Just Because

By R.D. Runnels

Rankin Loyd prides himself on not backing down from a challenge. His brother, even more so. Seeing an opportunity to do something that had never been done in this manner, Rankin isnt sure that he wants to tackle the challenge even though he thinks he just might be smart enough to pull it off. With the pressure of his brother and the fact that the adventure is extremely dangerous and highly illegal, a side of the law that best suits him, he isnt sure if it will be worth trying if it will surely cost him the very recent storybook love of his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503523135

R.D. Runnels

R.D. Runnels is an avid outdoorsman, spending the majority of his life in the very mountains he writes about. He currently resides with his wife in Hobbs, New Mexico.

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Copyright © 2014 by R.D.Runnels.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014921587

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-5035-2312-8

   Softcover   978-1-5035-2314-2

   eBook   978-1-5035-2313-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 12/10/2014

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

For Robert R., truly an inspiration.

Life is short, Break the Rules.Forgive quickly, Kiss SLOWLY.Love truly. Laugh uncontrollablyAnd never regret ANYTHINGThat makes you smile.

Mark Twain

INTRODUCTION

The driver has a passenger riding in the front seat. He wasn’t supposed to while they were working, but this was the backwoods and no one cared about things like that. The vehicle is going at a slow pace off of the mountain, down the road that side-hilled and serpentined the contours of the canyon from the ski area all the way until meeting the main highway. It had been weeks since the last snow, but it is snowing now, just a little bit to go with over a foot since last night. The road is covered in snow-packed ice thanks to the snow plow that had done a less than adequate job. It is a dangerous road when it is dry, but ice makes it even far worse. There are no guard rails along this section for protection. The driver comes around the bend with his wipers on low, it isn’t snowing hard enough to turn them up higher, but there was accumulation which meant he couldn’t turn them completely off. In the road ahead, there is a big sedan struggling to stay on the road. The driver eases past the car and notices something in the road. After making it safely around and starting to ease back towards the center, he looks over to his partner to get his thoughts… KABAM!!! Something strikes the vehicle with a ferocious impact. The driver hits his head on the window and is stunned. He is trying to focus and clear the stars and confusion. A bomb? It is only a single second before the driver is able to function coherently, but it is already taken too much time. He sees the bottom of the canyon coming up to meet him as the armored truck he is driving goes over the edge, his passenger screaming indiscernibly with both hands on the dash and his knuckles white.

CHAPTER ONE

Hey, Bum, what are you doing? I said.

Just going to get a soda, maybe some beer, candy bar from this here establishment that happens to sell those exact things. I have half a mind to get a chorizo and egg burrito while I’m at it. Need something? said Bum and adjusted the handle of the .44 magnum tucked into his belt in the front of his jeans. The weight of the revolver pulled his pants low against his flat stomach.

At the next gas pump forward from a sheriff’s cruiser and on the other side of the island from Bum’s old Ford pick-up, was a deputy named Ronnie Moore and he was standing directly in front of Bum. He was short and had the heel of his right hand on the butt of what looked like a Browning .40 semi-automatic pistol still in the holster. He looked as if he would draw it at any moment. He had his starched and dry-cleaned uniform looking dapper, his hair cropped close in military style, his straw hat fitting tight and low on his head, low enough to be forcing his ears to stick out. His look was striking. Not intimidating, which was the look he was going for, but striking.

The nervous deputy said, Hey, Rank. I was just trying to tell Bum that he can’t take his gun in the store. Maybe you can talk to him.

Now, why would I want to do that?

The deputy glanced around, fidgeted a bit and then said well, uh, he’s your brother. He’ll listen to you.

Been my brother his whole life. I said. "Doesn’t mean because you want to tell him something, I gotta do it for you. One ain’t got nothing to do with the other.

But he’ll listen to you?

Damn, Ron, we aren’t in high school anymore. I walked up to Ronnie and towered over him. I was a full six inches taller and had another two inches of heel on my boots. He stepped back a step without even realizing it.

