Rustlers

by Orrin Russell

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Balum. ‘My Spanish holds up.’

  ‘That so? The more I find out about you Balum, the more questions I have,’ laughed Charles. ‘Alright. We’ll leave in the morning.’

  4

  Dan, William and Joe remained with the cattle. Joe had given Balum and Charles a very vague idea of where the village stood. Joe had never actually been, but had come to understand in passing that it existed.

  The two men stopped to make coffee before noon. It was a chance to stretch their legs and let the horses crop grass. They drank the hot liquid without any ado, and after wetting their horse’s mouths from their canteens, got back in the saddles.

  They rode without speaking. Soon they were over the mountain range and out of the valley. Back to dust, and creosote, and mesquite. Lizards scurried under their horse’s hooves.

  They ate the pemmican Joe had made without leaving the saddle. They passed no one. The sun crossed the sky above them and began to edge lower. The shadows of their horses lengthened, and the western horizon turned a deep shade of red and purple. Balum and Charles pulled up alongside one another and tugged the dirty bandanas from their faces.

  ‘Joe wasn’t too specific on time, was he?’ said Charles.

  ‘We can keep pushing it,’ said Balum. ‘But there’s little sense wearing out the horses. In the dark we might even pass it up. I doubt they’ll have lights burning and folks’ll be asleep.’

  ‘Let’s make ourselves a fire. We’ll stay warm, and maybe see if we can heat this damn pemmican up. Give it some flavor.’

  The following morning they rose with the sun and continued into the desert dust. They began to cut wide swaths, veering from east to west as they worked their way southwards. It was around midday when they rode into view of it.

  Several acres of scraggly corn surrounded a small village of huts. In the center was a small stone zócalo leading up to a mission. The Spaniards had built the church centuries ago. They could not have known that so many years later their great architecture would only serve to accentuate the abject poverty reflected in every other edifice of the village.

  A few peasant farmers worked the fields, and children played in the dusty streets. The only animals immediately in view were weak and bony mules, pulling single-blade plows.

  Balum and Charles rode along the outskirts of the town, looking for some sign of a stable or corral. They didn’t find one. Halfway around the town they came upon a grulla tied to a well. It was no prize animal, but it was solidly built and stood at least fifteen hands high, better than anything they had seen so far.

  They rode around the property but saw no one. Nearing the zócalo they came upon two old men playing a game of checkers on top of an overturned barrel.

  ‘Disculpe,’ said Balum. ‘El caballo gris que está amarrado al pozo, de quien es?’

  ‘Es de la doña Rocío,’ replied one of the men, looking up from the checkerboard.

  ‘Y donde se encuentra?’

  ‘A lo mejor en su casa, pues. La que no tiene puerta,’ he said, motioning back towards where the grulla was tied.

  ‘We’re looking for a house without a door,’ said Balum.

  They rode back to the well. After a short search they came to a house with no door. Outside was a wagon hitched to a mule. The wagon was loaded with woven baskets.

  Balum and Charles dismounted. No sooner had their feet touched the ground than two women came out from the house each carrying an armload of baskets.

  Balum took a step back. He hadn’t laid eyes on a woman in weeks. And these two were no average women. They were in their early thirties, beautiful, each with glowing copper skin and glistening black hair tied behind their heads. They were plump, with ample thighs and breasts that could in no way be hidden under their traditional blouses and long skirts.

  Balum and Charles removed their hats. The women dropped their baskets into the wagon and smiled. Americans were a rare sight.

  ‘Disculpe, doña Rocío?’ said Balum.

  ‘Si, soy yo,’ said one of the women.

  ‘Me han dicho que Usted es la dueña del caballo gris que está amarrado al pozo.’

  ‘Si, es cierto.’

  ‘Tiene interés en venderlo?’ asked Balum.

  ‘Bueno, la verdad es que ya no me sirve. Era de mi esposo, pero se murió. Ya voy al capital para vender canastas. Que me dan?’

