This is the final version of Chapter 23 I am sending to RAAC.
The title has been changed.
Please comment.  Hope you like it.

James


*********** LAS AVENTURAS DE MACHO CABALLO ************

Disclaimer:  Macho Caballo was inspired by Takahashi
Rumiko's Ranma 1/2.  This is a work of fiction, and no
person, place, or thing mentioned in Macho Caballo is
intended to depict an actual person, place or thing.  As
fiction, the opinions and views expressed by characters are
constructs for the purpose of telling a story, may vary
wildly from the truth, and are not intended to represent
views held by any real person, including this author.  All
other mistakes and errors are mine.  I still don't think
this is a bedtime story for young kids, primarily for the
salty language.

What has gone before:
Chased by the posse, menaced by unknown bad guys, Ramon and
his group are struck by a violent storm.  They recover many
miles away, separated and shaken.



                        MACHO CABALLO

                 PART 2: CHAPTER VEINTITRES

                   WELL BEGUN IS HALF DONE
                   (was 'First Impressions')



PICKING UP PIECES:

When Sunboy chose to do so, he could make a grand entrance.
Then there were the days when he just wanted to make
everything hot.

The air was growing warmer as he stood, bare feet planted in
the sand, facing the Sun rising in the east.  The tall Azuma
lad opened his eyes, shaded them with one hand as he gazed
toward the hills northeast.  Then he looked closer, at a
patch of brush slightly greener than the rest.  "There is
water, there," he said.

"Good," said Red Cloud.  She had found one of the canteens
from the spilled pack.

Wolfwalker remained immobile, staring at the sky.  "I would
rather be an eagle," he said quietly, "To soar above this
sand and brush.  Or a hawk.  Anything would be better than
what I am."

Red Cloud gave him a puzzled look and said, "I am content
with what I have.  I am Azuma.  What else could be
important?"

"Yes, but you have a glorious sacred form.  I have..."
Wolfwalker suddenly became silent.  He shook the sand from
his feet, donned moccasins and hefted the canteen.  "I will
bring water," he said.

As Ramon piled his scant gatherings of unblemished food
before him, a fly settled on a wrapping.  He made a grab at
it, but the fly buzzed free.

Red Cloud watched Wolfwalker go and shook her head.  She
joined Ramon with her own burden, a pair of saddlebags and a
metal pan.  Observing his efforts, she asked, "What would
you do with the fly if you caught it?"

"Let it go, I guess.  It is something my abuelo has me
doing.  He says if I can catch a fly without harming it then
I can quit grabbing them.  Then he will probably find
something else stupid for me to do."

"Yes," nodded Red Cloud, "You are concerned about your
grandfather?"

"We haven't seen him, or the rest of the group.  They could
be hurt, or dead."

Red Cloud nodded, "What could you do, from here, either
way?"

"Nothing much, I guess.  But I worry."

"Worry won't find them," she said as she added a torn
blanket to the pile.

"No, I guess not."

Wolfwalker returned with the filled canteen, and they drank.
"I have seen smoke to the northeast," he said.

Ramon dropped his supplies to search the sky.  He became
very anxious to go on.  "It could be an Apache village!" he
said, "Let's go on and see!"

Red Cloud looked up from the length of rope she was
untangling. "Take your time," she said, "I am in no hurry to
lose my freedom - or worse."

"But this is what I came here for!" Ramon objected, "Why did
you follow me if you don't want to meet the Apache?"

"I do not like them.  I followed you because... you are
important to the tribe and I felt that I must help you."

"Why do you humble yourself to this fool?" demanded
Wolfwalker, "Let him run off and get himself captured.  Then
we can go back home.  You have done enough, protecting him
this far."

"We must keep him alive," Red Cloud told him, "The spirits
of the spring have told me this."

"But why him?" Wolfwalker dropped the utensils he had
collected into a heap and stood over her, "What makes this
Mexican so important?"

Red Cloud and Ramon exchanged glances and she admitted, "I
cannot say."

"It is a mystery to me, too," said Ramon, "All I know is
this - I am searching for my sister, she must be among the
Apache, and we are somehow in the land of the Apache.  If I
find them, I may find her."

"Are you so certain?" asked Red Cloud, "I will go with you,
wherever you may go.  But remember what I told you the first
time, about the Apache."

Ramon checked, frowned, and said, "I don't want anything to
happen to you."

