by Jory Sherman
Lucinda beamed.
Anson and Peebo sat at the table near the center of the large kitchen. Lucinda carried hot tortillas in a covered earthen bowl and set them in the middle of the table, then put on hot plates crowded with scrambled eggs, strips of seasoned beef, red beans and a bowl of salsa casera, with a spoon jutting from it.
“Umm,” Peebo murmured. Lucinda gave him a cloth napkin, which he put in his lap.
“Don’t get used to it,” Anson said. “This is the last square meal you’ll get for a long time.”
“How come you want to just brand stray cattle? Seems like it won’t do no good unless they’re penned up.”
In between scoops of food, chewing and swallowing, the two men talked as Lucinda prepared food for both to take with them.
“Pa says we brand every head of stock we find, no matter where. As the ranch grows, we’ll need those cattle for market. We’ve got several men out branding cattle, calves, yearlings, full-grown, no matter what. It’s the brand that’s going to make the difference between making a go of it or just drying up and blowing away.”
“Seems like it’s pretty haphazard, doin’ it that way.”
“Not as haphazard as it looks. We’ve divided the ranch into smaller ranches, sections, you might say. We make sweeps through each section at certain times of the year and brand every unbranded head of beef we find. We keep a tally on these, and grade them.”
“Grade them?”
“Yeah, later on we might do some culling or want to make a gather to run up to New Orleans, and we look at those records in the tally books.”
“Makes sense, I guess.”
“It’s a jumble now, but someday, it’ll all pay off.”
Esperanza and Lazaro came into the kitchen, a few moments later.
“Good morning,” Esperanza said in Spanish.
“Buenos dias,” Anson said.
“Mornin’ ma’am,” from Peebo.
Lazaro hesitated a moment when he heard Anson’s voice. He stopped in his tracks and it appeared he would leave the kitchen.
“Sit down, Lazaro,” Anson said. “Hungry?”
“I have hunger,” Lazaro said.
“I am hungry, you say,” Anson said, in a professorial tone. “You’ve got to start thinking in English, Lazaro.”
“Yes, I know.”
Esperanza helped the blind boy find his way to a chair.
“You sit down, too, Esperanza.”
“I come to get the meal for the señora,” she said.
“She can come down to breakfast,” Anson said.
“Your mother, she does not feel well.”
“She’ll feel better if she comes down to breakfast.”
Esperanza hesitated. She looked at Lucinda.
“I will get her,” Lucinda said. In Spanish, she told Esperanza to serve herself and Lazaro. Reluctantly, Esperanza began dishing up food for her and the boy as Lucinda left the kitchen.
“Hello, boy,” Peebo said. “My name is Peebo.”
Lazaro swung blind eyes in Peebo’s direction.
“Peebo?” he said.
“Yeah,” Peebo laughed. “Funny name, ain’t it.”
“It is a funny name. Are you the man with the horses?”
Surprised, Peebo nodded, then realized that Lazaro could not see him. “I brought some horses in yesterday. I had more, but the Apaches stole them.”
“I like horses,” Lazaro said.
“So do I.” Peebo looked meaningfully at Anson. Anson frowned. “Do you ride horses?”
“I would like to ride. Anson, can I have a horse?”
“Too dangerous, Lazaro.”
“But I can ride. Can’t I, Esperanza?”
Esperanza’s facial muscles rippled to take on a sheepish look. “You must not ride unless someone is watching you,” she said.
“You tellin’ me you got on a horse?” Anson said.
“I did one day. I did not fall off.”
“Well, unless you get on a horse that knows where it’s going, or where you want to go, I don’t see any sense of it. You stay away from them horses.”
“Aw, what’s the matter, Anson? If the boy wants to ride, let him ride.”
“Stay out of it, Peebo.”
“Boy needs a horse if he’s to be a man,” Peebo said.
“A blind boy doesn’t need a horse.”
Esperanza set the plates of food on the table. She placed one in front of Lazaro, handed him a fork. She sat down, then, and began to eat.
