From out of nowhere came the thunderous crack of a rifle, loud and echoing throughout the brasada. There was a long pause—a hushed silence. The mangy dog gave out a loud yelp, twitched a bit, and then lay dead, sprawled in the dirt, as a mass of white foam mixed with splattered blood flowed onto the ground from his mouth.
Elena's first thought was to run and hug her children. The other mothers rushed to their children, their eyes searching the surroundings for the hero who had saved the day.
It was Victoria!
She sat on her palomino, rifle in hand, a stunning vision for all to behold. She was radiant and beautiful, with a bandana tied across her forehead, holding her long hair away from her face. The way she carried her rifle seemed to symbolize the heroic pioneer women of the frontier. Victoria had been well taught, just like her father, who could shoot the eye of a rabbit a hundred yards away. An attitude of pride slowly erased her smile, then a determined look hardened her features, suggesting that she realized she could do anything a man could do—ride, shoot, kill. Her expression reflected the hatred that Doña Francisca had seen so many times in the faces of the Mexican people whenever they were being unjustly treated.
Giving out a sigh of relief, Doña Francisca rushed toward her daughter. La Señora felt as if every drop of blood had been drained from her body. Her knees quivered as she took one step in front of the other, not knowing whether to laugh or cry or do both at the same time. How immensely proud she was of her daughter.
"Is the dog dead?" Victoria questioned the excited gathering of woman and children. Her expert hands skillfully held the reins, controlling her horse, which was still skittish after the loud report of the rifle.
"Sí, sí" were the cries of the people.
"Sí, Hija!" replied Doña Francisca, stunned and beside herself with excitement.
"Victoria! Victoria!" shouted the older children in admiration. Their screams and tears had turned into smiles and laughter. The smaller children clung to their mothers, looking relieved.
"I was on my way to exercise my horse when Mamá Maria and the other servants in the household heard the screams. Mamá Maria thought it would be a good idea to get my rifle and check to see what all of the commotions was about, or if anybody needed any help. She thought it could have been a rattlesnake under the cactus."
"It was a good thing! The saints are with us!" commented a shaken Elena, whose face was as white as the ashen ground. With a sigh of relief, she hugged her children close to her.
Hearing the crack of a rifle, the vaqueros from the nearby pasture rushed over, looking frightened and worried about their families. "It's a good thing you carried the rifle," said one. "I only carry a small pistol, and it wouldn't have reached that far."
Another vaquero showed up and spoke. "We better bury the dog away from this place. It's safer. It must have been bitten by a rabid animal. We don't want such a contagious disease to spread to the other dogs in the quarters."
Doña Francisca, in between her coughing fits, gazed up at Victoria with poignant concern. "If you must ride out, stay on the main La Sal road up to Doña Adela's place and ride back. Make sure you have enough bullets for your rifle," she suggested. "With all of the killing and commotion going beyond the hacienda, you never know when you're going to need it. There are so many wild boars, wild cats, and especially, the rattlers. All those evils! Dios! Better stop by the kitchen and have Yolanda ride with you. At least then I won't worry so much."
Yolanda! Victoria thought. "Mamá, Yolanda is busy in the kitchen helping Mamá Maria," she snapped. "I'll be all right, and besides, Yolanda is too slow. By the time she gets a horse saddled, with the slow help of Manuel, I could have ridden there and back. I don't want her with me," she said stubbornly, putting the Winchester in the scabbard on her saddle. "I want to exercise my horse before it starts raining. I should be back in a couple of hours."
With a hard twist of the reins, she kicked her palomino toward the pond and then southeast into the deepest part of the brasada, heading toward Doña Adela's region. Her horse galloped briskly through the meadows where the expensive thoroughbred horses had been taken to pasture, attended by the working vaqueros. As she rode by, she waved. The vaqueros commented, "There goes La Borrada."
