The following day found Paul arriving early at Albert Hyak’s office in his very elegant building.
Albert was at the open door when Paul came down the hall.
“Good morning Paul! I hope the brisk weather is beneficial for you!”
“Good morning Albert! You look bright eyed and bushy tailed!”
Coffee was waiting on the desk with two hot cups on a silver serving tray.
The two men sipped their coffee.
“Very good,” said Paul.
“So tell me about your trip to your new property,” said Albert.
“I think it is promising. There is apparently a large, deep cavern on the place. I didn’t get a chance to look at it.”
“Yes, you told me of your ordeal there! Take your time, get healthy before you go back.”
“I am doing fine. I will make another trip soon. There are some problems with the place though. There is a group of people, squatters really, that live there and cultivate the place and run the cattle and just carry on the business of the ranch. They’ve been doing it for a number of years apparently,” said Paul.
“Why they will just have to go! Can’t have them about…”
Paul replied “It’s not that simple. They are known in the community and causing a sudden disruption of those families could draw unwanted attention. We need to think about this.”
“Hmmm,” grunted Albert. “I see what you mean. Well, what do we do?”
I am working on it,” Paul said, though he was momentarily perplexed. But he would never let that be known.
“There is no big hurry right now, things are still settling down here. The new administration hasn’t got going yet and we need to bide our time a little while anyway,” said Albert.
So for the next few weeks Paul returned to business. As he expected it looked like a good year already. He had laid a solid groundwork in his various enterprises and stocked the company leaderships with men he had known for years, and then their sons.
He had a far flung business empire with gasoline retail outlets, transport, refineries, drilling companies, exploration companies, geologist, the works, a fully integrated business model in petroleum.
He was fond of saying that his organization “ran like a well oiled machine!” He had a poor sense of humor but he found his weak pun hilarious.
His companies were autonomous. Their CEO’s and boards had full responsibility for their operations and shared handsomely in the good times and rode out leaner times, of which there had been few lately.
Paul did keep a sharp eye on things. He knew what was going on in his companies. When he found something going wrong he acted quickly. He was known to richly reward good management and accomplishments. He was also known to be ruthless and relentless when he found something he had to fix.
At the moment he was concentrating on his facilities at Oak Ridge and Yucca Flats. There was a surplus of radioactive waste building up in their lead lined under ground silos. This added extra urgency to his Waste Not, Want Not plan.
After a long day Paul decided to go home and relax for a change and maybe go to bed early. He fixed a quick dinner, poured a drink and watched the news before he went to bed.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Waste Not, Want Not Chapter XIV
There was one party Paul would not miss. The night of the biggest wing ding he found himself at the must attend affair at the Cohen House, with the dowager heiress Dolly Cohen as the hostess.
Dolly was the descendant of a prominent Jewish family whose ancestor was among the small number of Jews among the founding fathers.
Dolly had been a social maven since the days of Camelot, Jackie and J.F.K. She was not partisan. She paid homage to whoever was in power at the moment. But she knew everybody and everybody
came to her parties. And she knew how to throw a party.
Paul stood in the crowded drawing room sipping a martini and surveying the party goers. He had renewed his acquaintances with the President, Vice-President Cheney and had met some of the cabinet members he did not know.
The swing jazz band was playing and he was looking for someone. Then he saw Albert Hyak. Albert was a tall, distinguished man with grey beginning to frost his curly dark hair. He was of a Lebanese family, very wealthy and with contacts worldwide. Albert saw Paul also and walked to him.
“Paul! Glad you are back home!” Albert extended his right hand for a hearty handshake. “Let’s go outside where we can talk.” With that the two walked out onto a terrace which was dark except for the moonlight.
“So tell me where you’ve been.”
“Well, it’s good to be home,” said Paul. “Albert, I was on a bit of a hunting trip, and I looked at a possible useful site for WN2.” (WN2 was the abbreviation of the code name Waste Not Want Not.)
Albert was one of them, the Defenders. Paul was the founder.
The Defenders was a group of wealthy, influential and powerful men who shared certain viewpoints. So much did they believe in the correctness of their vision and of their agendas they were willing to go to extraordinary lengths to maintain near total secrecy, not only their actions but even about their very existence.