Lazaro bowed down to smell the food, then worked his fork into the beans, sniffed it before he put it into his mouth. Anson looked at him, feeling pity.
“Someday I am going to buy a horse of my own,” Lazaro said.
“Good,” Anson said, a sarcastic tone in his voice, “you go right ahead and buy whatever you want when you get some money.”
“I am going to buy a pretty horse and I will ride him all over.”
Peebo watched the boy eat, marveling at the way he managed to find what he wanted on the plate and bring it to his mouth.
“You wouldn’t know if it was pretty or not,” Anson said cruelly.
“Yes, I would. Horses like me and I can tell if they are pretty or not. I can tell if they are mean, too.”
“That’s enough jabber about horses, Lazaro,” Anson said. “Just eat your breakfast and put such notions out of your head. You’re not going to ride any more horses. Hear?”
“I could teach him to ride,” Peebo said.
“So could I, Peebo. But, I’m not going to. If he fell and broke his neck, Ma would throw seven kinds of fits.”
“I would not fall,” Lazaro said.
Anson shoved his chair away from the table, just as his mother entered the room, followed by Lucinda.
“Good morning, everyone,” Caroline said, a cheery lyric to her voice.
“Mornin’,” Anson grumbled.
Peebo, Esperanza and Lazaro were more kindly in their greeting.
“You can sit here, Ma.”
“I’m not hungry. I just came down to see how you and your friend were. Peebo, isn’t it?”
“Yes’m.” He looked at Anson, then said, quickly, “We were just talkin’ about young Lazaro learning how to ride a horse.”
“No, we weren’t,” Anson said, and stood up, glaring at Peebo.
“Why, that would be nice, Peebo,” Caroline said. “Would you be willing to help him? He dearly wants to ride, but I’ve been afraid he might hurt himself.”
“Long as he understands horses, he won’t have no trouble, ma’ am.”
“Sit down, Ma,” Anson ordered, pointing to his empty chair. “Peebo and I have to saddle up and ride over some range. Peebo, you about finished stuffing your mouth?”
“Anson, don’t be so sharp with your friend.” Caroline walked over and sat down, smiled at Peebo.
“We’ve got work to do,” Anson said.
“Yes’m,” Peebo said. “I could sure teach that boy a heap about horses. Seems to me like he’s got a natural bent in that direction.”
“Why, that would be nice,” Caroline said.
“Peebo ain’t goin’ to be here long enough to teach Lazaro anything,” Anson said.
Peebo finished eating, got up from the table and carried his dishes over to the counter.
“It wouldn’t take long,” Peebo said, setting his dish and cup down. “Next time we’re over this way, I’ll take Lazaro for a ride. I’ll gentle him a real good horse, Mrs. Baron. You won’t have to worry none.”
“Call me Caroline, please.”
“Yes’m.”
“Ma, we’re leavin’,” Anson said. To Lucinda, he said: “Have you got our grub packed?”
“Yes,” Lucinda said. She handed Anson two bundles, wrapped in light towels. He took them without thanking her, his face dark as a thundercloud.
“Bye,” Anson muttered, and headed for the back door.
“Good-bye, Caroline. Lazaro,” Peebo said.
“Please hurry back and
teach me to ride,” Lazaro said.
“I will,” Peebo followed Anson out of the house.
Anson was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps.
“Seems like a nice boy,” Peebo said, grinning wide.
“Peebo, you’re messin’ in something that ain’t none of your chili-pickin’ business. That blind boy ain’t going to grow up. He’s got the pox and it’s goin’ to eat him alive and gobble up his brain.”
“Huh?”
“Never you mind. Just don’t get his hopes up, hear?”
“It might help if you was more of a brother to him, son.”
Anson turned and started for the barn.
“He ain’t my brother,” Anson said.
“I thought he was. Looks some like you. A little darker, maybe.”
“Well, he ain’t. He’s just a bastard my ma took in. Like a stray dog.”
“Looks to me like that boy puts a whole lot of dotage on you.”
“Dotage?”
“He rightly dotes on you, son.”
