Anniversary
Copyright© 2026 by Vonalt
Chapter 13: Back on the Ranch
It took me some time to reestablish a routine that I had forgotten after getting back to the ranch having been gone for so long. I groaned and put the pillow over my head to block out the noise of Cletus banging around, up before the sun, getting ready to start his day, and the aromas emanating from the kitchen where Edna was baking homemade biscuits. I hated hearing Cletus rummaging around, but I knew that he would be banging on the door, hollering “Get up, you’re burning daylight,” if I didn’t get up right then. I groaned at the prospect of getting up so early either way. It was the middle of the night, for God’s sake.
It took me a while, but I eventually slowly got moving. I stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom and then on out to the kitchen. Cletus was already there, finishing up his ranch-style breakfast, way too cheerful and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Edna was just as cheerful. I grunted my greeting out and started working on the breakfast that Edna had dished up for me.
Breakfast took its sweet time improving my attitude and dragging me into something resembling a better frame of mind. I was almost back to my pre-trip self by the time I finished, just barely able to tolerate Cletus’s and Edna’s combined cheerfulness, though it still felt like they were putting on a performance just to spite me.
It took me a full week to get back into the swing of things—up before sunrise, reviewing applications from prospective hires for the dude ranch side of the operation. Many of last year’s staff were returning for the new season, but we still needed experienced people, especially wranglers and cooks. We had plenty of help in unskilled areas like housekeeping and general labor. Where we really needed help was in food preparation and assisting with the trail rides we offered to guests and day riders. The regular ranch hands managed the cattle herd and handled ranch maintenance.
Cletus mentioned that the bunkhouse, dining hall, and family cabins needed a new coat of paint, so it was up to me to take care of it. I’d need to hire a temporary crew, since the rest of our people were already busy with their own work.
Everything was running smoothly, actually better than the year before. With less time spent wrangling dude ranch guests, I could finally dig into the numbers; expenses versus income, labor costs, vet bills, and all the usual headaches that come with running a ranch.
I was running “what if” scenarios on a spreadsheet when Cletus came into the ranch office with a serious look on his face. At first, I thought something had happened to Edna and was ready to ask what he wanted me to do. Then he said, “We’ve got a serious problem, David. You need to clear out immediately.”
I quickly thought I was being fired for something I had done. What could I have done to make Cletus fire me on the spot? My first reaction was guilt, followed by a desperate thought: Is there anything I can do to fix whatever I’ve done wrong?
“They aired a new reality TV show called ‘Missing and Presumed Dead’ last night. The first episode was about that Ramos character and your wife being involved in illegal drugs and money laundering. They brought up your disappearance and how everyone thinks that you’re dead. Well, two FBI agents were asking the public for help tracking you down if you were still alive last night. Someone from town recognized you and called the 800 number, hoping to claim the $5,000 reward. Sheriff Young called me a few minutes ago to warn me that the FBI is on their way out here,” Cletus said, more excited than I had ever seen him.
“You need to pack your gear and take your pistol with a box of ammunition. I’ve got the hands saddling a horse and a bedroll for you. Edna is putting together a sack of food and a pan to cook with. Head out toward the BLM lands—you know where we went shooting—and keep going that way. There are rock formations where you can hide about an hour’s ride out. Remember the one where we went shooting at dusk if you need to stay longer. I’ll make sure there’s a food cache for you there.”
The formation that I want you to reach has a seep so there’s no risk of going without water, and there’s enough grass for the horse I had saddled. She’s a wild mustang, so she’ll know how to forage.”
“Get packed. I’ll meet you at the stables. You’ve got twenty minutes to get out of here before the Sheriff figures out how to get here.”
I didn’t say anything because I knew any conversation would be a waste of time and only delay my getaway. I went to my room and started packing enough jeans, shirts, socks, and underwear for a couple of days. I also grabbed my 9mm pistol and its shoulder holster.
I knew exactly which FBI agents were involved. I planned to have Rose sue the hell out of those two idiots who had jeopardized my life after this was over—if I survived. I was going for the big bucks when the time came.
