More than the forces of neighbors talking and the gossip columns, Lydia and Ray could not forgive their daughter for turning her back on the success she and they had worked so hard to attain. It seemed she was ungrateful for all they had done-the dancing lessons, the encouragement to keep her body slim and trim, the way they pushed her during her high school days to seek small modeling jobs on Saturdays-and ungrateful to the people in the business, the agents and the backers and the photographers, who had all helped her get ahead.
But Jerri wasn't ungrateful. She had changed. That life-wasn't the life for her any longer and she only asked that they understand that she needed to do what she was doing and not to demand that she should return to unhappiness.
Finally, in desperation to reach an understanding, Dave and Jerri called their parents and invited them to come to the ranch and see for themselves what their lives were like. Lydia and Ray refused.
The tribe was not a unique group in the northern part of New Mexico. In the past two years, many groups of drop-outs, hippies, young and old alike, had discovered the beautiful and peaceful land that was conducive to living an unhurried, happy life. But, of course, there were problems.
The established people of New Mexico-the ranchers, the farmers, the city folk-resented the hippie" invaders," as they called them, and felt threatened by their presence. Here were groups of from five to fifty young people, smoking grass and living in sin, having babies and teaching their children themselves without the aid of public schools, taking over the land-it was enough to make any" straight" person at least a bit fearful.
Santa Fe was the center of the state, the place where friends met and gathered and talked. It was the only real amusement center in the area-movies, dance halls, theatres, bars. And it was, and always had been, an artist's community. People flocked to Santa Fe every year to buy Indian pottery, paintings by excellent Southwestern artists, trinkets, and jewelry. It was an art center, a place that attracted artists as well as buyers.
It also-because of its quaint old-world quality-attracted the hippies. Longhairs were on every street, going about their business like everyone else, or gathered in the square near the Capitol building, alongside the old-timers who sat for hours reminiscing about times gone by.
The younger farmers, however, were antagonistic from the moment they laid eyes on the hippie types. They were afraid, without reason, that their daughters would be raped by the immoral generation, worried that their sons would be dragged off into their communes and tribes and laden with drugs, worried that their lands would be plundered by groups of the young people looking for food, or stealing their animals to sell for dope.
Actually, the hippies were harmless, sometimes beautiful people, who worked hard in their own way to create a new life style for themselves. They were returning to a state much more primitive than the farmers could imagine, and at best they wanted to be left alone. But they had to come to Santa Fe. To purchase supplies, to meet and see their friends, to sell their art products, their painting, their clothing, their leather goods.
The tribe came to Santa Fe often, in their station wagon. One Saturday, on the way to the city, they were waved down by a friend-a hippie commune leader known only as" Father" -who told them that there had been a fight in the city, in the town square, between some of the ranchers and a group of freaks. He told the tribe that the ranchers just started swinging and before anyone knew it, a full-scale fight was going on. The police had broken it up, not without a few arrests of the longhairs.
When the tribe arrived in Santa Fe, there was a weird silence in the city. The streets in the downtown area seemed strangely deserted for a Saturday. Carol and Jerri and Tracey went into the old market to buy some food supplies, and Russell and Dave were sitting on the hood of the station wagon, talking to three other friends they knew from a neighboring commune.
"You get the message we been spreadin' round here today?" a voice said from behind them.
Russell and Dave turned around to find a group of ranchers standing next to the wagon. At the front of the group was a large, ugly man known as "Tex," with his two teenage sons. Russell looked at them and thought what a shame it was that the two kids weren't able to visit the tribe for a few days and let their hair grow. They looked like carbon copies of their father.
"We decided we're clearing the hills of you folk, you hear?" Tex said.
"I don't seem to understand what you mean," Russell said in a polite, soft tone.
"What we mean is to clear out, all of you, now!"
Another man in the crowd shouted, "We don't want your kind around here anymore! We got people coming up here to see the hippies all the time! This is no circus act up here, this here's a city, and we aim to keep it just so!"
"You just best pack up your women and whoever you got living down that canyon with you and clear out, or you're gonna be run out. There's been more crime in these parts since you folk invaded these hills…"
"That's a lie," Jerri said, standing in the door of the market. She walked to meet the group as they all turned to watch her.
"Slut," someone said. Jerri ignored it.
"Listen, all of you. I own that ranch down there. I bought it with money I worked hard and long for, and I am going to keep it, live on it, with whomever I choose. And nothing and no one is going to stop me. Now would you all please clear out? We have things to do."
The men were startled. All except Tex and his two sons. "You think you're pretty smart, don't you? I know who you are; we've read about you. Your kind gives these parts a bad name-all that publicity-living like you do, you ought to be ashamed! We got good farms here and good families…"
"And so do we!" Jerri screamed. "Now get the hell out of our way or I'll call the sheriff."
Tex stared at her for a second. "Come on, guys, let's go home. "They started moving away, but then he stopped and turned back to Jerri once more. "I meant what I said. You either get out or you'll get moved out. That's a promise."
Jerri and the others just stood watching the men as they moved across the street and wandered off to their cars and pick-up trucks.
"Fuck them," Russell said.
"They're really sad people. What are they so afraid of?" Carol asked, loading groceries into the station wagon.
"Themselves," Russell said, getting into the car.
Chapter 7
The next morning Tex sent his two sons to spy on the tribe from the top of the hillside leading to the ranch. Tax's property extended directly to the edge of the tribe's and he was particularly worried that Jerri and her group would one day steal his crops or turn his sons into something other than what he had made them.
Jim-the older boy, tall and good-looking, about seventeen-and Jack-a year younger, blond and short-rode on their horses to the edge of their property, tied the horses to the huge fence, and then climbed over it and continued to the edge of the hill. Once there, they circled till they were directly behind the house. They crouched down and hid in the brush.
"Can you see anything?" Jack asked.
"Yeah, the house. Hey, they've got horses. Two of them."
"Probably stole them. See anyone?"
Jim stood up and peered down the hill. The house seemed silent. "No one's there."
Jack jumped up. He saw a few chickens pecking around the yard, but no people. Then, just as he was about to suggest they go back home, they saw a girl walk out of the House-bare naked!