Last
week, BJ Vinson left Albuquerque on his way to the M Lazy M Ranch in New Mexico’s
Boot Heel Country (a piece of land acquired by the territory via the Gadsden Purchase
signed by Mexico in June 1854). He made it as far as Columbus before I ran
out of steam and ended the post. Columbus was actually one of the more
interesting places we stopped because of the raid on the town by Pancho Villa’s
forces on the morning of March 9, 1916.
Early
the next day, our protagonist heads out for the Boot Heel and the ranch, as we’ll
see in the scene that follows:
###
Ranchers, like farmers, generally rise with the sun, so I
was on the road early Monday, breezing west along Highway 9 over a landscape
dominated by creosote, locoweed, and wildflowers. The bright sky was spotted
with scattered clouds. The blue silhouette of the Cedar Mountain Range shadowed
the horizon.
The weathercast this morning had predicted a high of
ninety-nine degrees, but the temperature had not yet climbed to that point as I
drove into the country that had once sheltered the likes of Curly Bill, Old Man
Clanton, and Dick Gray, desperados who hid out in the caves and canyons of the
Boot Heel. Somewhere ahead of me was a black oak with large knotholes where the
outlaws left messages for one another in what is still called Post Office
Canyon.
I passed a sign noting I had crossed into Hidalgo County,
a landmass of about 3,500 square miles populated by fewer than 6,000 residents;
a place known for its large ranches. The Gray Ranch, which was now called by
its original name of the Diamond A, was 321,000 acres—a staggering 500 square
miles. Alongside that, the M Lazy M was a piker.
I turned south on Highway 81. The ranch was a fair drive
from Hachita, the closest town, and as I had a considerable amount of work to
do, I phoned Del to let him know I intended to take Bert Kurtz up on his offer
to remain overnight. He wanted to clear it with the insurance company to make
sure they wouldn’t consider it a conflict of interest should Mud Hen be
involved in any sort of scam. He promised to call me back.
The M Lazy M lay hard against the Mexican state of
Chihuahua just short of the Hatchet Mountains in the upper reaches of the Boot
Heel. A cattle guard, flanked by a tall adobe arch bearing the ranch’s brand—two
capital M’s, the second one lying on its side—marked the main gateway to the
spread.
I paused to snap a photo of the entrance before heading down
a well-graded gravel road toward what I assumed would eventually lead to the
ranch house. I stopped several times to take pictures of the road and anything
else of interest. Like crime scene investigators, PIs can’t function without
loads of photos.
I traveled another ten miles with no sign of habitation;
although white-faced cattle grazing in the distance identified this as a
working ranch. At the end of the road, I encountered another fence, behind
which loomed an odd-looking structure, one that appeared to have grown from
a modest home into something of a monstrosity as succeeding generations of
Muldrens left their stamp on the edifice, building first with wood, then with fieldstone
and brick. The latest addition was in adobe.
The place was reminiscent of Gothic novel cover art,
although the graceful cottonwoods and sycamores scattered about the broad yard
softened the effect. Even so, their towering presence on this landscape of
stunted bushes and twisted piñons was almost as bizarre as the building itself.
They had obviously been carefully nurtured by the first M’s, possibly even the
Lazy M, until they dwarfed every other living thing within sight.
I parked in the gravel circle before the house between a
late model gray Lincoln and a vintage blue and white Corvette. Two big Dobermans
trotted up to the car and regarded me solemnly. Just then, the front door
opened. Bert stepped over the threshold and greeted me with a wave. I rolled
down my car window a couple of inches.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Vinson. Bruno and Hilda won’t bother you
unless I put them on guard. Now the ferocious beast in the house, I’m not so
sure of.”
“Right.” I cast a wary eye at the large animals and stepped
more briskly than usual toward the broad, shaded veranda. I offered Bert a
hand. “Most people call me BJ.”
He accepted my shake with a smile, casting an indulgent
eye on the dogs. “BJ, I hope you had a pleasant ride. Missed the hottest part
of the day, anyway. Welcome to the M Lazy M Ranch, or as most folks call
her…the Lazy M.”
###
That
was BJ’s first view of the ranch and will be his first meeting with its owner, Millicent
Muldren, called Mud Hen by just about everyone. After a rather contentious
meeting, he prepares to take his leave of her and head back to Albuquerque. In
the following scene, he learns of the City of Rocks for the first time … both
“City of Rocks.”
###
“Do you have anything else to tell me?”
“No. I have to go now, BJ.” She glanced out of the window.
“I see Luis has my gelding saddled. I have something to check out down at the
City.”
“The City?”
“Have you been to the City of Rocks State Park north of
Deming?” When I shook my head, she continued. “It’s something to see. As the
name implies, it’s a city made of stone, complete with streets and alleys.”
At my doubtful look, she explained. “They say that about
thirty-five million years ago, a big volcanic eruption called the Kneeling Nun
spewed lava and ash and pumice for 150 miles. Over time, wind and rain and
freezing and thawing have shaped it into what it is today, something that looks
like a big damned city made out of solid rock sitting right out there in the
middle of the desert.
“Well, when the Kneeling Nun blew, she threw some of that
same stuff over on our patch of ground. It’s not as big as the one at the park,
but when my grandpa first laid eyes on it, he said it looked like a damned city
made out of rocks. It’s more the size of a village, of course, but Gramps
always thought on a bigger scale, so he called it a city. The City of Rocks.
When they made that place north of Deming a state park in 1952, my daddy
thought about putting up a fuss since his family used the name first, but he
never got around to it. So they’ve got their City of Rocks up there, and we’ve
got our own down here. You should see it sometime.”
“I will, but right now I need to head back to Albuquerque.
I’ve got to wrap this thing up. Good luck to you, Millicent.”
“Tell me something, cowboy. Do you think I had Quacky
stolen because of the bet?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, Millicent, but for
whatever it’s worth—I don’t.”
“Good.”
I stood at the window in the cavernous living room and
watched as she mounted and rode off toward the southeast. She and the big
piebald named Rufus she rode looked as if they were a single unit. Before they
passed out of my line of sight, I noticed she had a rifle scabbard strapped to
the saddle forward of her right knee. The boss toted iron just like the hands.
###
I hope these short scenes make for interesting reading. It sure was fun
writing them. Best of all, I get to show the reader some of this great State of
New Mexico.
Thanks
for visiting with me,
Don
Next week: Time will tell.
New posts are published at 6:00
a.m. each Thursday.
No comments:
Post a Comment