One Step Over the Border (11 page)

“We ain’t exactly takin’ south Texas by storm,” Hap observed.

Laramie watched two ants crawl across the toe of his boot. “We’re alive. After last night, I consider that real progress.
You know why I stayed? I thought,
If I leave Hap in Mexico and he gets killed stealing cattle, I’m going to have to be the one to go to Wyoming and tell his
mamma
. So I reckon neither one of us has the nerve to disappoint that sweet lady.”

“Well, our safety might only be a temporary condition. You think those Mexicans might come over and track us down?”

“If they have more cattle stolen, and we don’t deliver Greene, they’ll regret the decision to turn us loose. Sort of makes
me wish we were riding for a ranch up in the Wind River range.”

“You reckon that dust cloud comin’ this way is Mr. E. A. Greene?” Hap eased himself into the saddle, then tugged his hat a
little lower in the front.

Laramie yanked the cinch tight around Tully’s stomach. He swung up as easily as most men drop into a recliner in front of
the TV. “Are you ready for this, partner?”

“Oh, yeah.”

The dually towing the long gooseneck stock trailer pulled up to the brush corrals. E. A. Greene bounded out of the cab. “Boys,
am I glad to see you. I ran into some vaqueros last night and led them downstream to give you safe passage back here.” He
stared out at the empty brush corrals. “Were you able to sort them out and push my cows across?”

“We took care of things for you,” Hap said.

“You did?” Greene rubbed his hands together. “This calls for an extra bonus… two hundred dollars apiece. Did you lose any?”

“Not one of your cows was lost,” Laramie reported.

“I knew you boys were ranahans the minute I saw you at the café. They aren’t in the corrals up here, so where are they?”

“We figured if those vaqueros got to missin’ any head, they would swim over and look in these corrals,” Hap said.

“Good thinkin’, boys. You made my day.” He yanked out a worn tooled-leather wallet and shoved two one-hundred-dollar bills
at each of them.

Hap tucked his money in his shirt pocket. “Get out your saddle horse, E.A.; let’s go retrieve your goods.”

Greene opened the long stock trailer and led out his horse. “One of you grab my keys. The kind of riffraff that crosses the
border here ain’t against stealin’ my truck.”

Hap swung down. When he pulled himself out of the cab of the truck he toted keys and a small white cardboard box. He handed
the keys to Greene and flashed the box at Laramie. “Looks like you had a fine Chinese supper up in San Antonio. Is this the
takeout place on Sixteenth Street?” Hap asked. “I hear they serve a fine Mu Shu Pork.”

“Yep, it’s across from the meat locker. Everything they serve is tasty,” Greene said. “You boys should try it next time you’re
up that way.”

Hap led the way. Greene followed. Laramie rode drag.

The level, sandy ground was bordered by thick brush that kept them from seeing the Rio Grande. The trail through the green-leafed
thicket zigzagged so much they almost lost sight of one another.

Hap peered back to see a pleased look on Greene’s face, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. Hap mused that most folks
plodded along like that, chewing on life’s cigar, happy and content, without any idea what’s around the corner.

“Are you sure you got them penned in? I don’t remember any corrals down by the river,” Greene called out.

“We hired young Mr. Fernando Valenzuela Ortega to watch them,” Hap replied. “Isn’t that a fine name for a thirteen-year-old?”

“You got a thirteen-year-old Mexican kid watching my sixty head?”

“Your goods are right where we left them,” Laramie assured. “Think about it: If the Mexicans cross over and stumble upon them,
no one can blame you… or us.”

“You boys think of everything.”

“We like to be thorough, E.A.,” Hap said.

When they crossed the last rise, the brush ended. They dropped down the wide, flat riverbank. E. A. Greene stood in the stirrups
and surveyed the river. “I don’t see my cows.”

“We got ever’thin’ that belongs to you right over there.” Hap trotted the trio toward a young boy in a blue Los Angeles Dodgers
shirt.

Greene yanked the cigar out of his mouth and shoved it back in his denim shirt pocket. “Where are my cows?”

