The Bear and the Bull

by Harvey Mendez

  “We got him.” The lazadore took a deep breath.

  Ramon urged his pony toward the bear for a closer look. The grizzly thrashed on the ground.

  “Ramon, get back!” Luis crowded Ramon’s pinto with his larger horse.

  Ramon reined up. “Papa, I can help... please.”

  “You are too small. Let the men work.”

  One of the vaqueros leaped off his horse, slapped Ramon’s saddle. “Bravo, muchacho.” He turned to Luis. “Ramon will soon be a man.”

  “Yes,” Luis said, “he will be a matador, like I was and my father was and his father before him. But this bear is not a bull. Ramon must wait and learn.”

  The vaquero stared at the bear. “This grizzly must weigh over a thousand pounds.”

  Two lazadores gathered leafy branches from nearby trees and spread a large steer hide on the ground. They cushioned the hide with the branches while the other horsemen cinched their ropes tight on the bear.

  “Easy, now...” Luis circled the grizzly until the struggling beast quieted down. “All right, together.”

  The six men blended as one and rolled the bear onto the crude stretcher. Running two lines and two long sticks to the lead horses, the vaqueros tugged the travois forward a few paces to make sure the horses could drag the heavy load.

  Ramon sat on his pony, watching the precision of the men’s movements and imagined he was in the bullring where grace and daring meant survival.

  “The Señor will be well pleased.” Luis pulled a half-full bottle of mescal from his saddlebags and passed it to his men. “Well done.” He took off his hat, wiped his brow with the back of his right hand.

  After their drink, Luis raised his hand and pointed to the trail. Two men rode double. The other vaqueros prodded their horses, dragged the grizzly toward the rancho. Ramon trotted alongside his father.

  Snarls through the grizzly’s clenched teeth made the horses shy to the side of the trail. The riders spurred them back but the bear’s bound paws clawed the air, keeping the horses alert.

  “Papa, the bear still fights. He is ferocious.” Ramon rose in his saddle. “We should alert the rancho. Can I ride ahead?”

  Luis adjusted his hat, again wiped sweat off his brow. “Yes, my son, I doubt most have seen a grizzly this size.”

  “Thank you, Papa. You take care, that grizzly is a killer.” Ramon waved his charro, galloped away, dust flying after him.

  Luis shook his head, smiled. “Soon a man...”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ramon sat on the fence, watched the trail. He fidgeted with his charro, stood up, strained his eyes, and sat back down. The cloud of dust would soon appear in the distance. He just could not wait. He climbed down, rested his arms on a rail. While peering through the slats, he tapped his right boot on the dirt. After a few minutes, he climbed back to the top rail, squinted toward the horizon. Dust puffed up from the trail. Ramon leaped off the fence, jumped on his pony, and rode toward his father.

  Luis saw his son, held up a hand. “Ramon—not too close, now.”

  Ramon slowed his pinto, trotted on the outside of his father’s horse. “All this way, the grizzly still thrashed. He looks so strong.”

  “He is a beast,” Luis said, “magnificent, but still a beast.”

  “The Señor will be pleased.”

  “Yes, now ride ahead, open the big gate.”

  Ramon raced to the gate, pulled it open, and rode around the hacienda. “The grizzly comes! The grizzly comes!” He urged his paint to the main house, dismounted, and ran up the steps to Señor Ortega.

  “Look.” Ramon pointed to the grizzly his father and the vaqueros pulled through the gate.

  “Yes, Ramon.” Ortega patted the boy’s shoulder. “He is quite a specimen.”

  Ramon watched the grizzly struggle with its bonds. “The bear still fights.”

  “Well done, Luis,” Señor Ortega said.

  Luis stopped the horsemen. “Thank you, Padrone. Our cows had no chance at all.”

  “Indeed, he is enormous.”

  “We must secure him in the arena.” Luis motioned to the vaqueros.

  They dragged the bear toward the enclosure. Ramon ran ahead, held open the arena gate. The hacienda’s residents, awed by the spectacle, moved to the ring but no one was allowed to climb on the walls.

  Still thrashing on the stretcher, the grizzly was pulled into the large arena by the riders and positioned next to a thick post in the ring’s center.

