by J P S Brown
"Let's go get him," Dan said.
"No, we won't get anything done. I want that money. I'll wait until his suckups leave."
Mulligan was sitting closer to Kane. He was talking earnestly to another Mexican. Kane got up and went over and sat next to Mulligan. Dan moved over next to the Mexican.
"Hello, Shorty," Kane said.
"Well, Kane. How the hell are you?" said Mulligan.
"I'm broke, Shorty. Pay me."
"Just a minute. I've got business with this man." He turned back to the Mexican who was talking to Dan now.
"He's got another beau now, Shorty," Kane said. "Talk to me a while."
"What were you saying?" said Mulligan.
"Pay me."
"I'll have to see how many of your cattle are out there but I think we overpaid you last time. A lot of your little cattle died, you know. I told you all about that the last time I saw you.
"Did you lose a lot of cattle, Shorty?" Kane asked.
"By last count we lost forty head," said Mulligan.
"My gosh. How many did you have on the desert?"
"We had twenty-seven hundred head."
"Shorty, you mean you had twenty-seven hundred head and you lost forty and you are trying to tell me twenty-four of them were mine? Shorty, I hate you lying to me," Kane said quietly.
"Kane, I'm not going to argue with you about it. As far as I'm concerned you've been paid all you are going to get."
"Don't argue. just stop lying and pay me."
"Kane, those cattle you sent were practically dead when they got to the desert."
"Look, Shorty. If those cattle had been going to die, that six hundred-mile train ride would have killed them all. I let you cut the weakest cattle out in Rio Alamos. I garbaged the tail end of them and they've gained at least two hundred pounds. Yes, and you told me thirty or forty days after they got there the cattle you took were doing real well. Now you say you lost forty head. I can account for twenty. Seventeen of the Brajcich cattle died on the train. Three stayed in Rio Alamos. And you tell me twenty-four of mine are dead. That adds up to forty-four cattle, Shorty, not forty. Stop lying, Shorty."
"Jim, be reasonable about this. Fats never has liked the deal I made with you and he's the man with the money. He won't even pay me what he owes me."
"So that's it," said Kane.
"I'm sorry, Jim. I can't do anything more for you."
"You poor little shit. Get out of my sight."
"I'm sorry, Jim."
"Go on, Shorty."
Mulligan got off the stool and left the bar.
A full shot of bourbon sat in front of Kane. Kane asked Manuel, the bartender, where it came from. Manuel said Potter had sent it over. Kane leaned over the bar and poured it in the sink. He ordered a double shot and when Manuel brought it, he took it and a glass of water and went over to a corner booth. Dan went over and sat with him. "Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah," Potter was saying.
Kane drank his whiskey slowly in the evening, waiting. Dan Gibson chose to wait with him.
"Jim, I'll back you in anything you decide to do. This is your night. You better do what you can. You might not get another chance," Dan said.
Later a young doctor, a friend of Kane's and Dan Gibson's, joined them. He had his wife with him.
Potter had moved over to the bar on their side of the room. People were leaving the bar. Potter had no companions now.
"Give Kane a drink. Give his friend, another cowboy, a drink. Give my friend, Doc Wagner and his cotton-headed wife a drink, " Potter said.
"Save your drinks, Potter. We don't want them," said Kane.
"Yah, yah, yah. The big businessman?"
"And keep your mouth off me. The only thing I want from you is a check for nine hundred and sixty dollars."
Potter walked over to the booth and stood over them. The doctor was sitting on a chair with his back to Potter. He had his hat on. A good $12 straw.
Potter snatched the doctor's hat. "Sure is a nice hat, doc. You a cowboy too? You head full of know-how. It need air, man.
All of a sudden there was a big switchblade snapping open Y in Potter's hand. He slid the point smoothly into the crown of the hat and sliced it off. He put the brim back on the doctor"
"Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah," Potter said and swaggered back to the bar.
Kane was out of the booth in time to hold the doctor back.
"Come on, Cotton," he said to the doctor's wife. "Please go home." He put his arm around the doctor's shoulders and walked him to the door. The doctor was very angry. The doctor and his wife went out the door. Dan Gibson was at the door too.
"I'm drunk, Jim. I'm going home now."
