Lonesome Cowboy
12-16-2008, 08:44 PM
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/6/6b/Orozco-poem.jpg
Viva May-Hee-Coe Gaw Dang It!!!!
Pascual Orozco (Oh-Roscoe) (1880 -1915) dedicated his youth to the transport of precious metals between mining firms in the Mexican State of Chihuahua. This allowed him to buy his own gold mine at age 20. In the first years of the 20th century he was attracted by the radical ideas of Mexican Revolutionaries and, in 1905, started importing weaponry from the United States in the face of the imminent outbreak of the Mexican Revolution.
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I had approximately 23 months of rotten grammar schooling at Smokey River Chapel in Montana. 23 months before I quit to follow my brother to Mexico. There was a war going on and we didnt wanna miss it.
“Boyz!!! You listen and listen real good , if you ever come back to these neck o the woods, bringa guns cuz ya won`t be coming back as a Morgan, my chilun”
Paw had a flare for tragedy as my older brother Morty used to say. Which was something Ma repeated tielessly all the way to her grave, God bless her soul.
“Your daddy got too much schoolin in the East. That don`t do a man no good out here”
I did learn somethin at Smokey River tho. Somethin real important ; that words have power.
We hopped the L & O Railroad to Arizona that night.
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“Shoe-pada” – I said, spitting out the syllables.
“Zzzzaah – Pah - Tah!” - our mountain guide, Maria Lourdes , quick to correct us like a Gatlin.
“Emiliano Zzzzzah – pah – tah” her index finger thrust up , slicing the Chihuahua Desert air.
The Morgan twins saw a plume of dust in the distance rising like a string of white beans toward the sky. The streak of dust was coming toward us. It was following the Pecos River.
“Dog my hide if it ain`t Emile Shuh-pada , Dusty! “ my brothers eyes widening as if talking about the devil himself.
“That is NOT Zapata...That is General Orrozco! General Pascual Orrozco!”
“Roscoe!“ we both said in unison. We had absolutely no idea who in the hell Roscoe was. All we wanted was to join an army and shoot stuff.
"Hell bells Dusty, Sun is hot" Morty pulled at his collar. We got dressed all nice n all to meet the recruiter...We had travelled a mighty distance for a chance to join the rebels in Mexico. Morty has read in the Montana Mercury that there was fightin in Mexico and that many Americans were hoppin trains down south to join. We were just kids but we wanted to see some action.
"You boys, why you join the Armada Revolucionario Mexicano ?"
General Orrosco a stream of tabacky shooting from his mouth. His ammo belts criss crossing his chest like a shield.
My brother coughed and looked up at the General sitting on his horse. Squinting his blue eyes at the sun he said :
"We`ve got a neighbor in distress, Sir"
Gen Orozco belts out a thundering laugh. His two front teeth missing makes him look like some kinda brown eyed Mexican vampire.
“We need translators for the deal tomorrow with the Gringo”
I take my bandanna from my pocket and wiped the sweat off my throbbing face.
"Go back to your mother muchachos...and don`t come back to Mexico for another 10 years or so". Roscoe turns his horse and signals his men to move. Maria smiles and winks at the boys as she hops on the back of one of the horses helped up by rider.
A slow wind rustles the mezquites and whips up dust off the desert floor.
“Welcome to May-Hee-Coe cabrones!!!!” she says tipping her hat.
Shots from a dozen Winchesters crack the dust as Orrozcoe`s horse rears. The posse gallops away into the desert storm..
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Dan Killbourne rode into Palomas a little before noon on a hot July day looking glad to see the craphole town once again.Anyone who ever entered Palomas feeling that way had either made a killing North of the border or was expecting to make a killing South of it. Killbourne had already done so and was expecting to do more. Palomas itself being a run of the mill Mexican border town was a little shabier than most, spit on by drifters , outlaws and routinely cursed by locals alike.
He had a good horse and a fine tooled saddle a plaited rope and a gun he was mighty proud of. He had a little more linen in his shirt than the average Palomino and hands a lot tougher that the local sheriff`s.
Palomas stands on high ground and as he entered he stopped, half turned and narrowed his eyes staring back at the winding trail disappearing into the Chihuahua Mountains.