  “We must chain a leg to the pole.” Luis dismounted from his horse. “Hold those ropes taut!”

  Four men hauled in an iron chain and helped Luis secure the grizzly’s left hind leg to the wooden post. The vaqueros, still on their horses, slackened the lariats. The bear ripped apart the reatas, attacked the chain. Its paws free, the grizzly tore away the noose around its jaws and lunged at the nearest horse.

  “Watch it,” Luis warned, “his strength is beyond God’s.”

  The horsemen pulled back, gave the grizzly plenty of room. The animal reared on its hind feet, clawed the air wildly. Standing nearly twelve feet tall, the grizzly towered above the adobe wall surrounding the arena.

  Luis turned, saw Ramon and some other boys climbing on the wall. He waved his hat. “Ramon, get off the wall!”

  The bear lunged, ripped at Luis’s right arm. Luis jerked away but the grizzly’s claws slashed down his arm, tearing skin and muscle from the bone. Luis dropped to the ground. The vaqueros charged the bear, forced it back before it pounced on Luis.

  Ramon’s dark eyes grew wild. “Papa!” He leaped off the wall, ran toward his fallen father.

  Luis rolled back and forth in his own blood. “My arm—my arm!”

  Two vaqueros pulled off their bandannas and wrapped Luis’s arm.

  “Get the doctor!” Señor Ortega motioned to one of the riders.

  Ramon slid next to Luis, threw his arms around his father’s neck. “Oh, Papa—Papa.”

  Luis writhed in pain. “Ramon...”

  Two of the vaqueros roped the grizzly from behind and tied it to the wall. Its growls grew louder. Saliva dripped from its jaws.

  “Easy, Luis, easy.” Señor Ortega knelt beside his foreman. “The doctor will be here soon.”

  “He will bleed to death—please, God, help him.” Ramon’s tears ran down his cheeks. He looked at his father’s mangled arm, slashed to the bone.

  The grizzly roared, fought his bonds.

  Ramon looked up. “Shoot the bear! Señor...”

  “No,” Ortega said, “the grizzly is a prize catch. But, we must think of Luis now.”

  Ramon clung to his father. “Where is the doctor?” He shook Luis. “Papa, Papa, don’t sleep—please stay awake.”

  Señor Ortega pressed his hand on Luis’s other shoulder. “Hold on, Luis, hold on.”

  * * *

  “He will rest,” the doctor said. “I have given him laudanum.”

  Señor Ortega stood next to the bed. “What about his arm?”

  “It was mutilated pretty bad.” The doctor finished wrapping the bandage. “If the herbs work, I won’t have to amputate. We’ll know in a couple of weeks.”

  Señor Ortega looked down at Luis. “Not good—he already has a bad leg—now his arm.”

  Ramon burst into the room. “Will Papa be all right?” He rested his head on his father’s chest, put an arm over him.

  “Careful,” the doctor said, “don’t touch his arm. Your father will be fine if the arm heals like I think it will.”

  Ramon turned to Señor Ortega. “What if it does not?”

  “Then the doctor may have to take his arm and your father may not be able to work.”

  Ramon’s face dropped. He looked at the Señor, saw the graveness in his face. “But Papa must work—he wants his own rancho one day. My Toro will be the first of our herd.”

  “Let us pray for the best,” Ortega said. “I am sure God will help him.”

  “And I will help,” Ramon said. “I can ride, he
lp train the young bulls. I will start tomorrow morning.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next morning, Ramon awakened early, grabbed a cape, and ran to the corral. He waved the cape at one of the bulls. An older bull responded, darted toward the young boy. Ramon dropped the cape, sidestepped the large bull’s charge.

  “Ehe, you are slow today. We must do more work.”

  * * *

  “Why are you going here today, Father?” Betsy Crowley asked, her long, auburn hair flowing under her green bonnet.

  Edward Crowley, a tall, raw-boned man of middle age, looked at his young daughter. “I must discuss some business with Señor Ortega.” He slowed his horse-drawn buggy when they approached the rancho’s main gate.

