Welcome To The Bullpen
The Vaquero
By Delia J. Fry
The vaquero sits quietly as he sprinkles tobacco onto the thin cigarette paper, then pulls the tobacco pouch string tight with his teeth, puts the pouch in his shirt pocket then runs his tongue across the cigarette paper and slowly rolls it closed. He puts the cigarette to his lips, strikes a match with his fingernail and lights up. He inhales and then blows the smoke through his nose as he picks loose tobacco off the tip of his tongue with his fingers.
He sits smoking and thinking of his past and how lucky he is to have this job.
He'd been in a saloon in Laredo playing poker when his good friend Ed Martin who'd he known in Tornillo, Texas, walked in with a bunch of boistrous and thirsty cowboys. It's been a long time since I last saw Ed. I wonder if he'll remember me he thought. He was losing at poker so he quit and went over to the bar where Ed was standing. "Hey old friend." Ed turned, saw who it was, smiled, shook his hand and asked
"Where the hell you been boy?"
He was so glad to see Travis that he hugged him. "Thought you'd be dead by now."
They sat at a table and talked about old times. Ed was surprised to see how old and tired Travis looked. Ed was older than him by five years but he looked at least ten years younger.
"How long's it been Travis." "Twelve long years Ed". After a few rounds of whiskey and a lot of talking, Ed offered Travis a job as cowhand on the ranch where he was foreman. He knew Travis was just wandering from town to town and wanted to help him out. Knowing his past, this job might keep my good friend alive he thought. Travis thought about it for a few seconds then reached over and shook Ed's hand and said, "I'll take that job."
Maybe with this job, it was a chance for him to settle down Travis thought. No more traveling from town town searching for something to hold onto. He could put away the guns finally, but never his knife. Maybe now he'd have a chance to save some money and with the money he would get from selling the five acres of land in El Paso, he could get a spread of his own and raise cattle. Maye even marry. He knew that if he hadn't come across Ed that day, he probably would continue to wander aimlessly until he was shot dead somewhere. So he rode off with Ed that day and started a new chapter in his life. The Bar D was one of the biggest ranches in Texas and it was just outside of Laredo. Cattle was the mainstay of the ranch and there was always plenty of work. When Travis first started the job, the other cowboys kidded him and called him "hombre viejo." Old man. They joked all the time and teased him. They thought of him as old and worn out. But in his walk, you could see his youth. The teasing was all in fun and Travis saw no harm in it. Some were younger of older than him but his face was the face of an old man even though last spring he just reached his thirty second year. The Mexican side of is family called it "envejecido", a prematurely old face.
The sadness and death throughout his young life took hold and dug into his face leaving deep furrowed lines like cracks of erosion. He knew it and thought it gave him a rugged look. But it worried him just the same. When Ed hears the cowhands tease Travis and call he "viejo" he always tells them, "Don't be fooled by his face boys, watch his hands". He knew how fast Travis was. He was a quick draw and his knife was instantly leathal.
Travis Ramos was born in El Paso, Texas a year after his father Dale Collins crossed the Rio Grande into Juarez, Mexico, met Adela Ramos a young Mexican, Apache girl, fell in love and brought her back to Texas, married her and settled down.
He's a half breed and proud of it.
He has blue eyes and light brown hair like his father and his skin is dark like his mother's. He has his grandfather's hands. Big and wide and with veins so full of proud Apache blood they bulge as if ready to burst.
When he was sixteen, his father went into town for supplies and he'd stayed home with his mother who was expecting a second child. While loading supplies onto the wagon outside the town store, his father had been shot and killed in the crossfire by either the sheriff, his deputy's or the bank robbers. He'd been shot three times. Once in his left knee and twice in the back between the shoulder blades. The sheriff had been very apologetic in telling Adela of her husband's death but Travis saw something in his eyes and face when he spoke to his mother. It was a look he would never forget. That and the fact that his father had been shot in the back. Two months after his father was killed, his mother died during childbirth and so did the baby. He lived alone after that. He sold
everything on the property. All the livestock, and everything in the house except his bed, a few dishes, the stove and his father's guns. Now he didn't have to worry about money. The last thing he would do before he left home would be to sell the house and the ten acres it was on but only if the price was right. His father always told him that land was the most valuable thing anyone could own. He'd get a good price for it or keep it. Everyday he would practice shooting his father's guns until he knew for sure he was the best shot in town. His knife that he carried since he was seven was an even deadlier weapon in his hands than any gun already. On his eigthteenth birthday, in the dead of night, he'd gone to the sheriff's home that was ten miles away and five miles from town, and knocked on the door. The sheriff opened the door. He held him at gunpoint and made his wife tie him up.
