Spurs for José
Wanda Snow Porter
Smashwords Edition November 2011
Spurs for José is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2011 by Wanda Snow Porter
All rights reserved
Published by
Whimsical Publications, LLC
Florida
http://www.whimsicalpublications.com
ISBN-13 for e-book: 978-1-936167-63-0
Cover art by Traci Markou
Edited by Brieanna Robertson
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Acknowledgements
The author wishes to extend her gratitude to John Porter, Barbara Watson, Michael O’Brien, and Dr. Clifford E. Trafzer for their expert advice, and to my husband, Charles, for reading everything I write. All of your help and encouragement is greatly appreciated.
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Chapter One
~The Rodeo~
Salty sweat burned José’s eyes. He pulled off his rumpled, wide-brimmed hat and wiped his sweaty brow. Waiting for the next calf to brand, he adjusted the eagle feather stuck in his hatband and watched hawks flying above the golden hills bordering the eastern edge of Rancho Grande’s thirty-eight thousand acres. His gaze followed their flight west toward the brush-covered sand dunes that protected the valley from chilly ocean winds.
Bellows of cattle echoed in the peaceful valley. It was the fall of 1846, late in the year for a rodeo. However, this year on the Alta California rancho, hundreds of calves were born during the summer months, too many to wait for next spring’s branding. A vaquero threw his loop, lassoed a calf’s heels, and stretched it on the ground, ready for the rancho’s brand. “Pronto, pronto, José,” he yelled.
José brushed back a strand of dark hair, shoved the hat deep on his head, and then carefully picked up the red-hot branding iron. Commotion was all around him. He darted between horses and avoided the running and bucking calves fighting the lasso. As the hot iron sizzled against the calf’s furry hip, he watched out for the angry mother cow that could charge if her calf was threatened. The stink of burning hair rose to his nostrils, a smell he was used to.
He finished branding and removed the tight lasso from around the calf’s hooves. “José, come here,” his papa shouted over the bawling cattle.
José cautiously ran out of the ring of cows, horses, and men to where his papa sat astride a palomino horse guarding the circle’s boundary. He stood next to his papa’s horse and gazed up, squinting against the sun’s glare.
Diego Rodriquez, half Chumash Indian, was born at Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa and was given his father’s Spanish name when baptized by the padre. A fine horseman, he trained the rancho’s horses. José admired his papa’s skill. It took courage to ride the twisting, bucking broncos. Someday, like his brothers, he would be expected to help his papa tame the wild horses. He worried when that day came, perhaps he would not be brave enough to ride the mustangs.
Suddenly, Diego spun the palomino to chase a lanky calf trying to escape the huddled herd. He twirled his lasso twice, threw his reata quickly, caught the calf, and dragged it back into the herd. Returning to his son, Diego said, “Go to the rancho, and tell Tomas we need more wood for the branding fire.”
“Si, Papa.” José jumped on his black horse and galloped the mile to the ranchero’s casa. Built on the edge of a mesa, it overlooked the grassy valley that spread for miles along a broad creek. Near the grand casa stood a barn, a work shed for the blacksmith, and small adobes for the vaqueros.
He dismounted and peered inside the barn, looking for Tomas and found him cleaning and repairing harness. He had been at the rancho as long as José could remember. His face, dark and wrinkled, was shriveled like dried leather from the many years spent in the sun driving the carreta, hauling hides and trade goods back and forth from the ships that landed at the cove.
“Tomas, we need more wood for the branding fire.”
The old man cocked his head like a rooster and looked up from his work, surprised. He hadn’t heard José come into the barn.
“What? What do you want?” Tomas peered at José with watery gray eyes. “Is that you, José?”
“Si, I was sent to get more wood for the branding fire.”
Tomas stood slowly, stretching his back with both hands grasping his skinny waist. “More wood? I’m not young anymore and need help loading it. Help me with the oxen.” He handed José a rope, and they went to the back of the barn where the oxen were tied. Leading an ox, Tomas pointed at the other ox of the team for him to lead.
The old man, fingers creased black from the tallow he used to soften leather, secured the oxen to the carreta. “Come, let’s load the wood.”
