by J P S Brown
So this is what they've been doing, Kane thought. The tall, thin, suave one sells off the inferior young cattle at the price agreed upon, the old gruff one tries to force the buyer to take the old shells. It's a ladder they built to this corral. They made sure I would know these cattle were going to be impossible to buy unless Cuevas makes a deal for the old cattle.
The redhead was squatting against the fence across the corral watching Kane. Now for the mean one, Kane thought. I ain't going to take those walking harps of the old man unless
you practically give me these little beauts, mean one. And you don't look like the one to give me anything today.
The redhead kept looking at the pistol Kane was carrying. He wanted it. His eyes would move from Kane's pistol to Kane's chaps. He wanted them, too.
"How much for these steers?" the redheaded, mean Valencia asked.
"You should know how much you want. They're yours, aren't they?" said Kane.
"These are mine. All these novillones, big steers, are mine. These will cost you." He looked at Kane's pistol.
"How much you think they're worth?" said Kane.
"You are going to give me one thousand pesos in silver. Mexican silver. Gringo money is no good here."
"Why not?"
"This is Sonora, Mexico."
"You don't say," Kane said in English.
"What?"
"I'll give you eight hundred fifty pesos a head for them," Kane said. "Mexican silver money."
"Have you seen steers like this anywhere in the Sierra?" asked the redhead.
"Here and there at times."
"These are the best you've ever seen in your life, aren't they?" The redhead looked at Kane's pistol, at Kane's chaps. Kane said nothing. The son-of-a-bitch wants me to show greed so it will be more fun not selling to me, he thought. They bully you, they would like to steal from you, they insult your intelligence and now they try to put words in your mouth so they can quote the gringo cowbuyer to the next poor Mexican buyer they expect next week. And the Mexican will get the cattle cheaper. He'll drive them to Chihuahua City, go broke on them, and go back to work as a vaquero for somebody. But he'll always remember these beautiful steers and as soon as he gets a new stake he'll be back. Dammit, it's time to get on my mule and get out of here.
"You are going to give me one thousand pesos for these Sehores Novillones, these Mr. Big Steers," the redheaded Valencia said.
"No," Kane said. He was thinking of that tired little mule and having to get on him again.
Cuevas and the old Valencia and the tall Valencia came over. Cuevas took Kane by the arm and led him aside.
"¿Qué pasó, what happened?" Cuevas asked.
"Nothing. You?"
"Can you buy the old cattle?"
"Cuevas, what would I do with that pile of old bones?"
"I just wondered. I'm pretty sure they'll sell the big steers for nine hundred if you'll take the old cattle at eight hundred."
"Now that is logical as hell, isn't it? The steers are expensive at eight hundred fifty, which is what I offered. The old cattle are worth nothing. Why ask me? You are the bone collector. You buy them."
"I offered him seven hundred pesos only. That's what we agreed to pay. "
"Thanks for reminding me. Now let's get the hell out of here. It will be eleven o'clock before we get down to Juan's. We promised him we'd look at his cattle tomorrow."
"Don't you want to stay here? It's very late. You want to ride all that way in the dark?"
"There's a moon," said Kane.
"A moon for what?" the old Valencia said.
"We're going on to Juan's," Cuevas said.
"Don't you like the steers?" asked the old one.
"They are very good steers," Kane said.
The old Valencia smiled. "Then buy them," he said.
"They're too high for me," said Kane.
"No old cattle, no good steers. What did you come here for?" the old man asked.
Kane and Cuevas were silent.
"Ah!" the tall one said to the old man. "They didn't buy?"
"They didn't buy," the old one said, still smiling.
"If you didn't trade with them our trade is off," the tall, suave Valencia said to Kane. He turned and walked to the gate of the little corral and opened it. He took a stick and beat the cattle out of the corral.
"Open the gate," the mean, redheaded Valencia shouted.
The tall Valencia slid the gate poles out of their holes in the I gate posts and stood aside. The redhead drove the good steers out of the corral. The tall Valencia took off his hat and waved it at them as they ran, bucking and playing, through the gate.
The cattle ran along the smooth rock of the top of the hill and then fled down off the hill out of sight. One fine brown steer stopped alone on the top and turned to face the man at the gate. He raised his muzzle curiously to smell the man again.
The tall Valencia stood looking at him. The wind blew the Valencia's hair across his face, it stirred the downy hair of his beard. Steer and man regarded each other and then the steer turned. Release, reprieve, the steer remembered. He jumped and kicked at the man and fled over the hill after his brothers. There was no longer a sign of a steer anywhere. It hadn't been five minutes since the gate had been opened. It would be five days before all the steers could be gathered and put back in that corral the way they had been.
The old Valencia was laughing. He was no longer gruff He had shown this gringo he was not a bluffer. Now he could be good-humored about it.
"Navarro will buy them," the old one said. "Navarro takes them to Chihuahua?
Kane turned and went to his mule. He pulled the slack out of his latigo and tightened his cinch. He pulled his flank cinch snug and buckled it carefully.