The sheriff's brother lived with them and he'd been awakened and tied up too.
The sheriff's wife had been so upset that Travis had to slap her to calm her.
He took them outside and made them watch as he lit fire to everything that stood on their property.
He shot the sheriff's wife first and told him why. It was for the loss of his mother and the baby which he was sure died because of the shock of his father's death. Then he shot the brother and told him it was for the look he saw on the the sheriff's face when he'd told his mother that her husband was dead. The slight smile of satisfaction and the look of pure lust in his eyes.
Before he killed the sheriff, Travis asked him if he had any idea who shot his father in the back. That same smile of satisfaction that he'd seen two years ago spread across the sheriff's face. Travis slowly slit his throat.
He left his home that night and never went back. He never sold his land. No one ever knew who killed them.
When he was twenty one, in a little town in Mexico, he killed two men in a bar room fight after being accused of cheating during a poker game. He was drunk but he was still able to strike out like a rattler as he lunged across the poker table and with two fast cuts, slashed their throats. His lying, cheating accusers died a quick, bloody death. No one tried to stop him as he slowly scooped up his poker winnings and the walked over to the bar and ordered drinks for everyone. After a few more drinks, he left the saloon. He left that town in the quiet of the night too, and never returned.
By his twenty fifth birthday, he had killed three more men in a gunfight over a saloon girl in Tornillo, Texas. He been there having a few drinks with his best friend Ed Martin and was getting annoyed with the ruckus three men were having over a saloon girl. She was young and scared but they insisted she continue dancing with them. She was tired and pleaded with them to let her go home. They got upset with her and started to rough her up. Travis asked them to stop. They laughed at him then drew on him. He shot them dead.
Two of the men were the Haskell brothers, Nate and Gunnar the town bullies. They were rough and ill mannered and just plain mean. The other man was Cody Tate the sheriff's nephew. Cody hung out with the Haskell brothers and they tolerated him because he always bought them dinner and drinks. Cody would walk around with a swagger because he like to think they were his gang and he was in charge. Ed told Travis to hightail it out of there and he would meet him later. When Travis left the saloon, some of the cowboys started to whoop and holler in celebration. They were glad to be rid of The Haskells and the young trouble maker Cody.
Jake Owens the town deputy heard the shots, grabbed a shotgun and went over to the saloon to see what the shooting was all about. Everyone there had a different version as to what took place and he could make no sense of anything they said.
No one had bothered to go and get sheriff Tate who was home having dinner. So by the time deputy Owens did send someone out to get the sheriff, the bodies were at the undertakers and everything was cleaned up and back to normal.
Travis was long gone they told the deputy. Now this was the first sheriff and deputy this town had ever seen and they were barely three months on the job and the town's people, even the Mexicans were used to taking care of their own town business.
So that's what they did.
They didn't need the law in their town. They took care of things and they all got along just fine.
They didn't like the new sheriff or his deputy much anyways and this was a way to let them know it. As for the three men that were shot and killed? The Haskells, two ornery men who ran rough shod over the town. Good riddance the town thought. And a as for Cody who'd moved into town with his uncle Sheriff Tate and thought he was above the law every which way was wrong. He used to go around disrespecting the ladies in town by flirting and whistling at them, insulting the Mexicans, drinking and gambling and scaring everybody by using windows for target practice. Well good riddance to him too. Better them dead than us the town agreed. And all this time, Travis was hiding out at the livery stable, waiting for nightfall so he could leave town.
The sheriff finally rode into town and Owens told him what he could. He went to the undertakers to see his nephew then went about trying to get a posse together. Nobody wanted to be deputized. He tried again saying he would pay them. No takers.
It was left up to him and his deputy.
It was a comical situation what with the sheriff chomping on his cigar, burping loudly from his dinner and stomping around in anger and cussing. And it didn't help matters any knowing that the town was standing around and chuckling at him.
Sheriff Tate finally decided to go out to look for Travis alone, leaving his deputy in charge.
