoot the damn things out of the sky.

Fed up, Matt took the story to the newspapers in Las Cruces, T or C, and Alamogordo, hoping for some coverage about the army's heavy-handed tactics that might spark some outcry. The only result was a small article in the T or C paper saying tightened security measures at the missile range during test firings was causing minor inconvenience to some area ranchers on the northern end of the range. Frustrated, he wrote a letter to both New Mexico US senators asking them to intervene on his behalf and got
responses from aides saying they'd look into his complaint and get back to him. A follow-up letter from one of the senators soon arrived stating that in light of national-security interests, nothing could be done. The senator wished Matt and his family all the best.

To keep travel to and from the ranch to a minimum, Mary and Kevin rarely went to town after school adjourned for the summer. It was heaven for Kevin. If he wasn't following Patrick around, doing his chores, or riding his pony, Mary found him perched on a low bough in the Witch's Tree, with a book in hand or scanning the vast Tularosa Basin with a pair of binoculars looking for spies. He was sure enemy agents were sneaking around the missile range communicating with one another by walkie-talkie, taking photographs of the strange, blocklike buildings that now dotted the landscape, or interrogating kidnapped scientists in secret camps hidden in the back reaches of the Malpais.

For Christmas, Matt had given Kevin two western novels by El Paso native Tom Lea,
The Brave Bulls
and
The Wonderful Country
. Set in Old Mexico and the Southwest, the books enthralled Kevin to the point that he constantly pestered Patrick to tell him stories of the olden days. Patrick readily obliged, spinning tales about the family back in the time when cattle roamed free and there was no missile range to keep people out.

One evening on the veranda after supper, Patrick told Kevin about Emma Kerney, the grandmother he'd never known, and read him the story Gene Rhodes had written and published about her. It opened up an emotional door in Patrick that had him talking nonstop to Kevin over the next several days about the Kerney family and the old Double K Ranch days. He took him to the family cemetery plot on the hill above the ranch house and told him about his ancestors, about John Kerney's partner, Cal Doran,
and Kevin's uncle CJ, killed in combat and buried in France. He talked about the notorious characters and outlaws who'd ridden the range, some of the famous unsolved murders and heinous crimes that had been committed on the basin, the Indian Wars, the Mescalero Apaches he'd known, the Chávez family of Tularosa, and his days as a Rough Rider in Cuba with Teddy Roosevelt. After swearing Kevin to secrecy, he even showed him his pardon from the Yuma Territorial Prison.

“You were in prison under a different name?” Kevin asked, wide-eyed as he read the creased, yellowed document signed by the Arizona governor.

Patrick nodded affirmatively. “Back then, it was called a go-by name. I used it because I didn't want nobody to know what I'd done. I got sent up for stealing, when I was a young and foolish boy.”

“Does my pa know?”

“He does, although I kept it from him for years, shamed as I was.”

“What does getting a pardon mean?” Kevin asked.

Patrick sighed. “It means I was forgiven for my desperado ways.”

Captivated by the notion that his very own grandfather had once been an outlaw, Kevin went to sleep each night dreaming about roundups, cattle drives, shoot-outs, bandits, and rustlers. He couldn't imagine a more exciting life and he was proud to be part of a family of such daring men, what with Patrick, CJ, and his pa all being war heroes. In fact, it made him swagger a bit and want to be just like them.

That evening, after an early supper, Patrick told Kevin to saddle up Two-Bits and join him on a horseback ride to the mailbox on the old state road.

“We get our mail in town now, remember?” Mary said as Kevin scooted out the door to call Two-Bits from the near pasture.

“I know that,” Patrick replied, peeved at her insinuation that his memory was faulty. It hadn't gotten all that bad yet. “I'm feeling a need to have a horse under me, and besides I'd like to see how the cattle are doing on the far west pasture. Since they're prisoners Al can't move until the army says so, and Matt's away teaching a week-long class at the college, best that I take a look for myself.”

“I'll come along,” Mary suggested.

“And spoil my time with the boy?” Patrick replied. “I still have a few stories left to tell him.”

“Like what stories?” Mary prodded.

“Haven't decided which ones yet,” Patrick replied with a sly grin as he pushed back from the table.

“Don't be late getting back and make me come looking for you,” Mary warned with a worried look.

Patrick smiled. “Just because I'm an old man doesn't mean you have to mollycoddle me.”

“Fair enough,” Mary said reluctantly with a wave of her hand. “I'll have the canteens filled and snacks for your saddlebags before you go.”

“Thank you kindly, ma'am,” Patrick replied. “We'll give our ponies a good workout and be home before dark.”

“You'd better be.”

***

T
hey were halfway across the near pasture, loping the ponies along, when Patrick said, “Did I ever tell you of the time I went up single-handed against some cattle thieves right here on the ranch?”

“No, Grandpa,” Kevin said, slowing Two-Bits to a trot. “Did it happen a long time ago?”

“Not too long. It was before your pa went off to fight in the army. We had this old boy named Shorty working for us who seemed okay until he slicked up a story about needing a few days off to see a lady friend in El Paso, all the time conspiring to trail a herd of our cattle down to the state road, where he planned to meet up with his two cronies in on the scheme.”

