As he jogged away from the trailer he thought about the good-looking woman he had talked to at the ranch house. He didn't even know her name.
Even the rawest rookie cop on the street knew enough to ID all possible witnesses. It was a dumb blunder, and his appreciation of the lady's splendid legs didn't justify the mistake. He laughed out loud at himself as he picked up the pace.
Hector Maria Padilla had heard the story of his family's history many times from his grandfather.
He listened to it again as he drove through the mountains north of Silver City on a winding two- lane highway. The trip from the border through the desert had gone smoothly, but in the high country of southwestern New Mexico he felt less confident behind the wheel. He drove a new four-wheel-drive Ford truck Grandfather had bought specifically for the journey, and towed a travel trailer they had rented in El Paso.
Grandfather finished the story of how his ancestors had settled the Mangas Valley soon after the end of the American Civil War, and now embarked on the tale of his arrival in Mexico City as a young man.
'My father wanted all his children to be educated,' Dr. Jose Luis Padilla said, continuing his narrative in Spanish.
'He decided the village needed a doctor. So, I first went to the university in Albuquerque and then to Mexico City to study medicine.'
'And that's where you met Grandmother,' Hector said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.
'Yes.' Jose Luis Padilla sighed inwardly. He missed his dear Carlotta, dead these past three months.
'She was the only woman enrolled in my class at medical school. All the men pursued her. I was amazed that she took notice of me. Her family opposed our marriage.'
'Because you were not from Mexico,' Hector noted, slowing the vehicle as a car approached them from around a curve.
Jose Luis Padilla chuckled.
'Yes. I was unacceptable-a nobody from the United States.'
The road was clear. Hector glanced with a worried look at his grandfather, who sat with a road map on his lap. Since they'd entered the mountains. Grandfather's breathing had become more labored. He looked for signs of oxygen deprivation. Grandfather's skin had good color, and his lips were pink.
Reassuring signs. He decided to inquire anyway.
'How are you feeling. Grandfather?'
Dr. Jose Luis Padilla turned his head and smiled at the young man. His dark brown eyes were clear and lively. He was rail-thin, with wispy gray hair that curled up over the tip of his ears. His skin, heavily wrinkled, was tight against his skull.
'I am free,jito. You must remember that until your graduation next year, I am the only doctor on this journey.'
'Your breathing is rapid,' Hector observed.
'As well it should be at my age, with so much activity at this altitude.
If I require rest, you can park the truck so that I can take a siesta in the trailer. Pay attention to your driving.'
Of all his grandchildren. Hector pleased Jose the most. He was a serious, hardworking young man who would one day be an excellent doctor.
Hector reminded him of Carlotta. He had his grandmother's beautiful olive-black eyes that always seemed lively and amused, a resolute spirit, and a sound intellect.
'You never came back to New Mexico after the death of your father,'
Hector said. It was part of the story Grandfather always seemed to skirt.
'I brought your grandmother here for my father's funeral, and she hated it. It was too isolated and alien to her nature.'
'But it was your father's wish that you should return home to practice medicine,' Hector reminded him.
'There was nothing to come home to. Pull over to the side of the road.'
Grandfather's answer surprised Hector.
'Nothing?' he questioned. He stopped the truck on the shoulder of the road next to a cluster of cabins surrounding a tourist lodge. They were in Glenwood, a small mountain town strung out along both sides of the highway. The town-a few businesses, tourist cabins, and small houses fronting either side of the road-perched in a wandering valley cut by the course of a river.
'My father lost everything in the Great Depression,' Jose replied, as he unsnapped the seat belt.
'My brothers had already left home to find work, and the village was dying. Gringos from the Dust Bowl moved into the valley and took most of the public-works jobs. Building roads. Logging. Drilling wells.
All my father had left was his land, his sheep, and a few herdsmen willing to work on the promise of future wages. All was lost after he was murdered.'
'Murdered?'
'Yes, murdered. Your grandmother and mother made me promise never to speak of it to the family.
But I think I owe it to my father's memory to uncover the truth.'
'Sixty years is a long time. Grandfather,' Hector replied.
'Perhaps it is too late.'
Jose Padilla opened the passenger door.
'I think not,' he said abruptly.
'I have a letter we must deliver. I will ask for directions at the store. Wait here.' 'I'll go,' Hector said hurriedly.
Dr. Jose Padilla waved a finger at his grandson as he stepped carefully out of the cab.
'I am an old man, not an invalid.'
When Jose returned, he guided Hector to a dirt road off the highway that bisected a small valley, pierced a series of arroyos, and climbed into the foothills. Hector maneuvered the truck and travel trailer cautiously, especially where the sides of the road dropped off into the arroyos. Grandfather had him stop in front of a ranch house and gave him a sealed envelope.
'This is for Mr. Edgar Cox,' Jose said.
'Do you wish to see him if he is home?'
'Not yet.'
Mr. Cox was not home, but a very pretty Anglo woman, who said she was his daughter, took the letter and promised to deliver it. Grandfather simply nodded his thanks when Hector returned and gave him the message.
Back on the highway. Grandfather navigated with a road map on his lap.
Hector continued north, climbing steadily through mountain passes covered in dense pine forests.
Well past the town of Reserve, Grandfather spoke.
'The turnoff to Mangas is not far ahead.'
'What kind of road is it?' Hector inquired.
'The map shows it to be an all-weather road. If that is so, it has been much improved over the years.'
'A dirt road,' Hector corrected.
'Unpaved.'
Jose laughed.
'You worry like an old woman who has left the barrio for the first time in her life. You are driving very well. I would be lost without your help.'
Hector slowed the truck and pulled to the shoulder of the highway.
'I think we have traveled far enough for one day,' he said.
'But the day is still young, and I want you to see those beautiful mountains.' Jose nodded at the peaks that rose up before them.
'If I can remember the way, perhaps I will be able to show you Mexican Hat.'
'It's not on the map,' Hector reminded him.
Jose waved off the comment.
'Not every place is named on a map.'
'And not every day has to be spent driving from morning until night,'
Hector said, stifling a yawn.
