by R. B. Conroy
“Look like he wet himself, boss. I wonder if Ambrosio wet himself before this coward shot him.” Arturo laughed as he spit on the ground.
“I don’t think so, amigo. Ambrosio was a brave man.”
“It was a fair fight,” Jim murmured. “He came at me first.”
Suddenly, there was a blast from Paco’s six gun.
“Ughh!” the young lawman exclaimed as the bullet splintered his lower leg. Blood began to show through his jeans; he writhed in pain.
Paco glared at the suffering ranger. “Fix some coffee, Felipe. We need to relax and enjoy the evening. How about if you make us something to eat? That sounds good. We can have dinner and enjoy our new friend here.”
Felipe hurried to the back horse and pulled out a bag of coffee, flour and beans. Soon the coffee was brewing over the fire, and the flour was sizzling in a frying pan.
“In the mañana, after we say goodbye to our young friend here, we will need to stop at our village and spend a little time with our families before we leave for El Cabrera,” Paco said calmly.
“Good idea, boss. I miss my family very much. I hope they miss me also,” Arturo replied.
“I’m not so sure, Arturo. Your wife always looks so happy when we leave,” one of the men shouted. The other banditos howled in delight.
“We are not being very polite, mis amigos. We are leaving the young señor out of our family discussions. I’m sure he have a family also. Pour him a cup of coffee, and we will talk of his family,” Paco ordered.
Felipe lifted the metal pot off of the hot flames and poured the steaming hot coffee in a tin cup.
“Thank you, Felipe.” Paco grabbed the cup, stood and walked over to the tree where Jim was tied. The young man’s head was battered and swollen from the crushing blow from the rifle butt; his jeans were stained dark from the bullet wound that shattered his lower leg. His narrow eyes were glazed over with terror.
“Tell me about your family, señor. I’ll bet you have a fine family. My friends and I would like to know a little about your family.”
The ranger tried to collect himself. “M…My m…mother owns a laundry. My f…father found work at a r…ranch up north. I have t…t…two brothers and a sister.”
“What a nice family you have, señor. Let me tell you about my family. I had a nice family once also—a wonderful father and a mother, three brothers and four sisters. Unfortunately, I lost my parents at a very tender age. It was very, what you gringos say?
“Traumatic,” one of the men shouted.
“Yes, yes, a very traumatic experience.” His bushy eyebrows raised. “It seems men came to our house uninvited late one night while my family was sleeping. One of them climbed quietly through a small window in the pantry. Unfortunately, my padre was sleeping very soundly and did not hear the intruder. He was a very proud man. There would have been several dead men if he had heard them. The man who climbed in the window unlatched the front door. The other men rushed into our home and before my poor padre could react, they clubbed him senseless and cut his throat. Then two men held mi madre on her bed and ripped off her night clothes, exposing her naked body. The other men raped her time and time again while we little ones watched in horror through the bedroom door.”
Paco scowled and spit on the ground. “Then the men rode off leaving us children to fend for ourselves. I was the oldest, so I led the children into town to the constable’s house. He had no choice but to send us off to an orphanage in Mexico City. The orphanage was controlled by a brutal headmaster.” He grimaced. “He beat us daily.”
Paco stepped over closer to the young officer; their faces were only inches apart. “I found out later that the men who attacked our home were rangers, just like yourself, mi amigo.” Paco glowered at the terrified victim. “That is the wonderful story of my family—did you enjoy?”
The battered ranger raised his head and stared blankly at his tormentor.
The cruel highwayman reached over and grabbed the young man by the top of his shirt. He ripped the cotton shirt open, fully exposing his bare chest. He pushed the young man’s chin up with his index finger and lifted the still steaming coffee up to the wounded man’s lips. “Here is your coffee, señor. I almost forgot. So sorry.” The vicious man tipped the cup back slightly and let the still steaming hot coffee drain down the front of the ranger’s bare chest as he screamed in pain.
