CASEY HARWOOD SAT IN THE pilot’s seat, wearing a leather helmet and a white scarf around his neck. Over the two-way radio, he received clearance from the tower to take off. Mark did his best but couldn’t understand the words through the static.
He sure hoped the pilot could.
The plane soared off the runaway over the vast citrus groves surrounding the former training base for the Dutch military flyers during the war. The takeoff left Mark’s stomach somewhere down on the landing strip. Tilted on one wing, the plane turned and headed north toward Bloody Basin. Maybe, if he didn’t look out the window, it would help. He tried concentrating on the maps Jim held, but the way they were rolled, he couldn’t make out much. One thing was for sure. He was glad it was a sunny, windless day and the air wasn’t bumpy. Still, he wished they were all on horseback, even though it would take a good three days to get up there.
He stared at the back of Sam’s head. He wore a snap-brim felt hat. Mark shared the rear seats with Jim and his many rolls of maps. When the plane reached altitude, Mark leaned forward to better see all the farmland and irrigation canals that fed water to the valley. To his right were the McDowell Mountains and Red Rock that Harwood soon smoothly turned the plane to fly over. Everything passed under them.
Strange to view the land they had beat their butts raw riding over to capture the ponies. Seeing it from up here, it looked smooth and flat, but he knew better. There were rivulets cutting through it, and here and there a hole that could easily break a horse’s leg. But even so, he’d much rather be riding flat out on that big wild bay they’d caught than floating around up here.
The river glistened in the sunlight, a twisted ribbon shining like a diamond necklace, cutting through the dust and rock formations. It was impossible to envision the some six hundred acres of what he hoped would soon be his ranch.
Harwood was dressed in starched tan pants and shirt, with his cigarette holder and his knee-high brown English riding boots. He could have been Clark Gable. Mark expected him to speak with an English accent, but his was Southern instead. He could hardly wait to tell Alma about this guy.
“My plan is to fly straight up the Verde Watershed. When we get close to this ranch, we can circle and look at it from a lower elevation,” Harwood said.
“How many hours of safe flying do you have?” Cline asked him.
“Several thousand, sir.”
“The insurance on his flying is so cheap compared to Jim or I, we couldn’t afford to fly it ourselves. Can we, Jim?”
“No, sir.”
Mark didn’t miss that Jim almost crossed himself in gratitude. His mind remained on the motor’s hum. When it quit—if it quit—they’d go down like a rock, considering this was not a place like Oklahoma or Texas, where you could land just about anywhere. Coming home on Route 66, he’d rediscovered how flat the land in that country was. Real boring. Nothing like here where the levels changed with almost every step.
“Okay, we’re coming up on your ranch. You can see it off to the right.” Harwood tilted the plane a bit, so they could see better. Mark wished he wouldn’t do that. He could see perfectly well flying flat.
He and Jim both leaned forward to see.
The ranch headquarters looked a little rough.
“How will we get in there with no roads?” Though he hadn’t meant to, he’d spoken the question aloud. They’d have to ride in or use the wagon until a road could be put in.
“Won’t take long to solve that if the place proves out.” Sam Cline didn’t sound too worried about a little thing like roads.
Harwood made some swoops on the place, so they saw the corrals needed repairs. Herds of white-faced cattle looked fat but threw their tails over their back and ran like hell from the plane’s low passes. If only he could be with them, Mark would gladly ride one of their backs to get out of this damn plane.
“Hurrah, we’ve got cattle,” Cline said. “But they look wilder than Billy goats.”
Harwood made another pass over the place and a fat twelve-point buck mule deer went hopping up through the junipers. There was food there, too. The man swooped around and flew west toward the Bradshaw Mountains. Then he came back over the ranch and the Verde.
“Enough, Mister Sam?”
“I’ve seen enough.” Cline nodded and looked back at Mark. “How in hell are you going to get in there?”
Mark swallowed hard. “Horseback. It’ll be a lot easier ride than this has been.”
“Take it you don’t like flying much. But can you run a dozer?”
“I’ve run several models.”
“You know they’ll have lots of them for sale, now that the war is over and they’re cheap as surplus. We may need one up here, so I can eventually drive up to your front door in my Lincoln.”
“I’d like that. Hell, we can even build you a runway with one of them.” Drive up to my front door? Mark sure did like the sound of that.
“That would be the way. Right Harwood?”
Harwood kinda prefaced his reply. “If it isn’t too rough. I can put this baby down there.”
Damned if he didn’t even sound like Gable when he said baby.
One last look at the log house with some shakes missing, fallen-in corrals, and sheds. Maybe more work up there than Jones wanted to do—if indeed Jones was his partner. The man seemed on the fence, balking at the hard work ahead. But he felt much better listening to Cline and Harwood discuss what might soon become his ranch. Or at least partly his.