Victoria followed a narrow track, surrounded on both sides by thick mesquite. She entered the impenetrable jungle, swarming with cacti, mesquite, and chaparral. Concentrating on maneuvering her horse, her mind wondered about the poor injured peasant girl. How she had survived running through the wilderness of the brasada, and at night, was a complete mystery. Soledad had a strong will and was showing possibilities of a good recovery. She shuddered at the thought of the dead gringa out in the resaca.
There was something refined and yet forbidden, almost an unbridled innocence in her surroundings. It was a hard land, a land of imperfections, undomesticated and unknown elsewhere in the world. It was an unmolested land, violated only by the wild animals and insects that lived and roamed within its environment.
Victoria nudged her palomino into a jogging gait and followed a thin path so often taken by many who lived at the hacienda. It was a shorter route to the resaca. She rode with sureness and with a certain refinement that radiated her mood, contrary to the gloomy, dreary day. Dark clouds were rolling in from the Gulf and a strong, humid breeze had begun to stir, bringing in a sense of premature excitement. It was a day that one would only find in South Texas. The wind blew steadily, tossing her long hair flowing out behind her, and the world belonged only to her. This was the land that her grandpa George Juelson had conquered, and like Texas, she and the land were wild, untamed, and beautiful.
The palomino would occasionally snort and whinny, taking her deeper into the rough, tangled undergrowth, the potholes of the jungle brasada. The cadence of her horse’s hoofbeats blended with the dry leaves, tangled twigs, and cracked ground on which he trod. Victoria cautiously checked side to side for signs of rattlers lying close to the fallen trees, for it was during the fall season that the serpents were beginning to shed their skins and become blind, striking at anything that moved. Throughout the mesquite trees, the mockingbirds chirped among themselves.
Coming into a clearing, the horse crossed a dry arroyo, then continued trotting in a straight path. The gait became hypnotic, a pleasant harmony of music to her ears, which gave Victoria an urge to elevate her head toward the heavens. It gave her a sense of connection between the immediate and the remote. She began playing a spiritual game, with the first drops of rain falling softly against her forehead. She could already smell the wet, clayish earth.
Life was comfortable; life was good. She had the reassurance of her mount, which kept going straight without her guidance. She spread her hands towards the sky and felt the light drizzle of raindrops coming toward her. What a blessing, she thought. The rain feels cool and comfortable since the weather has been so hot and sticky. High above her and out on the horizon, she noticed a flock of geese, flying west in their familiar V shape. She closed her eyes. She felt hypnotized by the land, and her mind began to drift—drifting into the unknown abyss. She resembled a Comanche queen with her headband, her face turned skyward, and her arms stretched out toward the firmament, performing some kind of personal spiritual ritual. This is my land, and one day I will own all of this. All of this will be mine!
Victoria lost track of time, but she knew she was getting closer to the marshy area of the resaca. Her nostrils began picking up the peculiar smell with which everyone who lived in Spanish Acres was familiar—the black, greasy, disgusting odor that bubbled and reeked on the other end of the water's edge. But it was at the resaca where large bullfrogs, possums, raccoons, and other animals lived. Snakes, in particular, were known to hibernate and crawl underneath the large rocks close to the banks.
The chattering of all living creatures and the chirping of the busy mockingbirds in the mesquite distracted her as she gazed up among the gnarled trees. Along the edge of the resaca were low shrubs, a mixture of c
ommon trees, with tall cottonwoods, laurels, and some dark ebony that encircled the watery marsh. She approached the resaca slowly while steadying her restless horse, which was getting edgy. Suddenly, without warning, the palomino spooked and snorted, rearing up and bucking Victoria out of the saddle.
Everything happened so fast, Victoria found herself face down on the ground, dazed and confused. Seconds went by before she realized that her legs were lodged on top of the worst kind of cactus in the Southwest, the prickly pear, and she knew instantly that she was in trouble. She tried to twist her body, but felt the agonizing pain of the needles, already tormenting her legs. Her hands were free, so she pushed and pulled her body away from the deadly cactus, as the needles and thorns scraped her legs. She could hear her horse only yards away, breathing hard and standing next to a lonely sabino tree close to the resaca. She heard the rustling of the wind as the rain picked up, steadily sprinkling the dampened earth and briers. Lying on the muddy ground, she lifted her head and glanced toward the palomino. "You stupid horse!" she exclaimed in anger. She felt like an imbecile and remembered how many times her parents had told her to watch her riding. Her hands dug into the damp earth as she pushed herself upward, trying to grab a large mesquite branch lying next to her.
