Death on a Desolate Piece of Ground

By Ray Windsor

Jesse decides there will be no more beatings at the hands of his drunken father. He runs away from his family’s ranch and joins a group of homeless teenage boys in squatting on an abandoned ranch house. To get by they rustle cattle in western New Mexico during the 1930’s depression. Jesse is arrested and sentenced to the state penitentiary. He discovers that prison is a place of vicious guards and brutal convicts. He learns that his survival is based on knowing and following the prison’s unwritten code. Jesse survives his sentence and is released from prison. He believes that being feared is the secret to survival. To him everyone is either a predator or the prey.

Jesse joins a rustling syndicate when he returns to the ranching community. While hiding out, he learns about a lost treasure in western New Mexico and becomes obsessed with finding it. The more he searches for the treasure, the greater his need for finding it. His fear that someone else will find his treasure triggers a surge in his distrust of other people. As his paranoia rages, it drives him to commit multiple murders.

Jesse’s two younger brothers, Joe and Wade, return from World War II as grown men hardened by combat who no longer idolize Jesse. Instead, they suspect him of killing their father while they were away fighting in the war. The hard feelings between the brothers sparks a fight between them at a reunion on Mom’s ranch. The mutual distrust between the brothers culminates the following summer in a tragic confrontation between the three brothers on the malpais, a desolate lava flow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Feb 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781458223036

Ray Windsor

Ray is a native New Mexican. He graduated from the University of New Mexico. He lives with his wife in Colorado. They are both writers.

Book preview

CHAPTER

1

T here were no empty seats in the public gallery of the Catron county courthouse. People who came too late to get a seat stood crammed at the back of the courtroom. Most of the seated people in the audience were ranchers and their families, who were dressed in their Sunday best for my trial. They had come early to make sure they would get a seat. They wanted to see me convicted for possession of stolen cattle. Only some of them had been victims of rustling, but all of them knew a family who had been victimized.

The trial was during the Depression, a time when ranching families struggled to get by. Having cattle stolen, made their struggle even more difficult. These ranch families craved vengeance, but they sat quietly in the audience, knowing their presence would influence the jury’s verdict. In earlier times they would have hung me without the benefit of a trial. But this was 1934, and the state of New Mexico, which was recently admitted to the union, now demanded the pretense of being civilized.

From my seat at the defendant’s table, I viewed the front of the small courtroom that oversaw law and order in Catron county. The wall alongside of me had a tangled rust and coffee colored water stain that ran in an uneven streak from the ceiling to the floor and spread across a tiny portion of the flooring planks. There were cobwebs hanging from the corners of the ceiling that faced the public gallery. A dusty coating on the tabletop revealed the impressions left by my hands and arms. This lack of care for the courtroom aroused a concern about the county’s commitment to justice.

My court appointed attorney pleaded leniency due to my youth and homelessness. He presented me as an orphan who needed help. Not punishment. The DA stuck to the facts that I had stolen cattle on the property, and that I had taken possession of a home I didn’t own. He told the jury I was a wayward youth who obviously lacked respect for other peoples’ property. He said I needed to learn right from wrong, and that would require doing hard time.

The jury had been sent to a secluded room to determine whether I was guilty or innocent. I looked at the judge as I waited for the verdict with sweaty hands pressing down on the edge of the table in a struggle to stop squirming. My eyes shifted from the judge to the jury as they filed into the jury box. They took their seats and sat in solemn silence. The bailiff grasped a sheet of paper that was handed to him by the jury foreman. The bailiff walked the paper over to the judge’s bench and handed it to the judge. He lifted the sheet of paper close to his face and read in silence. Removing his glasses, the judge addressed me. Jesse Woods, you have been found guilty of possessing stolen cattle, and are hereby remanded to the Catron county jail until you are transported to the Santa Fe state prison for a term of one year. The ranchers nodded in agreement with the verdict, as the courthouse audience sat in silence. The judge slammed his gavel down, sending an explosive boom across the courtroom. Take the defendant to his cell.

