Fistful of Reefer

Fistful of Reefer: scene twelve

Dinner consisted of mutton stewed all day with raisins, dates, pecans and tomatoes, served over a bed of rice. Muddy topped it off with dried mangos from relatives in Nacimiento, Coahuila. The three unlikely friends didn't always have it this nice, but they enjoyed it when they got the chance.

Chancho waited until after dinner to bring up the happenings of his day. It was not their way to force a thing before it was ready, or to ruin a happy moment with bad news. Relaxing over a cup of Muddy's favorite coffee, Chancho had all but decided to regale them with the entire story.

While taking a final sip, he instead seized on a welcome distraction. "I heard mention of El Chupacabra in town today, twice." Chancho let the words hang over the glowing embers of the cook fire. He'd get to the part about the rinche threatening their lifestyle soon enough. For now he peered across the fire at the crooked smile forming on Muddy's face.

"You don't say."

Leaning back against his saddle, Chancho focused on the first bright stars of the evening. The same ones he'd seen every evening for almost two years. "I can't figure how they got the idea, but some hands from the Gonzales place are claiming the demon killed some of their goats." He glanced back at Muddy who'd lost his smile from before.

"How many goats?"

"Two. And then two more." Silence as thick as wool stretched out in every direction. Chancho drank it in before continuing. "I heard the Sheriff was talking the matter over with a Texas Ranger and a couple Anglo ranchers."

"That's ridiculous."

The defensive tone in Muddy's voice sparked the fruition of the idea that had budded in Chancho's brain moments earlier. "That's what I told them. That El Chupacabra was just a fanciful story. They insisted they had proof."

Nena joined the conversation. "What proof?"

"Dead goats. Blood sucked dry with two little holes on the neck."

"Anything could have done that. A mountain lion." Nena flashed an angry look at her husband and lover. "Who else have you been telling that ridiculous story?"

Chancho answered, "Your relatives. You told it to them a few months ago."

"Hmmm." Muddy grunted. "Maybe I shouldn't have killed those goats down by the springs."

"You what!" Chancho yelled. Nena shook her head.

"What? I thought it might help keep bandits away."

"By killing the goats before they can be stolen?"

"No, no. Nothing like that." Muddy sat forward leaving Nena leaning against the log by herself, the sweat on his arm glistening from where her skin had pressed up against his. "I made it look like El Chupacabra. It was easy, with the story based on us to begin."

Nena sounded incredulous. "You killed goats?"

"No, they were colicky from marihuana. You know, the stupid animals can't help it. They ate too much, and of course went straight for water. I thought that if people heard these hills were haunted we would be safe. That no one would find our field of cáñamo marihuana or take our goats."

Chancho nodded. "That's not a bad idea, actually."

"Chancho!" Nena chided, "Don't encourage him."

"I mean, terrible. What were you thinking?"

"Hmmm." Muddy grunted again. "I think one of the goats belonged to Gonzales."

"How could they make the connection to El Chupacabra unless..." Nena put a hand on Muddy's back.