Boots and Saddles

Chapter 1

Breaking off from the group that rescued Billy Jackson, Sun Hair headed for the Shoshone lands. He took a circuitous route. Checking his backtrail frequently and doubling back if something didn’t feel right.

He was heading to the main village of his tribe. He was the only white man ever to set foot in the area. Others that were observed approaching were stopped and turned away. If they persisted, they disappeared.

Entering the mountain country, he started following valleys and washes. He was aware when the guardians had spotted him. He had stood watch in those same locations. At the waiting place, he stopped and dismounted. After about 30 minutes, a Whippoorwill called. He remounted and continued.

He had been recognized, and his backtrail checked and erased.

When he arrived at the village, all of the familiar sounds, smells, and sights burst on him. He may have been white, but this was his home.

Riding calmly through the center of the village, he was recognized and welcomed. Eventually, he arrived at the Bear clan lodge. Sitting at the entrance was a group of senior warriors eating their noon meal. Swift Horse called out, “Welcome, brother. It has been long since you left us.”

As Sun Hair dismounted, a junior warrior came forward and took his horse, leading it to the clan corral. “Thank you, brother. It lifts my heart to come home. But I bring news for Red Hawk and the council. There may be war on the horizon.”

“You may have to wait, Sun Hair. Red Hawk and the council are taking their noon meal at Red Hawks lodge. I would avoid talk of war until after their siesta. Older men’s stomachs are easily upset. Tell me of this news of war. Have the Pony Riders proven themselves false? Are the long knifes searching for us again?”

Sun Hair sat at a space made for him next to Swift Horse. They had grown up together and were friends. One of the junior warriors handed him a bowl of stew, and he started eating. Between mouthfuls, he continued. “No, brother, the danger comes from elsewhere this time.” He then spent the next hour telling of his adventures to the west with the Pony Riders. Tales of their skill and bravery. Of how they were worthy warriors. Swift Horse, in turn, spoke of the tribal events since Sun Hair had left them. Of course, mixed in with those tales, Swift Horse boasted of his own adventures and the honors he had won. When he finished his meal, he leaned back and gave a satisfied belch.

Soon they were approached by a junior warrior. “Sun Hair, Red Hawk and the council wish to speak to you.” Standing, he told the others, “I cannot delay any longer. I will speak to the council now.” Sun Hair followed the junior warrior to Red Hawks lodge.

Seated around the cooking fire were the seven members of the tribe’s council. These were the warriors tested by time, battle, and wisdom for their positions on the council. Sun Hair walked up to within 10 feet of the circle and waited.

The old men on the council were aware of his presence. They had been informed of his approach long before when he crossed into Shoshone lands. But as was customary, He was ignored while they finished their noon meal. When Sun Hair arrived, Red Hawk filled his pipe and lit it. The pipe was passed from member to member until the tobacco was gone.

Red Hawk refilled the pipe and relit it. This time, Brown Fox, the Bear clan leader, moved slightly to his left. Sun Hair stepped forward.

“Sun Hair, my son,” Red Hawk started. “What news do you bring to the council?”

“Grandfather, I have just come from the west. The pony riders and I have righted a wrong at the foothills of the big snow mountains.”

“I have heard of this. Did you find and return the evil one’s child?”

“Yes, he sits in the white man’s jail in Wilkins. Their chiefs will pass judgment on him soon.”

“I see that you carry new scalps on your belt.”

“It is so grandfather.”

“So, Sun Hair, what news have you brought to us? What has happened that we need to hear about?”

“Grandfather, While I was with the Pony Riders to the west, we met a party of Piute warriors.” Sun Hair then told the story of the meeting.

When he was done, the council sat silent for a moment. Then Red Hawk spoke up. “My son, you must be tired from your long trail. Rest, and when the council has need for you, we will call for you.”

Sun Hair bowed his head in acknowledgment, then turned and walked away.