  A ranch hand, working nearby, opened the gate. He stared at the pretty, blue-eyed girl, sitting straight in her seat, until Mr. Crowley glared at him.

  Mr. Crowley reined up in front of the main house. “You stay here, Betsy, I won’t be too long.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  After sitting awhile, Betsy leaned forward, adjusted her calico dress. She turned toward the corral and saw a black bull trotting from one end to the other. The bull’s splendor kept her attention until she spotted a young boy in the corral. Betsy stood for a better view. He’s so slender—the bull’s so big. He must be brave.

  Wanting to get closer, Betsy ran to the corral fence and peered through the slats.

  Over and over, Ramon worked the bull. Sweat poured from his forehead. “Come on, charge me.” He flicked the cape.

  The bull charged full-speed, just missed Ramon’s chest with its white horns. Ramon wiped sweat off his brow as the bull spun for another attack.

  Betsy, awed by the spectacle, almost called out. She didn’t know a bull was so fierce. And it was so huge. The boy could be killed. She saw how taut his muscles became when he moved; how patient he was, working the cape again and again. Her eyes widened and she gasped each time boy and bull clashed.

  Ramon stopped for a moment, caught his breath, and adjusted his charro. From the corner of his eye, he stole a glimpse of the girl watching him. He turned. Their eyes met; mesmerized, they stood frozen. Suddenly Betsy turned away and ran back to the buggy. Ramon stared after her, wondering who she was.

  Mr. Crowley walked toward the buggy, saw Betsy was flushed. “What’s the matter, Betsy?”

  She glanced at the ground. “Oh, nothing, Father.”

  As the buggy passed through the gate, Betsy looked back but saw only dust rising from the corral.

  Ramon finished his work and found his father in their room. “Papa, working the bulls is hard.”

  “I know, my son.” Luis sat on his bed, his bandaged arm resting on two pillows. “When my arm heals, I will show you more. I am thankful you can help.”

  “You just get well, Papa.” Ramon put his charro on a chair and scratched his forehead. He stood in front of his father and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. After a few moments, he hitched up his belt.

  Luis took notice, motioned for his son to sit down. “What is it, Ramon? You have something on your mind?”

  Ramon looked at his father, blushed. “Papa—I—ah—

  I...”

  “Come, come, Ramon, out with it.”

  Ramon gathered himself. “I saw a girl today—by the corral. Who is she? She was not Mexican.”

  Luis’s eyes narrowed. “That must be Betsy, Mr. Crowley’s daughter. They came to see Señor Ortega.”

  Ramon blushed again. “She was pretty.”

  “She is American, not your kind. Mr. Crowley is the rancho’s creditor.”

  “She does not go to my school. She seems about my age.”

  “Her father is rich. He owns much land.”

  Ramon wanted to ask more questions but thought better of it.

  Before breakfast the next day, Ramon saddled his pony and rode out on the range. He kept thinking about Betsy. He liked her name. He wondered why he had not seen her before. She did not go to the Mission School where he went. She must have a private tutor.

  The morning was chilly. Ramon picked up the pace. His pinto responded easily, knew its master’s commands. Ramon had that inherent trait with large animals. Someday, he would be a champion matador.

  Rancho Ortega was vast but Mr. Crowley’s land covered many more acres and had thousands of heads of cattle. The grizzlies feasted often when they trekked from their mountain dens.

  Ramon wanted to ride right through the front gate and see Betsy but he knew he could not, so he just rode along the trail beside the endless fence that separated the two ranchos. Every so often he turned his head and stretched his neck, hoping to see her. In only a few glances, he remembered her shiny face, her long, reddish hair, and the green bonnet tied around her neck.

  Sometimes he trotted in a circle, then went on. After an hour of so, Ramon turned toward home and was about to spur his pony when he saw a rider approach.

  Betsy saw him at the same moment and urged her horse forward. Ramon pulled up and waited. Betsy reined her horse, facing him.

  “Buenos Dias, Señorita.” Ramon tipped his charro.

  “Good morning.” Betsy smiled. “Aren’t you the boy from the corral—with the bull?”

  “Si, I am Ramon, and you are Betsy.” He blushed when he looked into her eyes.

  She glanced away. “So, you know my name. Do you ride here often?”

