by J P S Brown
"What is your problem?" the tall driver asked the little driver. "I suppose you think you are going to leave the man here?"
"It is not my problem what happens to him," the little driver said solemnly. "Not even his own mother would ride with him."
"Stupid! It is only a little manure of a horse. Horses have clean manure. You act as though you never saw a little manure before."
"Only a little manure? Look in the back of my truck. A ton of mierda and urines of a horse. I won't stand for any of it inside my cabin. We have been fifty hours on the road now with very little sleep because we have not been able to stop long enough because we are hauling these ghosts and they might die on the road. And now this man wants to deposit more slop inside my cabin. No. I'm sorry. If he likes it so much he can ride in the aback with his beasts. He is not riding with me. I am not a beast.
"Of course you're not. I can't stand it any longer myself, " Kane said. "Pardon me, I have been in too much of a hurry. Wait a few minutes and I'll clean up." He got his suitcase and went to the men's room and washed and changed. When he got back to the truck the little driver had spread rags over the seat to make sure Kane didn't dirty his seatcovers anymore.
The old cinnamon mare stayed on her feet to Hermosillo, where Kane unloaded the horses and fed and rested them in the stockyards of the Cattleman's Union for a night and a day. She stayed on her feet all through the next night to Frontera. She walked off the truck under her own power at the Cattleman's Union corrals in Frontera and Kane's investment in her and the other forty-nine head was still intact.
The next day the American veterinarians took blood samples of the horses. Kane caught them one by one and held them while the vets bled them. The samples would be sent to
Washington, D.C., to be tested for infectious diseases of horses.
The temperature was one hundred and five degrees, heavy clouds were building up, and the humidity was high. The vets chose the hottest time of the day to work the horses, the time of Mexican siesta between noon and 3 P.M.
After Kane had roped and eared down the thirty-sixth of his fifty horses for the vets, he began seeing everything in the corral from the end of a long, dark tunnel. He caught the thirty-seventh horse, a five-year-old bronc stud. He was leading the stud through a gate when the stud spooked and ran over the top of Kane. Kane had a trick knee, a knee that had been operated on but had not been remedied by the operation. The stud ran into that knee and knocked Kane down. The knee responded by going numb and then catching fire, a white fire that matched the white suffocation of the day in the corral. The vets and their helpers stood in the shade of the ramadas and watched Kane pick himself up and catch the stud again. He led the stud to the shade. He hung on to the stud's ears as though they were handlebars and got hold of one of the ears with his jaw teeth.
He was watching the vet, an old man with a very unsteady hand, trying to find the vein in the throat with the needle. The tunnel he had been seeing everything through for the past thirty minutes began to lengthen and narrow. All he could see now was the man's hand, the syringe, and the place in the horse's neck where he was trying to jab the needle. Then all Kane could see was the needle and the dirty thumb punching and probing the neck for the vein. The poor little stud was so thin that not much blood was coursing there. Then all that was left to see was the old, trembling thumb of the vet. Kane forgot about the corral and left it and went sailing far away from the tight hold he had on the stud. He passed out and vets hauled him to the hospital with heat exhaustion.
Before he recovered in the hospital, Will Ore, the broker, came to visit him with the results of the blood test of his horses. Will Ore specialized in the import and export of livestock. He had corrals on the Arizona side of the border. He was from Oklahoma and like most dark-complexioned men from that state did not deny his Indian blood. He had a tendency to get fat but running the corrals and chasing cattlemen and Mexican politicians kept him worn down to a frazzle. His good humor kept the frazzle from tearing off at the ends.
He told Jim Kane that all the old mares like the cinnamon mare had tested out clean and healthy but four of the best mares were suffering from durine, a venereal disease of horses.
That is, they had been suffering before Will had shot and burned them by order of the American vets. He had also removed and burned all the manure in the corral the horses had occupied. Kane was going to have to pay Will for the removal of the manure and the complete disinfecting of all the fences and troughs. A padlock had been snapped on the corral and the horses had been put under quarantine for thirty days. They would be bled again in fifteen days and again when their quarantine was over. If the two tests showed that the remaining horses were healthy, they would be free to cross the border into the U.S. after the thirty day quarantine.