  ‘It was her husband’s, but he’s dead. Whatever deal we’re about to give her better be quick; she’s headed south to the capital.’

  ‘Tell her I’ll give her ten dollars for it,’ said Charles.

  ‘Pero es muy poco,’ she said after Balum gave her the offer. ‘Además, no sé si dólares Americanos me sirven. Deme quince.’

  The other woman said something in her ear and the two giggled together. ‘Mi hermana dice quince dólares y le arregle la puerta,’ she said to Balum, laughing.

  He smiled and looked at the other woman. She had her eyes fixed on Balum and a wry smile on her mouth. Balum knew that look. He wasn’t the most attractive man. His face had been hit with fists, wind-whipped, frost-nipped and burned by the sun, but he was tall and broad in the shoulders and had a strong jaw. He knew that in some women he brought out the lust in them, and he saw it in that cute, full-bodied Mexican woman.

  He tore his eyes from her finally and turned to Charles. ‘She wants fifteen.’

  ‘That’s a steep price for a horse in Mexico. Especially for that horse. What’s all that other stuff they’re saying? What’s all that giggling?’

  ‘Says she wants me to fix that broken door. Throw that into the deal.’

  ‘Ha,’ laughed Charles. ‘I see how she’s looking at you. She wants you to do more than fix her door.’ He took his billfold from his pocket. ‘Ok, fifteen it is.’

  ‘Me encantaría arreglar su puerta, y cualquier otra cosa, pero tenemos prisa,’ said Balum, handing her the money.

  She took it from his hand. The men put their hats back on and mounted the horses. Balum turned before riding away and took another look at Rocio’s sister.

  ‘Regrese cuando quiera señor,’ she called after him. She stood behind the small wagon and stretched her arms out in front of her, her hands resting on the wagon’s edge. The effect caused her large breasts to squeeze together and form a cleavage as she leaned forward. ‘Para la puerta.’

  5

  Although both Balum and Charles were inclined to sit down for a meal, there wasn’t an eating establishment anywhere in the village. No one was selling beer, pulque , not even a tortillería for them to buy wrappings for the pemmican.

  They rode their horses through the dusty streets and left the adobe and thatch houses of the village behind them. They passed very few people. Several miles outside the village they began to consider where they would camp for the night. As they mulled it over a small dust cloud formed ahead of them.

  Balum loosened the Colt Dragoon revolver in his holster. Charles noticed. ‘Expecting trouble?’

  ‘Doesn’t hurt to be prepared. However many are in that party ahead are more than you and me.’

  Soon riders emerged from the dust. The distance closed between them. At a hundred yards Balum could make out six men on horses. They rode at a trot. Closing in on Balum and Charles they slowed to a walk, and Balum could see some of the men’s eyes on the grulla.

  The men rode in a half circle. They were armed. They stopped directly in front of Balum and Charles in such a way that the two had no choice but to pull up their horses.

  ‘Oye jefe, ese caballo es de Juan Pérez,’ said one of the riders to another.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ asked Charles, his voice low.

  ‘Man’s telling his boss that the grulla belongs to someone in town.’

  The jefe eyed the horse then looked at the two Americans. ‘Ustedes hablan español?’

  ‘Si,’ said Balum.

  ‘Cómo es que andan con el caballo de Juan Pérez?’ he asked.

  ‘Lo acabamos de comprar
de la doña Rocío.’

  The men murmured amongst themselves. After some back and forth the jefe explained to the Americans that his men couldn’t believe that doña Rocío would have sold her late husband’s horse.

  ‘Tienen papeles?’

  ‘No,’ said Balum. He turned to Charles. ‘He’s asking for papers on the horse.’

  ‘Hell,’ said Charles. ‘It’s Mexico for crying out loud. No one writes a goddamn receipt for a horse.’

  The jefe and Balum spoke for a minute, and Balum explained to Charles their situation. ‘They’re gonna take us back into town, Charles. They aim to speak with the woman who sold us that horse, and if things check out we go.’

