Sneak Peek: Cotton from the desert (first draft scene)

This is a first draft sneak peak from a forthcoming novel, tentatively entitled “Desert Steve” by Markus McDowell.

He reigned his horse in at the top of the small ridge, overlooking the empty land. His companion rode up beside him.

“As you can see, Mr. Ragsdale, you are only a couple of miles from the Colorado.” The man pointed to the east, where a ribbon of water flowed lazily through the desert land. “Over there is the main branch of the Powas canal branch that you can tap into. All set up for you through the PVID!”

Steve was a little tired of Mr. Popovic’s incessant sales talk. He never stopped talking about the PVID—the Palo Verde Irrigation district. It was impressive, having been set up by Thomas Henry Blythe in 1877.

Steve already decided to buy the land. It was a prime location. He was already mapping out in his mind where the house would go, the barn and worksheets, and that long flat area, closest to the canal, where he could grow cotton.

Steve pointed across the river to the brown mountains. “Looks like there are two washes there—one about 40° to the north from my position, another about the same to the south. What are those? Any water there?”

[ppp_patron_only level=”1″]

Popovic squinted through his spectacles. “Goodness, sir, your eyes are better than mine. But if I remember aright, the one on the left is the Trigo Wash, on the right is Mohave wash. Only seasonal. That’s some pretty inhospitable land over there.”

“What about hunting?”

“Sure. We got mule deer, bobcats, jackrabbits, quail. And more.”

Steve nodded, thinking to himself. There was word of plans for a new train station going in to Blythe in the next few years. That would make it easy to get the cotton to be sold. Until then, he might find a co-op, or just haul the cotton to Phoenix or Los Angeles after selling as much locally as possible. Time to check on that later.

One hundred and fifty miles from Phoenix, two hundred from Los Angeles. Palm Springs was about 120 miles along the way to Los Angeles. Other than Blythe, the closest town was Calexico was down on the border of Mexico. Supposedly an up-and-coming town. There were no real roads, just trails through the desert sands, but travelled enough to keep them visible.

“Mr. Ragsdale, I hope you see the benefit of buying this land. Irrigation in place for you to tap into. Friendly people. Blythe is becoming a central hub between the cities nearer the coast and those to the east of California. And the price!”

Steve nodded. “Yes, you’ve told me all that.” He scanned the land—his land—from his far left to his far right. He had never spent much time in desert lands, but there was something about this that drew him. Like he belonged. Men, scratching out an existence in the desert, carving out a niche in what might seem like barren lands, to some. But Steve’s exploration and research over the last week told him otherwise.

The desert was a place rich with life, flora and fauna. It was often hidden or camouflaged, but it was there. His heart was full with the idea of the challenge. Building a home for his growing family (soon the third child!). Digging the trenches and planting the cotton. Working with the animals, a cotton business, and local hunting.

“Alright, Mr. Popovic. Let’s get back to your office and sign those papers.”

The land office man beamed. “Oh, excellent. You won’t regret it, Mr. Ragsdale!”

Steve thought he was right. No more pulpits. No more working inside a building all day just using his mind. Here, he could use his mind and his body. As it should be. No more whiny parishioners. A land to learn about and bend to his own will.

He felt it. He belonged here.

[/ppp_patron_only]

---

• Instagram
• Facebook
• Twitter
• Pinterest
• LinkedIn
• Goodreads
• Amazon