Dirt and debris fell off to the sides and hinges squeaked as the secret slat came up. Manuel helped lock it into place with an iron rod. Then he reached down and helped Papá take a large crate out of the hidden compartment under the floor.
Carlos knelt down, dusted off the top of the crate, and opened it, revealing a huge cache of weapons. A second crate revealed rounds and rounds of ammunition. Enough ammunition to wage a war.
Excerpt from Joaquín’s journal, Monday, August 23, 1915
RINCHES
Lawmen have
been given free will
— orders to shoot
mejicanos on sight
in South Texas.
My blond hair
and freckled face
afford me a few seconds
to save myself.
A moment of hesitation
from a Ranger
buys me enough
time to speak out,
to clarify who I am,
establish that I belong
on this side of the border.
“Those Rinches,” I hear
campesinos gripe,
throwing their fists
in the air.
“They are bloodthirsty
salvajes, Godforsaken
fiends — hijos de Satanás!”
From the stables
to the corrals,
to the banks of the Río Bravo,
Rangers are infamous
for their cruelty.
My brother, Tomás,
has seen them
resting their forearms
on their rifles
as they scan the horizon
with sharp, color-blind eyes.
Desert lizards,
trying to discern between
the shades of brown
— distinguish that
which lives and breathes
and separate the brown skin
from the brown earth,
the brown brush,
the brown bark.
Rinches — without
their badges, their sins
would shame the Devil
and make the angels cry.
Chapter 9
Although many of the rebels took their new weapons and returned to the brush, not all of them left. Because we had no way of knowing what Gerardo had disclosed before he was hung, my parents decided that Carlos and some of his men should stay and help guard Las Moras. “We’ll need the manpower,” Mamá said. “I wouldn’t put it past Munro to raid our ranch. Not after today.”
“Are you sure about this?” I asked my mother as Manuel and Papá distributed the weapons in the crate to both rebels and campesinos.
Mamá pushed back a lock of my hair, placing it behind my ear gently. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she said. “We have to prepare ourselves for the worst, Joaquín — purgatory, torture, hell itself. We can’t be caught off guard. Munro’s taken off his mask. He’s shown us that we are nothing more than another target. It’s time he saw what we’re made of.”
“Yes, but aren’t we overreacting a bit?” I asked. “I mean, these men are rebels — real rebels — from out in the brush — and you’re not just taking their families in or giving them food and supplies anymore. We’re actually arming ourselves and joining forces with them! Don’t you think we’re asking for trouble here? We’re risking more than Las Moras, Mamá. We’re risking our lives!”
“Son, we can’t sit back and wait for the storm to arrive before we tar the roof and fix a broken window,” my father said, overhearing. “Only a fool refuses to take precautions. Your mother is right. Munro has set his sights on Las Moras. Otherwise, Gerardo would still be alive. We have to make sure we’re ready for an attack.”
The same apprehension I was battling was also reflected in the eyes of the rest of our ranch hands when we met them at the field house. Those whose regular duties included the security of Las Moras had resolutely taken their weapons and formed groups to patrol in. However, some of the campesinos were used to toiling the land and working hard without resisting the system. They were farmers, not fighters. These men and women weighed the guns in their hands as if they didn’t quite trust themselves to use them when the time came to fight. But as they handled the weapons, loading bullets, holding them up, peering through the site holes, the women were no less determined than the men to figure it out.
“Don’t be afraid,” Mamá said “These men are not bandits or rebels. They are not evil minded. Please understand they are our friends and as our friends they are here to defend us.”
“They are more than our friends,” Papá said. “These men have strong ties to Las Moras. These men are more than friends. Their families work and live here. And now, they’re here to help protect us. But they can’t do it alone. We have to help ourselves. Every one of you knows how to load a rifle and pull a trigger. We’ve all hunted rabbits, ¿verdad? We’ve all shot at targets here and in the campo. This isn’t anything you can’t handle, and with any luck, you won’t have to use your weapons.”
Carlos slung his rifle across his arms. “Don Acevedo is right, but you never know when disaster might strike. I came home one night and found my wife crying because she didn’t have the papers to prove we owned the land our house was built on in Hondo. They had been lost in a fire, years before, and her family had never replaced them. Without those documents, my wife and I had no way of proving the land was ours. No one would help us. Lawyers refused to take our case. County officials wanted United States paperwork, when the only paperwork we had before the fire was from Mexico, a hundred years ago when our ancestors were granted the land. And then the Rangers made sure my wife and I moved out.” He paused, a memory he obviously didn’t want to relive coming to the surface. “They hung my sixteen-year-old son in our own backyard.”
Carlos wiped his face, shuddering a little. “My wife never wanted to set eyes on that house again after that. She went home to her parents in Matamoros, and I’ve been roaming around ever since, helping displaced families when I can, defending others who might be suffering the same fate, fighting off Rangers and deputies every chance I get.”
