Jim Kane - J P S Brown

by J P S Brown

  They arrived at the oak grove near the pasture fence of San Rafael just at dark. Pablo was waiting at the gate, a slight, wiry figure in dusty, scuffed leather. He was standing holding the reins of a brown mule with tapojo, the blind carried on the headstall over the eyes that identifies the bronc.

  He had let down the poles of the gate and was standing there relaxed and smiling with an orange crush bottle full of lechuguilla.

  He uncorked the corncob top and handed the bottle up to the men.

  "Let's see if you like it," he said.

  They drank sparingly, carefully, with respect. It had the taste and content of the hot-sunny, green-spiny, rock-hill country that mothered it. The three horsemen passed the spirit again after Pablo had closed the gate and mounted.

  "This horse Pajaro sure revives with the lechuguilla," Kane said as they rode on. "He walks so much smoother it's like I just got on him fresh in the morning."

  The dogs of the hacienda ran to meet them as they rode through the camp of Chon the Tarahumara, Chon the hunter. He stood leaning against a beam as the horsemen went past.

  He smiled and greeted them.

  There were cowboys waiting in front of the main building of San Rafael to welcome them. They took the reins, unsaddled the horses, and led them to water, and then measured out corn for them in troughs of hollowed logs.

  The vaqueros admired the big sorrel horse.

  "We'd forgotten how big that Pajaro really is," one of them said.

  It was a joke in the Sierra that the first time Kane had made a buying circle up there he had been preceded by the announcement, "Here comes a gringo buying alacranes, scorpions (a name for the common native cattle of the Sierra, describing their big horns), and he is riding a horse so big his shoes weigh a kilo apiece."

  They sat out on the porch of the big house of San Rafael passing the orange crush bottle and recalling horses and men they had known. The house was on top of a small hill on the edge of a draw that had been cleared for the hacienda. Oak and pine jutted in silent silhouette on the ridges all around them. The clearing was surrounded by a squat, square fence made, in the manner of the region, of rocks stacked tightly together. The herd of cattle Kane was to sort and buy were grazing in the clearing.

  A woman's voice called them to supper.

  They stepped into a spotless dining room. It's white-washed walls reflected brightly the white light of the butane lamp. The table was set with fine linen and shiny crystal and china. Kane could imagine the trouble it had been for Pablo to pack that stuff in to San Rafael on mules.

  Pablo's wife came in and Kane was introduced to her. She was a small woman with a tight, closed face and eyes that did not see you. A perpetual stranger.

  They ate dried beef fried, white cheese, fried beans, black coffee, the thick, corn gordas, tortillas, in the lamplight.

  After supper they lay down between flannel sheets on thickly mattressed cots covered with abundant quilts. They slept the sleep of the ready-for-bed horseman, breathing the clean, dry, high altitude of the Sierra Madre.

  Pablo woke them in the darkness. The guía, the first star that leads out the morning sun, had risen.

  They wrestled with their clothes under the quilts, stamped their feet into their boots, and went outside to wash in the ice cold water Pablo poured from a pitcher for them. They could hear the weak cries of the infant awake in the morning. The child almost wasn't there.

  Pablo's wife stayed in the kitchen during breakfast. She never presented herself or spoke to them again."

  While they were saddling their horses Pablo said, "We've got a big Brahma bull we've been saving for Pajaro. He probably weighs four hundred kilos and he is a lion for fierceness. We've been trying to throw him to disinfect him of lice. He jerked two mules down and gutted a good little horse. I want you to throw him down for me."

  "I'll be happy to," Kane said.

  The cowboys spread out and penned the cattle in a corral. The gray bull with the black almond-shaped eyes, the black hump, and horns like bananas, moved majestically, brushing aside all before him as he eyed and smelled man.

  Kane warmed the sorrel, galloping away from the corral on the frosty ground. The horse always liked to buck in the morning and the habit had kept him sound because Kane never did any heavy work on him without warming him first. Kane took down his nylon rope and tied hard and fast around the swells and horn of his saddle as he rode up to the gate. Pablo slid back the gate poles and Kane rode through.