Then that fool Harwood stalled the engine and Mark’s stomach flew right out the window. His toes curled on the floor and he shook with fear. Back in the war, he’d figured once he got home he’d never be afraid of anything again. Well, he’d got that wrong. They were going to crash, sure as the world. Then the pilot switched gas tanks and Mark held his breath until the sputtering engine caught again.
Whew.
They were halfway back to Mesa and the flying field before his heart hit an even beat. Jim must have felt the same way. He mopped his sweaty face with his kerchief. He shook his head at Mark and then mouthed the words Harwood couldn’t hear over the roar of the plane’s engine. “That bastard does that every time to show off. I could kill him.”
Those were nearly Mark’s sentiments, as well, but killing the pilot wouldn’t be the smartest thing he could do at the moment. So he did his best to relax until the damned fool landed the thing.
“Listen, Shaw, I’m going to talk to that lawyer, Larry Hall, about some other deals and slip in some questions about this ranch.”
“Sounds good. Anything I need to do?”
“Call me next week, like Tuesday. Now I want to try and make us a deal where you and I can make some money. If I can’t do anything, you may need to go up there to Mayer and dicker with him for us. Don’t worry. I have enough money to buy half of the ranches in Arizona, but we’ll need to see how to buy it for the lowest dollar so we can really make some money.”
“Yes, sir.” Mark swallowed hard. Was this really going to happen? “Is morning or afternoon the best time to call you?” He managed to sound calm and collected but it wasn’t easy.
“Midmorning Tuesday. Where are you at?”
“Lehi.”
“I have a notion, Shaw, that we’ll be owning this ranch before much longer.”
“Thanks. That’s good to hear.” Mark slumped back in the seat. Now Clark Gable needed to land this bee-bomber so he could ride back to Mesa and find Alma. Then they’d go home in her wagon, break horses, and he could entertain her with stories of his death-defying airplane ride. She’d get a kick out of that. But not much more of a kick than he’d got.
Dang, he’d be glad when this thing was on solid ground again.
—
WHEN HE FINALLY CAME TO join her on the horse parking lot, she stood waiting for him, wrapped in her blanket.
“We have a partner in the ranch deal. Let’s go home and break horses.”
“What was the plane ride like?” She smiled big, waiting for his answer as he picked up the harness to hitch her team.
“Spooky as hell. I’ll tell you all about it tonight when we bed down at Jones’s.”
She ran over and hugged his arm. “I thought so. I would never have gone.”
He pulled out on the road to Jones’s place. Though it would take a few hours to get back, with no trouble he could make it in time for supper. With a lot on his mind, he was careful to check traffic. He started to pull out on the Lehi Road when some fool dodged around him to beat an oncoming car. The miss was so close, he gripped the reins and caught his breath, doubling his fist and shaking it. Whew, that was a near miss.
It took him a few minutes to stop breathing heavy. If this town kept growing so fast, they might have to put in traffic lights to put an end to things like what had just happened.
At the Lehi Store, he pulled in so Alma could pick up some supplies. After that, it was a short drive on home. Well, short compared to the drive up to his new ranch. Sitting out there on the seat of the spring wagon, he grinned like a fool. Tried out saying it. “My new ranch.” Not bad. “Our new ranch.” Much better. With luck, if Dirty Shirt was willing, there’d be four partners in this venture. A lot of work and, if Cline was right, a lot of reward, moneywise.
Alma returned, and he left off wishful thinking to jump down and help her load the supplies. The sun had set, and shadows walked across the land when he pulled up at Jones’s place.
The Indian came out and leaned on the doorframe with his arms folded. “You talk to a banker?”
“Yes, and we flew over the place in his plane this morning. He’s working on buying it right now.” Arms full of supplies, Mark followed Alma and Jones into the jacal to store them away.
“Holy shit.” Jones shook his head in disbelief. “You hear his words, woman? He flew over it. Did you go?”
“No, I have no wings. We were not meant to fly like birds.”
Jones laughed. “I agree. What if we sell that stallion?”
“Why is that?” He helped Alma store sugar, flour, cornmeal, and beans while Jones lolled nearby.
“A man came by this morning. Aft Corning. He says he would give three hundred dollars for the stud. I say I can’t sell him as he is only half mine.”
“You can get three hundred for him, you better sell him.”
“Good, he’s getting your friend to haul him tomorrow.” Jones smiled big. “I thought you’d think like me.”
Busy working over her fire, Alma laughed. “Why did you even ask him if he wanted to sell it?”
Jones frowned at her. “I was on my best behavior.”
