Crossing the Wire by Will Hobbs

Author:Will Hobbs [Hobbs, Will]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ages 8 & Up
ISBN: 9780061963629
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-10-11T07:00:00+00:00

16

What Might Have Been

IN THE MORNING I ATE the last of the jerky. By now I should have been in the Dos Cabezas Mountains. I was nearly out of food, and no more than halfway from the border to La Perra Flaca. Somehow, I had to find a shortcut. The map showed a small lake at the foot of the mountains on their western side. A road from the lake led to other roads and eventually the town of Willcox. Maybe I would get lucky and catch a ride.

A few miles down the canyon I came across footprints in the mud—lots of them, and they were fresh. The hikers seemed to be on their way out of the mountains. I guessed I was following some Americans until I found a candy wrapper with a Spanish label. It was the first in a fresh stream of trash with labels in Spanish.

Did I want to meet a group of mojados, or not?

Before long I heard voices. It was Spanish they were speaking. I edged closer, and peeked through the brush. The people were on a patch of green grass in the sunlight, some sitting and talking, others on their backs with their heads propped on their backpacks. They were muddy, ragged, and filthy—forced down from the snow like I was, and just as bad off. I counted seventeen, including six women.

The presence of the women made me hopeful. I might get some help from this group. I might get some food.

It wouldn’t hurt to talk to them. Or would it?

Which was the coyote? It was impossible to tell.

I watched and I waited to see what they were going to do next. Time went by, too much time for a rest break. Were they waiting for someone?

An hour later, a bowlegged man came shuffling up the trail. He had a mustache and wore a black and red jacket—Chicago Bulls. The group stood up and gathered around to see what he would say. The way he looked at them—as if they were cattle—and the way they looked at him—with distrust—it was easy to see he was their coyote.

From a careful distance, I followed as the coyote led them down the trail. After a few miles they came to a gate in a cattle fence, and started down a rough road without tire tracks. I began to think that the mojados were about to be picked up farther down this road. I wondered if I could talk my way into joining them, wherever they were going. I would have to make some kind of deal with the coyote. Maybe he would let me pay after I found work. I was going to owe a whole lot of dollars, maybe as much as Rico’s fifteen hundred.

They came to a fork in the road. Instead of leading them downhill, on the main branch, the coyote turned uphill. I doubted this meant they were about to be picked up. Their coyote led them to a cabin on the mountainside below a boarded-up mine.

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