El Coyote, the Rebel Page 14

  “What did you do then, Tecolote?” I asked.

  “Coyote, I got so mad that while my papá was still there, I tore down the troublesome oven, went to the village and bought a car wheel and brought it home. After making a strong base for the wheel, I placed it flat on a pivot, and rebuilt the bedamned oven on top of it. Then when my friends, my brother, my godfather, and my father would say, ‘Tecolote, the door of that oven should be in a certain position,’ I would get hold of the wheel and with a quick twist of the hand, I would please them all.”

  “That is a good idea, Tecolote. Tomorrow I am going to make a revolving table for our lazy general. I hope I will be able to please him,” said Piojo Blanco, as he wrapped himself in his sarape for the night.

  On March 9, 1916, Pancho Villa and his band of men attacked Columbus, New Mexico, killing several American soldiers and citizens and destroying property. The United States was then ready to fight, and on March 17 General Pershing, with twelve thousand troops, was ordered to invade Mexico in pursuit of Villa and to bring him back, dead or alive. The American forces were attacked by Villa while in Mexico, but they suffered only small losses. On May 2, 1916, after a conference between General Obregón, the Mexican minister of war, and General Frederick Funston, the United States commander on the border, it was conditionally agreed, since Villa had not been captured, to withdraw the American expedition. The American troops were withdrawn and we, the Contreras army, received urgent orders from our general to entrench ourselves in the outskirts of Agua Prieta, because Pancho Villa was coming to attack us.

  Immediately the stationed army started to dig trenches and underground protection for the citizens of the town. In a very short time the little city was surrounded with several strands of barbed wire, zigzagging from post to post, making a tricky and tangled web which was almost impassable. The American soldiers also dug a deep trench along the inside of the international line to protect themselves while Villa’s army was attacking us.

  About a month after we had received orders to fortify ourselves, the Villistas swooped down. At the end of three days of constant fighting, Villa’s troops gave up the attack and went to destroy the near-by unprotected Mexican towns. As soon as the Villistas left we followed them.

  During our campaign against Villa, outside of Agua Prieta, I experienced a series of interesting and exciting events.

  The first night that we were out camping, I was chosen by my company commander to go to the General’s tent to make coffee, fry beans, and bake tortillas for General Contreras’ supper. The general seemed to be well pleased with my culinary arts, but for a slight error I did not get to be his private cook.

  After I had returned to my company from my cooking adventure, Captain Mondragón, my commander, asked, “What is the matter, Coyote? Aren’t you a good cook?”

  “I guess not, Captain. I put salt in the general’s coffee instead of sugar,” I answered.

  “Ha-ha-ha! I should like to have seen him when he tasted the salty coffee.”

  “Yes, Captain, he looked funny when he spit it out, and he got grounds in his mustache.”

  “Well, Coyote, don’t worry. You can be my orderly, and when you become of age I will see that you are made a commander of a battalion,” he replied, as he started rolling a cigarette.

  “Thank you, my Captain. And what does an orderly do for an officer when he is in his service?”

  “Well, there are several things that he should do. When in campaign, like we are now, the orderly should carry the officer’s campaign bag and his canteen full of water. When stationed in a city, he should shine the officer’s boots, and see that his uniforms are always cleaned,” he explained.

  “Captain, maybe I can be your orderly only while we are in campaign, because I do not like to shine shoes nor keep uniforms clean.”

  “Do as you like, Coyote.” Then pointing to a hook on the tent post, he said, “There is my canteen; you go and fill it with fresh water.”

  Immediately I took his canteen and mine and went down to the running creek. While I was carefully performing the task of filling the canteens with water, a soldier nicknamed Loro approached me and exclaimed, “Hello, Coyote. What are you doing with two canteens?”

  “Loro, if you must know, one of these canteens is mine; the other belongs to Captain Mondragón.”