He rode off determinded to find Travis. But after a few hours of making a half hearted attempt to follow any tracks Travis's horse might have made, it was getting dark so he rode back to town empty handed. And that was the last killing they had in that town for the next ten years.
At ten o'clock that night, Travis saddled his horse, took the bundle of food the saloon girls had packed for him along with four bottles of whiskey from the bartender, and quietly left town feeling like a hero. Lady luck was still riding with him but he knew she wouldn't stay forever.
Wanted posters with his picture and name, Travis Collins in bold red letters, with rewards of five thousand dollars alive or ten thousand dead, were posted far and near.
That was all sheriff Tate could do to ease his guilty conscience about not making a better effort to find the killer of his nephew. It was a lot of money for a reward but Cody's rich parents were determined to get his killer.
The sheriff knew it was partially his fault that his nephew had been killed. He never put a rein on Cody. He just thought he was young and sowing some wild oats. He wasn't really harming anybody. Let the boy play and get it out of his system he thought. Now he was dead and he felt terrible about it.
Cody's parents blamed him of course. Their son had caused so much trouble in their own town so they'd sent him to his uncle the sheriff who they thought could settle him down. He never even tried. Someone out there would see the posters and find Travis and kill him and bring back proof sheriff Tate thought. They just had too. When Travis saw one of the wanted posters, he changed his last name. He took his mother's last name and called himself Travis Ramos from that day on. He then headed south and twelve years later ran into Ed Martin in Laredo and from that day on, he stopped running away from his past. Now here he was at the age of thirty seven, his prowess with the rope in his gloved hands and his quickness on his horse when herding cattle was what he did best now. He had no more use for his father's guns or his knife after he'd killed the sheriff and bank robbers that were involved in the killing of his father.
But he still kept his knife close at hand. He was amused by how the cowhands were always so surprised by how quick and sure he was and how easily he did things. The "viejo" still had some spark in him they said. He earned their respect quickly and they gave him the nickname "Vaquero."
He'd only been working there a short while and already he knew everything about the ranch. How to handle the most troublesome horse or steer, he knew when a cow was ready to give birth before she did, he'd even mixed a special feed for the cattle that they liked better, and he'd even found a place on the ranch grounds where there was a deep water well and dug down to it and now the ranch had more water to use. The only one he ever really talked to was Ed and Hal Gibbons the owner of the ranch. He spoke with Hal one day and told him he would do whatever repairs were needed on the ranch for free if he let him cook in the house kitchen every now and then, with his wife's permission of course. He just needed a good Mexican meal once in a while and needed a proper kitchen to cook it in he said.
After a few days, Hal called Travis over to the main house. Greta his wife told him he could use the kitchen one day a week and it had to be on a Friday, as long as he agreed to help her with her garden and made sure the family cemetery was well kept. He agreed. She then took him to the kitchen and introduced Rafe, their cook. She left the two men alone so Rafe could show Travis around the kitchen so that he would know where everything was.
After a few minutes, Travis thanked Rafe and as he walked out of the kitchen's back door, he was already planning what to cook for the first meal.
From then on, he would go into town every Friday morning, buy all the fixings and then come back and cook a huge dinner for everyone on the ranch with Rafe's help. After dinner, the night would end with some of the cowboys singing, while Rafe played guitar. After he'd been working for six months, everyone on the ranch now followed the Vaquero's lead. He didn't ask them to, it just happened. As far as Ed Martin was concerned, it was fine with him. This way, he could concentrate on the paperwork part of the ranch that Hal wanted him to learn. They both wanted to see how Travis handled things with the cowhands before talking to him about the raise they had in mind for him. Travis never talked much so the cowhands had to watch him for signals. He would give a nod, point a finger, clear his throat or give a look and they knew what to do. Once in a while though, they'd be stumped so he would explain and they would then know what to do. They all worked well together no matter the task.
They felt as if he had trained them like he had trained his horse and all they could do was shake their heads, smile and wonder how he did it. He was the gentle old vaquero and knew more than they did so they never questioned him.
They never could have imagined his past or his prowess with a knife or a gun. Those had been his tools of the trade seven years ago. Now as a hired hand working on a fine ranch, Travis was waiting to feel alive once more and hoping to find someone to love so that he could remember how to smile again too.
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