These men shared a virulent hatred of communism, they were still locked in the cold war and were not convinced it was over.
They also looked upon themselves as those best able to guide the world to a future they envisioned as best. They were strong American nationalists, they would call themselves “patriots,” but they were not fond of Jeffersonian democracy.
They had formed an organization to secretly store nuclear materials, bombs, components, fissionable materials, technology and equipment and any thing they thought might be necessary to jump start the nuclear capability at short notice.
It was apparent that the inventories and oversight of the overall programs were amazingly lax and amazingly easy to circumvent.
The Defenders had no trust in the new Russian democracy, they felt it was just a matter of time before a resurgence of the communists, or something worse, once again took over the reins of the Russian government.
They were also very much afraid of rising Chinese power. They continued to refer to the Chinese as the “Red Chinese.”
In their opinion many secret defense projects which had been abandoned were worth keeping and developing. So they combined their vast combination of wealth, influence, power and experience into creating something approaching an under ground government ready to step in if events, as they saw them, required it.
The Defenders said they were saving for a "rainy day.”
Their program carried the code name “Waste Not, Want Not!”
Dolly was the descendant of a prominent Jewish family whose ancestor was among the small number of Jews among the founding fathers.
Dolly had been a social maven since the days of Camelot, Jackie and J.F.K. She was not partisan. She paid homage to whoever was in power at the moment. But she knew everybody and everybody
came to her parties. And she knew how to throw a party.
Paul stood in the crowded drawing room sipping a martini and surveying the party goers. He had renewed his acquaintances with the President, Vice-President Cheney and had met some of the cabinet members he did not know.
The swing jazz band was playing and he was looking for someone. Then he saw Albert Hyak. Albert was a tall, distinguished man with grey beginning to frost his curly dark hair. He was of a Lebanese family, very wealthy and with contacts worldwide. Albert saw Paul also and walked to him.
“Paul! Glad you are back home!” Albert extended his right hand for a hearty handshake. “Let’s go outside where we can talk.” With that the two walked out onto a terrace which was dark except for the moonlight.
“So tell me where you’ve been.”
“Well, it’s good to be home,” said Paul. “Albert, I was on a bit of a hunting trip, and I looked at a possible useful site for WN2.” (WN2 was the abbreviation of the code name Waste Not Want Not.)
Albert was one of them, the Defenders. Paul was the founder.
The Defenders was a group of wealthy, influential and powerful men who shared certain viewpoints. So much did they believe in the correctness of their vision and of their agendas they were willing to go to extraordinary lengths to maintain near total secrecy, not only their actions but even about their very existence.
These men shared a virulent hatred of communism, they were still locked in the cold war and were not convinced it was over.
They also looked upon themselves as those best able to guide the world to a future they envisioned as best. They were strong American nationalists, they would call themselves “patriots,” but they were not fond of Jeffersonian democracy.
They had formed an organization to secretly store nuclear materials, bombs, components, fissionable materials, technology and equipment and any thing they thought might be necessary to jump start the nuclear capability at short notice.
It was apparent that the inventories and oversight of the overall programs were amazingly lax and amazingly easy to circumvent.
The Defenders had no trust in the new Russian democracy, they felt it was just a matter of time before a resurgence of the communists, or something worse, once again took over the reins of the Russian government.
They were also very much afraid of rising Chinese power. They continued to refer to the Chinese as the “Red Chinese.”
In their opinion many secret defense projects which had been abandoned were worth keeping and developing. So they combined their vast combination of wealth, influence, power and experience into creating something approaching an under ground government ready to step in if events, as they saw them, required it.
The Defenders said they were saving for a "rainy day.”
Their program carried the code name “Waste Not, Want Not!”
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Waste Not, Want Not Chapter I
January 8, 2001
“Ring! Ring!”
The telephone began to ring in this luxury bedroom suite in the Reagan Arms International Hotel, Washington.
Emerging from the bathroom quickly, and wiping his face with a towel, a trim man, fit for his mid seventies, wearing a silk brocade bath robe with his monogram embroidered over his chest, tripped over the Persian footstool as he hurried to answer the phone.
