El Coyote, the Rebel Read online

  On Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays there was always a social reunion in the patio of the jail. The families of the prisoners came and brought tortillas, tamales, coffee, enchiladas, and beans. The guests and the prisoners played their musical instruments, sang, drank, and danced. At the end of each jail fiesta, the prisoners and their friends sang to the accompaniment of a guitar a verse known as El Epitafio de la vida (The Epitaph of Life).

  “Let the world slide, let the world go;

  A fig for care, a fig for woe;

  If I can’t pay, why I can owe,

  And death makes equal the high and low.”

  At the close of the epitaph a great “Long live Mexico!” resounded through the halls; then the visitors went home and the prisoners were ordered to their cells.

  One morning, while I was playing stud poker with the off-duty guards, the jailer received orders to get ready to move, and to take all the prisoners along because the Moralistas were coming to attack the town of Cananea.

  While the stationed army and the prisoners were getting ready, my friend the sergeant came to me and said, “Coyotito, you better take this Mauser and come with us.”

  I took the rifle and thanked him for it. To my thanks he replied, “Coyote, you are in the army again. You are a free man—a free soldier—a free fighter! Think of it!” And holding the bayonet of his Mauser over my right shoulder, he said, “I, the sergeant on duty at the Cananea jail, hereby re-enlist you in the Contreras Rebel Army to fight the outlaws!” Then performing a military salute, he added, “However, don’t shoot until you see the point of their noses,” and finished with a wink.

  “Yes, Sergeant, I am in the army again,” I parroted. “I am a free muchacho—I mean a free man. I am a free soldier—and a free fighter!” Then I started polishing my Mauser so as to have it clean and ready to fight the outlaws, as the sergeant had called our own countrymen!

  Well, whether it was a case of fighting the outlaws, or my own countrymen, the thing that mattered most to me when I was polishing my rifle was that I was not going to be shot at sunrise, and that my suspense was over. In a very short while I was with the rebel army in the Cananea depot, impatiently waiting for the train to take us to Naco, Sonora, where we were going to entrench ourselves to fight the Moralistas.

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  My trip to Naco proved to be a very pleasant one, and the only exciting event that I experienced turned out to be more or less unusual. It happened that while we were traveling to Naco inside of a railroad boxcar, I wanted to go to sleep, and I could not do so because I had in my pockets five silver pesos which I had won from the guards playing poker. My wish was to find a safe place to hide my money so as to keep my comrades from stealing it. Finally, I conceived the idea of putting my five pesos in one of the upper pockets of my khaki blouse and sewing the opening with several rounds of heavy thread. This I managed with some difficulty; then I strung my Mauser over my shoulder and went to sleep. I slept soundly—in fact, so deeply that the next morning when I looked for my money, I was unable to find it. Some clever thief had taken a sharp knife and cut clear around the seam of the pocket, taking with him my carefully hidden pesos and the scrap of khaki, leaving a hole in my blouse next to my heart.

  In Naco, the first orders we received from General Contreras were to dig trenches around the town so as to defend it from the Moralistas. Within two weeks after we had taken possession, the Morales party was attacking us, but we were very successful in holding our fortifications.

  We were shut in from all communication, and the only way we were able to get food and help was through Naco, Arizona—on the United States border line.

  The fight went on from days into weeks, and from weeks into months, and quite often while we were fighting, the general himself would come through the trenches passing cups of tequila. Handing the drinks to the soldiers he would say, “Muchacho, if we win this battle, we will be the rulers of the State of Sonora.”

  After some of these encouraging words, a soldier would feel very patriotic, and shout, “Long live General Contreras!”

  Another would answer, “Viva el libertador del Estado de Sonora!”

  Still others, after hearing the “Long live the liberator of the State of Sonora,” would shout “Long live Mexico! Long live the Revolution!” and other cheers.

  Our rations, while we were in the trenches, consisted of soda crackers, coffee, canned beans, sardines, and corned beef. Occasionally some daring women would come through the trenches, bringing pots of hot tripe and hominy soup to us.

