The Time It Never Rained

by Elmer Kelton

  “I mean one with money.”

  “That’s the rarest kind.” Rounder dropped his attempt at humor. “You ain’t taken a notion to sell out, have you, Charlie?”

  “No, but I got some old ewes that need to go. Thought I’d be cagey last fall—keep them till it rained and the price went up. It never did. I fed them old nellies twice what I counted on, and they didn’t shell out much of a lamb crop. Looks like I’ll have to sell them out of the shearin’ pen or I’ll be feedin’ them halfway into the summer.”

  Jim Sweet said soberly, “You don’t need to feel like you got a patent on that problem. Been to any auction sales lately?”

  “Ain’t had time. By the livestock papers, though, looks like prices are droppin’ bad. Sheep and cattle both.” It usually went that way in a drouth; nobody had much room to buy anything, so the price went to hell.

  Dead serious now, Rounder said, “You know Arlie White, over south of the divide? Sold everything he had last week and turned his lease back. He was made a fair offer last fall, but he figured it’d rain. Put a big feed bill into them ol’ sheep, come up with a poor lamb crop and sold out for less than he’d of got in September. Sick? Arlie says to me, he says he’s goin’ to take what money he’s got left and run like a thief. Never goin’ to look another sheep in the mouth. Wants to buy him a tourist court over in Angelo and take things easy. But he’s cowboyed since he was big enough to straddle a horse. He won’t fit no-wheres else.”

  Rounder Pike’s tobacco juice was too much for him again. He spat hard, but this time there was no metallic ring. Warehouseman Jim Sweet flinched.

  Rounder said, “Ain’t goin’ to be enough ranchers left in this country to work up a decent poker game.”

  Jim Sweet’s face twisted. That kind of talk made a townsman as nervous as a rancher, because without the ranchers there would be very little of a town. “A year from now we’ll forget it was ever dry. We been through these spells before, lots of them, and this one has already lasted longer than most of them ever do. Bound to rain this summer.”

  Charlie nodded. “I guess.” He tried to smile but couldn’t. “Just the same, I wish I’d sold them ewes.”

  Across the street from the warehouse was the Lucindo Rodriguez pool hall, patronized mostly by the male Mexicans of the town. Walking out of the warehouse and pausing in the door to blink against the harsh glare of the sun and the caliche-packed roadway, Charlie heard the laughter of young men. He blinked again. In the shade of the Rodriguez porch four Mexican youths were horse-playing. Three smoked cigarettes. A fourth tried to light a cigar and was taking a ribbing because he couldn’t get it fired up. He was too young to know how.

  Charlie recognized him as Chuy Garcia, son of the shearing capitán, Teofilo Garcia. He took his watch from his pocket and squinted at it. No, school wasn’t out yet; these buttons were playing hookey.

  Darkly he thought, Old Teofilo’s out someplace sweatin’ his soul away in a hot sheep pen so you can get an education, and look where you’re at, and who you’re with!

  Danny Ortiz! Charlie ground out a bitter “Damn!” He never had liked Old Man Ortiz, and he had long ago decided Danny wasn’t worth the knife it would take to gut him with.

  Well, Danny was almost grown. Maybe soon he would leave Rio Seco, looking for greener pastures, and then he would be someone else’s concern. Chances were there was a prison cell somewhere, just waiting for him. One thing to be thankful for: Lupe’s and Rosa’s kids were beyond his reach out at the ranch. He couldn’t do anything to hurt them.

  Keeping his left hand on the steering wheel, Danny Ortiz touched Anita Flores’s knee. She pulled away, her lips set tight and her eyes fixed on the ranch road which slowly passed under the beam of the headlights. Two more miles, that was all.

  Danny said, “Come on, Anita, you don’t have to sit so far away. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Coldly she replied, “That’s what you said before. Keep both hands on the wheel.”

  Danny grinned. “It just takes one hand for a straight road.”

  “I wish you’d drive a little faster.”

  Danny shrugged. “It’ll do a hundred and ten. Want me to show you?”

  She quickly shook her head. She suspected he would do it if she gave him the least encouragement. “I just want to get home.”

