John C. Horst's Blog, page 34

I would not like me if I was her.

Maria Felix as soldadera. Arvel sat next to her and began looking through the picnic basket. “Let’s see what Pilar packed for us.”
“I hope it is not poison, Pendejo.” She laughed and swished her feet in the pool.
Arvel looked up at her, a bit worried. “You aren’t going to kill Pilar, are you, Chica?”
She laughed out loud. “No, Pendejo. I do not kill women. Why would I?”
“Because of what she called you. I don’t think she likes you very much, Chica.”
“Well, she would not be a good woman if she did. I would not like me if I was her.” She flicked her cigarette butt into the water and watched it float away, downstream. He handed her a drumstick and a tin cup of wine.
“This is good, Pendejo. I am surprised you are not fat.” She ate ravenously. “I like Pilar. She take good care of you, Pendejo. She will like me after a while, I think.” The Mule Tamer  Photo Source ~ Karelys Davis

Do you want to die for a ten dollar shotgun?

Mireya Vera Chica ignored the woman’s pleas. She smiled at the two men, and said, “You gringos ever hear of a Mexicano standoff, eh?” She looked at each of them calmly. “Well, this is not a Mexicano standoff, boys. I will kill you both if we cannot make a trade. What shall it be, gringos? Do you want to die for a ten dollar shotgun?”
The bartender stood, sweat running into his eyes. He was shaking. “I’ll trade, I’ll trade…Miss.” He suddenly felt sober.
“Well, okay, then. Firs’, hand me my pistols, gringo. Then hand the Indios the shotgun.” The Indians stood, awestruck. They did not move to either escape or help the young woman. They were in the precarious spot of being both victims and conspirators at the same time.
Chica holstered her pistols and placed the hide-out gun back in its holster. She held the dagger and lit a cigar. She continued to stand on the dealer’s neck. “An we need some bullets for the shotgun as well. We need a box of bird shot, some buckshot and some heavier shots, for rabbit. She looked at the Indians, “Anything else?”
They nodded energetically.
“How much is all of that, gringo?”
“Don’t, don’t worry ‘bout it. Take ‘em… as a gift.”
“No, gringo, we are not robbing you, just making a good trade, we will pay for the bullets.” She peeled off a few bills and put the rest in her pocket. The Mule Tamer
Photo Source ~ Artflow Magazine

You run from a woman, you dog.

Antonio Gómez R The Indian jumped up, startled by the young woman moving amongst his dead comrades. He managed to climb on one of the horses and rode away as fast as he could. Chica shouted at him in Chiricahua, “You run from a woman, you dog.”
The Indian stopped, wheeled his horse and kicked its flanks. He began a long scream, shouldering his Winchester. Chica drew her Schofield and pointed it at him as if she were shooting bottles off a log, her left hand resting on her hip. She did not fire.
This unnerved the Indian even more and he picked up the pace, closing the distance more quickly between them. He began firing wildly at her as he closed. Rocks and dirt kicked up around her and the steadier she stood the wilder and more ineffective he became.
One shot creased her left cheek, just below her eye. The Apache was certain he hit her well, yet Chica stood like a rock, unmoving, unflinching, a stream of blood washing down her neck. She did not even put her hand up to assess the damage inflicted by the ball’s impact.
He was committed now; there was no turning back. Like a moth hurtling toward a flame, he somehow knew that this would be his end. She was irresistible, like a witch who had cast a spell over him. She pressed the trigger of her silver six shooter and the Indian pitched backward. He went down hard, on his neck, blood flowing freely from the hole Arvel had given him in his head, where he once had an ear.
Chica walked up to him, pointing the revolver at his head. She lowered the gun, fired, severing his spine, just below the jaw. The Indian’s body flopped, lifeless, while his eyes darted about him, trying to comprehend. She spit on his face: “Hijo de tu puta madre,” is all she said. She left him to die slowly in the company of his friends. The Mule Tamer
Photo source ~ http://mydelineatedlife.blogspot.com/

I’d like to get into her knickers, if she actually wore any.