"Damn!" he cursed, and kicked the offending furniture out of his way as he hurriedly rushed toward the phone.
Suddenly the door from the adjoining room was flung ajar and in rushed a large, athletic man, causally dressed but clutching the handle of his automatic pistol still in its exposed shoulder holster.
"Is everything OK Mr. Hewlett? I heard the racket in here." "Fine Conrad. Leave me alone right now, I think this is the important phone call I have been expecting."
"Yes sir." Said Conrad as he backed out the door.
He picked up the phone and said "Yes?"
A soft female voice with a strong Texas accent asked "Is this Mr. Paul Hewlett? It is? Wonderful. I'm Senator Grimm’s secretary, please go ahead Senator."
"Hello Paul." Said the voice on the other end of the phone. "How in the world are you doing?"
The Senator continued. "Happy New Year by the way, I’m a little bit late. It's always good to hear from you. Listen Paul, I'm calling about that matter we discussed. The timing could not be better. Since the President elect’s victory in the election has been confirmed I think we will be able to move ahead on that project. Of course the President elect knows nothing about this but I have it
on solid background that we will have some of our people well placed in the new administration. This little program of yours might slip through totally unnoticed."
Paul asked "How about EPA clearance?"
'That's no problem for now." The senator replied. "The EPA director designate will be someone on our side. Of course this is a 'black project' and no one in EPA knows what this is really about. Once you have your clearance it is likely no one will ever look into it. In any case I would suggest you get your groundwork started as soon as possible. I still believe in the project and I believe that it is important for national security."
"Good. That's good." Said Paul. "Your help in this matter is really appreciated Bill. And give the President my congratulations. I've known him since he was a boy, you know. His dad and I go way back. And, as always, you can count on my support when you're up for re-election I am sure we can put together some successful fund raisers."
Paul continued. "I'm going down to Texas tomorrow. I'll be going out to that property we purchased and I'll be looking it over and checking into the local details. I'll officially be on vacation and I'm just going out in the boonies. We're keeping a tight lid on this thing. I'll call you if I have any big problems but it looks like everything is all set up for the moment. Thanks again."
"Glad to be of help Paul, 'bye now." Responded the senator as he hung up.
Paul Hewlett sat there for a reflective moment. He was a self assured man, disciplined, correct. He brought a high level of intensity into all of his activities. He enjoys the game and he likes to win. He was used to winning. He was a star athlete at Annapolis, a decorated naval officer in the war and Korea. He resigned his commission in 1955 and threw himself into his family's businesses, oil, gas, chemicals, and later, nuclear energy. The family company, HEWCO, was now a world wide conglomerate whose subsidiaries had subsidiaries. Paul had for some time been the firebrand in the company and had held the chairmanship for twenty years.
Paul sat down at the large oaken desk and opened his laptop computer and flipped on the switch. His computer was a limited edition designed to accommodate high security protection against hackers, viruses and eaves dropping. He inserted a special safe-secure program. A DOD security clearance is necessary to possess or use these programs. This system supposedly offers bug proof communications and transmissions systems.
He punched in some ID numbers and immediately raised a screen prompt that flashed "Warning" on the screen. The screen then displayed this message. "Use of this program without proper authorization is a felony. Enter proper entrance code sequence within 15 seconds or alarm signals will activate in F.B.I. and D.O.D. computer banks."
Paul entered the correct sequence.
The screen then displayed "Enter code words."
He typed the words "Waste Not, Want Not."
The screen responded "Access granted. Have a nice day."
He then keyed the transmission sending program which put him direct contact with his private office computer. Only his private secretary, who has a high security clearance, has access to this computer. She also knows his computer codes, or some of his computer codes.
He typed "Green light on project. I'm going on vacation tomorrow. Unless something comes up I'll contact the office again sometime next week."
He transmitted the message and a reply came up on the screen. “Message received, have a good trip."
He got up and walked over to the window and looked out over Washington. His room gave a view of The Mall, full of hustling, bustling people seemingly oblivious to the many webs of intrigue and influence being spun over the city. He was satisfied things were going well. He liked how it felt.
“Ring! Ring!”
The telephone began to ring in this luxury bedroom suite in the Reagan Arms International Hotel, Washington.