  “I’m in no hurry.”

  “Just because I let you take me home from the movie doesn’t give you any special privileges.”

  “There you go, always thinking bad things about me.”

  “What did you ever do to make anybody think different ?”

  “Look, if I hadn’t found you standin’ out in front of that picture show all by yourself, you’d have had to walk home.”

  She sat stiffly against the door, anger and suspicion building in her. “There’s something very strange about all this. Mike Gonzales took me to the show. He went out to get some popcorn and never came back. Don’t you think that was strange, Danny?”

  Danny shrugged. “Mike never was very dependable.”

  “What did you do to him, Danny? Did you beat him up, or get somebody to?”

  Danny acted hurt. “Beat Mike up? He’s a friend of mine. I wouldn’t do anything like that to old Mike.”

  “What did you do, then?”

  “Gave him ten dollars, told him to get lost before the roof fell in on him.”

  Anita gasped. “Ten dollars?”

  “He wouldn’t do it for five. Cost me ten.”

  She shrank back even harder against the door, as if she could get completely away from him. She folded her arms and held them tightly against her breasts. Genuine fear began to touch her. “What made you think I’d be worth ten dollars to you?”

  “I’m a born gambler.” His grin turned ugly. “You look like a good risk.” He began slowing the car.

  She tried to fight down a sudden panic. She knew she could not afford to let him see how frightened she was. “You keep going, Danny! Keep going, do you hear?”

  But Danny was braking to a stop. She reached for the door handle. Danny caught her arm and gripped it so tightly she cried out in pain. “You stay here!” he said severely. Then he softened his voice. “You’re the best-looking girl in Rio Seco, and you’re bound to know it. But you’ve got your head too high and proud. Even the shiniest apple falls out of the tree sometime.”

  She struggled, trying to free her arm. He grinned at her futile effort. He switched off the ignition and lights. “I don’t know what you want to fight for. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

  “Danny,” she pleaded, “take me home.”

  “After a while. Good things ought not to be done in a hurry.” He sat quietly a bit, holding onto her arm and staring at her in the moonlight that streamed silver through the windshield. “For a long time now I’ve wanted to have you alone like this, with no brother and no damn gabacho like Buddy Thompson in the way. God, you don’t know how you’ve teased me.”

  “I’ve never teased you.”

  “You tease a man by just being there.”

  “Danny .. ”

  His free hand touched her leg, and she trembled. “Don’t tell me nobody’s ever done that before; maybe one of those gringos you like so much.” He leaned to kiss her, but she turned her head away. He took hold of her chin. Firmly he turned her face toward him. “I don’t see what you want to fight about. I’ve never hurt a girl. I’ve made lots of them very happy.” He kissed her fiercely. For a moment she braced herself against him, then she began to yield.

  She could sense the heat rising in his face. He loosened the hold on her arm and reached up to grip her shoulder. He pressed her to the door, his lips firmly against hers until he had to break away for breath.

  As he did, her clenched fist struck him on the throat. He jerked convulsively, instinctively grabbing at his throat with both hands. Suddenly free, Anita pushed the door handle. The door swung open. She half fell, half rolled out of the car, landing on hands and knees. She tried to ju
mp to her feet, stumbled and fell again. She could hear Danny scrambling to get out. Heart in her throat, she pushed herself up and began to run.

  Danny was coughing and cursing. “Damn you, come back here! Come back here, I tell you!”

  Anita ran across the moonlit pasture as hard as she could go in her high heels. Ahead of her lay a dark mass that was a mesquite thicket. Once she was in that ...

  Looking back, she saw Danny Ortiz running after her. She had a good start, but he was closing up the distance.

  “You’re not getting away!” he shouted in fury. The sight of him brought a surge of panic and gave her fresh speed. Mouth open, throat dry, she found herself crying. She did not look back again, but she could hear him running, could hear him cursing, threatening her.

  Then she was in the brush. She began to zigzag. She stopped to look back. She could hear him but could not see him. Her breath was almost gone. She moved deeper into the brush and dropped on her knees in the shadows, huddling close to the drouth-bared ground. Her heart pounded; her lungs ached for the breath she was afraid to draw. She trembled, and her eyes burned with tears. Never before in her life had she had reason to know terror.

