Roots of Indifferences

by Terri Ragsdale

On the last day of December, everyone was excited to celebrate the end of a long year. For two weeks both families had enjoyed each other's company.

  One of Don Hinojosa's majordomos called Augustin, met Don Federico out in the horse stable while he was checking on the readiness of the horses for the upcoming trip to the gold mine.

  "I heard you're leaving tomorrow to go up in the high Sierra Madre Mountains to see about the gold mine," he said, somber and concerned, chewing on a straw.

  "Yes." Don Federico nodded, appearing serious. "Pedro is checking on a wagon at this moment. We will leave early in the morning if I can get everything ready. I don't know how long it will take us, but I want to make sure we have plenty of supplies in the wagon."

  "Ay caray! I heard there has been trouble at the mine. Three months ago, there were several men killed while working in the cave. The story from those who fled has been that too many Bandidos want to get the gold. All of the gold was taken by them to buy guns and ammunition, and many of the workers were shot. Times are hard, and people are hungry. I don't think anybody is working it now. People are afraid. The old man, a friend of your father, who was taking care of the mine, still lives in the village below the mountains. Everybody has left, and I don’t blame them, for they are more concerned for their own life and their family."

  "I’m going to check on the mine while I'm here. I've lived so far away, and have left things for others to take care of," replied Don Federico. "Need to see if I can salvage anything. I do doubt it now! I also need to check how much gold went into the smelters and was deposited into El Banco Nacional de Monterrey. It's going to take me many days to clear things up."

  "Things are changing, especially in the political arena, and there's talk about the Revolution coming. It will change things and many people's lives."

  "Augustin, you've heard of Madero and the Revolution already?" Don Federico asked, surprised.

  "Aye, si," he said. "Talk of Madero has already reached this hacienda. We are all in anticipation of what is going to happen. They say that a man called Zapata has already started a revolution south of Mexico City and Pancho Villa is fighting in Chihuahua. They are killing landowners and burning the rich haciendas, like this one." He said it with much enthusiasm, a big smile spread on his face, as he eyed the Hinojosa's land surrounding them. "I sure hope it doesn't travel this far—if it does, your father-in-law will be in trouble. He will lose everything."

  "I don't think you have to worry too much, amigo! When Madero becomes President of Mexico, he will give all the peasants their own land to cultivate food," answered Don Federico very confidently.

  "Ay, qué bueno! Did you want me to go with you? I know the land very well, like the palm of my hand. I have lived and traveled these parts for many years. I know the route to the mine very well."

  "Good idea!" replied Don Federico. "I'll talk to my father-in-law about your going with us, so you can help me find the trail up to the mine. We're going to spend days up there, so put on warm clothes."

  "Ah! Chihuahua!" he said. "I will talk to Pedro and Jorge—they are probably getting things ready. I will let my family know that I'm going with you."

  Out in the main sala, Don José Hinojosa was resting and drinking some of his homemade wine. He had been out in the corrals, in the very early morning hours, struggling with his newborn calves, putting tags in their ears, indicating the year and brands, according to each calf. He saw Don Federico walking in from the side entrance and shouted to him. "Are you getting ready to go to the mine? Have you got everything you need? Take as many of the workers as you need with you. They are more than willing to go," replied the old Don. "Sit and have some wine with me."

  "Thank you, I think I will, and smoke my pipe. I think I have everything pretty well lined up. Pedro and Jorge, and now one of your majordomos, Augustin, wants to go with me. He said he knows the area of the mine very well."

  "Better take him with you! Augustin knows the land, and he's good with the rifle and guns. Just last month there were reports of bandidos up in the area. It's getting too dangerous to travel anymore. Are you going to meet that Texas Ranger, Hanson, up in the mountains? I'd be real careful with that Ranger. Somehow I just don't trust him! If the Bandidos don't get you, he will! Or the bandits will get you both!”

  "I'll have to take my chances," said Don Federico. "I don't trust him either, but he inherited half of the mine you sold my father years ago. I want to see what's left of it. I want to first make sure whether to keep it, or forget about it and give the damn thing to Hanson, and let him worry about it."

