A couple of weeks ago, we visited Columbus, New Mexico
through the eyes of JB Vinson. The excerpt was from THE CITY OF ROCKS, the third in my BJ Vinson series. The following
scene is from the same book (beginning of Chapter 5), and occurs the next day
as our Confidential Investigator hero departs Columbus on the way to the M Lazy
M Ranch on the trail of a kidnapped duck.
Ah, but not an ordinary duck. Quacky (as she is known) represents big
bucks.
*****
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 thirty-five
hundred square miles populated by fewer than six thousand 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 had 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.
*****
Interesting
country, isn’t it. Come visit it, and see all the other wonders of this
beautiful state. But above all, guys …keep on reading.
Don
New Posts are
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