Pollo stepped up beside Carlos, patting him on the shoulder. Everyone listened in horrified silence. “It was Rinches took my son-in-law,” Pollo said. “Beatriz’s husband. They dragged him on a rope behind a horse all over Hidalgo County — made an example out of him for questioning the law, after arresting him for loitering when he dared to meet in public with other tejanos.” Laws like that — banning tejanos from gathering in public places — hadn’t made it to Morado County yet, but rumors from other counties came over from time to time, reminding us that such things were not so far away. “It broke Beatriz’s heart — but it toughened mine. I have no shame when it comes to fighting off lawmen. The way I see it, if they can kill an innocent young man in the prime of his life, drag him so long and hard his own wife couldn’t identify his body, they can do the same to me.”
Pollo’s voice rose, determined. “But I’m not going to just lie down and expose my belly like a mutt. I won’t let one more Ranger take another one of my family members without a fight. I’ll take up arms. I’ll shoot lawmen. I’ll do whatever it takes to make those políticos up north get the message and send someone to get these demonios tejanos off our backs!”
“Sí, I understand what you’re saying.” Josue, an old ranch hand with a crooked back and missing teeth, weighed a pistol in the palm of his hand. “But I’ve never aimed at a man before, much less a lawman. What if I kill one of those Rinches? I don’t want to hang. I’m too young to die.”
At his words, the whole lot of them laughed. I thought about what we were asking them to do for a moment. Seriously thought about it. And even though I had just promised Dulceña the night before that I would
n’t do anything rash, I knew what my parents were asking was not rash. If anything, it was the only option Munro had left us.
Like it or not, the Ranger was no longer on our side. After questioning his authority and demanding that he do his job, we had become his enemies. And while he had everything to gain, we had everything to lose, especially now that I knew who my mother really was. We couldn’t let Munro discover my mother’s secret identity. La Estrella meant too much to her people. It was our responsibility to make sure she stayed safe.
That’s why Carlos and his men had shown up at Las Moras. They were making sure she had the protection she needed so she could continue to comfort and provide for her people.
“You’re right, Josue,” I said, addressing the whole group. “Nobody here wants to hang for shooting a lawman, but the fact is the Rangers are hanging men for a lot less than that. Today, you might have to defend your right to be left alone. I might have to shoot at a lawman to defend my land, my home, my right to live. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s come to that.”
“Joaquín is right,” Mamá said. “Man or woman, old or young. I urge you to help us protect yourselves and your families. I urge you to help us fight for your rights.”
After hearing my mother’s words, the rest of the campesinos filled their pockets with ammunition and assumed their assigned posts — the men back to the fields and cow pasture, the women and children back to their work in the house or in the gardens and fields, but every adult well armed and prepared to respond at a moment’s notice when the need arose. The talk in the field house had filled them with courage, and they walked around patrolling the perimeter of our property with their shoulders rolled back and their heads held high.
Many hours later, I stood high up on the lookout tower to the left of the front gate with Carlos and Manuel, while Papá and Pollo stood on the right tower. We were all heavily armed. And even though I knew it was necessary, I couldn’t help it. The whole thing gave me an odd, uneasy feeling. My hands stayed sweaty and my index finger twitched every time it grazed the trigger guard of my weapon.
After a while, Mamá rode up to us with a group of armed men and women behind her. “Ready for the next shift?” she called out to my father, who started to climb down from the tower. Pollo followed him.
I’d never seen my mother in this light. She was like a soldadera, a true warrior woman, fighting in the Mexican Revolution. I had seen pictures of soldaderas in the paper the last few months, with their belts of ammunition hanging across their chests and rifles resting in their arms, solemn and grave and ready to go into battle to fight for justice.
My mother was less conspicuous. Her rifle rested on her back from its shoulder strap, and she wasn’t wearing an ammo belt. My father stood beside her mount, talking quietly to her, even laughing a bit, as they kept an eye on the road that ran in front of Las Moras.
At that very moment, just as I was beginning to think nothing was going to happen on our watch, we saw a cloud of dust moving slowly up the road toward us, like an ensnared dirt devil. At first, the devil made little progress, like a lazy little breeze. Then, as the minutes ticked off, the devil grew bigger and bigger, gorging itself on dirt and debris, gaining momentum as it galloped toward us, until there was more than dust in its midst and there appeared before us a group of pale riders — Munro’s posse. Their serpent eyes fixed on us as they rode up to our gate and pulled on their reins, making their breathless horses twist sideways, shake their heads, and whinny in protest.
“How can I help you, Elliot?” Papá leaned casually onthe flank of Mamá’s horse. Too casually.
Munro nodded past the gate at the wide expanse of Las Moras. “We’re here to check the premises.”
“Now hold on there,” Papá said, extending his hand in midair. The Ranger’s posse pulled on their reins and stood by, waiting for Munro’s response. “Why do you have to check the premises?”
Munro took his hat off, shook the trail from it, and began fanning his face. Mamá reached for her rifle, and I pulled mine up against my chest.
“You’re harboring insurgents,” Munro said. “Gerardo Gutierrez told us as much.”
