Dale got busy with dinner and Kerney tended to the horses, watering them at the stream and feeding each a bag of grain. Then he hobbled them nearby for the night on some good grass where they could graze.
As he walked back to the trailer, rotor noise cut the stillness. He watched the lights of the helicopters pass out of the valley, let Shoe out of the trailer, and tied him to the bumper. The dog rolled on his back, and lifted his front paws in the air. Kerney gave him a tummy scratch.
When dinner was ready. Dale found Kerney in the truck with the cab light on, studying a plat map.
"According to this map, Nestor Barela owns land that parallels mine on the backside of the mesa," Kerney said, taking the plate from Dale's hand.
Dinner consisted of steak, a baked potato, and a large slab of homemade apple pie. He got out of the truck and followed Dale to the campfire.
Two camp stools had been set up. He sat down, balanced the plate on his knees, and cut into the steak with a knife.
"He might be worth talking to," Dale said.
"He holds the grazing rights on my property."
"He sure hasn't been using them."
"Maybe he went into the wood cutting business instead." Kerney took a bite of steak.
"This is good."
"Homegrown range-fed beef. Can you pay the taxes on this place?"
"I'm trying not to think about it. The appraisal is due next week. I don't have a due what the inheritance tax will be."
"It will be a pretty penny."
"Yeah, and it'll take a huge mortgage to cover the taxes and make the improvements the place needs."
"I've been yearning for some high-country summer grazing land."
"What are you saying. Dale?"
"This land is like a grass bank waiting for cattle that need fattening up. I've got yearlings that will add two hundred pounds easy in a summer up here."
"Do you want to buy me out?"
"I had a partnership in mind: your land, my beef. I'll take out a loan each year to make the tax payments, and you give me half interest in the property. You carry the bank note for the improvements. That way we share the load."
Kerney shook his head.
"I won't let you borrow against your land on my account. It's too risky."
"You're one stubborn son of a bitch."
"I know it."
"Well, think about it. It might work."
"I didn't know being land rich could be so damn frustrating."
"If you want to ranch, you're going to have to use somebody else's money to do it."
"I guess that's true. Hold off until I know what the taxes will be.
Okay?"
"Okay" "Did Barbara bake the pie?"
"She did, and sent it along with her love."
"Save your steak bone for Shoe," Kerney said.
"It's already got his name on it."
The dog, still tied to the bumper, flapped his tail, drooled, and kept his eyes fixed on the two men.
In the morning, it was Kerney's turn to cook. At first light, he fixed enough chow to insure leftovers for the dog. After cleaning up the dishes, he fed Shoe, put on the makeshift collar and leash, and took him for a walk.
Dale laughed as Kerney led the dog away. Shoe seemed perfectly content to be on a leash, and after sniffing around for the right spot, he did his business. The dog still limped. Kerney hoped that some weight gain and exercise would correct the problem.
Sergeant Gonzales arrived in a four-wheel drive pulling a horse trailer, followed by a Game and Fish truck, with another trailer, and several patrol units. Kerney questioned him about the crime scene search, and Gabe reported that nothing more had been found. Gonzales, his team, and the Game and Pish officer were all dressed in riding gear.
"Have the techs work the site one more time," Kerney said.
"They're on the way," Gonzales said.
"We'll cover the mesa on horseback. If anything else is there, we'll turn it up."
Kerney saw Gonzales and his team off, tied Shoe to the bumper of the trailer, borrowed Dale's truck, and promised to return in a hour. He wanted to pay a friendly visit to Nestor Barela and see what kind of neighbor he had inherited.
The ranch road leading to Barela's place was an expensive piece of work. Graded, crowned, and topped with packed base course, it was far superior to the poorly maintained county road. The headquarters sat in a horseshoe canyon about a hundred acres deep and half as wide. From the last cattle guard into the headquarters, the road was asphalt.
Kerney stopped before he crossed the cattle guard and looked the place over. The most prominent building was an indoor arena near a large horse barn. Expensive white pipe fences enclosed cool down areas, exercise rings, show jumping gates, and corrals. Two smaller outbuildings, a hay shed, and a loading pen were sheltered at the side of the canyon.
Across a pasture, tucked on the other side of the canyon, was an adobe house with a half-story attic framed with battens, a pitched roof, and a row of cottonwoods along the windward side. Laundry flapped on a clothesline steps away from a side porch.
The main residence dominated high ground at the back of the canyon where the winds would swirl and bluster. It was enormous, and obviously positioned for the view rather than for protection from the elements.
Built in a symmetrical H with pitched roofs, the house had a deep veranda running across the core of the structure that connected the two lateral sides. A chimney protruded in the center of each distinct roof line. A low wall with white-picket gates confined some shade trees at the front of the house. A free-standing three-car garage built in the same style stood below and to one side of the residence.
All in all, it looked like Barela had sold the place to somebody with a hell of a lot of money, who had converted the cattle operation into a horse ranch.
Erma's lawyer and executor, Milton Lynch, who lived in the southern part of the state, had only been able to provide sketchy information about Barela. Kerney had a name, a post office box number, what Barela paid for his lease, and the location of the ranch, all which could easily be out of date.
He stopped at the horse barn, where several trucks were parked. A hand-crafted sign above the doors read horse canyon ranch. He could hear the sounds of men and animals inside the barn. He called out and a middle-aged Anglo man, thick through the chest, wearing a stained felt cowboy hat, a plaid snap button shirt, jeans, and a pair of work boots caked with manure and straw, walked out to greet him.