"Yes, that Ranger was working in the Ranger's office, but left when our conversation got heated."
"Well, that's his wife. And in the last couple of days, he has been looking for her. She's disappeared. They have a very stormy relationship, fighting all the time for money. Apparently, he never did make much, and she never has enough."
Astounded, Don Federico's eyes narrowed into an icy steel gaze as he tried to absorb Tom White's information; this was turning into a nightmare. "No! It's not possible! Not my father—" said the Don. At the same time, he was thinking she was perhaps the missing redheaded woman found and left in the brasada, but being unsure, he preferred to keep this information to himself, since no corpse had been found.
"Yes! Mister Juelson, it's all true. I'm sorry you had to hear this from me. But you paid me to find out all these things. Your father got mixed up with a rough bunch. Your father's so-called friends, like Hanson, are killers by trade and instinct, nothing more. Murderers if you ask me! Hanson is the biggest mother of them all, with no remorse or conscience, and he is the one who planned it. Money, my friend, greed, that's what it all about, it's called, roots of evil. Your father was drunk and signed a piece of paper, and that same night was accidentally killed? He was caught in bed with the redheaded bitch—a set-up. They were all in on it! They could all see dollars signs in front of their eyes. They bribed him to sign the document. What's real hilarious is—"
"What's that?"
"Your father knew long before he was killed that something was going to happen to him. Instinct, perhaps! He was starting to suspect and read between the lines with his so-called friends. Your father designed a payment method from the Monterrey, Mexico bank, on a one-time dividend to his blackmailers, and made them think that he was dividing the gold investment for the rest of their lives. They didn't realize what your father's plans were because the gold mine is yours legally and in the country of Mexico? C'mon," he laughed. "He outsmarted the bastards! Smart ol' dude, but he paid with his life. He was clever, but not clever enough, especially when you're dealing with an outright murderer like Hanson." He paused and cleared his throat. "When you left Hanson's office yesterday, he was drinking heavily and laughed and bragged that down in Mexico you were going to get your "Alamo" at the gold mine. He was going to meet you there with his group."
"Very cleverly planned," Don Federico's voice quivered in an unnerved fashion. "But not clever enough! Thank you, Tom, for your job well done. Where can I send you the money that I still owe you?"
"Mail it to my post office box in San Antonio. I have already sent a telegram to the United States Deputy Marshals, in Austin, explaining everything. There's a bunch of contraband going over the border, and with the information on Hanson, and his sonsabitching bastards, if he gets caught—you know how cunning he is—he needs to be locked up forever in a federal prison."
"I'm much obliged!" Don Federico replied. His thoughts spiraled, creating a knot in his throat as he thought of his dead father's adventurous romances.
"The federal marshals should be able to take care of the rest. You'll not be seeing me again. Not unless there is an indictment and the federal boys need me to testify in Brownsville. I'm packing my bags, tonight, if possible! And I'm heading up north, where I belong. It's getting too goddamn dangerous, especially this close to the border and the corrupt Texas Rangers."
"Thanks again!" Don Federico said.
"Come and visit me, whenever you're in the San Antonio area. Here's the package with all of the information you'll need. I have explained everything, and my seal is in those documents."
"I will, my friend, and thank you again for your kind service. I'll never forget this." He reached for the large, heavy envelope and shook Tom White's hand. "As soon as the area dries up, I'll be in San Antonio within a week or two and will come to see you."
"Good! Adiós, amigo! As the saying goes! See you sometime in San Antonio! Be careful in Mexico! There are jackals there, too!" Tom White extended his hand again.
"Hasta la vista, mí amigo. I will."
Don Federico sat on his horse for a minute watching Tom White heading back through the potholes filled with water and the dense jungle of mesquite, until he disappeared among the hostile cacti.
The redheaded woman was probably the young Ranger's wife, and he probably did not know she was dead. Don Federico's thoughts kept going back to what Doña Adela had told him. On his way home, he would stop and talk with her. The old bruja was right—he needed a reading. The old woman was never wrong.