The old Valencia smiled."You see, it really doesn't matter to us whether we sell or not right now. We'll keep them until Navarro comes. We'll make carne seca, jerky, out of the old cattle now. Poor people eat pure carne seca." He was now disposed to letting Kane in on how things really were in the Sierra.
Kane untied the chamarra, the mule's hair lead rope.
"Plenty cheap cattle other Mexicans here Sierra. You buy plenty," the old Valencia shouted at Kane condescendingly, consolingly. '
Kane led the mule away from the fence. The redhead walked up close to Kane. He put his hand out as though to touch the butt of Kane's pistol. Kane moved out of his reach, brushed the redhead's hand with the back of his hand.
"How much did that pistol cost?" the redheaded Valencia asked.
"It was a gift," Kane said.
"How come nobody ever gives me anything like that?"'
"Don't they?"
"No. Never, never."
The redhead fingered the edge of Kane's chaps. "What fine leather. Almost like cloth. No good for the monte, the brush, though." He turned to the tall one. "Come here, little brother, and feel how fine this leather is. Is it really leather?"
Kane looked at the tall Valencia. He wasn't coming over.
"These chapurreras are really fine. The brush would tear them to pieces in no time at all," the redhead said.
"The monte is very bravo," Cuevas said quietly from nearby.
"If I can get that pistol, can I have it?" the redheaded Valencia asked.
"Don't make that mistake," Kane said.
"Lend me your pistol, gringo," the Valencia said, reaching for the pistol again.
Kane turned slightly and stamped his heel down hard on the bare instep of the redheads foot. He felt the outside button of his spur bite down the shin. He leaned toward the redhead and stepped off when the redhead jerked his foot. The redhead stumbled backward and almost fell. The first shocked, white slice of the injury started to color before his eyes.
"Excuse me," Kane said. He mounted the tired mule. The mule swayed a little under his weight. "Come on, Cuevas, we've got a long way to go," he said.
"Vámonos," Cuevas said.
Kane got the little mule going in a brave imitation of the go
od running-walk he had when he had been fresh in the morning.
"God rest ye merry, gentlemen," Kane sang softly. The first big flakes of snow began to fall.
21
The Husbandman
Consentido means favorite. A consentido is something you appreciate with all your heart. It is usually applied to some person, like a favorite son, but it is often applied to a special charge such as a favorite horse or dog or even a mule or an ox. Literally, the word carries an implication that a consentido is spoiled as he has the consent of his master in anything he does and his wishes have precedence over his masters But you are to he a good husbandman of your consentidos, you will see that they perform their certain duties.
Kane was on his way in to Yecora. He would be in that evening. It was the last day of the seven-day cattle-buying circle he had made in that part of the Sierra Madre. He was riding a little brown mule. The animal paced right along, probably sensing he would be home that night eating tasol, corn leaves, in his own corral.
Kane was nearing the ranch of an old man, Don Filomeno Borbón. Don Filomeno had been advised that Kane would arrive on this day.
Kane heard the dogs' barking announcing him before he saw the house. The road he followed was steep and the house and barn were on top of a hill. The mule climbed the hill eagerly. He gained the top and Kane saw that the road separated the house from the barn and corrals. The house had flowers planted inside a fence in the front. It was adobe with smooth, whitewashed plaster walls. The roof was covered with neat, hand-chipped pine shingles. An old couple was sitting in front.
The old man wore a peaked palm straw hat. The brim was pulled down all around. It was an old hat, stained in the front by sweat and strong tobacco smoke. The old man and his wife were smoking home-grown tobacco rolled in corn husks. When Kane rode up the old lady put her tobacco away. She got up and went into the house.
The corral was empty. Kane was disappointed. He didn't have much time to wait while the old man went after any cattle he might want to sell.
"Get down and rest. My wife is bringing you coffee," Don Filomeno said.
Kane dismounted and loosened his cinches. He shook hands with the old man, introducing himself.
Cuevas told me you were coming. I expected him to be with you," the old man said.
"He went around toward Maicoba to see some other cattle," Kane said. "Do you have any cattle for sale?"
"I have three young oxen. Look at them and see what you think."
"Where are they?"
"Down the hill there in the big pasture."
The old lady brought Kane a cup of hot, thick, black coffee."
"Gracias, señora," he said. He looked down where the old man pointed to the pasture. The pasture was covered with the dry cornstalks from last year's crop. It was a large pasture. Kane didn't think he would have time to see this little bunch of cattle. He had to look at a big bunch, maybe 70 or 80 head, yet that evening, and he would be two hours dickering with the owner. It was still a three-hour ride to Yecora. Kane was anxious to leave.
"Is there someone who can bring the cattle up here quickly? Pardon me, but I must move on down the road. It is getting late and I must see one more bunch this side of Yecora," Kane said.
The old man took a polished, hollow, bull horn that hung by a rawhide thong from a peg by the door. A mouthpiece was carved on the pointed end. The old man put it to his lips, cupped his hand over the open end to control the air in the horn, and blew. A sort of air-rushing blast of sound formed in the horn and as the old man removed his hand from the end the sound got wider and full of more air. It was a weak sound, a strange one, but unmistakably a sound, and the only one that existed on top of the hill at the time. The old man blew through the horn again and watched the dry stalks below in the pasture.
