… from Chapter 16

The Forest Service vehicle bumped along the dusty, semi-desert dirt road that sliced a path through hilly grasslands on either side. They hit yet another pothole, dropping down and then climbing back up out of the depression.

Gretel’s stomach jumped up into her throat and back down again. She folded her arms tight across her middle, then looked over at Ken, her guide for the day. So far, seemed like a nice guy.

            Should’na had that rancher’s breakfast back at the hotel.

Ken ran one hand up through his brown buzz cut and cleared his throat.

            “Coronado here’s got almost 2 million acres.”

 He took one hand off the steering wheel and turned his palm up, sweeping it across the windshield as if he were unveiling a work of art. Like a proud parent.

 “It’s spread out across mountain ranges here in southeastern Arizona and goes on into southwestern New Mexico.”

Her nausea was climbing up into her throat.

“Wow.”

That sounded pathetic.

Ken frowned and looked over at her. He noticed her arms across her stomach

            “You okay? Little bit bumpy right here. Good news is we’re almost through the worst of it.”

            “Okay.”

            She eked out a half-smile.

            “You sure? We can turn back.”

            “Sure,” through gritted teeth.

Please don’t ask me again.

            She took her arms off her stomach and gave him two thumbs up. That seemed to reassure him. And as if on cue, the road leveled out. Up ahead, cottonwood willow forests framed the edge of the landscape. From time to time, Ken’s portable radio lying on the seat between them crackled.

            “So how long you been with the Border Patrol?”

            “Coupla’ months.”

            “How you like it?”

            “Interesting. Some really good folks.”

            “And some rotten ones?”

            He was sounding playful. She avoided the bait.

            “We talking about apples?” was what she gave him.

            “Quick on the draw, you are,” was what she got back, adding, “You’ll do just fine with this crowd… Anyhow, see those forests ahead? We get about thirty or so fires a year in them. A lot of the fires are started by illegals trying to cook or stay warm.”

He looked over at Gretel to see her reaction.

“Interesting,” was her comment.

“That your favorite word?”

No hint of malice, more just another tease.

It was Gretel’s turn.

“Yep. What’s yours?”

His eyes twinkled.

“Can’t say. Not in a lady’s company.”

Gretel smiled and gave him a tsk-tsk. Her stomach was starting to calm down.

“Anyway, wanted to ask you something –So why’d my folks let me ride around with you, anyhow? I thought we didn’t get along with you Forest Service guys.”

Ken held up one finger.

“Here’s the deal. It’s our biologists – the bugs and bunnies set, which is what a lot of your agents like to call them — that drive you guys nuts. I’m from the other side of the house – law enforcement. I carry a gun just like your greenshirts We’re more sympatico.”

Ken patted his gun belt.

            “So anyhow, about today. First we’re going to swing by a couple of water bottle drop-off spots I know about. My guess is that you probably think the same thing as the humanitarian groups that set the bottles out -– that it’s the right thing to do, putting them out, that they save lives, right?”

            He didn’t wait for an answer.

“But the problem is that the water can get scalding hot out here in the sun or even contaminated… .”

He looked over at her for her reaction. She looked straight ahead, her jaw tight. He nodded and gave her a half smile.

“S’okay,” he told her. “I figured that’s what you’d think.”

They continued on in silence. A cottontail rabbit darted across the road in front of them. As they rounded a corner, Ken jammed on the brakes. He pointed out her window. She squinted behind her sunglasses.

“Right over there. Can you see it?”

            “Over there,” he repeated, pointing. Pointing again.

            She tried to sound convincing.

            “Oh, yeah. I can see it now.”

Can’t see a damn thing.

“Good. Time to get out and do some sign-cutting. Ricardo said I should show you the ropes while we were out on the ride-along.”

Ken opened his door and started to climb out, looking over his shoulder at Gretel.

“You comin’?”

“Yes but first tell me what sign-cutting means.”