As she struggled to get up, two strong arms encircled her bosom, lifting her up, helping her to her feet. Surprised and frightened, Victoria turned around and began pulling down her ruffled riding skirt.
There stood the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever seen. It must be the devil, she thought at once. He must have transformed himself into a beautiful man and was waiting for her alone out here in the desert jungle. Traumatized, gasping for words, and out of breath, she said, "Who are you? Where did you come from?" All the while, her eyes were glancing at the rifle on her horse.
He laughed out loud with pleasure, finding her predicament very comical, and answered gallantly, "Why, my horse brought me right to you!" He nodded at his chestnut mare. "I've been traveling all morning and my horse was thirsty. I hope you don't mind if she drinks out of the pond. I hope you weren't hurt by the fall!"
"No, not at all," said Victoria, grimacing, yet her bleeding legs were throbbing in excruciating pain.
"Mí perdón, Señorita, I hope you aren't hurt!" he repeated. He grinned and then began talking nonchalantly. "Apparently this must be the only place that has water. I have been traveling this morning for miles in this region and decided to take a rest." He turned to retrieve his horse.
While the stranger was busy with his horse, Victoria hopped on one foot toward her own horse, trying hard to hold onto her skirt and her composure, even though the pain was becoming agonizing. Within an instant, she managed to reach the scabbard holding her rifle. She pulled it out and twisted around, pointing the rifle at the stranger. Sucking in her breath, she cried out as loud as she could, "If you take one step closer, I'll blow your brains right out of your head!"
"Wait a minute!" he shouted. His hands went immediately up in the air in an attitude of defeat. "I was only trying to help you," he explained. "I'm just a lonely traveler, delivering a message. Are you hurt?" he said politely, coming toward her, grinning. He brought his arms down, unconcerned that she meant business. "Here! Let me help you!" he said.
"Don't come any closer! I mean it!" Victoria yelled at him.
"You need to get those needles out of your legs." He paused and then continued, "If you don't, you'll be coming down with a hellacious fever and infection. And I doubt if any doctor around here can save you." The stranger took several steps forward and faced her at close range, eyeing her up and down, making her flush slightly.
Victoria stood baffled, rain and perspiration running down her face and neck. Her arms trembled from holding the heavy rifle. She stared at the tall, well-built man, not quite knowing if he was for real. His beautiful olive complexion glowed. His thick eyebrows and long eyelashes were as black as his wavy hair. His small trimmed mustache was shaped and curved around a delicate, perfect mouth that displayed his seductive grin and his beautiful teeth. His dark, teal-green eyes were overwhelming, almost irresistible, sparkling like two precious emeralds.
"Delivering a message—horse feathers! I'll bet you were!" Victoria replied, confused and indignant. "Where did you come from?"
"I'm your knight in shining armor, and the wind and my horse brought me right to you." He said it in an amusing tone, making a joke. He then pulled off his hat, shook the rain from it, and bowed to her teasingly. He straightened up and continued with his conversation. "I'm looking for an important man, and I'm unsure if this is the right direction. I have confidential papers to deliver on a very important mission. It's a matter of life or death! I stopped at a crossroads," he said, pointing to the south. "There was a small gathering of little huts, then a Ranchito. An old man and his wife told me to come straight north and that I shouldn't have any trouble finding him."
The stranger proceeded to put on his hat, becoming more at ease, even though the rifle was still a threat. He eyed it apprehensively and then returned his gaze to Victoria and continued to speak. "The old viejo told me that the man I'm looking for owns all of the land north of here and that all I had to do was to ask anybody in this part of the country. But, I see that people in this region are unfriendly." His eyes wandered over Victoria's body, studying her, undressing her, as if taking each piece of clothing off her, one at a time.