“Oh, Dirty Shirt, you don’t have none of that.”
He ignored her. “When will we go up there?”
“I can’t tell. But he is working on it. I think when the horses are broke to ride, we can go and see it.”
“What does it look like?”
“Run down, but you can’t tell much more than that flying over it that fast.”
“Is it cold up there?”
“Not sure, I didn’t get out to look around. But I expect it’s about like here.”
“No. One winter I was in Flag and nearly froze my fingers and toes off.”
Mark laughed. “Come on and help get the horses put away.”
Jones followed him and together they unharnessed the team and turned them in the corral to roll in the dust.
“That is way higher. This is down on the river. Let’s go in. She’ll have supper fixed soon.”
Jones followed him, not hushing up. “You hear him, sister. He don’t care if we freeze our asses off.”
“Maybe you will need a wife for a stove?” She glanced toward the men with a big smile on her face.
“You find me a big fat one. She’d be warm.”
“No, she’d steal all the covers off you to keep herself warm.”
“Oh, damn, I can’t win for losing.” Jones laughed until he was bent over.
Mark stretched his back muscles, seating himself on a cottonwood log. Those two sure did like to banter about anything. He hoped she hurried up cooking their meal. They could argue all night and then into the next day, still trying to get ahead of the other one. He shook his head in wonderment. Twelve hours earlier ahe’d been listening to the hum of the Piper Cub, now hearing his woman and partner trading jokes. What a world he lived in.
“I need to go get my saddle from Dad.” Mark gestured toward Alma who cooked tortillas over the fire. She always rode bareback, which made him wonder what had happened to Jeff’s saddle. She had it when they met up the first time, ’cause he saw it in her wagon, looking all shiny with soaping. He might ask her tonight after they crawled in their bedroll. Right now, he needed to satisfy Jones about the ranch deal, make him see what a good deal it would be for all of them.
Jones settled down nearby and stared at Mark. “You think you’ll get it? The money, I mean.”
Mark shrugged, played with a stick in the dirt by the fire. Supper smelled good and he was hungry. She was a fine cook, a better helpmate. How soon he’d begun to wonder what he would do without her. Life was funny.
It’d be hard to round up those wild cattle without Jones to help. He was one helluva cowboy for an Indian. Yet should he try to convince him to come in on it? His dad and Sam weren’t exactly buddies. They’d had some problems back when Dad was a sharecropper for Cline. Being a kid, he wasn’t sure exactly what it had all been about. Still, he didn’t want to do this without Jones. Cline was not a philanthropist, but he might be the route for him getting a ranch manager’s job and even maybe a partial owner of that place. He sure hoped he wouldn’t hear any artillery rounds or machine guns burping in that isolated country. He really hoped Dirty Shirt would come in on a partnership should Cline offer it.
Maybe when Gaines came to haul the stallion for Corning, he could find out if there was a way in to the ranch. They’d need a decent road to get the trucks in there to haul those cattle or else have to trail drive them out.
Supper was finally ready. His thoughts trailed away when she brought him a plate of hot beans, warm tortillas, and fried bacon.
After they ate, she apologized. “I’m sorry I was so slow. I’m kinda tired. It’s been a trying time for me. I was no help.” She was weary from all their traipsing around, as well as waiting on him. But there was more to it than that. When he held out his arms, she fell into them and cried.
“Oh, I love you, but I simply can’t forget Jeff. I can’t accept that he died over there. Do you understand why?”
What had brought this on? She hadn’t mentioned him in a long while. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were still mourning him. What can I do?”
“I saw a calendar at the Lehi store and remembered he was killed a year ago today. It made me think of him all over again. I don’t mean to be this way, but I did love him so.”
He had no idea she had still felt this way and he felt bad for her. But what if she couldn’t forget her first man for him?
He held her close, not knowing what to say. Hoping it was only the anniversary of his death that made her so sad. He couldn’t lose her, surely, he couldn’t. Was there always going to be something to worry about? In the war, the one thing was worrying about getting killed. Now it seemed every time he turned around it was something new to plague him.
“I have not been lying to you. You have stayed with me, been good to me. It is just so hard.” Pressed hard against him, she broke down in tears.
“Come with me, Alma. I’ll hold you in my arms on the bed.” He led her off to the sun-faded sidewall tent from war surplus.
He found little solace for her until she went to sleep in his arms. So many things she knew about people and getting along, but accepting Jeff’s death was beyond her reach. He knew about something being beyond one’s reach. Things slipped off the end of his fingers too—he only hoped this ranch deal worked. Maybe up there, she could reach what she couldn’t find down here. He snuggled close to her and closed his eyes until sleep came to him as well.
