Fistful of Reefer

Fistful of Reefer: scene 34, 35

Bronco hung his hat on a hook by the door and welcomed his guests inside. Without his hat the old man seemed excessively weathered and tough, like jerky wrapped around barbed wire. "Hermila! We got guests for dinner."

As the last of the party filtered through the door a frumpy, Mexican woman scuttled in from a back room with flour covering her hands and apron. "Señor, I was making the biscuits." She hurried over to the guests and took their hands each in turn. "Hola, hola. Bienvenido." She smiled at them and hurried off.

"Damn if I ain't tired after that night." Bronco rubbed the back of his neck. "I imagine you folk could do with a little rest as well, considering." Everyone agreed. "It'll be another half hour before dinner's ready. Maybe the hands'll be back by then. Ya'll might as well take a load off—"

Before he could finish, the front door swung open. "Speaking of the devil." Chloe grabbed Nena by the elbow. Leading her toward the stairs, they took their leave in order to wash up for dinner.

"Hey fellas, we was just talking about y'all." Bronco slapped the two young ranch hands on the shoulders. "These are my two faithful hands, Beau and Luke."

Once everyone exchanged greetings Beau plopped down on a bench to take his boots off. "I don't know if it means anything particular boss, considering," he nodded toward their guests, "but on our way in for dinner Luke and I spotted a fella just off to the west."

Luke broke in, "He seemed to be slinking around, like he didn't want to be seen. I don't think he saw us."

Chancho deflated. Just when he hoped the worst was behind them. Surely the rinche wasn't tracking them. What had they done to warrant this?

Bronco scratched his chin before looking at Chancho and Muddy. "That mean anything to you?"

Chancho rubbed his hands on his pants. "Yes. Unfortunately." Bronco narrowed his eyes, waiting for him to continue. "Well, señor, there's a good chance that the man is a Texas Ranger, and that he's following us."

After a moment Bronco continued, "You care to elaborate on that?"

Chancho shook his head. "We are only goat herders and farmers. We have done our best to mind our own business, but we are outsiders. And—"

Muddy broke in, "There were arguments over water and live stock. Shots were fired. We were run off our land. We did not want trouble, so we took all that we could and left. That was only yesterday morning. We have no idea why the ranger is involved, and we hoped he would not follow us."

"We had hoped that once we left our land he'd give up." Chancho began to sweat, wondering whether he'd be forced to reveal the rest of the truth. This was not how he'd envisioned coming clean with his friends.

"Crack my corns if you three ain't the host of El Chupacabra." Bronco's outburst silenced the rest of the room. "Slap me on the behind with a board and tell me you didn't do it." Surprisingly agile, Bronco pranced about the room with his gnarled fingers clenched like claws in mockery of the demon beast. "I just heard the tale yesterday, but the crazy story's probably already spread through the southern half of the state. Don't tell me. Some yellow twit probably made the whole damn thing up just to take your land."

Chancho croaked, "Not exactly."

But Bronco continued unabated. "Tarnation, the trials we have to endure because of lesser men too afraid and stupid to get off their asses and work for a living. Oh no. My goats didn't die on account of me being a numb nut. It was El Chupacabra that got 'em. It ain't my fault I'm too much of a nimrod to—"

Suddenly Bronco stopped in mid-sentence and grew thoughtful. After a long, awkward pause he continued. "Something about all this don't make no sense. I got one question. What's that stuff you got packed in your wagon? You said you was herders and farmers. What were you farming before all this nonsense broke out?"