He slid back onto his seat. He winked at her.

“What? You don’t know what that is yet?-How long you had the job?”

“A few months. But it’s my first time out in the field. All I’ve done so far is sit in an office.”

He nodded and slid back into the driver’s seat.

“Fair enough. Your first time out of Puzzle Palace. So, sign cutting — one of the ABCs of an agent’s job. Not sure where the ‘cutting’ part comes from, but ‘sign’ is anything that gives a clue that somebody has been passing through. And maybe they’re not far away. Like a trail of cookie crumbs.”

He used his second and third finger to make an imaginary trail on the steering wheel.

“So, like I said, sign cutting is another way of saying tracking illegals, looking for signs that they have passed through the area you are patrolling.”

Gretel started to nod. But then, as if she had second thoughts, her expression turned to perplexed.

“But wait a minute. Why do you care about sign cutting?-You’re Forest Service. You’re like Department of Interior, trying to protect the forests, right? Your job isn’t to catch illegal crossers. That’s ours. Well, not mine, but our agents.”

Ken chuckled.

“You’re right in a way. Protection is the job of our bugs and bunnies set. I’m on the other side of the shop. My job is to arrest anybody who breaks laws passed to protect the forests. So I’m involved in protection, too. And a lot of times, illegals end up breaking the law by doing things like starting fires or damaging habitat. And they leave a bunch of trash.”

Gretel nodded. “I know that.”

In other words, they mess things up as they are trying to stay alive.

Ken looked at her as if he had read her thoughts. His nod was almost imperceptible. He cleared his throat.

“Anyhow, back to your lesson. Sign often shows up in the form of footprints. I’ll show you some when we get out. But you can also look for kicked-over rocks, soil that’s been disturbed, clothing fibers, discarded plastic bags, vegetation that’s been mashed down or pushed aside, that kind of thing. They’re all sign.”

Gretel put one hand on her door handle.

“Okay. Got it. Sign cutting is detective work.”

“Yep. Ready to get out?”

They met in front of the vehicle. Ken led the way. He stopped after about a hundred yards and pointed down at the gritty earth.

“There’s some sign.”

Gretel looked down. Sure enough, she could make out footprints that continued for several feet and then stopped. She frowned.

“But how do you know it’s not one of your folks or a Border Patrol agent?”

“Good question. We have deep treads on our soles. They generally don’t. A lot of times they are wearing sneakers. Sometimes they even tie strips of carpet onto their soles to try to keep us from tracking them.”

Gretel considered what she was going to say next before she said it. Then,

“They’re probably pretty desperate not to get caught.”

He patted her shoulder.

 “I know where you’re going with that. Like I said, I get it. Ricardo told me you’re a liberal… . Probably voted for Obama. Actually, I have a couple of liberal friends. We talk sports, not politics. So let’s you and I not go there.”

Gretel smiled in spite of herself.

“Yeah, let’s not.”

Ken looped his thumbs through his beltloops and cocked his head to one side.

“To be honest, if feeling sorry for what decent illegals have to go through – the ones who come here to get away from gangs or find decent jobs or join family members — well maybe I’m part-liberal, too. But your agency and the gun-toting side of my agency, we’ve got laws that law-abiding citizens want us to enforce. That’s our job. We can’t just hold hands and wish it was different.”

He looked over at Gretel for a response.

“I’m listening,” was what he got.

“I mean, I’m not heartless, I’ve got kids, so I can imagine how it feels to be willing to do anything to help them have a better life. One of your greenshirts here that used to be posted out in California told me that some of the women there throw their babies into the agents’ arms and then run the other way to try to get away… . but that was after we’d had a few beers so who knows if it was true.”

“Geeze.”

He put his hands on his hips. Shrugging his shoulders,

“So, yeah, I feel bad for the decent ones. But at the end of the day, they are breaking the law. And this country was built on law and order. Pure and simple. Why should they get in on the sly when plenty of others have done it the legal way?”

…