“Why we ride so fast, Paco?”
“We have some business to take care of near the border, Arturo. Then we will stop at Rios and visit our loved ones before we make the long ride to El Cabrera,” the deadly bandito shouted over the horses’ pounding hooves.
“What business?” Arturo yelled.
“Señor Jim Johnson and Señor Will Collins.”
“Ah, the ones who gunned down Ambrosio and Carmela.”
Paco reined hard to a stop; his white quarter horse pranced nervously in the dusty road as the other men surrounded him.
“Yes, Arturo, we must say goodbye to mis amigos before we leave for El Cabrera. If they find we’re gone, they may try to visit our families.” The evil man spit on the ground and spurred his horse forward; the others closed in behind.
- - - - -
“You sure you want to go through with this, Will?” Ranger Johnson tossed another log on the fire. Night was falling; a cool breeze blew through the young rangers’ camp.
Rubbing his arms, Will scooted nearer to the fire. “Go through with what?”
“Marryin’ that little filly over there in San Diego.”
“Well, I reckon I better. Her folks sure been doin’ one heck of a lot of plannin’.”
“What’s the date?”
“The first Saturday of next month.” The shy Will snatched a small stick from the ground and scribbled nervously in the dirt by the fire.
“I’m glad our stint’s up this month, or you’d have an awful lot of disappointed people up there in San Diego,” Johnson laughed.
Will playfully tossed the stick at his good friend. “Well guess what, Jim.”
“What?” Jim ducked. The stick bounced off of his shoulder.
“I actually knew that. I actually knew I’d be finished this month.” Will grinned and shook his head.
“You did?” Jim exclaimed. “You’re actually smarter’n I thought ya—” he suddenly stopped in mid-sentence; his eyes went wide. “Did you hear that click, Will?”
“Sure enough did, partner.”
Suddenly, loud gunshots rang out from the dark night.
“Ahhh!” Will murmured as his body slumped over and fell onto the cold ground. Another bullet ricocheted off of the metal coffeepot atop the fire. A small dark circle of blood quickly spread across the back of Will’s tan shirt as he lay on the ground.
“Will!” Jim screamed.
- - - - -
“Good shot, boss,” Arturo barked as he and the men charged into the camp and quickly surrounded the two rangers. Paco elbowed the men out of the way; the flames illuminated his square, dark face as he stopped by the fire.
“Your eyes are wide with fear, mi amigo,” he growled.
Jim scanned the evil man’s face. Moments earlier he had been talking of pleasant things with his close friend Will, and now he was facing a brutal killer while his friend lay dying on the ground.
“I wonder if you were this frightened when you gunned down my friends Ambrosio and Carmela in the valley near San Bonito, señor?” Paco lifted his rifle and slammed the butt against the young man’s head; he fell hard to the ground. Blood began to spill from his ear.
Jim looked over at Will lying next to him on the ground. Will whimpered as he tried to raise his head.
“Finish him,” the cruel Delgado ordered.
Arturo cocked his six gun, aimed it point blank at Will’s head and pulled the trigger. The hot lead blasted into the young man. His head bounced violently off of the ground and fell still.
“Bury him where he won’t be found, and cover the grave. Then tie the other one to that tree over there where we can see him.” Paco pointed to a nearby oak tree. “Our young amigo may want to talk with us as we enjoy the warm fire.”
Two men dragged the limp body of Will Collins away from the camp toward a nearby stream to bury him. Arturo lifted young Jim to his feet and lugged him over to the large oak tree. He pushed him up against the trunk as another man wound a rope around him several times. A dark stain of urine showed on the front of his jeans as he dangled near the fire.
“Look like he wet himself, boss. I wonder if Ambrosio wet himself before this coward shot him.” Arturo laughed as he spit on the ground.
“I don’t think so, amigo. Ambrosio was a brave man.”
“It was a fair fight,” Jim murmured. “He came at me first.”