"Do not worry about me," she said, "Remember this - should
we get into hot water with the Apache, it is not I who
should fear being violated."

"They would not cause him much pain," snorted Wolfwalker,
"There is no honor in prolonging a coward's death."

"All the same, he has reason to be cautious," said Red Cloud
with a sidelong glance, "We should go, but move carefully.
We have met Bluenose, but not all Apache are like him."

"Fear not," said Wolfwalker, stuffing the pack full, "I
shall protect you.  Let's go."  He handed the pack to Red
Cloud.

"I thought you were ready to turn back!" said Ramon.

"That was before I realized what a raving madman you really
were," Wolfwalker said, "But, perhaps I can keep you alive
long enough for you to complete your search."

"Just stand between us and the Sun," suggested Ramon, "Your
head should provide enough shade to keep Red Cloud and me
both cool."




OH, WAD SOME POWER, THE GIFTY GIE US:

Buffalo Wattle carefully lifted a twisted tangle of wood
from a beaded bag. "Keep your hands off of it!" he cried. He
held it at arm's length to discourage Black Elk, who was
reaching to finger the twisted fibers.

"What is this?" asked Black Elk, "It looks like tinder to
build a fire."

"This is a magical hat," announced Buffalo Wattle, "It came
from a lightning-struck tree."

"Isn't that the shaman's bag?" asked Tall Horse.

"Of course it is," said Buffalo Wattle, "He gave it to me to
help us find White Dog's pony."

"Since he let you borrow it, I suppose it is all right,"
Black Elk said carefully, "But... "

"He told me how to use it," the chief's son said, "When you
wear it you can see true shapes.  It will show us who took
your pony. I will show you."

"You are taking a chance," muttered Tall Horse, "Magic can
turn on you if you aren't careful."

"What can you see?"  The shortest member of the little group
was White Dog, allowed to tag along because he was the best
at following faded animal trails.

Buffalo Wattle had fitted the contraption over his head, so
he was peering out of two holes shaped roughly like
eyepieces. "Tall Horse, you look no different," he said
before turning to the others, "White Dog, you have the shape
of a weasel.  You would be very good at getting into small
places."

"I knew that," muttered White Dog.

"And Black Elk..." Buffalo Wattle began to snicker.  He
laughed, bending over and holding his sides until he could
draw a clear breath, and said, "Black Elk, this is
wonderful!  You have the shape of the civet cat!"

"I do not think this is so wonderful," growled Black Elk, "I
would try this hat.  Perhaps it will show me something."

Buffalo Wattle reluctantly surrendered the tangle of
splinters and watched as Black Elk settled it onto his head.

"Now, I see..." Black Elk began, "...I see... hmmmph."

"What do you see?" White Dog said, agitated.

"Buffalo Wattle has the shape of a bull buffalo," grumbled
Black Elk.  Buffalo Wattle relaxed and smirked.

"I would look through this thing," said White Dog, as he
reached to take it from Black Elk's head.

"Careful!" cried Tall Horse, "It is indeed magic if it helps
you to see the true shape of a person.  Do not damage it."

"I will be careful," snapped the short boy as he placed his
head into the tortured wooden bowl.  He looked about for a
moment, then sighed in disappointment.  "Everyone looks the
same," he said, "Is this a joke?"

"No!" said Buffalo Wattle, "It belongs to the medicine man.
I have seen him use it before.  It worked for me."

"How did you get this thing?" asked Tall Horse suspiciously,
"I did not think the medicine man would lend you such a
powerful magic."

"I asked for it," said Buffalo Wattle, though he neglected
to add that he had asked his sister and not Broken Cloud.

White Dog had been using the eyeholes to scan their
surroundings. "There is a deer coming over that rise," he
said.

"Huh?  How do you know that?" asked Black Elk.  Just then a
buck with velvet antlers bounded above the hill, saw them,
and leaped away.

"So, it tells each person a different thing," said Tall
Horse, "I would look through it."  White Dog kept the hat
for another few moments, trying to spot another deer, but
finally had to give it up.

"It shows me nothing," said Tall Horse.  "You all look the
same. There is nothing coming over the hill."

"When I look at you with the hat, I do not see another
shape," said Buffalo Wattle, "Perhaps you were not meant to
look through it."