"Boy, you have been catastrophed," Will Ore said, laughing at Kane, who up to that moment had been having a good time resting in the hospital.
"I should take on a relapse and stay in bed. You shouldn't come here with news like that," Kane said.
"Don't relapse until you cross your horses and pay me for burning the mares and disinfecting the corrals. Boy, how did you get into this kind of mess?"
"Bad luck," Kane said.
"I only hope you aren't in for twenty years of bad luck like a Chinaman. They say a Chinaman's real bad luck lasts for twenty years," Will Ore said.
"Don't worry. I'll have plenty of buyers looking at the horses in these thirty days. They are too poor to sell now anyway. This will give me a chance to put a little meat on their bones. I'll probably have them sold to someone by the time they cross the border. A lot can happen in thirty days."
"Yeah, and a lot of bad can happen to you in three days. I've seen that," Will Ore said. "Your banker came to my office. He had heard of your bad luck. I didn't tell him anything, though."
"Hell, I don't care. Tell him the truth if he asks you again. He has a right to know. We're partners."
"It looks like you and I are partners too. I've spent a lot of money myself on your horses and I'll have more in them when they cross. How much do you owe the banker?"
"Only my left eyeball but the note isn't due for six weeks," Kane said.
2
Bed and Saddle
The roundup was over and the cattle were shipped and old John was standing outside the bus depot with his bed and saddle on the sidewalk beside him.
"Where you headed, John?" I asked him.
"Don't know," said John, looking down at his old, scuffed, runover boots like a kid.
"You get fired, John?"
"You might say we split the partnership?
"How so, John?"
"He took the land and cattle and I took my bed and saddle," old John said and smiled.
When Kane was released from the hospital he drove out to the Keys ranch. The ranch lay about ten miles outside Phoenix off the Black Canyon Highway.
Bob Keys and his son were raising dust in the corrals when Kane drove up. They were branding burros. Kane got out of his car and walked up to the corral fence.
"Is this the whole extent of the livestock the Keys are running now?" he asked.
Bob Keys was riding a big black horse.
"This is it, the last of the ten thousand. How are you, Jim?" Bob Keys said and offered his hand from atop the black. Kane stretched over the fence and took it.
"What are you going to do with the burros? Kane asked.
"I really don't know, to tell the truth. They are left from the time I had the sheep. The herders used them for pack animals. When I sold the sheep I kept the burros out of sentiment. Now they are multiplying like rabbits and getting wild."
Jimmy Keys walked up to the fence coiling his rope.
"Hello, tocayo, namesake," Kane said, shaking his hand.
"¿Qué hubo, tocayo?" Jimmy Keys said.
"Is this the crew?" Kane asked Bob Keys.
"Jimmy is the cowboy, horse rider, burro roper, and burro brander," Bob Keys said. "I'm only helpi
ng him on a part-time basis. I'm not ordinarily a burro roper by trade."
"Dad feels burro branding is beneath him," Jimmy said. "He ropes them for me and then gives them slack so they can run over me. Then he laughs."
"Let's have some coffee," Bob Keys said.
"I'll go for it," Kane said.
They walked over to the shack and sat down in the shade. The September weather was dry. The desert was hot. Jimmy Keys got the makings of the coffee, stuffed the little stove full of mesquite wood, and put on the coffeepot. Cars and trucks zoomed up and down the Black Canyon Highway a mile away. The traffic seems closer now, doesn't it?" Kane said.
"That stream of traffic goes on day and night. Never lets up," Bob Keys said.
"Soon they'll think up a reason for a four-lane highway that will pass between this shack and the corral," Jimmy said. "Instead of running burros and cattle we'll set up a curio shop and run tourists."
"They are trying to get a big piece of this ranch for a city garbage dump," Bob Keys said.