“Stop! Please stop!” Young Jim begged the horrid brute to stop. Red welts popped up on his chest, but the bad man showed no feeling.
“Oh my,” Paco said as he stared into the cup. “There is a little left, forgive me,” his thin lips turned up in a cruel smile as the dark, hot coffee splashed square in the middle of the face of the tortured man.
“My eyes! Oh my God, my eyes are on fire!” The badly injured prey screamed in agony for several minutes and then started to moan. His eyes and forehead were an ugly mess; his eyes began swelling shut almost immediately from the terrible trauma. He was suffering horribly; it was more than he could bear. Suddenly, his head dropped on his chin and his battered body fell still. His limp body dangled from the ropes facing the nasty banditos.
“That very rude,” Paco barked. “He fell asleep during our party.” The nasty man bellowed in laughter. After a brief pause, Arturo and the other men joined in on the cruel laughter.
“How’s the food coming, Felipe?”
“The beans are ready and I have made a few tortillas. Are you hungry, Paco?’
“Yes, but first we must serve our guest. It is only polite.”
Felipe scooped the warm beans from the iron pot and dumped them in the flour tortilla. He folded it over and handed it to his master. Paco took the tortilla over to the unconscious ranger, grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back, causing his mouth to fall open. Next, he crammed the warm tortilla full of beans into the ranger’s mouth. “Enjoy your dinner, señor. If you want seconds, just let me know.” He dropped the youngster’s head and laughed hysterically. Beans dribbled down the young ranger’s swollen chest and fell to the ground; the flour tortilla still hung from his mouth. Paco rejoined his sinister gang of thugs as the smell of death filled their vile campsite.
- - - - -
Fingers of smoke drifted up from the dying embers in the campfire as the yellow sun rose in the morning sky. An early riser, Paco walked to the nearby stream with the metal coffeepot. He dipped it into the flowing stream and walked back to the campsite. He grabbed a long stick with his free hand and stirred the grayish coals in the fire pit; small flames ignited. He tossed several small limbs on the fire, and the flames grew. He set the metal pot on the hot coals. “Wake up, men,” he barked. “It’s time to get up and ride.”
The men slowly sat up, rubbing their crusty eyes. Arturo, a deep sleeper, was snoring away. Paco kicked his foot. “Get up, Arturo. Your woman is waiting to see you. It time to go.” Reluctantly, the bandito sat up; his thin fingers ran through his black hair.
“Why we up so early? We got all day to ride,” he complained. The smallish man’s arms reached for the sky.
“You say that every day, Arturo. You sleep too much,” Paco chided his old friend.
“Quiet—I hear something!” One of the men exclaimed. “It is our friend.”
The young ranger was semi-conscious; he was moaning, but otherwise not moving. Paco looked over at the pathetic sight. His face was a horrible mess; his eyes were oozing slits of puss. The huge blisters on his chest had turned an ugly bluish-black color. Red ants from a huge nearby anthill covered his lower leg, eating away at him. Lines of ants were moving up and down his body; his chest and face were slowly being covered by the swarming insects. It was a horrid, macabre scene.
Paco sneered at the dying man. His face showed no sympathy. “Take him to the stream, and clean the ants off him and bury him. Be sure to cover the grave with leaves and twigs. We don’t want the authorities to find him.”
“But Paco, he is still alive,” one of the men yelled.
�
�Bury him,” Paco said coldly as he poured hot coffee into a tin cup.
“But Paco!”
“Bury him!”
- - - - -
“It will be good to get home, mis amigos!” Paco shouted as the gang of marauders rode down the narrow trail toward the small village of Rios, just over the border in Mexico. The trail took a sharp turn to the right and led the men through a grove of orange trees. Then it dropped down into a lush, grassy valley near a small lake. Several adobe huts became visible as the men raced to their homes in the hot noonday sun.
The women were washing clothes by the lake, and small children were playing in the streets as the men approached. One of the women looked up from her washing. “Muchachos! Muchachos!” she shrieked as she ran toward the fast approaching gang. The other women stopped what they were doing and followed suit. The children screamed and began jumping up and down as the men rode in.