"OK, Hoot, " Kane said.
"You should have pounded hell out of him before now."
"Not here, Hoot. I've got to get him somewhere private. Across the line in the corrals would be a good place. I'll be damned if I'll go to jail over my own money."
"I guess you know what you're doing, Jim. Good night."
"Good night, Dan. Thank you."
Kane went in the restroom. When he came out Potter wasn't in the bar. Manuel motioned to Kane that Potter had gone out. Kane started out. Two of the restaurant waitresses were looking out the window.
"You better get outside, Jim. Potter has a knife on your friend," one of the girls said.
Jim stepped outside. Dan was in his car. Potter, holding the switchblade, was standing on the sidewalk in front of the car. "Yah, yah, yah, run, you little son of a bitch. I'll run your partner off next."
Dan fell out of the car and went for Potter. Kane got his hand on Dan's elbow just as he swung on Potter. It made the punch miss. Kane got hold of Dan and pulled him back to the car. Potter had been too slow or too scared to stick the knife.
"Let the young boy come on," Potter said, hefting the big knife in his hand. "Come on, boy. Come on."
"Go on home, Dan," Kane said. He turned on Potter.
"Put up the knife, Fats."
"Let your boyfriend make me put it up."
"Put it up before you have to eat it."
"Yah, yah, yah," Potter said. He turned and walked back in the bar.
"You shouldn't have butted in, Jim. He's got a lot coming to him," Dan said.
"He's mine, Hoot. Now you leave him to me and go on home."
Gibson got in his car and drove away.
Kane went in after Potter. He sat down next to him at the bar. "I thought you were gone, Kane. I didn't know big businessmen like you hung out in these old bars."
"Fats, now you are going to pay me so get out your little draft book."
"Let Mulligan pay you. It was his deal."
"It's your money, Fats."
"It wasn't my deal."
"No, but you are going to pay for it. I'm not going to wait very much longer, bigshot, then I'm going to start in on you."
`'Listen, punk. I'm bullet city. I've been shot, knifed, and busted up so much I've started to like it."
"Bigshot, you are going to have to like it because I'm going to give you plenty of it. What do you do that is big? What makes you a bigshot, Fats?"
"I'm not a bigshot. I just try to earn a few dollars."
"You never earn anything, bigshot. You get suckers like me to steal from."
"I haven't stolen anything from you."
"No, you haven't because you are going to pay me pretty quick for twenty-four head of cattle."
"Why don't you just admit you made a bad deal and write it off like I do when I make bad deals."
"I ain't a big enough shot. I can't afford to be a bigshot like you."
"Maybe you are in the wrong business. Maybe you ain't smart enough to be a steer buyer. I think you missed your calling. If I were you I'd go back down there and keep those Meskin women pregnant and raise a passel of Meskin generals. Now that is the way you could make money. Not in the steers. Steers is for oldtimers like me and your dad."
"You wouldn't make a pimple on a steer buyers ass, Fats. You're a b
igshot. Where did you learn all about being such a bigshot, calling hogs back in Arkansas?"
"I know a little about this cattle business," said Potter.
"You know who to pick to do the work and how to keep from paying them. Only you are going to pay me." .
"I don't owe you. Mulligan does."
"You pay. Now I'm through talking, Fats. Pay me now or I'm going to start massaging your brain."
"Well, let's go see Mulligan in the room and get this straightened out."
They left the bar and walked through the parking lot. Dan Gibson was there sitting in his car. He got out. He got in step with Kane. The three men walked to Mulligan's room, where Potter woke him by shouting through the window.
Mulligan was sitting up on his pillow in red silk pajamas lighting a cigarette when they walked in.
"Shorty, if we owe this little chickenshit bastard anything, let's pay him right now and get him out of my hair," said Potter.
Kane set himself solidly on the motel's deep carpet and slammed a straight right hand into the side of Potters head. Potter half turned and nosedived, loosely unconscious, head-first, into the wall in the corner of the room. There was a hole in the plaster when he rolled back on the carpet. His head had punctured the wall where Kane's punch had driven it from across the room.
Mulligan reached for the phone.
"Forget about that," Dan said. "You just sit up there like a pretty little girl on the bed. I'd like a piece of you myself."