"Can they do it?" Kane asked.
"Well, the city is trying to get it. We've been fighting it over a year. This is state lease land, you know. Once they get the dump it's good-bye Keys desert ranch, They'll take more of the ranch as the city grows."
"Don't they need beef as the city grows?"
"They come out here and see a bunch of burros and a very few cattle and they say the land is no good for anything but wild burros anyway."
"Hell, someone ought to tell them burros have a right to a living too," Kane said, laughing.
"I'd like to turn that spotted burro in on some city councilman's front room. That jackass is a catastrophe," Jimmy said. "He ran over me like he was a train and I was a rail. I thought he never was going to go on by."
"This is the best winter country for our horses. Besides that, I run three hundred head of steers here every winter," Bob said.
"Do you still have those colts for me to break?" Kane asked.
"I have the eight head I asked you to break. I didn't expect you until next month."
"I'm ready to take them now."
"Good. We'll get the colts up for you in the morning."
"I'll be back tonight or in the morning. "
"Bueno, I'm glad you'll be with us, Jim. You don't need anything but your bed and saddle. You'll find everything else you need here."
Kane drove to the Considine cattle auction in Phoenix, a good place to snoop around for buyers for his horses. His Uncle Herb Kane was in the office. Uncle Herb was dressed in his good suit with its vest and watch chain. He was standing in his old, dark, well-polished boots and was covered by his almost impeccable one-hundred-dol1ar stetson. His black hair was silver-white at the temples. He was slim and natty in his suit. The two men shook hands and sat down in red leather easy chairs in the office.
"You look good, Tio Herb," Kane said. A line of sunlight from the window shone through Uncle Herb's hatbrim. "What's wrong with your hat?"
Uncle Herb took his hat off and inspected it. "You mean the hole?" he asked. "I burned it with a cigarette coal. I carved the burned place out with my knife."
"Sure is a good-looking hat."
"It's been cleaned about forty times."
"You always wear nice hats."
"You could have it if it would fit you but it won't fit you anymore. Your head is too big now."
"Don't want it anyway. It's got a hole in it. What have you been doing, Uncle Herb?"
"I just crossed some Mexican bulls and oxen through El Paso. I guess I'll bring them to this auction. If they do all right I'll go to Chihuahua and get some more this winter cómo siempre, like always. What are you doing here, Black Man?"
"I've come to look for a horse buyer to bail my horses out of Mexico, " Kane said. "Are you in the market for any studs, mares, and colts, Uncle Herb?"
"Mexican studs and mares?" asked Uncle Herb.
"Appaloosa Mexican studs and mares."
Uncle Herb laughed and shook his head at Kane. "No," he said, and laughed again.
"There's a demand for those little horses," Kane said, wanting his Uncle Herb to believe him because if Uncle Herb believed him he would be better able to hope himself
"Where are the horses from?" Uncle Herb asked.
"I bought them in the country around Guadalajara."
"Does it still rain as much down there as it used to this time of the year?"
"These horses were standing knee deep in water when I bought them."
"Did you buy them all in one place?"
"No. I bought them two or three at a time over a period of three months."
"You must have quite a bit of expense in them by now."
"About a hundred dollars a head laid in Frontera."
"Frontera, Arizona, or Frontera, Sonora?"
"Sonora."
Uncle Herb looked away from Kane and said, "The deal might be all right. I don't know anything about the horse business," and Kane knew if his horses didn't lose him all his stake it would be a miracle.
He thought, a miracle like the Jews fleeing Egypt and escaping the Pharoah's troops. My little horses were just like the sick, lame, and starved Jews in their flight from Egypt. I was Moses. My horses were the Chosen People following me with faith in the Promised Land. We were granted the miracle, though. We got through the Red Sea. That was at least a sea of rain we went through. Maybe the miracles won't stop on the very frontier of the Promised Land. Just so we don't lose faith and start worshipping the golden calf. Tell that to my partners.
