The Land. Robert K. Swisher Jr.
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THE LAND
Robert K. Swisher, Jr.
DEDICATION
For Boots, living ghosts, and arrow heads … only the coyoteand the crow know for sure …
© 1987 by Robert K. Swisher, Jr. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
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PO Box 2321, Santa Fe, New Mexico 87504-2321.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Swisher, Robert K., 1947–
The land.
I. Title.
PS3569. W574L3 1986 813’.54 86-22966
ISBN: 0-86534-095-1
SUNSTONE PRESS / POST OFFICE BOX 2321 / SANTA FE, NM 87504-2321 / USA
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CONTENTS
9. Man of Many Women and Jagged Knife
1. The Rich and the Poor — 1835 A.D
AUTHOR’S NOTE
There is a parcel of land in New Mexico that in our day and age is called a ranch. The man who owns this ranch swears until his dying day his land will never be subdivided into housing lots or ranchettes. On this ranch are ancient Indian ruins, remnants of mankind when the land was not a possession but belonged to all man as his heart and soul. On this ranch are traces of the Spaniards when they came onto the land in search of cities made of gold. Also on the ranch are homes constructed from stacked rocks when the first Mexicans migrated out of Mexico looking for a new life and a new beginning. Around all of these chronicles of time are rusted-out fences when the white man came to subdue the West. This is a story of this particular piece of land and the men and women who have lived upon it. This is the story of love and hope, grief and despair and the Mother Earth. The land is real — the dates and history are real — everything else belongs to the ghosts.
PROLOGUE
THE BANDIT
Manuel Saavedra spurred his tired and sweating horse on. The three mules tethered together and tied to his saddle looked like they would drop from exhaustion at any moment. Manuel for the first time did not care about his animals. There had been too many years, too many lost chances for thoughts such as these. He buried his sharp silver spurs into the sides of the horse