Jericho's Road by Elmer Kelton

Author:Elmer Kelton [Kelton, Elmer]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Cattle Stealing, Mexico, Ranch life, Mexican-American Border Region, Fiction
ISBN: 9780765363701
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2004-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

Only two men had returned so far to the stone house where Guadalupe Chavez waited south of the Rio Grande. They had come separately, one with a bullet in his shoulder, the other walking and leading a bleeding horse. Both said it was unlikely anyone else was coming.

“It was a trap, Don Lupe,” the wounded man said. “We found but four men with the cattle. They ran away. But the Jericho, he had other men hidden. They came down on us like a whirlwind.”

“What of my nephew?” Chavez demanded, eyes afire with accusation. “Did you run away and leave Antonio?”

“I did not see him, but the Jericho’s men were everywhere. They were killing everybody. We had no chance.”

Chavez was more inclined to shoot the wounded man than to treat him. “You should have watched out for him. He is but a boy.”

“He is a man, a man who should not have gone with us.” The black eyes held accusation of their own. Chavez flinched at a pang of guilt. He had tried to talk Antonio into staying behind but had yielded to the young man’s insistence. He should have held tough.

Chavez pointed to a much larger stone house. “Go to the women. Let them tend your wound.”

“Yes, patrón.” The man hesitated, holding a hand to the bad shoulder. “Good men have died today. What do we do now?”

“I will tell you when the time comes. First I want to know what happened to my nephew. Send Gonzales to me.”

Gonzales was an efficient spy. He could move about freely, appearing to be a ragged wood-gathering old peasant and no threat to anyone. To the contemptuous gringos he seemed beneath their notice, almost invisible. This worked to his advantage, for his ears were always open for information and his palms open for coin.

Gonzales appeared, his clothing tattered, his dusty feet protected only by guaraches so old that the leather was dry and twisted and black. His long gray mustache drooped like his shoulders. “You have work for me, patrón?”

“I want you to go across the river and see what has happened to my nephew. If he is dead, I want his body brought back here where he can be buried in hallowed ground with a priest to help his soul find its way to paradise. If he is alive I want to know where, so that I may send men to rescue him.”

“This will be a dangerous business. The Jericho is killing every Mexican he sees.”

“He will not waste a bullet on a worthless old man. He would not even stop to spit on you. I will pay well for the right information.”

Gonzales nodded. Chavez had known he would respond to the prospect of liberal payment. His only concern was the man’s greed. He suspected that Gonzales would be easily tempted. Should Chavez ever catch him dealing double, he would stake him down in an ant bed and let him consider the wages of perfidy while he died slowly, one bite at a time.

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