CHAPTER 1
The Spot and the Star
"A carbon spot! What the hell is a carbon spot?" I ask. I knew I wasn'tgoing to like the answer ... and I could tell by Blackie's tone that itwasn't something you wanted to find in your Christmas stocking.
"It's this black deposit right here Rick ... see?" he answered, holdingthe ring at full arm extension. I'd always thought those diamond guysexamined the thing by holding it so close to their eyeball you couldn't geta thought in between.
"Yeah, I see the damn thing Blackie ... shoot, you can see the suckerfrom across the street! It looks like a picture of a solar-eclipse! I don't knowhow-the-hell I missed seeing it. Anyway ... is that good or bad?" I musthave been asking-for-practice because even I know that a `spot' ... of anycolor, on any gemstone, could only lessen its value unless you can wipe itoff with your handkerchief.
Blackie hesitates a second before saying ... "Well Rick, in this case, it'sactually good. At least it proves it really is an actual diamond." I thoughtI saw the glimmer of a chuckle in the back of his eyes. Prick! "This isn'tthe one you sent over for me to look at yesterday Rick ... the setting is thesame though."
Putting my hands on my hips and half turning away I say low andslow ... "That sorry son-of-a-bitch switched `em on me." Then turningback ... "Well, at least it's a real diamond ... so what do you think `Old-Carbon'here is worth?" This one is really for practice.
Pondering as if attempting to conceptualize the nature of infinity,Blackie replies ... "Well, it's hard to say Rick. I can't use it, but somebodymight give about two hundred for it. Maybe two and a half." Damn! WhenI sent it over to him yesterday ... he appraised it at seven thousand! NowI'm positive about seeing that chuckle in his eyes.
I grabbed the damned thing and half-walked, half-ran the block fromBlackie's jewelry shop, down Main Street to our offices in the Hotel Eagle.Fuming!
"That city-prick probably thinks he's away smooth," I mumble tomyself. "Well pal ... you went and screwed with the wrong cowboy! HereI go and try to help you out of a bind, it being so close to Christmas andall, and you're scamming me from the startin' gate. You're gonna be sorryyou ever set one foot in Eagle-by-god-Pass, Maverick County, Texas. Yourass is mine dude!" Still fuming, I slam my outer office door behind me.
I demanded justice! And uh ... maybe a little helping of revenge.
Mimi Garcia, my secretary, follows me through the reception area intomy office and informs me that there's the usual 236 people in the outer-officewaiting to see me and that I have 682 telephone calls to return. Buthey, good news ... only about 150 of them are important. Damn!
All I could think of at that instant was how cool that carbon-dude'sears were going to look mounted and hung next to those `giant' antelopehorns everybody claims I shot at the Petan Ranch in Marfa, Texas. ThePetan belonged to McLean Bowman, who at that time, was quite likelySouth Texas' `most-eligible-stud.' McLean was from San Antonio but couldusually be found at `Sugarland,' his home-ranch a few miles outside ofCarrizo Springs. He was our partner in various business ventures and hissister Beth is married to my brother Michael.
Now. I've long held that it was in fact, Michael and McLean who hadassassinated this innocent little creature ... then had the horns mountedand hung on my office wall ... and unselfishly awarded me the `honor ofthe kill.' They made a big-deal about it too.
"Pricks! I'll get around to them," I think to myself.
But damn ... the carbon-dude's ears would definitely look cool hangingin my office though. Real cool.
"Everybody waits Mimi ... hold all calls and send Rocky or W.C. tofind Jay Lewey and drag him and the sorry-ass story he's made up by now,down here right away," I say in a somewhat unpleasant manner. "Please,"I add ... in a feeble attempt to fend-off one of her `looks.' Oops ... too late.
Rocky Reagan was Michael's and my right and left hand ... and adamn good pair to have when there were cattle around ... and there alwayswere. And seeing to that was W.C. Butler, a lifelong family friend and myhead cattle-buyer in Mexico. In the winter and spring of 1975-1976 ... weimported over 120,000 head of live steer cattle and calves into the UnitedStates from Mexico. That's a lot of cattle ... but not near as many as thereare `true-stories' about W.C. Butler.
"And get me Grady Sessems in Del Rio on the phone. If he's not inthe office, find him. I don't care where he is or who he's with." Grady isdefinitely as cool of a stud as there is ... I'll see what he thinks. I walkedbehind my desk and Mimi goes about her tasks, completely unruffled asusual. I slump back in my chair, rocking slowly back and forth ... "Pal,we don't put up with this city-slicker crap in Maverick County. Man,you're not gonna need a lawyer ... you're gonna need a by-god-priestwhen I get my ..."
"Ricky, esta El Senor Sessems en la lina dos," Mimi's voice on theintercom breaks my trance.
"And Mimi, go next door and tell Dad, W.C., Rocky, and whoeverelse is in there, that this isn't a damn-bit funny. I can hear the gigglingthrough two walls! Hell, I was thinking about giving that ring to one ofthem for ..."