*****
At the hacienda, Don Federico sat somber, with elbows on the desk, head in his hands, while examining Tom White's documents detailing all speculations on Hanson and what Tom had heard. Doña Adela had told his father of his coming fate. La Bruja had also disclosed a family secret that was hard to swallow. A painful, shocking secret that he would have to keep, and not reveal to anyone.
A soft knock surprised him, and he glanced toward the door. "Amigo, Juan! Come on in. Take a seat," he said, smiling. He stood up and showed Juan a chair. "What did you find out on the injured girl?"
"A beautiful creature indeed," Juan informed him. "But she's in bad shape!" he said, shaking his head in disgust. "Soledad has serious injuries. Besides having a bad head concussion, she has several broken ribs. La Señora and Doña Maria helped me wrap bandages around her chest. I also took the liberty of examining her on the inside, and it would be very unlikely that she could ever have any children. The muscles inside her uterus are stretched and ripped and she is torn from the inside out. She would have serious complications having children." He concluded, "It's too bad, a nice woman, and seems so kind— she would make someone a good wife."
"Well! She can stay here for as long as she wants and gets healed. Time will tell! Time is always the best healer," Don Federico added, looking distraught and bitter. Their conversation went on for over an hour, with many medical and political issues.
Outside, the rain and mud had prevented the vaqueros from completing their daily routine, and the responsibilities of fixing windmills and repairing fallen fences were impossible. They were unable to get some larger groups of cattle out that were deep in water and mud in the dense jungle of the brasada; many were in low gullies, ready to calve and unable to extricate themselves. They needed to get to them real soon.
The previous dry season had brought in many blowflies that attacked the baby calves and colts. Weimer's screw-worm medicine was bought by the case and mixed in large buckets with the black, greasy, sticky oil coming from the resaca area. The medicine was then applied to the newborn's navel, saving the little animal's life. Without it, the fly would implant its eggs, which in less than a week became larvae, which turned into screwworms, embedding themselves into the body of the animal, eating it alive from the inside out. That was a cruel part of nature that had to be watched.
Meanwhile, the men sat around telling stories and singing out in the middle of the courtyards and patios where it was cooler. Roy brought his guitar and, joined by Juan, Fred, and the older workers, all began singing the beautiful song, El Abandonado. They continued to sing, Aya en El Rancho Grande. Several joined in the singing in a strident Mexican barbershop harmony. The few who didn't sing enjoyed the music and sat around smoking cigarettes and visiting amongst themselves. Manuel managed, to no one's surprise, to find several bottles of tequila and mescal and began distributing to everyone. It was after the last song that one of the vaqueros spoke up since it referred to the workers and how tough they all were. "Ah! Yes! The Mexicans are tough hombres—we can endure anything!"
Roy immediately broke in. "If ya' think that the vaqueros are tough hombres. Let me tell ya' a story of the gringos, living up North." His voice became louder and boastful, then got serious.
"At thirte 'n, I was already workin' on one of the ranchos in Okie. A muy macho hombre came and skidd'd into our camp one day. He had been ridin' all day comin' from the hard plains. His horse was a mount'in lion. His bridle was b
arbed wire. He was using two rat'lers—one fur his quirt and the other was wrapp'd 'round his neck. Takin' his hat off, he den took a big slug o' sheep-dip. 'Boys!' he said. 'I hate to drin' and run, but shit! There's a tough man chasin' me!'"
The vaqueros rolled on the floor amidst the rest of the workers' uproarious laughter. The intake of liquor had helped.
"Ah! Very funny! Very funny! Compadre! That Roy is a real hombre! Eh!"
"Puro Corazón, all heart," said one.
Another replied, "Of course, it must have been the devil himself!"
Another one said, "The devil is everywhere!"
One commented, nearly choked with laughter, "That hombre Roy, got a head on him—he picks up la lengua pronto, the language quickly."
Juan, sitting next to Fred, found it not only amusing but also compatible with his way of life and dreams. He found it interesting that the people here in Texas were no different than the Mestizos from Mexico: simple-minded, down to earth, hard working people, and unlearned like everyone else.