  All through the cold nights could be heard the rifle and machine gun bullets as they whizzed over our heads. Quite often cannon shells would explode close to us, but we would only bury ourselves deeper in our trenches.

  One night the general came through the trenches asking for volunteers to go out to plant a dynamite mine under a railroad bridge about a mile away from our dugouts. The sergeant to whom I had given my gold ring when I was in the Cananea jail came to me and said, “Coyote, I want you to come along with us to set the mine. You will carry the fuses, your rifle and this American-made flashlight.”

  “Sergeant, I do not think that I should go with you,” I said.

  “It is not what you think—I am your sergeant, and I am commanding you to come with us!”

  “Who is us, may I ask?”

  “Captain Torrés, Glass-eye, nine other men, you, and myself.”

  “All right, I’ll go. Where are the fuses and the American flashlight?”

  “Here, here they are.” Smiling, he handed me the flashlight, a small box of fuses, and a roll of fine copper wire.

  The captain came closer to the soldiers and asked, “Boys, are you ready?”

  “Yes, my Captain, we are ready,” answered the sergeant.

  Then the captain called José, the man who was nicknamed Glass-eye, and said, “José, you take the battery; you understand more about that diabolic thing than I do.”

  “Yes, my Captain, yes. I understand the works of the American battery,” said José.

  This time the captain called the other nine men and said, “Men,

  each of you take a box of dynamite, and be very careful with it because—well—because dynamite is very dangerous.”

  “We will be very careful,” mumbled one of the volunteers.

  “Sergeant!” shouted the captain.

  “Yes, Captain,” saluted the sergeant.

  “Where are the fuses and the wire?”

  “El Coyote has the fuses and the wire,” was the sergeant’s answer.

  “Is El Coyote going with us?” asked the captain.

  “Yes,” answered the sergeant, “he is one of the volunteers.”

  Just then I came out of my trench wrapped in my blanket, with my rifle strapped over my shoulder. I was also carrying in my hands the box of fuses, the flashlight, and the roll of fine copper wire. When I heard the sergeant tell the captain that I was a volunteer, bravely I said to the commander, “Yes, my Captain, I am one of the volunteers.”

  “Good, Coyote, good—we need men like you,” answered the captain. Then he turned to the group of volunteers and asked, “Are you ready?”

  We all answered with one great “Yes, my Captain, we are ready!”

  The captain then said, “Sergeant, I will lead the way; then you will send the men with the dynamite, one by one. After you have sent all of them, you and El Coyote will follow us.” Then to us all he said, “Don’t fail me, boys. I am depending on you.”

  Immediately the sergeant said, “I am at your orders, my Captain, and you can depend on me.” We also assured the leader that we were with him.

  When the captain was ready, with gun in hand, he called José, and said, “Glass-eye, you come along with me!”

  Then—the march began.

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  Captain Torres and Glass-eye led the march, followed by the dynamite men in single file; then came the sergeant and I. While we were walking westward along the south side of the high rail
road bank, the rifle and the machine-gun bullets whizzed over our heads. Several times we had to squat to keep from getting hit.

  At the end of an hour, all of us were under the railroad bridge setting the mine. We packed the dynamite cases under the steel beams of the trestle, and each case had within it a stick of dynamite with a fuse embedded at one end. The fuses, in turn, were attached to the ends of copper wires, which were attached to the battery. The battery was then placed underneath one of the rails in such a manner that any weight or disturbance might set the electric current in action.

  After everything was ready, the captain and Glass-eye started the march back to our trenches. We followed in about the same manner as we had when we went to set the mine. On our way back the rifle and artillery firing from the opposite party was heavier than before. The cannon shells roared through the air, leaving behind them temporary flashes of light.

  When the sergeant and I were about half a city block from our fortifications, the sergeant suddenly uttered an awful groan. I came closer to him and asked, “What is the matter, Sergeant?”

  “The sons of Satan got me, Coyote. Run for your life, run— ooooh—my side. Run, Coyote, run! Ooooh—my side!”

  “I cannot leave you here, my friend,” I said.

