Stiles stopped talking, and Kerney nodded, not sure what he was agreeing with.
"Isn't there a law against weapons in bars?" he asked.
Jim responded with a laugh.
"Of course there is.
But the county commission passed a proclamation last year urging all citizens to arm themselves to protect home, family, grazing rights, and timber sales. Most people around here believe in home rule, so as far as they're concerned the proclamation supersedes state law. Besides, it's damn inconvenient to have to shed your weapon every time you want to play a game of pool or have a drink, and the sheriff isn't going to enforce a law that everybody violates. That would be political suicide, especially in an election year."
"Do you agree with the sheriff?"
"Hell no, I don't. But there isn't a damn thing you or I can do about it, unless you want to start a gunfight."
"I'll pass," Kerney replied. He had been in one too many gunfights already. The knee that had been shattered in a shoot-out hurt bad. It felt as if the steel pins that held it together were grinding against bone.
While Stiles slugged down the rest of his coffee and waved his cup at the waitress to signal for a refill, Kerney mentally reviewed the events of the night. They had found the Padillas' abandoned trailer, and then waited four hours for a search warrant. Omar Gatewood, the county sheriff who showed up with the warrant, refused to let Kerney and Stiles conduct the search and did it himself.
About the time Gatewood finished, Charlie Perry arrived and demanded to be briefed. With dawn breaking, Kerney and Stiles decided not to get involved in a jurisdictional tug-of-war with either man, so they left.
"Why were the Padillas at Elderman Meadows?" Kerney asked.
Stiles waited for the approaching waitress to pour his refill and leave before answering.
"Don't know."
"Speculate," Kerney urged.
"Padilla is an old family name from around these parts. There's even a Padilla Canyon north of Mangas Mountain."
"Do you think the old man is from around here?" Kerney queried.
"It's possible. But all of the original Padillas are long gone, as far as I know. My granddaddy bought Elderman Meadows when it was sold at auction for taxes back in the Depression, but I don't know anything more about it."
The waitress brought breakfast, and Jim stopped talking. Kerney picked at his food. With part of his stomach gone, from a bullet taken in the same gun battle that had busted his knee and forced him into retirement, he ate lightly and carefully.
"When we found Padilla, he said he'd come from a place called Mexican Hat. Are there any land forms in the area that resemble a hat?" he asked, watching Jim pack away his breakfast.
Jim sighed.
"I've been trying to figure that one out myself. There are none that I know of, unless he meant Hat Mountain down by Lake Valley. But that's a good long ways south, on the other side of the Black Range. Maybe the old man was just babbling," Stiles added.
"Maybe," Kerney replied, unconvinced.
Cattleman's got busy with breakfast traffic. Several customers joined the two men at the bar and ordered up a whiskey breakfast. A sign taped over the mirror behind the bar read:
CONSERVE WOOD AND PAPER PRODUCTS.
WIPE YOUR ASS WITH AN ENVIRONMENTALIST.
Additional firepower came in with the new customers.
The scruffy pine tables covered with plastic tablecloths in the dining area filled with people, mostly ranchers wearing pistols, and the sound of conversation grew. The sight of so many civilians with weapons made Kerney uneasy. He positioned his chair so he had a clear view of the room.
"We need to look at the documents Gatewood took from the trailer," he said, as Jim finished wiping the last of the egg yolk off his plate with a piece of toast.
"If they were important enough for Padilla to bring along, they must have some meaning."
Stiles nodded and spoke between bites.
"Can do.
The sheriff will let me see them. Omar's okay. Not smart, but okay."
"Not smart' is an understatement. Do you know anybody who might remember the Padillas?" Kerney asked.
"Just about any of the old-timers should, I imagine.
But in this county that's sixty percent of the population." Stiles rubbed a napkin across his mustache and mouth, crumpled it up, and dropped it on the empty plate.
"That's not what I wanted to hear."
"I know it, but maybe we don't need to ask everybody over the age of seventy about the old man. Jose Padilla can tell us. We are going to talk to him, aren't we?"
"We aren't. I am."
"You'll need an interpreter."
"Yo cero que lo puedo hacer," Kerney replied.
Jim screwed up his face.
"Estas lleno de sorpresas.
Yo no sabia que pudieva hablar espaflol."
"You didn't ask," Kerney replied.
"Anyway, you seemed determined to give me a Spanish lesson yesterday. I didn't want to spoil your fun."
"Thanks a lot," Jim grumbled.
"When do you plan to see Padilla?"
"After I get some sleep."
Phil was waiting for Karen in his truck outside of Cattleman's. There was no place for Karen to park in front of the fake old-west storefront that hid the metal skin of the building, so she left her car across the street. Phil saw her coming and opened the passenger door as she approached.
"It's been a long time, cousin," Phil said as Karen got in the truck.
She was wearing jeans, boots, and a brown sweater vest over a crewneck top.
"Yes, it has. How have you been, Phil?"
"Holding my own, I guess. Ranching doesn't get any easier." He shifted his position so that his back rested against the door.
"I we got to ask-what in hell are you doing back in Catron County?"
"It was time to come home," Karen answered.
"For a lot of reasons."
"Are you planning to take over the Triple H?"
"That's part of it."
"Think you can handle it?"
Karen smiled sweetly at Phil.
"Do you think it's too much for a woman to take on?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you thought it, didn't you?"
"I was hoping your daddy would sell out to me when the time came."
"I don't think my father started that ranch from scratch to see it wind up in the hands of his brother's son. Is that why you've been such an attentive nephew over the years? So you can get the Triple H at a family discount?"
"You're still as sarcastic as ever."
"Maybe if you fed me breakfast like you promised, I wouldn't be so testy. My stomach is demanding some food."
"Best to wait until the crowd thins out," Phil said.
"Looks like everybody from town is inside, talking about the Elderman Meadows murder."
"What murder?"
"Some Mexican was killed. The police think a poacher was responsible."
"Any suspects?"
"Not that I know of."
"So, I might get to start my new job with a murder case," Karen said.
"That would be interesting. Why did you want to see me, Phil? Surely you can't want to talk over old times."
"I don't. Your daddy paid my daddy a visit yesterday morning."
Karen searched Phil's face with disbelieving eyes.
"That's not likely."
"It's true," Phil confirmed.
"Were you there?"
"No. By the time I saw Edgar's truck and left my house, he was driving away like a bat out of hell. Pop wouldn't talk to me about it, of course. He didn't say a word."
"Such a sweet old man," Karen said.
"Don't start, Karen. Pop's hard to deal with, I'll grant you that, but he is my father."
"Horseshit," Karen replied.
"He never was a father to you. The day your mother left him, he just got meaner. He's a nasty old man. If you hadn't held it all together and busted your ass for the last twenty years the ranch would have gone to hell."