Gabacho and Other Wildyr Tales

Gabacho Moves On

Gabacho Moves OnPerched atop the flea-bitten gray gelding I called Slick, I worked my way west toward the Antelope Springs border crossing. I’d arrived in Mexico naked and dripping wet after swimming the Rio Grande, but I wasn’t of a mind to go back Stateside that way. It woulda been quicker, but quick wasn’t the thing at the moment. I was seeing new countryside, finding work when I could at a ranch here or a bar there to keep from spending the last of my pay from Rancho Salvador. I speak the lingo pretty good, so there wasn’t a problem from that standpoint. Fording the river the way I did, I didn’t have papers, but the border guards hadn’t been requiring them for all that long, so I wasn’t worried on that score.

Slick and I were headed west again after an overnight stay in a little no-name village, and along about evening time, I spotted what looked to be a campfire a little to the north of me, as the long shadows began stretching out the evening. I’d had pretty good luck at finding welcome at such spots, so I turned my pony down the dusty trail toward the flames. I made plenty of noise, “halloin” the camp well before I got there. A welcoming noise rose, so I continued until Slick was standing in plain sight of the fire’s glow.

“Hola,” I said, nodding into the twilight.

“Hola, Gabacho,” came two or three answering voices. Sometimes it seemed like I was never a stranger because I was always hailed as gringo or Gabacho. Gringo if they weren’t too careful about being polite, and Gabacho if they were. That was a tag they hung on Anglos, especially ones that were fair. My curly brown hair with honey highlights and blue eyes qualified, apparently. I’ve introduced myself to people with my own name, Gary Hawthorne, only to be told “No, you are Gabacho.” So, I quit offering my legal handle and simply answered to that epithet.

“Evening,” I responded. Sitting horseback until invited to dismount. Once it came, I saw to Slick’s needs, ground hitching him near a small stream where there was plenty of grass. I heard grunts of approval as I rubbed him down before approaching the three men.

They turned out to be drovers for a ranch with the improbable name of Rancho Punta de Flecha…the Arrowhead Ranch. They offered coffee and beans and tortillas, which came in handy. I hadn’t had anything all day except for some jerky from my saddlebag.

They were an amiable group, and we were soon comfortable with one another. They quickly wormed out of me that I’d spent several months on Rancho Salvador and had good things to say about how the place was run. It seems the ranch, and especially its long-time foreman Bartolome Barca, ranked high in this part of Mexico.

It took me a good quarter of an hour to discern there were actually four in this group. One fellow sat deeper in the gloom, somewhat removed from the fire’s glow. I caught the gleam of his eyes before I actually saw him, giving me something of a start.

“Don’t worry about Don Tomas,” said the one called Juan, who did most of the talking for the group. “He don’t say much, but he hears everything.”

With that cryptic remark, Juan returned to talking about Texas longhorns. But a little later, I heard the low rumble of a voice from the darkness.

Juan waved a hand in the air. “Just Don Tomas. He’s got one a them little teléphonos he carries around with him. Always talking on it.”

“You called him Don Tomas, not Tomas.”

Juan dropped his voice and leaned toward me. “He’s the patrón’s son. He rides with us sometimes. Ain’t a bad vaquero.” Juan wagged a hand back and forth. “But you know, he ain’t one of us. Don’t join in with us much.” He tossed the rest of his coffee on the fire. “Welcome to stay the night. Any old piece of ground will do.”

“Thanks, I’ll take you up on that. But I need to wash up. I been traveling all day.”

Juan nodded over my shoulder. “Back down there about ten meters, they’s a pool. Welcome to use it. Mite chilly, but it’s good water. And the snakes has already gone to bed.” He laughed at his humor and started making ready to turn into his blankets.

I collected Slick and wandered down the creek until I found the pool Juan had been talking about. After ground hitching the pony, I sat down on a rock to slip off my boots. Then I stood and shucked every stitch to slip into the cold water and scrub away the day’s grime. I’d finished my task and was wading back to the shore when a dim outline of someone sitting cross-legged on the bank startled me. I saw moonlight catch in the eyes and knew who he was before he spoke.

“It’s me, Tomas.”

“Gave me a start.”

“You as good-looking as Carlos said you were.”

“Carlos? Carlos Salvador? How do you know Carlos?”