“Howdy”
He reined in at the voice, always a suprise to hear an expatriot so far from home. A smart little kid straightened up in the mouth of the alley beside the mercantile shop.
“Could you help me sir ?” The kid pointed , Dan saw the tombstone.
“Aren`t you a little young to be haulin that thing around ?”
He reached over to turn the tombstone and a chill ripped through his body like cold water.
Carved deep in the stone : Daniel T. Killbourne
Dan Kilbourne jumped out of bed gulping for air. His head throbbing from a scathing fever. Funny, the room didn`t seem so far away today. He stared at the beams crossing the ceiling at the “Lucky Stud Inn” closing his eyes and shaking the sweat off his face.
He slowly raised his head and looked at his leg. The bandages still soaking in blood.
“God, please make my leg better” he pleaded.
“Don`t make `em cut if off”.
But he couldn`t wait any longer. He had the most important appointment of his life at dawn at the banks of the Pecos river. He uncorks a bottle of whiskey and pours it over the soaking red bandages. The fire of pain races up his body as lets out a cavernous scream that echoes down the halls of the Inn. He passes out.
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“Whatever you do , watch the steeple” said Marshall Tom Stone to the local sheriff on the right, who knew he was talking to himself . The last man scrabbled across hiding against a mesquite. “All across , Marshall”. “Good” said Tom. He looked into the blackness at either side seeing little or nothing but knowing his men were deployed along the Pecos, from river bank to river bank on this tongue of land with the bridge at its tip behind them, and that they faced this giant imaginary box in the land in front of them. The town of Palomas the floor and its thousand foot sheer canyon walls on either side. “We`ll sit tight till daylight, just enough to move without fallin` over each other”
Dan Kilbourne would rendez vous with Pascual Oroscoe and his posse at Pecos River that morning. 100 pounds of TNT was supposed trade hands at dawn. The fuse that would ignite
Revolution south of the border. Tom Stone was not going to allow that to happen. Washington could not afford another revolt that could jeopardize trade in the Gulf.
He had his marching orders : Dan Kilbourne. Dead or alive.
Viva May-Hee-Coe Gaw Dang It!!!!
Pascual Orozco (Oh-Roscoe) (1880 -1915) dedicated his youth to the transport of precious metals between mining firms in the Mexican State of Chihuahua. This allowed him to buy his own gold mine at age 20. In the first years of the 20th century he was attracted by the radical ideas of Mexican Revolutionaries and, in 1905, started importing weaponry from the United States in the face of the imminent outbreak of the Mexican Revolution.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
I had approximately 23 months of rotten grammar schooling at Smokey River Chapel in Montana. 23 months before I quit to follow my brother to Mexico. There was a war going on and we didnt wanna miss it.
“Boyz!!! You listen and listen real good , if you ever come back to these neck o the woods, bringa guns cuz ya won`t be coming back as a Morgan, my chilun”
Paw had a flare for tragedy as my older brother Morty used to say. Which was something Ma repeated tielessly all the way to her grave, God bless her soul.
“Your daddy got too much schoolin in the East. That don`t do a man no good out here”
I did learn somethin at Smokey River tho. Somethin real important ; that words have power.
We hopped the L & O Railroad to Arizona that night.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
“Shoe-pada” – I said, spitting out the syllables.
“Zzzzaah – Pah - Tah!” - our mountain guide, Maria Lourdes , quick to correct us like a Gatlin.
“Emiliano Zzzzzah – pah – tah” her index finger thrust up , slicing the Chihuahua Desert air.
The Morgan twins saw a plume of dust in the distance rising like a string of white beans toward the sky. The streak of dust was coming toward us. It was following the Pecos River.
“Dog my hide if it ain`t Emile Shuh-pada , Dusty! “ my brothers eyes widening as if talking about the devil himself.
“That is NOT Zapata...That is General Orrozco! General Pascual Orrozco!”
“Roscoe!“ we both said in unison. We had absolutely no idea who in the hell Roscoe was. All we wanted was to join an army and shoot stuff.