Sun Hair returned to the Bear Clan’s lodge. In the bachelor warriors lodge, he stripped off his clothing and bundled it together. Looking at his moccasins, he knew that he needed a new pair. He had tried to wear the white man’s boots, but they were stiff and uncomfortable.

Taking his dirty clothing with him, he went to the stream that the tribe used. Working his way downriver, he was greeted by the wives and mothers working on their various chores.

Sun Hair was well known and, in most cases, liked. There were a few exceptions, but for the most part, he enjoyed a good reputation.

Having gone beyond the women doing their laundry Sun Hair slipped into the cool water. He sighed with pleasure. He had been on a long trail to the west and back. The cool water was refreshing.

He was surprised when he heard a girl giggling, which disturbed his relaxation. Opening an eye, he saw that Little Fawn was on the other side of the stream. He hadn’t noticed her when he first slipped into the water.

Little Fawn was the daughter of Howling Wolf, one of the senior warriors of the tribe. She was several years younger than Sun Hair, and when he had left to join the pony riders, she had been too young to be noticed. Now Sun Hair was surprised to see that she had turned into a pretty young woman.

Slightly embarrassed, Sun Hair said, “Little Fawn Did I disturb your chores? Do you wish me to leave?”

Shyly Little Fawn looking down, replied, “If the famous Sun Hair wishes to be alone. I will move back to the other women.”

“No, you have more important chores. If you want, I will move further downstream?” Sun Hair didn’t catch the reference that Little Fawn had just moved. That she had moved because Sun Hair was here.”

Slightly bolder, she said, “I see that you have dirty clothing. My task is small. Would it be unseemly to join our tasks?”

“I would be pleased if you would. My skills at cleaning buckskins are poor at best.”

Little Fawn grinning brightly said, “It’s decided then. Bring your clothing over, and I’ll start.”

Sun Hair climbed out of the water and retrieved his bundle of clothing. As he carried it over to Little Fawn, her eyes were shining at his appearance. However, Sun Hair was unaware of her apparent interest.

As Little Fawn started washing the clothing, they talked of their lives. She spoke of the day-to-day things in the tribe, while Sun Hair spoke of living in the white man’s world and how confusing it could get.

When Little Fawn found Sun Hairs Moccasins, she said. “Sun Hair, your moccasins need to be replaced. They will soon be useless.”

“I know I will need to find some good leather and make new ones.”

Little Fawn looked down at her work and smiled shyly. “If Sun Hair could give Little Fawn this leather, she would be happy to make a new pair for Sun Hair.”

That was when it started to dawn on Sun Hair that more was going on than he was used to. “I, I, I,” He stammered.

“That is if Sun Hair wants Little Fawn to do this for him?”

“I, I, I,” Sun Hair continued to stammer.

Little Fawn knew that the hook was set, and all she needed to do was allow Sun Hair to tire himself out. She gathered all her freshly washed and dried clothes. “When Sun Hair brings me the leather, I will start making a new set of moccasins.” She stood up, smiled coyly at Sun Hair, turned, and walked away. Sun Hair was fascinated with the sway of her hips.

On his way back to the village when Sun Hair passed the other women, there was giggling and whispered conversations. After he had passed, he heard outright laughter. Blushing a bright red, He hurried back to the Bear clan lodge.

Early the following day, Sun Hair went hunting. It wasn’t long before he brought down a large buck. After field dressing the animal, he hoisted it on his shoulders and walked back to the lodge of Little Fawn’s family. When he arrived, he eased the carcass to the ground.

Howling Wolf, Little Fawn’s father, and her mother, Dew Flower, were sitting in front of their lodge. Sun Hair could see Little Fawn peeking through the doorway.

“What is this you bring to my lodge Sun Hair?” Howling Wolf asked.

Sun Hair stood taller and replied, “Howling Wolf, your daughter has offered to make me a new pair of moccasins if I would bring her the leather. I took this deer this morning and brought it here for her.”

“I see,” growled Howling wolf. “And what of the rest? Do you expect her to butcher the meat for you also?”