"Your deal might work," Uncle Herb said, encouraging Kane. He could see his nephew was in trouble. "No one can tell what people would buy these days. There certainly never has been or ever will be a steady market for horses. A person might give you a thousand dollars for a horse that I wouldn't give five dollars for."
"I have hopes the deal will work. All my hopes are in those horses now."
"I hope you make out all right with them," Uncle Herb said, rubbing his face all over with the palm of his hand. When he had finished rubbing he looked at Kane out of a fresh, cheerful face. "Come on, Black Man, I'll buy you lunch," he said.
He took Kane to the Cattleman's Club near the auction. The place was decorated in the plush reds and crystal chandeliers of the Gay Nineties. They laid their hats down on the counter for a girl to put away on a pile with all the other hats of cattlemen eating lunch. A tall rawboned girl came walking across the room to wait on Kane and his Uncle Herb when they had sat down. She walked like she was stepping across rows in a plowed field.
"Hello, Little Town," Uncle Herb said.
"Hello, Mr. Kane," Little Town said.
"What's good to eat for me and my nephew?" Uncle Herb said.
"I know what's good for you, Mr. Kane," the girl said. She looked at Kane. "This man had better have rare steak."
"You want a beer, Black Man?" Uncle Herb asked.
"You bet, " Kane said.
"And two beers," Uncle Herb told Little Town. When she came back with the beer Uncle Herb asked her, "Why do they call you Little Town, Little Town?"
"I'm from the Little Town," the girl said.
"And what do they raise in Little Town?" Uncle Herb asked, winking at Kane.
"Cattle and kids," Little Town said. She tapped Uncle Herb on the shoulder and went on about her business.
"That was our ritual," Uncle Herb said.
"How has my sorrel horse been doing, Uncle Herb?" Kane asked while they were eating their steaks.
"Now, there is a horse I'll buy from you. I bet he weighs thirteen hundred pounds. I wish I had about five just like him."
"Have you been using him?"
"No. I just rode him around the ranch some. I didn't try to work cattle on him. Has he seen a cow?"
"One or two. I cut cattle a whole year on him before I ever roped one off him."
"He ought to be a good horse then."
"After a fashion. He's the best horse I ever rode if that is worth anything?
"I'll take him."
"You can use him all you want," said Kane, embarrassed he might have to turn his Uncle Herb down if he asked for the horse.
"No. I'll let you use him a lot more before I try to do anything on him. He might buck me off. He feels too good."
"I'll borrow your trailer and take him away this afternoon," Kane said.
"Where are you taking him?" Uncle Herb asked.
"Out to Bob Keys's. I'm going to break some colts for him."
"You taking a bunch of pissheads to break?"
'`Yeah."_
"My Cod."
They ate in silence for a moment. Kane's eye fell on Uncle Herb's tieclasp. The clasp held a silver Longhorn steerhead hanging by two tiny silver ropes. One of the steer's ruby eyes was out.
"That sure is a nice tieclasp," Kane said.
"It's old. It lost one of its rubies. I've had it forty years."
"I sure like it. It looks good on you."
"¡Ah, cómo chingas!" Uncle Herb snorted. He took the clasp off and handed it to Kane. "Take it, " he said.
"Hell, I don't want to take your forty-year-old tieclasp," Kane said, taking it.
"I'm tired of it. I don't want it anymore," Uncle Herb said.
"I don't need a tieclasp for riding pissheads, do I?"
"You might go to a fancy whorehouse sometime, or a funeral."
"I'll tell you what, Tio Herb. I'll wear it when I'm riding my pissheads. Every day I'll put on a tie and my new tieclasp before I go saddle my first colt. That way you'll know you've got a nephew who wears a tie to work. "
"You'd better save it so they can put it on your tie at the funeral after your pissheads finish with you."
They finished lunch and went back to the auction. Kane left Uncle Herb in the office talking business with some other traders and went to the sales ring. He sat down and watched the bidding on several bunches of cattle. He talked to men he knew, trying to find a buyer for his horses. Some of the men gave him names of horsemen he might call.