  “Yes; Coyote, you better get away from here! Go— los cabrones are coming closer and closer—go—oooh—my side!”

  After this scream of pain, he extended his hand and said, “Here, little friend, take this; it is yours,” handing me the gold ring which I had given him when I was in the Cananea jail.

  I took the ring. Then I tried to straddle the sergeant over my back, but he was too heavy for me, and so I carefully let him down again, and grabbed my rifle, saying, “Sergeant, I am going to get help to take you in.”

  “No, no, Coyote—it is no use—the sons of las bichas got me. You run and get away from the bullets. Leave me here to die—I am dying for my country—Viva México!”

  “Never, Sergeant, never! As long as I am still alive, I shall go and get help to bring you back to our camp.” Then I ran toward the trenches.

  While I was running a cannon shell whizzed over my head. Immediately I threw myself face down on the ground, and just then the shell burst against the high railroad bank. When I heard the explosion I had visions of having been blown to pieces, but in a few seconds I discovered that I was still all in one piece. Then I picked up my Mauser and ran.

  When Captain Torres heard the sound of my hurrying feet, he called, “Sergeant, are you safe?”

  “No, the sergeant is wounded. I came to get help to bring him in,” I said.

  “Wounded?”

  “Yes, we must go and get him.”

  “We cannot go now; the firing is too heavy,” he replied.

  “Hell with the firing! We have to get the sergeant back. He was good enough to help you to set the mine. Now we have to go and get him.”

  By this time I had cocked my Mauser, and I was ready to shoot at the captain for his heartlessness. When he saw that I was determined to do something, he said, “All right, Coyote cabrón, we shall go.” Then turning to one of the dugouts, he called Glass-eye to help us.

  The three of us brought the sergeant back to the Red Cross for treatment. He had bled so much that he was weak and unable to talk, but I think he knew that his friends were still with him.

  While the doctor was cleaning the sergeant’s wound, we heard a very terrific double explosion that came from the direction of our dynamite mine. At the sound of it, the captain said, “There she goes!”

  At the same time the doctor turned to us and said, “Yes—and he is also gone!” Then he turned back and covered the sergeant’s face with the end of my blanket in which I had wrapped him.

  As we heard the doctor’s statement we bowed our heads. Then, after making the sign of the cross, we filed out one by one and sadly went back to our trenches.

  Later in the morning we learned that the enemy had started a locomotive pushing a boxcar loaded with cases of dynamite set to explode as it would strike our trenches. As it happened, when the weight of the train pressed against the battery of our mine, the dynamite under the bridge exploded, causing the stuff that was on the boxcar also to explode.

  The death of my friend, the sergeant, and the double explosion shattered my nerves, and caused me to decide to desert the rebel army for ever.

  Early one cold morning, while the Contreras and Morales Rebel Armies were blindly shooting at each other, I was near the American border at Naco, nervously watching and waiting for the immigration patrolman to turn his back, and thus give me a chance to sneak into the United States.

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  After the patrolman had gone by, I rolled under a barbed wire fence into the United States. Once over the line I felt safe, but lay flat on my belly for a few minutes to make sure that the patrolman was out of sight. As soon as I saw my way clear, I started up the road that led to Bisbee, Arizona, and after three or four hours of walking, hiding, crawling, and running, I found myself on top of a high hill. From that location I was able to see the clean-looking town of Bisbee on one side, and on the other, the mournful Naco’s battlegrounds. While I was mentally reviewing my exciting past and pondering about my future, I felt so tired and miserable that I sat down under a green shrub and fell asleep.

  The barking of a number of dogs, the noise of a cow bell attached to a sheep’s neck, and the shouts of an old shepherd woke me from my restful slumber. I could tell by the sun that it was about five o’clock in the afternoon.

  As soon as I realized that I was hungry and cold, I decided to go down to a small dilapidated shack which stood a short distance from me. When I reached the place and was trying to break in, I heard shouts from somewhere that sounded to me something like, “Hey, yu! Huat da hell ar’ yu dooin’ dere?”