“Husband,” Dew Flower spoke up, then turned to Sun Hair. “Sun Hair, we thank you for this gift. Perhaps you could join us for dinner this evening. Little Fawn is quite gifted at preparing venison roasts.”

Sun Hair, grateful for the interruption, said, “Thank you, Dew Flower, for the invitation. But I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Sun Hair, don’t listen to my husband. You are welcome to our lodge anytime.”

The meal that evening was sometimes tense, sometimes humorous. But Sun Hair was glad to find that Little Fawn did indeed have a talent with venison roasts. Little Fawn shyly looked away when he said so.

Chapter 2

My name is Jesus Sanchez. My father is Manuel and my mother, Maria. We live in the Hacienda of the Anderson Cavalry. Also called The Regiment. My father had been a peon of the Ruis family when they owned the land. He would work in the fields of the Ruis, picking cotton or corn or beans. In return, the Ruis would supply food and water, and protection.

After dinner, my father would tell us tales of battles fought with the Indians of the heroic deeds of the Ruis men in defending the Hacienda. Then with sadness in his voice, he would tell of the last raid. The raid when the Comancheros and evil white men had murdered the Ruis family. He would speak of the years that followed. Of the hunger and fear of all of the Ruis peons.

Then Mama would tell of The Man, The Colonel. How when he came to the Hacienda, all of the peons were afraid, and they hid from this man. How Senora Martinez, the bravest of all, talked to the Colonel. He spoke of many things, and he promised many things.

And then Mama spoke of the promises fulfilled. Of how the Hacienda was reborn.

Now we were no longer peons. We were members of ‘The Regiment.’ We could choose our own path. My father was able to claim a section of land for his own. From that, He was able to raise food for our family. No longer did we have to rely on the generosity of the patron. My father started walking with his eyes on the horizon, not on the ground as he had as a peon. Pride came to my father.

Pride also came to my mother. She no longer worried about our home. It was ours, and we owned it. We couldn’t be sent away by the patron if we displeased him. There was no patron. My mother talked to the other women and girls. They no longer had to worry about their honor. They couldn’t be taken at a man’s will anymore. With that safety came courage. From courage came ambition.

My mother’s ambition came as a baker. At first, it was simple. Tortillas for our friends and neighbors. This quickly grew when the Regiment’s cook noticed the quality of Mama’s tortilla. He hired her to provide tortillas to the Regiment. At first, my mother was frightened. How could she provide for so many? But she found a way. She called on her friends and neighbors. All of the women knew how to make tortillas. So, a deal was struck. Mama would supply the cornmeal flour and other ingredients. They would make so many tortillas a day, and Mama would pay them for their efforts.

Eventually, Mama left the tortillas to her friends and started making loaves of bread and pastries. Word spread, and she was soon selling her goods in Wilkins and to the farms and ranches in the area.

As I grew older, I grew restless. My family was prosperous. And yet I hadn’t made my name. At the school that the Regiment provided free to all, I learned that I could become a part of the Regiment. I, too, could wear the uniform, ride a horse and be strong. That was when I decided that I, too, would be a Cavalryman in our Regiment.

At first, I didn’t know how to satisfy my wish. I decided to ask the smartest man I knew. Mr. Buchanan, My teacher at the school. All of the children were required to go to school until they were 14. This included the whites and the mexicans. It was free, and all were required to learn Spanish and English. When you reached 14, you could go on to advanced schooling or an apprenticeship. Or even adult work if you could find it. But within the Hacienda walls, someone would rarely take on a youngster. Some did, but it was usually farm work. Something requiring a strong back and weak mind.

I told Mr. Buchanan about my ambition. I was 14 at the time and tired of the daily grind of school. “Jesus,” He said, “It’s a difficult, dangerous, and hard path you propose. The military life requires everything from you. Family, Friends, and Privacy all are given up to the god of war, Mars. In the military, you WILL be called to do things that you won’t want to do. Be called to ignore things that are dear to you. To sweat and bleed for others. To even give up your very life. All of this will be demanded of you and no thanks given when you do them.”

