Chapter 1

My daddy had owned all of the water rights in North Barlow County. Sounds mighty impressive, unless you happen to know that there were only thirty seven people, forty nine horses, one hundred and seven head of beef, seven dogs and an uncounted number of chickens that were now settled in that part of the County. Of course, that wasn't counting the Mexicans or the Indians. My mother died when I was seven, some kind of a fever my daddy told me, but I still remember hearing their loud arguing, a lot of yelling, and some crying and pleading right before my daddy's twelve gauge put an end to all of that. It was the next morning before he told me that the fever had taken her from us. She had been an Indian, one of the reservation Apache's.

Since she married my father, he was the only family that she really had. Daddy stayed drunk and surly for most of a month after he had dug her a grave, and had laid her to rest. When I was seventeen, daddy got drunk one night and took his .44-40 revolver and gave himself a fever of his own. I buried him next to my mother, and continued trying to work the broken down piece of hard scrabble land that daddy had grandiously referred to as his ranch.

The years passed by slowly, the sameness of everything tending to make the days seem longer than they were. I minded my own business and pretty much stayed away from the places that my daddy had told me were filled with trouble. About four times a year I saddled up one of the horses and put a pack lead on three or four others and made my way down from the ranch to the tired little town that lay closest by. I had been taught by daddy to trade close, and horses had been our livelihood ever since the first Gardner had set foot in Barlow County close to one hundred years before. I'd trade or sell two of my horses and then use the proceeds to stock up on anything that I needed to get by with. It took me most of two days and a night to make the journey, and I just hated leaving the ranch without a white man in charge. Humberto was a good hand mind you, salt of the earth for a Mexican, but he hadn't been raised to be able to stand up to anyone who came snooping around trying to get at either my horses or access to my water. If you grazed in North Barlow county, you did it on Gardner land, and you paid hard money for that privilege.

Humberto was my main Mexican hand, but he had three brothers and a cousin who were all good with the horses, and who knew how to scout around all of my land. All of them had women that came up and stayed with them for awhile, before heading back down to Old Mexico. It seemed like there were about seven of these women, the visitors I always referred to them as, and I could never figure out which ones belonged to which brother, or to Lupe, the cousin. Supposedly the Martinez brothers owned a spread in old Mexico that was far better than the ranch where they lived year around, and where they made their living. Sometimes I grew tired of listening to them telling me about how much better their hacienda was than the small ranch cabin that I lived in. They lived in my covered corral with the horses, winter and summer, pissing on the cactus, and taking care of their other business out behind the rocks near the cliffs.

Living alone doesn't make you friendly. There aren't that many opportunities to polish your social skills where I live either. That's why I was so surprised to see a motor car slowly making it's way up the trail towards my ranch. It was loud and there was a trail of smoke belching from it's backside, and I could make out at least two people in the front. I didn't recognize either of them, so I walked back inside and strapped on the rig for daddy's .44-40, spinning the cylinder just to be certain that no one had tampered with it since the last time I had needed to check. Satisfied that everything was like it was supposed to be, I stepped back out to greet my visitors. That infernal machine came to a stop way too close to my front porch, and then made as much of a clatter as I'd ever heard when the man who had been running it decided to shut it down.

"Have I the pleasure of addressing Joshua Gardner, sir?" The man who stepped from the right side of the motor car was shading his eyes from the bright sun as he approached my front porch. He was fifty, or thereabouts, and had long side whiskers tinged with gray and brown hairs, and was dressed just like one of those bankers that daddy had always warned me against. Bloodsuckers, he always called them, trying every way that they could think of to part a man from his property. There was a long list of people that my daddy never trusted, and bankers had a prominent position on that list.

"I'm Jay Gardner, mister, and that's all I'll answer to. My mama called me Joshua, but I don't let nobody else call me by that name. State your business with me if you have some."

"Mr. Gardner, I'm Franklin Lyons, late of Memphis, Tennessee, and I've stopped by this morning in order that I might introduce myself to you as being your new neighbor. I recently purchased the Denby Ranch from Cotton Gainey over at the Midfield Bank. He suggested that I come by to make your acquaintance at my earliest opportunity. I'm having a fine herd of cattle driven here from Temple, Texas, but there seems to be some dispute about the openness of the grazing range around these parts."

"No sir, no dispute that I'm aware of. Whole range is free, right up to my property line."

"I'm given to understand, Mr. Gardner, that all of the water in this valley has been bottled up with a dam created by your family. That pretty much precludes access by those of your neighbors who happen to live down range from your land."

"No sir, that isn't quite accurate. People have been known to drill successfully for water. Might be a little bit alkaline, but it's potable, and sufficient, except for having a rather unpleasant taste. Indians all drink it, and have for years."

"I believe you are deliberately being obtuse young sir. I cannot profitably graze fifteen hundred head of cattle from the output of an alkali well head, even if I knew where to drill for one."

"I disbelieve that to be any concern of mine. It was pleasureful to make your acquaintance sir. If I may, I'll kindly take my leave of you, as I have much that remains undone, and which requires my prompt attentions. Good day to you sir."

"I am not, by my nature, a litigious man Mr. Gardner, but I do know somewhat of the water use laws controlling these situations, and I have little doubt that I'd prevail in a court of law."

"Mr. Gainey didn't make mention to you of the other non litigious men who went and tried the same dang thing over the past fifty years or more? It sure seems like he would have, since his daddy was one of those men who tried that very thing."

"Am I to understand from you sir, that the matter has already been taken to court, and that your family prevailed?"

"At least eight times that I'm aware of. That water doesn't originate or conclude anywhere other than on Gardner ranch land. It is a natural aquifer that is being fed and constantly restored by natural means. I do hope that Mr. Gainey did mention to you that I won't entertain grazing any animal owned by someone who has attempted to contest the water rights that I have assumed through inheritance."

"Mr. Gardner, I have fifteen hundred head of prime cattle being driven here. One way or another sir, I will see them prosper on my land."

"Well, since we're neighbors Mr. Lyons, I think I'm obligated to fill you in on recent history in these parts. Clay Denby came here with ninety head of longhorn cattle that he'd thought sufficient to seed his ranch. He didn't have the two hundred and seventy dollars that it would have taken to water his herd from my water rights for a year. It turned out that all of his longhorns died off within three weeks of their arrival, either dead of thirst on the open range, or shot for trespassing on Gardner land. I sincerely hope that I don't have a similar tale to tell about your fine herd when my next new neighbor comes calling to introduce himself."

"Are you suggesting that I'm going to be forced to pay three dollars per head to water my own cattle?"

"Only if you want them to stay alive. Now sir, if you'll please excuse me."

I watched them as they pushed their motor car backwards and then managed to get it turned around so that they could head it back towards the Denby Ranch. If one of my horses couldn't back up on it's own, I'd be forced to put it down. I didn't think that those motor cars were much more than a passing fancy for the rich nabobs who couldn't sit a horse anymore. I went out and saddled up a horse and rode off looking for one of my Mexicans. That was one of the good things about having Mexican hands, if you found one, they could round up the rest for you real quickly. Being part Indian, I could always read sign and track them myself pretty quickly. Besides, I knew that Humberto was over in the back corral, breaking a couple of young colts. I wanted all of the hands to start keeping a lookout over at the Denby Ranch, just so that I'd know when those new cattle made it here. I didn't think that Mr. Lyons was the sort who'd just give it up and turn tail and light on out at the first sign of a problem. Not for the first time was I happy that I owned and controlled all of the high ground in the area. While I was presently a little short on the people that would fire rifles on my behalf, I sure knew where to get a few in a hurry if I developed the need for them.