“I don’t care if he does or not.”
“Not your brother’s keeper, eh?”
“Not by a damned site.”
“Hell of a way to treat a growin’ boy who thinks the sun rises and sets on you, Anson.”
“He’s blind, Peebo. What if he was on a horse and a rattlesnake bit the horse and he got throwed. He wouldn’t even know which way to run.”
“Neither did you, son. You was knocked plumb cold. You lived.”
“Shut up, Peebo. Just, for once, shut your dumb mouth.”
“Sure, son. I’ll shut up. I realize it’s the truth that hurts.”
The two men reached the barn. Before he saddled up, Anson looked in every stall for the horse that threw him.
“You really did take that horse out of here, didn’t you?”
“Told you I did.”
Anson walked to the tack room, got his saddle, bridle, rifle and pistol. Peebo did the same and the two men started toward separate stalls.
“Well, if I see that mangy sonofabitch anywhere close to here, I’m going to put a fifty caliber ball in his heart.”
“Anson, someday that mean spirit of your’n is sure enough going to get you into a heap of trouble.”
“I ain’t mean-spirited. I just know what’s right.”
Peebo looked heavenward, rolled his eyes.
“Lord, I done found me a righteous man,” he said. “My worries are over, for sure.”
“Peebo,” Anson said, “if brains were powder, you wouldn’t have enough to blow you to hell.”
Peebo grinned and set his rifle and pistol down, walked into the stall with his bridle and saddle.
“I hope you don’t step on a rattlesnake today,” Peebo called out.
Anson replied with a string of curses that blistered Peebo’s ears and caused the horses to neigh in several of the stalls as if they were nervous and afraid of something they could not see or smell.
37
FIDEL RIOS BROUGHT the wagon up to the barn. The wagon was pulled by four strong horses. Fidel wore a six-shot cap and ball pistol, a .32 caliber Colt made in 1851. He had cleaned most of the rust off its metal frame. Luis Selva, holding a lantern, caught the team, held them in place while Fidel set the hand brake and climbed down.
They both called to Paco Cienega, who was inside the barn with the slaves. Paco emerged a moment later, carrying one of the lanterns.
“I am ready to load the blacks,” Fidel said. “Where have you been?”
“The Frenchman is talking to the blacks and I have been guarding them.”
“With the lantern?” Luis said, not without sarcasm.
“I left my rifle with Reynaud.”
“Did you leave your balls with him, as well?” Fidel asked.
“Is he going to shoot the blacks?” Luis asked.
“He might shoot you, if you don’t close your mouth,” Paco said.
The Mexicans ceased their banter when Matteo walked over from the house. He was smoking a thin cigar and not wearing a hat. The Mexicans could smell the aguardiente on his breath. They nodded to him and mumbled subservient greetings. Matteo nodded back.
“Is everything ready?” the patrón asked.
“The Frenchman is inside with the blacks,” Paco said. “He is talking to them.”
“Good,” Matteo said.
Just then, David walked up, appearing out of the shadows. He was carrying his rifle and bedroll, saddlebags. Matteo did not smile.
“I am surprised to see you here, David.”
“Why?”
“I did not think your woman would let you go.”
“She does not have any say in the matter.”
“That is good. A man must be the master in his own home.”
“What if I had not come?” David asked.
Matteo shrugged. “I would have told you to work somewhere else.”
David said nothing.
“Believe me,” Matteo said.
“I believe you.”
“Shall we go inside, then? Let us see what Reynaud is saying to the black slaves, eh?”
David followed Matteo inside the barn. Reynaud and a Mexican named Eladio Contreras were lining up the slaves in a single column. Socrates, the tallest, was the last to take his place in line.
Fancy, Buelah’s daughter, started to whimper. “Don’t cry, child,” Buelah said.
“No talking,” snapped Reynaud. It was then that David noticed the Frenchman had a quirt in his hand. Reynaud snapped it for emphasis, and some of the Negroes cringed instinctively. Reynaud smiled.