Shudders surged across my chest and arms as two deputies grabbed me, and began walking me toward the side door. Lacking the strength to resist, I turned my head and searched over my shoulder for my family. My mother sat on the first row, wailing "no, no." She wiped tears from her eyes with a handkerchief as they led me away. Turning my head so I could watch her over the other shoulder, I saw my two younger brothers, Joe and Wade, seated next to Mom. They were both crying, with their little balled up fists rubbing their eyes. I looked around the courtroom for Dad, but he wasn’t there.

The deputies led me across withered, wooden slats that whined with each step of my removal from the courtroom. Passing through the side door, we walked down a hall to a room with several unoccupied cells. The deputies stopped in front of one and pushed me into the empty cell. They slammed the cage door shut. Clunk.

A hush flooded the jail cell. The silence grew in volume so intense it was deafening. Surrounded by stillness, a shudder crawled up my spine and spread a chill across my body. I looked around the jail. There was no one else.

That night, during my sleep, hands grabbed me and pulled me out of a prison cell. I was held down as fist knocked the wind out of me. Blows crushed against my face, bringing tears to my eyes. Hands ripped my pants off. Only my screaming, kept me from the torment that would have followed. My shrieks bounced off the cell walls, stirring me from the nightmare. I looked around to find myself in a cage with vermin scurrying to get away from my screams. They quickly squeezed through the slotted drain cover, and the pitter-patter of their paws disappeared down the drainpipe. Once again, silence filled the cell.

The next morning, a deputy entered my cell. His hands stabbed at me. Jerking back, I bumped against the wall. His fingers wrapped around the collar of my shirt that he used to yank me from the cot. From the floor, I saw another deputy enter the cell holding chains. He said, We can do this the easy way, or we can beat you into submission.

Raising one hand in surrender and pressing the other hand against the chilly cement floor, I rose. Standing with head bowed, cold metal was slapped around my wrist and ankles. The deputy grabbed the chains and jerked. My arms were yanked forward, sending a flash of pain from where the chains bound my wrist. I stumbled behind the deputy as he towed me from the jail cell and rushed me to a waiting police car. The deputy opened the car door, and with one hand pushed me from behind. I tumbled headfirst into the back seat. The deputy slammed the door against my legs. I groaned in pain, and yelled, You fucker.

The deputy laughed and said, Next time I’ll slam your head in the door. You criminal piece of shit.

The driver turned around and said, If you’re through belly aching, we’ll get going.

I tried to find a comfortable position, but every time I moved the cuffs bit into my wrist and the shackles tore into my ankles, leaving bloody splotches on my shirt and socks. I screamed, God damn it. These irons are killing me. Take them off.

The deputy laughed. I don’t care that you’re white and barely sixteen. You’re just a fucking jailbird to me.

Furious they didn’t care, I started banging my head against the car’s window in an attempt to break it. Spinning around, the deputy grabbed a handful of my hair and as he shook me he said, Any more shit out you and we’ll pull over, so I can beat the hell out of you with my billy club.

While the deputy and driver chatted, I cautiously unzipped my pants and pulled out my dick. I sprayed the back of the front seat with only enough piss to soak into the cloth. After awhile the deputy sniffed the air while looking around. He spoke to the driver. You smell something?

Why, did you fart?

No, but something smells like my kid’s mattress.

The deputy leaned over the seat and said, You piss your pants?

I pretended to be a sleep. He bent over the seat and looked around to see if I had taken a piss. He mustn’t have seen anything, because he turned around and told the driver. If he pissed in the car, I’ll beat him senseless. He was a bully, just like my old man.

When we arrived at the prison the driver parked so the car faced the front of the state penitentiary. Through the windshield, I saw where I would live for the next year. Every awful thing I had thought about the penitentiary entered my mind. I was too young to know how to deal with grown men. I was too skinny to make a man fear me. I was too inexperienced to know how to deal with intimidation. I was in danger.

The penitentiary’s soaring outer walls seemed to be covered in a dark misery. The entrance doors appeared to throb as they tried to hold back a rage that threatened to overpower them. Barely able to breathe, I sat frozen to the car’s seat. The officer who drove me there turned and with a grin said, You’ll be lucky if you survive the year.

