Just Messin Around

James Dolan stood loading barbed wire into the truck bed. He looked around his holding briefly between stacking coils, as he had for years on end. He retreated into the low slung barn and returned with his tools. He opened the passenger door and carefully laid the hand tools on seat. The smoothed handle hammer was laid down first, followed by the parallel jaw wire cutters, a box of wire staples. He laid his leather gloves on the dash and closed the door. He walked around the back of the truck, inspecting the wire and closing the gate before turning for the driver’s door. He reached for the door handle and noticed the dust trailing into the air along the ranch road.

The black Suburban ghosted into view through the heat and turned a last time towards his home. He noticed the road tires that skidded on the washboard and closer, the white and blue government tag. He spat a thin stream of tobacco into the dust. The truck slowed to a stop and three men opened the doors and exited.

“Mr Dolan?” said the man who exited from the passenger side smoothing his tie.
“That would be me.”
“We’re from Washington and we’d like to discuss an important matter with you”
“I told your BLM agent that my cattle haven’t been grazing on that Fed land”
“It’s not regarding that”
“Well then what?”
“We’d like to buy your ranch”
“You’d what?”
“We want to buy your ranch sir. In fact, we plan to acquire most of the surrounding private lands”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s for matters of national security we cannot disclose, but we are willing to pay you a fair, some would say excellent price for it”
“What price would that be?”
“Here’s the Treasury voucher for our offer”

Dolan looked at the number on the page and then at the men standing in front of him. The driver and the second passenger were alternately looking at him and examining the land falling away from the house, their gaze extending over miles of grass to the rise of the mountains beyond. He looked back at the paper. The ranch had been in his family since before the Lincoln County War and not since the final tract had been purchased had there been a lien, mortgage or single piece sold off. Drought had taken its toll and he had lost money the last few years. His wife discussed moving east to Las Cruces more frequently than before.

His own gaze fell on the mountains. He remembered following old game trails around the base, riding his father’s horse, followed by other children on their fathers’ horses, at times when the ranch work was light enough to allow them to be children. He remembered his father’s mother, a hardened woman who came west across Texas in a wagon drawn by oxen before marrying his grandfather. She always warned the children to stay away from the mountains, her fears of Chiricahua Apaches not faded by time. They went anyways.
He remembered being fourteen and accompanying his father up into the mountains. Something had been marauding calves and a nearby rancher reported seeing a bear that had slunk down from the mountain before the winter set in. His father and the other ranchers had discussed what to do and he saw his father pull from the closet a long wooden case. Inside was a Winchester 1886 .45-70 rifle. It had a Sharps tang sight. When they met the other men in the early morning light, most were armed similarly with large bore rifles that hadn’t been fired since Villa’s raids. They found one dead calf that first day and a set of wolf tracks leading away. Four days later, they corned the wolf high in a box draw. His father handed him the rifle.

“Mr Dolan, we are extending this offer as a courtesy. If you refuse we will exercise eminent domain, and I can assure you that the amount you receive through that process will be significantly lower than that voucher is worth”
“Well”
“We can leave the paperwork here with you overnight and can discuss this again in the morning. As I said before, we will be soliciting your neighbors as well.”

He looked down at the amount again.

“I can live with this”