The next day, an old, battered Ford approached. His wife Shelia crawled out—not someone he needed or wanted to see. Alma seemed better. Calm and quiet. He worried enough about her without this. A cocky-looking driver stayed by the car. He wore a white t-shirt and kept his cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve.
Wearing a dress a size too big for her, she marched right up to him, her black pumps kicking up dust. “Mark, I want a divorce.”
Maybe she’d gotten that dress from the Salvation Army. Her hair looked dry and frizzy, her skin dry. She wasn’t taking care of herself, but he had enough to worry about without taking on her troubles. All he wanted was to be rid of her after what she’d done to him.
How could he ever have wanted this woman? “Go get one, then. I won’t argue for you to stay.”
“I don’t have the money. It costs thirty dollars. I swear I ain’t got the money.”
“I’ll go find some paper and you can sign that I gave you the money, ’cause I don’t trust you with it otherwise. The two of you might go on a wild toot.”
Jones found him an old calendar month that was blank, and he wrote on the back.
I swear that Mark Shaw gave me $30 dollars for our final divorce on this day, the 17th November, 1945, for that purpose.
Signed, Shelia Shaw.
After she signed it, she handed it back to him. “I hate that you done me like this, Mark. Made me come beg you for the gawdamn money. I thought you was a real man.”
He leaned over toward her before he spoke softly. “Just go bed that guy standing over there by the car. You’ve probably done it before and that won’t be the last time. Goodbye, Shelia.”
“You gawdamn bastard!”
“Stay over there, big man.” Mark pointed to the man, who’d pushed off the car and started over, ready to defend his beloved bed-warmer. “I can whip your ass one-handed, and I want you to take this woman out of my sight.”
The guy finally opened his mouth to say something. “Come on darling, he ain’t worth nothing.”
Sheila left crying, her new man herding her into his old car. Before he got in on his side, he gave Mark a big finger.
Mark gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, resisting the urge to march over and mop the dirt with the man. The car backed around in a big cloud of smoke and dust, the rods rattling in the V8 as it tore out over the humps in Jones’s driveway.
Good riddance.
Alma hung on to Mark and he slowly cooled down from the height of his madness. When he looked into her concerned face, he lifted her up and kissed her mouth. “I only hope she never comes back.”
“She’s going to have a baby.”
“Hmm. Well, it damn sure ain’t mine. I haven’t touched that woman since before the damn war.”
She began to sob. “I am so sorry.”
Now he’d made her sad again. “Aw, don’t cry for me. I don’t want you sad anymore. I love you.” He hugged her again, ashamed she was so upset over his silly little problems. Sheila was nothing when compared to the loss of her husband.
Jones rose to his feet. “We better get these damn horses broke. If we get a ranch like you described, we damn sure will need every one of them.”
“And every one of us, too.” There he went, speaking his thoughts out loud.
Good thing Jones spoke up. It changed the subject and soothed his anger against the woman who meant nothing to him, not worth the wasted thoughts. Time to walk away from the past for good. Forget the war and his so-called wife and look to the future. It was bound to be better.
For him and Alma and Jones.
Holding Alma with one arm, he reached toward the Indian, as if to shake hands in a pact. “We partners?”
Jones eyed his outstretched hand, then stepped forward and took it. He held it tight and looked at him square on. “Partners.” A pause and a big grin. “But that won’t keep me from grousing about all the hard work.”
Alma sniffed, then a laugh built in her chest and burst out. Mark joined her and soon all three were hee-hawing and holding each other in a tight circle. Mark sobered first, then Alma leaned against him and took a deep breath. Jones dragged out his bandana and wiped away his tears.
“This day didn’t start out well, but we can change that.” Mark picked up a few sticks of wood and tossed them on the coals. A flame leaped up, then another. “I don’t know about you two, but I could use a cup of coffee and a good breakfast before we get busy breaking those wild ponies. What do you say?”
Alma fetched the frying pan. “I will warm the tortillas and fry some bacon if you will gather me a bit more wood.”
Mark headed away from the jacal. “Wait for me, partner. I’m on my way.”
Alma called after them. “Now you truly look like partners.”
Mark waved an arm in the air. “That’s what we are. All three of us.” The day that had begun so lousy was beginning to look fine, one he could look forward to.
With a light step, he followed Dirty Shirt to a stand of juniper with a good supply of dead wood scattered about. Together, they picked up branches until their arms were full.
“That’s a fine woman you have there.”
“Don’t I know it. You ought to get you one. They’re good to have around, purty to look at, nice to hold. But make sure she can cook, or you might starve, the way you wrangle meals.”
“I ever decide I need me one, I’ll make sure and take your advice.”
Mark chuckled. Good to be joking around again. This was all going to work out just fine. He had a hunch about that.