The Rift Page 25
He had grown into a man at the hacienda, working in the stables, cleaning the stalls and feeding and caring for the horses. His crime made him an outcast at the hacienda, avoided by all but his mother, who protected him as much as she could. He had heard that Pancho Villa was in Bachinava looking for men to ride with him. Stealing one of the hacendado’s best horses and saddles, he rode off one night six years ago to join Villa. The people’s general saw in Lopez the fire he looked for in his leaders. He found that the young man showed little fear in battle, and little hesitancy in killing those who were the enemies of the peons. His enemies were all those in stations above his own. As a colonel, he had personally executed hacendados, priests, government officials, teachers, enjoying watching them plead for their lives or the lives of their families.
Two years after leaving the hacienda, he had returned with a hundred men. Riding into the guarded compound in daylight, the guards had been ordered by Senor Obregon to hold their fire, hoping to reason with the men. He did not know that their leader was the boy who had molested the innocent girl or the young man who had stolen his best stallion. Now, Lopez, dressed in the officer’s uniform of the Villistas, stared down at the man standing before him, waiting for the man to beg for his life and the life of his family. He looked for fear in the man’s eyes and saw only the steady stare of his tormentor.
Furious, he rode his horse at Obregon, knocking him to the ground. With the older man was one of his sons, who drew his pistol, but was shot down by several of the mounted men. Obregon’s wife ran toward her husband who was trying to get to his feet. Lopez wheeled his horse toward the woman and rode past her, bringing his machete down on the crown of her head, splitting her skull and mercifully killing her instantly. Then he wheeled again to the old man, standing dazed from the blow he had received.
“Take him,” Lopez shouted. Several men quickly dismounted and grabbed the hacendado. In the center of the walled compound, Lopez spotted the whipping post.
The blind hate he carried twisted Colonel Lopez beyond use, even for Villa. He knew that Villa would have him shot, and that Cervantes would do even worse. As his despair increased, so did his hunt for those who caused him to be so despised. He could not forget Santa Maria nor Juan Guttierez, the weaver who had whipped him with his fists for speaking disrespectfully to his young daughter. The village of Santa Maria had watched as he was knocked down again and again by the powerful man. In front of the village, he had begged for his life, for Guttierez would have killed him. He recalled the satisfaction he had felt when he had heard that Guttierez had been killed fighting with Villa.
The colonel had remembered the name of the daughter of Guttierez. Theresa. He would find Theresa.
----
“In early June, Lieutenant, were you able to attempt to find the Seventh?”
Billy knew that was the critical question. He wasn’t going to lie, he had decided that at the outset. He knew he could be shot. He wished they would let him get in touch with Mother and Father. So far as they knew, he was still missing. Were they intending to shoot me, allowing my parents to think I was still missing? Perhaps that would be best. He did not know if his father could stand the shame of his son deserting the army.
----
“By early June, I was able to walk into the mountains, spending the days up there, enjoying watching the deer grazing on the high plateaus. I was careful to keep out of sight, concerned for the village. I began to sense a change in Father.
“‘How are you feeling, Lieutenant?’
“‘Fine, Father.’ I was about to break the news that I must be going. That I could no longer justify staying, that I could easily walk into the mountains and anyone spotting me would have no way of knowing that I came from the village. “‘Then I think you should go. You are strong enough to go into the mountains unseen. The village risks too much if you stay.’”
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“I was pleased when Father said that because it made it easier for me. As much as I felt my duty to return, I had grown attached to the people. I thought a lot about Theresa I really didn’t know how she felt about me, but there was no doubt that I loved her.
“The next morning, I was up before dawn, preparing for my trip into the mountains. Father told me that Pershing was in Namiquippa and I would make my way through the mountains to the town. Theresa had provided me with a leather jug with water, goat cheese, and tortillas. The three of us walked on the trail into the mountains until we stood on the tiny meadow where I had come many times to look over the valley. I asked Father if I could talk to Theresa alone. He showed no surprise as he walked away. He turned. His eyes were sad.
“‘God go with you, Lieutenant. In a better time, perhaps you will return.’
“I made him a promise that I knew I would do everything I could to keep. ‘I will return, Father.’
“I looked at Theresa. She was watching me. She was smiling, as she always did, but there were tears in her eyes. At that moment, my feelings were going in many directions. I was sad to be leaving. Glad to be rejoining the Seventh. And happy that Theresa was crying.
“I stood there like a little boy, fidgeting and shifting my weight back and forth. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Finally, I just reached out and touched her cheek, and wiped away a tear that was shining there.
“‘Goodbye, Theresa.’ That is all I could think to say. “‘Goodbye, Lieutenant.’”
----
“I remember, Major, wanting to say I loved her.” The major looked into the young man’s eyes. What was it? Pain? He nodded to himself.
“‘If I return, will you still be here, Theresa?’
“‘Yes, Lieutenant, I will be here.’ When she said that, she laughed. She knew. I didn’t tell her but she knew. I had never felt so lightheaded, so full of happiness as at that moment.