I sat there wide-eyed. It was apparent that he was trying to scare me. And to be honest, he was doing a good job. Before I could say anything, he continued. “Jesus, at 14, you are too young to join the Regiment. They have a strict age limit of 17. Now that won’t stop you from going to the Federal recruiter and lying about your age. Those folks could care less about you. All they are looking for is to fill quotas and cannon fodder. But if you’re willing to wait and continue to go to school, I’ll do everything I can to get you into the Regiment.”

He offered me his hand, and I took it. “OK, Mr. Buchanan, I’ll keep going to school.” We shook hands, and the contract was made.

What followed was two years of some of the most confusing subjects I could think of. We studied the bible, the Torah, even the Quran. We studied Hannibal, Alexander, Grant, and Lee. I learned how rope was made, how knots were tied, how to splice rope. I learned how to cook. How to bake. I learned how to sew, knit, and crochet. The subjects were as varied as one could think of. I even spent time as a swamper at the bar in Wilkins. Also as both a busboy and dishwasher in the regimental mess.

I spent an entire month in the Wilkins livery stable. Mucking stalls and rubbing down other people’s horses. The stable master ‘Red,’ The only name he would answer to, taught me about horses. He showed me the difference between a healthy and an ill horse. He also gave me advice on how to treat a sick horse. And most importantly, if it was too late, how to relieve its misery.

Eventually, the time came, and I reached that magical goal. I was 17 years old.

Mr. Buchanan called me into his office. “Jesus,” He started, “I made a promise to you two years ago. You have fulfilled your end of that bargain admirably. Before I fulfill mine, my conscience requires me to ask you one question.” He paused a moment and looked at me closely. “Jesus, do you still want to join the Regiment? Is this your true and honest wish?”

I paused for a moment and thought to myself, is this what I really want?

I thought of my Father and Mother. Of their lives as peons, of the proud people that they had become. I thought of my sisters and little brother. All of them were safer and happier because of the Regiment. I thought of the education that had been given to me free of charge or expectation. I thought about what my life would have been without the Regiment. What other lives would be without the Regiment? I could see right then that I owed the Regiment a lot, maybe even my life.

“Mr. Buchanan, my decision is made. I want to join the Regiment.”

He stood up and reached out his hand as he had years earlier. “Son, I knew this would happen. I’ll do what I can for you.” We shook hands. a week later, a visitor came to our door. The door opened, and I met Master Sergeant Fritz Baumgarten.

He was a tall man, 6 foot and then some. Lean and with a weathered look to his face. He stood there with his hat in his hand. His pants were stiff, and the crease seemed sharp enough to carve wood. His shirt was spotless, and the silver buttons gleamed in the sunlight. His boots also gleamed. They were black and shined to a high gloss. I had the feeling that if I tried, I would see my reflection.

My father had answered the door and, in broken English, asked if he could help the Sergeant. In fluent Spanish, he replied. “Sir I am Master Sergeant Baumgarten. I am the training NCO for the Regiment. It is my understanding that a Jesus Sanchez lives here? That he has expressed a desire to join the Regiment.”

My mother had joined us from the kitchen. I could see that she was afraid. I stood by her and placed my arm around her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I am Jesus Sanchez, Sergeant. Yes, I would like to join the Regiment. I have talked to Mr. Buchanan about this.”

“I know,” The Sergeant replied. “He is the one who told me about you.” He turned to my mother and father. “Mr. Buchanan has spoken highly of your son. He has long admired his ambition and drive to achieve his goals.”

I could tell that my mother was still concerned. But her politeness took control, and she offered the Sergeant a seat at the table and a cup of tea. He graciously accepted. For the next thirty minutes, he talked to my parents, explaining what being a trooper entailed, the training I would be going through. He also answered all of their questions. Finally, his tea finished, and the questions from my parents had run out. He rose from the table. “Mr. and Mrs. Sanchez, with your permission, Could I take a walk with Jesus. So, we can talk about his desires?”

