The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride

by John Horst

  Chica stood up slowly. “Don’ worry, mierda, I’ll be back with some friends.” She walked out of the tent, her arm around her little girl.

  Marta looked at the transformed woman not at all surprised. “I knew you were no nun.”

  “Marta, this is my Mamma. She came to get me.”

  Chica extended her hand and took Marta’s cigarette from between the girl’s fingers. She took a long drag and blew smoke into the air. “Thank you for helping us, Marta.” She snuffed the cigarette out with her toe. “No more smoking for you, little one.”

  The tiny bandit’s eyes widened. She took a deep breath, “I, I…yes ma’am.”

  XIV Fiesta

  Colonel Kosterlitzky sat while Arvel got ready to shave. He liked all the Americanos, but he liked Arvel best. Arvel and his mother had the old world about them and they reminded him of the family he’d left so many years ago in Russia, when he deserted from the navy and eventually made Mexico his adopted home.

  Billy was sleeping and Arvel went about preparing on his own. He didn’t want to wake his friend. A woman appeared before him. She was so strange looking, like a cross between a priestess and a gypsy and Arvel nodded to her and gave her a crooked smile. He looked on at Kosterlitzky for an explanation.

  The colonel grinned. “Ah, our resident corandera has learned that you need medical attention, Captain.”

  The woman looked on, proud, chin forward. She was a beautiful old woman, here long hair braided around her brows with little bits of ribbon and string interwoven. Billy Livingston was up at the sound of the healer. He watched Arvel who gave him a little wink. Billy relaxed and let the old lady perform her service.

  She worked quickly, all the while performing incantations and various symbolic gestures. In short order, Arvel’s head was bound around with a white band of cloth. Protruding from this, over each temple was a pointed leaf. She gave him a charm and was soon gone. She would check on him later next day.

  Arvel looked at her handiwork in his shaving mirror. “How do I look?”

  Billy Livingston looked on at Kosterlitzky and gave a little grunt. “Like a deranged Caesar.”

  “Well, I feel better all ready. Might have to fire you.” He smiled back at his reflection. “You never say any nice prayers over me.”

  He went back to his shaving as Billy turned over to finish his nap. Arvel took care not to get shaving soap on his leaves. He was getting good at shaving with his left hand, even though he could have probably by now gotten away with using his right. He had a good bit of strength back in the right side of his body, thanks to Billy Livingston. He looked at Kosterlitzky’s reflection in the shaving mirror and spoke into it. “Is Gold Hat’s fort anywhere near as formidable as Baluarte de Santiago, colonel?”

  He waited for the man’s response and was interrupted by one of Kosterlitzky’s sergeants who whispered into the colonel’s ear. Arvel waited for him to finish.

  In short order, a scrawny and disheveled bandit was brought into the room. Kosterlitzky addressed Arvel. “This is one of Del Oro’s men. He was captured a few miles out of town, I thought that you’d like to hear what he has to say. He nodded to the sergeant who recounted the bandit’s report.

  “This man was found wandering all in a panic. He says Sombrero del Oro’s camp was attacked by something.”

  Arvel looked on with great interest, then at Billy who’d by now given up on his siesta. “What does he mean, something?”

  The sergeant looked at the man and gave him a command. They spoke quickly, the man was highly agitated. “Something! Angels from heaven, demons from hell, no one could tell.”

  “How were they attacked?”

  “One of the men was crucified, two others, killed in some way, no one knows, and snakes and scorpions ran out of their bodies.” The man crossed himself.

  “Did you see a little girl, blue eyes, black hair, about eight years old?” Arvel got up, stood over the man with his soapy razor in hand, threatening, assuring the man that he should not lie.

  “Sí, sí. She was there.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Sí. She is okay. She was left with two nuns.”

  “What of Sombrero del Oro?”

  The bandit made a little sound, like whistling through his teeth, he shrugged, “probably dead. His leg was black and rotten, we left him in the desert to fend for himself. He cannot be still alive.”

  Arvel rushed from the room, found his Uncle Bob and del Toro. “Chica’s got her, Chica’s got her!”

  He was so happy he couldn’t stop crying, and Billy Livingston had to help steady him as he fairly danced about the room. He ran from place to place, summoning Dick, then Dan then Will and the cowboys and vaqueros. The excitement was contagious and it seemed the whole town had all, at the same moment learned of his good fortune. Everyone came to see him, everyone heard the rumors of the event, the miracle at the camp. Many believed it was a divine intervention and were happy. Finally, something was being done about the demon who’d terrorized them these many years.

  Ultimately, he burned himself out and lay exhausted and happy in his room. He suddenly realized that he’d not told his mother, and as if his thoughts of her conjured her up, she was standing by his bed.

  “Oh, mother.” He reached out for her, as a babe reaches from the crib to be picked up and held. She sat next to him and kissed him gently on the cheek.

  “She did it, my boy.” Alice Walsh was beaming. She never doubted Chica, but was no less overwhelmed by the news.

  Arvel read her mind. “Never doubted her for a moment.” He was calm now. He sat up next to her and finally looked her over carefully. She was a tough old gal. He was so proud of her, proud of the two best women in his life.