Emerging from the bathroom quickly, and wiping his face with a towel, a trim man, fit for his mid seventies, wearing a silk brocade bath robe with his monogram embroidered over his chest, tripped over the Persian footstool as he hurried to answer the phone.
"Damn!" he cursed, and kicked the offending furniture out of his way as he hurriedly rushed toward the phone.
Suddenly the door from the adjoining room was flung ajar and in rushed a large, athletic man, causally dressed but clutching the handle of his automatic pistol still in its exposed shoulder holster.
"Is everything OK Mr. Hewlett? I heard the racket in here." "Fine Conrad. Leave me alone right now, I think this is the important phone call I have been expecting."
"Yes sir." Said Conrad as he backed out the door.
He picked up the phone and said "Yes?"
A soft female voice with a strong Texas accent asked "Is this Mr. Paul Hewlett? It is? Wonderful. I'm Senator Grimm’s secretary, please go ahead Senator."
"Hello Paul." Said the voice on the other end of the phone. "How in the world are you doing?"
The Senator continued. "Happy New Year by the way, I’m a little bit late. It's always good to hear from you. Listen Paul, I'm calling about that matter we discussed. The timing could not be better. Since the President elect’s victory in the election has been confirmed I think we will be able to move ahead on that project. Of course the President elect knows nothing about this but I have it
on solid background that we will have some of our people well placed in the new administration. This little program of yours might slip through totally unnoticed."
Paul asked "How about EPA clearance?"
'That's no problem for now." The senator replied. "The EPA director designate will be someone on our side. Of course this is a 'black project' and no one in EPA knows what this is really about. Once you have your clearance it is likely no one will ever look into it. In any case I would suggest you get your groundwork started as soon as possible. I still believe in the project and I believe that it is important for national security."
"Good. That's good." Said Paul. "Your help in this matter is really appreciated Bill. And give the President my congratulations. I've known him since he was a boy, you know. His dad and I go way back. And, as always, you can count on my support when you're up for re-election I am sure we can put together some successful fund raisers."
Paul continued. "I'm going down to Texas tomorrow. I'll be going out to that property we purchased and I'll be looking it over and checking into the local details. I'll officially be on vacation and I'm just going out in the boonies. We're keeping a tight lid on this thing. I'll call you if I have any big problems but it looks like everything is all set up for the moment. Thanks again."
"Glad to be of help Paul, 'bye now." Responded the senator as he hung up.
Paul Hewlett sat there for a reflective moment. He was a self assured man, disciplined, correct. He brought a high level of intensity into all of his activities. He enjoys the game and he likes to win. He was used to winning. He was a star athlete at Annapolis, a decorated naval officer in the war and Korea. He resigned his commission in 1955 and threw himself into his family's businesses, oil, gas, chemicals, and later, nuclear energy. The family company, HEWCO, was now a world wide conglomerate whose subsidiaries had subsidiaries. Paul had for some time been the firebrand in the company and had held the chairmanship for twenty years.
Paul sat down at the large oaken desk and opened his laptop computer and flipped on the switch. His computer was a limited edition designed to accommodate high security protection against hackers, viruses and eaves dropping. He inserted a special safe-secure program. A DOD security clearance is necessary to possess or use these programs. This system supposedly offers bug proof communications and transmissions systems.
He punched in some ID numbers and immediately raised a screen prompt that flashed "Warning" on the screen. The screen then displayed this message. "Use of this program without proper authorization is a felony. Enter proper entrance code sequence within 15 seconds or alarm signals will activate in F.B.I. and D.O.D. computer banks."
Paul entered the correct sequence.
The screen then displayed "Enter code words."
He typed the words "Waste Not, Want Not."
The screen responded "Access granted. Have a nice day."
He then keyed the transmission sending program which put him direct contact with his private office computer. Only his private secretary, who has a high security clearance, has access to this computer. She also knows his computer codes, or some of his computer codes.
He typed "Green light on project. I'm going on vacation tomorrow. Unless something comes up I'll contact the office again sometime next week."
He transmitted the message and a reply came up on the screen. “Message received, have a good trip."
