by J P S Brown
"He took an Indian woman, a Guarigío. She bore him a son and died. Prisciliano didn't teach the boy letters or religion. He said the formal knowledge he had acquired in his previous life was better not known.
"The boy grew up like a wild animal. When he was a small child he was seldom seen and when he was seen he was always running away and soon out of sight. One day he must have frightened someone and enjoyed it because as he grew older he began to stalk his fellow man. One day someone killed a stranger on the trail and robbed him. The man's skull was crushed by a rock. Later, the maker of mezcal, the Indian Astolfo, was found in the Arroyo de los Bitaches in the night in his blankets by his fire with his head similarly crushed. People had seen Saturnino Guevara following Astolfo down the arroyo that day as he led his pack train toward Chinipas.
"The day after Astolfo was found, Saturnino showed up at the shack of Prisciliano drunk on mezcal. At that time Prisciliano had not seen his son for several months except at a
distance.
"Saturnino babbled for a while to Prisciliano about Astolfo and then fell into a drunken stupor. Prisciliano came here and told me he wished me to come and get his son, that the man was like a tigre acebado who killed only for the love of killing. I took several men with me to the shack. Saturnino must have seen us coming. He was gone when we arrived.
"Months later Saturnino attempted to kill a young man who was riding through the Sierra peddling sewing machines. He waited above a trail and dropped a rock on the boy. The rock missed the boy's head but crushed his hand where it was resting on the horn of the saddle. This time a hunter named Martinillo saw Saturnino. Martinillo, armed with his rifle, was stalking a deer on the other side of the canyon. He was far away but he fired close enough to scare Saturnino away from the salesman. `
"Martinillo can track a lion over the rock better than a hunting dog can. After he accompanied the salesman here he went back to the place where he had seen Saturnino last, taking with him a party of men. The wild man had made for the highest, most broken terrain in the area. He kept doubling back and watching his own trail as any clever predator will do. "Martinillo soon guessed the pattern of Saturnino's flight. He sent the party of men away as a diversion and went to a place by a very steep cliff to intercept the wild man. He saw Saturnino climb around a naked precipice, the only place the man could pass to double on his tracks in that area. He waited until Saturnino got off the sheerest, most dangerous part of the precipice and shot him in the leg and broke it.
"The men captured and held Saturnino there. They sent a man after me. Prisciliano and I went up there. All eight of us, concurring with Prisciliano, hanged Saturnino on that precipice.
"I didn't know you had caught him," the Lion said.
"We didn't advertise it. It died here."
"You acted justly," the Lion said.
"We did what was necessary, Señor Kane. We must tame this region or civilization will be too long arriving in the Sierra."
"I`m in accord with you," Kane said.
"The Sierra is most of the time peaceful but we have much hardship. Even our celebrations are hard to bear, as you witnessed tonight. We must fight hardship with reason."
Salvador Arce's cattle were in the corral for Kane to see early the next day. They were better cattle than Kane had been buying around Rio Alamos. They were better boned, better horned, stronger, and bigger. Arce agreed to deliver the cattle in Chinipas on a certain day.
20
Merry Gentlemen Resting
Kane and Abelardo Cuevas found the Valencia corrals high on a bare hill in the highest part of the sierra oscura, the dark Sierra, the unknown Sierra, north of Yecora, Sonora. It was December and a snowstorm was brewing in the wind that had been bunching its strength against them since before noon.
Kane and Cuevas had been riding hard since the very early, black, cold morning. When they got to the corrals, the wind was very cold. It rolled over the smooth, bald hill. Kane was stiff with the cold and fatigue. The little mule he rode was slowing and tiring. The wind was getting in its last blows. It spanked Kane's back and turned the back of his hat up. It blew the mule's tail around over Kane's leg. A gust made the mule stumble off balance. He scrambled tiredly to regain his footing just as they reached the top of the hill. The mule groaned. The extra efort had hurt him. He tried to step out surely toward the corrals on the even ground on top of the hill, but his legs trembled. He stepped, lifting each foot too high. Kane got off and led him the last few steps to the corral. He unsaddled him. He knew the wind would sap the strength in the animal's back if it blew the long sweaty hair dry. Kane turned his saddle blankets over, dry side down, and tied them on with his piggin' string so they wouldn't blow off the animal's back.