  “Sometimes—my pony needed exercise today.”

  “I don’t get to ride alone much, but today I just saddled up and left.” She held her reins tight.

  Ramon gathered his courage. “Would you like to ride with me? There is a hidden stream not too far—we could go crabbing.”

  Betsy was surprised by his sudden outburst. “Crabbing? What is that?”

  “We catch crabs on the bottom of the stream. It is fun.” But most of all he would be with her.

  Betsy hesitated. “I... guess it would be all right.”

  They rode through deep arroyos, up the mountain through pine trees until Ramon reined up. Dismounting, Betsy followed Ramon down a narrow path between the trees.

  “I hear water,” she said.

  “Yes, it is right over here.” Ramon spread some branches for her, touched her hand, and led her to a gently running brook. Such smooth hands. Shivers ran through him. He had never known such feelings.

  “It’s beautiful.” Betsy whirled and took in the water and trees in the small opening.

  The sun’s first rays cut through the trees and hit her as she twirled. Ramon stood back, stared at the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

  “I never knew this place existed,” Betsy said.

  “I come here a lot.” Ramon still stared at her. “But it was never as beautiful as today.”

  Betsy stopped, looked at Ramon. She felt the heat in her cheeks, put her fingers to her face. After an awkward moment, she just smiled.

  “The only thing,” he said, “you must always be cautious. These mountains are home to many grizzlies.”

  Betsy shuddered. She’d heard her father talk about the dreaded grizzly—how it killed his cattle. She moved closer to Ramon, reached out to him. “Are we safe?”

  He took her hand. “I will protect you.” Not letting her see him do so, he slowly scanned the whole area, remembering when the great bear attacked his mother.

  She felt him tense up. “Is something the matter?”

  “No—come on, down to the stream. We will catch some crabs.”

  They stopped at the water’s edge. Ramon pointed. “Look.”

  Betsy stooped closer, looked under the water. Small crabs crawled around the rocks. “Do they pinch?”

  “Not if you grab them right—watch.” He put his fingers behind a crab’s head and pulled it out of the water. Its claws snapped in all directions. Ramon held it in front of Betsy. “Want to hold it?”

  She stepped back. “No...”

  He smiled. “It will not hurt you.”

  “Are you s
ure?”

  “I would let nothing hurt you.”

  She moved a hand toward the crab. “Let’s see.”

  Ramon started to hand her the crab when he heard horses. “Someone is riding this way.”

  Betsy jerked backward. “I mustn’t be seen here.”

  Ramon dropped the crab into the stream. “Stay in the trees.” He helped her mount her horse. “I will ride out first. You wait. When it is clear, you can go.”

  “Maybe we can come back sometime.”

  “Yes, maybe,” he whispered and put a finger to his lips.

  She cupped her mouth with her hand.

  After the riders rode past, Ramon caught her eyes one more time, hopped on his paint, and rode off.

  Betsy watched him until he disappeared, then spurred her mount homeward. She felt warm. Such a handsome boy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Betsy arrived home before noon. She unsaddled her horse and closed the stall gate. Her mother waited in the kitchen.

  “Where have you been, young lady?” Mrs. Crowley, tall, lean, in her mid-thirties with lustrous red hair, stood by the table.

  Thirteen-year-old Betsy looked up. “I—I went riding.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.” Betsy did not lie often.

  Her mother pursed her lips. “You know your father doesn’t want you to do that.”

  “I woke up early, decided to exercise my horse.”

  Kathleen Crowley put her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t make me very happy.”

  Betsy stepped backward. What would make her mother happy? She didn’t say anything.

  “You will stay in your room.” Mrs. Crowley sat at the table and stared out the window. Remembering how her own father had treated her, the punishment didn’t seem very harsh.

  “Yes, Mother.” Betsy started out the kitchen door, then turned. “Oh—I saw a boy at Rancho Ortega yesterday.”

  Mrs. Crowley’s green eyes widened. “They are bullfighters at that place—bad people!”

  “But I was with father.” Betsy’s pretty face twisted.

  “Your father holds the mortgage on that ranch. He is about to foreclose.” Her face showed satisfaction.