Suddenly, there was a blast from Paco’s six gun.
“Ughh!” the young lawman exclaimed as the bullet splintered his lower leg. Blood began to show through his jeans; he writhed in pain.
Paco glared at the suffering ranger. “Fix some coffee, Felipe. We need to relax and enjoy the evening. How about if you make us something to eat? That sounds good. We can have dinner and enjoy our new friend here.”
Felipe hurried to the back horse and pulled out a bag of coffee, flour and beans. Soon the coffee was brewing over the fire, and the flour was sizzling in a frying pan.
“In the mañana, after we say goodbye to our young friend here, we will need to stop at our village and spend a little time with our families before we leave for El Cabrera,” Paco said calmly.
“Good idea, boss. I miss my family very much. I hope they miss me also,” Arturo replied.
“I’m not so sure, Arturo. Your wife always looks so happy when we leave,” one of the men shouted. The other banditos howled in delight.
“We are not being very polite, mis amigos. We are leaving the young señor out of our family discussions. I’m sure he have a family also. Pour him a cup of coffee, and we will talk of his family,” Paco ordered.
Felipe lifted the metal pot off of the hot flames and poured the steaming hot coffee in a tin cup.
“Thank you, Felipe.” Paco grabbed the cup, stood and walked over to the tree where Jim was tied. The young man’s head was battered and swollen from the crushing blow from the rifle butt; his jeans were stained dark from the bullet wound that shattered his lower leg. His narrow eyes were glazed over with terror.
“Tell me about your family, señor. I’ll bet you have a fine family. My friends and I would like to know a little about your family.”
The ranger tried to collect himself. “M…My m…mother owns a laundry. My f…father found work at a r…ranch up north. I have t…t…two brothers and a sister.”
“What a nice family you have, señor. Let me tell you about my family. I had a nice family once also—a wonderful father and a mother, three brothers and four sisters. Unfortunately, I lost my parents at a very tender age. It was very, what you gringos say?
“Traumatic,” one of the men shouted.
“Yes, yes, a very traumatic experience.” His bushy eyebrows raised. “It seems men came to our house uninvited late one night while my family was sleeping. One of them climbed quietly through a small window in the pantry. Unfortunately, my padre was sleeping very soundly and did not hear the intruder. He was a very proud man. There would have been several dead men if he had heard them. The man who climbed in the window unlatched the front door. The other men rushed into our home and before my poor padre could react, they clubbed him senseless and cut his throat. Then two men held mi madre on her bed and ripped off her night clothes, exposing her naked body. The other men raped her time and time again while we little ones watched in horror through the bedroom door.”
Paco scowled and spit on the ground. “Then the men rode off leaving us children to fend for ourselves. I was the oldest, so I led the children into town to the constable’s house. He had no choice but to send us off to an orphanage in Mexico City. The orphanage was controlled by a brutal headmaster.” He grimaced. “He beat us daily.”
Paco stepped over closer to the young officer; their faces were only inches apart. “I found out later that the men who attacked our home were rangers, just like yourself, mi amigo.” Paco glowered at the terrified victim. “That is the wonderful story of my family—did you enjoy?”
The battered ranger raised his head and stared blankly at his tormentor.
The cruel highwayman reached over and grabbed the young man by the top of his shirt. He ripped the cotton shirt open, fully exposing his bare chest. He pushed the young man’s chin up with his index finger and lifted the still steaming coffee up to the wounded man’s lips. “Here is your coffee, señor. I almost forgot. So sorry.” The vicious man tipped the cup back slightly and let the still steaming hot coffee drain down the front of the ranger’s bare chest as he screamed in pain.
“Stop! Please stop!” Young Jim begged the horrid brute to stop. Red welts popped up on his chest, but the bad man showed no feeling.
“Oh my,” Paco said as he stared into the cup. “There is a little left, forgive me,” his thin lips turned up in a cruel smile as the dark, hot coffee splashed square in the middle of the face of the tortured man.