I was once again that scared little boy running from the schoolyard bully; only this time panic and shackles prevented me from running. The deputy had to drag me from the car by the chains that surrounded my wrist. I leaned against his strength, despite the pain in my wrist, as he pulled my arms through the entrance doors. He turned and hauled me down the hall. I bounded along behind him in short, quick steps that kept me from falling down. We ended our clumsy entry in front of a guard, who stood waiting to receive me.

The deputy said to the guard, He’s a real smart ass.

Oh, yeah?

He thought it was funny that he pissed in the back seat of our police car.

The guard smiled and said, We’ll beat that cocky attitude out of him.

They shared a laugh, and the deputy went away.

After the deputy left, the guard walked up to me and looked me in the eyes. I returned the stare, wondering what would happen to me. An unseen fist struck me in the stomach, forcing me to my knees. Coughing up slobber, I struggled to regain my breath. The guard told me, If you ever cause me any trouble or even look at me wrong, that’s just a small taste of what will happen to you.

Breathing deeply, I nodded, yes. A fist came flying towards me. It was too late to duck. It crushed against the side of my face. Pain flowed from my lip and jaw while blood spurted across the floor as my head whirled to the side. I crashed against the floor. The guard looked down at me with his hands on his knees, and said, That’s yes, sir to you. The swollen lip will serve as a reminder that guards are always addressed by sir.

I pushed myself to a sitting position. With blood continuing to flow into my mouth, I swallowed the bloody gob and let it slide down my throat, so I could say, Yes sir. I wanted to spit it in his face, but I also wanted to live another day.

Pain spread across my scalp as the guard snatched me by the hair. Lifting me to my feet by the handful of hair, he pulled me headfirst to an office. In an attempt to remain upright, I scampered hunched over behind him. The guard released my hair and said, Stand here until the man calls you into his office.

I rose from the stooped stance of my scamper, and stood up while blood from my mouth dripped on the floor. I waited in fear for what might be next. After countless minutes the door swung open and a bald headed man in a dark suit stood before me with his hands on his hips. Well, I see the welcoming committee has already met you. I’m Warden Wilson. Enter and stand facing my desk.

He held the door open, and looked at me with hawk like eyes as I hobbled to the front of his desk. I stood before him with a trembling and swollen lip. The front of my shirt was stained from the blood that oozed from my busted lip and dripped down my chin to my shirt. The warden took a pen out of a holder and placed it on a piece of paper. Without looking at me, he said, What’s your name?

Looking straight ahead, I said, Jesse Woods, sir.

What is your hometown?

A ranch outside Quemado, New Mexico.

Quemado will do.

The warden looked up at me and said, Briefly, how did you end up here?

Looking back at the warden I said, Was sick of getting beat up by my drunken dad, so I ran away. Joined up with a gang of squatters and became a rustler. Got caught with stolen cattle.

The warden said, Were you the only one arrested?

Only one home.

So, you took the punishment and kept your mouth shut.

I nodded yes.

The warden stood up and placed both hands on the desk and leaned towards me. We’ve had some unfortunate incidents here recently. One boy was killed and two others committed suicide. They were all minors, which upset the Governor. The warden stared at me with a tilt of his head and said, It would behoove us both if you were to survive your stay with us. Can you do your best to survive?

Yes, sir.

Good, now I’m going to turn you over to an inmate.

He led me down a hallway with stacked cells that towered over me like a sheer canyon wall. Wolf whistles poured down from the cells. Other cons called out to me: Fresh meat, Sweet lips, Shake your ass, and other taunts boomed down from the cages.

Not wanting to show that I heard them, I looked straight ahead as I struggled to keep up with the warden. We reached our destination and a guard opened a cell door. Before us a tall, burly man wearing prisoner’s clothing filled the doorway. Bits of tattoos stuck out of his shirt collar and sleeves. Chills slithered down my spine. Does my survival depend on this guy?

The warden said, Here’s our project.

The prisoner spoke to the warden as he pointed at me. This skinny kid’s the one you want to use?

I know he’s scruffy, but I think he’s what we’ve been looking for.

Is he tough enough?

I believe so, but you’ll know after you’ve tested him.