Kane picked up a chair and slammed it against the wall. He rolled Potter over by the hair of the head and sat him up. He lifted him and slammed him into the chair. Then he faced the chair to the motel desk, jamming Potter between the chair and the desk. He got the briefcase and threw it to Mulligan.
"Get that famous draft book out and make me out a draft for nine hundred sixty dollars for twenty-four head of cattle so bigshot can sign it."
Potter moaned and fell out of the chair. Kane pulled up another chair and sat in it. He was cooling a little now and he realized he'd hit him too hard. It would never do to put him clear out or maybe kill him.
Mulligan finished writing the draft and laid it on the desk.
"He won't sign it, Jim," Mulligan said.
"I hope he doesn't I want to tap him some more. I'd like to tap on him till breakfast time."
''This won't get you anywhere, Jim. Be reasonable," said Mulligan.
"I'm through reasoning with you guys. It's collection night." He got up and went in the bathroom and got a glass of water. He walked back in the bedroom and poured it slowly on Potters nose. Potter started fighting for air and when he turned his head Kane poured water in a thin stream from up high into Potter's ear.
Potter sat up.
"Now, Fats, get up in the chair," Kane said nicely. Potter sat in the chair. He was very. pale. Things were happening to him.
Fats. Sign that draft our partner just made out. It's on the desk."
"I don't owe you," said Potter sullenly.
"Now Fats, don't sull on me. Just pay me and it'll be all over."
"Yah, yah, yah, yah, y—"
Kane lifted an arm and shovel-hooked three quick ones on Potter's kidney.
"Yah . . "
Kane hooked on the ribs. They were very satisfactory blows. They weren't homeruns like the first one that had busted the wall but they were nice base hits. Kane was set just right and he was in a position to pull the target solidly into each punch adding immeasurably to bite, leverage, and satisfaction. He worked on the other side, it was nicely padded with fat there, too.
"Yah . . ."
Kane jerked the head back by the hair.
"God, I'm tired of hearing that," he said and punched Potter softly in the Adams apple. Potter fell over like he'd been shot. He kicked convulsively. He gagged and threw- up.
"My God, Jim, y0u'll kill him. I'm sorry but I'm going to have to call the law," Mulligan said, swinging his little white feet purposefully oil` the bed and grabbing the telephone.
"Shorty, I don't want to start on you. Please don't make me. Just put down the phone," said Kane.
"Let me have the son of a bitch," Dan said. "I guarantee he won't do any phoning."
"No, Hoot. Hes going to be all right. Aren't you, Shorty?"
Mulligan put down the phone. "OK, but go easy on the man, Jim. You've already done enough. Hes going to need a doctor and a hospital as it is."
"Oh, I'm through if Fats is. Fats, are you through now? Don't say 'yah, yah' again."
Fats was on his hands and knees now, draining his lungs where he had choked them with vomit. There was a large purple lump on his cheekbone. Its swelling joined the big one on his forehead where he had butted the hole in the wall.
"Kill me. Kill me. Kill me," Fats groaned.
Kane took two short gliding steps and place-kicked Potter in the belly, stepped back one step, swung the leg stiffly, and kicked again. Potters arms collapsed at the shoulders and he fell over on his nose. His eyes stared at Kane. His shoulders were turned in, his mouth contorted. The great bulk of his weight was shuddering. It was all pressing down on its face. You could tell by the eyes that the man was gone for awhile. Then the man came back and the body relaxed and rolled over on its side and then it sighed and the man was all the way back in. The eyes closed peacefully.
Kane sat back down. He was surprised the eyes had not bothered him. He was collecting the debt and doing everything necessary to collect the whole debt. Kane's anger was collecting its part of the debt now. The abusive part of the debt required anger in the collection. The $960 part was necessary too. He must not forget about the dollar part.
"Fats. Fats, wake up," he crooned.
Fats lay there comfortably. He had his shoulders arranged right now. He had rolled over on his back and his arms were lying comfortably on his stomach. A
"Fats, wake up, " Kane said and got up from the chair. The creak of the chair got Potter's attention. The eyes opened wide. They looked fearfully at Kane. Evidently the man in there couldn't take it at all while looking at Kane. Kane did not like seeing the fear. He realized seeing the fear might stop him. Maybe he had done all he could now.