  "I don't blame you," replied the old man. "The other two mines that belong to other investors have been left empty. I don't think there is any gold left in them. I sold those years ago—too much trouble and worries. You have to be right on top of things, or the workers will steal and lie if you are not there to oversee them. I was getting too old to walk up those mountains. I made lots of money in the gold mines, bought and built this rancho, and made it very comfortable for my family and me. Your father became wealthy also. I later devoted myself to politics. It was an easy job to sit around the cabinet with Díaz."

  "Díaz's days are about over," remarked Don Federico. He crossed his legs and glanced at Don Hinojosa, as he sat comfortably on the plush, white sofa and drank his wine.

  "There's much talk now of Madero starting his conquest of the capital. It seems he has all of the bandits on his side," the old man replied sarcastically. He was not in favor of anyone taking over the Mexican government, apparently thinking that Díaz was going to live forever.

  Outside of the villa it had started to rain, a little drizzle that made the temperature drop. The fireplace in the main sala was blazing.

  "If Madero becomes president, Don Hinojosa, where will that put you?" asked Don Federico with concern for his father-in-law. "Will that affect you in any way, especially your land?"

  "Ay! Hijo, I'm getting too old to worry about political things anymore. I leave those things for the young people who want to worry and concern themselves with so many problems in this country. I just want to enjoy my bulls and my land in my old age." He paused and took another sip of wine. "The only thing that worries me now is Francisca, needing good medical care. Just last week, Dr. Mendez moved to the border, in Reynosa, close to you. He thought it was safer for him and his family, with all of the talks of Revolution. I guess if it gets any worse, he'll move to Texas. You might have to move from Spanish Acres, closer to the border, where the doctor is. She's going to need medical attention and a doctor to look after her. Francisca worries me terribly. Your father had bought some land years ago where Emma lives, in Mercedes City. You might want to check on that piece of property."

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I was going to Mercedes City to look over the acreage in the near future. I've been thinking about it lately. I could build Francisca a house where she could be closer to Emma. The estate is only a mile from Emma's property."

  "Leave Spanish Acres and start clearing it and begin a new life in Mercedes City," he suggested. "Plant cotton, and hire laborers to work the fields. It's supposed to be very lucrative in Texas, and you can enjoy the profits. You can still have all the cattle you want by keeping the vaqueros and Roy to do the work at Spanish Acres, and you could check on it weekly. Build Francisca a large, beautiful home in Mercedes City, since lumber is so cheap." Don Hinojosa became more adamant and kept giving out suggestions as if Don Federico had no common sense regarding his future or his children's. He seemed more concerned about his daughter and her illness.

  Don Federico got the drift that Emma had been doing her humanitarian gossip behind his back with his in-laws and had convinced them Francisca should move away from Spanish Acres.

  With greater insistence, he continued talking. "With a new home, the both of you can enjoy socializing. You were talking about oil on your property. Better have it checked! Oil is the upcoming thing. Ah! Hombre! If a revolution breaks out, you'll have all kinds of peóns at your front
door, all wanting to go to Texas for work and safety. You will not have to worry about making an income. As a matter of fact, Gloria and I may be at your door if war breaks out. I'm getting too old for any trouble."

  At that moment, Victoria and Felicia returned from riding. Their clothes and hair were damp from the light rainfall. "Grandfather, I love the horse I rode!" expressed Victoria in a happy mood, removing her hat, gloves, and leather jacket.

  "The horse is yours to ride anytime you want," he said, bringing the glass of wine to his mouth. "You'll be coming to see us once a month from the convent and you can ride it then. Go! The both of you get yourselves dried off before you get pneumonia!"

  "Thank you, Grandfather," answered Victoria, as she kissed him on his forehead. The two girls hurried upstairs, giggling.

