by J P S Brown
"Here, let us help you," Kane said and got hold of one of Garrett's legs. Cunningham held the other. Santiago dropped the head and shoulders to the sidewalk and Kane and Cunningham dragged Garrett by the feet across the lobby of the hotel, head bumping on stairs, into the elevator, of the elevator, and down the hall to 408. They couldn't find a key so Kane kicked the door open. They dumped Garrett on his bed and said good night. Kane shook hands soberly and started to leave.
"You can have 508 if you want it," Santiago told them. "I didn't know but what you might want to stay here after the party and I reserved 508 for you."
"Not me," Roy Cunningham said. "I've got horses to ship in one hour. I'm getting away from you drunks."
Kane went up to 508. He didn't have the key so he kicked the door in and went to bed. .
He awoke late the next evening. The door was destroyed. He put the pieces of plaster that lay in the room back around the door. He hammered the doorjamb back in place with his boot heel. Then he saw he would not be able to get out the door without ruining his repair job. He wanted to get out of the room and back to the party of his very good friends. The room had twin beds. Kane shoved one bed over to the window. He tied the bedspread around the bed. He tied sheets and blankets to the bedspread and hung them out the window in a string. He went out the window of 508 on the sheets hoping 408 was on the room below him. The ground was at the end of a cement well five stories below him. Just before his feet reached the top of the window of 408 the sheets gave and he slipped down to the windowsill. Jim Kane kicked the window. Voices in the room stopped. Kane began to believe he had not heard the voices in the room. He kicked the window again. He could not turn loose the sheets and try to open the window as there were no handholds or footholds outside. The windowsill was too narrow to stand on. He kicked again and the curtain in 408 parted and Garrett looked Kane in the eye and let the curtains close. Kane kicked again and the curtain parted and Santiago Brennan saw Kane hanging there. Santiago opened the window and pulled him inside the room. Terry Garrett was sitting in one of the easy chairs.
"Why did you help him, Santiago? I would have left him hanging out there at least until he said please," Garrett said. Kane was just hungover enough that he didn't think had said anything funny. Santiago Brennan handed Kane a drink. Kane quaffed half of it and sat down.
"Garrett woke up this morning swearing off the party," Santiago said.
"Garrett likes to leave his partners hanging. He has been leaving me hanging for a month now. A month hanging in Chihuahua is too long to hang. He should swear off the party,"
Kane said.
Garrett ignored Kane. He felt the back of his head. "All I know is that I've got too many bumps on the back of my head," he said. "You are a line pair of friends. I have more bumps than I have friends. How did I get the bumps?"
"I don't know," Kane said. "We carried you like a baby and put you to bed. Do you suppose you fell out of bed?"
"That could have happened," Santiago said. "He didn't have his sleeping partner to watch over him last night. Have a drink, Terry.
"No more drinks," Terry Garrett said. "How many cattle did you bring me, Jim Kane?"
"Two hundred sixty-three head. I told you last night."
"You might as well forget about anything you told me last night. I don't remember any of it. When are the cattle going to be able to cross the border?"
"Didn't Herb Kane tell you when you saw him in El Paso? Don't you remember seeing him either?"
"I remember seeing him. I don't remember what he said. What about the cattle? Are they in good enough shape to cross.
"They will be when the government lets them out of quarantine in sixty days."
"Quarantine? I thought you said they were coming out of the clean zone, Jim Kane. You said the whole state of Chihuahua was clean."
"I never said that. You told me the whole state was clean and to bring the cattle out this way."
"Well, Ira March told me we could bring them this way without a quarantine. Ira March is to blame then."
"Blame him if you feel you should blame someone, " Kane said.
A "I'm not blaming anybody. It's just another thousand dollars or more expense on cattle I won't be able to sell. The rodeo market will be dead when they finally cross and this deal is just one more to add to all the deals that lost me money this year, " Garrett complained.
"You do have a hangover, don't you? And a bellyache," Kane said.
"How much do I owe you besides what the cattle have already cost me and will continue to cost me`?"
"I've got two dollars a head for five hundred fifteen head coming, plus my hotel bill here in Chihuahua. You owe Uncle Herb the freight from Creel and other expenses he gave me for the cattle since I've been here."
"Why five hundred fifteen head? We commissioned you to buy five hundred head."
"I took the additional fifteen head because I made commitments in the Sierra to buy cattle and I had to take all the cattle delivered to me. Call it public relations. I still owe for fifteen head. I didn't have enough money to pay for them. The man let me bring them in on credit. Of course, two of them died on me between Cuiteco and Creel."