Bum leaned back on the front of the deputy’s Durango cruiser. It had the star and Lincoln County Sheriff on each door. He put the heel of his cowboy boot under him and rested it on the brush guard of the cruiser and got a pinch of snuff out of left front pocket of his red flannel, long-sleeved shirt. The pocket on the right side was torn off. He worked the snuff in to just the right position, nodded, tilted his worn and sweat-stained black felt hat back on his head showing his raggedy blond hair on top, spit, and started looking at the ongoing exchange with mild amusement.

But he, he, can’t…he can’t, he shouldn’t take his gun in there, in the store, in the place.

I tipped my silver-belly hat forward where I was looking down at him like a drill sergeant and said, When did the government buy this place?

I, I don’t know. I don’t think they did.

I nodded and leaned a little more toward him. He stepped back again until he noticed that he was actually getting closer to Bum.

You do know that the ATM in there doesn’t qualify this place as a bank, right? I was looking hard at Ronnie now and he was noticeably uncomfortable. To emphasize, I looked him in the eye and spit out the side of my mouth. The wad making a splat as it hit the concrete. It was always a good, confident measure as long as it was done right and didn’t leave spit running down the side of your face afterwards. It worked perfectly this time and my cheek stayed dry.

Ronnie looked at where the spit landed, looked back at me, stammered and looked at the ground. No, I don’t figure it does.

Bum raised up from the Durango, spit off to the side and said, I’m bored. Y’all carry on without me. I’m gonna get something to eat. If you need something, I’ll be back out in a few.

He started casually around us for the door, his bowed legs and pigeon-toed walk very apparent as he walked away. Ron was perplexed and looked at Bum, back at me, back at Bum. His eyes were wide in disbelief and most likely fear.

Now, Bum, I can’t… you ain’t supposed…you should stop… But Bum was already inside. I just looked at Ronnie with my eyebrows raised in a what now look. He looked back at me with bewilderment.

I leaned back like I was stretching my back, jammed my thumbs in the front pockets of my faded jeans, and flexed my pectorals that showed readily through my tight long-sleeved biker shirt. A chump move, but Ron was a chump and I was tired of listening to him whine. I said, Let it go, Ron. He hasn’t broken the law. The gun isn’t concealed and knowing Bum, it probably isn’t even loaded. Probably just stuffed it in his belt when he saw you were here just to see what you would do.

You mean he was just funning me?

Well, I would say more like fucking with you. But, yeah, it would be fun to him.

Rank, that ain’t funny. You should stop him from doing stuff like that. It ain’t right.

Tell you what, Ron. You learn the law and then enforce only the law and I reckon you won’t have any problems with Bum…well, I guess you will always have a bit of a problem about that time with your wife while you were off in Santa Fe at the academy.

I don’t want to talk about that, Rank.

No one would. So, you calling for back-up or can I go get a coke and some chips?

Ron looked down at his shoes and shuffled them like he was playing an imaginary game of kick the can. I guess it will be alright.

If it isn’t, at least you can say you were first on the scene when all the reporters show up. And I turned and walked in the store.

The store was a gas station on the edge of town surrounded by large cottonwoods. It served as a good alternative to the one grocery store in Capitan. They sold burritos and cold sandwiches, tobacco, alcohol and beer along with the assortment of candy bars, jerky, chips and soda-fountain drinks. One aisle was dedicated to canned vegetables and cooking stuff for those that just needed one or two things to complete their meal and didn’t mind spending twice as much for it. An ice cooler was next to the refreshment coolers. There was also sitting area where the old-timers would congregate in the mornings to discuss the same stories that had been discussed the day before and drink their coffee. There were several there now, and they gave me a nod as I walked by them. I gave the obligatory nod back.