The cattle Kane had come to see were in the corrals. There were about one hundred head of corrientes, the common native cattle of the Sierra. Kane could see every size, color, and shape of corriente known to man, and some not known to many men. Cuevas had let the Valencias know by wire and messenger that Kane wanted to buy their big steers. The Valencia big steers were reputedly the finest steers to be found in one bunch in the Sierra oscura. A few of the cattle in the corrals were not good, big steers, but Cuevas had said he would buy any cattle Kane did not want.
Kane and Cuevas laid their saddles down next to the fence. They could see saddled horses tied next to an old log house. They walked over to the house. Cuevas shouted and someone answered from inside.
They stepped in the door. There were no windows in the place. The only light in the room came through the open door and places where the chinks had fallen away from between the logs in the walls, and from a hole in the roof choked with smoke from a fire on the dirt floor.
"Shut the door. It's cold," someone said.
"Very cold, " Cuevas said.
"Good afternoon," Kane said.
No one answered him.
Kane stepped over to one side of the door so his eyes could get used to the dark room. There were three men in the room, squatting around the fire. They were not Indians. They wore the homemade, two-layer, palm straw hats, peaked, with no crease in the crown and no shape to the brim, commonly used by the serrano, the man of the Sierra. Their feet were bare and unwashed for months in teguas, the homemade shoes of that region. The men squatted on their heels with their hands bared toward the fire. They were unshaven and they had even beards of feathery hair. They were the Spaniards, the Valencias, called Los Peludos, the hairy ones, by the beardless Indians of the Sierra.
They all looked straight at Cuevas. They were unsmiling, unwelcoming. They completely ignored Kane.
"We expected you this morning," the old one said gruffly. He had blue eyes. His nose was running. There was a clear drop ready to fall from the end of the thin, hooked nose. It refused to fall. The light from a chink on the other side of the old man made the drop glisten.
"How could we get here this morning? We told you we would be here today. It is a ten-hour ride from Yecora to this corral," Cuevas said.
There was a red-haired one. His eyes were red, too. They bored meanness at Cuevas. His cheekbones were burned and peeling. The raw spots had soft, white, blistery edges. He picked softly at the sore spots with the cushion of a dirty finger.
"The morning is the time to work these cattle. We wanted to get through with them early today, " the redheaded one said.
"Parece que no hay negocio. It looks like no business. We can't do business now, " the old Valencia said.
"Why not?" asked Cuevas.
"Well, this man, a rich man, flies around in an airplane and sends word he'll be here today to buy my cattle and we have the cattle in the corrals since yesterday. Then he doesn't get here at a good hour. The cattle are hungry and thirsty. We are hungry and cold and thirsty. We are poor. We have wasted much time for this man. Our time has increased in value and I'm afraid he won't be able to pay us enough for it now. "
"Look," said Cuevas. "Here we are on the day we agreed to arrive. You have the cattle in
the corral. You were waiting for us. Why don't we just go and cut the cattle?"
"Let's see. We're going to see. How much are you going to give?" said the old one.
"We agreed on that before we came up," said Cuevas.
"Ah, pues no. Ah, well, no,"‘the old Valencia said. "That is not convenient now. You've made us lose time."
"We came on the day you requested in your wire. What is it you want?. How much do you want for your cattle now?" asked Cuevas.
"How much do you want to give?"asked the old one.
"How can we tell without seeing the cattle? You've eight different ages and kinds of cattle out there. We must separate them to see how much we can give."
"How much will you give for the cows?"
"Young cows six hundred pesos a head. Old cows five hundred."
"I told you there would be no business," the old one said emphatically.
"You agreed to gather for that. We agreed to come and look for that," said Cuevas.
"That was before you came late," said the old one.
"Let's go, Cuevas," Kane said.
"Wait a minute," Cuevas said.