“From school. I guess I met you the same way Carlos did. Buck naked coming up out of the water.”

I chuckled. “Guess so. I swam the Rio Grande and came out on the bank where he was.”

“He says you’re good.”

I licked my lips. Was Carlos blabbing about what we’d done the day I left the Rancho? I tried to put another spin on it. “I can hold my own with most of the vaqueros.”

“Yeah, he says you’re a good cowhand, but you’re better at something else.”

“Like what?”

He rose from the ground and moved closer. A warm hand cradled my testicles. “Like screwing. He says you turned him every way but loose.”

I brushed away his hand but didn’t take offense. “What is it with you hidalgos. You all talk English better’n I do.”

His hands cupped my buttocks and pulled me into him. In truth, his warm touch was welcome. The night was chilled, and I was wet. I pushed him away and picked up the towel I’d laid out from my bag.

He took it from me. “I’ll do that.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. So help me, I let him. He dried me—all of me—very thoroughly and got me aroused while doing it. I finally found my voice.

“Hey man, we’re standing out here in front of God and everybody.”

“I don’t know about God, but everybody—all three of them—have turned in over in that grove. Nobody can see us here.”

When I didn’t answer, he dropped to his knees and clasped me around the waist. I lost the will to protest when his tongue went to work. Half an hour later, he lay beneath me trying to muffle his grunts of pleasure as I pounded his trim butt. Carlos and his big mouth had given me a reputation to live up to, and I damned near got a hernia from meeting expectations. But when Tomas gathered his clothes later and staggered off to his own blankets, he looked as if he was walking on rubber legs. Pleased, I cleaned myself up, and dropped into the bedroll to sleep away the rest of the night.

When I woke the next morning, the others had moved on, leaving behind a small pot of chili and beans. After last night’s workout, the repast was welcome. Finished with my breakfast, I pulled on my britches and boots, and donned the vest I customarily wear to protect my back from the sun. I seldom bothered with a shirt.

Slick seemed ready to travel, so I slapped leather on him, mounted up, and did just that…traveled.

* * * *

I was right about papers not being a problem at the border. For years, American citizens could cross into Mexico simply by showing a valid Stateside driver’s license. Getting back across was just as simple…the same license. Then they’d started tightening things up, requiring a visa. The system hadn’t totally caught hold yet, and by a little artful arguing, I rode into New Mexico without much difficulty. My first night on US soil, I found myself in Columbus—that bootheel town of Pancho Villa fame. It’s a quiet town, and no one was looking for itinerant help, so I had to turn loose a little of my stash in order to spend the first night in a proper bed in quite a spell. I was so tired, I didn’t even think about going to a bar. After a supper of posole and tamales in someone’s kitchen that served as a local café, I headed for the mattress.

A day or so later, I located a ranch hiring for the fall gathering, and signed Slick and me up for the roundup. For a week, we had found and keep for the both of us, and I left when the job was done, with my savings boodle a mite fortified.

* * * *

I’d never been to Deming before, and although it was bigger than Columbus, it was about as quiet. Well, maybe the night life was a bit rowdier. Bella’s Place was like a hundred other bars I’d frequented in Texas or Oklahoma, or anywhere else, I guess. It was a local joint. Everyone seemed to know everyone else. And the little gal who took my order could easily have been one who had served me south of the border. Cute, Hispanic, and busy eluding the grab-ass just about every male customer in the joint was trying. Except for me. I took a table in the corner by myself and nursed a beer, watching the action around me. I figured the big, noisy table nearest the entrance was all drovers from a single ranch busy trying to outdo the nearest table, populated by hands from a neighboring spread. How long before the good-natured taunts thrown back and forth turned nasty as time went on and the beer flowed?

I was so caught up in watching the by-play, I didn’t notice the stranger until he pulled out a chair and took a seat.

“You new in town?” he asked in a deep voice. “Name’s Billy. John Billy.”

“Gabacho,” I replied automatically, accepting his strong grip. “So, what do I call you? John or Billy?”

He shrugged his broad, impressive shoulders. “I answer to both. Most call me Shep.”

“Okay, but I’ll call you John.”

