One Step Over the Border

by Stephen Bly

  “What do you mean?”

  “The truth bored them.”

  “Did you hear what that one idiot said?”

  “You mean, ‘As soon as someone gets shot and dies, then it will become a story’?”

  Rosa sighed. “A rather cynical view of people’s interest levels.”

  “They didn’t seem impressed with a sabotaged vegetable garden and broken windows.” Hap pulled off his hat. “Papers want to sell copies. Stations need increased ratings. Reporters seek fame. Ever’one wants somethin’.”

  “They didn’t even care about my documents.”

  “When they got word of the president’s dog barfing on the prime minister of Japan’s lap, they all raced off to Crawford.”

  “Hey, we got an unclaimed Canadian bacon and pineapple,” the kid shouted from the front door. “The boss says you can have it for free.”

  Hap shoved on his hat. “That’s good. The trip’s not a complete waste. Come on… we need pizza and a truck stop.”

  “You need fuel?”

  “That and a few other things. Did you know most truck stops now offer an internet café, so truckers can check their email?”

  “Do you need to check email?”

  “Nope… but you do. You told me so. How many groups have you been active in over the past five years?”

  “Hundreds.”

  “Email them and call in your chips.”

  “What?”

  “Ask them for a favor.”

  “What favor?”

  “Tell them to email everyone on their list with a simple message, ‘Ponder Rosa. What are they doing to Rosa Rodríguez Tryor at Big Bend National Park, Texas?’”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s the rally cry,” Hap declared. “Ponder Rosa.”

  “It’s silly… and simple.”

  “So is ‘Just Do It.’ But it works.”

  “But Erika already did the internet thing,” Rosa said.

  “No, she contacted the media, who expected a melodrama or violence or ratings or glory. Now it’s time to stir up the average person, the internet activist… we want them to ‘Ponder Rosa.’”

  Rosa hunkered down in the smoky drivers’ lounge at the 4-Corners Truck Stop. She hammered computer keys with a message to fifty-three activist groups and all 106 individual email addresses on her personal Hotmail account.

  When she finally wandered back outside, she found Hap sorting through several cardboard boxes. “What did you buy?”

  “I found an all-night grocery. Besides more food, I bought a staple gun and all the plastic signs they had in stock.”

  “What kind of signs?”

  “For Sale. For Rent. Garage Sale. Keep Out… you know, those kinds of signs.”

  “That’s a mixed message.”

  “The backs are all blank. We’re making our own signs. I’ve got some big marking pens and on every one we’ll write PONDER ROSA. We’ Stockton and on telephone poles all the way down to the park. We’ll start a grass-roots movement. Isn’t this the way you do it?”

  “I suppose. Hap, why are you doing this?”

  “You think it’s just because you’re a beautiful, desirable woman.”

  “I never once thought you were doing it for that reason. I do not consider myself to have either of those qualities.”

  “I’m doin’ this because I think you’re gettin’ a raw deal. And… I’m doin’ it because you remind me of someone.”

  “Your Juanita?”

  “Funny, ain’t it? All these years I’ve tried to imagine what she would be like at twenty… or twenty-five… or thirty. When I find her, I’m sure she will be exactly like you.”

  By nine the next morning, they had stapled the last of the signs at a Highway 385 rest stop. “Now, back to the park,” Hap declared.

  “Do you think a few small signs will generate interest?”

  “Two-hundred-forty-one signs add up to more than a few. Besides, it’s the repetition, not the size. Just ask Wall Drug in South Dakota.”

  “Perhaps we should have advertised free drinks of spring water.”

  “Now you’re thinkin’,” he said.

  “How are you going to smuggle me back in? There’s too much daylight.”

  “No smugglin’. This time we drive right through.”

  “But if Davenport sees me, he’ll radio for them to bulldoze the cabin before we reach it.”

  “Were you determined to save the cabin, no matter what?”

  “Not really. As you saw, it’s about to collapse from old age.”

  “Then let them tear it up. That will make a good photo op for the blogs. It will demonstrate Davenport’s evil intent.”

  “But where will I stay?”

