North of the river on the mesa above were scattered small homes surrounded by very dry land capable of supporting only a few animals per mile. Most of the corrals they saw, constructed of split wood taken from felled cottonwoods along the bosque, contained a horse or two. Often a half dozen lean-looking goats could be seen scratching for grass along a low spot or within an arroyo. Hogback was a few miles away when George turned off onto a narrow path to the left, north, and they continued on to a fifty-foot-long single-wide mobile home sitting beneath several elm trees. The branches were bare this time of year, and the ground hard. Two minutes later they were at the door of the faded blue-and-white trailer, on a wooden step comprised of stacked pallets ingeniously bolted together. “I rent the place from René Capitan,” George said, opening the door after a brief struggle with an uncooperative lock, a worn key, or both. “His family was allotted this land, but they’re not interested in raising livestock.