"I can't pay for them," Terry Garrett said. "My bank only allowed me credit for five hundred cattle in Mexico. I don't have the money for fifteen more."
"You would have the money if the cattle could cross to the States today, wouldn't you?" Kane asked.
"Of course. I would have a buyer standing in El Paso waiting for the cattle if they could cross today too. The money from the sale would be in my bank long before the draft for the fifteen head would clear out of Mexico. I could pay for them in that case."
"Terry, it is not my fault the cattle have to be quarantined."
"I know that, Jim. But that doesn't change the fact that I can't write you a draft for fifteen head of cattle in Mexico right now.
"Give me your personal check for the cattle then."
"I can't. I don't have six hundred dollars. I've lost too much money this year and I've had too many expenses lately. I just haven't got it in my personal account. "
"Make me out a draft for my commission and I'll go over to the hotel and bring you back the papers on the cattle," Kane said and walked out of the room.
He walked down the street hungover and disappointed in Terry Garrett and surprised at how firmly and strongly his feet struck the pavement. He thought, I guess I'm not the first cowpuncher who had to pay for part of the boss' one-eyed stripper and his Indianapolis 500. Kane got his papers and went downstairs and paid the clerk his hotel bill with the last of the money his Uncle Herb had given him.
In 408 Kane gave the hotel receipt to Terry Garrett and Garrett paid him in cash. Garrett then handed Kane a draft for $1,000, his commission on the 500 head.
"As I understand it, you still own thirteen head of the rodeos you bought, Jim," Garrett said.
"Fifteen head," Kane said.
"I thought you said two died. Were they two of yours or two of mine?"
"Two of yours died. I was working for you, wasn't I? That was the reason I made that flight out of Egypt with the cattle, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, but I never saw the cattle, Jim."
"You mean you entrusted me with twenty thousand dollars to buy cattle for you and I bought all the cattle and accounted for every penny and now you could believe I invented two cattle so I can get eighty dollars out of you?"
"Well, I'm not paying for them. You can do what you want with the thirteen head. Cut them out and take them away or I'll take them with mine and sell them for you."
"Keep them and sell them for me. What can I do with them? I'll just have to trust you with the six hundred dollars I have in them, won't I?" Kane said angrily.
"Now listen. I'll sell them and give you top price for them, Jim."
"You'd better, Garrett, and none of them had better die."
"Come on, Jim. Have a drink, " Garrett said. "I'll make us both one." Garrett got up from his easy cha
ir and walked over to the dresser where the liquor was. "You might as well come on out to Arizona with me. I can give you a job in the feedlot. I sure can use you," he said while he was pouring drinks.
"No, thanks. I left my horse and saddle in Chinipas." Kane got up to leave.
"Well, stay a while and we'll have supper. You don't have to take off right this minute," Garrett said. He didn't hand Kane the Scotch he had mixed. Kane walked over, picked up the strong drink, and drank it down.
"Thanks," he said, and left the room.
38
Big Country
Get down off the big sorrel. I have the food prepared. I expected you today or tomorrow, " Don Marcos Aguilera said when Jim Kane rode up to his door at La Haciendita. Kane got stiffly down, loosened Pajaro's cinches, and tied him to a post in the yard. Don Marcos untied Kane's new blanket from behind the saddle and carried it to a chair by the kitchen door.
"I can't stay, Don Marcos. I only stop to pay you for your cattle. I must go on to San Bemardo this afternoon."
"But you will arrive there in the night., You must eat and have a drink with me to rest your horse.—You can go on refreshed," Don Marcos said. He went inside the house and brought back to cups full of the clear lechuguilla and the two men tipped their cups and drank. "To the corriente, the common," Don Marcos said, and they drank again.
Kane took an envelope that was folded in his chaps pocket and handed it to Don Marcos. Don Marcos sat down at a table under the ramada. He took off his hat and smoothed his thick, coarse, gray hair with a heavy, callused, brown hand. He unfolded the envelope and pressed it down flat on the table. He opened the flap of the envelope and took the money out. He laid the empty envelope carefully on the table while he looked at the bills in his hand. Then he slowly counted the money.
"Correcto," he said. "Thank you, young man." He picked up the envelope, put the money back into it, and went into his house and put it away. He brought back a bottle of lechuguilla and poured the cups full again. He brought out two plates of fried jerky, fried potatoes, and garbanzo, and two small cups heavy with thick coffee. "Eat," he said. "I will bring tortillas."
When he returned he laid the dish of tortillas on the table and carefully unfolded the clean, warm flour sack that covered the dish. "Tortillas," he said, showing them to Kane. He folded the flour sack back over the dish.