  “I guess Dad’s spinning in his grave.”

  She became a little tense at her son’s mention of the love of her life. “Don’t say that about your father, Arvel.”

  He saw it, felt it in her voice and he was immediately sorry. “You’re right.”

  Alice thought it finally a good time to set things right about the memory of the man. She walked over to the corner of the room, picked up a chair and placed it next to the bed. She sat down and looked on at the broken man lying beside her.

  “Your father was always so proud of you, and you didn’t ever see it, my boy.” Arvel looked up and gave an uncomfortable, sideways grin. Alice continued. “You never knew your father the way I knew him, and that’s not your fault. Your father was a very private and austere man. Showing emotion was not in his nature. He used to tell me how pleased he was that you could be so free with your emotions. He said that you, thankfully got your kindness from me.”

  “I never knew.”

  “Your father didn’t have money, Arvel. You didn’t know that, either. He came up from humble beginnings, and he kept that a grand secret. He was not necessarily ashamed of coming up from nothing, I think he was actually proud of being self-made, but he didn’t want others to know anything about him. I guess that was the lawyer in him. He never wanted anyone to have anything they could perhaps use against him. It was my family with the pedigree, for all that it matters, and it was my family with all the money.”

  “How did that go with your parents, mother?”

  “Not at all bad, Arvel. Your grandfather, my father, God bless him, lived what he preached. He was a good and kind soul and he didn’t push us, my sisters or me, to marry for social or financial gain. He saw that I loved your father and he saw a good man in your father, a hardworking and proud and ambitious man, and he knew that your father would make me happy and he gave his blessing. Oh, Arvel, I wish he lived long enough for you to know him. He was a fine fellow, my father.”

  “I remember the stories, mother. I could tell you did love him so much from all the stories. But Dad, he always seemed so angry at everything I did, or didn’t do.”

  Alice smiled. “Yes, you’re right. He was to you, and then, he’d talk about you. He always knew everything you were doi
ng, Arvel. He followed everything you did through the war. His colleagues would talk about you. They all were so proud. Many of them were too old to go to fight but they believed in the cause, and they lived the war through your exploits. Your father was so proud of that, too. He’d talk about what you did down in Tennessee with Rebecca’s family, then when you went on to Arizona. He secretly liked Robert, too. He used to call him the great adventurer, but he liked Uncle Bob.”

  “Well, I’ll be.”

  “Your father was initially disappointed in you. Your father only valued things for their practical implications. The man didn’t know how to have fun, well, I guess that’s not true. Working hard, constantly, was his fun.”

  She laughed at a particular memory. “You should have seen us on our trips to Europe. He only went for me. He used to pace about, go through the exhibits, nearly running through. I used to grab him by the arm and hold on, just to slow him down a bit. But he was a good soul, Arvel.”

  She remembered her original point and continued. “You were sent to the best schools; so naturally, you should have been a lawyer or businessman or banker. To his mind, it did not take an education to breed mules. And then the Rangering, oh, my. You were going in the wrong direction. Do you see what I mean?”

  “And he wanted me to be better than him, better, according to his own sense of accomplishment.”

  “Oh, yes, and he did well. He added so much to our fortune, Arvel. He was not a kept man, I can tell you. It was he who made us really wealthy. And, one time, I remembered him on a particular tirade about you. He said that if he had one tenth the opportunity that you had when he was growing up, he’d have done even greater things. That was your father.”

  “And the war?”

  She smiled at that. “Well, we were both of us unhappy about that. That was the biggest dunderheaded thing we believe you ever did. Becoming a private soldier when your father could have gotten you a commission with the stroke of a pen. Or kept you out of it all together.”

  Arvel grinned at his mother’s candor. “But you know now why I did it?”

  “Of course I know why you did it, my boy. I did then. Arvel, you’ve lost a child. When Kate died, what did you feel?”

  He welled up at the memory of his little girl. “Like all the power to live left my body, mother.”

  “We had the same anxiety for you. You were the most important thing in our lives. Your father actually cried.” She looked at Arvel, seriously. “Your father did not cry, Arvel, but he did the day he discovered that you went off to war, then later when he found out how much fighting you had done, and when you nearly died from your wounds. I thought it was going to kill him.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” Arvel looked down at his lap. She’d never told him all these things, and in his anxiety over the many years, he’d harbored many ill feelings toward his father. He was ashamed of all of those feelings now. He looked up at her. “I just never knew, Mother.”

  “Well, that’s my fault, Arvel. I should have told you a long time ago. It was very private for me, and I did love your father very much. He was the best of men, despite his inability to show it. He never stopped loving you or being proud of you.” She grinned a little sheepishly, “Do you remember him at your wedding to Maria? Your very Catholic wedding, with Maria in her white wedding dress and swollen belly?”

  “Oh, my God, do I?” I thought someone had replaced his cigar with a pickle, mother.” He managed a weak grin at that.

  “Well, my boy let me tell you what he said on his deathbed.” She shifted in her chair and looked at her hands, then back into Arvel’s eyes. “He said, that Chica is a peach.” She smiled and now the tears were filling her eyes. “He called her Chica, Arvel, not Maria. He called her Chica.”