  “In the truck. Me and Laramie can sleep outside. Let’s force them to do somethin’. Survivin’ is reactionary. It allows others to control the scene.”

  “Are you sure this will work?”

  “No, but it’s not what they expect. When you fight giants, you have to catch them off guard.” He reached over and touched her knee.

  Rosa stared at his fingers. “You know what, cowboy? You’ve made me think of things I haven’t thought about in years.”

  “It feels good, don’t it?”

  “Yes, very good,” she murmured.

  Erika greeted them at the entrance gate.

  Hap rolled down his window. “What are you doin’ on the mornin’ shift? Don’t you ever sleep?”

  “I switched with Tiff. I wanted to see if you’d come back. I stayed up most of the night checking the net for some splashy story. But all I found was this. About 2:00 A.M., this message popped up everywhere.” She handed him a printout.

  Hap took the note: “Ponder Rosa. What are they doing to Rosa Rodríguez Tryor at Big Bend National Park, Texas?’ Say, that’s kind of catchy, ain’t it?”

  “I also got roundabout word that the regional superintendent is headed down here. That could be revealing.”

  “Does Davenport know?”

  “No one is supposed to know.”

  “Good. Now, call Davenport… tell him one of those cowboys and Rosa Rodríguez just drove through the gate. Tell him you heard them say they’re headed back to the Rodríguez Ranch.”

  “But he might do something dumb.”

  “We’re countin’ on it. Then, let the other park service people know what’s goin’ on, so we can drive straight to the Rodríguez Ranch. We’d appreciate it if they don’t try to stop us. We’re forcin’ Davenport to show his hole cards.”

  Rosa leaned forward to look at Erika. “Tell the tourists to be sure and visit the historic Rodríguez Ranch on Panther Mountain. I think we might need witnesses.”

  “What’s so historic about it?” Erika quizzed.

  “Tell them it’s rumored to be one of the places Pancho Villa hid out while on the run from both the Mexican and American authorities.”

  “Ain’t that somethin’. I heard that same rumor myself… jist today, in fact,” Hap said.

  “Oh! So did I,” Erika added. “By the way, while I surfed the internet last night, I Googled Out West Development Corporation. They own casinos in Atlantic City and Vegas, plus a riverboat near St. Louis.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Rosa said. “They aren’t going to put a casino up here on Panther Mountain.”

  Erika shrugged. “All I know is that the names of their board of directors reads like the cast of The Sopranos.”

  When they drove past the information center twenty minutes later, all the employees lined the road and waved. One of them held a hand-scrawled “Ponder Rosa” sign.

  “I’ve been back there for almost a year. I never knew I had this kind of support,” Rosa said.

  “I don’t think Davenport is real popular among the staff. They’re hopin’ you can do somethin’ about him, too.”

  They circled behind the maintenance sheds and bumped down the dirt road to the ranch.

  “What about the gate guards?” Ros
a asked.

  “That’s why I put the carbines up here with us. I still wish I knew what Davenport really wanted.” Hap studied the dust fogged up behind them. “Do you reckon they want to build an Indian casino down at the highway junction?”

  “I don’t think there are any reservations in Texas. Besides, that would be a horrible location. For a big operation, you need people… and a draw.”

  Windows down, carbines out both sides, Hap rolled up to the Rodríguez Ranch gate.

  “Well, isn’t that nice?” he laughed. “I reckon I jist can’t leave Laramie alone.”

  The gate to the ranch stood ajar. Strapped to the post on one side was Manny Ferguson. Bound to the post on the other side was Kurt Munkk. Both had bandannas tied in their mouths.

  Hap stopped the truck. “Well, boys, it surely was nice of you to leave the gate open. Thoughtful of ’em, ain’t it, Rosa, darlin’?”

  “Very considerate.”

  “You probably regret all those horrible names you called them.”

  “No, not at all,” she replied.

  Hap stepped out of the truck and approached Ferguson. With a poster marker he wrote on the man’s brown T-shirt: “Ponder Rosa.” He scrawled the same slogan on Munkk. “You know, I’m startin’ to see that slogan ever’where.”