  “Anita?” he called from somewhere in the brush. “Where are you?”

  She tried to draw herself into a tiny knot. Holding her breath, she thought sure he must hear the beating of her heart.

  Danny’s voice softened, coaxing. “Come on now, girl, you can’t stay out in this brush all night. Come on and I’ll take you home. I promise you, no rough stuff. Do you hear me? No rough stuff.”

  She could see him now, cautiously moving in her direction. He was little more than a shadow among shadows.

  “Come on, girl,” he said softly, curbing himself. “Come on out and no hard feelings, okay? I’ll be good.” When that did not produce results, he loosed his rage. “Come on out here, you little bitch, or I’ll drag you out, and I’ll give you something you’ll never forget!”

  He was still moving toward her.

  She lay huddled like a frightened little rabbit. She braced herself to jump and run again, but panic held her paralyzed. It was all she could do to choke off a cry.

  She heard a sudden little scurrying noise and almost screamed. She realized it was a jackrabbit, startled by Danny’s approach. Danny heard it too but did not recognize it for what it was. He moved off quickly after it, calling Anita’s name.

  For a long time she remained motionless, listening. She could hear him moving farther away, still calling her, alternately cajoling and then threatening, like a man afoot, trying to catch a horse that has gotten away from him. The panic slowly left her, and strength returned. When she was sure he could no longer see her, she moved. She dared not go directly toward the house. That was what he would have expected her to do, and he might intercept her. She headed away, staying in the mesquite. When she had walked perhaps a quarter of a mile, she paused. She could not hear him.

  I’m free of him. Now I can go home. Thank God, I can go home.

  It was a long walk, the better part of two miles. The high-heeled shoes made her feet ache. She stopped to roll down her stockings and take the shoes off. She walked barefoot awhile. Only then did she realize she had left her purse in Danny’s car. But that was little enough price to pay just to get away from him.

  The ground was mostly dust beneath her feet, no grass to cushion it. Dry mesquite thorns jabbed deep, causing more pain than the high heels. She stopped and put the shoes on her bleeding feet.

  After what had seemed most of the night she could see the ranch headquarters in the moonlight. She was approaching by way of the corrals and barn. The fear was gone, but weariness was heavy on her shoulders. She paused at the last corral gate and leaned on it, relief washing over her as she drew deep breaths of the cool night air. She could see the Flores house lying dark a hundred yards beyond the barn.

  Home, safe. All she wanted to do now was throw herself across her bed and sleep, hopefully to forget, to blot out the nightmare. Perhaps tomorrow that was all it would seem—-a nightmare.

  Rough hands grabbed her, yanked her off of her feet. She tried to scream, but a hand clapped painfully across her mouth, cutting off the cry almost before it started. She felt herself being dragged under an open lean-to that had been built against the shed.

  Danny Ortiz snarled: “Thought you’d got away, did you? Well, you didn’t. I knew you had to come here sooner or later. Scream now and I swear I’ll break your pretty little neck.”

  He eased the pressure of his hand against her mouth. She tried to scream, but shock had robbed her of voice. She felt her dress tear as he dragged her toward a stack of baled hay.

  “I’ll teach you how to treat an Ortiz, by God! Who do you think you are, anyway? I’ll tell you who you are—you’re the daughter of a damn sheepherder, that’s all. We can buy and sell a hundred like you. Do you hear that? You’re nothing! Nothing!”

  She sobbed, and the sob turned into a loud cry. She thrashed and fought, but he had a firm grip on her wrists. He let go with his right hand and slapped her across the mouth. “Shut up and quit fighting, or I swear by God I’ll hurt you!”

  He thrust her backward against the hay. Tears blinded her, but not before she saw the dark shape moving up behind Danny. She sank to her knees.

  She heard a surprised “Huh?” from Danny, then a sudden frightened, “Who are you?” She heard the solid thump of the fist that drove Danny back against the hay. Danny grunted, and Anita heard the fist strike again.

  “José!” Anita cried. “José!”