“My eyes! Oh my God, my eyes are on fire!” The badly injured prey screamed in agony for several minutes and then started to moan. His eyes and forehead were an ugly mess; his eyes began swelling shut almost immediately from the terrible trauma. He was suffering horribly; it was more than he could bear. Suddenly, his head dropped on his chin and his battered body fell still. His limp body dangled from the ropes facing the nasty banditos.
“That very rude,” Paco barked. “He fell asleep during our party.” The nasty man bellowed in laughter. After a brief pause, Arturo and the other men joined in on the cruel laughter.
“How’s the food coming, Felipe?”
“The beans are ready and I have made a few tortillas. Are you hungry, Paco?’
“Yes, but first we must serve our guest. It is only polite.”
Felipe scooped the warm beans from the iron pot and dumped them in the flour tortilla. He folded it over and handed it to his master. Paco took the tortilla over to the unconscious ranger, grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back, causing his mouth to fall open. Next, he crammed the warm tortilla full of beans into the ranger’s mouth. “Enjoy your dinner, señor. If you want seconds, just let me know.” He dropped the youngster’s head and laughed hysterically. Beans dribbled down the young ranger’s swollen chest and fell to the ground; the flour tortilla still hung from his mouth. Paco rejoined his sinister gang of thugs as the smell of death filled their vile campsite.
- - - - -
Fingers of smoke drifted up from the dying embers in the campfire as the yellow sun rose in the morning sky. An early riser, Paco walked to the nearby stream with the metal coffeepot. He dipped it into the flowing stream and walked back to the campsite. He grabbed a long stick with his free hand and stirred the grayish coals in the fire pit; small flames ignited. He tossed several small limbs on the fire, and the flames grew. He set the metal pot on the hot coals. “Wake up, men,” he barked. “It’s time to get up and ride.”
The men slowly sat up, rubbing their crusty eyes. Arturo, a deep sleeper, was snoring away. Paco kicked his foot. “Get up, Arturo. Your woman is waiting to see you. It time to go.” Reluctantly, the bandito sat up; his thin fingers ran through his black hair.
“Why we up so early? We got all day to ride,” he complained. The smallish man’s arms reached for the sky.
“You say that every day, Arturo. You sleep too much,” Paco chided his old friend.
“Quiet—I hear something!” One of the men exclaimed. “It is our friend.”
The young ranger was semi-conscious; he was moaning, but otherwise not moving. Paco looked over at the pathetic sight. His face was a horrible mess; his eyes were oozing slits of puss. The huge blisters on his chest had turned an ugly bluish-black color. Red ants from a huge nearby anthill covered his lower leg, eating away at him. Lines of ants were moving up and down his body; his chest and face were slowly being covered by the swarming insects. It was a horrid, macabre scene.
Paco sneered at the dying man. His face showed no sympathy. “Take him to the stream, and clean the ants off him and bury him. Be sure to cover the grave with leaves and twigs. We don’t want the authorities to find him.”
“But Paco, he is still alive,” one of the men yelled.
“Bury him,” Paco said coldly as he poured hot coffee into a tin cup.
“But Paco!”
“Bury him!”
- - - - -
“It will be good to get home, mis amigos!” Paco shouted as the gang of marauders rode down the narrow trail toward the small village of Rios, just over the border in Mexico. The trail took a sharp turn to the right and led the men through a grove of orange trees. Then it dropped down into a lush, grassy valley near a small lake. Several adobe huts became visible as the men raced to their homes in the hot noonday sun.
The women were washing clothes by the lake, and small children were playing in the streets as the men approached. One of the women looked up from her washing. “Muchachos! Muchachos!” she shrieked as she ran toward the fast approaching gang. The other women stopped what they were doing and followed suit. The children screamed and began jumping up and down as the men rode in.