My mother was about to object when my father stopped her. “Sergeant, of course, you have our permission.” He then looked at me. “Son, you are about to make a decision. Something that will affect the rest of your life. I have confidence that you will make the choice that you think best.” Then for the first time in my life, he reached his hand out, and we shook hands.

The Sergeant and I ended up at the plaza fountain. The Sergeant sat on the bench and motioned for me to join him.

“Son, I don’t know what you think the troopers do. I’m sure that your head has been filled with images of dashing young men chasing evil lawbreakers and rescuing the fair maiden. Maybe even fighting bravely and dying a glorious death. That’s all bunk, it doesn’t happen. What will happen is you will ride your horse. You will ride it for so long that your butt will grow numb, and you’ll beg for a chance to dismount. And then you’ll ride some more. Eventually, when you do stop, it will take 5 minutes for your body to remember what your legs are for.”

“You’ll walk and ride in weather so hot you’ll swear your eyeballs are boiling. So cold that your toes will be icicles, and frost will form on your mustache. You’ll ride hungry, and then when you do eat, it’ll be something so foul it would gag a buzzard. You’ll have to decide how much food or hay to pack. And then decide again over water and yet again over ammo.”

“You’ll be bone-tired dead on your feet and look to your horse’s needs first. Speaking of horses, you will learn that they aren’t the noble beasts that the novels paint them. They can be mean, stubborn, and stupid animals. You will come to hate them with a passion reserved for the demons of hell. And at the same time, you will mourn their loss the same as you would for your own child.”

“You’ll sleep where you can, when you can. Your bed will most likely be a hard piece of dirt with rocks poking you in the tenderest parts of your body. Sleeping in a bed, a real bed, not a bag of straw, will be a luxury beyond ecstasy.”

“And if you have the idea that you will be bravely fighting evil savages white, red or brown, I can guarantee you will experience fear. Gut-wrenching terror, terror so bad that you will lose control of your bladder and possibly your bowels. You may be called upon to give up your life doing this job.”

“Son, this is not a life for the timid. Of a hundred people, half will fail at the simplest training. Half of those left will fail the training needed to become a cavalryman.”

“But what will happen, IF you survive, you will join a group of men and women with something that ordinary people don’t have. You will have the Cavalry. You will be considered an equal among superiors. You will walk with your head up and your eyes on the horizon. You will have brothers and sisters willing, ready, and able to fight to the death for you just as you will for them. This will be something closer than family. The Regiment will come to be YOUR family.”

“But there is a price, Jesus. You will be called on to give us everything you’ve got and then even more. At the same time, we’ll give you everything we’ve got.”

“How about it, son? Still got the itch to play with the big boys? Don’t answer me now. On the first of the month, at first light, be at the Troop Gate.” He stood up and offered me his hand. “Mr. Sanchez, it’s been a pleasure to speak to you. I hope to meet you again.”

We shook hands, and he turned and started to walk from the plaza. On the way, he was stopped by others that wished to shake his hand. Some of the older mothers and aunts even kissed his cheek.

When I got home, I found my mother crying at the table. My father was standing next to her, his hand on her shoulder. They both looked up at me as I came into the room. “Have you decided, son?” My father asked. “Yes, sir. The Sergeant tried to warn me off, tried to scare me. I’m more certain now than I was before.” This set off a fresh round of quiet weeping from my mother.

“MARIA,” My father said, not quite yelling but loud enough to demand attention. My mother looked up with teary eyes. “Woman, He is a man now. Old enough to make a man’s decision. Weeping will not change that decision. Just make it more difficult. Our son is taking his first steps of manhood. It falls to us to take pride in that decision. He could have become a thief or murderer. Instead, he has decided to take an honorable path. Be proud, Go to the other wives and mothers in the plaza and brag about your brave and honorable son.”

