A GRINGO ENCOUNTERS SMALL TOWN JUSTICE SOUTH OF THE BORDER

A former close friend of mine, let’s call him Randy, told me this odd and amusing anecdote about his wanderings some years ago around central Mexico. Randy had a real love for watching westerns and riding horses off road through the countryside in the middle of nowhere. He would often let his active imagination take him to places where he could see himself as a gunslinger or a sheriff brought in to bring the law to a lawless wild western town. He found the opportunity to act out these fantasies during a trip into remote pueblos in the rural heartland of Mexico. He decided he would use his limited Spanish language skills to approach ranchers in small and isolated country towns and offer them some cash to rent their horses for the day. In most cases, they were more than happy to make a few U.S. dollars. He would choose his favorite horse, saddle up and head out alone into the barren countryside, sometimes pretending he was the Clint Eastwood cowboy in “High Plains Drifter” He would ride hard till dusk and then find his way back to the town to return the horse and pay the rancher. Randy loved the feeling of riding alone in the wide open territory, with no rules to follow and no one to tell him what to do. He let his imagination run free and conjured up stories of outlaws, boom towns, senoritas, and sheriffs. The only thing missing was a gun to make the fantasy complete. He would have loved to shoot at snakes and small animals he saw along the way, but he didn’t want to end up alone in a Mexican jail.

His little fantasy was working out fine, until one day after returning from a particularly aggressive jaunt in which he had pretended to be chasing the bad guys at full gallop through a ravine, he brought a very tired and sweaty horse back to its owner. Normally he knew that he should walk the horse for a while to get its metabolism to return to normal and to cool it down, but it was getting dark, and he was getting hungry. The Mexican rancher who owned the horse, who was clad in jeans and a ten gallon hat, took one look at the profusely sweating beast and said “ Senor, you didn’t cool down the horse like you should and now I have to do it” I’m going to have to charge you another $10. Randy scowled and said in his halting Spanish “Amigo, we agreed on $25 for the day and I’m not gonna pay any more”. He got out his wallet, gave the man $25 and walked away toward the small town. The rancher cursed him loudly in Spanish and spit on the ground in disgust but didn’t attempt to argue further. Randy went straight to a local restaurant, where he dined on homemade tamales, fresh guacamole, rice, beans and chips, washed down with a couple of cold Mexican cervezas. The whole meal was less than $5 US. He felt satisfied and a little buzzed and went back to the cheap hotel to get some sleep. He never thought twice about the unhappy ranchers’ request for compensation or his angry curses. Randy had plans to get up early and move down the road to another small pueblo where he could rent another horse for yet another day of fantasy cowboy.

In the morning, after an early breakfast at the hotel, Randy headed for the door to move along. But oddly, he found his path blocked by five rough looking guys in cowboy boots and straw hats. “Pardon me, por favor, I need to get out. They paid no heed and continued to block the doorway. Randy thought that maybe they didn’t understand him, so he said it again even louder, “Excuse me, guys, but can I get through”? They didn’t budge. Randy was getting angry and irritated and he attempted to push his way past them. At this point they moved to surround him, so he could no longer escape in any direction. One of them who spoke a little English said” Sorry Señor, but you can’t leave yet. Señor Hernandez, says you owe him $10 for bringing his horse back overheated. Do you have the $10? Randy was angry and a bit taken aback at the way this scene was developing, but he said “I paid Señor Hernandez what we agreed to and I’m not paying another cent more for nothing”. The Mexican scowled and said, “Well, you’re going to have to come with us then. You can tell it to old man Herradura, the local elder, who handles all of our disputes. He’ll resolve this matter and you can be on your way. “But I don’t have time to wait around for Mr. Herradura, and besides I have other important business this morning.” Randy thought it might help to sound like he was businessman who had some connections, but all it did was to make the quintet of big cowboys gather more tightly around him with menacing expressions on their faces. “You’ve made a lot of folks around here angry by abusing Señor Hernandez’s favorite horse. You’d best come with me or I may not be able to control these guys”. Randy took a second look at their angry faces and realized he’d better do as they said.

As the desk clerk grinned in amusement, the Mexican men escorted Randy out the hotel door on to the main street of the pueblo, which was the only paved street in the town. They got to an intersection and started walking out of town. They passed a number of modest houses made of adobe and brick, with flat roofs & chickens and kids running around the front yard. Large, imposing saguaro cactus dotted the stark semi-desert landscape. “Where the hell are they taking, me”? Randy thought to himself. They had been walking nearly a half hour in the baking hot summer sun. Randy was sweating heavily and was dying for a drink of any kind. Finally, the leader pointed to a brick house which was a bit more stylish and sturdy looking than the others. “This is where the village elder, “el síndico mayor”, lives” he said with a grin. He is the law in this place. They walked through the gate and passed by some chickens and an old lame dog before climbing the porch to the front door. They knocked on the door, but when nobody answered they all just went in. Sitting in the corner of the living room on an old beat-up leather chair, was a skinny, grey haired, old man, wearing a big sombrero decorated with rattle-snake skin and feathers. He must have been in his eighties, Randy thought. He flashed Randy a big grin, which exposed his gold front teeth. “Have a seat” he said, pointing to a high back wooden chair, with a leather cushion, sitting in the middle of the room. As he was getting seated, Randy noticed the biggest ranch hands move to block all the exits. “What’s your name, Señor, would you like a beer or a soda?” he asked in Spanish. Randy didn’t think it would be a great idea to drink alcohol in this situation, so he identified himself as Randy Shatner and opted for a Coke. A young girl dressed in traditional Mexican clothing came from the kitchen with a cold glass bottle of Coke, just like they used to have in the 60’s, back in the U.S., Randy thought. Randy drank it all down in a couple of long thirsty guzzles.