  “Ha-ha-ha!” laughed Loro. “Captain Mondragón has had twenty orderlies in the last three months, and he has promised to make all of them battalion commanders—ha-ha-ha!”

  “What is wrong with that?” I asked.

  “What is wrong with that?” he parroted.

  “Yes, what—”

  “Listen, Coyote, Captain Mondragón is a rascal,” he interrupted me. “The only way he can get an orderly is by promising to make him a commander, and he gets a lot of work out of those who are stupid enough to believe him. Don’t be a fool!”

  “Is that right, Loro?”

  “Of course it is right. If you don’t believe me, go and ask Pedro about it. He was his orderly once.”

  As we were talking we saw Pedro climbing down the steep embankment to get water, and before he reached us, Loro shouted, “Pedro, El Coyote is Captain Mondragón’s orderly now. What do you think of it?”

  “No-o-o!” mooed Pedro.

  “Ye-e-s!” affirmed Loro. “And he is going to make him a battalion commander when he becomes of age.”

  “Ha-ha-ha!” they chuckled.

  Having learned of Captain Mondragón’s rascalities, I took my two canteens and went to camp. Pedro and Loro remained by the creek laughing at me, and as I walked away, they stood at attention performing a military salute. When I passed by them, Pedro said, “Good-by, Battalion Commander!”

  “Good-by, Battalion Commander. I hope I will be your orderly when you become a general,” added Loro.

  That made me so angry that as soon as I returned to the captain, I said, “Capitán Mondragón, here is your canteen—I don’t want to be your orderly. I’m a busy soldier. I have enlisted in the army to fight the enemy, and not to be an orderly.” Then I left his tent and went back to my company.

  When I was leaving I heard him say, “What the hell is wrong with all these fellows? They don’t want to work for their promotions—that is why we don’t have enough generals in this army!”

  The following morning we received orders to continue our march against Villa. At about ten o’clock we had an open field battle with the Villistas, and in a few hours we were chasing them all over the hills. Both armies lost several men in that encounter. One of our companies captured forty-three cannons, six machine guns, and twenty prisoners.

  As I was coming down a hill I saw a Belgian stallion, and a mule with a machine gun on its back hidden among some oak trees. When I noticed that the quadrupeds were standing still, I stopped and cocked my Mauser. Then I proceeded cautiously toward them. When I reached the animals, I saw that no one was around. Carefully looking at the saddle on the horse, I found several small packs of Villa’s paper money. At once I knew that the animals belonged to the Villistas; so I strung my Mauser on my shoulder, took my pistol in hand, and went to the near-by bushes to look for the former owner. When I failed to find him,

  I came back, mounted the horse, and led the mule to our temporary camp.

  On the way to the camp I was an eyewitness to a cold-blooded, machine gun shooting of twenty-five war prisoners. The effect of seeing the lifeless bodies fall to the ground, stacking one against the other, made me realize that one’s life should be occupied with something better than ruthlessly fighting and killing innocent or defenseless people. Right then and there I decided to get out of the army and stay out.

  When I arrived at camp with my horse and mule, one of the rebels, nicknamed Lobo, shouted, “Hey—Coyote—where the hell did you get that elephant?”

  “What elephant?” I asked.

  “The one you are riding.”

  “Lobo, I admit this horse has the strength of an elephant, but I don’t see
any other comparison.”

  “You must be blind, Coyote.”

  “He might look like an elephant to you, but his trunk is not as long as your nose,” I replied.

  “Ha-ha-ha!” laughed the crowd of rebels, who had gathered around to view my mule and horse.

  In a few minutes Captain Mondragón came and shouted, “Break it up, men! Break it up! What the hell is the trouble?”

  “El Coyote has captured an elephant,” cried Lobo.

  “Lobo, how many times must I tell you that my horse is not an elephant.”

  “Ha-ha-ha!” The crowd roared.

