Read Jim Kane - J P S Brown Online

Authors: J P S Brown

Jim Kane - J P S Brown (38 page)

BOOK: Jim Kane - J P S Brown
12.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

When the pipe was out he rose, knocked out the ashes,
gathered up the clean flour sack his supper had been wrapped in, and
buckled up his chaps. The mule had only eaten half his corn, through
he had long since stopped chewing. Leave it to a mule not to fill his
belly with a lot of corn when he senses he's still got a long way to
go, Kane thought.

The man and the mule drank side by side at the spring
and then left the Cajón de la Virgen.

"Well, Pardito, you've got it made now because
in a few short hours you'll be putting away the groceries in Poncho's
corral," Kane said.

The little beast, refreshed, moved with his short,
smooth, little steps down the arroyo. After a while they came to a
wide lumber road that crossed their path and they followed it out of
the arroyo.

When they reached a hill above San Bernardo, Kane
reined the animal to a stop and turned for the last look at the black
Sierra Madre. It's a short way out, but a long, long way back to you,
lady, he thought. He could hear the San Bernado dogs barking.

An hour later he rode through the open gate of the
corral behind Poncho Montenegro's store, unsaddled, rubbed the mule,
and pitched him a block of hay. He shut the gate and walked through
the back door of the store. Poncho woke and shined a flashlight on
Kane's face.

"
Is it you, Jaime? Where are you coming from?"
he asked.

"
San Rafael. Sorry I woke you, Ponchito."

"
San Rafael? No,
hombre
.
That is much road."

"
What time is it?"

"
Let's see. It is twelve midnight. What time did
you leave San Rafael?"

"
At noon."

"
On the big horse?"

"
The Macho Pardo."

"Another record for the Pardito! Let me get you
a drink."

"
I've got some of the best. Let's drink mine."

"
Well, I've been abstaining, but I'll have one
with you on a midnight after a ride like that. Let me get you some
bedding. "

"
No, stay in bed. I'm not staying. I have to be
on the border by noon if I can."

"Well, if I can't make you stay I'll have a
drink with you for your
estribo
."
The tall, gentlemanly storekeeper everyone in the Sierra esteemed
drank a big swallow of the
mezcal
.

"
That's good
lechuguilla,
"
he said.

"
Keep the rest of it. I have another bottle Don
Panchito gave me."

"Ah, you arrive with momentum," said
Poncho. "Your truck is full of gas and ready to go. "

"Did you get any use out of it while I was
gone?"

"
Yes, I hauled some posts."

"
Good, will you board the Pardito until I get
back?"

"
I sure will, it's good to have him here."

"
What can I bring you from gringolandia?"

"
Some Chestairfeels," Poncho said, laughing
self-consciously. "For the vice."

"
They are yours. Well, I'll see you, and thank
you, Ponchito."

"
No reason to thank
me. I hope it goes well with you."

Once he was in his truck and on his way, Kane became
aware of the necessity for reaching the border that day. This was a
deadline he was forced to keep. He could easily fail. He had been
lulled into the peaceful independence that characterizes the children
of the Sierra Madre. For a while he had actually felt at home in the
Mother Mountains as though he were a legitimate son. He had forgotten
he was an adopted child and that he had done the adopting.

The long highway miles fatigued him, but
preoccupation with the urgent business on the border kept him alert.
If he failed to arrive that day and turn in his truck permit or his
passport, two little pieces of paper, he would be ruined. He would be
unable to return to the Sierra to pay for the cattle, he would be
fined, and he would lose his permit to do business in Mexico.

Kane made the 450 miles from Poncho Montenegro's
store to the U.S. border in nine hours. He had stopped at his room
only long enough to clean up and shave off his unacceptable
moustache,

He spent the rest of the morning of his arrival
arranging the papers on his pickup and his visa.

That afternoon he went across the line to the
American side to visit his banker and bring him up to date on the
stock he was bringing to market. They talked of the big-horned cattle
Kane had on the way from Chihuahua to the States. They discussed the
days the cattle would be driven on foot, train hours, and weight
shrinkage the cattle would undergo before they would be marketable
stock. The banker was a tough man and he trusted Kane's word.

When Kane stepped out on the street in front of the
bank, he realized he had accomplished all the chores he had set out
to do when he had left San Rafael the day before on the Macho Pardo.

He went back to the Mexican side of the border to the
Hotel Toreo to have a drink.

The Count was standing at the bar when Kane entered.
He was speaking to a man and a woman. They were tourists.

"
You can't tell me it's not cruel, you know.
I've been in Spain and I've seen the real bullfights, the best bulls.
It's a disgrace in any part of the world," the man tourist said.
The Count listened politely, nodding his head. He wanted to get away
from them. He pretended he couldn't understand the tourists very
well.

"You say you are the manager of the bullring,"
the tourist persisted. "Why do you allow yourself to profit from
torture? Answer me that if you can."

The Count nodded vaguely, called the bartender and
ordered the tourists another drink.

He turned away from them when they thanked him. He
saw Kane.

