The man, fat like all successful Mexican businessmen, forced his eyes open and looked up. His chubby countenance broke into a wide grin, and he laboriously swung his feet to the porch, sitting up. “Raul! Como estas? So good to see you again.” His shirt front was soiled with chili sauce and other debris of his meals of the past week.
“I am passing through,” Raul said. “And as usual prefer to conduct my business with my good friend Don Jorge Rodriguez.”
“A sus ordenes,” Don Jorge said with exaggerated formality. “Come inside and we shall tend to your needs, eh?”
They went into the cool interior of the store and the shopkeeper produced a bottle of tequila. “A little tragito before beginning,” he suggested, pouring them each a drink. “Are you going to stay a while, Raul?”
“I must travel on. I stopped mainly to pick up some supplies while I am here. I will take a kilo of tortillas, one sack of café, salsa roja, frijoles, and a new skillet. Ah, yes! And some balas of forty-five caliber for my Colt.”
“And for your carabina? I have boxes of Winchester forty-fours.”
Raul shook his head. “I need nothing for my carbine.”
“Very well. What about some fresh tobacco?” Don Jorge inquired.
“Fine,” Raul said. “Give me a dozen of those cigars and a liter of tequila.”
“Sure, amigo. You might get bitten by a snake, eh?”
“You can never tell,” Raul said, grinning. He surveyed the purchases spread along the counter. “I guess that should suffice. I have enough other items in my saddlebags.”
Don Jorge began tallying up the charges. “Are you at least going to spend the night?”
“Yes. I plan on leaving early tomorrow unless the bandidos around here are acting up.”
Don Jorge sighed. “They have done their mischief for a while, Raul. There have been several raids in these past weeks, but all has been quiet lately. They have no doubt taken their loot and the women they stole back to their camp to enjoy it all, no?”
“What about Demonio? Have you heard anything about him?”
“He has done his cruelty for the time being. He and his devils made their usual rounds, demanding tribute from scattered villages and pillaging those that resisted. Of course the Rurales did their best to catch him, but as usual they were a day late and a peso short of getting the job done. The battered one is back in his lair preening himself until he desires to come out and plunder again.”
Raul was relieved. Now he could go directly to El Demonio’s camp knowing the bandit would be there. “Then I will be fairly safe on the desert,” he said. He purposely made no mention of Slattery’s niece, not wanting to draw any undesirable attention to the possibility of a ransom to be paid.
“Are you going to see Carlita before you leave?” Don Jorge asked. “If you do not, she will scream at me for not telling her you were here.”
“I never miss visiting her, do I? But first I shall see to my faithful old friend Borrasca as well as put away these valuable items I have just purchased.”
“Well do not forget to spend some money in the cantina,” Don Jorge said with a wide grin. “I own that too.”
“I shall, Don Jorge. Hasta la proxima.”
Raul left the store and put away his purchases in his saddlebags, then headed for the blacksmith’s to board Borrasca for the night.
~*~
The boy watched intently as Raul shaved. He was using a basin of hot water as he carefully scraped his face, guided by the reflection in the cracked mirror on the side of the blacksmith’s barn.
Raul had hired the urchin off the street to stay in the stable and watch his belongings while he was in the cantina. He didn’t expect the youngster to put up a fight in case anybody tried to steal anything, but only to yell as loud as he could to attract attention. The kid’s name was Victor and, as far as Raul could figure out, he had no family and earned his keep by doing odd jobs around town.
Victor grinned at him. “You are making yourself handsome for the girls in the cantina, no?”
Raul fought down a desire to smile and managed a semi-scowl at the boy “Who taught you about such things?”
Victor shrugged. “Nobody, señor. All the visitors like to spend their time with the girls there. As for myself, I have better things to do.”
“You are a real opportunist, hey, Victor?”
“Si, señor. I may be only ten-years-old but I have great plans for myself. There are more important things to do with my money than to spend it on silly girls.”
“You will change in that respect,” Raul told him.