"Perhaps this is true," admitted the tall lad, "Let me try
again."  He stood in one spot and slowly turned around,
looking in all directions.  "There," he pointed with his lip
toward the hills in the south, "I see someone coming.  A
woman.  A wolf.  And a jaguar."

"Aiiyyee," breathed Black Elk, "Someone is coming, truly.
With my own eyes I see a woman and two men.  They are
strangers."

Buffalo Wattle smiled, but there was the cold of stone in
his eyes. "Let us go and greet them," he said, "We will see
if they are friends or fools."




AMBUSH:

The four Apache watched from cover as the strangers came
closer.

"Wait!" hissed Black Elk, "One of them is a Mexican!"

"Could they be here for the gathering?"  Tall Horse
wondered.

White Dog had to stand on his tiptoes to see.  "Do you
suppose they have a right to be here?"  he asked.

"No!" cried Buffalo Wattle, "They are outsiders!  I have
never seen them before!"

"What do you suppose they want?"

"They are not warriors, except maybe the tall one," decided
the chief's son.

"Let's take them in!  If they are enemy, they will have to
fight us.  If they are not, then we will escort them!" White
Dog scampered back to the top of the ridge.

"Yes," agreed Buffalo Wattle, "surely they will fight."

"You take the jaguar and the wolf.  I'll take the woman."

"Big talk, White Dog," laughed Black Elk.

Buffalo Wattle agreed, "We don't have to hurt them.  We will
surround them and capture them without bloodshed.  That way
I will be acknowledged as their superior."

                       --------------

Ramon went to intercept Red Cloud, and lifted the heavy pack
from her shoulders. "Here, let me carry that," he said, "You
should not have to carry this much weight."

"I am fine!" insisted the Azuma lass, "I am no weakling.  I
can manage."

"It is too heavy.  I should carry it."

Wolfwalker intervened. "Do you not listen?  She said to
leave her alone!" he said, then added, "Here, *I* will carry
it."

"You too?" cried Red Cloud, "I said I am able to do my own
work!" She finally agreed to swap the pack for the
saddlebags and they moved toward a faint trail which led to
the northeast.

Ramon hefted the pack and scowled at Wolfwalker, who ignored
him as he set out ahead on the trail.  Ramon turned to find
that Red Cloud was waiting, watching him.  For a moment they
stood there. She gazed levelly at him, almost without
expression, except for the slightest of smiles.

"Thank you," she said.

Ramon shook himself, wondered how long he had been standing
there looking foolish, and set out on the trail after
Wolfwalker.

Ramon trudged over the sand and gravel. The pack straps were
soon dragging heavily into his shoulders, but he refused to
complain except to say, "I wish I had my horse."

"Must you always complain?" said Wolfwalker, "You are a
weakling!"

"Oh, yeah?" Ramon returned, "Well, the strongest thing about
you is your mouth!  Besides, I was not complaining.  I just
miss my horse."

Wolfwalker ignored the jibe, "We have seen smoke, to the
northeast.  We must keep going if we are to get there before
dark."

Ramon said, "If my abuelo had not disappeared, he would know
how to talk to the Apache.  He could bargain for horses."

"If he did not make them angry and get us in trouble,
first," Red Cloud said.

"Oh, yeah," said Ramon, "There is that chance."

"But he says he has been teaching you," grinned the Azuma
maid, "Perhaps you could do the same as he."

"Yeah, I probably could..." Ramon paused to repeat her
statement to himself.  "That wasn't funny!" he decided.

She moved up to walk beside him.  After awhile, she said,
"Try not to worry so much.  You will take the right path."

Mollified, Ramon trudged on.  As he walked, a soft smile
wandered across his face, and he thought about how rarely he
had smiled lately.

Then Wolfwalker pushed between them.  "The smoke is no
closer," said the tall Indian, "Could you walk faster?"

The smile vanished, and Ramon said, "I am pacing myself.
This pack is heavy."

"You walk with your head down, even when you are not
carrying a burden," said Wolfwalker, "You walk like a
woman!"

Ramon turned to reply and stumbled over a hummock.  He
sprawled and the pack went tumbling and broke open.  While
he gathered the pack and refilled it, Red Cloud spoke softly
to Wolfwalker.

When they resumed their trek, Wolfwalker began taking longer
steps to forge ahead.  As he passed Ramon, he said,
"Weakling!"

Too tired to match his pace, Ramon watched him move away
beyond the rise.  "I am *not* a weakling!" he said.