Kane stepped up close to the head. The eyes were transfixed. You might have thought the body was still unconscious. No part of it moved. But Kane could see the conscious terror of the man scrambling behind the eyes.
"Now, Fats, I know you would not like it if I started grinding my boot in your face. But I would like it and right now is all my turn, so get ready."
Fats rolled. over and got up on his hands and knees again.
"Kill me," said Potter.
Kane swung the foot again, punting, putting the boot to the head on the face side. The man left again and the body mass spread itself on the floor. Maybe the man was gone for good this time.
Dan Gibson grabbed Kane gently by the arm.
"Let's go, Jim. I think that's enough. We'd better get out of here now. "
Kane turned to Mulligan. I'm going now, Shorty."
"OK, Jim," Shorty said.
"You tell bigshot when he comes back that if anything happens to me or my friends because of this he's going to get worse. But tell him he's paid up now."
"OK, Jim."
"I sure don't ever want me to apply this to you, Shorty."
"You don't need to worry, Jim."
"That"s a relief, Shorty. You come back to Rio Alamos again sometime. I've enjoyed doing business with you. I like the way your partner pays off."
"OK, Jim."
"Come on, Jim. Let's get out of here," Dan said. They left the room.
"I'm going to Rio Alamos just in case he don't wake up," Kane said.
"Boy, let me shake your hand. You really savaged him," Dan said.
"Yeah, I sure did," Jim said. "I'd rather have the money but I'm going south, money or no money."
BOOK TWO
17
The Charreada
The vaquero is the Mexican cowboy. When someone calls a man a
"vaquero" he is paying him a compliment. He is saying the man is more intelligent than the animals he handles. The vaquero knows how to treat his charges with gentleness as well as sternness. He will stay out in the dust, sun, brush, and harsh elements until he has cared adequately for the animals he looks after. And when he plays he often looks to his animals for his entertainment.
A charreada was being held on a Sunday afternoon at the hacienda of Don Tomás Piedras, the father-in-law of Juan Vogel. The charreada is the rodeo of charros and Juan Vogel invited Kane to go with him to the fiesta. On the way to the hacienda Juan Vogel told Kane that Don Tomás had been a charro all his life. He was a very distinguished member of the oldest charro association in Mexico.
The charro associations are dedicated to the preservation , of the traditions of the charro. Traditionally, the charro was the vaquero, the man who worked cattle, but he has evolved into one who stylizes the work of the vaquero. Members of the charro associations are amateurs. They show the art of working cattle in pictures they make for people to see while they handle cattle with horse and rope.
The charro wears the traditional big-winged sombrero tied under his chin; the butterfly-knotted tie adorning his breast; the leg-fitting trousers and leather leggings; the waist jacket with thin lapels held by one button over the breast. He uses the heavy-shanked, spoke-roweled, silver-mounted, blue-steel spur. He rides the naked-treed, wide-homed, charm saddle. These saddles have big cantinas, or saddlebags, behind the cantle. The stirrup leathers have no fenders. They are straight straps, narrower than a man's leg, to a small, square stirrup. On the bridle of his horse the charm uses a short, looped rein and the severe spade bit.
The Piedras hacienda was in the flat brush country west of Rio Alamos and close to the coast. Kane saw the dust of the fiesta rising from the arena long before he and Juan Vogel drove up to the hacienda. Cars and pickups were parked around a keyhole-shaped rock arena and people were watching the charreada from their cars.
Juan Vogel stopped at a mezquital by a clear pond where women were serving steaks that had been roasted on mesquite coals; kid that had been barbecued in coal-bedded pits; flour and corn tortillas; huacamole; and frejoles charms, the whole, richly spiced beans in their sauce. Canned beer lay iced in big tubs. Kane and Juan Vogel walked into the shade of the mezquital and began availing themselves of the food. A young charro, brown and dusty, hat on the back of his head, curly hair plastered with sweat on his forehead, walked up to them and handed them cans of beer. Juan Vogel introduced him as his brother-in-law, Mariano Piedras. The boy shook hands with Kane.