  "Be careful. He's a meat eater," Pablo said as he closed the gate behind Kane.

  "Be ready to open that gate and we'll take him outside to educate," Kane said.

  The corral sloped steeply. Kane rode to the top side and stopped his horse. The cattle milled quietly. The bull turned and faced Kane from the bottom of the slope. Kane lifted the loop softly and threw the flat, overhand "nightloop." It encircled the banana horns and was jerked tight around them. The bovine, startled, jumped straight up, stiff-legged, his big hump wobbling. Kane gave him slack and followed him as he bucked toward the gate. "Open it," he shouted and Pablo quickly complied.

  The bull, unaware he was caught, charged toward the gate. Kane wanted him to think he was escaping. You can't ever out-stout them, you can sometimes out-prize them, you should always be able to outsmart them. This was a policy Kane always applied to the handling of Brahmas.

  As the bull passed through the gate he jumped sideways, kicked, and blew snot at Pablo. Kane followed the bull out into the pasture and checked him once by stopping Pajaro and letting the bull hit the end of the rope. Then he gave him slack again and fell in behind him at a dead run. The big bull headed for the brush, running like a racehorse. Kane spurred the sorrel up close, threw the slack over along the right side of the bull and around his buttocks, and drove the sorrel on by, reining to the left. When the big sorrel horse, who weighed 1350 pounds, hit the end of the rope he was prepared for the jerk of bull on rope. The bull's head was yanked back to the right, the right horn was driven into the ground, the hind legs and hips flipped on over and slammed into the ground. Then the bull was spun on his side and dragged, all the air knocked out of him, his eyes rolling back in his head.

  Kane coiled his rope as he rode back to the bull. The bull started quivering back to consciousness. A big, full sigh bathed his lungs and the nostrils began to flare with breath, blowing loose dirt and cleaning two little spots on the ground.

  ' Kane flicked the rope, loosening the tight band of the loop around the horns. The bull kicked both hind legs and jerked shakily to his feet. He threw up his head and shook his horns at Kane. There was a big clod of dirt stuck on the end of the right horn where it had been spiked deeply into the earth. The side of his head and the smooth, loose hide of the right side were powdery with dust.

  The bull shook his head again and backed away. Kane started circling the bull just as he charged. Kane spurred the big horse off the horn as it hooked at the horse's thigh. The bull didn't have time to check his charge before Pajaro hit the end of the rope and jerked him down again. This time only the front legs buckled under the bull while the hind legs held him up and Kane dragged the bull's nose in the frosty gravel.

  "You see, there's no SPCA here, bull. This is designed so you might not enjoy horsemeat anymore, little bull," said Kane.

  The bull stood again. Kane circled him once, wrapping the rope around the hind quarters just above the hooks. As he passed in front of the bull again he dropped the wrap below the knees and rode off behind the bull pulling the rope under the front feet so that it wrapped around the hind legs above the hocks. The head was pulled back to the hind quarters and the hind legs were held up by the pull and the bull went down again, trussed in a package for Pablo's cowboys to bathe with insecticide.

  "When he gets up from there he'll be hunting a friend," Kane said.

  They let the bull up after drenching him with foul-smelling solution and he walked sorely away to a corner of the pasture to brood. The bull's big, leafy ea
rs drooped. The strong stink of the dip and the mud that stuck to him, the awful smell of the man, and the brimstone taste of the violence that had been done to him detracted from the strong opinion he had of himself and he remembered his mother.

  Kane led his horse back into the corral and by noon they had sorted out the cattle Kane would buy and drive to the railroad at Rio Alamos.

  The vaqueros' wives had prepared lunch. Pablo, Kane, Juan, and the cowboys ate underneath a big mesquite tree in the lee of the corral. The women and boys were rolling blankets and packing mules with the camp the cowboys would use on their twenty-day drive to the railroad.

  Kane looked up the hill. He could see Pablo's wife sitting on the porch. She had pen and paper and it looked as if she were writing a letter.

  "Your wife is nice, Pablito," he said.

  "I'm sorry we didn't have lunch at the house," Pablo said.