  ‘I don’t like this Balum. That woman had her wagon packed and ready to go. What if she’s not there anymore?’

  ‘I don’t like it either. But I’m not about to buck six hombres all loaded down with guns. This should get solved easy.’

  They rode back into the village, back through the dusty streets, past the adobe huts and across the zócalo . Beside the church was a halfway respectable building that served some civic purpose. They dismounted in front of it and entered, where Balum and Charles were made to sit while two of the men searched for the woman.

  Not a half hour had gone by when the men returned empty handed. The men were agitated now. They had it in their minds that the Americans had stolen the horse, and with the woman unaccounted for they let their imaginations take hold.

  The jefe seemed the most reasonable of the lot, and Balum explained that the woman had left for the capital but her sister had witnessed the sale of the horse. If he could be allowed to find the sister she would clear things up.

  The jefe considered this for a minute. The other men kept silent, clearly valuing the jefe’s wisdom.

  He acquiesced in the end. Balum could leave to find the sister and bring her back, but Charles would stay. Balum let Charles know what was happening then rose and walked to the door. Before exiting the jefe spoke up.

  ‘Si Usted no regrese con alguna prueba, mi gente va a degollar a su amigo, y no los voy a parar. Y después vienen por Usted.’

  This time Balum did not translate.

  He walked straightaway to doña Rocío’s place. Since there was no door he walked right in after calling out. There were enough belongings inside to show that either someone still lived there or that the woman planned on returning. But nobody was inside.

  He made a loop of the house, looking for some sign of the sister but found nothing. Crossing to the next street he saw the two ancianos seated across from each other over their checkerboard as if no time had passed at all. He greeted them. They were happy to direct him to the sister’s house, whose name they told him was Consuelo. He thanked them for the second time and left, guided by their directions.

  He found her on the edge of town where the cornfields grew, gathering linens from a clothesline.

  She smiled when she saw him. ‘Hola guapo. Regresaste para arreglarme la puerta?’

  He laughed, surprised at the informality with which she addressed him. He pointed out that the door wasn’t even her’s, but her sister’s.

  ‘Es un pretexto,’ she said.

  He stood next to her by the dry stalks of corn and explained what had happened after they left, and how Charles was being held until he returned with proof supporting the sale of the horse. He nearly lost his train of thought several times as he recounted the story. Consuelo was standing close to him, looking up from her dark eyes into his. She held the linen basket against her belly, and Balum suspected the way she pressed her breasts together with her arms was intentional. She smiled when she caught him looking down at her cleavage.

  When he had finished she told him she would return with him and clear up the misunderstanding. Then she asked how much time they had. ‘No hay muchos hombres en este pueblo.’

  Balum was about to respond that of course there were plenty of men in the town. There were six of them guarding Charles at that very moment. But the look on her face clarified the comment and Balum instead suggested they go inside.

  6

  Consuelo entered first. Balum shut the door behind them and when he turned around Consuelo reached up and took his face in her hands. She pulled him to her and kissed him, her soft lips wetting his.

  He put his hands to her waist and felt her press her body into his. They slid their tongues into each other’s mouths. She let him run his hands over her body, feeling the curves of her breasts and hips through her clothing.

  While he kissed her she reached down to unbuckle his belt. She reached her hand inside and pulled his hardened cock into the cool air of the cabin and stroked it with her hand.

  She bent down to suck it, but only for a minute, then she stood up again and, with her hand still gripping his shaft, led him to the kitchen table.

  She let go of his cock and leaned her upper body over the hardwood table. With her hands she shimmied her skirt up her thighs and over her plump round ass. Bent over the table as she was, her ass jiggled in the air, inviting him in.

  She spread her legs apart and turned her head to look at him.

  ‘Métemelo vaquero.’

  His trousers still around his knees, he slid his fingers along her slit and rubbed her juices over his shaft. He gripped the plump flesh of her waist in his hands and eased his dick into her.