“Come on, have a little faith in your top ranahans.” Laramie winked at Hap. They eased coiled ropes into their left hands.

“I did just like you asked.”

“You did fine work, son.” Laramie unsnapped his shirt pocket and handed him a folded ten-dollar bill.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Greene demanded.

“There’s your goods.” Hap nodded at the sand.

“Five oranges?” Greene blustered. “Where are my cows?”

“You don’t own any cows. You never owned any cows,” Hap said. “But you did compare cows to oranges.”

“What are you talking about? I happen to own…”

“You don’t own Hidalgo County Land and Cattle, that’s for sure. We rode on up and visited with Señor Robles at the break of
day. Seems like someone has been rustlin’ his cattle.”

Greene slammed his heels into his horse. The buckskin bolted forward. Hap’s rope slipped over the man’s shoulders. When the
rope’s other end was dallied around the saddle horn, E. A. Greene hit the ground hard.

He fought to regain his footing. When he stomped toward his horse, Laramie’s rope slipped under his step and laced his boots
together. With both ropes dallied, the boys backed up the horses until Greene swung in the air, stretched out like a pig on
a barbecue spit.

Curses streamed from the dangling man’s lips.

“I have never seen a man strung up like that before,” Fernando hollered.

“It’s a rodeo event we’ve been doin’ since we met,” Hap replied. “This version’s called Rope-A-Crook.”

“Is that all there is to it? You just rope them like in team roping?”

“After he’s stretched out there, one of us is supposed to run down the rope and stuff a bandanna in his mouth,” Hap said.

“Can I do that?” the boy asked.

Laramie pulled out his bandanna and handed it to Fernando. He sprinted to the fountain of curses and plugged up its source.

“I did it!” The boy ran back to Laramie. “What do you do now? Do you turn him loose?”

“Nope.” Hap studied Greene’s empty saddle. “We need some piggin’ string, but the leathers on his saddle will work. We’ll secure
his feet and arms with a couple of wraps and a hooey.”

“Just like tie-down roping?” Fernando asked.

Laramie laughed. “Yep. It’s a timed event. They might even have it at the finals in Las Vegas one of these years. They’ve
got an endless supply of crooks there.”

With E.A. tied hand and foot, they bound him to the saddle, then led his horse down to the river.

Fernando sprinted beside them. “Are you going to drown him?”

Hap scratched the back of his neck. “I hope not, but we think this pony might enjoy a little swim.”

Laramie led the horse about ten feet into the water, then dropped the reins over the saddle horn. He leaned over, slapped
the horse in the rear, and yelled, “Heyahh!”

The buckskin bolted to the middle of the river, but stopped when the water lapped his stomach.

Hap swung down out of the saddle and scooped up some pebbles by the water’s edge. He pelted the horse, who inched out into
deeper water.

“You want the horse to swim over to Mexico?” the boy asked.

“That horse is free to go any direction he wants. If he ends up in Mexico, that’s his decision,” Laramie replied.

“I’m thinking he wants to stand in the middle of the Rio Grande all day,” Fernando replied. “Did you know that I am very good
at baseball? I was even named after the great Los Angeles Dodger pitcher Fernando Valenzuela. I am very good at pitching.
Would you like to see?”

Hap surveyed the riverbank. “You have a baseball?”

Fernando sprinted over to the five oranges and hurried back. He laid four on the sand next to the water and stared at the
distant horse as if looking for a sign from the catcher. “I am going to throw my fastball,” he announced.

“That seems like a good choice,” Hap said.

Taking a full windup, Fernando leaned back, rolled his eyes up to the light blue south Texas sky, then fired the orange out
into the river. The medium-sized citrus rocketed toward its mark and slammed into the horse’s right hip. The buckskin leaped
forward into the deep water and swam toward the Mexican shore.

“That’s great, Fernando. I’m impressed,” Laramie said.

“I have a good curveball, too, but my slider needs work. You want to see my curveball?”

“Maybe your mamma would like to have those four oranges,” Hap suggested.

“Yes, she would. Would you like to come meet my mother and my sister?”