He got up and walked over to the window and looked out over Washington. His room gave a view of The Mall, full of hustling, bustling people seemingly oblivious to the many webs of intrigue and influence being spun over the city. He was satisfied things were going well. He liked how it felt.
WNWNchapII
“Conrad!” shouted Paul. Conrad entered. Tall, muscular, Conrad was well in his middle age years with graying hair, cut military style. Conrad was a SEAL in his two hitches in ‘Nam. He was awarded the Navy Cross there. Conrad had worked his way to the top of Diamondback Security. Diamondback was Paul’s military wing. Diamondback was a hired gun, primarily escorting and protecting high risk targets, securing sensitive sites and just about any kind of activity requiring armed, well trained military specialists.
Now he was Paul’s bodyguard, right hand man, confidant, friend. Paul realized that he sometimes transferred his paternal feelings onto Conrad. For his part Conrad felt extreme loyalty to Paul. Paul had given Conrad an opportunity to rebuild a life nearly wrecked by divorces, bankruptcy, alcohol. Conrad liked his job.
“Conrad, I’m going to go down to Texas tomorrow. I’ll travel by myself. I’ve booked a flight under an assumed name. I want you to come down two days behind me and get a room in Kingsville. Just sit tight and I’ll call you on your cell phone when I am ready or if I need you.”
“Got it.” said Conrad. “I’ve got everything we might need taken care of and I’ll be ready.”
“Good,” said Paul. “I know I can always count on you.”
The next day he flew to Houston, after a three hour layover, switched planes and flew into Corpus Christi. His flight had not been full and it took him no time to find his single bag in the luggage. He had carried his lap top with him on the plane in an attache case.
Paul looked the part of a professional business man but he was not ostentatious. His suits were refined but modest. He wore dark glasses. No one really paid much attention to him when he
WNWN chap 1 pg 2
traveled and rarely did anyone recognize him. That was how he liked it.
At the car rental he picked up the keys to a 4WD Blazer and
asked the clerk for a few directions. They brought the truck around and off he went.
Paul did not go into Corpus Christi. Instead he followed the
directions on a map he carried. He took back roads to Kingsville where he hit 77 and turned south. Paul knew this area. His family had been doing business in Texas for nearly seventy years, and hell, he had been there for over half of it! He had been all over this state. His company still had interests here but not as much as it once did.
He was not going to any of those businesses however, something new was being developed.
Paul was “officially” on vacation, going hunting out in the wilds. To all appearances he was going to spend some time on a new property he had recently purchased. He intended to do some hunting and relaxing but that was not his sole purpose.
In Kingsville he drove to a storage rental and backed up to a shed. He opened the door and inside was a U Haul trailer which he hooked up quickly and then pulled back out onto the road. He stopped for a quick lunch at a diner and then drove out of town, still headed south.
Basically the land here was flat. Sometimes there would be a gentle rise or a slight swell to the contour of the land, but mostly it was flat. He passed acres of farmland, now under the plow and being readied for next year’s planting. Cotton and sorghum were the biggest crops here. Interspersed among the farmlands were great areas of grazing lands covered with stocky cattle.
There was yet another aspect of the local economy readily in
WNWN chap I pg 3
evidence. Oil and gas wells were scattered, seemingly at random, throughout much of the countryside. Occasionally he saw some
sort of service rig at a well head and he passed a drilling rig eagerly digging down into the ground. “The energy industry isn’t entirely dead here,” he thought. It was definitely making a comeback with the present higher prices for gas and oil.
Paul liked it down here. There was lots of room, it was an uncomplicated place. To him the mesquite tree symbolized this
part of the country. It was tough, gnarled, but no matter what man or the seasons did it always thrived. Many large sections of the land remained uncleared. These areas were often kept in their natural state to be used as deer leases. On these sites mesquite was thick, and here and there large stands of prickly pear cactus were sprinkled amidst the dry grass. Where such natural cover existed wildlife was abundant. White tail deer, turkey, javelina, a very peculiar looking wild pig with a poor disposition, and diamond back rattlesnakes were a few of the many creatures that made their home in the bush.
He had turned off of highway 77 many miles back and now following a map which showed him the route to follow to the new property. These back roads were narrow but good. He met little traffic. He made another turn and noted on his map that he was to drive eight more miles ‘till he reached the gate of the property. He was definitely out in the boonies.
