style="font-size:15px;"> “Will you let me finish?”
She nodded.
“I finally decided, this is not for me. I’m not going to prepare one more lecture for unappreciative students, or write another superfluous paragraph on the Battle of Culloden and the futile Jacobite Rebellion.”
“Is that what your thesis was about?”
“Yes. Of course, it’s all been written about many times before, that’s why I titled it, A New Perspective, on the Battle of Culloden, not that there was anything wrong with the old perspective. One day, I just realized that in the grand scheme of things, what I was doing didn’t make a whole lot of difference. Did the world really need a new perspective on something that had happened over two hundred and fifty years ago? So I finished the semester, put the thesis in cold storage and came home.”
“Your dad hadn’t sold the ranch yet?”
“By then, he’d had a couple of offers, none very good. He was trying to hang on till he could sell at a fair price. Didn’t want to just give it away.”
“So’d you buy it from him?”
“I tried to, but he wouldn’t hear of it. The compromise was I would take care of him and all his medical expenses,” Roper said. “Ironically, he died three months later—prostate cancer. Never did get his money’s worth for the place.”
“I’m sorry, Doug,” Ruby said softly. “You two were close?”
“He taught me everything—taught me to love all this,” Roper whispered, a catch in his voice. “I guess he’s the real reason I’m not a college professor.”
“You may have been a good teacher,” Ruby said, “but I’m glad you came back.”
They ate in silence for another moment then Roper continued, “you never told me that you used to date Angus Macdonald.”
“You never asked,” Ruby replied. “Does it matter?”
“No, not really. What happened?”
“Nothing, really,” Ruby answered and looked away, straightening the tarp. “It was never anything serious, at least not on my part.”
“You still seeing him?”
“No!” Ruby snapped. “It just didn’t seem right. There was a big cultural issue and of course, the age difference.”
“Is he what had you so upset last night?
“No—no,” Ruby stammered, turning a bit red. “I’m sorry about that, Doug.”
“Not a problem for me. I just wish there was more I could do.”
“Well,” Ruby replied, taking a sip of beer, then changing the subject. “How many of my calves you think we missed?”
“I don’t know, maybe three or four. Would’ve had less if I was a better roper,” Roper replied, rubbing the stump of his missing finger.
“Been meaning to ask, what happened to your finger?”
“Nothing,” Roper said, finishing the Coke and setting the bottle aside. “When I was twelve or so, I was calf roping at the little buckaroos rodeo. Caught my calf all right, but when I whipped the rope around the saddle horn, got my finger caught up in it. The horse then put on the brakes and the rope snapped taut with a hundred and fifty-pound calf hurling to a stop on the other end. Well, my finger just popped off—like an assassin using a piano wire.”
“That’s why they call you Roper?”
“Yeah,” he said, fingering the stump. “I guess, it’s what you might call a sarcastic nickname.”
“Kids can be cruel.”
“Well anyway, it stuck; it’s not so bad.”
Ruby sighed and stood up. “Well, we can’t get ‘em all, country’s too damn rough.”
“They may be a little bit wild, but they’ll still be here when we come back in the spring.”
“Any we leave now will join the wild ones.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Roper said. “I got fifty head or more of the wild ones that hang out in those canyons over by Indian Gardens, you know, on the west side of the mesa.”
“You ever try roundin’ them up?”
“Next to impossible, herding cats is easier.”
“I’ve got thirty or forty,” Ruby stated, “big ones, mean ones. Can’t get ‘em off either, Lord knows I’ve tried. They’re no damn good the way they are. Eat my grass. Been thinking about selling hunting permits.”
“Like a deer hunt?”
“This would be a lot harder than hunting deer,” Ruby said, shaking her head for emphasis, “straight up and down terrain and a hell-uv-a-lot more dangerous. When cornered, those wild bulls’ll charge. Gore you or your horse. The only danger in deer hunting is some California greenhorn might shoot you or the possibility of getting lost.”
“You’re not serious?”
“I’m hurting, Doug,” Ruby insisted, “and if I lose this allotment, I’m going to have to find some creative ways to make money.”
“You’ll be back here next fall,” Roper contended, “mark my words.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Ruby said doubtfully, “but I honestly think they’ll try and drive us out—if they can.”
“They can’t. Remember the proclamation said there would be grazing.”
“Forget the damn proclamation. Proclamations can be amended. They do it all the time.”
“Well, at least we’ll have some input. Committee work starts on Monday. We’re doing some preliminary leg work.”
“Oh,” Ruby said, failing to mask the displeasure in her voice. “I almost forgot.”
“Somebody’s got to work within the system.”
“Well, put in a good word for me,” Ruby said sarcastically. “Unlike you, if they ask me to remove my cattle from my allotment, I’ll have no where to go, ‘cept broke.”
“Even though I have two allotments, they’re both inside the monument. My perch is just as shaky as yours.”
Ruby started to say something then changed her mind. Instead she began gathering the paper trash and empty cans.
“Hello, the camp!” Someone yelled from off to the left, on the other side of a thick stand of junipers. “Is that you Roper?”
“Yeah!” Roper hollered back. “Who’s
