“What are you talking about?” I asked, horrified at the idea that my mother might be thinking of going after the cattle thieves herself. “Mamá — you can’t go after them!”
“Promise me you won’t do anything rash, cariño,” my mother continued. She wiped her tears away and took a deep breath. “Please. Promise me you’ll stay put. Promise me you’ll let me take care of this.”
“Okay,” I promised.
But in my heart I was sure that — whatever she did, wherever she went — I was going with her.
Excerpt from Joaquín’s journal, Saturday, September 4, 1915
I KNOW
I know to react is to invite danger.
I know to chase thieves is to hunt coyotes,
to risk stepping into trampas set for them.
I know to approach bandidos is to stand still
and wave a red cape at a raging bull.
I know to roust fugitives is to tackle a rabid dog
and bite into its wounded ear.
I know to confront renegades is to test the scythe,
to snicker at La Muerte.
But I also know I have to do this.
I know pride has a temper
because it beats angrily against my temples.
I know honor has corazón
because it hammers furiously against my ribcage.
I know integrity has an appetite for vengeance
because I hear it gnashing its teeth.
I know coraje has sharp talons
because they dig into my flesh when I make a fist.
I have to make things right.
Chapter 16
There’s no doubt about it. Slater and Davis are behind this,” Carlos said as he stood in the sala talking to us the minute he got back from meeting with the Medina brothers, two Mexican brothers turned revolutionaries when their families where killed in their presence by soldados in Matamoros. “The brothers wouldn’t do business with them. They don’t deal with lawmen, especially dishonorably discharged lawmen. So Slater and Davis are moving the cattle across the border themselves. Word is they hired some thugs from up north, some out-of-work foreigners, vagrants, too hungry to ask questions.”
Pollo confirmed his story, saying, “Slater and Davis were bound to do something like this. The rumor mill says they blame Joaquín for having their badges taken and being run out of town by that new sheriff, Caceres.”
“I don’t know why,” I said. “They had to know they had it coming.”
Mamá didn’t hesitate. She lifted her chin and said, “We have to go after them. We have to get our herd back.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Papá said, resting his shoulder against the frame of the door and clutching at his side.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Mamá rushed over to push her shoulder under his arm and help him regain his balance. With her assistance, my father walked all the way into the room and sat down on the nearest chair.
“Please don’t do this,” my father implored, taking my mother’s hand and kissing it. “Let it go, Jovita. We have so much to be thankful for. We can afford to lose the herd. We’ll have this year’s sugarcane harvested soon. And if we can ever finish clearing out the new field, we’ll have a bigger crop next year. With everything that’s been happening, we’ve delayed the expansion too long as it is.”
Mamá pulled her hand away and shook her head. “It’s not about the cattle,” she said. “This is about justice. We have to catch them in the act and bring them in and demand that they be put in jail.”
“Mamá’s right,” I said. “We can’t let them get away with this. We have to go after them. If we don’t, they’ll never leave us alone. They’ll come back over and over again, como tlacuaches enmañados, taking whatever they want whenever they want because they can.”
My words had not inspired my father. He was still very upset a few hours later when Mamá and I left Las Moras and set out with Carlos and his men in search of Slater and Davis. With our herd in tow, they couldn’t move very fast, so it wasn’t likely that they had crossed the border yet.
The moon was a drawn silver sliver in the sky, providing us little light as we moved quietly through the brush. It took us the better part of the night to track down the cattle thieves. They were almost at the nose of the Eagle’s Nest when we first spotted them.
We lay low in the brush and watched them over the ridge of a hill, resting on the bank of the Rio Grande. No doubt they were settling in for the night, celebrating their good fortune by sharing a bottle of tequila with their new partners in crime.
Pollo came out of the brush, squatted down next to me and my mother, and said, “It’s your herd for sure. Chavito checked, and they’ve got the LM brand on ’em.”
“Good,” Carlos said. “Let’s go.”