Jesus Helguera Dick walked to a file cabinet behind Dan George. He began to open it. “What do you make of her?”
Dan did not look up from his work. “What do you mean, Dick?”
“I don’t know, just what do you make of her?”
“Well, I believe she can be trusted.”
“Not that, I mean, I don’t know…” Dick was becoming tongue-tied.
“Oh, well, I’d like to get into her knickers, if she actually wore any, if that’s what you mean.”
“What do you think of Arvel and the girl?”
Dan stopped working. He grinned. “Arvel, let’s see. Well, God bless’m if he’s cavortin’ with her. Good old Arvel. I wouldn’t be surprised.” He was glad now that he hadn’t made a play for the girl. He wouldn’t want to cut in on Arvel.
“Don’t you think that’s a little…?”
Dan swiveled in his chair. “That’s a little what, Dick? What, you mean because she’s so young?” Dan suddenly had an epiphany, “No, that’s not what you mean at all, is it, Dick?"
Dick felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Dan was making him feel suddenly very foolish. “No, no, let’s just drop it, Dan.”
“Well, okay, she’s a Mexican. I guess at least she isn’t an Indian.” Dan was tired of it all and he was beginning to unravel on Dick. He caught himself and stopped.
“That’s not right, Dan, that’s not, oh, God, let’s just stop, I’m sorry I said anything.”
“Shame on you, Dick.” Dick could never get used to Dan’s familiar tone. “Shame on you.”
“I’m not the one running with a Mexican.”
“If that’s all you’ve got to say about it,” Dan stood up and put his coat on, “I’m going down to have something to eat.” He looked at Dick again, and shook his head. “Shame on you.”
He turned back when he’d gotten out the door and looked in at Dick. “You’re a good man, Dick, but sometimes you can be a regular goddamned bone head.” The Mule Tamer

Hah, you are a funny little girl.

Antonio Gómez R. Las Soldaderas1938 “That will make you blind.” She nodded and looked down at his hand, manipulating and pulling at his crotch. She remembered hearing the hands at the ranch say that one day, when one of the men was caught absent-mindedly scratching his privates. She did not know what it meant, but it seemed funny and teasing at the same time when the hand had said it, and she hoped it would offend the clown man.
The boss laughed out loud. “Hah, you are a funny little girl.” He slapped the clown man on the back and looked over at Rebecca. “I make him wash his hands all the time, little girl, before he can touch any of my food.” He looked back at her as if he suddenly remembered the task at hand. “You find some nice clothes in there, little girl, and you go get cleaned. You will stay in here with me from now on." He motioned for her to go into the little room next to his quarters. The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride
Photo Source ~
mydelineatedlife.blogspot.com

Perhaps they were the ghosts of some of the victims of the train robbery

Photo Source ~ Lalo Vazquez The two women appeared next to them as if by magic, as if they were two ghosts. Perhaps they were the ghosts of some of the victims of the train robbery. None of the bandits stood up or even addressed the two. They just sat there, around the fire, smoking and passing the jug. The women just stood there, saying nothing. A good breeze was blowing and the women’s hair and clothing blew about in the wind, making them look even more ghostly. The fire reflected on their faces and dresses turning them red, as if they’d returned from some otherworldly place, hell perhaps. Certainly real women would not act in such a way, they must be ghosts; they must not be real.

 The men became quiet and looked at each other and then at the two ghosts. None of them knew what to make of them. They didn’t notice the shotguns in the women’s hands. Finally, as the younger one began firing into them close up, so close that there was not even enough distance for the buckshot to open up, they comprehended. The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride.

You are a great warrior, little Artemis, a great warrior, indeed.