  Captain Mondragón commanded, “Attention!” Then turning to me, he said, “Coyote, this is the Seventh Battalion of Infantry, and not a cavalry regiment. You better take your beasts to Captain Morales—he will take care of them.”

  “Yes, Coyote, take your elephant to Captain Morales. He will take good care of him for you,” shouted Lobo.

  “Lobo, you better mind your own business if you know what is good for you,” warned Glass-eye, who had been listening to the conversation.

  “Why don’t you howl, Lobo?” asked one of the rebels.

  The crowd laughed uproariously, and I led my animals to Captain Morales, who took the horse and sent me with the mule to the artillery regiment.

  After the two regiments had taken my live stock, I expected to be well compensated for the capture. Several times I thought I would be highly decorated with a medal, and honored with a rank and money, but these never came. So after the disappointment and the horror of having been an eyewitness to the slaughter of helpless young men, I decided to go to General Contreras, and ask him for an honorable discharge from his army.

  24

  About a week after we had returned to Agua Prieta from the last campaign against Villa, I became an orderly to a newly promoted captain of the Contreras Rebel Army.

  One evening about seven-thirty, while I was resting in my commander’s tent, he came in, and after a short conversation he said, “Coyote, tonight I want you to go with me to La Casa del Amor.”

  “The House of Love is a brothel, is it not?” I asked.

  “Yes, Coyote, it is,” affirmed the officer.

  “Captain, I don’t think I should go there with you.”

  “And why not? A man should know something about everything. You have been a damned good little soldier, and it is high time you should learn something about women. Why, Coyote, when I was your age I was an expert at lovemaking. I will never forget the time I was chased by a butcher who caught me with his wife in his own home. That is a fact, Coyote.”

  “Well, Captain, I am your orderly, and I am here to obey orders. I am just like putty, and I can be molded any way to fit the plans of the day.”

  “Well said, Coyote, well said, but I hope that you are not the soft kind of putty. I don’t want you to be a jellyfish, and give in without putting up a fight.”

  “Not me, Captain; I am not a jellyfish.”

  “That is what I like about my Coyote—you are always willing to try everything out, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, my Captain, I always like to try everything out,” I parroted.

  Suddenly he asked, “Coyote, where in the hell is my blue uniform?”

  “It is still in your dressing case, Captain.”

  “That is the uniform I’m going to wear tonight.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Get ready, Coyote. I want you to see the girls before they get drunk.”

  “Yes, my Captain,” I continued, while he began to change his clothes.

  The officer wore his blue, tailor-made uniform, and I, my dirty army outfit. The only thing I wore worthy of mention was a pair of slightly used handmade guaraches, which I had taken off a dead soldier’s feet during the last encounter with Villa.

  About seven-thirty the captain and I were walking along the first block of cribs. As we were going by the incense-smelling rooms, I could see scantily dressed women of all descriptions sitting on their beds or in the doorways, smoking and calling in some of the men that went by. Here and there I could see small groups of men drinking, talking, and smoking.

  At about the middle of the block of cribs, one of the harlots addressed me, “Hello, sonny, did you come to see mamma?”

  “Who, me? I—I—”

  “No, sonny did not come to see mamma—he came with papa,” interrupted the captain.

  “Rats! Who in the hell is talking to you? You meddler—why don’t you let the kid have a good time?” retorted the woman.

  “Because you are not his kind.”

  “And who the hell are you to tell me whose kind I should be? Are you going to choose the kid’s girls?”

  “No, but you are not getting him.”

  “Chulo cabrón! Why don’t you mind your own business?” shouted the enraged strumpet as she went into her nook, slamming the flimsy door.

  The captain turned to me and said, “Come on, Coyote, let us go to the dance hall; these whores are putrid.”