It was then that the bushes seemed to come alive around
them.

Buffalo Wattle thrust aside his camouflage.  He brandished
his hatchet at Wolfwalker with a grin, and was confounded
when Wolfwalker, instead of facing the challenge, turned to
race toward Red Cloud to help her.

Red Cloud was the first to be grabbed - she gave a good
account for herself as she whirled around and kneed White
Dog in the gut.  Winded, it was all White Dog could do to
hold on while she squirmed in his arms, trying to draw her
knife.

Black Elk, abandoning his bow, leaped across the path to
tackle Ramon.  He caught the Mexican lad in the midriff as
Ramon turned to see what was happening to Red Cloud.  Ramon
hit the ground hard, dropping his pack as he rolled away. He
was followed closely by Black Elk, who was grabbing for a
handhold.  Black Elk was tougher, Ramon was more desperate.
Ramon came to his feet, used one foot to trip Black Elk, and
pounced on him to gain a grappling hold.  The two were
engaged in mutual antagonism when the rest of the battle
ended.

Wolfwalker, in getting to White Dog, who was being pummeled
by the furious Red Cloud, bowled over Tall Horse and sent
him tumbling.  Tall Horse dropped and crushed the beaded
leather bag he was carrying.  By the time Wolfwalker pulled
White Dog from Red Cloud, Buffalo Wattle was behind him
trying to catch him across the head with the flat of his ax
blade.

Tall Horse was recovering his feet when Wolfwalker swung his
spear as a club and swatted Buffalo Wattle away.

Tall Horse and White Dog then ganged up on Wolfwalker, but
he was getting the best of them when Buffalo Wattle took his
ax and grabbed Red Cloud.  He grasped her knife hand as she
swung at Black Elk, spun her around and held his weapon
high, saying in Spanish, "Stop, or I will kill her!"

Wolfwalker slumped and allowed himself to be bound with
leather thongs.  They started out once again on the same
trail they had been following, listening to their captors
inventory their packs.

Wolfwalker said, "It is my fault.  I was a fool to talk and
not watch."

"These guys are *good*!" whispered Red Cloud, "I didn't even
smell them!"

"Silence!" cried Buffalo Wattle.

Tall Horse mournfully carried the tattered medicine bag, and
White Dog limped ahead of them as they started on the trail.
"We still do not know if they are enemies," he called back
to them.

Black Elk laughed, "White Dog, you should have taken on the
wolf or the jaguar!  You would have done better!"




AFTER THE GLORY OF THE HEROES:

The Apache shaman watched the young men returning,
pantomiming the great battle that had occurred when they
overpowered and captured the three strangers.  He was
thinking that there was something odd about them when he was
interrupted by Yucca Blossom.

"Oh, there you are, Broken Cloud!" she said, "I am returning
your bag. I am afraid it was dropped."

"I saw you give it to your brother!  What do you mean,
taking something so valuable and rare?" cried Broken Cloud,
"You must leave such..."

"It was a useless old thing, anyway," said Yucca Blossom,
"There is no harm done."

Broken Cloud ceased ranting and stood, puzzled, before he
repeated her words, "Yes, I suppose so.  It was useless."

"You did not need it.  You have learned to do without it."

Again the medicine man ground his jaw in frustration, then
added, "Do not grieve if it is broken, Little Blossom.  I do
not need it anymore," Broken Cloud's eyes flicked back and
forth as though searching for a way to work around a
barrier, before he added, "I saw you give it to your brother
before he went to hunt.  Did they use it to catch these
people?"

"Yes.  The tall man and the girl are simple travelers," she
said, "But the boy in white... Aiiyee!  He is beautiful!"

"Aiyuh.  Is that what they are?  I was seeing something
else," Broken Cloud said, his anger from a moment before
gone like a troubling cloud, "Do you like him?  The boys in
the camp have been noticing you," he said, "It is time you
began to notice them."

"I am sure my brother has some mischief planned for them,"
said Yucca, "Maybe I can ask for the Mexican boy.  He could
stay with me.  I would cook him a meal he would never
forget!"

"Ah, my little blossom," said Broken Cloud, "You must never
use your herbs and potions to force others against their
will."

"I never do that," Yucca smiled innocently, "I only use them
to help people."

"I must speak to these people," said Broken Cloud, "There is
something odd about them."