"Grady, listen, some sorry son-of-a-bitch just ..." I spin him the tale.We talk awhile, he's laughing his ass off, and I'm smoking from both ears.
"Rick, this guy's history ... a memory! You can barely describe him ...you got no real name ... no make or model of vehicle ... no address ... I'ma Ranger, not a psychic," Grady says still chuckling.
"I want this guy, Grady. I want him more than I wanted my date atthe senior prom ... look, we can ..."
"Okay, Rick, okay. I'll send you a man in the morning. He can practicedriving. And say Rick, if you don't want the ring with the spot, I have afella that ..." Whack ... I slam the receiver on its cradle!
"Smart-ass! Everybody's a by-god-comedian," I say to an emptyoffice ... "try to do a little somethin' nice for somebody and ... ah shit!"
It must have taken Grady about a minute to call Dad because thelaughing in his office went up about two octaves. Hell, everyone in townwithout a hearing problem laughed themselves damn near into a coma.Felipe, my yardman, had heard the story by the time I got home thatnight. At least he was genuinely concerned. He said that he had an unclein Monclova who made gold and silver colored rings ... cheap! Except forthe ones with the Virgin Mary ... they cost a little more!
"Gracias Felipe ... let me get back to you on that."
But Grady did deliver ...
The `star' rolled into Maverick County just after sun-up the next day ...pinned to the chest of ...
Arturo Rodriquez, Jr ... Texas Ranger!
CHAPTER 2
Stumps and Snakes
Our busiest time of the year ... if one makes a distinction betweenfourteen-hour days and seventeen-hour days ... were the wintermonths. This is the time of year when ranchers in the region wean theircalf crops and market them. Ranches in Northern Mexico, situated in thosestates allocated export permits, generally marketed their steer calves FOBthe Mexican side of the Rio Grande. Their destination being the UnitedStates. This, the winter of 1971-1972, was no exception. We were for manyyears one of the top two or three outfits in the country importing live beefcattle into the U.S.
I had to meet my brother Michael, then managing MaverickFeedyards ... a 50,000 head capacity commercial cattle-feeding complex ...at his office about ten miles south of Eagle Pass. Things would be wellunderway by 5:00 a.m... long before first-light.
It's difficult, even today, to drive through South Texas without thelandscape evoking visions of `The Old Days' ... a panorama of low rollinghills blanketed by mesquite and prickly pear (sometimes even grass) as faras the eye can see ... then further still. On a clear day the only thing thatblocks your view ... is the sky ...
South Texas – Brush Country.
It's a country with its own senses. Not senses that feel ... but sensesthat reach out and make you feel. The wind carries its own scent ... thesoil and growth, its own touch ... the water, its own taste ... the country,its own special sight ... mile after endless mile. The country has its owntemperament ... its own rules ... its own codes. But more importantly ...it has its own heart. Stern and rigid, yet forgiving. Foreboding, yet notunfriendly. Un-breaking, even un-bending ... but accommodatingequally ... all who accept and understand. But most of all, a heart that'slonesome ... but not sad. A comfortable lonesomeness that understands ...those who understand.
God, I miss it so. Sometimes I even feel it misses me.
It's rather like entertaining the memory of a past love ... althoughperhaps not unrequited ... one certainly unfulfilled. A pleasurable-torment.
So. The real South Texas ... nothing north of Loop 1604 around SanAntonio ... and damn sure not `The Texas Hill Country' with its inch-deepsoil that takes about 376 acres to run one measly sheep and deer thatbelong in a petting-zoo. Not the deserts of `West Texas' that evoke visionsof Lawrence of Arabia ... and not the windswept-flatland of the `TexasPanhandle' that evokes visions of Oklahoma. Not the rice-fields and piney-woodsof `East Texas' with miles of Christmas trees and stock-farms ... Inever knew if they were really stock-farms or egret-ranches with a fewBrahma cows ... and certainly not `North Texas' that evokes memories ofwhere-the-hell-ever it was you just came from!
Jokes aside, all of these regions of Texas have their own beauty, history,folklore, and heroes ... but the country does not summon images of `TheOld West' ... of `Cowboys and Cattle Drives' ... `Gunfighters and FrontierJustice' ... of `Outlaws and Texas Rangers'!
Now. The `South Texas' in the minds of those of us raised and doingbusiness on both sides of the Rio Grande, includes a large portion ofNorthern Mexico. The northern-half of Coahuila and parts of NuevoLeon and Tamalipas. More or less, the country outlined by a line drawnfrom San Antonio to Del Rio, Texas ... southwest to Torreón, Coahuila ...then east to Monterrey, Nuevo Leon, and on to the gulf coast ... thennorth to Victoria, Texas ... and west back to San Antonio. There were fewsignificant differences in the people's day-to-day problems, objectives, andsocial-interactions, when compared to the rest of Texas. The differencesthat one contended with on a day-to-day basis, were governmental rulesand regulations decided upon by someone else, far away, and for the mostpart ... simply ignored. One needed to travel `inland' so to speak ... for `real'differences to manifest themselves.