As he was drinking, he saw Señor Hernandez, the rancher who had rented him the horse, walk through the front door. He was given a chair right next to Randy’s. The rancher gave Randy a quick look and a grimace, which Randy interpreted as being a show of disgust. The men sitting behind him had a good long chuckle at Randy’s expense, punctuated by a few choice Mexican curse words he recognized to be questioning his ancestry. Randy was starting to feel a certain sense of unease creeping up on him. The old elder took a quick look at Randy and Señor Hernandez, stood up, and exclaimed, “My name is Señor Herradura. Since the nearest law enforcement is over 100 miles away, I am the one who settle disputes around here, to keep things from getting out of hand” He gave Randy another of his toothy grins. “Let’s get this trial started” he said. “Señor Hernandez, can you tell me what happened here and what you’re asking for? “ Mr. Hernandez, who had changed into his best high top leather cowboy boots for the occasion, stated, “This gringo, son of a bitch here”, pointing toward Randy, “rented my best horse for the day. I told him not to bring her back too lathered up, which is bad for the horse and could even kill her”. “Try to stick to the facts, Señor Hernandez. I’m sure you’d like to horsewhip him right here and now, but we are a town of laws, eh”? Randy couldn’t help but think of the whipping scene in “Ben Hur”, the old movie starring Charlton Heston as a Roman gladiator. “OK, I’ll try, your honor,” growled Señor Hernandez through clenched teeth. “So when I saw my horse come back late and all sweaty, I told him I needed an extra $10 for the time it would take me to cool her down before bringing her into the barn. This damn bastard told me he wouldn’t pay any more than the price we originally agreed to and turned his back on me and walked away, without offering a centavo more”.

“OK Señor Hernandez”, the judge said, “Let’s hear from Señor Randy now. “ Randy looked around the room. Everyone was glaring at him with what looked like a mixture of anger and contempt. They looked like they were ready to hang him by the nearest rope. It was obvious they had a certain acute sensitivity toward what they considered to be a rich foreigner coming to town and abusing their livestock without paying for it. Randy silently prayed that overheating a horse was not a capital offense in these parts. Randy stood up and exclaimed “Well, maybe I did bring his horse in a bit too sweaty, but I paid Mr. Hernandez good money for the rental, probably more than he makes in a month, and I didn’t see why I should have to pay any more. Also, I can’t recall him saying anything about not bringing the horse back a little lathered up” he explained. “Besides, I was hungry and I didn’t really have time to walk the horse to cool her down”. “I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding. That’s all I have to say, Señor”, he said.

Mr. Hernandez and the rough looking ranch hands were visibly angry now, and cursed Randy the gringo in highly unflattering terms that clearly raised disturbing questions about his manhood. Señor Herradura gestured for them to be quiet, which they immediately did out of respect for the judge. He stood up to issue his verdict. “Well, I’ve heard both sides of the story now. Its clear Señor Hernandez’s horse came in dangerously overheated, which could have killed her if Mr. Hernandez didn’t spend the time to cool her down and make her drink. It’s also clear that Mr. Randy, here, knew that he shouldn’t have brought the horse in without cooling her down first, but thought he could take advantage of Mr. Hernandez, because he’s just a poor Mexican rancher living in a small pueblo. Therefore, the court rules that Mr. Randy owes Mr. Hernandez $10 US, and has to pay a fine to the court of another $10 to cover court costs. That will come in handy since I’m nearly out of beer”, he chuckled. The fine is payable immediately.

Randy looked around the room at the angry, expectant, faces and figured he’d best pay the fine, if he expected to leave the pueblo in one piece, so he reached into his right riding boot and pulled out the $20 bill he kept hidden there for just such an emergency. “Here, take it, just let me get out of this town” said Randy. He gave the judge the $20, who gave $10 to Señor Hernandez. The judge turned to Randy and smiled, saying “Sorry we don’t have any cars around here, but my son can take you back to town if you don’t mind sitting in the hay wagon”. Randy said OK, since it was faster and more comfortable than walking in the hot afternoon sun.

When he arrived back into town, he went straight to the small bus station and bought a ticket to the next town. As he was waiting for the next bus, Señor Hernandez and his men came in. Randy was not surprised when they leered at him menacingly and said nearly in unison, “ Señor, don’t come back this way again, you understand”? Randy understood all too well and nodded his head, before boarding the bus to his next Mexican western drama.