Bum was paying for a 12-pack of bottles from the local brewery in Carrizozo, two cans of snuff, a chorizo and egg burrito, and a pint of orange juice. The big magnum stuck out in front like a headlight in the dark, but no one paid it or him any mind. Guns were something everyone had and nothing Bum did seemed to surprise anyone, his reputation always preceding him. He saw me walk in and said, Did you get ol’ Moore Ron lined out?

Damn, Bum, why you always gotta mess with him?

Cause he’s a simpleton and I never liked him. Too dumb to let carry a gun. I heard that after his wife left him, he started dating twins.

Wouldn’t figure him to be able to pull that off. Probably can’t even tell them apart.

Yeah, I was thinking the same. It turns out her brother has a mustache. Bum let loose a throaty laugh, got his change, put it in his pocket, and walked out the door to his truck. Ron was filling his cruiser and Bum gave him a smirk and then squealed his tires for show as he pulled out.

I got a few things to snack on, a 12-pack of cans of dark beer from the local brewery, paid and left as well. The sky was bright with full sunshine. No wind yet, but the day was still young. I needed to go up to the cabin and check on the horses. The diesel engine came to life immediately just as it had every time since I had bought it new many years before. Over 300,000 miles and it still ran as good as the day it did the first day; I just wished it still looked as good. Kind of like being married for that long, I guess.

CHAPTER TWO

Capitan had a population of close to 2000 and sat at around 6500 feet in elevation, over 1000 feet higher than Denver. The drive from Capitan to the cabin was usually pleasant. No matter what time of day, you were bound to see wildlife if you were looking. A coyote waiting to cross the road, elk up on the hillside thinking they were hidden and trying to get just one more bite of grass, deer lazing underneath pinon trees, turkeys out grazing in the meadows. There were always turkeys of a different variety during the tourist season and never a shortage of the non-illusive lookee-loo turkey. That is what my dad had always called them. These were the people that would just stop in the middle of the road for no apparent reason and point at nothing. They were easy to spot because they always drove a maximum of half the speed limit. They behaved exactly the same as road hunters, only for different reasons.

No lookee-loos this morning, no road hunters on my drive. Hunting season wouldn’t start for another two months and at 7 a.m., it was still early for the lookee-loos. They wouldn’t be out screwing up transit for another couple of hours.

I drove south towards Ruidoso from Capitan. The rolling hills that surrounded Capitan were now cluttered with houses, cabins, trailer-houses, barns and pens. The price of progress, but all this area used to be good for holding deer. It was close enough to town to deter the mountain lion and there was plenty of feed. It was still good for deer, but I just didn’t like hunting one on someone’s lawn. It turned into shooting instead. And no one was fond of a gut pile in the garden next to the tomatoes.

I climbed over the big hill that goes from the suburbs of Capitan and to where Sierra Blanca and Nogal Peak come in to view. The highest mountains in this half of the state, Sierra Blanca was the force of which all the other mountains connected and fed from, rising above timberline and being encompassed by dark timber below the precipice. Nogal Peak, the next tallest mountain was always ominous for it seemed to stand alone and apart from the rest, no trees on it, just brush along the bottom and then grass to the top. I could see them both clearly now, pushing the blue sky upwards and it felt like home. It was, and it was my home.

When I reached the intersection in Bonito Canyon, I headed west. Turning off the main highway again, I stayed in Bonito. Four miles further, the canyon became very narrow and the road climbed upward at an increased angle. Because of this, the powers-that-had-been decided to put a dam here. The governing body had their thinking caps on for it was only a few hundred yards wide at the top of the dam.

Once on top, the canyon opened back up and Bonito Lake filled the bottom. At the bottom of the lake once resided Bonito City, having a population of about 16 dedicated residents, and that was including the metropolitan and suburbs. Rumor had it that a guy went crazy and killed everyone including himself. It took less than a single box of shells if he could shoot straight. Shortly after, the town was bulldozed and the dam built. Maybe it was a government conspiracy to not have to deal with condemnation proceedings.

At the first legal place to fish, I pulled off the road to the right and put my truck in the ditch. It bounced and jerked as I must have hit a big rock…or two. It wasn’t legal to park there, but I had never seen anyone get a ticket for it.