Victor sadly nodded his head. “That is what everyone tells me. But perhaps I can prevent such foolishness.”
The pragmatism of poverty-stricken children on both sides of the border always amazed Raul. The scarcities they endured bred a brutal realism in their viewpoints of life; they knew things would never get better unless they sought out the few advantages available among the deprivations they endured.
Raul wiped the lather from his face and reached for his shirt hanging on a nail by the mirror. “Maybe you are wiser than everyone thinks, Victor,” he said, donning his gun belt. “Keep your eyes on my things.”
“That is what you are paying me for, señor,” Victor said, a bit ruffled because of the reminder something so obvious.
Raul went down the street to the cantina. As he entered the adobe building, he carefully eyed the customers for any potential troublemakers. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as he approached the bar.
“Tequila,” he ordered.
The moment he was served, a happy cry of “Raulito!” broke the near silence in the barroom. He turned in time to catch a pretty young woman’s amorous assault as she leaped up to throw her arms around his neck, pressing wet kisses on his face.
Raul endured her affections for several moments until he was able to set her feet on the floor. “Now let us have a look at you, Carlita” he said. “It has been several months.”
“Almost a year, malo!” Carlita Martinez said, suddenly pouting. She wore a white blouse pulled down seductively to bare one smooth, round shoulder and show off the top of her breasts. Her red skirt reach halfway down her calves which tapered rather nicely into trim ankles and sandaled feet. Carlita’s face brightened again. “Come, Raulito! We shall go to a table and sit down. You can buy me some drinks and tell me all the sights you have seen and all the things you have done since you were last in San Tomas.”
Raul ordered a bottle of tequila and they went to a corner table. “I have done nothing special,” he told her. “And you’re the first woman I’ve seen since I was here last.”
“Mentiroso — Liar!” Carlita squealed in delight, kissing him again. “And so handsome a liar too.” She studied his face, gently caressing his cheek with her small hand. “Did you not tell me once that your mother was a mexicana? And your father a gringo?”
“That is right.”
“Maybe I shall let a gringo get me with child. I would like to have a muchacho with blue eyes.”
“It doesn’t always work out that way,” Raul cautioned her. “My brothers have brown eyes.”
“Your brothers? Were your parents married?”
“They were married for twenty years,” Raul said. “My mother is a widow.”
“Imagine!” Carlita explained. “A gringo actually married a Mexican girl.”
“It happens sometimes.”
“Most gringos are dirty and smelly,” Carlita said with a frown. “All they want to do is have their way with the girls down here and go back across the border. They are always running from the law or stealing something. I think most are bad men.”
Raul remembered Slattery’s same attitude toward Mexicans. “Most people are pretty much the same.”
“Perhaps,” Carlita replied unconvinced. Again she brightened. “There will be some guitarists soon, Raulito. And also some violínes and trompetas too. We can dance.”
“That sounds like fun,” Raul s
aid. “And what shall we do after all that dancing?”
She kissed him again. “Sin verguenza — shameless one — you are a flirt!”
~*~
The evening passed as Raul and Carlita slowly drank and continued to renew their romantic friendship. Raul’s joking and good-humored teasing kept Carlita’ mood light, her rich laughter floating over the noise of the cantina that was now crowded with boisterous customers.
Several American cowboys, whose presence in Mexico was likely due to brushes with the law across the border, were having drinks at the bar. They and their Mexican counterparts, the vaqueros, were all out looking for an evening of wild diversion. The local girls who made their living working the cantina had all appeared by now along with the music that Carlita had promised. The mariachis were as good as could be expected from rustic musicians tutored by others without formal training.
Raul kept his intoxication under control by purchasing tacos and burritos at the bar. Between eating and working up a sweat by dancing with Carlita, he managed to stay reasonably sober.
Later, as the noise and music were dying down, Carlita clung tightly to Raul’s arm, glaring at the other girls who were giving him the eye. “Raulito,” she said. “How long will you stay this time?”