"They are coming," he said. He hung the horn on its peg.
"Bring salt for the bonitos, the beauties," he said to his wife.
She came out with a small flour sack full of coarse salt. The old man took it and walked across the road and slid the trancas, the poles, out of the gate posts and laid them aside. Then he looked down the road where Kane would be traveling when he went on his way. The cattle had skirted the bottom of the hill in a hurry and were starting up the road toward the house. They made mock passes at one another with their horns, kicked playfully at one another with fat quarters barely able to simulate a kick, and ran toward the house. They would stop, turn back, meet a companion, lower a horn as if to gore horribly, shake their heads, and lumber away up the hill again. When they got to the gate they all calmed down. They were like children marching obediently into school or to supper before the eyes of a stern master. They filed past the old man and quietly entered the corral.
The first to enter the corral were two young heifers. Their horns were perfectly formed and burnished clean. The horns looked varnished. Their eyes were youthfully clear, their hides shining. Following them were three young oxen. Kane had never seen oxen so well-matched or in such fine condition. They were not fat, just very big and husky. After them came five cows of the same color, a pale, almost yellowish, red. They were stately and dignified as they entered the corral.
The old man slid the smooth long poles back into the eyes of the gateposts and walked among his cattle. As he passed each one he sprinkled a small ration of salt on the moist nose. The long tongue would roll out and lick the nose clean of the salt and then tidy up the nostrils with the sharp flip. Small beads of moisture would spring back in profusion on the clean nose and the animal would smell lovingly of the old man. The three oxen moved together as synchronized as a drill team. They moved about the old man, making room for one another, not jostling or crowding the way most cattle in a herd crowd and push and mill to gain an advantage.
The old man gave each of his herd a touch and a word and each reserved his reaction to the man until it was precisely his turn to be noticed. Then each acknowledged the man's attention by licking the salt in his hand, or by smelling his arm, or by gently, tenderly, touching him with the base of the horns and the forehead. Each waited his turn patiently, with grace.
"The young cattle are all half-brothers and sisters," Don Filomeno said. "They are the offspring of these cows and a fine bull, the Enchanted, that I raised myself. The bull was only ten years old when the lightning killed him last summer. These cows are bred to him and will calve in the spring. Each year I have sold the calves at weaning because I have not enough feed to keep them all in the way they should be kept. The oxen are four years old now. They are well gentled and educated. They have fine dispositions which they inherited from their sire. They work indiscriminately together, none has a preference as to side or companion. If you like them you may take them."
"I do like them very much," Kane said.
"If you need them, want them, I will sell them to you."
"How much would you want for them?"
"I don't know what they are worth."
"They are worth a lot of money, Don Filomeno."
"Give me what you think is just."
"What will you do for oxen to put up your crop this spring?"
"I will manage my crop. If you want them take them."
"Don Filomeno, do you need to sell them?"
"Absolutely not. I am too old to ever be so much in need again."
"Would you mind if I didn't buy them?"
"Absolutely not. My wife will rejoice."
"Then, with your permission I am going to say good-bye, mount my mule, and get going."
"As you wish. It is too bad you came so far for nothing."
"I only wish I could see your oxen work."
"You are welcome to come to our house anytime, for any reason."
Kane untied his mule, shook hands with the old man, mounted the mule, and settled himself to the road away from the little farm.
At the bottom of the hill he saw the gate on the trail where he had first seen the oxen playing. He was glad he wouldn't be the one to take them away fro
m the old couple. They would be going back through the gate to rustle in their cornfield again this evening.
22
The Circle
Trancas are used in gates. Two thick axhewn boards are placed in the ground on each side of a gate. These boards have holes bored in them through which the long, smoothly peeled trancas are slid, barring the gate. A saying: "brincar las trancas" means, literally, to jump the gate poles. It also means to get away, to get with the wild bunch, to go loose and free. It may also be used about the breeding gf a mare. If the stud gets in to breed the mare in the night and is led in by the owner of the mare, the owner of the stud could get angry. The owner of the mare might then explain the incident by saying, "¿Pués, qué quieres que haga? Tu semental brincó las trancas." Meaning: "What do you want me to do about it? Your stud jumped the gate Also meaning: Certain animal urges must be accepted as natural and borne with good grace. This saying is also often used to explain away the mischief of a man, as it is accepted among Mexicans that sometimes the stud in a man gains the advantage.
Juan Vogel and Jim Kane were horseback in the Sierra Madre of Chihuahua. They had a big circle to make. They had three bunches of cattle to see. The first bunch was at a camp of Vogel's called Gilaremo. They were on their way to Gilaremo and noon caught them by a camp called Guasaremo. They left the trail and rode until they came to a small stream. They followed this stream up a trail through a brushy canyon. They bent over their horses' necks to ride through a low tunnel of vainoro. The vainoro filled the canyon. Its branches were long and supple with thorns that resembled the curved, hooked blade of a scimitar. When they straightened up they were in a hidden draw where the mezcal was being made.