He viewed his surroundings—the large open arches and verandas; the beautiful flowering vines, with a variety of colors; the enormous fountain; the floor of cracked stones filled in with Spanish tile and cement. The beauty of it all brought a melancholy into his deep thoughts because it was so romantic, especially at night. And always, surrounding the rancho on all sides was the fascinating jungle full of wild animals and insects, cacti, and mesquite that adorned the incredible, sprawling, vast landscape. Los Americanos were shrewd individuals. With a little thought, they became wealthy overnight. I want a beautiful home and estate like this one, and a beautiful wife to share my life, and many children. For now, his dreams would have to wait.
The whole patio was aglow with singing and chattering. The dogs were busy barking, playing with Blanca, and children were amusing themselves with hide and seek, laughing and making noise.
The women from the kitchen brought out several pitchers of fresh lemonade since the weather had become so muggy and humid. Roy began strumming his guitar to Cielito Lindo, a favorite song, from the Spaniards into the New World.
Victoria and Miss Belle, distracted by the outside music and noise, decided to step out in the courtyards and join the rest of the crowd. Miss Belle's heart fluttered, skipping beats as she watched Roy, playing his guitar and singing those beautiful Spanish songs. The next song was Clementine, and he looked directly towards the skinny schoolteacher, who was obviously in a state of embarrassed bliss. He followed it up with El Corrido de Gregorio Cortez, the famous ballad being sung along the border.
Juan's eyes sought out Victoria's presence. He immediately stood up and sauntered toward her like a slow, approaching storm.
Uttering an exclamation of disgust mixed with joy, Victoria stood paralyzed. She caught his form from the corner of her eye. Here he comes! Dios! She said to herself. Her face blushed too scarlet with shame remembering yesterday's incident and last night's humiliating catastrophe. She had not been able to sleep and hated herself for being so childish and silly. How could she explain being so stupid? Glancing up, she looked into the most beautiful, bewildering eyes that the light of day had changed into a teal blue-green. He stood there with obvious longing as their eyes locked. "Señorita, how are your legs?"
"You asked me already this morning! Amazing! They are fine. And guess what?"
"What?"
"No fever!" She said it sarcastically but broke out in a nervous laugh.
Juan understood her and laughed also. He admired her aloof manner, her proud behavior, and her sharp comment, so he decided not to proceed further in that discourse. He began chuckling with her and realized how young, beautiful, and spoiled she was. He was also aware of his own handsome looks and charm. A master artist of people's feelings, he began playing with her emotions. Wanting to begin a more direct conversation, he said, "Your father was telling me that you are going to attend the convent school south of Monterrey." Expressing himself in a more jovial manner, his smile always displayed a pleasant attitude. He was captivated by her delicate features, her hazel eyes, and her hourglass figure. He wanted to put his arms around her waist and felt a great urgent desire to kiss her.
"Yes! I am," she answered nervously. She batted her eyes and smiled charmingly. She became aroused by his presence and recalled her mother's incessant reminder of being gracious at all times, regardless of the situation. "Why do you ask?"
"Monterrey is my home, where I grew up. My family still lives there, at least my mother and sister. My father died several years ago. I know the area like the palm of my hand. The convent is miles away, high in the mountains, one of the finest in the region, especially for wealthy girls. Of course, who needs training in sarcastic remarks and sharpening of their tongues?"
It took a couple of seconds before Victoria's brain registered his comment. The conversation took on a cat and mouse game. She laughed contemptuously. Becoming angry, she spurted out, "It's a small world. Then you must know the Del Calderónes?" She glared at him, flushing slightly.
"Of course," he replied, annoyed at hearing the Del Calderóne name. "All of the people in Monterrey are well-acquainted with their name. The Del Calderónes are wealthy, politically powerful people living in several fancy villas with thousands of acres stolen from the poor Mestizos they killed," Juan retorted angrily. "They have become rich on the soil stained with the blood of the peóns! The old man is a controlling, ruthless general, at whose hand my father was killed. This was one of the main reasons I decided to leave my medical profession and enter into the Revolution with Madero to bring justice to Mexico. President Díaz will have to be removed if Mexico is going to survive its internal strife."