“What happened?” Kevin asked eagerly.

“He would have gotten away with it, if I hadn't become suspicious.”

Patrick explained how he'd met Shorty at the cabin just before his departure and noticed he'd let the woodpile get low, and had cleaned out all his gear and clothing for what was supposed to be a few days of relaxation. Figuring it was odd, he followed Shorty when he left the cabin supposedly to catch a train in Engle for El Paso.

“Where the trail meets the state road I found out he had our cows gathered and penned when they should have been upcountry.”

“What did you do? Did you kill him?”

“Didn't kill him, but should have. After it was over, Shorty skipped out of the state and was never heard from again. Well, anyway, once I got closer I spotted two livestock trucks on the road waiting to haul those critters away. So I snuck up a hill, shot holes with my long gun into the truck engines to disable them, and winged one of the drivers. That caused that lying coward of a cowboy to turn tail and run. I sent the other two shank's mare down the road, where they got arrested in Alamogordo after stumbling in half-dead of thirst and sunburned to a crisp. Sheriff said it was the first time hereabouts rustlers had tried to steal cattle using trucks. The newspaper even did a story about it.”

“Wow!” Kevin exclaimed. “Can I see where it happened?”

Patrick paused, looked skyward, and shook his head. “Nope, it would get us home too late.”

“Please,” Kevin begged.

Patrick grinned. Having a young button around who seemed genuinely interested in what he knew and what he'd done just tickled him pink. “Well, if you're man enough to take the scolding you'll get from your ma, I guess I can take my licks from her too.”

Kevin broke Two-Bits into a lope. “Yippee!”

They entered the far pasture and cut upslope into the mountains, following an old cattle trail that led to an occasional stream, and got to the site of Patrick's gunfight as the light faded behind the San Andres. They dismounted and Patrick showed Kevin the old stock pen where he'd found the cattle, the ridge where he spotted the trucks idling on the road, and the narrow arroyo he'd taken to cut them off before they could load the critters. Because of the growing darkness, they walked their ponies down the arroyo to the old state road.

“This is where the shooting started.” Patrick pointed to the spot on top of the canyon where he'd held sway over the bandits. The sound of an approaching engine and the glare of headlights coming around the bend cut his story short. “Looks like we've got some army boys about to check on us,” he said.

The jeep ground to a stop. “Stay where you are and don't move,” a voice ordered.

“No need to get bossy,” Patrick retorted. “I'm Patrick Kerney from the 7-Bar-K, and this is my grandson, Kevin.”

“Stop talking and stay put,” 2nd Lt. John Spence snapped, his hand firmly on his holstered handgun.

It was his first rotation to the Rhodes Canyon outpost since
arriving at the missile range two weeks ago fresh out of MP school. Leaving the enlisted men behind so that they wouldn't see how miserable he was about being in the army—in retrospect ROTC had been a big mistake—he'd taken a jeep out for a drive hoping to restore his spirits.

Lt. John Spence had a dilemma; he'd been told about the Kerneys and their ranch, but he'd also been ordered to strictly enforce any trespass on the reservation. “Do you have any ID?” Spence asked.

“Not on me, unless you take into account the brands on our ponies,” Patrick replied, squinting into the bright beams of the headlights.

“That won't do,” Spence said, making a quick decision to follow the letter of the law. “Walk toward me.”

“What for?” Patrick demanded.

“I'm charging you with trespassing.”

“Are you arresting the ponies too, or can I send them home?”

“They can go.”

Patrick slapped the ponies on their haunches and they trotted off in the direction of the arroyo. He figured it would be a good three hours before they wandered into the near pasture at the ranch house. By then, Mary would be about ready to kill him. “Now what?” he asked.

Lieutenant Spence considered his next move. He'd left the outpost with only his .45 on his hip and carried no handcuffs. He figured the young boy wouldn't be a problem, but he'd heard that the Kerney men were feisty characters. If he could get them to the outpost peaceably, he'd send them to the Sierra County Jail under MP escort.

“Will you cooperate?” Spence asked.

“I reckon so,” Patrick replied.

“Get in the back of the jeep.”

Patrick nodded and took Kevin's hand. “Are you doing okay, boy?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Kevin replied quietly.

He led his grandson to the jeep. “I guess we're both outlaws now, just like in the old days,” he whispered.

Anticipating his first jeep ride and his newly minted status as an outlaw, a smile lit up Kevin's face.

***

T
he army was building something at the outpost, but Patrick couldn't figure out what it was other than a big hole in the ground that was smack-dab in the center of the old road running through Rhodes Canyon. They had even built a short, temporary bypass around the hole in the ground so vehicles could travel around it. Up close, it looked a good thirty feet deep, blasted out of rock. Sometimes when the wind was right, he'd heard the explosions at the ranch.

When they reached the outpost, consisting of a portable barrier across the road, a cook tent, a flimsy barracks to house the soldiers, and an outhouse tucked behind some shrubs, the officer who'd arrested them, a shavetail lieutenant by the looks of him, told an MP sergeant to take Patrick and Kevin to the Sierra County Jail and charge Patrick Kerney with trespass.