The South Texas I was raised in, was `The Old West,' albeit the lastvestiges of it, its images part of everyday life. It was a long trip betweengas-stations ... a bottle of whiskey ... or a woman. And it took long enoughto get anywhere ... that a fella would be needing a little of all three uponarrival.
At Michael's office, the coffee was ready. Our meeting went as planned,reviewing yesterday's events and preparing the current day's activities.Noticeable to me was the fact that not once did Michael mention or alludeto my `personal business transaction' of the previous day. Nor did he inquireas to my newly acquired gemstone ... now and forever-after affectionatelyreferred to as ... `Old Carbon.' I knew he was `saving-it-up.' From thevantage point of his raised office, overlooking the entire feedlot complex,one could see groups of three or four men, one pointing at his ring-finger,then at the office, and the listeners doubling-over from laughter.
This distasteful topic arose only when Othella Germer came in witha tray of coffee and asked if I wanted cream in mine or, just black ...like carbon! Othella could get away with this ... or anything else for thatmatter ... because she had been with me since day-one and knew moreabout our combined and often complex businesses than anyone. She wasthe stereo-typical ... omni-efficient ... office-manager/executive-secretary ...that totally indispensable cog in a gigantic wheel. Only then did Michaelcomment on the matter. He very thoughtfully reminded me that carbonwas an actual chemical building-block of life on earth ... and that wearinga diamond with a carbon deposit of that magnitude could actually beviewed as making a profound social-statement on life ... culture ... and thecurrent human condition. Yeah right ... thanks Bro.
My sister Rebel, operated the computer in the feedlot-office ... oneof the old-time computers that cost over $30,000 and took up as muchroom as a Buick station-wagon ... and her husband Chad Foster, whowas yard-foreman, were in the coffee room downstairs, and as I walkedpast the door, I could hear muffled-laughter from within. Then Rebelsticks her head out from behind the door, smiles and waves ... "Bye,Bubba!"
And really fake man. Do they think I can't tell they're making fun ofme?
I just keep walking.
Chad is now Mayor of Eagle Pass and Honorary Presidente of NorthernCoahuila! (I jest with respect to the latter title. Sort-of.)
Now. My younger brother Michael was always known as the levelheadedHarper brother. Always cool, calm, patient, even-tempered,analytical ... you know, as opposed to the brother who could ... perhaps ...at times ... be prone to be somewhat uh ... overly-enthusiastic.
As kids, if Mike and I happened upon an unfamiliar swimming hole,I'd say ... "looks wet to me" ... and dive-in. Bro would check it out ... fortemperature, stumps, snakes, etc ... then wade-in slowly and out-swim you.
Consequently, Michael avoided collisions with underwater-obstacles and`got-snake-bit' less frequently than did I. Now, if a particular swimminghole was deep and devoid of snakes and stumps ... I could go deeper andswim faster than most ... and occasionally make it look-good. However, ifthe reverse were the case ... well, that's where all these bumps on my headcame from ... and those snake bites hurt like hell! Sometimes the pain wasworth it ... sometimes it wasn't.
Michael was a natural athlete, a four-sport letterman. He shouldhave received a fifth letter for not ever getting caught for any `youthfulshenanigans' and avoiding stumps and snakes! Besides, with me swimminghell-bent for leather, all he had to do was swim around those stumps andsnakes with which I would occasionally collide. So even if you dove in firstand could swim faster ... you seldom reached the finish-line first ... and ifthe swim was for distance, you didn't have a chance.
(Hum ... seems as if there's a `life-lesson' in there somewhere, huh?)
It was breaking day so I had to get to my office in town. But as I droveaway from the feedlot office, I extended my arm out of the driver's sidewindow ... and affectionately showed Michael my finger ...
The long one, adjacent to my ... `Old-Carbon-Finger!'
CHAPTER 3
The Meeting and the Tale
The entrances to our offices in the Hotel Eagle were on the east side ofthe hotel building, directly across the street from the west side of thecounty courthouse and jail, facing Maverick County Sheriff Bean Salinas'soffice. After I'd parked and was about to enter my office, I noticed a manentering Bean's office. I caught no more than a glimpse and only from therear ... but I knew immediately he was the Ranger Grady had sent down.
Now. There is no simple way to describe certain individuals, or typesof individuals, that from the instant you see them ... there is no doubtwhatever as who and what they are. I mean it could be through a pair ofbinoculars in the next time-zone! A Texas Ranger is the quintessentialexample of such an individual. He could be playing the piano in a NewOrleans whorehouse, wearing a bathing-suit, boots and hat ... but theinstant you see him, you just-know ... that is a Texas Ranger!
The adjectives one could apply are many ... aura, quality, air, presence,bearing, style, demeanor, manner, etc., ad-nauseam. The Rangers doindeed have this `stuff' ... but this description is still inadequate because ...although these men do possess these traits, the `stuff' which I'm attemptingto characterize ... there is no word for. If there is I do not know it ... nor isit in the dictionary!
An unexplainable, intangible, quality-of-being ... that not onlysets them apart from other men ... but precisely identifies them as ...Texas-by-god-Rangers!