"I will eat with you now. With your permission," Don Marcos said, and sat down with Kane. "But first, we drink our mezcal. Not the best but very good."
"Very good mezcal, Don Marcos," Kane said.
"What will you do now, young man?" the eagle-faced old man asked Jim Kane while they were eating.
"I don't know, Don Marcos. I'm going back to Rio Alamos. My car is there."
"Stay in Rio Alamos. Stay in Mexico."
"I'm not sure. I would like to stay if I could win my living. Do you know anyone who needs a cowboy?"
"Yes. All of us in the Sierra need a man like you to help us market our cattle. You have the connections we need. You have the grace we need."
"Yes, but I don't have the money you need."
"Money? Do you need money? I'll give you back the money you brought me. I'll make you a gift of it."
"No. I don't want your money, thank you."
"Now you see? You don't need money. You already have the qualifications necessary for you to stay."
"I own a bed and a saddle."
"You see? This requires no money. It requires men. Do you know that one hundred years from now men will continue to live on La Haciendita and I will be dead and forgotten? When I die, La Haciendita will continue unchanged. I hope whoever is here will live as well as I have. If you stay and work here and help La Haciendita the life will be better in the next generation for La Haciendita."
"Don Marcos, that would be true if I owned land and had my own cattle and a way to prosper. But I own nothing. I have no roots here as you have."
"This is foolishness. No one owns La Haciendita or the Sierra or any big country like the Sierra. The eagle lives a full a life in the big country. Does he own it? Does he have money?"
"No, Don Marcos. But he is not a man."
"Ah, you see? If the eagle lives well, how much better must a man live who is not an animal, not a brute. If an eagle is free to fiercely live as he does, how much more free is not a man to live with his reason?"
"What you say is true but a difficult way for a man to live."
"Difficult? Yes. For you to have to be a man in order to make a better life than the eagle, a man, not pig slop."
"I believe as you do, Don Marcos. I hope I can stay. I will need luck, though."
"Oh, I believe in luck. You will need luck. Each new day is a new venture. If the eagle is unlucky enough to sleep he will miss the early hunt. If the fish is unlucky enough to sleep, the current will take him away. But the true eagle does not sleep nor does the true fish always allow the current to happen to him, or if he does he swims back, no matter how swift the current, to his favorite hole where all the campañero fishes will sing and dance on his return."
"Sometimes they sing and dance if he doesn't return."
"Then he should have been a true fish and lived as a fish, not as an oyster. Only an oyster or an angel has no drives and is in firm possession of all God's answers. Only an angel or an oyster can live without knowledge of song and dance. They have no drives, no desires, no questions, and no luck."
"I've heard men say that a man makes his own luck, Don Marcos."
"A person who says he makes his own luck has never sought his fortune, has never ventured, has never questioned his own talents or been driven by what was inside his manhood. Such a person was not given life by Cod to be an angel. He is a fantoche, a person who wants to be, makes signs to be, what he is not and will never be. He is less_than a man, less than an oyster, he is even less than an angel."
Kane rose from the table. "I must go, Don Marcos. Pardon me."
"This is certain and I am keeping you. I am the current that is keeping you away from what you must do. Be gone but come back."
"I will, Don Marcos."
Kane shook hands with Don Marcos and got his blanket. He tied it behind his saddle. He tightened the horse's cinches and mounted.
"The big Pajaro is thinner now," Don Marcos said. "He is more horse and less what he had been eating before he came to the Sierra. He is in the pure hair of a horse now."
"Yes. He has had something to do," Kane said.
"As have you, Don Marcos said. Kane reined Pajaro to leave and Don Marcos said, "Wait. " He went inside again, was gone awhile, and came back with a Coca-Cola bottle full of lechuguilla stoppered with a corncob.
"For when your horse gets tired," he said, and put the bottle in the morral hanging on Kane's saddlehorn. He stepped his huarached feet away from the big horse so he wouldn't get them stepped on when Kane reined the horse by him.
Kane rode down the dry steep trail into the canyon of El Durazno. The thick brush in the canyon was barren now and Kane could see more of the ground of the big country than he had been able to see when he had been to see the cattle at La Haciendita before.
Pajaro stepped surely like a mule and Kane thought in Spanish, I have a horse, not pig slops. At least I have the tools I need to get along here. I have this big horse that has turned out to be a good one in any country. The Pajaro is more useful here than he would be in any country. He is not wring-tailed or high-headed, and he knows where the ground is at all times. Besides that, he is as good or better than any beast native to the Sierra. And Pajaro, under criticism, stepped off the mountain and didn't roll rocks or shy from the gorges. . .
filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
