The Wonderful Country by Tom Lea

Author:Tom Lea [Lea, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Action & Adventure
ISBN: 9780875652559
Google: rDXu4TjryAMC
Publisher: TCU Press
Published: 2002-01-15T04:20:46+00:00

I said, “I am the best vaquero

That ever roped a cow!” Eee—Ha—Ha!

So he showed me an ox and a muddy field

And told me, “Start to plow!”

Eee—Ha! That’s what he said! Eeeee!”

“The best day of the year,” old Mateo said.

Bartolo put his mouth close to Martín’s ear. “Martín—” he waited until there was less noise. “Don Fulano is looking for you. He sent word, at the stable.”

“The foreman was very worthy, eh? What does he want?”

“I don’t know.”

Martín looked toward the box in the pavilion. The mayor-domo was there, watching the gate, for the next bull.

“They told me to tell you,” Bartolo said.

“Thank you.”

The ropers built their singing rawhide loops in the last sunlight. They forefooted wild mares in clouds of dust like luminous haze. The distant line of the Mother Sierra stood sharp against the glare in the west, then dimmed, fading. The charros ran their fastest horses in the early dusk. When the winner of the 500-vara rode to the pavilion in the shouts, and the first bonfire was lit, the people moved to the fiesta of the night of San Juan, to the barbecues, the barrels, the dancing, the games, the cockfights, the music.

An armed police touched Martín on the shoulder.

“The mayor-domo wants you.”

“I have been told.”

Martín walked to where Don Fulano stood alone by the chestnut stallion.

“Bredi, when do you leave?”

“Any time.”

“Could you take an express? A matter of urgent information from the mine of El Tigre. I received it after I saw you this afternoon. The governor awaits it. Where would I find you when I have the message written and sealed?”

“Here. Eating meat.”

The mayor-domo mounted his horse. “Thank you, Bredi. This needs a trusted man.” He paused. His cat’s eyes moved toward the crowd at the barbecue pits and the barrels. “You know these people, night of fiesta. Even my police—”

“Don Fulano, could I ask a favor?”

“Speak.”

“The woman of the ox driver Pablo who was killed in the north, she lives in a shack near the end of the second lane. Very humble. With nothing. Could the hacienda give her a way to earn bread? The ox driver Pablo served the Castros well.”

“I will remember it.”

“I will carry your express.”

He found Mateo and Bartolo Casas, and the husband of Lola, in the firelit crowd.

“Martín! Get some!” Bartolo held up browned goat ribs.

Mateo Casas turned his craggy face. He was chewing. “Where are you?”

“Here, Don Mateo. And hungry!”

“Eat! The chamacos have taken meat to our women at the house. Sit down. What did the mayor-domo want?”

“He wanted me to carry an express to the patrón.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“And you go. To an excellency. To a palace of a governor. And if it happens that you find my son Diego—” Mateo Casas stopped. He turned his blind eyes toward the sound of the music. “They sing ‘Memory of Valdepeñas.’” The old man’s voice roughened. “And I hear it. With meat in my mouth—smelling smoke of the fires—”

“I carry in my heart the land I knew

When I was young and sorrows were not mine.

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