Hap glanced over at Laramie and back at the boy. “What’s your sister’s name?”

“Selina. She is five years old.”

“Thanks for the invite, but we need to retrieve our truck and get on down the road.”

“Do you live around here? Perhaps sometime, you could come watch me play baseball.”

“Thanks, Fernando, but we live in Wyoming. We’re just down here sort of looking for someone,” Laramie said.

“Who are you looking for? I know everyone who lives in this area.”

“It’s kind of difficult to explain,” Hap said.

Laramie ran his fingers through his short, curly hair. “My partner here is searching for a gal named Juanita. Do you know
anyone named Juanita?”

The boy’s brown eyes widened. “I know dozens of girls named Juanita. My mother’s named Juanita.”

Hap rode over to the boy. “Do you know a gal named Juanita with a birthmark under her right ear that sort of looks like a
horse’s head?”

“Oh, yes. I know her.”

Hap sat straight up and felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. “Are you kiddin’ me, son?”

“No, that sounds like Juanita Elaina Cortez.”

“Juanita Elaina Cortez, that’s a nice name,” Hap said. “How old is she?”

“She is old. Your age, I think.”

“We’re on the right trail, partner,” Laramie said. “How many pounds does she weigh?”

Fernando glanced at Laramie, then at Hap, and back to Laramie. “How many pounds?”

Laramie circled his hands. “Is she heavy?”

“On the top or on the bottom?”

“Around the waist,” Hap insisted.

“She is thin there.”

Hap pulled off his black hat and wiped dirt and sweat off his forehead. It dawned on him that if he actually found his Juanita,
he wasn’t sure what would happen next. That was a dilemma he had never had to face. “Where is she?”

“I think she is in Zapata, about forty miles west from here. She used to be a neighbor of my grandmother’s.”

Fernando strolled beside them, oranges in hand, as they rode back out of the riverbed. What breeze had existed along the river
had now died down.

“Where can we find this Juanita?” Hap quizzed.

Fernando shrugged. “At the jail, of course.”

“She’s in jail?” Laramie said.

“Oh, no.” Fernando grinned. “She works at the jail. She teaches them English and cooks.”

Hap shoved back his black hat. “A teacher? A cook? My age?”

“And a birthmark under her ear,” Laramie added. “Hap, it can’t be that simple.”

“Destiny can be simple,” Hap replied.

“Destiny?” Fernando called out. “I thought you were searching for a girl named Juanita.”

I
n Laramie’s mind, all midsize towns looked identical after dark. Geographical distinctions faded with the setting of the hot
summer sun. Each town had one particular street where the rainbow of bright lights summoned customers. It could be Broadway,
or Lincoln Avenue, or Twenty-first Street… they all appeared the same. When Laramie and Hap followed the flashing red and
green lights into the parking lot of Jose’s Git-N-Go, he assumed it was just another fast food night.

“This ain’t my idea of a fine supper.” Hap glared at the microwave window where a foot-long green chili burrito twirled a
pirouette in slow motion.

“We did get overtime money for waiting for that last load at the feedlot. But I’m surprised all the decent cafés close before
midnight.” Laramie juggled a large bag of barbecued potato chips and two frozen cheeseburgers while he tried to swipe away
the dirt caked to the front of his jeans. “I don’t think a decent place would let us in until we cleaned up, anyway. Did you
rip open the end of that burrito bag?”

Hap’s black T-shirt hung sweat heavy. A denim shirt layered it, unbuttoned and untucked. “You naggin’ me about how to nuke
a frozen burrito?”

Laramie studied the poster of a polar bear with shades, who slurped an iced blue drink. “Just a reminder… if you don’t let
the air out, it could blow up.”

Hap stomped off some of the dust on his pointed-toe boots. “I’m so tired of lookin’ at the rear ends of cattle that an explodin’
burrito might be an interestin’ diversion.”

“Working at the feedlot did get your mind off the disappointment of Fernando’s Juanita.”

“I don’t remember a thing about her, except she wasn’t the one.”