  José Rivera grabbed Danny’s shirt and hauled him to his feet. He struck Danny with his right fist, then caught him with the flat of his hand as he swung his arm back. Danny reached in his pocket and brought out his switchblade knife, but one blow sent it spinning into the hay. José slammed Danny to the ground. Danny lay a-tremble, hands in front of his face. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

  Anita swayed to her feet. José caught her, and Anita threw her arms around him. “José.”

  His arms held her gently. “Está bien, ” he breathed in her ear. “Está bien. ” She clung to him, tears burning her eyes.

  Danny crouched on the ground. “A wetback!” he hissed. “A damn stinking wetback!” He pushed up onto his knees. “You acting high and mighty, and all the time you been carrying on with a lousy mojado.”

  José put Anita aside and turned toward Danny again, fists clenched. He knocked Danny rolling. Danny scurried out of his reach, crying, “You haven’t heard the last of this. By God I know what to do about a damn wetback. I’ll fix you, you tramp, do you hear? I’ll fix you good!”

  José closed in on him. Danny turned and ran away into the moonlight. José followed a few steps and halted.

  At the Flagg house the porch light went on, then the yard lights. Charlie Flagg stepped sleepily out onto the porch in bare feet and khaki pants. Anita tugged at José’s arm, moving him back into the shadow of the shed. Charlie stood on the porch a few minutes, looking around suspiciously. Eventually the lights winked off.

  José turned, and Anita fell into his arms.

  “Hold onto me, José,” she cried. “Don’t say anything, don’t do anything. Just hold me.”

  Charlie Flagg paced the living room of the Flores house, angrily smacking his right fist into his left palm as he listened to Lupe talking with held-in rage. Anita sat on a small couch, her mother on one side of her, Mary Flagg on the other, last night’s tears flowing again. The rest of the Flores young had been restricted to other rooms and the doors closed except for Manuel. He listened in silent fury. Charlie saw the Indian in Manuel’s blood, showing now in his dark eyes. He could imagine that look of wrath in the eyes of the Comanches who had claimed these hills.

  Charlie kept bringing his gaze back to Anita, wondering. Evidently Danny had been unsuccessful; nothing had happened between him and the girl. Charlie wished he could be that sure nothing had happened between José and Anita. There was some time
here that he had heard no accounting for.

  He turned and stared through the window at a far-off scattering of sheep, reddish in morning’s first light. As Lupe finished, Charlie said tightly, “We ain’t just settin’ here and takin’ this, Lupe, I promise you that.” He looked then at José Rivera, who sat alone in brooding silence, halfway across the room. José did not understand the words, but he could have no doubt about their general meaning.

  Charlie said, “I doubt that Danny let his shirttail touch him till he called the border patrol. Probably woke up a patrolman in the middle of the night. I wish to hell she’d told us sooner.”

  Lupe said, “She was ashamed.”

  “It wasn’t her doin’.” He turned to José and said in Spanish, “This means you will have to go.”

  José looked sadly at Anita Flores, who hid her face in her hands. “Patrón, I do not want to leave.”

  “You have no choice. Either you go of your own accord or you go under arrest in the back of a chota’s car.”

  José nodded woodenly.

  Charlie went to Lupe’s telephone, lifted the receiver and turned the crank. “Central, give me Rounder Pike, will you?” He turned and frowned thoughtfully at José Rivera as he waited. “Hello, Rounder? Charlie. Charlie Flagg ... Yes, I know what time it is, but I got an emergency here. I heard you say the other day you needed some help. I got an hombre here who needs a place to go. I’m afraid the chotas have got wind of him ... You can? I’ll bring him right over ... Sure, I know it’s risky if they catch him in the car with me, but they ain’t goin’ to catch me. You just set tight; I’ll have him over there in an hour or so.”

  He hung up the receiver and gave the crank half a turn. “José,” he said in Spanish, “get your things together. I have found you a job.”

  José gave Anita one sad glance, then went out the door.

  Charlie heard Anita sob. He looked in wonder as she stood up and hurried out after José. So far as he had noticed, she had hardly looked at José the whole time he had been here. Somehow, things seemed to get by him more than they used to.