Juan's face had flushed, and he became bothered by the stern hatred that was evident in his voice; his eyes flashed. "Is that where you'll be spending your weekends while going to school—with them?" he asked irritably. His voice then softened, aware he had shown a part of his forbidden nature from the other side of his mask. "How do you know the Del Calderónes?" he asked with some contempt.
"The Del Calderónes have been close friends of my mother and her family for many years, being 'compadres,' when they baptized Fred. And No! I will not be staying with the Del Calderónes," she answered, realizing that she had hit a nerve with him by repeating their name. She understood that El General was part of the hated Díaz regime. "I'll be staying with my grandparents who also live on the outskirts of Monterrey." She began to soften her conversation, recognizing that it was a man's world. "I don't know anything about politics! All I know is that Monterrey is where I'm going to school, and I have heard that it's very beautiful, with many sights to see."
"You are absolutely right! My humble apology for talking politics. Women do not comprehend government laws or understand what Madero is trying to do to reform the country of Mexico." He bowed, displaying his gracious manners. He became more at ease, appreciating that she was young, unable to grasp his manly desires and his worldly ambitions. "Monterrey is one of the most beautiful cities and the air is very clear. And it sits at the foot of El Cerro de la Silla, Saddle Mountain. While you're there, you must see Horsetail Falls—it's very romantic."
Juan continued as their conversation took on a lighter tone. "I've heard you're a fair shot with a rifle! Some of the vaqueros were talking about you killing the mad dog early this morning. They said you were the children's hero."
"Why thank you," she replied, very pleased with herself. "I was raised with a rifle and cut my teeth on one. Around here you need to protect yourself," she said, looking directly into Juan's eyes.
"You mean you truly would have shot me?" He was surprised and began laughing out loud. "I did not know that I was in mortal danger, in the presence of a serious, down-to-earth killer. I could have gotten killed!"
They both laughed heartily.
"We all want to thank you for checking on Soledad and taking care of her. Everyone was talking, including Mamá Maria. She can't stop talking about you and what a he
ro you've become. She needed medical care. Doña Adela did what she could, but she is no doctor."
"Who's Doña Adela?" Juan asked, looking curious. "Whoever she is, she did a darn good job, recognizing that Soledad’s ribs were broken and her insides torn."
Victoria was shocked at what he just said. The expression on her face turned from jovial to aghast. She brought her right hand to her mouth. Horse feathers! Did he say her insides were torn? How did he check her insides—perhaps it was just doctors’ talk? She replied, "Doña Adela is a curandera, who lives a mile west of the resaca."
"A curandera—how interesting," he said. And how long has she been doctoring people? "
"Long before I was born. She has taken care of the hacienda's people and the rest of the Mexican people living in this region. She doctors them and reads cards and tells fortunes."
"She can predict the future?" Juan raised his eyebrows, becoming very interested in what Victoria was saying. "I have always been intrigued and fascinated with fortune telling. Maybe Doña Adela will read for me. At this very moment, my whole life is at stake, and perhaps she could tell me what's coming up in my near future, especially here in Texas. The gringos do not like Mexican strangers bringing in messages from Mexico. I ran into some real cowboys with pistols and rifles in the town of Rio Grande City and had to sleep in an abandoned barn." He was dramatic and apparently had theatrical training. "I would also like to get her formula for the lotion she put on your legs. You never know when I'll need to use it, or perhaps save someone's life with it. Can you take me there?" His eyes narrowed, and he appeared pleased that he had gained Victoria's approval.
"My parents have given us strict instructions not to ride too far outside the hacienda," she answered nervously. She remembered her mother was taking a nap in her upstairs bedroom. And from her room, if she caught a glimpse of them conversing too long, Victoria would be headed for another long talk about her unbecoming boldness and lack of morality.
Roots of Indifferences Page 15