We mounted our horses again, quietly. Carlos hooted softly and lifted his arm in the air. Our men moved quickly, efficiently in both directions, keeping to the brush while at the same time encircling the herd of cattle, their rifles at the ready. Then Mamá, Carlos, Pollo, and I rode right up the center, making no effort to be quiet or disguise our intentions to have a word with them.
“Who’s there?” one of them yelled.
“That’s Slater,” I said, nodding to Carlos. “I recognize his voice.”
Carlos reined in his mount and stopped. Mamá, Pollo, and I stopped too, keeping our eyes on the group of men before us. Slater and Davis were standing around talking to each other, but there were at least twelve more cattle rustlers milling around my father’s herd. I had counted them when they’d first come into view.
“Morning, boys!” Carlos said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Nice herd you have here.”
“Who’s there?” Davis asked, putting his hand over his holstered gun.
I lifted my rifle, aiming at him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We have you surrounded.”
“Joaquín?” Davis called out without moving his hand off his sidearm.
Slater grinned at Davis. They whispered to each other, and then Slater shook his head at him and stepped toward us. “You should take your mother home, Joaquín. The brush’s no place for a woman.”
“My mother knows how to take care of herself,” I said. I’d made up my mind — I wasn’t going to hesitate. One false move, and I would be forced to shoot him.
Slater considered my words for a moment. Then he turned to speak directly at my mother. “What are you doing out here, señora?”
“This is our herd.” Mamá’s voice came out so assured, so clear, I hardly recognized it as my mother’s. “We’ll be taking it back to Las Moras with us now.”
“Is that so?” Davis asked. “And what makes you think you can have ’em?”
Without warning, my mother lifted her rifle, aimed, and fired a quick progression of shots that bounced off the ground around Davis and Slater’s feet.
“Now hold on!” Slater lifted his hands palms up and walked over to speak to us up close.
Carlos pointed his rifle at him. “No. You hold on. In fact, why don’t you just stop right there, and tell me why you felt compelled to steal this herd. It’s obvious you have no connections out here. What made you think you and your friends here were going to get away with it?”
“I wasn’t — ” Slater didn’t get to finish because, one by one, Carlos’s men emerged from the brush, circling their mounts around the other cattle thieves, who were quick to raise their hands and back away from Slater and Davis.
“We don’t want any trouble,” one of the cattle thieves said from behind Davis. “We just needed the money, and these two paid us in advance.”
Carlos spoke to the men gathered together behind Slater and Davis. “Then I’m sure you’ll want to make amends,” he said. “Joaquín’s brother is a priest. His parish serves the families of our people. They could use
a donation.”
The men standing directly behind Slater squirmed in place, sliding their feet back and forth nervously. They murmured to each other before coming to a consensus. “The money’s in that satchel,” the speaker for the group said. “By the fire. We hadn’t split it yet. You can take it all. We don’t want anything more to do with this. We just want to go home to our wives and children.”
“And you will go home,” Mamá said, sliding off her mount and walking over to Slater and Davis. “As soon as we have your weapons.”
She stood before them, fearless. I dismounted and joined my mother, aiming my own rifle at Slater’s chest while she walked around them, pulling their pistols out of their gun belts. She threw their weapons off to the side, where Pollo and Chavito could collect them after they dismounted.
In the end, Mamá decided to let the rest of the cattle thieves go. Once they were out of sight, Slater dug into the saddlebag by the fire and handed Mamá a roll of bills thicker than my fist. My mother threw it at me and I caught it, ramming it into the pocket of my saddlebag. I kept my eyes on Slater the whole time. I didn’t trust him not to pull a hidden gun on me, even with Carlos and his men watching over the exchange.
“Well, you have your herd back,” Carlos said, dismounting and approaching Slater and Davis. “You should head back now, Jovita,” he told my mother. “I don’t think you want to stick around for what’s coming, but we can’t waste any time. We have to take care of these pelados before the sun comes up.”