  That night, the family, wrapped together in a pulsation of comforting warmth, watched the last gleam of the setting sun between the light and darkness, aglow with all the hues of the dusk. The countryside echoed with the shooting of firecrackers, and many of the vaqueros brought out rifles and pistols, which they pointed to the sky, shooting several rounds, a common tradition that killed the year. Many sang songs out in the patio accompanied by Mexican guitars; yet, there was an overtone of sadness at the ending of the year, and the singing slowly faded away. Grapes were set in large glass bowls as a tradition to eat for prosperity in the coming year. It was a night to remember.

  It had been two weeks since they had left Spanish Acres, and over a month since Victoria's fiesta. While sitting with Felicia on the patio and watching the display of the New Year's celebration, she kept thinking about Juan and wondered where he was. She reflected on the past year and how it had changed her life, the meeting of Juan, and how much she had fallen in love with him. Was he fighting with Madero? How soon would it be before she saw him again? She was torn between doubts and enthusiasm, but his memory lingered on as an enigma. She had brought the deck of cards that Doña Adela had given her, concealing them in her trunk while Mamá Maria and Soledad were busy packings. She was going to read them and check if they would read correctly. Tonight!

  The coming of the New Year—1911.

  CHAPTER 14

  The New Year came with a soft drizzle that had continued since midnight, making the morning dawn damp and cold. Don Federico gathered up numerous rifles belonging to Don Hinojosa, along with rounds of shells and his .45 Colt pistol. The wagon was loaded with an abundance of food consisting of beans, potatoes, coffee, bacon, and several pots of cookware and blankets. Pedro and Jorge rode their horses, fully rigged, headstall and bit, carrying plenty of ammunition, while Augustin held the reins of the four black mules that were pulling the wagon. The men all wore large sombreros, leather jackets, and gloves to protect them from the chilly, oncoming rain.

  The two Mexicans followed behind as they slowly traversed the slippery, muddy road up the steep, rocky slope of the mountain. "The sun is not going to show today. It may not show for days now," stated Augustin. "Up the mountain, we may come into the snow. It's not unusual at this time of the year."

  Don Federico looked back and yelled to the two men riding behind. "I hope you men brought plenty of bullets for your rifles. I think we are going to need them sooner or later," he said apprehensively. Already his heart pumped faster and his stomach churned. This was the moment in time that he had been dreading, but the business of the gold mine had to be settled once and for all.

  "In this part of the country," shouted one of them, "we always carry enough ammunition. You never know who is going to jump you from behind." The three men laughed.

  Don Federico nodded, flashed a brief smile, then turned back around, hanging onto the bouncing wagon seat, as well as his hat.

  They rode for many hours, it seemed, until coming to a barren flat spot on the rugged mountainous trail; around it was a jungle of tall undergrowth. "We'll rest for a little while," Don Federico suggested. "And determine how long it will take us to get to the mines. Boys, make some coffee so we can warm up and decide what we are going to do next," he said, rubbing his hands and arms.

  The men made camp surrounded by the lush green vegetation of semitropical plants: elephant ear, some bananas trees, several cypress trees, and jungles of pinos. There were many branches underneath the Aztec pinos that were dry enough for a small fire. Just below the trail on a ragged slope was a stream of water coming from the high Sierras. Pedro and Jorge walked carefully down the sharp rocks and gathered the water in two small buckets, some for the mules and horses, and the other one for drinking and making coffee.

  The air was thinner here, making it harder to breathe, and the weather was getting cooler. The black coffee was a blessing, with the persistent light rain, which was not going to give up anytime soon. While sitting around the fire, Augustin, inspecting the ground underneath his feet, spoke. "Horses have been in this area, probably Bandidos. There're been horses up here all right, and the grass beneath has been mashed to the earth. Up along the very edge of the slope are horse droppings. They do not seem to be very old. However, with the rain coming, it makes it look like they are still fresh."

  "It could be perhaps mountain lions or pumas?" questioned Don Federico, rubbing his hands and then spreading them over the warm fire and stamping his feet to get warm.

  "No, the droppings are from horses. I've helped raise horses all of my life, especially at Don Hinojosa's hacienda, so I know what I'm talking about."