Paco’s white quarter horse danced in front of the group; he smiled broadly, leaned down and touched the hands of several children as the women arrived and surrounded them. Paco searched the crowd for his wife and son but could not see them.
“Your Maria is at the house doing her mending,” one of the women shouted.
Paco tipped his sombrero to the lady and spurred his horse forward to his large adobe home on the edge of town as the shouts of joy continued. Paco pulled up quickly in front of his home, jumped off of his horse and rushed through a small wooden gate. His Maria was just coming out of the front door. Tears were brimming in her eyes as she ran toward her man. They fell into each other’s arms, hugging and kissing. A bad and evil man at times, Paco loved his Maria more than anything in the world. His heart was full.
“Oh, Paco,” she murmured, “I miss you so. You’ll never know how much I miss you when you go away from me. It’s so wonderful to see you again.”
Tears rolled down the famous bandit’s cheeks as he looked at his beautiful wife. Her dark, lovely face was adorned with gorgeous chocolate eyes, and her pretty mouth seemed always to be in the shape of a smile.
“How do I leave such a beautiful girl as you?” he asked joyfully. “I must be crazy.” His thick fingers moved gently through her long, black hair.
“Let’s go inside,” she said with a flirtatious grin. “We have some catching up to do.”
“Where is Lope?”
“Your loyal son and some of the other boys are fishing at a distant lake. They won’t be back for several hours. We have time before he returns.”
Paco smiled mischievously. “I love my Lope, but his absence comes at a very good time.” He gently lifted his wife up in his arms and stepped up to the wood plank porch. The boards creaked as he walked through the door and into their home. Maria kicked her legs up and down and kissed him repeatedly on the neck. They hurried through the living room filled with pottery and beautiful oil paintings to their bedroom at the back of the house. Paco bumped the door open and then kicked it shut with the back of his foot as they hurried toward the bed in the corner of the room. Paco bit down on Maria’s dress strap and pulled with his teeth; it fell to her waist as the two lovers jumped onto the soft featherbed.
“I think of this often when I am on the trail, my Maria, and now it is happening,” Paco murmured.
“I live for these moments, Paco. I love you so!”
Window shutters banged in the breeze as the two passionate lovers made love and whiled away the afternoon in each other’s arms.
- - - - -
Later that afternoon, Maria sat sipping tea on the long front porch. She smiled as her son Lope and his father wrestled around in the front yard, kicking, grabbing, and screaming in laughter. Growing into manhood, the young Lope was anxious to test his famous father.
“You only sixteen, but you fight like a man,” a panting Paco shouted as both combatants suddenly stopped their aggressive play and rolled flat on the ground, chests heaving.
“You’re lucky, Paco—he took it easy on you,” Maria shouted in delight from the porch.
“Oh no, mama, I didn’t take it easy. Papa strong as a bull. He could have taken me at any time. He was easy on me,” Lope replied as he sat up. Yellow strands of grass covered his dark, wavy hair.
Paco stood, his chest still heaving, and reached down for his son. “You flatter me, my respectful son,” he said. The two friendly warriors clasped hands. Paco pulled his son to his feet, and they warmly embraced.
“I love you, papa,” Lope said softly.
“And I love you also, my son.” Tears welled in the eyes of the hardened bandito as they embraced. “You make me very proud.”
“Thank you, papa,” Lope said politely as he began looking for his sombrero. “With your permission, I must go now. Several of the steers got loose today. The other boys and I must round them up.”
“Of course, my son. I will be here until the morning. Do your manly duty and round up steers.” He smiled proudly as his son jumped over the rail fence and hurried down the dirt street. Several boys appeared from nearby huts to join him.
Paco stood and watched as his handsome son and the others raced to the stables. Maria walked over and nestled in next to him. She looked longingly at her man as the two sat down on the long, wooden chair. “He look up to you. He thinks there is nobody like his papa.”
“He’s a good boy,” Paco replied softly.