“What are you going to do to them?” I asked.
“String ’em up.” Pollo coughed, then spat in the general direction of Slater and Davis without actually hitting them. “That’s what they would do if the shoe was on the other foot.”
“There’s no doubt they deserve to die,” Carlos said. “But I’d rather just work a confession out of them . . . the old-fashioned way.”
“Yeah, give them a taste of their own medicine,” Chavito said, laughing at the two men sitting on the ground, glaring at us.
“Señora,” Davis called out from behind me. “Help us! Please.”
“Come on, Joaquín. Help us get these cattle home.” Mamá remounted her horse and joined the rest of Carlos’s men, where they were starting to round the cattle up in the direction of Las Moras.
“Move it!” Carlos hollered, pulling rope out of his saddlebag.
“They’re going to kill us,” Davis said, his voice warbling. “Please, don’t let them do this to us. We don’t deserve to die.” Carlos pushed Davis face-first to the ground, kneeling on his back as if he were going to hogtie him.
“Shut up!” Carlos yelled, tying Davis’s hands behind his back. Chavito was doing the same to Slater. “You’ll get what’s coming to you if you don’t cooperate — traitors deserve la cuerda. Come on, Pollo! Get these guys taken care of. I’m tired of listening to their whining.”
At that very moment, the sun broke through the horizon, illuminating Carlos’s top two men as they yanked on the riatas knotted over Davis and Slater’s wrists. They stood up, reluctantly being led away from the herd in the direction of the chaparral, where their horses were tied.
Dragging his feet, como mula, Slater pulled away from Chavito long enough to get in my face and mumble something, but I couldn’t understand him.
Suddenly, Slater turned and rushed at me. I stepped aside, and he went flying by. Pollo tugged on Slater’s rope, and he fell over, unable to catch himself with his arms tied behind his back. Grimacing, Pollo jerked on the cord again, heaving Slater back onto his feet and leading him away. The wind whirled dust around us and Slater cursed, stringing together a slew of maldiciones.
After a bit of a struggle, Carlos, Chavito, and I managed to get the two men up on their horses. My mother waited patiently for us to join her on the moonlit hillside. “Time to head home,” he said. “Manuel and I can take these two into town and deliver them to the new sheriff on your father’s behalf.”
Chapter 17
The next morning, Mamá practically beamed with pride when she opened the newspaper and read how Slater and Davis had been taken into town tied and gagged and strapped to their saddles. There was no doubt in anybody’s mind that they were responsible for the assault on Papá and the stolen cattle because after a long interrogation, they had confessed everything to Sheriff Caceres down at the jailhouse.
Unlike my mother, I couldn’t take comfort in reading the headlines of El Sureño. The word Disgraced! ran across the whole front page of Don Rodrigo’s paper. The single word screamed at me, and I couldn’t help but worry. Was this it? Would Munro shut down the print shop for good? What would become of Dulceña’s family if her father couldn’t print any more papers?
Setting the newspaper aside, my mother put her hand over mine and squeezed it. “You should take it easy today. Your body needs to recover from that long ride. Here, have something to drink before you eat.” She picked up the coffee pot and poured, filling my cup to the brim.
I speared a piece of ham with my fork off the platter at the center of the table and dropped it onto my plate. “I can’t,” I said. “Manuel and his men are going to start clearing out the north field and building that new fence to separate it from the orchard. I don’t have time to take it easy. Some of the younger campesinos have never done this kind of work before, and with Papá laid up, I’m going to have to supervise their workload. Manuel can’t be everywhere at once.”
“Just try not to overdo it,” Mamá said. “Come in and sit down with your father during the heat of the day. You can eat and rest while you update him on the men’s progress.”
“I’ll do that.” My head was swimming, either from Mamá’s medicinal teas or my fitful sleep.