  "No! Maybe wolves—the two-legged kind," Don Federico snapped, as he observed the fresh ground also. He felt his body go weak and his heart beat faster. No doubt Hanson had already been up here with several of his so-called henchmen. Fearing that the Texas Ranger would leap any minute from underneath one of the rocks, he touched his Colt .45 and glanced up toward the high slope. There was nothing but rocks and the silence of the slow drizzle.

  "Don Federico, looks like you are getting the jitters," said Jorge, laughing and shaking the rain off his big sombrero. He was the youngest of the vaqueros. "Come! Have some more coffee. It will warm you up."

  They camped for several hours, resting themselves and the animals, talking and deciding how many days it would take to get Don Federico's business taken care of at the mine. After packing the utensils into the wagon, the men continued up the rugged trail. The mules began to protest, for they kept sliding backward, and the wagon with its heavy load kept sliding sideways. The rain was coming faster, mixed with small flakes of snow, and rockslides were inevitable. Large rocks were coming down on both sides of the steep trail. The mules began braying their discontent.

  "Let's try and get to that slope up there!" shouted Augustin, looking worried and giving the mules a hard lash. "I think that we are close to the area if I remember right!" The mules staggered but began pulling the wagon faster, and Augustin continued lashing them with hard blows, not giving up until the wagon had straightened itself. The pace began getting faster.

  Don Federico's adrenalin was at its highest, giving him the mad impulse to get to the mine before dark. They had been on the steep trail all day, and the light was starting to fade. Trepidation, or terror of the unknown, he really did not know what was causing him to feel the way he did. It had rained on them all day long. They were hungry, and now the Don was feeling like an old piece of sodden driftwood that had stayed out in the rain too long. His thoughts and mind were beginning to play tricks on his vision and actions. A feeling of intense anticipation ran through his edgy nerves, as the mules carried them along the rocky ledge.

  "Ay, Chihuahua!" exclaimed Augustin, ecstatic and proud that he had driven the mules on a dangerous trail and under tremendously bad conditions. "We made it! We are here! There's the mine over there."

  A strange sensation of loneliness aroused mutual feelings in all four men as they stood overlooking the valley before them. "We need to hurry and make it before we lose the light of the sun," remarked Jorge, viewing the location shrewdly.

  Don Federico was silent. He could not voice the feel
ing throbbing through his veins. For most of the time it took to get to the mine, his mind was blank, but now he regained his normal senses. It had become a dangerous and risky piece of business, coming here and not knowing what lay ahead. The coming days would be a mystery, especially if Hanson, second only to the great Genghis Khan himself, showed up full of lies and tricks.

  They reached the mine at the last rays of a sinking sun. Visible in the wet soil at the entrance of the cave were wagon tracks and hoofprints. Huge steam pumps were left to rust in the elements and were scattered along with old picks, rusty tramcars, and tools. The long, wooden sluice boxes had given way to rot and decay.

  Much of the bigger machinery had apparently been stolen. Penetrating deep inside the entrance of the cave with torches, Don Federico was met only by silence and rushing water. There was no one to tell him why the place had been abandoned. And yet he had mailed money to Señor Martinez for his contribution in keeping the mine running. He noticed that some of the timbers holding the walls of the tunnel had fallen, and many of the walls had caved in, leaving the tramcar tracks unusable. Water flooded in from different directions in the lower tunnels and offered proof of why the miners were not around.

  "We need to make camp," remarked Augustin. "The entrance of the cave will be safest, a refuge from the cold and rain and the animals that roam the area." All four men agreed. "We can build a fire with all of the wood that has been left— if we can find some that’s dry."

  They made camp halfway inside the cave with a large fire, good protection from the cold drizzle. A pale, pearly Mexican dust shivered between the stormy clouds outside; gradually it grew darker to a pitch black. After an enjoyable meal of dry meat, canned beans, and fried potatoes with coffee, the flaming fire caressed all four men, who were sitting around smoking, sharing their bottles of spirits, singing and telling stories as they laughed. All three Mexicans had strong swigs of tequila hours before, and they soon slipped into a snoring siesta.