I had everything I thought I needed in the pack Cletus had left for me, and I quickly headed to the stables. A glance at my watch told me packing had taken only ten minutes—not much time left. At the stables, a couple of the hands gave me concerned looks and nods of acknowledgment. Cletus and Edna were there too.
I climbed onto the horse; there wasn’t time for a proper goodbye. All I heard was Cletus say, “Get going,” before he slapped the mustang on the rear and she took off at a gallop.
It didn’t take long before we reached the ranch’s back fence, where the chuckwagon and picnic tables were set up for the Friday night programs. I headed for the gap in the fence where the BLM land met the ranch. I kept going but slowed the mustang mare to a canter, then to a trot. She could cover more distance at that pace while still moving faster than a walk.
I spotted the place where we had gone shooting months ago and kept moving, using the outcroppings as reference points. The mare hadn’t even broken a sweat, so I kept her at a trot. I wasn’t sure how long we had been traveling, but I didn’t want to stop out in the open where I could be seen from a distance or from the air.
I had been traveling at this accelerated pace for over an hour and knew I needed to rest the horse. Up ahead was an outcropping that would break up our outline and make us harder to spot. The area behind the rocks wasn’t large, but it was enough to keep us out of sight. I dismounted and looked back the way we had come. I didn’t see any signs of anyone following us. I would have seen dust rising from a vehicle if anyone had been back there.
I circled behind the rock formation again so that I could get into the shade. There was no need to bake in the sun and risk a sunburn. I moved forward to replace the canteen on the saddle’s pommel where it belonged. That’s when I noticed a simple petroglyph etched into the rock face behind the mare.
The symbols scratched into the flat rock face were in remarkable condition. I even recognized some of them that showed water, mountains, and what I took to mean a cave. Then there was a longer, dashed line that left me baffled at first. The more I stared, the more confused I became.
I pulled the map out and circled around to the other side of the rock outcropping, comparing what I was seeing to the petroglyphs. It then hit me that it was like solving a complex mathematical proof. It would lead me to the cave and the water source if I aligned the distant mountains with their representation on the map, referenced the closer hills carved into the rock, and tracked the sun’s path overhead, then followed the line indicated by the dashed line.
A further realization struck me: the dotted line represented footsteps or a time sequence. I had no idea what that time sequence was. It was remarkable how intelligent these earlier desert dwellers had been, and how lucky I was to have discovered this rock face map. I let the mare rest for another ten minutes, then brought her around the outcropping so we could continue on.
I had the mare start out at a walk, using the mountains, the sun’s path across the sky, and the other reference points on the map to guide us. We should reach the water and the cave without getting lost if I carefully followed them. The mare picked up a trot on her own, and we were making good progress, at least in my estimation.
Another hour passed, and the ground began to rise in a gentle grade for about a quarter mile before it suddenly leveled off. The petroglyphs on the map had been carved accurately into the rock face. If I had kept going, I would have ridden straight over a cliff—like the buffalo jumps I remembered reading about as a kid. The Lakota would drive buffalo over cliffs in what is now Wyoming and South Dakota, where the animals would plunge to their deaths below. All the tribe had to do then was skin and butcher the animals and dry the meat.
There was a natural path down into the ravine where the water seeped, and I noticed an overhang that I imagined was the cave. Plenty of plant life was growing with all the water and sunlight, so the mare wouldn’t go hungry. This ravine was a natural oasis in the desert.
I led the mare down into the ravine. It was noticeably cooler here than out on the open desert. I attributed the temperature drop to the pool of water in the ravine, the vegetation cooling the air through evaporation, and the shade cast by the ravine walls.
I removed the saddle from the mare and tethered her to a cedar growing out of the ravine wall. It stretched upward toward the sun, and the trunk was thick enough to hold if the mare tried to pull away.
I took my supplies and bedroll and placed them under the overhanging ledge to protect them from the weather. After making sure the mare was securely tied and happily grazing, I went back up to the desert surface to see if anyone had followed us. I saw no signs of a vehicle searching for me, and I felt a wave of relief.
I returned to the ravine and checked the sack Edna had packed. There were no MREs—everything inside was food I could either eat quickly or prepare without cooking. The sun finally dipped below the ravine’s rim, and the air grew cooler almost immediately.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.