Paco’s white quarter horse danced in front of the group; he smiled broadly, leaned down and touched the hands of several children as the women arrived and surrounded them. Paco searched the crowd for his wife and son but could not see them.
“Your Maria is at the house doing her mending,” one of the women shouted.
Paco tipped his sombrero to the lady and spurred his horse forward to his large adobe home on the edge of town as the shouts of joy continued. Paco pulled up quickly in front of his home, jumped off of his horse and rushed through a small wooden gate. His Maria was just coming out of the front door. Tears were brimming in her eyes as she ran toward her man. They fell into each other’s arms, hugging and kissing. A bad and evil man at times, Paco loved his Maria more than anything in the world. His heart was full.
“Oh, Paco,” she murmured, “I miss you so. You’ll never know how much I miss you when you go away from me. It’s so wonderful to see you again.”
Tears rolled down the famous bandit’s cheeks as he looked at his beautiful wife. Her dark, lovely face was adorned with gorgeous chocolate eyes, and her pretty mouth seemed always to be in the shape of a smile.
“How do I leave such a beautiful girl as you?” he asked joyfully. “I must be crazy.” His thick fingers moved gently through her long, black hair.
“Let’s go inside,” she said with a flirtatious grin. “We have some catching up to do.”
“Where is Lope?”
“Your loyal son and some of the other boys are fishing at a distant lake. They won’t be back for several hours. We have time before he returns.”
Paco smiled mischievously. “I love my Lope, but his absence comes at a very good time.” He gently lifted his wife up in his arms and stepped up to the wood plank porch. The boards creaked as he walked through the door and into their home. Maria kicked her legs up and down and kissed him repeatedly on the neck. They hurried through the living room filled with pottery and beautiful oil paintings to their bedroom at the back of the house. Paco bumped the door open and then kicked it shut with the back of his foot as they hurried toward the bed in the corner of the room. Paco bit down on Maria’s dress strap and pulled with his teeth; it fell to her waist as the two lovers jumped onto the soft featherbed.
“I think of this often when I am on the trail, my Maria, and now it is happening,” Paco murmured.
“I live for these moments, Paco. I love you so!”
Window shutters banged in the breeze as the two passionate lovers made love and whiled away the afternoon in each other’s arms.
- - - - -
Later that afternoon, Maria sat sipping tea on the long front porch. She smiled as her son Lope and his father wrestled around in the front yard, kicking, grabbing, and screaming in laughter. Growing into manhood, the young Lope was anxious to test his famous father.
“You only sixteen, but you fight like a man,” a panting Paco shouted as both combatants suddenly stopped their aggressive play and rolled flat on the ground, chests heaving.
“You’re lucky, Paco—he took it easy on you,” Maria shouted in delight from the porch.
“Oh no, mama, I didn’t take it easy. Papa strong as a bull. He could have taken me at any time. He was easy on me,” Lope replied as he sat up. Yellow strands of grass covered his dark, wavy hair.
Paco stood, his chest still heaving, and reached down for his son. “You flatter me, my respectful son,” he said. The two friendly warriors clasped hands. Paco pulled his son to his feet, and they warmly embraced.
“I love you, papa,” Lope said softly.
“And I love you also, my son.” Tears welled in the eyes of the hardened bandito as they embraced. “You make me very proud.”
“Thank you, papa,” Lope said politely as he began looking for his sombrero. “With your permission, I must go now. Several of the steers got loose today. The other boys and I must round them up.”
“Of course, my son. I will be here until the morning. Do your manly duty and round up steers.” He smiled proudly as his son jumped over the rail fence and hurried down the dirt street. Several boys appeared from nearby huts to join him.
Paco stood and watched as his handsome son and the others raced to the stables. Maria walked over and nestled in next to him. She looked longingly at her man as the two sat down on the long, wooden chair. “He look up to you. He thinks there is nobody like his papa.”