  When I saw the person who had shouted at me, I stopped trying to get into the house and waited, trembling with fear as well as with cold, until he came closer. When he arrived I heard him say something else that sounded even more complicated. At the completion of his speech, I said, “Yo no comprendo el inglés.”

  Then he waved his hands up and down and said something that sounded to me like, “Me no sabay.”

  To that I said imploringly, “Señor, yo tengo mucho hambre y sed. Yo estoy muy cansado y quiero dormir.”

  When I had finished saying, “Sir, I am very hungry and thirsty. I am very tired and I want to sleep,” he held his arms up again, saying, “Vamoos! Vamoos!”

  “Oh, no, mee no vamoos; mee hambre—sabe hambre?” And I rubbed my stomach.

  “Ah! Hungry eh?”

  “Si, mee hoongree.”

  Then he went into the shack, and in a few minutes came out bringing a plate heaped with cold baked pork and beans, a glass of water, and half a loaf of homemade bread.

  While I was eating the food, a boy about twenty years old appeared from somewhere, carrying several books under his arm. The boy and the man talked about something for a few minutes; then the boy came close to me and tried to speak Spanish, asking, “Co-co—mo se lla—ma u—usted?”

  After I had answered, giving him my name, he went back and talked to the man for some time. Again the boy came back and asked me, “De dón—de vie—ne usted, y par—par—y—para—”

  Here he stopped and went inside the house. Returning with a large book, he opened it in about the center then started his Spanish conversation again, “De dónde viene usted, y para dónde va?” Then he repeated the same thing in English: “Where are you coming from and where are you going?”

  When I told him that I had come from Naco and that I was on my way to Douglas, he and the man brought a roll of maps out of the house and tried to explain to me the shortest route to my destination.

  Finally the sun went down, and the man told the boy to ask me to spend the night with them. I did stay with them, and that night I rested quite well.

  Early the following morning the man was very busy, making coffee, frying h
am and eggs, and making biscuits. About six-thirty he called the boy and me to breakfast.

  As we sat down at the table, they closed their eyes; then the man murmured something which I thought might have been a prayer. While they had their eyes closed, I reached and took a hot biscuit and put it in my pocket. I just had time to put my hands back in my lap when the man opened his eyes and told the boy something, which in turn the young chap related to me in Spanish.

  In a very courteous and kind manner the young man said to me, “My father wishes you to do him the favor of closing your eyes while he thanks God for His kindness and bountiful blessings.”

  Thanking God at the table just before eating was a new thing to me, and so at the request I closed one eye tight and kept the other half open to see what was going to happen. The man then continued his prayer, and as soon as he said “Amen” I opened my eyes. Then I saw the father of the boy putting three biscuits on his plate, and three on the boy’s plate, leaving only two on the biscuit pan. After he saw that there were only two biscuits left in the pan he was holding, he looked at the boy, then at me. Again he looked at the boy and said something to him, holding three fingers in the air, perhaps meaning that he had made three biscuits for each of us. Finally he gave me two biscuits, then took one from his son’s plate and divided it between the two of us.

  When breakfast was over, the father told his son to tell me to take the old blanket which they had loaned me the night before. They also gave me a small paper bag filled with sandwiches, and the boy, while on his way to the school, put me on the right road toward Douglas.

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  Once on my way to Douglas on foot, I took my time. Quite often I was frightened by the unusual sounds of birds and the noises of strange animals. Somewhere around noon I sat under a railroad bridge and ate half of my lunch. While I was enjoying my sandwiches, I suddenly remembered the biscuit I had stolen early that day. I felt quite bad about having taken the biscuit; and I felt worse after I had taken it out of my pocket, because it was all crumbled to bits. That morning, after the man had asked his son to tell me I could take the blanket, and when he himself had handed me the paper bag with the food, I felt so ashamed that I wanted to vindicate myself by confessing I had taken the biscuit from the table while he was thanking the Lord. But since I was unable to speak English, I thought it would be better to remain silent and go to hell to pay for the unforgivable crime of stealing a biscuit.