“Until tomorrow morning,” he answered. “I have some business south for here.”
“Tan pronto — so soon,” she complained “When are you coming back?”
“I do not know,” Raul replied. He always resented this line of questioning. It made him feel hemmed in somehow. “Pretty soon, I guess.”
“When you come back, will you bring me a present?”
“All right. I will promise you that.”
“Good,” Carlita said. “Now finish your drink and we shall go to my house.”
Raul, his blood burning with the strong liquor he had consumed, thought of the long days ahead of him in the wild country. Carlita suddenly became very desirable, her beauty now feeding his lust. He tossed back the glass to finish the tequila. Then, with his arm around the girl, they left for her home.
Chapter Three
Raul was awakened by the early morning sun, its first rays coming directly through the window to shine on the bed he shared with Carlita. He yawned and stretched languidly, then sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Carlita still slept, breathing gently through her half-opened mouth. He had forgotten how childlike she really was. The naked girl had curled up against the dawn’s coolness, her deep black hair tousled as she breathed through parted lips.
Raul carefully slipped off the bed and began to get dressed. He wished he had time to buy her a present over at the Don Jorge’s store, but it wouldn’t be open for another couple of hours. He couldn’t waste anymore time Raul was facing one hell of a job, and the sooner he started the sooner it would be over; one way or the other.
~*~
The boy Victor was still at his post when Raul entered the blacksmith’s barn. Raul woke him gently. “Victor, despiertate — wake up.”
“Eh? Que pasa — what is happening?” the boy asked in sleepy confusion. He suddenly remembered his surroundings and stood up. “Your things are all safe, señor. I did my job well, no?”
“You did your job well, si,” Raul replied. “What was the price we agreed on?”
“Two pesos,” the boy answered. “You gave me one last night and you are supposed to give the other this morning.”
“Mmm,” Raul mused. “All I have is a five-peso piece.”
Victor was suspicious. “I don’t have any change. We agreed on the price last night, señor.”
“We certainly did, and it seems you have the advantage over me,” Raul said with feigned disappointment. “It appears that I shall have to pay you five pesos.”
Victor spoke magnanimously. “I shall give you back the peso you paid me last night.”
Raul held up his hand. “No. You keep it. We made a deal and I gave you payment in advance. It is my own fault that I did not get proper change. It is to your benefit. You are a shrewd businessman, Victor.”
“Somehow I do not feel shrewd, but muchas gracias,” the boy said, accepting the five pesos. “You are a kind and generous caballero.”
“I’ll see you next trip, Victor. I must go now.”
“Then I shall help you saddle your horse, señor. That is a service I provide free of charge to my clients who do not have the proper change.”
“I appreciate the extra touch.”
“Did you enjoy your time with Carlita last night?”
Raul laughed. “You just help me with my horse. And anyway, how did you know what I did last night?”
“A businessman like myself is aware of every happening within his area of trade,” Victor replied as he helped his customer with the saddle. The boy’s expression turned serious. “And you better be careful of Demonio, señor. He is a bad one that can do you great harm.”
“I will keep your timely advice in mind, Victor,” Raul said, pulling himself up onto Borrasca’s back. “Adios, amigito mio.”
“Vaya con Dios, señor.”
Raul rode out of San Tomas, heading toward the shadowy mountains to the south where El Demonio and his band maintained their hideaway.
~*~
Raul Mackenzie-Mendoza was the offspring of an American father and a Mexican mother. The MacKenzies had always been an adventurous clan. Raul’s grandfather Douglas was no exception. He came to America fifty years before from his native Scotland to seek his fortune. He found few profitable undertakings as he wandered the country doing odd jobs in various locales before settling into the rural community of Possum Hollow in North Carolina. The population was overwhelmingly Scot-American, and Douglas easily settled in.