"I'm going, " Kane said. He stepped out of the stuffy, smoky room and turned his face to the fresh wind. He heard Cuevas arguing with the Valencias.
"No, no, no, no, no," Cuevas said. "I'm not that way. When I bring a man all the way up to the fifth fornication to see some cattle at a certain price It expect you to stick to the conditions of an agreement?
"He can pay more," a Valencia said.
"He won't pay more," said Cuevas.
"All these gringos are rich. "
"This one isn't."
A Valencia said something in a low voice.
"No, no," Cuevas said. 'Tm going now, too."
The Valencias and Cuevas came outside.
Kane began saddling the tired little mule. The old Valencia came over to him.
"How much you give for cattle?" he shouted at Kane from three feet away. He spoke the way many people speak to a foreigner, as though he is deaf, stupid, and doesn't see well.
"Cuevas told you in the wire what I'd give," Kane said.
"Work, work, wait, wait, long time you. Want more money."
"I can hear very well. Please don't shout," Kane said moderately. The man made him feel almost prim.
"Want more money for cattle. Very, very good cow," the old man shouted, waving toward the corrals.
"You'll have to sell them to someone else then." Kane got on the mule. "Look, Valencia, your cattle are too good for me. Take them down to the coast yourself."
The brother of the redhead walked up to Kane. He was tall and thin. His clothes had been carefully mended and remended. He was cleaner than the other two, but he was as hairy-faced. The hair on his head thatched down under his hat, over his neck and ears. He wiped his nose with the back of a forefinger and looked up at Kane.
"Will you look at my cattle? They are right behind you in the small corral," he said.
Pretty smart Valencias, Kane thought. They are going to Mutt and Jeff me. They chose this one for the nice one because they think he's suave. He probably bathes now and then.
One's suave, one's gruff, and one's mean. That's the way to handle these rich gringo buyers that come up to their mountain trying to screw them!
"I'll look, but I won't give more than the price Cuevas told me you agreed on."
"That's all right."
Kane got off the mule and loosened his cinches. He followed the tall one through the gate of the corral. The small corral was right on the edge of a precipice where part of the smooth hill had split and tumbled clown. The posts surrounding the corral were held up by loose rocks stacked at their bases. There were a few old strands of rusty wire on the fence. The wire must have been 30 years old, judging from the size and shape of the barbs.
When Kane and the tall thin Valencia walked into the corral, the cattle all moved over to the edge of the cliff. They moved carefully on that side. The footing was sheer rock. They did not lean on the old fence. When a steer felt the touch of a barb he hastened away from the brink. Kane and Valencia moved over to the cliff side of the corral so their presence would move the cattle against the other side.
Kane looked down over the edge of the cliff. It was about 300 feet to the bottom where the tops of the pines pointed at him. Kane could see no reason why a man would build a corral next to a cliff when there was so much room everywhere else.
The cattle in the small corral were composed largely of yearlings. There were a few two-year-olds. They were all corriente. There were spotted cattle of all colors; paints, blue roans, red roans, linebacks, brindles, bald-faced ones, duns, browns, blacks, whites, reds, and grays. They were in good shape. The good horns were already six inches long or more on the yearlings and the twos had horns a foot and a half long. The twos would work for rodeo in the States.
"How much can you give me for the twos?" the tall, thin Valencia said softly, suavely.
"Four hundred pesos," said Kane.
"We are accustomed to selling twos at five hundred pesos, even six hundred during the rainy season."
"I'm not accustomed to giving that."
"Can't you give four hundred and fifty pesos?"
"How about the yearlings?"
"Three hundred."
"Give me three hundred and twenty-five."
"OK but give me the twos for four hundred."
The tall Valencia thought a moment. He wiped his nose. He walked toward the cattle, his back to Kane while he thought. The cattle moved restlessly, looking at him and looking away. The cattle on the fringe next to the man hunted openings between their brothers and shoved their way deeper into the herd, burying their senses in its warmth. The tall Valencia came back.
"Pues, I'm going to sell you mine. When will you take them?" he asked.