  "My wife isn't feeling well and she has a lot to do with the baby to care for."

  "Babies are a lot of work. What can I bring your wife from the States?"

  "Only your safe return."

  "There must be something your wife would like to have or that you would like her to have."

  "Yes," Pablo said, looking away. "I'm sure she would want your safe return."

  Kane studied the serious young rancher. Pablo had married a girl whose family worked hard for a modern Mexico. Her family was bent on acquiring modern ways and modern comforts. The girl had never worked with her hands, she had servants for that. She had been kept indoors so that the sun would not darken her skin. When Pablo had courted her in the closely chaperoned evenings she had seemed unreal. The clear, nearly transparent skin, the gentle manners, the finely tailored clothes on the innocent form, the perfect, clean-lined woman form, had made a dreamer of him. He dreamed with her of remodeling the hacienda at San Rafael. They would build an airfield. They would have electricity. Television. They would help the people. They would teach progress and industry and sanitation. Nothing would be impossible for them for they had new, modern ideas. The girl would make it all possible for she had spent her life storing energy to make Pablo a good wife.

  After the wedding Pablo had taken her to San Bernardo, where they had mounted mules and ridden the 70 miles across mountains, dust, and heat to San Rafael. The girl had arrived so tired she had been sick for a week. She had been married to Pablo for a miserable year now and she had only been back to see her family, her own elegant little room in the dark cool house, once, to have the baby. San Rafael still had no electricity, no airfield, no toilet, no privacy. To her Pablo seemed dedicated to remaining at San Rafael forever and she was sure he meant to keep her there with him. No one helped her. Girls came from the ranches to help but they were dirty and they soon disappeared. The baby cried all the time. She was always being forced to do for some dirty riders that came in from the hills. She had to pick up their filthy bedding in the mornings. She was stuck on the least graced end of the world with a man who did not want anything she wanted.

  Kane was ready to leave. He began tightening the cinches of his saddle on the sorrel horse.

  "The big horse has already done a big day's work, " Pablo said.

  "Yes, he has, but work won't kill him. We've got a long way to go," Kane said. "I'd better get started."

  "It is twenty-five leagues to San Bernardo. You'd better stay the night and get a fresh start tomorrow," Pablo said.

  "I must go. I have to be at the border before noon tomorrow."

  "Let me loan you a fresh mount. It is the least I can do for you after the schooling Pajaro gave my seed bull."

  "You can do that," Kane said.

  "You can take the Macho Pardo, the brown mule. He is the best mule on the hacienda."

  "You honor me, Pablo," Kane said sincerely. The Macho Pardo of San Rafael was famous for endurance and good sense. He was a burrero, son of a stud horse and mare jackass, that rare; union that the serrano believes produces the best saddle mule.

  Kane took the rope off his saddle and walked with Pablo and Juan down to the corral where the saddle horses and mules were gathered.

  "That one is the Macho Pardo," Pablo said, pointing to a mule standing apart. He was solid brown with no white or burro stripes anywhere on him. He had a small head with lantern jaws like a stallion's. His chest was wide, his hind legs straight, and he was high behind like a good horse. He was small. Kane figured he wouldn't weigh over 800 pounds. Kane got his rope ready and stepped into the corral. The little mule remained still, shot-hipped and resting, but his ears wagged at Kane. Kane walked around so that the other animals in the corral moved lazily toward the Pardo. The mule kept his eye on Kane and remained facing him while the other animals gathered around.

  Kane lifted the loop gently and flattened it with a snap of his wrist over his head. It opened with a sudden flourish in the "houlihan". The mule didn't know he was caught until the loop had encircled his head and neck and struck his shoulders. He blinked his eyes in mild surprise when the loop settled. Kane stepped to one side and flicked the rope up high on the mule's neck and pulled the loop tight there. He pulled on the rope, causing the mule to take a step so that he would know he was roped.

