Read Online Always Time To Die by Elizabeth Lowell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
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the fan.”
She smiled wryly. “I gathered that much from reading the microfilm. But why?”
“Lots of reasons.” Dan kept working as he talked. It was easier than looking into her changing, intelligent hazel eyes or watching her pink mouth shape words or her tongue licking moisture over dry lips.
Apparently his body had just decided that it was one hundred percent healthy and ready to ride.
“Under Spanish and Mexican control, taxes were pretty much avoided,” Dan said. “A tax collector who was too diligent ended up beaten, dead, or run out of town. The taxes that were collected mostly stayed in New Mexico. In fact, throughout its history, New Mexico has been a fiscal drain on whichever government claimed it, right into modern times. That’s the thing about frontiers. They’re expensive to try to control.”
“So the Spanish and Mexican governments let New Mexicans get away with not paying taxes?”
“That’s modern thinking.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“We live in a time when communication is immediate, every transaction is recorded, and the government gets its taxes at the same time a worker gets his paycheck.”
“Sure,” she said, “but governments throughout history have managed to collect taxes, no matter what the state of the communications.”
“In towns and settled areas, yes. Frontiers? No. It’s the nature of a frontier to be beyond the pale of society, of civilization, of control. Essentially, New Mexico spent more time after its ‘discovery’ as a frontier than any other piece of American real estate. New Mexico had three hundred years of being somebody’s edge of the earth, somebody’s dumping ground for outlaws, adventurers, city rejects, dreamers, and politicians.” Dan’s mouth turned in a wry downward curve. “While Oppenheimer and the boys were inventing the atomic age at Alamogordo, curanderos and brujos were still practicing their ancient trades in the rural areas, using natural drugs like morning glory, poppy, and mescaline, drugs that were outlawed by a culture that never understood them. Between formal wars there were still informal shoot-outs over land and water. Penitentes still carried heavy crosses and flogged themselves bloody following in the steps of Christ.” He shrugged. “Some say they still do.”
Fascinated by the light and shadow flowing across Dan’s angular face, Carly watched his movements as he worked over the scanner. “What do you say?” she asked.
For several breaths the room was quiet. Then he looked up, pinning her with a glance. “I say it’s better left alone. For every step you take away from a New Mexico city, you’re going back in time. Frontiers are dangerous. Smart people leave dangerous things alone unless there’s no other choice. You have a choice.”
She tilted her head slightly. Light slid through her hair, picking out the gold among the shades of dark red and darker brown.
“Something wrong?” he asked, sensing her intensity.
“I think you believe a lot of things are better left alone.”
“Sleeping dogs and land mines,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Family joke.”
“You don’t look like you’re laughing.”
Dan put another sheet in the scanner and touched the button. “Once you begin thinking of New Mexico as a long-lived frontier rather than a modern state, its history makes a lot more sense.”
Carly wanted to protest the change of subject, but didn’t. She was here to learn about a family history, not this man’s personal history. If she’d rather pry into Dan’s affairs than the Quintrells’, that was her problem.
“How so?” she asked.
He shrugged. “The pueblos might be the longest continuously inhabited structures in America, but they aren’t Anglo. Santa Fe has a history longer than that of the United States, but three-quarters of Santa Fe’s history isn’t Anglo. We’ve been a state for barely three generations. My mother’s grandfather lived on a
She smiled wryly. “I gathered that much from reading the microfilm. But why?”
“Lots of reasons.” Dan kept working as he talked. It was easier than looking into her changing, intelligent hazel eyes or watching her pink mouth shape words or her tongue licking moisture over dry lips.
Apparently his body had just decided that it was one hundred percent healthy and ready to ride.
“Under Spanish and Mexican control, taxes were pretty much avoided,” Dan said. “A tax collector who was too diligent ended up beaten, dead, or run out of town. The taxes that were collected mostly stayed in New Mexico. In fact, throughout its history, New Mexico has been a fiscal drain on whichever government claimed it, right into modern times. That’s the thing about frontiers. They’re expensive to try to control.”
“So the Spanish and Mexican governments let New Mexicans get away with not paying taxes?”
“That’s modern thinking.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“We live in a time when communication is immediate, every transaction is recorded, and the government gets its taxes at the same time a worker gets his paycheck.”
“Sure,” she said, “but governments throughout history have managed to collect taxes, no matter what the state of the communications.”
“In towns and settled areas, yes. Frontiers? No. It’s the nature of a frontier to be beyond the pale of society, of civilization, of control. Essentially, New Mexico spent more time after its ‘discovery’ as a frontier than any other piece of American real estate. New Mexico had three hundred years of being somebody’s edge of the earth, somebody’s dumping ground for outlaws, adventurers, city rejects, dreamers, and politicians.” Dan’s mouth turned in a wry downward curve. “While Oppenheimer and the boys were inventing the atomic age at Alamogordo, curanderos and brujos were still practicing their ancient trades in the rural areas, using natural drugs like morning glory, poppy, and mescaline, drugs that were outlawed by a culture that never understood them. Between formal wars there were still informal shoot-outs over land and water. Penitentes still carried heavy crosses and flogged themselves bloody following in the steps of Christ.” He shrugged. “Some say they still do.”
Fascinated by the light and shadow flowing across Dan’s angular face, Carly watched his movements as he worked over the scanner. “What do you say?” she asked.
For several breaths the room was quiet. Then he looked up, pinning her with a glance. “I say it’s better left alone. For every step you take away from a New Mexico city, you’re going back in time. Frontiers are dangerous. Smart people leave dangerous things alone unless there’s no other choice. You have a choice.”
She tilted her head slightly. Light slid through her hair, picking out the gold among the shades of dark red and darker brown.
“Something wrong?” he asked, sensing her intensity.
“I think you believe a lot of things are better left alone.”
“Sleeping dogs and land mines,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Family joke.”
“You don’t look like you’re laughing.”
Dan put another sheet in the scanner and touched the button. “Once you begin thinking of New Mexico as a long-lived frontier rather than a modern state, its history makes a lot more sense.”
Carly wanted to protest the change of subject, but didn’t. She was here to learn about a family history, not this man’s personal history. If she’d rather pry into Dan’s affairs than the Quintrells’, that was her problem.
“How so?” she asked.
He shrugged. “The pueblos might be the longest continuously inhabited structures in America, but they aren’t Anglo. Santa Fe has a history longer than that of the United States, but three-quarters of Santa Fe’s history isn’t Anglo. We’ve been a state for barely three generations. My mother’s grandfather lived on a
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