The sun was going down with a brilliant display of red light reflecting from the clouds. “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” Paul said to himself.
Soon he reached the gate he was seeking. Steel letters perched on a steel arch over the gate read “El Rancho De La Rosa.“ It was a typical affair for these parts, made of welded steel pipe with a thick pipe housing covering the lock to prevent any tampering. He pulled to a
WNWN chap I pg 4
stop well back from the gate and got out of the Blazer. He stepped
over the cattle guard, which is a ditch with a framework of pipes laid over it, and unlocked the gate and swung it open. He then drove through the gate, got back out of the truck and closed the gate, locking it.
Now he was on his new property. The place was vast. As he drove in over the rough dirt road, down here this road surface was called “caliche,” no man made structure, not even another fence, was in sight. The land was once largely pasture but it was beginning to be reclaimed by brush and mesquite.
Now he was Paul’s bodyguard, right hand man, confidant, friend. Paul realized that he sometimes transferred his paternal feelings onto Conrad. For his part Conrad felt extreme loyalty to Paul. Paul had given Conrad an opportunity to rebuild a life nearly wrecked by divorces, bankruptcy, alcohol. Conrad liked his job.
“Conrad, I’m going to go down to Texas tomorrow. I’ll travel by myself. I’ve booked a flight under an assumed name. I want you to come down two days behind me and get a room in Kingsville. Just sit tight and I’ll call you on your cell phone when I am ready or if I need you.”
“Got it.” said Conrad. “I’ve got everything we might need taken care of and I’ll be ready.”
“Good,” said Paul. “I know I can always count on you.”
The next day he flew to Houston, after a three hour layover, switched planes and flew into Corpus Christi. His flight had not been full and it took him no time to find his single bag in the luggage. He had carried his lap top with him on the plane in an attache case.
Paul looked the part of a professional business man but he was not ostentatious. His suits were refined but modest. He wore dark glasses. No one really paid much attention to him when he
WNWN chap 1 pg 2
traveled and rarely did anyone recognize him. That was how he liked it.
At the car rental he picked up the keys to a 4WD Blazer and
asked the clerk for a few directions. They brought the truck around and off he went.
Paul did not go into Corpus Christi. Instead he followed the
directions on a map he carried. He took back roads to Kingsville where he hit 77 and turned south. Paul knew this area. His family had been doing business in Texas for nearly seventy years, and hell, he had been there for over half of it! He had been all over this state. His company still had interests here but not as much as it once did.
He was not going to any of those businesses however, something new was being developed.
Paul was “officially” on vacation, going hunting out in the wilds. To all appearances he was going to spend some time on a new property he had recently purchased. He intended to do some hunting and relaxing but that was not his sole purpose.
In Kingsville he drove to a storage rental and backed up to a shed. He opened the door and inside was a U Haul trailer which he hooked up quickly and then pulled back out onto the road. He stopped for a quick lunch at a diner and then drove out of town, still headed south.
Basically the land here was flat. Sometimes there would be a gentle rise or a slight swell to the contour of the land, but mostly it was flat. He passed acres of farmland, now under the plow and being readied for next year’s planting. Cotton and sorghum were the biggest crops here. Interspersed among the farmlands were great areas of grazing lands covered with stocky cattle.
There was yet another aspect of the local economy readily in
WNWN chap I pg 3
evidence. Oil and gas wells were scattered, seemingly at random, throughout much of the countryside. Occasionally he saw some
sort of service rig at a well head and he passed a drilling rig eagerly digging down into the ground. “The energy industry isn’t entirely dead here,” he thought. It was definitely making a comeback with the present higher prices for gas and oil.
Paul liked it down here. There was lots of room, it was an uncomplicated place. To him the mesquite tree symbolized this
part of the country. It was tough, gnarled, but no matter what man or the seasons did it always thrived. Many large sections of the land remained uncleared. These areas were often kept in their natural state to be used as deer leases. On these sites mesquite was thick, and here and there large stands of prickly pear cactus were sprinkled amidst the dry grass. Where such natural cover existed wildlife was abundant. White tail deer, turkey, javelina, a very peculiar looking wild pig with a poor disposition, and diamond back rattlesnakes were a few of the many creatures that made their home in the bush.