“I watched the two of them walk down the trail until they had reached the village. I stood looking across the valley, curious for a moment if I could spot the village B-25 and I had seen. Knowing it was time to leave, I was about to turn away when I spotted the horsemen riding from the north. There were about twenty of them. An alarm went off. I started down the hill, running as fast as I could. The riders were now in the village. It took me only another fifteen or twenty minutes before I reached the village. What could I do? If I was spotted, the village would suffer. If I waited, then Theresa might be in even greater danger. “I waited. As I hid in my small hut, I heard the clopping of hooves on the hard ground. I looked out. I could see the lone rider working his way between the adobe huts. He was a small man, his sombrero looking huge on his head. Had someone told the men that they had seen a gringo in the village? Was he looking for me? For whatever reason he was here, I decided to kill him for his horse. I had never killed a man. Never had one in my sights. But in my mind, I knew I could do it. I had no weapons. Only my hands. I moved to the doorway, still in the shadows.
“The space between the adobe huts was no more than six feet where the horseman worked his way toward me. Would he dismount and look inside? If he did, would he come inside? Would he pass by? If he did, he must turn to the left to work his way between the huts.
“He was not stopping, but turning his horse to the left. As he did so, his right leg was visible from where I stood. As the horse turned, I ran out of the hut, grabbed the bandito’s jacket at the nape of his neck and pulled him down in front of me. Instantly losing all balance, he landed on the crown of his head. I could hear the neck snap. I grabbed the reins of the horse that stood beside his fallen rider. Grabbing his muzzle, I was able to calm him. Tying the horse to a post, I took the body into the adobe hut. He was armed with a pistol and cartridge belt, and had a rifle cartridge belt slung over his shoulder, a Springfield rifle in a scabbard tied to the horse’s saddle. Checking his pockets, I found some coins, which I kept. I placed the pistol belt around my waist and the bandolier over my shoulder, then placed the body under the mattress I had used.
Someone would be looking for
their companion. As quietly as I could, I led the skittish horse out of the village. At that moment, I thought about simply taking the horse and heading for Namiquippa, but I could not. Feeling bolder now with my weapons, I tethered the horse and started back into the village, working my way slowly to avoid being seen. As I worked my way toward the church, staying in the shadows, I spotted Anna coming toward me. She was crying.
“‘Anna,’ I whispered. She came toward me, and fell into my arms, sobbing. “‘What has happened?’ My hands began to tremble.
“‘Theresa. They took Theresa.’
“I bent my knees to look into her face. ‘Who has taken her, Anna?’ I looked into her eyes. She must have seen my pain because she put her hand on mine.
“‘Colonel Lopez.’ She then told me the story of Lopez and Theresa’s father and I could see the fear and pain grow worse.
“‘Do you know where they might go with her, Anna?’ I was trying to keep my voice calm, trying to get the old lady to think as clearly as she could.
“‘They took the trail to Bachinava. But I do not know where they are going.’ “‘Think, now, Anna, is there anyone who might know where they are?’ “‘Perhaps Victoriano. He used to ride with Lopez until he lost his leg. I know he hears things. Theresa is his niece.’
“Victoriano Guttierez was an old man, or appeared to be so. Bigger than most men in the village, he now sat in front of his hut staring across the valley.
His leg had been removed above the knee. As Anna and I walked toward him, I noticed that his face showed pain, as if old wounds were still haunting him. He did not look at me, although I could tell he was aware of our presence.
“As Anna approached, Victoriano looked angrily at her. ‘Why do you bring a gringo to this village?’
“Anna spoke angrily in return. ‘You know that pig, Lopez, took Theresa, don’t you Victoriano?’
“The man said nothing.
“‘You know what he will do with her, Victoriano? Your niece.’
“At first I thought it was loyalty, then I knew it was fear. Lopez was a cruel man and the old man, who was wasting away, yet still feared for his life. I took the knife I carried from the scabbard and watched the quick black eyes dart toward it then quickly away. I walked toward him and spoke very slowly.
“‘Tell us where Lopez took Theresa.’ He hesitated and I plunged the knife in the wood an inch from the stub of the severed leg. He screamed. Then spoke.
“‘The Kelly hacienda. My cousin told me they were taking her to the Kelly hacienda. I do not want them to hurt her. But if they find out...’ The old man was sobbing, miserable in his fear and what he would do to spare himself. Still I spoke softly.
“‘Where is the Kelly hacienda, Victoriano?’ I could see the respect in the eyes now for a gringo who spoke perfect Mexican. I saw something else. A warming to the gringo who would risk his life for Theresa.
“‘It is five miles north of Bachinava. You will see a trail leading to the left where a stream flows from the mountains. The stream will lead you to the hacienda. But there is no way to get near without being seen.’
“I turned to Anna. ‘How long ago did they leave, Anna?’ “‘Perhaps an hour, a little more.’
“I looked at the miserable man. I could see he cared for his niece. I wondered how he felt about the revolution.
“The horse was a sturdy stallion, spirited but responsive. The sun was well above the mountains to the east. Although the valley was high, the sun was hot with no clouds in the sky. I spurred my mount, and soon found the trail to Bachinava.