I grabbed my fishing rod, a can of corn and slid off down to the lake. It was very steep from the road to the water, sliding was the only way down, especially in boots. There were some other fisherman, no one I knew, sitting where I wanted to be. I noticed they didn’t have any fish on a stringer as I passed them on the water’s edge.

I found a spot down the bank where I had plenty of room and wouldn’t get my line tangled up with them when I started reeling in lunch. No one was paying me any mind now that I had successfully slid off the bank without busting my ass. It was a moral victory, but there was always a next time to contend with.

The east side of the mountain lake closest to the dam was very steep and full of nothing but large boulders with a smattering of brush and a few willows mixed in closer to the water. Across the lake numerous fishermen were scattered along. There was tall timber on the south across the dam and grass to north. Where the creek met the lake, willows had overgrown and pushed all other vegetation away.

I opened the can of corn with my pocketknife and poured the juice out on the ground…away from me. I only had to sit in it twice to figure that away was better than under. I shook about 20 kernels in my hand; picked the one I liked and casually flung the rest in the water 15 feet out. No one saw me do it. It was another silly law that you couldn’t chum, and I wasn’t good about following silly laws. I baited my hook, pulled some line out of my fly reel that was equipped with only 4 lb test monofilament line. None of that plastic floating line that fly fisherman used. I let the line of the baited hook slide down my hand until it was about three feet from my hand. Then I began to whirl it like David did when he bonked that Philistine in the noggin. Once the momentum was right, I let go, landing my single piece of corn five feet past where I had set the trap with chum.

In less than 15 seconds, my line was going out. In 35 more, I had the 10 inch rainbow trout on the bank. I got my hook out of his mouth and went and cut a stringer from a nearby willow, simply a Y branch. With the fish on the stringer and back securely in the water, I re-baited and cast back out to the same place.

After the first fish, I was still inconspicuous. But, after the second, I was drawing attention. Curious onlookers trying to figure out my secret began to eye me. I was careful to keep my can of corn behind a rock now. I saw no sense in creating competition if I didn’t need to.

After I caught my limit in less than 30 minutes, I put the last fish, another nice rainbow, on the stringer and got up to leave. Down the bank closer to the dam, a boy of maybe 12 was sidling along my way. The rocks and the fear of falling in the cold water had him intimidated, but onward he came. His dad had probably sent him since he was probably asking why I was catching fish and his dad wasn’t. When he got within a few feet of me, he said, Hey, what are you fishing with?

Hmm, manners lacking but it was an honest question. I gave an honest answer. Fishing pole.

No, I mean what are you using for bait? I could tell by his drawl that he wasn’t from these parts, West Texas most likely. There were lots of good folks from that part of the world. I was surprised he wasn’t taught better.

Wit and charm. Works at the bar on fat women and at the lake on rainbow, but brook trout are more particular. Gotta schmooze them a bit. Buy them a drink.

C’mon, mister, that’s bullshit. What are you using? He had me at mister but the bullshit kind of put a damper on things.

Pinecone, I said and got up and grabbed my stringer of fish and started to climb up to the truck. I didn’t look to see if my little inquisitor had believed me, but he wasn’t saying anything which was good. I was being extra careful now, not because of the weight of the fish but because there was no point being a smart-ass, falling and rolling off in the lake and being a dumb-ass in that close of time span. I got to the truck without incident, threw my bounty in the back along with my rod and can of corn and got in the pick-up and proceeded up the canyon.

The road went around the lake and a half mile above, it turned from potholed pavement to washboard dirt at a cattle-guard that would rattle your teeth if you went over five miles per hour while crossing it. Most didn’t know this and the smattering of bolts, mufflers, and assorted automotive parts scattered on both sides proved just that. Past the cattle-guard almost three miles, the road made Y.

Above the lake, campgrounds invaded the woods. Most were full of campers. A few fires were going around the tents, but the majority was quiet as it was still early to a lot of folks, especially people on vacation.