John Billy was about my age, my height, my everything. Except even in the dim light of the bar, I could see his hair was dark brown or black and his eyes dark, almost certainly the same as his hair…brown or black. From his cheekbones, I guessed he had some tribal affiliation, although he wasn’t a blood. Likely a breed. Good-looking one, too.

I nodded to the two raucous tables. “You belong to one of them?”

He gave a bark of a laugh and shook his head. “Naw. I got my own little spread.”

The light went on inside my head. “Shep. Shepherd, right?”

“Right. A sheep man right in the middle of cow country.”

I frowned. “Does that spell trouble?”

He shook his head. “Not this century. Maybe lots in the previous one. They leave me alone, and I ignore them. It’s a good arrangement.”

“They don’t mind you invading their watering hole?”

“Not this one.” He inclined his head. “Out there, they get a little testy when I do it.”

“Land and water. That’s what it’s all about, right?”

“You got it. And before you ask, I’m Navajo. Or at least part of me is.”

I smiled. He’d made it easy. “How big a part?”

His answering grin was lazy. “Not quite clear on that. You can get in an argument about that on one side of my family. You?”

My turn to shrug. “English, a little Scotch and Irish. Garden variety Anglo, I guess.”

John and I spent a pleasant hour jawing while the two cowboy tables got louder and louder. When it looked like my question about it turning nasty was working up to an answer, John drained his glass and sat it down with a thump.

“About time I cleared out of here. You too, if you know what’s good for you. When these guys start swinging, they tackle anybody still standing.”

“Good advice,” I said.

Once outside, he offered me his hand again. “Good to meet you, Gabacho. Where you headed?”

“Right now, I’m headed up the street to find a motel that’ll take me and Slick.”

“Slick?”

I nodded to my horse hitched to a signpost at the side of the bar.

He glanced at Slick and then back to me. “Look, if you’re up for an hour’s ride, you can toss your bedroll at my place.

“Sounds good to me. You got a car or are you walking?”

He pointed toward Slick with his chin. “My roan’s over there beside your gray.”

We mounted up and rode in silence until I asked who was taking care of his sheep while he was in town?

He answered with something that sounded like leech with a syllable or two hanging on the end of it.

“Leech?” I asked.

“Close enough.”

He your hired hand?”

“Sorta.”

I met Leech when we got close to John’s camp. This big old black dog of uncertain parentage came running up, belting out a chorus of yips and yaps and deep belly barks. John dismounted and calmed him.

“Meet Leech,” he said, as I stepped out of the saddle to settle Slick down. “Actually, his name is Dog in Navajo. But Leech will do.”

Billy introduced Leech to Slick and me. Horse and dog immediately became frenemies. Leech liked to get in a nip, and Slick liked to get in a kick. After we tended our horses, I took a good look around. John hadn’t built a traditional hogan, but his lean-to bore a slight resemblance to one. I immediately saw how clever he was. The half-shelter caught the heat from a cookfire and kept his back warm on the cool nights.

“This your home ground?” I asked.

“Nah, this is kinda like a line camp. Got two or three of them scattered on my lease.”

“This reservation land?”

He shook his head. “Bureau of Land Management. I got me a lease on a patch of it.”

After a bowl of mutton stew, I felt like a tick full of blood, but I needed to clean up before taking to the blankets. John showed me how he did it. He shucked every stitch and took a sponge loaded with suds to himself. The guy looked like a snowman in the desert before I threw off my clothes and did the same with a second sponge. We rinsed off with two pots of water heated over the open fire. It felt good, but I was still sorta soap slick.

John saw my discomfort. “There’s a final act to this.”

“Which is?”

As an answer, he let out a yell and made for a big stock tank, vaulting over the side and into the water. I was right behind him, and landed right on top of the guy. But I didn’t worry about that. The desert might be hot by day, but the nights were cool, and that damned water went it one better. It was cold.

When we got ourselves separated and right side up, he put his hand on top of my head and took us both under. I got the idea, and gave my hair a brisk brush before going up for air.

“Wowie!” John shouted when he surfaced. “Bracing, right?”

“Bracing? That your word for it? Man, I got no gonads left, they turned blue and floated off somewhere.”

I felt a hand brush me. “Nah, they’re still there, but I don’t know what color they are.”

I looked at him, his dark skin gleaming in the bright moonlight, and he looked at me. Then without a word, we came together in an explosion of kissing and groping and panting.