The colonel had decided Emilio had deserted him. In the last three weeks, ten men had deserted. He must do something to keep them. It was very difficult to find money for an army now. Most of the foreigners had left. The churches had hidden their gold and silver statues and crosses. Many of the creole and mestizo hacendados were gone. There was much talk about the Germans, who paid money to such men as Villa and Carranza, but he had seen none of it. At least he had Guttierez’s bitch of a daughter. She would be his and only his. The men could have the other two.
They had tied Theresa’s hands and legs to the saddle of the horse one of the men led. They had been on the trail for almost two hours and Theresa had patiently worked at loosening the ropes on her hands. She found by carefully working her feet, she had been able to loosen the ropes which tied her legs to the saddle girth. She remembered Lopez and how he had spoken to her. Vile language, language which made her cringe when she thought of it now. She thought about Elena and Margarita and the girl in Bachinava.
Theresa fought to take her mind off of her terror. She found herself thinking of the lieutenant who had magically come into her life. She smiled when she thought of Father Michael warning her that such men were not to be trusted, and that she must not get attached to him. The gringo soldier had not regained consciousness when Father had talked to her. Theresa recalled the moment when the lieutenant had told them he was leaving. Father had come to her and said he was wrong about the young man. He was a fine young man and he would miss him.
What would her father have thought of the lieutenant? The same, no doubt, as Father Michael had at first, but I know he would have changed his mind. He once laughingly had told her the last time she saw him that no one would be good enough for his oldest daughter, but he must accept the fact that someone would come and steal her away. She remembered the last words of the lieutenant, “When I return, will you still be here, Theresa.” Such a clumsy, sweet way to say I love you. “Yes, my dear Lieutenant, I will still be here.”
Nearing Bachinava, the colonel recalled the threat of Cervantes, whose men often were seen in the town. They would be looking for him. He would circle the town and pick up the trail north of it. The trail led them beside a gorge which cut through the mountains from the east. There the footing was treacherous and traveling would be slow.
---
“The horse under me was full of energy, and cantered easily on the trail. I had been on the trail no more than two hours when I rode up on a ridge and looked at the trail ahead. My heart leaped. A large group of riders heading north. In the center of the column, a woman. I knew it was Theresa. There was a chance.
“I could see the town of Bachinava in the distance. The riders were heading around the town. The column swung to the east toward the mountains. I remounted and spurred my horse into a slow gallop, satisfied that my mount’s pace would rapidly close the ground between us.”
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The men were sullen as they rode single file on the narrow trail. They knew they were taking the trail because their colonel feared that Colonel Cervantes would discover them. They had no reason to fear Cervantes. Only their colonel did. For the colonel, they were taking a trail long-abandoned because of the rock slides and the danger of a misstep by one of the horses. Below them, they could hear the roar of the river, white as it broke over the rocks in its rush for the open valley to the west. The men could not hear the sounds of their horse’s hooves on the rocky ledge because of the fury of the river. As they moved slowly, they tried to ease their horses into the rock wall on their left, away from the edge and the water sixty feet below.
Juan was the last man on the trail. He felt his body stiffen as the ledge in front of him seemed to grow more narrow. A Yaqui, he had joined the Villistas because he wanted the land returned to his people. Land that had been theirs for centuries then taken away by gringos and rich men from the big cities. Six years ago, he loved the general. The dreams he gave all of Juan’s people made him willing to risk his life for the revolution. No longer a young man, he had left his wife and five children, telling them he would soon return. He had not seen his family in two years. Two of his sons had been killed. Huerta’s soldiers had taken one of his daughters and she was never heard from again. His wife had died. He did not know where his two youngest were. He thought of all the promises, all the dreams. Many times he thought of leaving; going home. He shook his head.
Where was home?
Something in the years he had lived as a Villista told Juan to turn. Two hundred yards behind, a lone rider. He had Roberto’s horse. The little Yaqui feared turning and firing on the rider. If he tried to dismount, his horse might lose its footing and he would be tossed into the river. The men were too far in front and they would not hear his shouts.
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Theresa did not see the lieutenant behind the file of riders. As she thought about escape, her mind raced as she thought of the enormity of the act. She prayed now for understanding, for forgiveness. As she looked at the river, it became not a matter of free will, but an involuntary reaction, like withdrawing one’s hand from a flame. The ropes on her hands were loose now. So were those on her feet. She thought of Father Michael, of Anna, of her father and mother, of all her brothers and sisters, of all whom she loved.
I know you would have returned, my love.
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“I could see the entire file now. There was a chance, I thought. The trail in front of me began to turn to the right before it disappeared to the left several hundred yards in front of the first rider. I was no more than a hundred yards from the last rider, who had seen me but was afraid of turning around to fire at me. The ledge was not more than six to eight feet wide, some places narrower than that. To the lead rider, the distance was now no greater than two hundred yards, an easy shot with the Springfield. Theresa was only five horses from the rear of the column. There was danger for her, but there might never be another chance.”