  More electric lights had been strung. Everyone was out in their best, most festive, most colorful clothes. There was no reason now for the Americanos not to celebrate, and everyone was ready for a grand time.

  Food was being prepared and served everywhere, and soon the entire town was heady with the aroma of wonderful foods, chicken, and goat and pork and beef, all prepared in the way of the local custom.

  Some of Kosterlitzky’s men played La Paloma in the little bandstand at the center of the town, and soon after, other bands could be heard repeating the popular tune.

  The priest gave an open mass, in the courtyard in front of the little church. The Rurales and vaqueros and Catholic cowboys and rangers all took communion in preparation for their battle the next day.

  Every other person seemed to be either playing guitars or singing. Already a corrido had been created, the folk song of the people, all about the protectors who had come from el Norte to help them put an end to the infamous Sombrero del Oro. Everyone seemed to know this same song as was the habit and the custom of the people of the land.

  Children were allowed to stay up as late as they wished and many of them helped with the fireworks. Young girls were giving out little cards with the image of Jesus or the Virgin of Guadalupe on them and placed them into the brims of the hats of the warriors, the Rurales and the Americanos and Vaqueros.

  Alice Walsh walked through the streets on the arm of Del Toro, the big Jefe dressed in a black vaquero outfit and his finest beaver sombrero. His red brocade vest stood out, the girth of his paunch acting as a beacon in the night. They were all happy, happier than they had perhaps ever been as the news had finally come. It was news they knew would come, never doubted that Chica would not do it, but the realization of it was a gift, an early Christmas present.

  Billy and Dan and Dick strolled through the streets, a beer in one hand and a mescal in the other. Some of the less than honorable women of the town eyed them. They swarmed the little party and soon had Dick Welles complexion as red as a del Toro’s vest.

  They looked on at Dan and laughed, “You are the prettiest man ever to come to our town, Señor.” One older prostitute stroked his hair, and, before he could react, grabbed him by the back of the neck and gave him a long passionate kiss on the mouth. He smiled slyly at her. “Why don’ you come with me, Indian. No charge for you!”

  Dan smiled and waved her off, “No Señorita, muchas gracias, but I need all the strength in my legs for tomorrow’s fight. You are too much for me, I would not survive.” They all cackled and another one looked on at Dick Welles, “How ‘bout you, Señor, an old violín is what I like, it play the sweetest música.”

  Dick looked on at Dan and Billy, “No, ma’am, no ma’am”, was all he could say. He was flattered and embarrassed at the same time and turned a little redder than before. They all laughed again and looked on at Billy.

  “An’ how about this one? He looks to be ready for some fun, how ‘bout it, medicine man, you have what will cure our little itch?”

  They eventually wandered off, but before leaving gave each man a good kiss and a hug, “You come back when Sombrero del Oro es finito, caballeros, and we will show you a proper way to thank you.”

  Uncle Bob ducked into a side street and found some elderly señoras selling rebozos and beautifully embroidered blouses and skirts. He picked the finest of the lot and carried the garments draped carefully over his arm. Alice caught him and smiled. She gave his arm a squeeze and spoke into his ear, “Pilar will look lovely wearing them, Robert.” He blushed and looked away.

  “So you know our little secret.”

  “Oh, yes, Robert. It is the biggest open secret on the ranch.”

  “I’m not ashamed of her, you know.”

  “Of course I know.”

  “She won’t marry me. She says I’m too damned old, and all her husbands die. She thinks if we marry, it’ll jinx us, and I’ll die. I’ve asked her, Alice. I have.”

  Even Will Panks’ sullen demeanor began to change. He’d had a shock, and it was finally wearing off. He felt better now that he’d talked to Arvel, felt better knowing what was expected of him the next day, was confident that he would be able to carry it out and was just as willing to do so.


  He too wandered about the festive town, alone, as he didn’t really want company this night. He sauntered in and out of little side streets, each one a significant party in itself. He was distracted and tripped over an object in an alley, caught himself and grabbed the little form he’d knocked to the ground. An old woman in black rushed up and scooped the child up, pulling her out of the way. Will bowed to the two figures and offered an apology.

  The child was blind and crippled. He reached down to help the old woman help the child when he fully comprehended her terrible condition. He gasped at her destroyed legs, and was shocked at her pleasant demeanor. The poor thing seemed oblivious to her own debility. He looked at the old woman and asked; “How did she come to this, Señora?”

  The old woman looked away as if uttering the reply caused her pain. “Sombrero Del Oro.”

  “Que?”

  “He sometime purges his fort of the ones who are too weak to be of use. He left this little one in the desert to die. I found her and she is now my little angel.” She patted the smiling little girl on the head and reached down to give her a kiss on the forehead.

  “And how…what happened to her legs?”

  The old woman shrugged. “Something, some manner of evil by the bandit.”

  Will sat down beside them. The little girl felt the air, found Will and pulled herself onto his lap. He held her in his arms and soon the tears were running down his face in great torrents. He grabbed her up in his arms and held her desperately, cried and shook and tried his best to control his sorrow. The old woman spoke quietly to him, and attempted to comfort him in his despair.