  A phone rang on Ferguson’s belt. Hap plucked it up and flipped it open. “Yeah?” he growled.

  “This is Davenport. I’ve been trying to phone you for twenty minutes.”

  “We’ve been busy.”

  “Start the bulldozer. Demolish the cabin right now. Rodríguez is not there. Have Munkk stop her and the cowboy at the gate. Tell him to use force, if necessary.”

  “What do you want us to do with the bodies?”

  “What bodies?”

  “The two cowboys and Rodríguez. They tried to ram us a few minutes ago, so we snuffed them,” Hap rasped.

  “You did what? I didn’t say to kill them. Good Lord, what have you done? I told Mr. Logina there could be no killing. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Hap squeezed the phone back in the man’s pocket.

  He tipped his hat to the tied men. “Just think of how happy Davenport will be when he finds out you didn’t kill anyone. You boys have a nice day.”

  Hap cruised up to the cabin. He and Rosa carried groceries to the front porch. The lever on a Winchester checked inside the cabin. “You’d better be a man with a black hat and cheesy mustache with a pretty girl named Rosa or I’ll shoot.”

  Hap strolled inside the cabin. Laramie stretched out in the short bunk, Rosa’s carbine in his hand, a wet towel over his face. “You’re a little testy, partner. I don’t think the boys at the gate appreciated your attitude.”

  Laramie sat up. The towel dropped. “They kept prowling around the house keeping me awake most all night. I had to do something.”

  “Yep, a man does need his rest.”

  “Well, I didn’t get it. You two are late. Did the media pick up the story?”

  “Not yet. But we started our own campaign. And Davenport’s on his way.”

  Laramie glanced around the musty cabin. “If I’d known you invited company, I would have vacuumed. You going to fill me in what you did in town?”

  “As soon as we go to the gate and settle with Davenport.”

  “I get to take care of him,” Rosa demanded.

  “You need any help?” Laramie paused. “That was a dumb question.”

  “You and Hap can hike down there with me, to make sure Munkk and Ferguson stay tied.”

  “Horseback might be more picturesque,” Hap said. “We’re expectin’ an audience.”

  Laramie and Hap rode to the gate, carbines across their saddles. Rosa tramped down unarmed.

  Hap nudged Luke behind the junipers on the left side of the gate. Laramie and Tully staked out in the pines on the right. Rosa took her stance in the gateway, framed by bound men. A light green pickup with government plates pulled up. Davenport hopped out with his semiauto .45-caliber pistol in hand.

  “What’s going on here? I heard someone was shot.”

  “Not yet, but that could change,” Rosa snarled.

  His gun pointed at her, Davenport stalked toward the tied men. He flipped open a knife and reached toward Ferguson.

  Laramie and Hap drifted out of the trees. “Don’t cut them loose, Davenport.”

  “Aren’t you dead?”

  “You know, I get that all the time,” Hap drawled.

  “This is between you and Rosa,” Laramie said. “Lay your gun down.”

  “I’ll do no such thing!”

  Hap’s shot blasted three feet right of Davenport. Laramie’s hit one foot to his left. The gun dropped.

  A white Oldsmobile, a dark green van, and a Suburban pulled up as Davenport raised his hands.

  “What are these people doing here? This is off-limits,” Davenport groused.

  An older couple with bright shirts, shorts, and white legs got out of the Olds. Eight Italian tourists climbed out of the van. Four boys, two dogs, and two sunburned adults exited the SUV.

  “They came to watch the show.” Hap rode over to the open gate. “Scoot right on up here, folks. You get to witness a livin’ historical presentation about the early days of west Texas.”

  One of the Italian visitors held up a sign, “Ponder Rosa.”

  “Yes, this is the famous play, Ponder Rosa. Playin’ Rosa will be the lovely and talented Miss Rosa Rodríguez Tryor. And playin’ the vile and evil villain will be Superintendent Davenport. The handsome and dashin’ hero will be… me, Hap Bowman. And his quiet, but thoughtful, partner will be portrayed by that talented star of many a roundup, Laramie Majors.”

