Amador suggested.
Mexican Ha
Stiles shook his head. "No way, Amador. Those collars don't come loose. You got to cut them off." Stiles looked at Kerney's horse. "I'll be ready to ride in a few minutes."
"I hope you know where you're going, because I sure the hell don't," Kerney said.
Stiles laughed, an easy, careless chuckle. "If I get us lost, my granddaddy will turn over in his grave. His name was Elderman. The meadow is named after him."
THEY WERE TWO MILES OFF the acccss road to the fire lookout tower on Mangas Mountain, moving down a switchback trail, when Jim Stiles turned sideways in the saddle and looked back at Kerney.
"You don't ride a horse too bad for a city boy," Stiles said.
"I wasn't always a city boy," Kerney answered.
"I can tell you've ridden some," Stiles responded. "Where do you hail from?"
"A ranch west of Engle," Kerney replied. "The place doesn't exist any more."
"The Jornada. I heard a story about you down there. It had something to do with a Game and Fish employee by the name of Eppi Gutierrez, now deceased."
"We ran into each other."
"Did that silly son of a bitch really try to kill you?"
"Damn near succeeded."
"I don't believe it. I worked with Eppi for a spell down at White Sands before 1 transferred back home. He was a wimp."
"Wimps can be dangerous," Kerney replied.
Stiles shook his head. "I guess. Did Gutierrez really find a stash of old Indian treasure?"
6 2 ■ Michael M c G a r r iIy
"Plunder from raids against the pony soldiers," Kerney said, "Worth millions. He was trying to smuggle it out of the country. The Army shipped it to West Point."
"I'll be damned." Stiles stopped and waited for Kerney to come alongside. "So, tell me something. What the hell are you doing with the Forest Service? Aren't you retired?"
"Sort of. Working keeps me out of trouble," Kerney answered, reining in the chestnut next to Stiles. The switchback ended a few yards ahead. A thicket of wild grape in front of a stand of sycamore trees seemed to block the way. Beyond the sycamores rose enormous crowns of ponderosas from the canyon floor.
"Think you'll get a permanent job at the Luna station?" Stiles asked.
Soft mare's tails, thin ribbons of clouds, flowed across the sky and steamed out of sight. Kerney shook his head. "That isn't going to happen," he said.
"So what's next?" Stiles asked, dismounting and throwing the reins over the head of his horse.
"Hell, I don't know," Kerney said, following suit. "I'll think of something."
"We walk a little," Stiles announced. "The trail gets rough for the next mile. Horses don't like it much."
The barranca dropped quickly past a series of volcanic flows that jutted against the deep cliff. The live stream at the bottom of the canyon undercut the vertical flows, creating an uneven line of columns suspended above the water. Stiles and Kerney waded around slippery rocks and plodded through the soft sand of the streambed under a canopy of evergreens. Cottonwood and willows took over at the narrowest stretch of the canyon, crowding the bank, making progress slow through the low branches. The remnant of a
Mexican Hat ■ 63
stone wall in the cliff face ten feet above the stream caught Kerney's eye. Behind the wall was a natural cave, the mouth blackened from the soot of numerous campfires. Small steps leading to the cave were chiseled out of soft rock under the opening.
Suddenly, the barranca opened on a pinon forest that spurted and stopped in the rangeland of a high valley. They were off the mountain, Mangas Peak hidden from view by the foothills. Stiles remounted.
"Hold up," Kerney called to him.
Stiles turned in his saddle, and Kerney gave him the reins to his horse. He walked back into the barranca, crossed the stream, climbed the stairs to the cave, and ducked inside.
The cave was deeper than Kerney expected. He sank to his knees under the low ceiling, waiting for his vision to adjust to the darkness, and listened for a sound. It came as shallow
Mexican Ha
Stiles shook his head. "No way, Amador. Those collars don't come loose. You got to cut them off." Stiles looked at Kerney's horse. "I'll be ready to ride in a few minutes."
"I hope you know where you're going, because I sure the hell don't," Kerney said.
Stiles laughed, an easy, careless chuckle. "If I get us lost, my granddaddy will turn over in his grave. His name was Elderman. The meadow is named after him."
THEY WERE TWO MILES OFF the acccss road to the fire lookout tower on Mangas Mountain, moving down a switchback trail, when Jim Stiles turned sideways in the saddle and looked back at Kerney.
"You don't ride a horse too bad for a city boy," Stiles said.
"I wasn't always a city boy," Kerney answered.
"I can tell you've ridden some," Stiles responded. "Where do you hail from?"
"A ranch west of Engle," Kerney replied. "The place doesn't exist any more."
"The Jornada. I heard a story about you down there. It had something to do with a Game and Fish employee by the name of Eppi Gutierrez, now deceased."
"We ran into each other."
"Did that silly son of a bitch really try to kill you?"
"Damn near succeeded."
"I don't believe it. I worked with Eppi for a spell down at White Sands before 1 transferred back home. He was a wimp."
"Wimps can be dangerous," Kerney replied.
Stiles shook his head. "I guess. Did Gutierrez really find a stash of old Indian treasure?"
6 2 ■ Michael M c G a r r iIy
"Plunder from raids against the pony soldiers," Kerney said, "Worth millions. He was trying to smuggle it out of the country. The Army shipped it to West Point."
"I'll be damned." Stiles stopped and waited for Kerney to come alongside. "So, tell me something. What the hell are you doing with the Forest Service? Aren't you retired?"
"Sort of. Working keeps me out of trouble," Kerney answered, reining in the chestnut next to Stiles. The switchback ended a few yards ahead. A thicket of wild grape in front of a stand of sycamore trees seemed to block the way. Beyond the sycamores rose enormous crowns of ponderosas from the canyon floor.
"Think you'll get a permanent job at the Luna station?" Stiles asked.
Soft mare's tails, thin ribbons of clouds, flowed across the sky and steamed out of sight. Kerney shook his head. "That isn't going to happen," he said.
"So what's next?" Stiles asked, dismounting and throwing the reins over the head of his horse.
"Hell, I don't know," Kerney said, following suit. "I'll think of something."
"We walk a little," Stiles announced. "The trail gets rough for the next mile. Horses don't like it much."
The barranca dropped quickly past a series of volcanic flows that jutted against the deep cliff. The live stream at the bottom of the canyon undercut the vertical flows, creating an uneven line of columns suspended above the water. Stiles and Kerney waded around slippery rocks and plodded through the soft sand of the streambed under a canopy of evergreens. Cottonwood and willows took over at the narrowest stretch of the canyon, crowding the bank, making progress slow through the low branches. The remnant of a
Mexican Hat ■ 63
stone wall in the cliff face ten feet above the stream caught Kerney's eye. Behind the wall was a natural cave, the mouth blackened from the soot of numerous campfires. Small steps leading to the cave were chiseled out of soft rock under the opening.
Suddenly, the barranca opened on a pinon forest that spurted and stopped in the rangeland of a high valley. They were off the mountain, Mangas Peak hidden from view by the foothills. Stiles remounted.
"Hold up," Kerney called to him.
Stiles turned in his saddle, and Kerney gave him the reins to his horse. He walked back into the barranca, crossed the stream, climbed the stairs to the cave, and ducked inside.
The cave was deeper than Kerney expected. He sank to his knees under the low ceiling, waiting for his vision to adjust to the darkness, and listened for a sound. It came as shallow
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