The two men shook hands, then the warden turned around and disappeared down the hallway. The prisoner had grey, thinning hair combed straight back over his head. He had a bent nose and wore a Don’t fuck with me expression. In a voice that sounded like a truck bounding down a gravel road, he told the guard, Remove his chains, and when that’s done, leave him with me.

After my restraints were removed, the prisoner pointed to the cot and said, Have a seat and don’t call me sir. Sir is a term used for guards. My name is Ruben. Remember that.

Thanks. I’m Jesse.

I already know your name. Before we get started, wipe the blood off your face.

Ruben stood over me with his arms folded while I wiped my face with a cloth he had handed me.

Ruben said, What do you what from this arrangement?

I wanna get out of here.

You can get out today. All you have to do is kill yourself.

I wanna be alive.

He grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me in real close as he said, Listen, you little punk, I’m going to be your guide while you’re here. You better follow my advice, or else you’ll end up being somebody’s woman or worse you’ll be dead. I need you to survive.

I nodded, and he threw me on the cot.

Standing over me, he said, Don’t fuck this up for me.

I won’t.

What do you mean you won’t? You don’t even know what’s waiting for you.

I’ll do whatever you want me to.

You better, or else I’ll be your worst nightmare. The quickest way to get killed in here is by showing disrespect to another inmate. And, remember this, nobody, including me, will save your ass. You’ll have to do that yourself.

How?

He leaned against me, and said, It starts with you not being such a baby. Now, suck my dick.

Shaking my head, I said, No, I won’t do that.

Hands wrapped around my neck. I reached up and tried to break his hold on my throat. Everything went black. Through the dimness I saw a blurred figure standing over me.

Get up.

I rose up and wobbled on shaky legs.

Shaking his head, Ruben said, You better get tougher in a hurry, or else you’re going to be sucking a lot of dicks.

I’ll be tough enough.

Ruben looked at me, took in a deep breath and released it in a burst of wind. He remained silent for several moments before he said, Try to kill whoever threatens you.

How?

You really are green. Ruben bent near me and shouted, Hit them where it’ll do the most damage, and don’t let up until you think they’re dead.

Where do I hit them?

The throat, the balls, a heel of the hand to the nose, a poke in the eye, anywhere they’ll have to stop attacking you.

I nodded. I can do that.

Good, but only when you’re being threatened. The first thing you need to do is make certain not to disrespect another inmate.

I shook my head from side to side, as I said, I won’t show any disrespect.

He jabbed a large finger at me. You don’t even know all the ways that you can be disrespectful.

Both my arms shot up to cover my face in expectation of being hit.

Ruben stood over me and looked down with squinted eyes, Am I wasting my time with you?

I couldn’t answer. All I could do was swing my head side to side several times.

He pointed a finger with an L tattooed on it in my face and said, Okay then, you better not consider yourself better than anyone else. If you want to live, don’t do anything that’ll make you stand out. He paused before saying, Prisoners will be watching you closely to see if you break any of the rules, and if you do fuck up, they’ll kick your scrawny ass.

I nodded my head, and said, I’ll follow the rules.

And, if you don’t?

I’ll try and kill somebody.

Ruben, stood with his hands on his hips, and said, You better do more than just try.

I jumped up with my fist held in front of me, and yelled, I’ll kill ‘em.

While standing in front of Ruben, I looked at the other fingers on the hand that he used as a pointer. They also had a tattooed letter on each finger: L O V E.

You better, because some of them will be looking for any excuse to attack you, and there’s some who just need any excuse to kill. You’re a nobody. Don’t forget that.

Ruben bent over with his hands on his knees so he was eye to eye with me. He raised the index finger of his hand and placed it directly in front of my eye. He shook the finger as he spoke. To help you remember, I’m going to slap or hit you every time you fuck up. He stood up straight and raised his hand and slapped me against my face, knocking my head to the side, You got that?

Raising a hand to the sore cheek, I said, Yes.

Good, because I’m only doing this because the warden and me have a deal. Don’t expect any special treatment.

I didn’t know whether to say I’m sorry or thanks. It felt like I had been dropped into somebody else’s nightmare. So, I just nodded yes, as I snuck a peek at his other hand. It had HATE tattooed across the four fingers.

The next day Ruben and I