Montezuma. They
ordered brandy together and the politician paid for it. They ordered
the second brandy and before they left the bar, tired of out-waiting
Eligio, the politician paid for the second. On the way back across
the border in Eligio's chartreuse Cadillac Eligio stopped at a
hamburger drive-in and ordered two hamburgers with French fries and
the politician paid for them. Eligio's great house on the hill did
not look so great in the darkness. Not a light shone around it. Not a
person met them at the door. Eligio led his patron through the house,
lighting each room and showing it briefly and unlighting it as they
passed through. Finally, they came in the dark house to a small den
that smelled of unswept manure, body odors of steers, vaqueros, and
horses, and Eligio's own nervous stink. Eligio had brought his patron
a long way without being dunned so he felt he could point to one
accomplishment.
" Don Pancho, one advantage of my house that I
insisted on when it was constructed, and I had little to say in its
construction," Eligio said humbly, "is its sound-proofed
rooms."
"Yes, I can understand your need," said the
politician. "You need the sound-proof rooms so as not to hear
the voice of your conscience."
Kane was thinking this same Eligio was the man in
whose hands his Jalisco horses abided. The feed bill on the horses
must be quite formidable because Eligio had not said anything about
the horses since Kane had joined his party. He probably didn't want
to ruin Kane's drink or spoil the contented good humor of the
gathering.
Another of Eligio's companions was a middle-aged,
curly-headed Mexican cattleman named Pedro Villasenor. Pedro owned
and was trying to stay on top of two hundred sections of desert ranch
country north of Puerto Libertad in Sonora. He had all the tools with
which to run his ranch efficiently: horses, vaqueros, one windmill
(he admitted this was inadequate), a good complex of corrals, a nice
house to live in, a generator that provided electricity, and a
refrigerator with plenty of capacity for cold beer. He did not have
any cattle.
Pedro was in Frontera now looking for someone who
would put up the money to stock his ranch with cattle. He didn't have
any grass for any cattle either. His ranch was as dry and barren and
hot as the wrong side of the moon but he had hopes it would rain this
winter because it rained on his ranch once every ten years and it had
been nine years since it rained last. He also had high hopes it would
rain because he had been overextended at the bank now for three years
and the bankers had told him positively no more credit, and they were
going to foreclose on him after one more season.
Pedro was wooing Bob Stacy, an elderly Arizona trader
in steers, who was the third companion at the bar. Bob Stacy didn't
own the cattle Pedro needed. But Bob Stacy was alert. He was always
on the smell to ferret out a dollar in commissions among his
connections no matter how hopeless a deal appeared to be at the
start. He had been making his living many years bringing together the
man with the bed and saddle with the man with the ranch and cattle or
the man with a bankroll. To such men he provided an introduction and
won commissions without ever leaving the bar or lobby of the
Montezuma.
Bob Stacy was not a thief. His word was good. He only
had to make sure the two men he introduced could produce. He himself
was not a producer. He was the coyote who was too old to hunt for
himself but not too old to follow the hunter and the game. Now he had
to be increasingly sure that the game was fat and that there would be
a reasonable surplus of meat in any deal for him or he wouldn't roam.
He was not particular or persnickety. He didn't require the choicest
cuts of meat. He would be content with the less desirable bites such
as the heart, the brains, the tripe. He got indigestion anyway from
too much bulk. He would take what the hunter did not like. He would
take suet if only suet was left to him. But
ordered brandy together and the politician paid for it. They ordered
the second brandy and before they left the bar, tired of out-waiting
Eligio, the politician paid for the second. On the way back across
the border in Eligio's chartreuse Cadillac Eligio stopped at a
hamburger drive-in and ordered two hamburgers with French fries and
the politician paid for them. Eligio's great house on the hill did
not look so great in the darkness. Not a light shone around it. Not a
person met them at the door. Eligio led his patron through the house,
lighting each room and showing it briefly and unlighting it as they
passed through. Finally, they came in the dark house to a small den
that smelled of unswept manure, body odors of steers, vaqueros, and
horses, and Eligio's own nervous stink. Eligio had brought his patron
a long way without being dunned so he felt he could point to one
accomplishment.
" Don Pancho, one advantage of my house that I
insisted on when it was constructed, and I had little to say in its
construction," Eligio said humbly, "is its sound-proofed
rooms."
"Yes, I can understand your need," said the
politician. "You need the sound-proof rooms so as not to hear
the voice of your conscience."
Kane was thinking this same Eligio was the man in
whose hands his Jalisco horses abided. The feed bill on the horses
must be quite formidable because Eligio had not said anything about
the horses since Kane had joined his party. He probably didn't want
to ruin Kane's drink or spoil the contented good humor of the
gathering.
Another of Eligio's companions was a middle-aged,
curly-headed Mexican cattleman named Pedro Villasenor. Pedro owned
and was trying to stay on top of two hundred sections of desert ranch
country north of Puerto Libertad in Sonora. He had all the tools with
which to run his ranch efficiently: horses, vaqueros, one windmill
(he admitted this was inadequate), a good complex of corrals, a nice
house to live in, a generator that provided electricity, and a
refrigerator with plenty of capacity for cold beer. He did not have
any cattle.
Pedro was in Frontera now looking for someone who
would put up the money to stock his ranch with cattle. He didn't have
any grass for any cattle either. His ranch was as dry and barren and
hot as the wrong side of the moon but he had hopes it would rain this
winter because it rained on his ranch once every ten years and it had
been nine years since it rained last. He also had high hopes it would
rain because he had been overextended at the bank now for three years
and the bankers had told him positively no more credit, and they were
going to foreclose on him after one more season.
Pedro was wooing Bob Stacy, an elderly Arizona trader
in steers, who was the third companion at the bar. Bob Stacy didn't
own the cattle Pedro needed. But Bob Stacy was alert. He was always
on the smell to ferret out a dollar in commissions among his
connections no matter how hopeless a deal appeared to be at the
start. He had been making his living many years bringing together the
man with the bed and saddle with the man with the ranch and cattle or
the man with a bankroll. To such men he provided an introduction and
won commissions without ever leaving the bar or lobby of the
Montezuma.
Bob Stacy was not a thief. His word was good. He only
had to make sure the two men he introduced could produce. He himself
was not a producer. He was the coyote who was too old to hunt for
himself but not too old to follow the hunter and the game. Now he had
to be increasingly sure that the game was fat and that there would be
a reasonable surplus of meat in any deal for him or he wouldn't roam.
He was not particular or persnickety. He didn't require the choicest
cuts of meat. He would be content with the less desirable bites such
as the heart, the brains, the tripe. He got indigestion anyway from
too much bulk. He would take what the hunter did not like. He would
take suet if only suet was left to him. But
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