Behind the barn, oak wood was gathered and stacked for fires used for cooking, making candles and soap, or heating tallow. Often, a smoky blanket wrapped around the barn’s thick adobe walls. Tomas and José stacked wood inside the carreta and began the slow trek to the rodeo. With no road, they followed cow paths and deer trails, trusting the animals knew the easiest way to travel. The trail was rough. Squirrel holes with mounds of black dirt riddled the path.
While Tomas drove the oxen, José’s horse plodded beside the rickety carreta. Like José’s papa, Tomas was born at the mission. “Tell me about when you were young,” José said. He liked hearing what it had been like living at the mission, before the Indians worked on the ranchos.
Tomas laughed. “I didn’t think anyone wanted to hear those old stories anymore. Si, I was a vaquero once. It was long ago. Then the mission had thousands of cattle. They needed vaqueros, so the padres taught me how to ride and rope.”
José smiled. He had heard this story many times.
The old man shook his head. “Until Mexico took the mission’s land, it was the only home I knew. Now, instead of the padres, the ranchero owns the land and trades with the ship captains.”
Tomas’s stories made the slow ride seem shorter. Soon they arrived at the rodeo, and sunburned, barefoot boys jumped into the carreta while it crept along. “Get down!” Tomas yelled. “Since you have so much energy, you can help unload this wood.” Tomas halted the oxen just outside the circle of cattle. José helped the other boys toss the wood in a pile, laughing and teasing as they worked.
Pedro, the blacksmith’s son, had been watching the rodeo, but now started throwing dirt at the boys. “Pedro, stop! Wild cattle aren’t used to loud children running and yelling.” Old Tomas had little patience when there was work to be done.
José filled his arms with wood, carried it to the branding fire, and threw chunks of dry oak onto the hot coals. As he tramped back to the outskirts of the circle, a wild-eyed cow dashed past the vaqueros.
“Watch out!” José leaped in front of the cow, waving his arms, trying to turn her back toward the herd. But he couldn’t. The cow wagged her head from side to side. Slinging slobber and snot, she ran straight at the laughing boys. She lowered her head, knocked Pedro down, and shoving with her horns, rolled him over and over. Two vaqueros raced over and lassoed the cow’s front feet and pulled their reatas tight, throwing her to the ground. She bellowed, hanging her tongue out of her mouth.
José ran to Pedro and rolled him over. He was unconscious, his face ashen.
“Pedro. Pedro,” José shouted. “Are you all right? Can you hear me?”
José’s papa was quickly by his side. Lifting Pedro, he placed him in the carreta. “Take him to the rancho, Tomas. And José, ride ahead and let Pedro’s papa know what happened. Hurry!”
Chapter Two
~Roping the Grizzly Bear~
José swung into his saddle and rushed to the rancho. Dodging squirrel holes, he galloped his horse, sliding to a stop in front of the blacksmith’s shed.
“Señor Eduardo! Señor Eduardo!”
Señor Eduardo hurried outside. “What’s all the yelling about? What’s wrong?”
“Pedro’s hurt. At the rodeo, a loco cow charged and knocked him out. Tomas is bringing him in the carreta.”
Usually soft-spoken, Señor Eduardo said in a loud voice, “Pedro’s hurt? Where is he? I’ll saddle a horse.”
“Take mine,” José offered and quickly dismounted. Eduardo leaped on the horse and galloped toward the rodeo.
José’s hands still trembled from all the excitement. He took a deep breath to steady his galloping heartbeat and went inside the blacksmith’s shed to wait for Tomas and Pedro. The shop fascinated him. It was dim inside, lit by hot coals used to heat cold iron into things needed on the rancho. The blacksmith made many things. Along the roof’s edge, rusty hinges, iron bits, and sharp pointed spurs hung on nails. He liked watching Señor Eduardo’s muscular arms banging his hammer against hot iron, beating and twisting it into interesting and useable shapes.
A pair of silver spurs lay on the blacksmith’s workbench. José fingered the finely engraved silver and noticed the rancho’s brand in the design. These spurs belonged to the ranchero. He wished he could own spurs like them and imagined a pair of silver spurs on the heels of his boots.
Señor Eduardo’s angry voice awakened him from his daydream. “Pedro, you’re too old to be playing. If you had been working, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt!”
José hurried out of the shop. “Are you all right, Pedro?”