He found employment as a clerk in Ferguson’s General Store, and his natural business acumen impressed his employer. As time passed, the young man was given more responsibilities as he gained Mr. Ferguson’s trust and confidence. He was even allowed to sleep rent-free in the back bedroom of the Ferguson home, and he took all his meals with the family.
Eventually Douglas became infatuated with the owner’s daughter Daisy. The young man was doubly blessed when Daisy returned his affection, and Mr. Ferguson approved of the relationship. After a brief but proper courtship, the couple married in the local Presbyterian church.
As the years rolled by Douglas and Daisy’s family grew to three sons and four daughters. Douglas spent many evenings telling his children about the history and customs of Scotland. He particularly emphasized the story of Saint Andrew the patron saint of the country.
When Douglas MacKenzie’s father-in-law died, he took over the business. All the children stuck close to the little town, except for one. This was the youngest, a rebellious boy by the name of Duncan. The lad was nothing but trouble for his parents, school teachers and the local sheriff. When he ran off from home at the age of sixteen, everyone in Possum Hollow breathed the proverbial sigh of relief. And that included the exasperated father.
After a year of aimless drifting and a few arrests for disturbing the peace, Duncan ended up in southwest Texas where he worked as a cowboy on a local ranch. He soon developed a strong desire to have an outfit of his own. Unfortunately, the cattle business was pretty well sewn-up by a few well-to-do ranchers in the area, frustrating the young man’s grand ambitions. But in a short while he came up with an alternant approach to achieving his goal. Early one morning he rode out to where he had once seen a few stray head of unbranded bovines wandering loose in the hinterlands. Duncan performed an impromptu roundup, then drove the cattle south into Mexico to start his own ranch.
Regrettably, the same conditions of land ownership in Texas also existed south of the border. The best Duncan could do was to sell the small herd he had brought with him, and return to Texas. But luck was with him; he had caught the attention of a wealthy ranchero by the name of Ernesto Mendoza.
Mendoza, like many of the upper class Mexicans of the day, wanted to breed the in
dio out of his family. Who better than this blue-eyed, sandy-haired norteamericano to inject some European blood into the Mendoza lineage. The future father-in-law proposed a business deal that if Duncan would marry his youngest daughter, he would earn a part of the man’s holdings. The American was not enthusiastic about the arrangement until he met the girl in question. She was petite and pretty with a lively personality. Thus, Duncan MacKenzie married Maria Francesca Mendoza-Garcia and became a part this land he was destined to cherish.
Don Ernesto proved to be generous to the son-in-law and eventually provided him with a ranch with a small herd of cattle. Duncan named his new property Rancho San Andres; the Spanish name for the same Saint Andrew he had learned about from his father. Duncan settled into this new lifestyle that included changing the spelling of MacKenzie to Mackenzie to conform to the Spanish language.
The couple had three sons, and the youngest was Raul Mackenzie-Mendoza who, like his brothers, was baptized in the Mexican tradition of having his mother’s maiden name attached to the father’s with a hyphen. Raul sported more than the light skin and blue eyes of his Scottish ancestry. While he preferred the Mexican style of dress, his serape, the covering Mexicans used for both blanket and wrap during periods of cold, reflected his paternal blood line. Instead of being woven in a traditional Latin-American pattern, it bore the dark and light green tartan design of his ancestral clan in Scotland.
As the years rolled by, the Mackenzie-Mendoza family enterprise developed into an extremely rich cattle operation. However, Raul’s place in the scheme of things was not so advantageous. As the third of three sons, he had a small inheritance and a share of the profits but nothing to do with running the ranch. His only companion was his grandfather Ernesto Mendoza who was by then old and retired. The two ranches — his original and the Mackenzie’s place — were joined to be run as one huge operation.
The old man used to take Raul fishing as a boy and they would sit on the banks of the muddy Rio Lodo that flowed through their property. Many times the grandfather would laugh and say, “We are two of a kind, Raulito. I am old and useless and you are young and useless. Since neither of us is needed around here, always think of me as your special friend.”
Pistolero Justice (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Page 2