"Not before I get my chance," said Yucca Blossom as she
dumped the crushed bag at his feet, "You will NOT see them,"

Broken Cloud watched her cross the compound, a tiny spark
within him still struggling to speak his own words, "I will
not see... him," he gritted through his teeth, "But I will
see the shaman from the Loose Foot group.  He will want to
meet them!"





WHAT'S IN A NAME:

The three captives were dumped into the scant shade of a
pinon tree.  They struggled with their bonds until they were
joined by the tall, strong leader of their captors.  One of
the prisoners, a boy in white cotton blouse and trousers,
spoke to his compatriots.

"We have to find Bluenose!" said Ramon, "That is the only
way we can get out of this mess!"

"You are out of luck," the young Apache warrior said, "We
are going to bury you up to your neck in the hot sand and
let the ants feast."

"Wait!" Ramon cried, "Can't we talk first?"

"Don't wheedle!" growled Wolfwalker, "Look at Red Cloud! She
is not afraid to die!  Are you no braver than a woman?"

"Part of the time, yes!" Ramon grudgingly admitted.

The tall Azuma lad scowled, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Quiet!" snapped Buffalo Wattle, "Here comes your
executioner!"

A frowning warrior stepped into their view.

"Bluenose!" cried Ramon.

The warrior surveyed them without easing his expression,
then turned to the younger warrior.

"Let us give them shelter for the night," he said.

"But they are my prisoners!" cried Buffalo Wattle, "I saw
their true forms - a jaguar and a wolf!  They fought like
the animals!"

"You have done a fine thing, bringing in these people.  If
you had not helped them, they could still be looking for us.
We must find a place for them to rest after their travel."

"They are from Mexico!  They may be spies!  Besides, they
are my prisoners!  I defeated them!"

The shaman/warrior nodded, pretending that he did not see
the scuffs and bruises, "Yes, they love a good scrap.  It
gives them an appetite."

Buffalo Wattle argued, "But how do you know them?  Who are
they?"

"As you say - a woman, a jaguar, and perhaps a wolf,"
Bluenose used his lower lip to indicate Red Cloud,
Wolfwalker, and Ramon in turn.

The warrior gazed at him for a long moment before relaxing
into a slow smile.  "I had heard that our warriors had
captured three people, with the spirit of a woman, a wolf,
and a jaguar," he said in Spanish.  He gazed at the three
worried faces and pointed with his lip, "You are the woman,"
to Red Cloud, and to Wolfwalker he said, "and you are the
jaguar, so you must be the wolf," as he indicated Ramon.

Wolfwalker gave him a look both startled and relieved.

Bluenose then took Ramon aside and spoke quietly to him,
away from the ears of the guard.

"My heart is good to meet you, She Goes Ahead," said
Bluenose, "I had not thought to see you here in your male
form."

"Don't say anything about that!" hissed Ramon, "Some of my
own people do not know about my... my problem!"

The skin around Bluenose's eyes crinkled as he indulged in a
conspiratorial smile,  "Then I will not tell him," he said,
"It is wise of you to travel this way.  But you and your
friend have a great power.  This is a thing you must share
with some of my people.  We have need of a sign."

"Wait a minute," said Ramon, "What did you just call me?"

"'She Goes Ahead'," said Bluenose, "I have used your true
name because I am asking a favor from you, but if you do not
wish it known, I will not say it.  I, too, have a secret
name which I do not speak except to allies.  To my allies I
am known as Spirit Finder."

"Spirit Finder?"

"It is better than 'Smeller', is it not?  When we hunt, I
find the places where the bad spirits do not trouble us."

"Didn't you kill that demon down in Mexico?  That is a
little stronger than 'Finder'."

Bluenose nodded thoughtfully and said, "It is better that
the name does not give away all your secrets."

"Yeah, I suppose," said Ramon, "But, I don't remember anyone
saying I was 'She Goes Ahead'."

"My son told this to me, how he asked the jaguar-lady..."

"...Red Cloud..."

"Ah, yes... asked the jaguar-lady how you were called, and
where you were to be found.  She said, 'She Goes Ahead', and
you would meet them later."

"I think I would have preferred 'Machita'," grumbled Ramon.





BABES:

Ma Brown said goodbye to the heavyset gentlemen on
horseback, and met the boys as they returned from stabling
their horses.  "I got some biscuits and fresh milk," said Ma
Brown, "though I would say that you boys look like you could
use something a little more substantial.  I ain't cooking
anything `til this evening, but the cantina down the street
serves all day long."