When I got to the Y, I took the fork that went north up Tanbark Canyon. The left fork continued another mile due west to the end of the road where there was a large campground mostly used by hunters and hikers as it was adjacent to the wilderness area. My road would eventually climb out of Tanbark just underneath Nogal Peak, drop off in to Nogal Canyon and finally come out in the small town of Nogal. When there was snow, the road was impassable in anything but a snowmobile. No snow in July. I was safe from hypothermia for at least a few more months.

I drove up to the cabin that resided just before the fork of the canyon between Skull and Tanbark. Before I pulled in, I could see Bum’s pickup parked in front, angled up the canyon so that he could pull straight out without having to back up. He was sitting on my porch in a metal folding chair smoking a cigar and drinking something I had to presume to be scotch out of a red plastic disposable cup. His feet were propped up on my railing and he was leaning back like he didn’t have a care in the world. In fact, he probably didn’t.

I pulled up to my normal spot in front, grabbed my bag of grub and beer and walked up to where he sat. I was right, scotch. The bottle was still sitting next to him and he was smoking a genuine Cuban cigar.

I got a mess of fish in the truck. Bring them up here and I will fix us some lunch after you clean them.

Sure, he said and got up and went and got the fish.

CHAPTER THREE

The cabin sat at over 8000 feet in elevation and faced east which allotted for maximum sun exposure to help heat the cabin as much as possible. Good planning on my part as it was generally cold 11 months of the year. There were two bedrooms on one side that were never used unless I had hunters. The rest of the cabin was open and had a large fireplace right in the middle of it that was the only source of heat. There was a rock hearth that was the base of the fireplace on all four sides. The kitchen and dining area sat against one wall opposite the two bedrooms. I had a bathroom in the corner by the front door. There were a couple of beds against the walls and shoddy couches around the fireplace. All the lights were propane plumbed from a tank outside. There was no electricity but I did have a generator to run lights out to the barn and horse pens. The creek on the north end of the place served as the fresh water source. I had a plastic pipe up the canyon and gravity fed the cabin. There was relatively no pressure but the water was always wet. It wasn’t Martha Stewart, but it was practical.

Bum had built the cabin himself out of lumber he had sawn. He had an old-timey sawmill at his cabin and built for people when he needed beer or scotch money. He never had a real job that I knew of, but he didn’t seem to need one. He was good at what he did and he did it when it was good for him.

He was cleaning the fish while I peeled potatoes with my pocket knife and threw them in a pot. I handed him a pan for the fish. We were both sitting on the porch, peels going in an empty 12-pack box, fish guts going on the grass out front towards the road. Hummingbirds buzzed on a constant basis, some coming to eat from my numerous feeders, some leaving. We were used to them and barely noticed the constant buzzing. A conglomeration of barn cats started gathering for the splendor that Bum was creating. I looked at the hummingbird feeders to see that all was well. I would need to refill at least four before we ate if I was going to keep the full buffet open.

I looked over at him and said, What brings you here besides my scotch? Isn’t Bobbi up at your place?

Yeah, she’s there. Said she was tired of me not picking up my clothes. Said she was gonna gather my stuff up and either take it to the laundry or burn it. She ain’t decided. I told her to not use the softener stuff ’cause I didn’t want to lose any calluses on my hide. She said ‘fat chance’ and went on about her doing. I told her I had business to do today anyway.

What business you got? Or do I even wanna know? I would hate to have to testify against you. I had two potatoes left to peel.

Nah, nothing like that…this time. Well…maybe. He was almost through cleaning the fish and the welfare cats were full, full but still wanting as free-loaders usually were.

Whatcha got? I said as I finished the last potato and threw it in the pot.

What’s your thinking about the ski area? He said as he wiped his hands off on his pant legs after finishing the last fish and reached down and took a long pull on his cigar that still held some cherry on the end, his index finger hooked around it. He