"
¿Qué hubo
, Jim?"
he said quietly. "What happened to you? We haven't seen you for
months."

The Count was a tall man, very pale. He wore an
expensive snap-brims beaver hat, a dark suit and tie, with a stickpin
set with diamonds. He had a small, red, fresh flower in his lapel.

The bartender also walked over to Kane, offering his
hand.

Kane shook hands with both men. "You both look
very well," Kane said. "I guess the tourists aren't getting
you down."

Roberto, the bartender, turned on his passive Indian
bartender face and watched his boss.

"
Oh, they are just having a good time," the
Count said. "They've been in here since they came down from the
hotel at about nine o'clock. They like the bulls but hate the
bullfighters. I think they hate the bullring
empresa
even worse. It gives them a thirst to talk about it,
though."

"
They sure are getting tight," Kane said.
"Pedro, I want to lease your Agua Clara ranch again. You got
anything on it right now?"

"
Just that little bunch of cows and calves. How
many do you want to run?"

"
About two hundred fifty head. They will be up
in about three weeks." `

"
Just tell my cowboy, Enrique, so that he can
receive them off the cars."

"OK. I'll tell him tomorrow morning on my way
south. Are you drinking?"

"
No, thank you," the Count said. "I
must go take my woman to see a new house." He turned to Roberto.
"Give Jim a
trago
,"
he said. He waved at the tourists and left the bar. Roberto served
Kane a straight bourbon and a glass of water.

"
You going to get drunk, Jim?" he asked.
"Because if you are, I'll get you a room."

"
It's a good thing there aren't more bulls,
there would be fewer Mexicans," the tourist shouted at Kane.

"
No, Roberto. I have to get back to the Sierra
tomorrow. I'm receiving some cattle," Kane said. ‘

"Hey, cowboy. Cowboy."

Kane looked at the tourists. The man was sitting
slack-spined on the high stool with his elbows on the bar. The woman
was wearing stretch pants. She had long, blond hair braided into one
thick rope down her back. She was sitting up straight and pert. She
couldn't keep her eyes off her reflection in the mirror behind the
bar.

The man had the woman's purse hanging from one arm.
He is probably protecting it for her, Kane thought. From Mexicans.

"
Pardon me, pardon me. I don't mean to be rude,"
the tourist said. "Are you from here?"

"
Yes, I am," Kane said.

"
You a cowboy`?"

Kane kept quiet.

"
You take care of cattle for somebody?"

"
Yes."

"
Well, then, tell me just one thing. Why don't
you do something about these bullfights?"

"
I do. I go to them when I can."·

"
You mean you like them?"

"
Yes."

"You must be a phony. No real cowboy would like
to see bullfights."

"
How about the man who raises the bulls?"

"
Sadists. You'd have to be sadistic to like
seeing a beautiful animal hacked to death."

"
I agree."

"
Tell me one thing then. Why do you like to see
bullfights?"

"
How do you like to see cattle killed?"

"
I don't like anything like that."

"
You like beefsteak?"

"
Yes."

"Doesn't beef get killed before it gets cut up
and stacked in your freezer?"

"
Yes, but I don't pay to witness it."

"
The fact is they are killed with no regard to
whether or not they want to live and you really don't care about how
the cattle die that appease your appetite and satisfy your belly."

"
I like cattle. They are nice, gentle animals."

"
Sometimes the kind you eat are. Some cattle are
brave though. Some are cowardly. The Mexican would rather not eat the
brave ones. The bullfight has regard for the bull's will to live. It
would be a waste to disregard such a bull. No one ever willfully
turned a gentle animal into the bullring. That would be torture."

"
It's all cruel torture to me."

"But it wouldn't seem cruel to you to lead a one
thousand-pound brave bull into a chute of a slaughterhouse and drop a
hammer on his head, then hang him up by his heels and carve him into
steaks?"

"
Well, it's a shame to kill those beautiful
animals at all. They have a God-given right to live."

"
That is why we should have cattle, I guess,"
Kane said. "To look at. To pray to." He got up, waved to
the passive Roberto, and went out.

He got on the telephone in the evening and asked
around the country for offers on the cattle he had in the Sierra
Madre. Then he went to a hotel and lay down on the bed to watch
television and relax. Late at night the ego-mongers on television
were frantically baring their selves for everyone to see. It was
surprising to Kane how far a little talent or good looks pushed these
people. Kane was embarrassed for them, so he listened to them and
watched for some saving decency they might bring out, but they seemed
to revel in getting baser about themselves. They puffed their breasts
and fluffed their tails like pouter pigeons. They were still I'ing
and Me'ing, not having been completely heard, Mister, I ain't
through, when they were cut off because it was time for "The
Star Spangled Banner."

Thank God we still have
"The Star Spangled Banner," Kane thought as he went to bed.

BOOK: Jim Kane - J P S Brown
12.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Dream Merchant by Fred Waitzkin
Put on the Armour of Light by Catherine Macdonald
Salt River by James Sallis
Restless Waters by Jessica Speart