“I’m a little dizzy, and my head hurts, but I think I am all right. I cannot remember what happened. I woke up when the carretta hit a big squirrel hole. It was such a rough ride I decided to walk. Until Papa came with a horse.”
“An angry cow charged and knocked you down,” José said. “Lucky for you, the vaqueros lassoed her, otherwise you’d be dead. You were lucky today. Very lucky.”
“And very foolish,” Tomas said as he entered the yard driving the team of oxen. “Luck won’t save a fool. Those cows can kill you.” The old man drove the slow team into the barn.
“Si, Pedro,” his papa said. “You were foolish. The cows protect their calves from anything that threatens them. Remember that!”
Señor Eduardo offered José the reins. “Gracias, for the use of your horse.”
“I better get back to the rodeo. They’ll wonder what happened.”
José returned to the rodeo and told his papa about Pedro. Diego turned the palomino to face his son. “I’m glad he is fine. You were brave, trying to protect him. I have been thinking. At least twelve summers have passed since you were born. It is time for you to ride the young colts.”
He didn’t feel ready, or brave. It had happened so fast, he had helped Pedro without thinking. Perhaps, if he had thought, he wouldn’t have jumped in front of that crazy cow. As the horse trainer, his papa had one of the most important jobs on the rancho. Pride mingled with his fear. He wanted to tame wild horses and learn all his papa’s horse-training secrets. He wanted to be brave and fearless as his bronco-busting papa and make Diego proud that José was his son.
When small and unable to handle the reins, he rode behind his papa. Then, when older, he was given a well-trained horse to ride. For fun, José often joined the other children when they tried to ride the bucking calves the vaqueros had roped. Except, wild colts were not as easy to ride as the little calves. Wild horses bucked and twirled. One had crippled Tomas. And last year, José’s brother was badly injured training a fresh young horse. No, riding wild colts was not easy.
“Now, you are old enough,” his papa continued, turning his gaze back on the cattle. “A vaquero must listen to the horse’s snorts and whinnies, learn to understand his language, and become part horse.” He patted the palomino’s neck. “You must understand the cow. She is tricky, and you must out think her. We are on horseback from sunrise until darkness. It is the vaquero’s way of life.”
José’s heartbeat thumped in his ears. He tried to swallow the tightness in his throat. “Next spring?”
“Si, next spring.”
Before José could ask any more questions, his papa spurred his palomino out of the way of a bucking horse upset by a reata trapped under its tail. All the vaqueros stopped to watch. Finally, the frightened horse was circled into a halt, and everyone went back to work.
One of the young vaqueros galloped over to Jose. “Is Pedro dead?”
“No, but tomorrow he will ache from head to foot.”
The vaquero laughed. “I hope he can dance at the fiesta. He’ll be angry if anyone else dances with Carmelita.”
“Si, the fiesta. Pedro would dance to Carmelita’s tune even if his legs were tied together and he had to hop to the music.” José laughed, but was haunted with worry about riding the wild colts.
The next morning, he went to the barn to watch Tomas braid a reata. Even though he was strict, José enjoyed helping the old man braid strings of rawhide into useful and beautiful things.
“Take it apart and do it again. Your braid isn’t tight enough,” Tomas would say. Or, “Take it apart and do it again. The rows aren’t straight enough.” Used to rope cattle, a reata had to be strong and tightly braided. The vaqueros’ lives depended on them. He had to braid and braid over and over again under Tomas’s watchful eyes.
“I heard your papa has decided you should start riding the wild ones,” old Tomas said when José entered the barn. “I’ll make you new chaps, a pair of your own, not your brothers’ old castoffs. You’ve grown tall this summer.” Tomas squinted, measuring José with his eyes. “I’ll see if I have enough leather to fit your long legs.”
“José, are you here?” His papa peered inside the barn and wasn’t surprised to find his son helping the old man. “A grizzly bear has been seen in a canyon up the valley. We’re riding out to rope him for the fiesta. Today you will ride with us.”
“A grizzly?” A knot twisted in José’s chest. Learning to rope, he had practiced catching bushes, tree limbs, and anything that walked, including his sisters. When good enough with the reata, José began roping calves at the rodeo. But roping a grizzly wasn’t like roping calves. No, the great bear was fearless and fierce. Grizzlies had killed and injured many vaqueros.