  “What in blazes are you talking about?” Davenport huffed.

  “Now, don’t say your lines before your turn.”

  One of the boys held up his hand. “What about those two tied to the gate. Who are they supposed to be?”

  “Oak trees,” Hap said. “Back in the old days, there were more oak trees. Now, here’s the story. Mean superintendent tries to eject sweet and innocent Miss Rodríguez off land that has been in her family for over a century…”

  “This is absurd,” Davenport fumed.

  “All I want is a simple agreement,” Rosa recited, her hands folded beneath her chin. “I want a fair exchange of land, a guarantee this will always be called the Rodríguez Ranch at Panther Mountain, and a promise the spring will be available free of charge to park visitors. Is that too much to ask?”

  Davenport crisscrossed his arms. “Stop this insane charade. You are illegally squatting on government land and should be evicted.”

  Rosa cocked her head, blinked her eyes, and pleaded, “Oh, please don’t throw me out in the cruel world. I have nowhere to go.”

  Hap waved at the crowd. “Come on, folks, this is supposed to be interactive.”

  The boys booed.

  Davenport hiked toward the yellow bulldozer. “This is no game. I should have done this weeks ago. That cabin is coming down now.”

  “Oh, what shall I do?” Rosa swooned.

  “Never fear,” Laramie called out. “Stand back, Superintendent, or face the wrath of El Hap.”

  “I’m not a part of this circus!” Davenport swooped down to grab up his handgun. Rosa kicked it from his hand. He grabbed her leg and tripped her.

  The crowd booed.

  Two other cars drove up and parked. More people scooted up to watch.

  “Unhand her, you villain!” Hap called out as he rode forward and slapped his coiled nylon rope against Davenport’s face. Lines of blood dribbled down.

  “That looks real, Dad,” one of the boys blurted out. “How do they do that?”

  “They’re actors, son. It’s just a stunt.”

  Davenport clutched his face. “You are all under arrest, every one of you, for obstructing a park ranger in the line of duty. This is no laughing matter. These men are outlaws.”

  The crowd booed.

  D
avenport raced to the bulldozer and hopped up on the tracks. Laramie’s rope dropped over the superintendent’s shoulders. He yanked it tight.

  The crowd cheered.

  Davenport’s hand came up from his waist with a knife that sliced the rope.

  The crowd gasped.

  One of the dogs sprinted into the scene, tail wagging, tongue drooping, and jumped up on Rosa. She backed up and stumbled to the ground. Davenport lunged at her, grabbed her shoulders, and thrust the knife in front of her face. “This is not a game. I am not going to let you take away my fortune.”

  The crowd shouted boos.

  “Davenport, are you going to slice her up in front of all these witnesses?” Laramie called out.

  “That depends on you.”

  “We could shoot you right now,” Hap suggested.

  “How far will the knife pierce before I die?”

  Hap gawked over at Laramie, then back at Rosa.

  “Oh, for petey’s sake, you two have forgotten your lines,” Rosa scolded. “This is where you lower your guns and I turn like this…”

  Rosa spun as her knee slammed up and the palms of her hands jammed down, meeting like a vise on Davenport’s groin. His knife tumbled to the dirt. The man crumpled in tears and agonized moans.

  The crowd applauded.

  “Rosa is a trained professional,” Laramie called out. “Don’t try that move at home.”

  “It’s a simple trick I learned from a street girl in Cairo,” Rosa said.

  “This is a dumb skit,” one of the boys griped.

  “When do we get to go swimming?” another said.

  A little old lady shuffled up. “Could you teach me that move, young lady?”

  “Which one of you is Rosa Rodríguez Tryor?” A gray-haired man in full-dress park service uniform demanded, pushing through the crowd.

  Rosa stepped over a dusty and whimpering Davenport. “That would be me.”

  “I’m Ed Vines, the regional chief. Our office received over two thousand ‘Ponder Rosa’ emails by eight this morning. I just received the email you sent a month ago. It got shuffled around while people were on vacation. I want to talk to you about this situation and your allegations.”

  “I’d be happy to discuss it with you.”