  She let out a soft grunt and laid the side of her face onto the table.

  Balum’s hips found a motion, rhythmically hinging back and rocking forward, his pelvis slamming into the thick flesh of her bottom. His cock plumbed her pussy, sliding along the hot channel, throbbing deep inside of her.

  The smell of her sex soon filled the small adobe kitchen, blending with the earthy smell of the dirt floor and the ground remains of chiles in molcajetes .

  She pushed herself up from the table and turned and grabbed his cock again, this time leading him into the adjoining bedroom.

  Balum stumbled along, his trousers caught at his knees, constraining him. He pulled a foot out of a boot and through the trouser leg, leaving the other boot and pant leg on.

  Consuelo slid out of her skirt. She lifted the shirt up and over her head, her large breasts swaying in front of Balum. He took them in his hands and put his mouth to her soft dark nipples, sucking them and squeezing them in his fingers.

  They fell into bed, Balum on top of her. She opened her legs wide, her knees falling away to the sides. Balum slapped his cock onto her wet cunt. He put the tip up to her pussylips and stroked it up and down, rubbing her clit with the tip of his dick.

  ‘Dámelo por favor,’ she said, holding her breasts in her hands.

  He did as she asked, sliding his cock deep inside of her. He let his upper body fall onto her, their skin moist with sweat. She wrapped her arms around his back. The cheeks of their faces pressed together, their mouths alongside each other’s ears.

  He ground himself into her, and she received him eagerly, her hands pulling him against her body. He could hear her breathing, could feel her breath alongside his ear, her chest rising and falling underneath him in ragged gasps.

  Their bodies became soaked in sweat. It beaded on their faces and ran together in thin lines down their cheeks and dripped onto the threadbare sheet of the mattress.

  Balum felt her clutch him suddenly. She dropped a hand to his ass and pulled him deep inside her until she came, squeezing him between her thighs.

  He came then, the strength of his body collapsing onto her as his balls shot semen through his shaft and into Consuelo’s feverish pussy.

  They lay for some time like that; Consuelo’s arms wrapped around Balum. When he finally pulled himself from her he grabbed the wrinkled bedsheet and wiped his dick clean of cum.

  She smiled, watching him.

  ‘Volveré a verte?’ she asked him.

  Balum looked at her. Night had fallen and the room was dark, save for the light of dusk through the window. The deep rich copper of her skin stood out against
the soft white of the sheet beneath her.

  ‘No sé.’

  7

  The relief on Charles's face when Balum and Consuelo returned was evident. Rocio’s sale of the grulla was verified with a few quick sentences from her sister. The men holding Charles let him up, a hint of disappointment apparent on their faces.

  The two rode out of town at a quick pace. Although the sky had darkened, they were eager to put distance between themselves and the village.

  Several miles out they slowed down. Charles took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘I’d started to say my prayers back there Balum, I’ll admit it. I don’t need to speak the language to know what they intended to do to me if you hadn’t come back.’

  Balum had pulled out a plug of tobacco and offered some to Charles.

  ‘And I won’t say I had any doubt,’ Charles continued, stuffing the tobacco into his cheek. ‘I knew I had you sized up right. But I’ll be damned if it didn’t take long enough to track that woman down.’

  Balum tucked the tobacco back into the saddlebag and looked at Charles. The horse’s hoofbeats echoed across the desert night.

  ‘Started thinking you might have gone and decided to fix her door.’ He squinted at Balum out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘Sounds like you’re trying to wring a story out of me.’

  ‘If there is a story. Not meaning to pry. Your affairs are yours. But with my hide on the line about to get skinned well, maybe if there was a story I wouldn’t mind hearing it.’

  Balum chuckled. ‘We’re far enough out. Let’s make camp.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  They rode into the valley near noontime the following day. William and Dan were riding in from the herd and Joe had a fire going with steaks over it.

  ‘Tell me we’ve got something to eat with flavor. Anything but this damn pemmican,’ said Charles.