“You will ride Santo. He has seen grizzlies before. Come, we must start before it’s too hot.” His papa walked out the door, not looking back, expecting his son to follow.
Jose stared at the empty doorway. He should go, but his boots seemed rooted to the floor.
Tomas reached out, turned José to face him, and gazed into his wide, brown eyes. “The mighty bear should be feared. Be careful. Only a fool would not fear him. Fear teaches respect. Never let your horse turn away from the big bear. Keep Santo straight with your spurs so he will not spin or panic.” He patted José’s shoulder. “Your papa trained Santo to be brave and never refuse. You are ready or your papa would never ask you to ride with him. Now go.” Tomas rubbed his stiff leg, then turned and limped into the twilight of the musty barn.
His papa and brothers were saddling their horses when José walked up. Santo was tied to a fence post, not yet brushed. He started brushing the stallion’s fine golden coat. The horse watched him out of the corner of his eye, not sure who this young boy was, not sure if he liked the touch of this stranger’s hand. José talked quietly as he readied the horse for the saddle. By the time the saddle was cinched, the stallion decided to accept him, letting out a soft snort when the cinch tightened around his belly.
“Hurry up,” his brother said. José quickly slipped on his rusty spurs and wrapped his chaps around his thighs. He pulled the headstall over Santo’s ears, and the horse eagerly slurped the copper roller of the spade bit, making a soothing, clicking sound.
He pulled himself into the saddle and followed, listening to his brothers joke and tease while riding the trail leading north toward the canyon. It seemed like any other day. Except José knew differently. Entering the canyon, the men stopped joking. They quietly followed a cow path, watching the ground for tracks. The wide mouth of the canyon narrowed, and the sides grew steep as they rode deeper into the arroyo.
“Look, there,” Diego whispered, pointing at the ground. In the soft dirt, giant bear tracks led farther into the canyon. Now, everyone became tense and ready. They shook out their reatas, prepared in case the grizzly bear rushed them from the bushes.
José did too, gulping for air as his heart raced. He stiffened his shoulders, hoping the others wouldn’t notice his shaky hands. He tried to sit steady in the saddle and not let Santo feel his fear, but knew the horse probably wasn’t fooled.
In the cool canyon, time seemed strangely still. The vaqueros slowed their horses, listening for sounds of the bear’s presence. A soft crackle alerted them that something big might be in the bushes.
With amazing speed, a grizzly rushed out, and the ten-foot giant stood on his hind legs ready to attack. Santo, showing his warhorse bloodlines, raised his flowing white tail and held it high, then trumpeted a loud, challenging snort. José was surprised by Santo’s noisy outburst, but kept his spurs near the stallion’s sides.
“Stay back, José, until I tell you to come!” his papa yelled.
His brothers quickly threw their loops over the bear’s giant head, pulling in opposite directions. The roaring bear’s terrible teeth and claws lashed out at the reatas and tried to pull the riders toward him into slashing paws. Diego threw his lasso, caught the bear’s hind legs, and stretched him on the ground to stop him from biting the reatas to shreds. The huge bear continued to fight, roar, and roll in the dirt, his forepaws struggling to free himself.
“Now, José! Now! Catch his paws!” his papa yelled.
José spurred Santo closer to the beast, twirling his lasso overhead. The angry bear roared and raised dust as he twisted and struggled, making it difficult for him to be sure when to throw his loop.
“Now! Hurry!” his papa yelled again, causing José to rush and throw his loop at the fearful paws, missing. His reata glanced against the grizzly’s head, becoming entangled as the bear still lashed out.
Next to José, his brother hurriedly threw a loop and caught the huge paws. With reatas stretched tightly, his brothers continued to pull in different directions to keep the grizzly off balance. Then they wrapped a reata around the bear to secure him on the ground. Frantic, the grizzly fought to regain his feet. Finally, he lay quietly.
Diego dismounted. “José, get off your horse. Come here. Bring your lasso.”
He coiled his forty-foot reata and then dismounted Santo, who stood fearlessly while José walked carefully to his papa.
His papa pointed at the great-clawed feet. “Tie his forepaws tight.”
Awed by the size of the grizzly, José cautiously wrapped the lasso around and around the dangerous paws.
“Now, tie his jaws shut.”