"I'll take delivery in Yecora on the twenty-fifth with the rest of the cattle I buy on this trip."
"Pay me ten pesos a head more for taking them to Yecora. They are good steers and I'm selling cheap."
"I'm sorry. I can't do it."
"I need some money now for provisions. For Christmas."
That makes him even suaver, Kane thought. He believes in spending at Christmastime.
"I brought money for that," Kane said. "I'll advance you ten pesos a head. But I don't want that lumpjaw, the swayback, the little one-eyed one, or the broken-legged one."
"Where are any cattle like that?" asked the Valencia.
"Inside the bunch. Watch the gate and I'll cut them out right now."
The Valencia didn't say anything. Kane walked down the fence quietly. The Valencia moved over and held the gate open. Kane loosened the bunch out of the corner and slowly walked each of the defectives out of the corral. He looked the herd over again, making them walk by him on one side and then on the other. He hadn't missed any unmerchantables. There were twenty-one head of fairly good cattle left, not the best, but good for the money he was giving.
Cuevas was walking toward him. "Did you trade?" he asked.
"Yes," Kane said.
"The old Valencia came around. He says he wants to see how much you can give for his cattle. They are in the big corral. He is waiting there for you," Cuevas said.
Kane turned to look once more over the cliff at the great chasm below this ineffectual fence full of gentle little cattle huddled in a corner for common warmth against wind, man, and space you fall in.
The old Valencia was in a corral full of very old bulls, oxen, and cows. Though Kane was financing the whole deal, Cuevas was going to have to market these older cattle. Kane didn't want them. He had expected Cuevas to trade for these cattle. He looked around and Cuevas was gone.
The cows were toothless shells. The bulls were all old and dome-headed and ridge-backed. The oxen had a little flesh on them but they, too, were old and they would be hard to drive down to the coast. A bunch of old oxen always gives the most trouble on a drive by breaking out at night and heading home
.
"How much will you give me for the bulls? I don't want to sell you anything but the bulls. I'll sell you the bulls because I need money right now, " the old Valencia said.
"I don't really want any of them. Cuevas is the one who buys bulls," said Kane.
"Give me a price."
"Cuevas told you seven hundred pesos in the telegram?
"Cuevas is crazy."
"So am I for talking to you but I'll give you seven hundred for Cuevas."
"I want eight hundred fifty."
"How much do you want for the cows now?"
"You can't buy them."
"The 0xen?"
"There's a buyer coming next week."
"Friend of yours?"
"Very, very good friend." .
"You'll undoubtedly make him a rich man."
"What?"
"You'd better wait for your friend."
"I'll take eight hundred twenty-five for the cows," old Valencia said. "
"I don't want them, never have wanted them, and if Cuevas doesn't get here within another five minutes they'll die of old age."
"Give me a price for the oxen," the old Valencia said.
"Look, you'd better talk all this over with Cuevas," Kane said. "You want me to put a price on your cattle for you, that is, sell them for you to myself. You want me to drive them three hundred miles to market for you, they're worth nothing here. You never eat meat yourself. And to finish me off you want so much money for them you want my profit and for me to pay you for marketing them besides. You'd better talk to Cuevas, maybe he can do all that for you."
Cuevas came over to them. He was smiling. Maybe he thinks it's his duty to keep the peace here, smiling, Kane thought.
"The gringo came here to steal my cattle," the old Valencia said.
"See if you want the cattle, Cuevas. You will be handling them," Kane said.
"Go look at the redhead's cattle. You'll be surprised," Cuevas said.
Kane climbed over the fence into the next corral. The corral was full of corriente steers three and four years old, in their prime. Their black muzzles shone moistly. Their great, a dark eyes were flawlessly clear. Their good horns were so shining clean they looked polished. Their hides were velvety, the colors sharp in the late, overcast winter afternoon. The hides were unmarked by the many brands that would have indicated they were bought cattle. These were the Valencia criollo, the steers that had been chosen from weaning for best care, best pasture, so that they would someday bring the most money. There were about 45 or 50 head in the corral, a carload.