“Gerardo?” Papá’s brows furrowed and his green eyes narrowed. “Now, was that before or after you pulled off the road to execute him without trial or evidence?”
Munro wasn’t taken aback by my father’s question. His expression didn’t change as he looked to the right and then to the left, up and down the length of our fence, where Carlos’s men were posted every twenty yards as far as the eye could see. “I don’t have to give you any explanations. Suffice it to say Gerardo confessed to treason. Now, I’m seeing a lot of new faces out here with you. You want to explain that?”
“Sure,” Papá said, nodding with a little frown. “As soon as you show me a warrant.”
“You know very well I don’t need a damn warrant. Not if you consent. That is, of course, unless you have something to hide, like who these men are, where they came from, and what they’re doing here?” Munro’s reptilian eyes glistened with pride and something more — something menacing.
“These men are hired help,” Papá said. “These are perilous times, Munro. You know that better than anyone. I need to make sure my place is well guarded, especially now that I have to go on the cattle drive. It shouldn’t surprise you that I should want to protect my land and my family in my absence.”
The captain took his time adjusting his hatband before he addressed my father again. “Well, I guess you won’t be needing our services this year,” Munro said.
I hadn’t thought about that, how every year Munro posted men at Las Moras when Papá and his riders drove the herd up to Fort Worth. It always bothered Mamá, but she put up with it. Although she didn’t like Munro, she had respected my father’s decision to cultivate a mutually beneficial friendship with the captain. The Rangers offered protection and a certain amount of immunity against the racial prejudices and crooked politics in Morado County. For his part, my father’s friendship lent integrity and respect, even esteem, to Munro and his company.
“No,” Papá said. “After what you and your men did to Gerardo, I would have to say your services are no longer welcome here.”
Munro’s lean cheek paled as he stalled. Finally, he said, “Gerardo was an insurgent, a rebel hiding out on your property, and on those grounds I have every right to search the premises, to make sure there are no other fugitives hiding out here.”
“Then you’re going to need to see the judge, because I’m not opening these gates without a search warrant,” my father said, holding firm to his resolve.
A moment later, a horseman moved his mount from out of the group and rode up, stopping directly in front of my father on the other side of the gate.
“Excuse me, Don Acevedo,” the young man said. “I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Miguel Caceres. Judge Thompson appointed me as acting sheriff to Morado County for now, at least until the next election. As you can see, Slater and Davis are no longer with us. They were dismissed because I’m trying to make sure we do things right from now on. You’re absolutely right about the search warrant, señor. But we would appreciate it very much if you gave us permission to inspect Las Moras. We promise not to take too much of your time.”
“What are you doing?” Munro asked, pulling on his reins to keep his mount from moving around under him. “Who told you you could speak?”
“Well, he’s right,” Sheriff Caceres said, turning to Munro. “He doesn’t have to let us in without a search warrant. The law’s very clear on that.”
“Son, in case you haven’t figured it out, I am the law!” Munro’s eyes bulged with rage. “Now, either you shut up, or I’ll have you swinging from a branch next to that traitor Gerardo before suppertime. If you don’t know how to take orders, there are plenty of men in this outfit willing to take your place. Now get back there and let me d
o my job.”
“You’re wrong, Munro!” I called out from atop the tower. “Sheriff Caceres knows what he’s talking about. You should listen to him.”
“Are you ready to let me take care of my business?” Munro asked Caceres, fixing him with a demonic stare.
The sheriff was silent for a moment, but the longer he sat there, the more Munro’s posse focused on him. Their eyes lingered on his face while their hands rested on the butts of their holstered pistols. Then, seeing that he was outnumbered, Caceres clicked his tongue and rode back to find his place among the rest of Munro’s men.
“So that’s it, then?” Munro asked, turning his attention to my father again. “You’re not going to let us in?”
Papá took a deep breath and nodded. “This is my territory, Munro. You may rule out there, but I rule in here. I am not some young defenseless boy you can drag off the road and hang on a whim. I will not be disarmed, arrested, or lynched like so many other tejanos who’ve fallen victim to the bogus accusations and panic that the Plan de San Diego has brought to our borderlands.”
“I hope you understand,” Munro said, pointing at the gate and down at the men who were guarding it. “You’re setting yourself up for some dark days. I can’t protect you, not if you won’t cooperate.”
“That’s fine by me,” Papá said. “But make no mistake, Munro, this is my land, and I will defend it.”
Chapter 10
That evening, Mamá, Tomás, and I were about to walk out the back door. “Wait!” Papá loomed in the hallway. “What’s this I hear about you going out to give Gerardo last rites?”
“We have to go,” Mamá said, unhooking her gray cloak from the coat rack and throwing it around her shoulders. “It must be done now, tonight, before the zopilotes do too much damage. Besides, most of the lawmen, including Munro, will be busy attending Nolan’s funeral tomorrow morning. They won’t know what we’ve done until well into the afternoon. Gerardo’s body will be buried deep under Mexican soil by then.”
Shame the Stars Page 10