Following his papa’s instructions, he tightly bound the fierce nose and sharp teeth. The bear panted. He could smell its hot, wet breath. When the grizzly’s paws and jaws were securely bound, the vaqueros loosened their lassos from the bear’s neck, allowing it to breathe easier.
His brother unrolled a bullhide, and they managed to drag and roll the beast onto it. Mounting his horse, Diego said, “By the time we drag the bear back to the rancho on the bullhide, he will truly hate bulls.”
Chapter Three
~The Fiesta~
The hides and tallow had been prepared for transport to the ships, and the harvest was finished. It was time to give thanks and celebrate. José could hardly wait for the fiesta to begin. It was an exciting time on the rancho. The vaqueros played guitars and violins and danced with their wives. The women showed off new babies and new dresses.
Outside, a fire heated the horno, and huge chunks of beef were being barbequed over slow burning coals. Women were preparing tamales, tortillas, and frijoles spiced with garlic and chilies. The delicious smell surrounded the ranchero’s adobe casa. José’s mouth watered.
Besides the grizzly he and his papa had captured, vaqueros had also lassoed a fierce bull and dragged him to the rancho. A fight between the two beasts would be the fiesta’s entertainment. An event unequaled in ferocity, much gambling would take place on the outcome. Which great beast would be faster and tougher? Which great beast would win?
José went to the barn to tell Tomas about his adventure with the grizzly. “Tomas, did you see the grizzly we caught? Santo was brave. He challenged the bear.” He didn’t mention he wasn’t as brave as the palomino stallion when the huge bear had rushed out of the bushes.
“Si. Santo is bred to be brave enough to challenge a grizzly bear. The bull they captured is also brave and ferocious. He will be fine rival for the old bear.” Tomas laid aside the strings of rawhide he was braiding. “It will be a great battle. I am not sure on which I will place my wager. They will fight to the finish. Neither will surrender.”
In the yard, hens clucked and scattered as vaqueros from the neighboring rancho galloped past the barn door. Tomas walked to the door and yelled after them, “You crazy men, slow down! Children are playing in the yard.”
Due to the long distances between the ranchos, neighbors seldom visited. They had been invited to join the feasting and the dancing. José went outside to see who had ridden over to join the fun.
“Uncle Miguel.” He laughed as his uncle stepped down from his horse and gave him a hug. His uncle worked on a rancho a day’s ride away, and they rarely saw him. Miguel liked to tease and joke with his nephew. José was happy to see him.
“You have grown as tall as your brothers since I saw you last summer,” Miguel said. “I hear you rode with your papa to rope the grizzly.”
It always amazed José how quickly people knew what was happening at the neighboring ranchos. Words traveled as fast as he could ride across the grassy pastureland. “Si, Uncle, I helped capture him. I tied his great jaws. I’ve never been so close to a grizzly while he was still alive. I could feel his breath on my face.”
“Do you think a bull will be a match for him?” his uncle asked, which surprised José. He had never been asked for his opinion before.
He frowned, remembering his fear of the powerful grizzly. “He is fierce. Tomas thinks the bull will be a good match, but I think the grizzly will win.”
José’s papa rode up while they were talking. Seeing his brother, he dismounted. “Miguel, how long has it been? Did you come to watch the fight? What have you to wager, maybe a new hackamore? José will be breaking colts this spring. He needs a hackamore to start the wild ones. Maybe you’d wager the one your colt is wearing?”
“I’ll decide after I see the bear and bull.” Miguel mounted his horse. “Let’s ride down to the corral. What will you wager? I need a new reata. I like yours. Maybe it will be a bet, eh?”
The two brothers rode down the steep hillside to the corral where the fight would be held. Tomas and José followed on foot. He waited while old Tomas hobbled slowly along. In the corral, the grizzly was chained to a tree. The huge bear’s hind leg was cautiously being tied to the bull’s forefoot so they could not retreat from the fight. Diego and Miguel joined other vaqueros who had surrounded the enclosure with reatas ready, just in case the bull or bear did manage to escape.
Tomas and José pushed their way to the front of the gathering crowd. “Look at the size of that grizzly,” Tomas whispered. “He will be hard to challenge, no matter how brave the bull. I think the bear will win.”