"We don't take much liking to strangers in this part of the country. Too many unanswered killings! Who's the man you're looking for? She demanded. What's his name? The man who owns all of this land is my father."
"Well! Let me guess! And you're his daughter!" he replied in a sardonic manner, widening his eyes, and displaying his charming smile once again.
"Don Federico Juelson! That's his name!" she blurted.
"That's the man, the one I'm supposed to talk to." The emerald eyes shone with delight. "He's the man I need to get in touch with and give this information to as soon as possible."
"Horsepuckie!" she exclaimed. "A likely story! You wouldn't have known if I hadn't told you. My name is Victoria Juelson, and my father's family has owned all of this land since before the turn of the century." Her tone of voice cooled down a little, and she found herself becoming a little more trusting. Her legs were now beginning to throb painfully, and she grimaced with pain once again.
The stranger understood. "You better see about your legs, Señorita!" he said with concern. "You need to have someone take those embedded spines out of your skin, for in a couple of hours you'll be running a high fever. Trust me! I know what I'm talking about!" His eyes traveled with delight very slowly over her body, enticing, luring, penetrating deep into her soul.
"It's very kind of you, Sir! But I think I can manage by myself! I must go! My parents will be waiting for me. It's late. I've been gone too long. They'll be worried. The rain's coming down faster. I've got to get home as soon as possible."
The stranger came closer and reached out for her as she struggled to get on her horse. "Here! Let me help you," he said, trying to convince a stubborn young girl of his honesty and good intentions.
"Don't come any closer!" ordered Victoria. "Just because I'm hurt doesn't mean I can't shoot to kill. I can still pull the trigger with one hand. Now stand where you are!" she stammered awkwardly. Turning her back to the stranger, she began mounting her horse with one hand, while holding onto the rifle. But the rain had made the saddle leather slick, and she slipped, falling to the wet ground and crying out in pain.
"This is totally ridiculous!" the stranger said. "Here, I’ll help you!" he insisted. "I'll ride in with you to the hacienda." He reached down to grab her, but hesitated for an instant, becoming aroused by sudden and uncalled for fantasies.
Victoria's hair and clothes were dripping wet. She had just realized that her blouse and long skirt were clinging to her body, exposing every curve of her petite, hourglass figure. Her hands and arms were covered in mud. The pain in her legs was ge
tting worse, and she could feel the pressure already from the spines doing their evil deed.
"Dispénseme," he said coming toward her, ignoring the rifle. "Please, Señorita. Let me help you on your horse. That's the least I can do. I'm not afraid of your rifle. I'm not here to hurt you or anyone. I have traveled a long way, all the way from the state of Chihuahua, and I'm tired and hungry. My horse and I need some rest, and I need to talk with your father. If he is your father as you say he is, I need to get this message to him as soon as possible. It's from the future president of Mexico. So please allow me!" He had become more serious and his talk was becoming more convincing.
Victoria did not answer. She stared up at him from the wet ground, feeling a surge of surprise, excitement, and a strange sensation she could not explain. She felt his strong arms around her as he picked her up. She was in a total state of trance and did not speak, still clenching the rifle, hypnotized by his awesome power and the suspense, forgetting who she was. In one quick motion, the stranger grabbed the rifle out of her hand and threw it to the ground, then pinned her against her horse.
He pressed his body against her and grabbed her wet hair at the back of her head, making her look straight into his emerald eyes. He was so close that she could feel his heartbeat and his heavy breathing. His mustache was touching her face and rubbed against her lips.
His eyes were wild as the wind and penetrated deep into her hazel eyes. "Look, Señorita," he demanded in a harsh voice. "I don't know what kind of joke or game you are playing, but in the part of the country where I come from, people who point rifles at other people better use them, or be prepared to get killed. All I'm asking is to get this message to your father, as quickly as possible! You need to get back to your house and take care of your legs and stop this nonsense. You're behaving like a spoiled girl who gives orders and everyone bows to your command. But you need to listen and understand me."
Roots of Indifferences Page 10