"Yes'm," agreed Lonesome, "That's the way I remember it."

Seeing Sandy glance toward the stairs, the boardinghouse
matron added, "She's resting fine.  You boys go and get
fed."

Estrellita came yawning down the stairs an hour later.  She
gladly accepted the cup of milk Ma Brown offered her, and
watched the woman pour milk for two children who were
sitting at the table.  Ma Brown then shooed them outside.
"I'm minding these young'uns for a friend," she explained
with an indulgent smile.

Following them to the front porch, Estrellita watched the
towheaded children playing in the dusty yard in the scant
shade of a juniper tree; a boy and a girl.  The boy was
barely old enough to walk in his hand-me-down dress.  His
sister nearly strained her seven year old muscles picking
him up.  The sister was intent on teaching him table
manners, using the chips of wood they had for dishes.

"Why does everyone make such a big deal about children?" the
rancherita wondered, "They are messy, impudent, and loud.
Bet you wouldn't find *me* wagging one of those brats
around."

The boy saw her looking at him and grinned.

Still, she thought, they were cute.  She could imagine
holding the little cherub-faced boy, his face dimpling in a
broad smile, with his blue eyes and sandy white hair...
Estrellita felt her cheeks grow warm and quickly pushed the
thought from her.  She turned her gaze toward the road
leading toward the river, where several horsemen were
coming, riding fast.

One of the horsemen veered out of the street and brought his
horse toward the yard where the children played, and
Estrellita hurried to them.  She had to grab the boy's arm
to yank him out of the way of the horse.

Holding the crying child tightly, she turned on the rider.

"Howdy, Senyoureeta!" the rider cried, "How'd you like to
come with me and get a drink?"

"I wish none of you and your 'drinks'," cried Estrellita.
Her voice sounded high, shrill, reflecting her upset.  She
brought her rapid breath under control and added, "You are
very reckless! You almost ran over these children!"

"Aww, Chiquita, they'da got outta the way in time," the
rider assured her.  Now that the panic of the moment was
over, she took the time to look at him.  He was a handsome
boy with cold grey eyes and a mane of brown hair.  He sat on
a sturdy mustang, its sides heaving and white with foamy
sweat. The rider beamed at her and lifted his hat a
fraction.  "My name's Will Larribee," he said, "And you are
about the prettiest thing I've seen this summer!"

"You may forget the pleasantries, Senor Larribee," she said
with disdain, "I do not speak with ruffians!"  Estrellita
gathered the children and tried to move them toward the
porch.

Will wheeled the exhausted horse into her path and insisted,
"You ain't going nowhere until you agree to have a drink
with me."

Estrellita regarded him coldly.  "Perhaps I was wrong," she
said, "You are no ruffian.  You are a pig!"

His grey eyes became tempered steel.  "You can't talk to me
that way, you puta!" he snapped. (1)

Her face paled and Estrellita made no effort to control her
temper.  She drew a deep breath and expended it informing
the boy named Will of her opinion of him, his ancestry, his
activities, and the horse he rode in on.  She drew upon the
vast store of terminology she had acquired listening to
vagabond travelers and mine workers and managed to get
across a clear picture of her disgust.

Will drew back in anger and prepared to bring the loose ends
of his reins down across her face, but he saw Ma Brown
emerging from the doorway.  He hauled his horse backwards,
biting back his rage, until he could wheel about and gallop
away.

"Hey, what did she call him?" wondered one of Will's
companions as they followed more leisurely.

"Hell, I couldn't understood half of it, and I thought I
knew everything.  Danged if I didn't have to cover my
horse's ears!" said the other.

Abruptly, Will's pony came flying back down the street to
slide to a stop before the boardinghouse steps.  "You ain't
heard the last of this!"  bawled Will, "You're gonna regret
this, you..." he broke off, glared at Ma Brown and rode off
again.

Ma Brown stood with her hands on her hips and frowned until
he was out of sight.  "Nothing good will come of that boy,"
she predicted.

"Senora, I apologize for my language," said Estrellita
timidly, aghast at her own imprudent tongue, "I was too
angry to think clearly."

"Well, what's done is done," said Ma Brown, "let's go inside
and we can talk about Will Larribee.  Can't tell you
anything out here - them little pitchers have big ears."

