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Array
(
[sid] => 132478
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Margarita LIV
[time] => 2007-03-07 13:42:12
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => That next afternoon Arracho was ready to inspect H.L. Copeland’s barbed wire fence. Taking Segundo and Pedro with him, he went to the east end of the valley where an arroyo cut a naked swath across the land. During the winter the ditch carried spill to the San Laurius River, but being summer it was dry, filled in places with grey-brown tumbleweeds piled to the top of its banks. A fence followed the length of this deformed gully, twisting and turning at different angles. Its strands of barbed wire, some broken and wrapped around other, were nailed to knurled wooden posts stationed like ancient sentinels along the gully’s rim. Arracho looked at the contorted muniment . It was an agonizing obstruction defending the outer perimeter of Senor Copeland’s range. An outrider came to look at them from the edge of the arroyo’s inner rim. His stetson was pulled low over his eyes shielding from the afternoon sun. He was a yanqui on a dun colored horse. A gun hung low on his right hip He gave them no indication of greeting. Farther back, a group of gringo riders on sweat covered horses waited, watching. Arracho and his friends rode to where a wooden bridge spanned the arroyo. A sign over the near part of the bridge read: Rancho Arroyo Seco Arracho studied the sign. He spoke to Segundo. “ I ‘m going to visit Senor Copeland a little while, Segundo. Do you think that’s a good idea?” “If the three of us go together, I think it might be all right.” “ And you, Toro. Do you think it is all right?” “Even if it’s not all right, I ride with you.” Hoofs of their horse made much noise on the on the bride as they came forward to meet the yanqui rider. He was a rawboned cowboy that sat his horse very well. A bandana was caught at his throat. Shirt was sweaty-wet. His boots were worn down at the heels, spurs covered with manure. A rifle was in the crook of his arm carelessly pointed at Arracho’s stomach. The man spoke. “Where ya think ya goin’, greaser?” “We would like to see Senor Copeland.” “Why’s that?” “It is business between us. I think it would be good for you to take us to him. And please, senor, point your rifle the other way.” The cowboy thought the words over. He spat a stream of tobacco juice to the ground. “Expecting ya?” “No. Senor Copeland does not expect me, but he will be happy to hear what I have to say. I have an offer to make him.” “Ya can tell me.” “ No, senor. I do not think I can do that.” The cowboy spoke the words back in disrespect. “Ya don’t think ya can do that.” “No, senor, I do think I can.” The cowboy considered the three Mexicans before him. He didn’t like the looks of the thin rider to the left of the leader. The skinny man looked dangerous. The other looked strong, but very young. He spoke some words to Arracho. “ Old man, ya come with me. Others stay here.” Arracho gave back words. “ I think Senor Copeland would also like to talk with Diego Silva and Pedro Hernandez.” “What’s ya name?” “Arracho Huerra.” “Arracho Huerra, if ya want to see Mister Copeland, you’d better do what I tell ya.” Men behind the cowboy muttered approval. Not one was a Californio. Huerra could see the man enjoyed being insulting. No doubt the tough yanqui had been given orders to keep strangers out. Arracho surrendered his pride in order to see Copland. “Segundo, why don’t you and Pedro do as the yanqui asks. I don’t like his rifle pointed at my stomach.” Segundo saw Arracho’s broad wink. He smiled broadly at the ugly gringo on his dun horse. “Hey hombre,” he asked with a laugh.” Do you have any tequila?” The yanqui gave him a hard stare. He spat a stream of brown tobacco juice to the ground. He gave the Mexican a question. “Who drinks tequila around here?” He spoke to the men behind him. “Anybody here drink tequila?” The riders laughed a little. From the group came a voice. “Nobody here drinks tequila, boss. That’s a greaser drink.” The tough yanqui on the dun horse gave Segundo words. “ We’ve got no tequila, greaser.” “Do you have whiskey, mi amigo?” “You’re sure persistent.” “Senor, what does it matter between friends” Let’s have a drink together.” The man smiled. “Concho, take ‘em to the bunk house. Give ‘em a drink of this.” He took a half filled bottle of whiskey from his saddle bag and threw it to a near man withe silver conches around the crown of his black hat. The man caught it in both hands, smiling from ear to ear. “Hoped you’d say that, boss.” “ Do it then! Get ‘em out of here.” Wheeling his horse, the concho man spoke back to the Mexicans. “ Let’s go, hombres!” The man on the dun horse sheathed his rifle in a saddle boot. He spoke across to Arracho. “Mister, ya come with me.” [comments] => 0 [counter] => 216 [topic] => 31 [informant] => ramfire [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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