“But he know not what you do, my Paco. All of the young boys here in the village believe their papas work for the Mexican government as mercenaries to help protect all of us from the awful gringos.”
“And is that not what I do, my Maria?”
Maria frowned. She gently laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “The gringos have not attacked us for many years, Paco,” she said. “You have gringos who are friends of yours. At first you were so angry about what the rangers did to your parents that you hated everybody north of the border, and you went after them with a vengeance. But now I see a man who not only robs innocent gringos, but his own people as—”
Irritated, Paco interrupted. “That’s enough, Maria. I don’t want to talk about it. I do what I have to do to provide for our family. You should be happy—you have the finest home in the village.”
“But what if Lope find out what you really do, what then?” Maria was distressed as she pushed on, ignoring her powerful husband.
Paco got to his feet and paced back and forth. “Why, when I come home for a short visit, do you have to bring up such things? Can this not wait?”
“Wait til when, Paco? We always just have short visits. If I wait til we have a long visit, I will be an old lady, and our son will be gone. We must talk now.” She looked directly at him.
An angry Paco spun toward his wife. “Are you ashamed of me? My wonderful wife is ashamed of her Paco—a man of great respect among his people. Is that what you are saying to me?”
Maria looked down, away from his hard stare. “I love you, Paco, with all my heart. I still remember that dashing, handsome young man who swept me off of my feet so many years ago. And I see all of the good in you, Paco. You are always kind and gentle to me. It breaks my heart to say these things to you, but I hear the stories and I used not to believe them. But there have been too many. I know now, Paco, that you can be a very bad man at times.” Tears began to pour from her eyes at her own revelations. “My heart is breaking, Paco! Lope looks up to you like no other son, but he is starting to ask questions. And I don’t know what to tell him! I am tortured by it all.”
“What questions?” Paco bellowed. “What questions does he ask?”
“He has heard the stories too. The whole village has heard the stories.”
“I ask you, what he say?” Paco’s face was red with anger.
Tears continued to pour from Maria’s eyes; her face was full of pain. “He ask me, my love, if…if…”
“If what?”
“If you are a murderer,” she cried out as she fell on her knees and began hugging his legs. “I’m so sorry to tell you this. I’m so sorry, Paco.” She was sobbing uncontrollably.
The anger faded from the face of the legendary bad man as he looked down at his beloved Maria, sobbing and begging his forgiveness. He reached down and gently pulled her arms from his legs and lifted her up. He pulled her to his chest; his muscular arms went around her shoulders as he embraced her warmly.
They hugged and sobbed for several minutes, and then Paco spoke quietly. “I made a promise to an old amigo of mine, my dearest Maria, and I am, if nothing else, a man of my word. I must honor this commitment, so I will be leaving in the mañana to ride to El Cabrera. But I promise you this, my love, with all of my heart. It will be the last time that Paco Delgado ever ride. The pain in your eyes is more than I can bear. I will come home and farm this valley and fish with my son. I will ride no more.”
Maria’s red, swollen eyes were full of joy as she looked at her man. “Paco, I am so happy! I always know you love me, but now I know how much you love me and Lope. It will be wonderful to have you home!” she said as she hugged him tightly.
“What you say today stunned me, but I know it’s from the heart. I saw my parents murdered and raped by the heartless rangers. I vowed to get even, and I have. But now I have a son who is growing up and needs a father who does more than just rob and kill. I will spend time with my son, and I will tell him that I fought for the honor of my family and have no regrets. But I will tell him that I will fight no more and that I have done some things that I am ashamed of. I will tell him I want better for him.”
“Oh Paco, I love you so!”
Paco lifted his lovely wife up in his arms, carried her over and sat down in the rocking chair. Not another word was said as the two rocked together in the chair; her thin arms hung around his neck, her face lay on his chest. They closed their eyes and quietly rocked for over an hour as Paco whispered softly in her ear.