----------------------
(1) puta:  A bad word.  Definitely a bad word.  Use of this
word can be hazardous to your health.




IT'S THE CODE OF THE WEST, EVERY GIRL NEEDS A DOWRY: (2)

In the cantina at Rio Peligroso, Lonesome and Sandy had
found enough of a meal to founder more ambitious men.  Sandy
was still working on his share while Lonesome went outside
to make inquiries.  He stayed to talk to a local rancher.

Howard Comstock had rode in earlier that day to do some
business and, as was his wont, had stopped in the cantina
for two of his favorite pastimes.  One was attempting to
deplete the cantina's stock of brandy, the other was
expounding his knowledge.

"Funny thing about the Apache," Comstock mused as he
accepted another snifter of brandy, "The bucks will go to
all sorts of trouble to win a girls affections.  Now, I've
seen some Injuns where the man bosses the woman around...
not the Apache.  Those boys gotta go acourtin' and the
girl's family tells 'em when."

The conversation was interrupted by raised voices from
inside the cantina.

"Heck, ain't that enough?" rang a man's voice, "I brought
you flowers, I took you dancing, and now you won't even give
me one little..."

"So you think you can put your arms around me any old time
and sneak a kiss?  Do you think I'm some kind of cow you can
buy with some cheap presents and a sashay around the barn?"
A woman's voice overrode his, "I don't have time for this!"

A young man in a black broadcloth coat came stomping out of
the cafe, slowed to mutter a greeting to Comstock, and
hurried off down the street.  He had a reddened mark across
his cheek.

"Case in point," Comstock hefted the brandy, knocked it back
and poured another snifter, "That gal has *got* to be part
Apache."

"Got some friends who might be visiting some Apache,"
Lonesome said, "They're the ones I'm looking for."

The old cattle rancher examined the bottom of his glass
through the burgundy liquor, "Hope you said your good-byes
to them `afore they left," he said, "Tribes around here
don't cotton to people droppin' in on them."

"Maybe you could point me in the right direction."

"I'll tell you this.  See them hills over there to the east?
Head that way.  Don't stop `til you reach Louisiana.  Safest
thing you could be doin'."

"Reckon come morning' I'll head west, then."

"Or north, you really planning on getting your head peeled.
Or south - been a band hanging around the hills there,
stirring up trouble with the miners.  Matter of fact, they's
going to be a meeting in a little while about that.  Some
kind of miners' group has some `new ideas' about what they
call `pacifying the redskin'."

"Can't go anywhere till morning, anyway.  Kids riding with
me got kinda shook up by that duststorm."

"Now, that's a funny thing.  Didn't know anything about it.
I've seen all kinds of strange happenings out here, but that
storm must'a been a real freak.  We didn't see or hear a
thing last night.  Sky was clear as a bell."

"Hit us just outside of Aguas Calientes, next thing we know
we're outside of town, here," Lonesome said, "Lost one horse
when we came down - broke his leg.  A couple of other horses
disappeared, must have run off when the earthquake hit."

"Bad luck, I say," tutted the rancher, "Earthquakes,
duststorms, tornadoes," he leaned against the porch railing
and ran an appraising eye over the cowboy's lanky frame,
"What sort of work did you say you did?"

"Helping round up horses to sell down in Mexico.  Before
that I did some iron work."

"Oh, wellll!  Blacksmith, huh?"

"A little apprentice work as a farrier.  Doin' journeyman
stuff now."

Comstock threw his arm around Lonesome's shoulder.  "My boy,
I can tell you that any time you want to settle down in
these parts I'll bankroll you.  And that ain't just the
likker talking, either.  We need a blacksmith around here,
bad."

"I'll consider it.  For now, I still owe Mister Calpern a
year or so work.  Plus I have to mind his nephew.  That's
him working on a second course of steaks in there.  Then we
have to go back to the boarding house and check on the
girl."

"Yeah, I overheard Missus Brown saying something about them.
Nice boy, she said, said he was real polite.  Pretty little
filly, too.  They related?"

Lonesome grinned, wiped it away.  "Not yet," he said.

"Back to what I was talking about," said Comstock, "Kids
today are getting married without a penny to their name.  No
foresight, I call it."  He made himself comfortable in a
canebottomed chair, leaning back and planting his boots on
the porch railing.