With that, my father turned and walked from the room. As he was leaving, I saw his face. There were tears on his cheeks, but I could see the pride in his eyes. I knew that he was headed to the cantina. He too would be bragging tonight.

At first light, on the first day of the month, I was at the Hacienda’s Troop Gate.

Chapter 3

I arrived at the troop gate well before sunrise. I was used to working in the fields, and any daylight not spent working was wasted time. If you could see what you were doing, you had better be doing it.

When I arrived, there were three others. There were also two horses tied up on the rail to the side of the gate. I knew that it might be insulting to check out someone’s horse. But I did look them over from a polite distance. One of the horses was in good shape. I could see that she was a mare with a racer’s legs. The saddle and bridle had been taken off, and she was tied off with a hackamore. I could also see that she had been brushed down, and based on what I had already seen, I was sure that a curry comb had also been run over her. An oat bag hung from her head.

Seated with his back against the adobe wall was a figure. He was covered by a Pendleton trade blanket and wearing a black wide-brimmed hat. The only thing I could see was the eyes. I could see that they took note of my arrival. I assumed he was the mares rider.

The other was best described as a nag well on his way to the glue factory. Sway backed and with a head drooping almost to the ground. There was no saddle, and you could see the dried sweat on his flanks. All in all, a miserable looking animal. I was almost tempted to see to his basic needs. But again, that could be a dangerous thing. A lot of men resented any attention paid to their horses or women. Best to stand back and let things take their course.

The other two people were seated at a resting spot to the side of the gate. There was a water trough and an arbor-covered seating area. There were several tables and benches surrounding a chiminea that had a cheery blaze going.

In the next 30 minutes, the crowd grew. Some showed up individually. Some showed up with family. One showed up with a pair of girls. They arrived by a buggy, obviously from Wilcox. I saw the logo for the Wilcox livery. The girls were giggling and hanging onto their companion from both sides.

Watching all this was the pair of sentries that stood on the wall over the gate. Most of their time had been spent watching. But occasionally, they would quietly speak to each other and laugh.

Eventually, the crowd grew to 30 candidates. a couple of them were girls. The family and friends stood off to the side. Some of the women were quietly crying. Others stood by with pride in their eyes, as did most of the fathers.

Just as the sun was coming over the eastern horizon, three troopers came through the gate. Like Master Sergeant Baumgarten, these men were immaculately dressed. Their boots and buttons were shining in the dawning sun. The creases in the uniforms knife sharp.

One of the group stepped forward. His voice carried throughout the area, not a shout or a yell, but it projected and cut through all other conversations.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” He paused while the assembled crowd quieted down.

“If you please, we need to get started on today’s activities. We will give you 10 minutes to say your goodbyes. At which time we ask you to leave. Our time is short, and we have a lot to do today. So please say your goodbyes. Thank you.”

He then stepped back and joined his companions. As a group, they stood in front of the gate. Their hands clasped behind their backs and feet shoulder-width apart.

My family had stayed home at my request. We had said our goodbyes the previous night. My mother had prepared a special meal for us. All my favorites. We had talked and told stories. After dinner, some of our neighbors had briefly stopped by to wish me luck and good fortune.

I had been surprised when both the Hernandez and later the Martinez adults showed up with their daughters. Dressed in their best. Wilma Hernandez was shy. She had always been the younger shrinking violet at Sunday school. And that night was no different.

It was suggested that we sit on the porch and enjoy the evening breeze. Wilma sat with her hands and eyes on her lap. Her cheeks were bright red.

“Wilma, are you unhappy? is there a problem?”

She quickly looked up at me. “No, No, Jesus. There is no problem.”

“I am glad, Wilma. I’ve always thought of you as a friend. I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt you.”

She sputtered and stammered, and her eyes returned to her lap, saying nothing.

“Wilma, I am going to be gone for a while. Maybe a long time. With your permission, I would like to write to you occasionally. Just to let you know what I am doing where I am. Would that be alright?”