“He’s even bigger when you are close to him,” José said. “Those paws are the size of watermelons. When I tied them together, it took many wraps to secure those giant paws. The bull will have little chance to defeat him.”
The excited crowd placed many bets, most on the grizzly. The two gigantic beasts were released from the tree. At first, the two animals tried to escape, running in opposite directions until the lasso holding them together tightened. Then the bear turned and roared in anger, looking for what had pulled against him. The great bull also twisted around to face what had stopped him. Then he charged the mighty bear, lowering his head to use his long horns against his enemy. Seeing the bull coming at him, the grizzly took his stance, rising on his hind feet, ready to lash out.
When the two powerful creatures met, a cloud of dust swirled and billowed upward as they stomped the ground in battle. The crowd cheered. Through the hazy dust, José could see the savage battle, but Tomas’s old eyes could not.
“What is happening?” Tomas asked, and leaned closer to hear José.
“The grizzly struck the bull on his poll between the horns,” José yelled over the cheering crowd. “Now the bull plunges a horn into the grizzly’s belly. The bear is hurt, but grasps the bull’s horns and is clawing the hide off his neck. The grizzly’s teeth have clamped onto the bull’s nose, trying to throw him to the ground.” He shook his head. “Both are terribly wounded. Only rage is driving them to continue the fight. I don’t think either will survive.”
“I wish I could see so great a fight, such power, such bravery.” Tomas looked down, listening to the roars and snorts of the beasts as they twisted and turned in a death dance. “When your life is threatened, it is good to be brave. We must fight to survive, no matter what. Life is a great struggle. Remember, José, these creatures and how they battle. They teach us a lesson, to be fierce and never surrender. In surrender, we are defeated.”
He grasped the old man’s arm. “I wish you could see them. The bull is falling. The grizzly is trying to stand, but he, too, is falling.” As the dust settled, Jose felt sad when he saw the two huge animals, both injured beyond life, lying in a heap together. “Oh, Tomas, they are dying. Neither has won.”
“No one loses their bet when both animals die.” Tomas wiped the dust from his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “What great creatures. Both are honored by their bravery. This fight will be retold many times. When they are skinned, their hides will have magic powers.” Tomas nodded. “Si, great power. I will make your chaps out of that brave bull’s hide. I will ask your papa to claim it for you.”
They elbowed their way through the crowd to where Diego and Miguel sat horseback. Tomas stared up at Diego. “José needs new chaps. I want to make them from the hide of that great bull. Make sure I get it. He is entitled to it. He helped capture the grizzly.”
“Si, he is,” Diego agreed. “The bullhide will be his. It will bring him good luck to have chaps made from the brave bull’s hide.”
José knew that animals provided food for the rancho, and without death there was no life. Even so, he felt sorry the bull had died. Yet something good would come from his death. From his hide, the bull’s courageous spirit would pass into the chaps. When he wore them, they would give him courage and bring him luck. Then he would no longer fear riding the young horses.
Diego threw his lasso around the dead bull’s horns. “Miguel, come help me drag this bull to where the strippers can take his hide for José.”
Miguel rode over and also threw a loop around the bull’s long horns, and together the brothers dragged the heavy animal far away from the ranchero’s casa. Other vaqueros secured their lassos around the bear, dragging him away to strip off his hide and claws.
That evening, José sat around a campfire outside his family’s small adobe casa listening to his papa and uncle talk about all that had happened that day. Besides the fight, they also discussed a new government.
“It hasn’t been so long ago that Mexico claimed the territory. Is Alta California going to change governments again?” Diego asked.
“Many think so,” Miguel said. “I heard the United States raised its flag over Monterey, and an American named Fremont has an army that’s marching from the north to Los Angeles. I think I will join this Fremont’s army. He is paying vaqueros twenty-five dollars a month to make sure his army is fed. I’ve heard he is even paying Indians to join as scouts.” Uncle Miguel’s eyes sparkled in the firelight. “Some are joining because they are angry. Others have a grudge against Mexico, but most just want the money.”
“Twenty-five dollars,” Diego said. “Going where? For how long? You have a wife and children. You cannot leave for months.” José’s papa frowned. “No, Miguel. We are vaqueros, not soldiers. On horseback, we have no equal. No man looks down on us. We have no grudges, no enemies. Our life is here, on the rancho.”