“See?” Reynaud turned to Matteo. “They are already well trained. No need to bind them for this journey. They will behave.”
“They do not know this country,” Matteo said. “If they try to escape, they will face much danger.”
“I have just finished telling them about the Apaches, snakes, wolves, wild cattle, and lions,” Reynaud said. “If you are ready, Matteo, we will load them in the wagon and be on our way.”
“David will accompany you,” Matteo said.
“Very well,” Reynaud said, as if it did not matter to him one way or the other.
“How many of the men will you need? They are all well trained and all are expert with the rifle and pistol.”
“Just two, I think,” Reynaud said, “besides the driver and Wilhoit here.”
“Good. Let us go, then. You have a long way to travel.”
To the slaves, Reynaud said, “Walk slowly outside, then climb up into the wagon one at a time. You older men help the women and the young ones.”
None of the black slaves replied. Socrates started pacing toward the open barn doors. The other slaves followed obediently.
David watched as Reynaud stepped in close, flicking the three tails of the quirt as if to remind the slaves who was in charge.
Fidelius and his wife carried wooden buckets. As the two passed David, he noticed they were empty and smelled as if they had been used before, possibly while the slaves had been in the barn.
“There is much money here, David,” Matteo said, as Socrates climbed into the wagon, turned and helped Elmo up. “See to it that Reynaud gets a good price and that all of the money is returned to me.”
“I will do my best, Matteo.”
“Maybe you will want to get into the slave business one day, eh?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Wait until you see what they are worth, these blacks.”
David held his tongue. Matteo was pretty proud of himself, David thought, and it angered him that he could be so insensitive. Perhaps Ursula was right. He should not have accepted Matteo’s order for him to ride to the slave market. He was sure he would regret it for the rest of his life. But, he also knew that if he did not go along, the slaves would be sold nonetheless and he was powerless to do anything about it.
“Better mount your horse, David,” Matteo said. “Luis has already saddled him.”
“I
see the horse,” David said. It stood beyond the wagon in the darkness under a small leafy box elder. He walked to it as the last slave, the boy named Claude, scrambled into the wagon.
“Sit down and be quiet,” Reynaud ordered and the Negroes obeyed him even though he did not crack the triple-lashed quirt.
“Anyone trying to escape will be shot,” the Frenchman said. “And those still left will be beaten. Do you understand me?”
All of the slaves nodded, Socrates not as vigorously as the others.
Reynaud walked a few yards away and mounted his waiting horse. He rode up to Matteo and touched a finger to the brim of his hat.
Matteo nodded and Reynaud spoke to the drover, who released the hand brake, rattled the reins. The harnessed horses stepped out and the wagon started to move.
As soon as the wagon was in motion, Socrates spoke to the other slaves, his voice pitched low. He spoke in a dialect of the Bantu language.
“We will escape if you all do what I tell you. Understand?”
The others grunted assent, their voices drowned by the noise of the wagon wheels and the creak of harness.
“I will crush the driver with my arms. You slide off over both sides of the wagon and scatter like the wild quail in all directions. We will wait until we are far from this place. We will do it at a place where it is very dark and there are many trees. This is what we talked about last night. Until then, speak not. Wait.”
“What do we do after we escape?” Sarah asked.
“Keep your eyes on the drinking gourd. Make a wide circle and run toward the North Star in the drinking gourd. Be very quiet. Hide and wait until we all come together. Then, we will follow the drinking gourd north to freedom.”
“They have rifles. We have no weapons.”
“They will shoot,” Socrates said, “but when you hear the click and the whooshing sound, drop to the ground very quick, pese, pese, and the ball will fly over your head. Each rifle has only one shot. After you hear the ball go by, then get up and run. It will take them time to put powder and ball back in their barrels.”
“What if we do not hear the click and the whoosh?” Sarah asked.
“If you listen, you will hear it. Or if you hear a boom, you run left or run right or go down to your knees.”
“We might be killed,” Pluto said.
“You might choke to death on a bone,” Socrates said. “You must think of life and freedom. Not death.”