"Hell bells Dusty, Sun is hot" Morty pulled at his collar. We got dressed all nice n all to meet the recruiter...We had travelled a mighty distance for a chance to join the rebels in Mexico. Morty has read in the Montana Mercury that there was fightin in Mexico and that many Americans were hoppin trains down south to join. We were just kids but we wanted to see some action.
"You boys, why you join the Armada Revolucionario Mexicano ?"
General Orrosco a stream of tabacky shooting from his mouth. His ammo belts criss crossing his chest like a shield.
My brother coughed and looked up at the General sitting on his horse. Squinting his blue eyes at the sun he said :
"We`ve got a neighbor in distress, Sir"
Gen Orozco belts out a thundering laugh. His two front teeth missing makes him look like some kinda brown eyed Mexican vampire.
“We need translators for the deal tomorrow with the Gringo”
I take my bandanna from my pocket and wiped the sweat off my throbbing face.
"Go back to your mother muchachos...and don`t come back to Mexico for another 10 years or so". Roscoe turns his horse and signals his men to move. Maria smiles and winks at the boys as she hops on the back of one of the horses helped up by rider.
A slow wind rustles the mezquites and whips up dust off the desert floor.
“Welcome to May-Hee-Coe cabrones!!!!” she says tipping her hat.
Shots from a dozen Winchesters crack the dust as Orrozcoe`s horse rears. The posse gallops away into the desert storm..
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Dan Killbourne rode into Palomas a little before noon on a hot July day looking glad to see the craphole town once again.Anyone who ever entered Palomas feeling that way had either made a killing North of the border or was expecting to make a killing South of it. Killbourne had already done so and was expecting to do more. Palomas itself being a run of the mill Mexican border town was a little shabier than most, spit on by drifters , outlaws and routinely cursed by locals alike.
He had a good horse and a fine tooled saddle a plaited rope and a gun he was mighty proud of. He had a little more linen in his shirt than the average Palomino and hands a lot tougher that the local sheriff`s.
Palomas stands on high ground and as he entered he stopped, half turned and narrowed his eyes staring back at the winding trail disappearing into the Chihuahua Mountains.
“Howdy”
He reined in at the voice, always a suprise to hear an expatriot so far from home. A smart little kid straightened up in the mouth of the alley beside the mercantile shop.
“Could you help me sir ?” The kid pointed , Dan saw the tombstone.
“Aren`t you a little young to be haulin that thing around ?”
He reached over to turn the tombstone and a chill ripped through his body like cold water.
Carved deep in the stone : Daniel T. Killbourne
Dan Kilbourne jumped out of bed gulping for air. His head throbbing from a scathing fever. Funny, the room didn`t seem so far away today. He stared at the beams crossing the ceiling at the “Lucky Stud Inn” closing his eyes and shaking the sweat off his face.
He slowly raised his head and looked at his leg. The bandages still soaking in blood.
“God, please make my leg better” he pleaded.
“Don`t make `em cut if off”.
But he couldn`t wait any longer. He had the most important appointment of his life at dawn at the banks of the Pecos river. He uncorks a bottle of whiskey and pours it over the soaking red bandages. The fire of pain races up his body as lets out a cavernous scream that echoes down the halls of the Inn. He passes out.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Whatever you do , watch the steeple” said Marshall Tom Stone to the local sheriff on the right, who knew he was talking to himself . The last man scrabbled across hiding against a mesquite. “All across , Marshall”. “Good” said Tom. He looked into the blackness at either side seeing little or nothing but knowing his men were deployed along the Pecos, from river bank to river bank on this tongue of land with the bridge at its tip behind them, and that they faced this giant imaginary box in the land in front of them. The town of Palomas the floor and its thousand foot sheer canyon walls on either side. “We`ll sit tight till daylight, just enough to move without fallin` over each other”
Dan Kilbourne would rendez vous with Pascual Oroscoe and his posse at Pecos River that morning. 100 pounds of TNT was supposed trade hands at dawn. The fuse that would ignite
Revolution south of the border. Tom Stone was not going to allow that to happen. Washington could not afford another revolt that could jeopardize trade in the Gulf.
He had his marching orders : Dan Kilbourne. Dead or alive.