La Carta Chapter Two: Two Firesides
Buck Cannon slouched in a cowhide chair by the open fireplace with its dying fire. He watched the embers glow. The wind-up clock in the hall read long past midnight. The ranch house at the High Chaparral was silent except for the sound of his brother John's mild snoring drifting from the room above. Buck couldn't sleep and he didn't know why. Jes too tired, he figured. Cain't remember ever feelin' like this. Bone tired. But a lot had been goin' on. His mind raced.
When was Mano comin' back? He couldn't remember. Been helping his uncle at his daddy's ranch for months now. Buck refused to think of the Rancho Montoya as anything but Don Sebastian's ranch. That old boy Domingo was aw right, but he hadn't done nuthin' to deserve the Rancho Montoya and Don Sebastian had been a dang fool to leave it to him. Mano'd a done a better job event-ully, when he settled down. But Mano didn't want it and Buck figured he wouldn'ta wanted it either. Lotta work.
Work. Mebbe that's why he was so blame tired. Mano'd left him an' the boy Wind to tend to the pregnant mares. Buck recollected takin' Toronado back to Don Sebastian and gettin' the news about Mano's daddy's dying. One of the worst days of my life, thought Buck. Ol' Don Sebastian was a good ol' boy, even if he was a little too hard on Mano. Can't blame him fer that. John's purty hard on Blue boy, too, fer that matter.
Blue...when was that fella coming home? Victoria had written him about her daddy and Buck half expected Blue boy to show up after the funeral. Nope. Jes a letter in return. Almost like Blue had cut 'em all off. Well, he needed to pay mind to his drawin', Buck guessed. Prob'ly won't come home lessen Big John or I die, and I don't expect to oblige him any time soon in that. An' John don't look ready fer the bone yard, neither.
Them mares shore is pretty, Buck mused. An' ever one of 'em gonna foal. Mano was right about them horses. Good stock. Spanish blood, all six. Ol' Toronado was sure worth his stuff. Didn't even haveta pay the breeding fee when I took that stallion back. What wuz it ol' Ruiz had said? "Under the circumstances, let it pass." First cuz Ruiz figgered Toronado was gonna belong to Mano anyway...and then, after that will was read, well, Señor Ruiz was pretty mad at his ol' buddy Don Sebastian for writing Mano outta the will. So, no fee to pay. Can't feel too bad about that. Worked pretty hard helpin' the Montoyas fight off them comancheros and that dirty dog lawyer. Yeah, we did. Guess ol' Uncle Dom owed us at least the price of a stud fee. Good of John to let us keep the horses down here at the Chaparral, too. Jus weren't no way I could have watched them by myself up at the C-Bar-M with Mano gone.
Wind, now that young un had turned out all right, Buck thought. Been a big help to us both. Still a might cocky. But the boy'd do. Even sellin' some o' our mustangs fer us now an' then, Wind was. Course we do pay him ten percent fer that. No, Wind would do. Most Indians jes rode their horses into the ground, but Wind, he took care of his and theirs, too. An' Toronado'd done his work, coverin' them mares, before all the rigamarole began at the Rancho Montoya...one reason he'd taken back the stallion instead of Mano. Picky, picky, picky, that was Mano 'bout them mares after Toronado had finished his bizness. Mano jes didn't wanna leave 'em fer love nor money. Or mebbe he saw a lotta money in that horseflesh, Buck laughed. He missed Mano. Mano shore loved them horses.
Wonder how Roy boy's doin'? Mebbe Teresa an' Roy already had them a littlun on the way. That'd make Vaquero real happy, specially if the baby took after its mama. Teresa was some kinda sweetheart. Who knew Vaquero had a niece like her? Be proud to have her as a daughter, myself, Buck thought. Hope me an' Mano got enough business to keep Roy boy busy in Casa Cueva, now that all this Rancho Montoya sit-e-ation be settled and Domingo looks like he's gonna stick.
Buck picked up a poker and stirred the embers. A tiny flame flared, then died. He'd let the fire burn on out and he'd head on up to his room. But his lids grew heavy and he made for the sofa instead. Victoria wouldn't like it in the mornin' but he'd jes lay here awhile and...moments later, he drifted off.
Manolito Montoya lounged in a crimson velvet armchair before the massive stone fireplace at the Hacienda Montoya in Sonora...his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his head back and eyes shut, thinking. He was not asleep but merely resting his eyes. He had seen too much of late, he reflected. Sadness, death. Ay Bendita! Why can life not be simple? A quiet existence. A life of minimal responsibility. This is all I have ever asked or wanted. And now I must help my uncle comprehend the running of this great rancho. By rights, my rancho. But no longer.
Mano, idiota! What else could your father have done? Papá, in truth I did not realize I desired the life of a patrón even the slightest bit until it could longer be mine. I dreaded the responsibility, but I expected the legacy. Now it is gone. Eh, we want what we cannot have, es verdad. Hombre, what does this matter? Manolo, you have your own land and your own horses that will soon make a mark. And will this make you content? Quién sabe. Ay, Papá, how I wish I could talk to you now just once more. Seek your counsel. Ahora, I can only imagine what you might say.
The fire was dying but Mano made no move to stir the embers into flames. He heard Pepe shuffling toward him and he spoke to his old friend and servant in a low voice, "There is no need to add fuel, Pepe. I will go to bed soon."
"As you wish, Don Manolo." And Pepe shuffled back to the servants' quarters.
I must move, Mano thought, but I am too comfortable here. His thoughts drifted to Buck...what was his gran amigo doing and how did life fare on the Chaparral? And whom was Victoria scolding since he was not around? Ah, the mares, what of them? Who would have thought Vaquero possessed such fine animals? All of Spanish blood. And now his and Buck's. He smiled at the thought of Roy, now a husband to Teresa and son to Vaquero, juy juy, what joy in that household! I must stop by on my way home. Home? He sat upright and looked into the dying fire, blinking. That was a new thought. Home. His brow furrowed, his lips a straight line. When did I decide Arizona was my home? When did I sink such roots? Truly I am becoming like my father. His lips curved into a wry smile. Well, then at least I am not as much like my uncle as everyone thought, and he chuckled at this.
Mano sighed, pushed himself out of the armchair, and headed to his room. On the stairs and across the landing, he tiptoed, hoping not to wake Tío Domingo. The conversation they must have would be better in the morning when his head was clear and when he possessed a greater command of his words than now. Now the words spun as a kaleidoscope in his mind: many colors, no distinct pattern. As he entered his room, he remembered Buck's discomfort at the Montoya luxury that he, Manolito, took for granted. I wonder if Buck has even taken a bath since I have seen him? Ay yi yi, my friend's personal habits are less than perfect, but then neither am I, he thought...neither am I so perfect.