I pulled away and fixed him with a stare. “Let’s get out of here and see just what color they are?”

“Good idea,” he said, putting a hand to the side of the tank and vaulting out. I had a glimpse of his shiny butt before he disappeared over the side. I wasn’t far behind him, although I probably wasn’t as graceful as he was climbing out.

When I reached the fire, he tossed me a towel so I could start rubbing life back into my limbs. When I glanced at him, he was drying his hair, as long and lustrous as any woman’s I’d ever seen. Dammit, and he was as desirable as any of them, too. So how did I get this thing back on track?

John took care of that. As soon as I stepped into the shelter of his half-hogan lean-to, he clasped me in his arms and planted a kiss on my lips. My groin grew warm as his covered mine. An altogether pleasant feeling. As nature took over, we seemed to have dueling armatures down there. He laughed and pulled me down on his blankets. After a few minutes of wrestling, I realized something was wrong. He put words to it.

“We’re both after the same thing, ain’t we?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“We ain’t…wha’cha call it? Compatible.” He squinted at me through the darkness. “I’m a top.”

I shrugged. “Me too.”

“Crap. I was really looking to…”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna c*m. And you’re gonna help me do it.”

John went defensive. “I’m not…” He interrupted himself. “How’m I gonna do that?”

I took him by surprise and pushed him on his back, me atop him. “Like this.” I started humping his belly. After one startled minute, Juan laughed aloud, making his stomach muscles dance. Felt good.

“I can live with that as long as I get my turn.”

“Ab-absolutely,” I panted, already working up a sensation or two.

For minutes the only sound was that of the two of us panting and murmuring encouragement. It took a while, but eventually, I felt the familiar buildup, the internal roiling, and then release. Release in great, halting thrusts and spurts of semen across his ripped abs. I finally stopped moving and gloried in the stickiness between us.

With a roar of anticipation, John flipped us over and attacked my belly with what felt like a bar of iron. Lubricated by my own semen, he went at it hard, punctuating his gasps with yells of joy and anticipation. He only faltered at the end, and even in the darkness, I could see him lick his sensitive lips as his eyes rolled up in his head. Then he came with an explosion and some wild expressions in his native language that caused the flock to shift and Leech to answer with a long yowl that somehow seemed pregnant with lust!

* * * *

I woke the next morning covered in one of John’s Navajo blankets. I threw it off to find myself naked and encrusted with dried c*m. I brushed it off, chuckling at how much fun it had been to get in this condition. John and I might not be “compatible,” but we still found a way to get it on.

I glanced up to spot him fully clothed and seeing to the needs of our animals. He glanced over as I rose and raised a hand when I reached for my britches. I paused and endured his glance.

“Gabacho, you one hell of a man.”

“I can say the same for you. My belly’s sore from the beating you gave it.”

“You think mine ain’t? Glad it worked out.”

“Me too, amigo.”

“So, what happens now?”

I pulled on my clothes as I answered. “I go on my way.”

“And where does that lead to?”

“One of these days I’ll amble into Huntsville.”

He screwed up one eye. “Not the place with the big walls?”

I laughed. “No, not the state pen, or at least I don’t plan on it. But the way my s*x life’s turned this past year, I can’t be too sure. No, Huntsville’s home. Where I was born and grew up.”

“I’m gonna remember you, man.”

“So will I. Never forget you.”

He smiled. “Someday, you gonna be going about your business, and you’ll hear a sheep bleat. You’ll look around, but there won’t be one. And you’ll know Slow Walker is thinking about you.”

“Slow Walker?”

“That’s my Navajo name. You the only white man in the world who knows it. Keep it close.”

“Nobody’ll hear it from me.”

I mounted Slick and turned his nose toward Deming. I knew from the quick way John bent to wrestle with Leech, he was feeling something. Me, I felt like there was a string with one end fastened to my belly button and the other to that sheep camp.

I hadn’t gone a mile before I heard it. The bleat of a sheep. And there wasn’t one in sight. I pulled up and looked back the way I’d come.

“I hear you John Billy…Slow Walker. I’m thinking of you too.”

I doffed my hat, adjusted my vest over my shirtless chest, and plodded on in the general direction of the great state of Texas.