Lonesome nodded, took his second sip of brandy.  Comstock
was several glasses ahead of him.

"Them injuns got the right idea.  They look ahead.  Them
bucks gotta come up with three or four ponies to pay for the
bride," said Comstock, "Sort of like a dowry, only in
reverse."

"Shows they are interested," said Lonesome.  He was looking
into the other room, where a comely lass was serving food to
the diners.

"Well, I prefer the way we do it," said Comstock, "If you
wanted a dowry, you couldn't do any better than that gal in
there.  Half my spread, a couple thousand head of beef,
horses, mules, and milk cows.  Gonna be a rich gal someday,
when I kick off."

Lonesome nodded appreciatively, watching the waitress, "Your
daughter?" he asked.

"Yep," beamed Comstock, not bothering to tell him that he
was looking at the wrong girl, "Takes after her mother, rest
her soul.  Thank God she didn't look like me."

Lonesome looked at each building on the short main street,
which did not take long.  The only thing stirring in the
late afternoon heat was the town's mangy dog, a mutt which
had enough ambition to walk halfway across the dusty street
before collapsing for a rest.

There was a screech as Comstock pushed his chair back and
stood, going back inside for a fresh glass of brandy.
Someone else sat in the chair and again Lonesome heard the
screech as the chair was dragged into position.  The boots
planted on the porch railing were noticeably more feminine
than Comstock's had been. Lonesome looked into green eyes
surrounded by auburn curls.

"Hell-o," he said.

"I'm Angie Comstock," said the woman, "That was my father
you were talking to, just now."

"Pleased to meet you.  Ranching, I understand."

"Yep," she smiled.  Like her father, she examined him from
boot to broad shoulders, "And I think I overheard you say
you've done some blacksmith work.  You look it."

"Some.  Raised into it."

"Settling here?"

"Passing through.  Looking for someone - a Mexican boy, his
grandfather, and two Indians.  Maybe they came through
here."

"Nope.  Of course, I could have missed them.  We've been on
the ranch until this morning."

"Why in h..." Lonesome began, "...why in thunder did your
daddy decide to build a ranch out here, anyway?  There ain't
nothin' but hardscrabble for days around."

Angie turned her face toward him, her tan skin making her
green eyes appear very large, "We have all of the things
every other place has," she replied, "It is just a little
farther between things, that is all."  Comstock returned
with his glass refilled.

Lonesome rubbed his chin with his thumb, as though he had
been told that he had a biscuit crumb hanging.  "I'd better
be goin'," he said, "We gotta check up on the young'un."

"Oh," she said in mock concern, "Do you have children?  I
was hoping you could stay around and talk about your home,
but if you're a family man..."

"They ain't my kids," gruffed Lonesome, "I was lookin' after
a boy who rode with Calpern out of Arkansas Territory down
into Mexico.  There's a little Spanish gal with him.  She
got roughed up a little in a storm last night.  I just need
to be sure everything's all right."

"Why, Mister.... what did you say your name was?"

"Folks just call me Lonesome, Ma'am."

"I can hardly understand that.  Handsome man like you must
have lots of company."

"Fact is, Ma'am, I sorta discourage it.  Don't want to get
tied down.  Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Comstock called his daughter aside, "What do you mean, going
on about him being handsome and all?  That is no way for a
proper lady to be talking to a man!"

"Shush, Daddy," she said, "It never hurts to be truthful if
you can be polite at the same time.  Besides, I want him to
know how I feel about him."

"Could it be..." Comstock stopped, agape, "Could it be
you've finally found one you won't send away with his tail
between his legs?"

"Why Daddy," Angie smiled, "You'd think I was some kind of
old maid, desperate to grab the first man who came along!"

"Well, you're pushing eighteen," huffed the older Comstock,
"Isn't that what you are?"

"Oh, yes," she purred, "...And now I think one has come
along."

--------------
(2) From "Code of the West", sung by Roger Miller in
`Waterhole Number Three'.


CHAPTER VEINTITRES: END



<Muchas gracias> to Lyn Daniel for her sketches,
suggestions, and encouragement, to my prereaders Ted,
Yvonne, Harry, and close kin, as well as to Andre for his
excellent advice (which I did not always heed, but always
appreciated).

James and the Bluejay
   jeeades@ix.netcom.com
Macho Caballo page at:
   http://www2.netcom.com/~jeeades/macho.htm