Jose Posada She was tired and answered him a little too tersely. Chica was not used to being refused. “Old man, the fort is no more. We are going to make it a pile of rubble and ash. Sombrero del Oro is no more.”
“Ah, princesa. I see.” This sounded particularly amusing to Chica and she smiled at his lifeless eyes. He grinned a toothless grin. “Sombrero del Oro always has a way of surprising you. He’ll be back. He always comes back.”
Chica pulled the sack with the head inside from Alanza’s saddle skirt. She dropped it into the old man’s lap. “Well, that’ll be a good trick, old man, without this.”
He felt through the burlap and knew at once what it was. He grinned broader still. “So this is really the maestro?”
He leaned forward and sniffed around the head’s mouth. “Ah, yes, it is. He had peculiar breath.” He drew in deeply, a great lungful of air and spit on the head’s face.
He nodded at Chica and smiled.  “Hah, it is so, Señora, it is finally so. I think you are at last the one to do it. You are a great warrior, little Artemis, a great warrior, indeed.”
“Sí,” Chica looked down at him as he ran his fingers over the head, “I’ve heard this before.” The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride

Don't know when I've enjoyed a book more

5.0 out of 5 stars Enjoyable Read, October 9, 2012 By  J. Gale (Loves Park Il.) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)    Amazon Verified Purchase( What's this? ) This review is from: The Mule Tamer (Volume 1) (Paperback) I read four or five books a month. Historical fiction of all kinds. Quite a few westerns. Don't know when I've enjoyed a book more. I read this one and then read two and three. 5 stars too. Four awaits on my Kindle. Great stories. Great characters. Strong men. Strong women. Action. Bad bad guys. Satisfying. Fun.

Maria knew that she wasn’t stupid, just ignorant.

Retrato de una joven, ca.1905 ~ La Jornada Juana was chatty. She rode up next to Maria and pulled out the cross on the necklace around her neck. “It was nice of her to give us these.” Maria had one to match.
“Yes it was.” She wondered at it. It was a pretty pewter cross with a little man attached. Maria pulled hers up and looked at it as well.
“You don’t even know what it is, do you, Maria?”
Maria looked on. “No.” She didn’t mind. It didn’t bother her when Juana spoke of Maria’s ignorance anymore. Juana wasn’t being mean and Maria knew that she wasn’t stupid, just ignorant. Ignorance could be cured by knowledge and she was resolved to learn many things. She had a good mind.
“That’s Jesus.” She nodded her head like a donkey when she said his name.
“Why do you do that?” She mimicked Juana’s nod.
“You’re supposed to do that whenever you say Jesus’s name.” She nodded again and Maria found it very amusing. She nodded to herself and it felt a little silly.
“So, teach me of Jesus.”
Juana laughed. “I cannot believe someone doesn’t know of Jesus.” She grinned and moved her head from side to side and Maria realized that she’d forgotten to nod. But all this nodding would likely knock one off balance and she didn’t want Juana falling from her burro, so she didn’t say anything to her about forgetting the nod.
“He is the son of God and his mother is Maria, like you. But she’s the Virgin Maria, not like you.” Maria's Trail

You are in a lot of trouble, muchacho.

Photo Source ~ Mexconnect.com “You are in a lot of trouble, muchacho.” She lit a cigar and blew the smoke at him. “Want one, muchacho?” She pointed at the cigar and he nodded yes. She knelt down beside him so that her face was now just a foot away. “No, sorry. Don’t have many left. None to spare.” She grinned.
His eyes rolled about; the pain was too much to bear, her bullet making it impossible to move anything else. He breathed in unsteadily and waited.
Maria reached over and stuck a finger in his vest pocket. She tore downward and found some money there. She went through the rest of his pockets and got a couple of rings and a necklace and one pocket watch. She put these in her pocket and then, reaching down, removed his gun belt. He cried out in pain.
 “Oh, sorry.” She shrugged and continued to strip him. She removed all his clothes until he was naked, sweat pouring from his face. The clothes had no value, they were essentially rags, but she did not want him protected from the sun.
“Well, I have to go now, muchacho. Bye.”
“No, no.” He cried out weakly, plaintively. “A bullet.”
“Oh, no muchacho. I will not waste another bullet on you.” She got her water gourd and opened it, took a long sloppy drink with much of the water running down her chin and neck. She looked up at the sun and then down at the man who was already starting to burn. She lifted the gourd and dumped the remaining contents over her head until she was soaking wet. Maria's Trail