Arturo rode up later that afternoon. “Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds,” he shouted as he rode up to the front of the house, “but the boys caught many fish today. My Bonita and I would like to invite you to enjoy the fish with us this evening at our place. The whole village is invited. We hope you will join us, boss.”
Maria looked up and smiled at her man. “It’s okay. I would like to go.”
“When, Arturo?”
“Just before sunset. We will build a big bonfire and fellowship together.”
“We will be there!” Paco replied.
Arturo waved his sombrero in the air and rode quickly away.
- - - - -
The light from the flames shone brightly on the happy faces as the celebration began that evening. Paco stood near the fire, his arm firmly around Maria’s waist. The tequila was flowing freely, and much laughter could be heard.
“You throw a good party, mi amigo. I have never seen my people so happy, Arturo,” Paco shouted.
“Thank you, boss. Felipe has been hard at work preparing the fish, our dinner should be ready soon. We will celebrate into the wee hours!” He raised his cup of tequila to Paco; several others around the fire joined in. “I prepare a toast to the great Paco Delgado, a hero to us all!” he shouted.
“To Paco! To Paco!” the others shouted to their leader.
Paco smiled nervously and nodded at the chanting crowd. Maria looked up at her man and smiled politely, bravely hiding her feelings. Paco’s expression changed as he looked down at his Maria. He slid his arm off her waist and took a step toward the fire. He took a sip of his tequila. Flames shot skyward as he emptied his cup in the fire. The folks screamed their approval at the antics of their dashing leader. Paco raised his hand to quiet them down as the light from the fire shone brightly on his square, weathered face.
“My friends, I have something to say to you that will come as a surprise. I want you to hear me out, for I will not say it again.” He lifted his sombrero off and held it in his hands. “As I look around our village, I see our children growing. Many of our young boys are growing into manhood—my son Lope is one of them. The old men and women in the village are growing older. Many have passed away. More rangers are coming, and more will continue to come. People are moving here in great numbers. It is getting harder and harder to do our job. We have lost several good men lately, and we will lose more. The people of California still fear us, but times are changing. Maria and I have talked, and I have decided that it is time to settle down. I will ride no—”
“No! No!” the men shouted over him.
“We must not give up!” one of them yelled.
Paco raised his sombrero above his head for quiet once again. “Look around at the women and children, my brothers. Look at their eyes, and look into their hearts. They are not yelling for us to go. They worry for us. They need us here to help farm the land and fish the lakes in this beautiful valley. No, my friends, our families want us here.”
The men grumbled, but with less gusto as they looked into the sullen eyes of their wives and children.
“But Paco, you make a promise to Pedro Rubios, and you always keep your promises,” a disappointed Arturo barked.
“Yes, you are right, Arturo. I did make a promise to ride to El Cabrera, and I am a man of my word. We will ride to El Cabrera in the morning.”
The men cheered and raised their cups. “Long live—”
Paco interrupted the men. “But this will be the last trip. When we return from El Cabrera, I will ride no more.”
There were grumblings in the crowd; the men had long faces as they mumbled their disapproval. They could not believe what they were hearing. Maria moved over and put her arm around Paco’s waist.
A smile broke out on Paco’s face as he looked back at the crowd. “We have fought the good fight, mis amigos. But there comes a time to fight no more. We have much to be thankful for. Our cups are full. We must continue to celebrate—this night belongs to us. We will leave tomorrow for our long ride to El Cabrera. Then we will return home and reunite with our families. And please don’t fret, my friends, for the Mexican people will always remember Paco Delgado and his brave band of freedom fighters!”
It was quiet for a moment as the men absorbed Paco’s words. After a short pause, one of them shouted, “Hey! Hey! Long live Paco!”
The men smiled as they hugged their women and children. They raised their cups and began chanting “Long live Paco Delgado! Long live Paco Delgado!” Some of the old folks began to dance by the fire as the raucous celebration resumed and carried well into the early morning hours.