One Step Over the Border (9 page)

Laramie rubbed his thin, chapped lips. “That sounds like quite a rip-off. But a border is a border. Not much we can do about
that, right?”

“There is only one way to handle this. I need you to ride with me over the river and convince that fifty head of cattle to
wander back into Texas before daylight. On their own, of course. But with the right argument, bovines can be reasonable. If
I don’t, the ol’ boys on the other side will round them up by tomorrow and pen them in the corrals at Camargo, waitin’ for
a buyer.”

Hap patted the side of Greene’s pickup, then tried to rub the stiffness out of his temples. “You want us to find your cattle
in the dark?”

“He wants us to go to Mexico and steal cattle,” Laramie huffed.

“It ain’t stealin’ if the cows belong to you in the first place. Boys, if this was the border between Texas and Oklahoma,
you’d just ride across, make a gather, and bring your branded cattle home.”

Laramie folded his hands behind his head and narrowed his eyes. “Mexico is a foreign country.”

“At times, so is Oklahoma,” Greene said. “Don’t worry. I’m ridin’ with you. That other crew doesn’t have the horse sense to
run cattle across the river, much less gather at night. I’d rather you get the bonus than them.”

“You payin’ in advance?” Laramie asked.

“You need the money tonight?”

“No,” Hap mumbled.

“Yes,” Laramie corrected. “We might find something in Mexico we want to buy.”

“He might be right about that.” Hap dragged his boot heel across the dry yellow dirt. “Laramie’s a little worried we’ll wind
up in a Mexican jail.”

“Trust me, boys. This is just the custom along the border. They run a few head over the river, and we go get ’em and bring
’em back.”

Laramie frowned. “I don’t like the idea of sneaking across the border like that.”

“I hoped you might like a little Mexican food. Angelina and Pete Lopez fix a fine meal. We’ll have us a feast. Then about
midnight, we’ll bring my cows back across. Their daughter plays a nice acoustic guitar.”

“What’s the daughter’s name?” Hap asked.

“Can’t remember. One of those common Mexican names. She’s a music teacher. Must be about thirty by now.”

“Can you see the river from her folks’ backyard?”

“They had a place right next to the river, but it flooded out about ten, fifteen years ago. Don’t know if you can see the
river now or not. What about it, boys? Let’s go get ourselves some genuine Mexican
comida
then bring my cows home.”

Hap rubbed his stomach. “Sounds mighty good, don’t it, partner?”

“I’ll ride over for supper,” Laramie said. “But I want to study the situation before I start bringing cows across the Rio
Grande.”

The three men swam the horses across the river right after dark. The lukewarm muddy water left a gritty feel to their jeans
and socks. They waited until they reached the cantina to pull their boots back on.

The two-story adobe building was a good one hundred feet wide, but only twenty-five feet deep. Within a half-hour they sprawled
on a patio behind the Lopez café. Grapevines entwined the latticework awning, blocking the sun by day and the stars by night.
The light breeze felt warm, like a propane burner set real low. Jeans still wet, they ate by candlelight and listened to guitar
music dance out the open back door. The rest of the customers were crammed inside.

“Where did E.A. go?” Laramie asked. “I didn’t much appreciate his horse cutting in front of Tully. I got soaked from toes
to nose.”

Hap motioned to the room above the café. “Said he had some phone calls to make. But he did give us some pay tonight.”

Laramie rolled up a huge Monterey tortilla, then scooped the chunky fire-drenched salsa and shoved it into his mouth. “That
guitar player is quite a lady.” He choked out each word while grabbing for the water.

“She has a certain Spanish beauty.” Hap stabbed the pulled pork with his fork as if it were still alive. “And she is a teacher.”

“Not only that, she is
treinta y uno
.”

“But she’s never been to Wyomin’ and her name is Teresa.” Hap dismissed the guitar player with the wave of an iodine-tainted
hand.

“Yeah, I could tell that was a setback for you.”

“But you got to admit this is better chow than that canned meat.”

“The food’s good, but I’ve never been very good at reading brands after dark. How are we goin’ to tell E.A.’s cows from someone
else’s?”

“You’ve got the brand chart he drew out.” Hap chomped into a yellow pepper, and tears rolled down his cheeks. “I reckon…”
he puffed, “… that’s all… we… need. That and a fifty-pound block of ice.”

In the glow of the cloud-shrouded moon, they discerned the silhouettes of shorthorn cattle from the ridge. When the moon popped
between the clouds they could even see its distant reflection off the Rio Grande.

“This isn’t working, Mr. Greene,” Laramie reported. “We can see the cows, but can’t read the brand until they turn their rear
ends to the moonlight. Maybe we should wait until daylight.”

“Boys, boys, boys. You got yourself worked up for nothin’. We don’t need the identical fifty head. Any fifty will do. It all
balances out that way.”