“He’s ready,” Mamá said as we watched Manuel and the twins through the dining room window pull up in a wagon full of wood.
My mother and I left the table and walked outside. “How are things in town? Did you have any trouble getting Papá’s lumber?” I asked Manuel as I strode up to the wagon and inspected the load.
Manuel stepped off the wagon and took off his hat before he spoke. “No. Everything was ready,” he began. “We have some bad news, though.”
Mateo and Fito scrambled out of the wagon. Mateo stood quietly beside his father, his eyes hooded. Then, exhaling, he said, “The print shop burned down, Joaquín.”
“What?” My chest suddenly hurt, like someone had reached in, taken hold of my heart, squeezed it, made it stop.
“Is everyone all right?” Mamá asked. “When did this happen?”
“Did anybody get hurt?” My father came out of the house and stood listening just outside the door.
Mamá ran up the porch steps and rushed up to my father. “What are you doing out of bed? You shouldn’t be out here, not yet. You don’t want those stitches to pop.” She lifted my father’s left arm and put her shoulder under him.
“I’m fine. Doña Luz dug up this old stick for me to lean on,” Papá said, tapping my grandfather Tomasito’s red wooden cane against the porch floorboards. “How are the Villas doing, Manuel?”
Manuel put his hat back on. “I don’t really know, Patrón,” Manuel admitted. “They weren’t around when I went by. But there’s nothing left. The print shop’s gone.”
“What about Dulceña? Did any of you see her?” I asked.
Manuel nodded. “Everyone’s all right. The print shop caught fire in the middle of the night, so no one was there when it happened. But the whole place burned to the ground within minutes, with all that paper in there. There was no stopping the destruction. The Villas lost their business. There’s nothing left to salvage. I’m sorry, Joaquín.”
“How did it start?” my mother asked.
“Munro and his men are blaming the rebels.” Manuel shook his head slightly as he spoke. “But you know how it is. There are rumores everywhere — nobody’s buying their st
ory.”
Rebels — right! I didn’t believe that for a minute. El Sureño may not have treated the rebels with complete adoration, but rebels were glad to have the paper around. It was getting their story out to the public. They would never burn it down.
“I have to go,” I said, pushing my way past Mateo and Fito and running down the road to the barn. When I reached the barn doors, I was so disoriented. I stood in the sunlight for a moment not knowing where to turn. Go! my mind screamed. Get on a horse! Go check on her!
“Joaquín! Please don’t go. It’s not safe,” my mother called after me.
Mateo came inside the barn as I was saddling up. He put his hand on the nose of my horse and asked, “You want me to go with you?”
“Joaquín.” Mamá entered the barn and came to stand behind me. “M’ijo, please don’t go.”
“Don’t be mad at me, Mamá,” I said, taking the reins and mounting my horse. “I have to make sure Dulceña’s all right. I can’t help it. I love her.”
Without waiting to hear what either of them had to say, I trotted out of the barn and raced through the gate toward Monteseco at a full gallop. I rode right through the woods, up and down hills, past the creek, through bramble-ridden paths, until I got to town.
The last thing I expected to see when I got there was my father’s Packard parked across the street from the print shop. My mother and father were standing outside the car next to Manuel, in front of what was left of the Villas’ newspaper. I should have known they would come after me. I promised myself as I dismounted that I wouldn’t let them deter me. I would speak to Dulceña. I refused to leave town without seeing her.
A shiver ran through my body and my heart ached as I stood staring at the blackened remains of the building that used to house the Villas’ business. The walls were burned down to stubs, and in the center, a huge, thick, hulking mass of blackness exhaled thin slivers of smoke.
As I stood there staring at the molten mess, Mamá came over and wrapped her arms around me. We weren’t the only ones standing in front of the burn site. Other citizens of Monteseco had left their shops and businesses and were milling on the boardwalk and along the street, watching from afar, shaking their heads and speaking in low whispers.
Shame the Stars Page 15