While I was speaking, her eyes slowly lifted to me. I could see the confusion and wonder in her eyes. “You ... want to write to ME?”

“Of course, You are my friend. We grew up together went to school together. Why wouldn’t I want to keep our friendship?”

“I ... I...”

“But if you’d rather I didn’t...”

“NO,” she exclaimed, “I mean no. It would be alright if you wrote to me. I would like to read about your adventures. To keep our friendship.”

“It’s a deal then. I’ll write to you, and you can write to me about your adventures, OK?”

She was smiling now. The shyness, while still there, was now overshadowed by a new found boldness. We were now more than just friends.

Later in the evening, the Martinez family arrived. I didn’t know their family very well. They had joined the Hacienda after the Regiment arrived. Mr. Martinez claimed that he had been a scout for the Union army before the civil war. And had spent the war years in the Indian territories. He was a man who tried to give the image of polish and refinement. His wife was the same. Dressing above the needs of the task and usually contributing minimum labor and maximum advice.

Their daughter Cynthia was not much different. At school, she had led the girls in all of their activities. And made sure to attach herself to the leaders of all the boy’s activities. It didn’t matter if it was kickball, marbles, or mumbly peg. If you were the best, she was there on your arm.

Like Wilma, it was suggested that we sit on the porch bench. As soon as the suggestion was made, Cynthia grabbed my arm and dragged me from the room. When we were alone, she let me go and pulled a mirrored compact from her purse. As she was checking her makeup, she started telling me her expectations.

“OK, Jesus, you will turn all of your pay over to me on payday. I expect to have the best housing possible. You will make sergeant in a year and be the sergeant major in ten years. You will take me to all the dances and celebrations and make sure that I have the latest fashions.”

I sat there for a moment staring at her. When she finally ran down from her demands, I said, “Cynthia, hold out your hand’s, palms up.”

She pointed her nose up and sniffed. “All right, Jesus, but don’t expect me to do everything you demand.”

I smiled at her and said, “Cynthia, I promise this is the one and only time I will ask something of you.”

There was a smirk on her face. “Well, what is it?”

“Cynthia, I want you to put hope in one hand and shit in the other.” There was a shocked look on her face. But before she could say more, I continued. “See which hand is filled first.” I then stood up and walked off into the darkness.

I remained in the darkness until the Martinez family left.

When I returned home, my mother had a smile on her face. My father, however, seemed disappointed. “Jesus, did you really tell Cynthia to shit in her hand?”

I spent fifteen minutes telling my side of the story. My father sat for a moment, deep in thought.

“Son, you may very well have avoided a bleak future. But be aware that you have not made friends in the Martinez family. Considering the path you have chosen, it probably won’t matter. But keep your eyes open. Sometimes the past will bite you in the most unexpected places.”

The rest of the evening was quiet. Mostly spent just being together. The unspoken feeling was that this would be the last such evening for a long time, maybe forever.

Sleep came slowly and was easily interrupted that night. I tossed and turned. There were unusual dreams. Some involving my parents, some with Wilma and Cynthia. Eventually, I rose at 4 AM. At that hour, I knew that sleep was useless. I spent the next 30 minutes preparing my bag.

On the advice of my father and others, I included all of my undergarments, including socks. Both of my parents, maybe unknown to the other, had given me woolen long johns. My sisters had also knitted several pairs of woolen socks. They were thick and warm. I was sure that they would be most welcome. And I made sure that they knew of my appreciation for their efforts.

I also had two thick wool blankets. They were bulky but warm. Very welcome on those cold desert nights.

As I was packing and repacking, my mother joined me. She hugged me with what I was sure was her full strength. I could tell that she was quietly weeping. I tried as best I could to reassure her. Gently patting her back and murmuring assurances. Eventually, my father joined us and gently pulled my mother, his wife, from the room. When He returned, He was alone.

That was a preview of Boots and Saddles. To read the rest purchase the book.

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