  I followed my commander to the hall and when we were at the door of it, I saw a large counter facing the entrance. Behind the bar there was a fat woman serving drinks. All around the saloon there were men and women seated on chairs and benches. At the further end of the counter there was a piano and a very thin man was playing it. Most of the people there were either drinking, smoking, or necking. In one of the corners of the room, near where the piano stood, there was a man seated on a crate with his big sombrero over his face, as though he were sleeping. When we stepped into the saloon, the fat woman shouted from behind the counter, “Ernesto! Ernesto!”

  The man who I thought was sleeping slowly removed his sombrero from his face and asked, “Yes, señora—what do you want?”

  “Go and see how old is that boy who came with the gentleman.”

  Evidently Ernesto was the bouncer. He came to where we were and asked me, “How old are you, muchacho?”

  “I am—”

  “He is old enough to be here,” interrupted the captain. “He came with me.”

  Ernesto did not say anything to us, but turned to the stout woman and shouted, “The señor capitán says that the muchacho is old enough to be here—he says that he came with him, I think.”

  When Ernesto had finished shouting he went back to his corner and resumed his position. The bartender only grunted and kept on serving the guests.

  After we had been detained by the bouncer, we went to a corner of a bench which was near the counter. As we were sitting down, a painted little señorita came and greeted the officer: “Captain Bojorques, how are you? I haven’t seen you for a long time. The last time I was with you, you were still a second lieutenant. Where have you been? Who is the little fellow—is he your son?”

  “No,” replied the captain, “he is my orderly. I brought him here to see the ladies. He is very shy around women. I want him to get used to the girls—you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” murmured the woman; then she asked, “Captain, aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”

  “Yes, yes, I will,” answered the officer, and the three of us went to the counter.

  At the bar my commander ordered hard drinks for himself and his companion and for me he ordered an egg punch without liquor. Immediately the corpulent bar maid served the beverages, and while we were drinking, a tall man and a short man got into a fist fight. The big man was getting the better of the little one. Suddenly the small fellow backed away, drew his dagger, and holding it by the point of the blade, threw it at his opponent. The large man ducked, and the wicked steel stuck in the doorframe. When the weapon flew through the air the women screamed, and I ran behind the counter. As I was on my way to hide, somebody fired a shot, and in my excitement I stumbled over some wine bottles and broke several glasses which were on the floor. While I was trying to make myself comfortable under the counter, I felt a large hand grab me by the collar of my khaki blouse. With an unexpected jerk—I was pulled out from my hiding place. It was the hea
vy-set woman, and when she had me out she grumbled, “Damned boy! You get out of my house and stay out This is not a kindergarten. If I ever see you here again I will kill you!” Then she took me to the door and pushed me onto the board sidewalk.

  When I was outside composing myself, I turned and saw on the wall a large lettered sign which stated “Minor generals are also allowed in La Casa del Amor.”

  After reading it I shouted, “To the devil with The House of Love.” Then I continued on my way.

  While walking to camp I went by the cribs, and the prostitute who had greeted me when I was with the captain asked, “Well, little one, did you get what you came after? Did the panderer get the right kind of girl for you?”

  “Oh, yes, I got more than what I wanted.” Then I asked, “How much do you charge?”

  “I charge three pesos, but for you—my little one—it will only be two.”

  “It is not worth that much to me,” I answered, continuing my way.

  As I was going back to camp I saw a middle-aged woman coming toward me. Apparently she had been drinking, for she swayed from side to side when she walked. As I met her she almost fell off the curb, and I grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. At the same time she embraced me, saying, “My beautiful little man! Where have you been all my—”

  “I am not a man yet, señora, I am still a boy,” I interrupted her.

  “That is all right; you have a uniform,” she replied, burying my face against her large bosom. As she was pulling me closer to her body, I mumbled, “No, no, señora, no!” Then I pulled away, picked up my cap, and ran to camp. As I was running she muttered, “Poor little one, he is not a man; he is just a jellyfish.”

  About an hour later the captain came back, but I was among the other tents telling the soldiers about my adventures at the bawdyhouse. When I came to the officer’s tent he asked, “What happened to you, Coyote?”