Laramie sat straight up in the saddle. “We didn’t ride over here to find someone else’s cows.”

Greene flipped his hands as if swatting wasps. “Now, Laramie, if you had a neighbor take five oranges off your tree, you might
hike over to his house and look in the fruit bowl. If he’s got ten oranges there, you’d only take five. That’s fair. But you
wouldn’t worry about whether they are the same five oranges.”

Hap brushed down his black mustache with his fingertips. “You lost me comparin’ oranges to cows and international borders
with backyards.”

“Trust me. This is my territory. I know what I’m doing. It’s the way things are done down here.”

Laramie leaned back on Tully’s rump. “Just because it’s the way things are done, don’t mean we’ll do it. We’ll cross back
over to Texas and keep pushin’ your strays. You can do whatever you want here in Mexico.”

“I never figured you two for quitters.”

“We ain’t quitters,” Hap barked, “and we ain’t quittin’ this job.”

“Hap!” Laramie challenged.

“I’m goin’ to ride up and start cuttin’ my cows,” Greene said, “while you two hash this out.”

Laramie and Hap rode over to a squatty mesquite tree, the only shadowy form without four legs and a tail.

“Hap, what do you think you are doing? This guy wants us to steal cows.”

“They stole some of his cows. He wants them back.”

“It isn’t retrieving lost cattle when you go across an international border. It’s a felony in a foreign country.”

“We agreed to the job.”

Laramie’s voice rose higher. “We agreed to come look at the job.”

“I can’t quit, Laramie.”

“Why? This isn’t a time to be bound by some stoic cowboy pride.”

“It’s a lot deeper than that. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, you’d better talk, partner, because in about ninety seconds I’m riding back to Texas with or without you.”

Hap knew Laramie deserved an explanation, but fought to stay calm enough to talk. “Give me a minute, here.” He rode close
enough to Laramie that their chaps touched. “Uncle Mike plays a special place in Mamma’s life. The day Daddy died, I was with
her. But she was beside herself. She loved that man as if he was life itself. I was only a kid, but I was just sure she was
going to grab a gun and kill herself, just so she could be with him in heaven.

“Laramie, I’ve never been so scared in my life. Then Uncle Mike came over. He was big brother. He held her and rocked her
and talked to her about times when they were kids. He stayed with us until Daddy was buried and to this day Mamma says he
saved her life. He’s always been her hero. He got two Silver Stars and a Purple Heart in Nam. Uncle Mike said we should work
for his ol’ army pal, E. A. Greene. I can’t go home and look her in the eye and tell her I let down Uncle Mike’s pal. I can’t
do it, Laramie. You go on. But I have to stay.”

“Hap, you never told me any of that.”

“It’s been eighteen years since Daddy died and I can’t talk about it without tears in my eyes. I apologize for that, partner.”

“So what are we going to do, Hap?”

“You go on back to Texas.”

“We’re partners.”

Hap felt loyalty versus legality tugging at his soul. Both men looked up as E. A. Greene rode toward them.

“I’ve been thinking how I like you bein’ men of principle. But I need a little help. I’ll cut them out and I’ll move them
across the river somehow. Can you just help me trail them down to the river? That’s all. You can even cross over to Texas
first. Now, is that a fair deal? And I’ll still give you the bonus.”

Hap glanced at Laramie, who nodded at him.

“We’ll push them down to the river, and we might help you with any bearing your brand. But we’ll not swim another man’s cattle
over to Texas,” Hap said.

Like fog that melts at noon, the wispy clouds disappeared, leaving just enough moonlight to count heads. The treeless, sageless
Mexican desert rolled out in front of them. Even in the night, patches of alkali could be seen. Heavy sulfur smell filled
the air, like right before lightning strikes. But the clouds had blown west. A million stars clicked on and off like switches
in a humongous computer chip.

“E.A., you got yourself sixty-one head cut out. I thought you said you only lost fifty,” Laramie probed.

“Fifty was an approximate number. Besides, I might have missed a few of the brands myself. I figured we’d sort them out at
the river. That’s the place to make the final count.”

Hap rode over to Laramie. “I know what you’re thinkin’, partner. At least, let’s drive them to the river. Do it for my uncle
Mike.”

“I don’t know your uncle Mike, Hap. But I’ll do it for your mamma. She’s a saint.”

Laramie and Hap rode out to the flanks. E. A. Greene rode drag. Hap hummed a soft version of “Goodbye ol’ Paint” as his mind
raced. He reached down and patted his horse’s neck. “Luke, I’m not sure how we got into this. We set out to work for a friend
of Uncle Mike’s. Look for some lost cows. Eat a good meal. And now we’re cuttin’ out another man’s brand. I hope you don’t
think poorly of me for it.”