  Kane walked toward the mules shoulder. Pardo became increasingly more attentive as he watched Kane approach. The tips of the dark ears nearly touched as he listened to Kane's voice and heard Kane's step. Finally the wind of Kane's smell assaulted his nostrils. He expelled the smell violently but it returned with the next breath and the Macho Pardo of San Rafael scrambled backward in panic into the corner of the corral. His backside touched the wall and he jumped as though someone had prodded him with an electric hotshot. He ran down the corral wall, straining against the rope Kane had braced around his hips. The mule ran holding his nose high and away from the man to keep the evil stink from entering the brain. He had no more curiosity for this man.

  Everyone was laughing.

  "He's never smelled a gringo before," Juan yelled. Kane stood back, holding the end of the rope. The Pardo would glance quickly at him and then turn away in revulsion.

  "See what comes of bathing," Juan said. "He doesn't like gringos bañados."

  The vaqueros took it up.

  "He's afraid of anything that bathes."

  "I've seen him do that with a rabid dog."

  'He's like all Mexicans. It's his rabies to feel water on his back and he naturally distrusts anyone who bathes."

  Juan Vogel was standing there, feet spread wide apart, hat on back of head, mustachios bristling, laughing. To Kane, he looked like a big heavyweight rooster crowing with his chest puffed out, his spurs turned in.

  "Sí," Kane said to Juan. "I know just how he feels. Haven't I been camping with you for the past twenty days? Your bad smell permeates the whole Sierra Madre Occidental. Any other mule would never have known there was a gringo around. This is truly a smart mule."

  Kane had been moving up to the mule who still was trying to keep his tail to Kane but had enough respect for the rope to keep from bolting again. Kane picked up a bight in the slack behind him and slapped it hard on the mule's rump. The mule whirled and faced the man. Kane put a half-hitch around the mule's nose and led him to the gate.

  "I guess even Machos Pardos can get used to gringos," Juan said, laughing. "The strongness of the smell soon deadens the nerve. He'll soon accept you like all the rest of us Mexicans do, blind to the fact that you are only here to exploit us and get rich on us."

  "Poor Mexicans," Kane said with mock pugnacity. "If I exploit you any more I'll go broke. I pay enough to buy cattle equipped with radio and television."

  Kane saddled and bridled the little mule and tied his cobija, a woolen Indian blanket, wrapped in a tarp, behind the cantle.

  Pablo returned from the house with the orange crush bottle full of lechuguilla. He placed it in the morral hanging from Kane's saddle horn.

  "Take this," he said. "So your Pardo doesn't get too tired. There are tortillas, cheese, and corn in the morr
al too."

  Kane took the bottle out.

  "El estribo. The drink for the stirrup," he said and took a drink and handed the bottle around, each man returning it to him after he drank. Kane took another drink and offered it to Pablo again.

  "Save it, the road is long, " Pablo said.

  Kane put the bottle up, mounted, and reined away. The little beast immediately fell into a running walk.

  "Qué te vaya bien," the Mexicans said. "May it go well with you."

  "Gracias," Kane called back.

  He took the trail to Avena, climbing up through the timber until he topped out on a plateau that was solid rock on which were the homes of the mezcal makers of San Rafael. The place was deserted, although he could see that the pits where the heads of the maguey were cooked were covered, a sign the place was producing.

  An hour later the mule paced in to the yard at the Vogel hacienda at Avena. Don Panchito, the caretaker, hailed him as he dismounted.

  "Come in, come in, Don Jaime," he said. "Are you going on by or will you stay the night? Come in. Woman," he called, "warm the beans. Warm the coffee."

  "No, Don Panchito. I really don't have time. I'm on my way to San Bernardo and I want to get off the mountain before dark."

  "Take coffee then. Woman, warm the coffee for Don Jaime here."

  Kane loosened the mule's cinch and tied him to a wooden fence. He walked with the old weatherbeaten man across the wide, cool porch to the front room.

  The walls of the hacienda were at least 30 inches thick. The roof was covered with hand-hewn pine shingles that must have been 50 years old. The beams in the ceiling of the front room were over 100 years old and were intricately carved. They were covered with soot, smoke, and dust. There was a hole in the roof in one corner of the front room through which smoke escaped when Don Panchito built his fires on the floor. The dreams had left this hacienda, never intending to come ac . .