“He’s a good boy,” Paco replied softly.
“But he know not what you do, my Paco. All of the young boys here in the village believe their papas work for the Mexican government as mercenaries to help protect all of us from the awful gringos.”
“And is that not what I do, my Maria?”
Maria frowned. She gently laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “The gringos have not attacked us for many years, Paco,” she said. “You have gringos who are friends of yours. At first you were so angry about what the rangers did to your parents that you hated everybody north of the border, and you went after them with a vengeance. But now I see a man who not only robs innocent gringos, but his own people as—”
Irritated, Paco interrupted. “That’s enough, Maria. I don’t want to talk about it. I do what I have to do to provide for our family. You should be happy—you have the finest home in the village.”
“But what if Lope find out what you really do, what then?” Maria was distressed as she pushed on, ignoring her powerful husband.
Paco got to his feet and paced back and forth. “Why, when I come home for a short visit, do you have to bring up such things? Can this not wait?”
“Wait til when, Paco? We always just have short visits. If I wait til we have a long visit, I will be an old lady, and our son will be gone. We must talk now.” She looked directly at him.
An angry Paco spun toward his wife. “Are you ashamed of me? My wonderful wife is ashamed of her Paco—a man of great respect among his people. Is that what you are saying to me?”
Maria looked down, away from his hard stare. “I love you, Paco, with all my heart. I still remember that dashing, handsome young man who swept me off of my feet so many years ago. And I see all of the good in you, Paco. You are always kind and gentle to me. It breaks my heart to say these things to you, but I hear the stories and I used not to believe them. But there have been too many. I know now, Paco, that you can be a very bad man at times.” Tears began to pour from her eyes at her own revelations. “My heart is breaking, Paco! Lope looks up to you like no other son, but he is starting to ask questions. And I don’t know what to tell him! I am tortured by it all.”
“What questions?” Paco bellowed. “What questions does he ask?”
“He has heard the stories too. The whole village has heard the stories.”
“I ask you, what he say?” Paco’s face was red with anger.
Tears continued to pour from Maria’s eyes; her face was full of pain. “He ask me, my love, if…if…”
“If what?”
“If you are a murderer,” she cried out as she fell on her knees and began hugging his legs. “I’m so sorry to tell you this. I�
�m so sorry, Paco.” She was sobbing uncontrollably.
The anger faded from the face of the legendary bad man as he looked down at his beloved Maria, sobbing and begging his forgiveness. He reached down and gently pulled her arms from his legs and lifted her up. He pulled her to his chest; his muscular arms went around her shoulders as he embraced her warmly.
They hugged and sobbed for several minutes, and then Paco spoke quietly. “I made a promise to an old amigo of mine, my dearest Maria, and I am, if nothing else, a man of my word. I must honor this commitment, so I will be leaving in the mañana to ride to El Cabrera. But I promise you this, my love, with all of my heart. It will be the last time that Paco Delgado ever ride. The pain in your eyes is more than I can bear. I will come home and farm this valley and fish with my son. I will ride no more.”
Maria’s red, swollen eyes were full of joy as she looked at her man. “Paco, I am so happy! I always know you love me, but now I know how much you love me and Lope. It will be wonderful to have you home!” she said as she hugged him tightly.
“What you say today stunned me, but I know it’s from the heart. I saw my parents murdered and raped by the heartless rangers. I vowed to get even, and I have. But now I have a son who is growing up and needs a father who does more than just rob and kill. I will spend time with my son, and I will tell him that I fought for the honor of my family and have no regrets. But I will tell him that I will fight no more and that I have done some things that I am ashamed of. I will tell him I want better for him.”
“Oh Paco, I love you so!”
Paco lifted his lovely wife up in his arms, carried her over and sat down in the rocking chair. Not another word was said as the two rocked together in the chair; her thin arms hung around his neck, her face lay on his chest. They closed their eyes and quietly rocked for over an hour as Paco whispered softly in her ear.