He had turned off of highway 77 many miles back and now following a map which showed him the route to follow to the new property. These back roads were narrow but good. He met little traffic. He made another turn and noted on his map that he was to drive eight more miles ‘till he reached the gate of the property. He was definitely out in the boonies.
The sun was going down with a brilliant display of red light reflecting from the clouds. “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” Paul said to himself.
Soon he reached the gate he was seeking. Steel letters perched on a steel arch over the gate read “El Rancho De La Rosa.“ It was a typical affair for these parts, made of welded steel pipe with a thick pipe housing covering the lock to prevent any tampering. He pulled to a
WNWN chap I pg 4
stop well back from the gate and got out of the Blazer. He stepped
over the cattle guard, which is a ditch with a framework of pipes laid over it, and unlocked the gate and swung it open. He then drove through the gate, got back out of the truck and closed the gate, locking it.
Now he was on his new property. The place was vast. As he drove in over the rough dirt road, down here this road surface was called “caliche,” no man made structure, not even another fence, was in sight. The land was once largely pasture but it was beginning to be reclaimed by brush and mesquite.
Waste Not, Want Not, Chapter III
According to the map he was to drive for nine miles till he came to the ranch house, which had been remodeled and restored to tip top condition.
As he topped a rise a number of ram shackle houses came into view. Several had smoke curling slowly skyward from their chimneys. No people were in sight but a faint light flickered within each building. They looked well lived in. In the fading sunlight he could make out the outline of two large gardens, each lush with various kinds of crops.
A little further down the road he came by a barn and he could see horses. And he saw cattle here and there as he continued. That wasn’t all. There were fields that had been harvested in recent weeks, some of cotton and of some sorghum, he guessed by the detritus left on scene.
“Squatters!” he uttered to himself. “This surely complicates matters.”
The road wound its way through some large patches of brush and followed a creek bed. The shacks were soon out of sight. Before long he came to the ranch house.
It was a fairly large house, unassuming from the outside. There was a night light on over the porch which was partly enclosed and screened in and ran all the way around the house. The one story structure was raised from the ground on four foot piers and the skirt around the bottom was covered over with wood siding matching the wall exterior. Paul pulled to a stop and went into his new house for the first time.
He was excited and anxious to see the interior. He turned on the light and was pleased with what he saw. The living room was
WNWN chap III pg 2
large and spacious with high ceilings. The floor was hardwood with a few throw rugs from exotic locales. The walls were adorned with a few of Paul’s many hunting trophies, the head of a lion, shot in Kenya, a jaguar taken in Brazil, an elk from Alaska and others. The wall siding looked like the interior of a log cabin. It was actually 2x6’s which milled down to a half round shape and then installed. There was a large stone fireplace, a big screen TV (of course there was dish outside.) The kitchen adjoined the living room and was well appointed with modern appliances. There were three bedrooms and two baths. All in all, a very comfortable country home.
It wasn’t late so Paul decided to fix something to eat and relax for a while. He was troubled by the people obviously living on the land. “Who the hell are they?” he wondered. “I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
He opened the refrigerator and peered in. Everything he had specified was in there, orange juice, milk, vegetables,, dark Heineken, fruit, plain yogurt and others of his favorite foods. He looked in the pantry and found it well stocked, as was the liquor cabinet. He selected an entree from his stockpile of frozen dinners and popped it into the microwave. From the liquor cabinet he took a bottle of Tanqueray gin and a bottle of Schweppes tonic water and mixed himself a strong drink with a twist of lime.
After he had eaten he sat down in the plush recliner and had another drink and just took it easy. He wanted to get a feel for the place. Though it would soon be Thanksgiving the weather wasn’t cold at all. He had opened several windows and felt a soft, cool breeze blowing in from the south east. He didn’t turn on the TV or the stereo, he just wanted to listen to the silence.
Through the windows he could see the dark shadows cast by
WNWN Chap III Pg 3
the many oak and mesquite trees and he listened to the soft sighs as the wind rustled through the branches and stirred the tall grass. The moon was now high in the night sky and sometimes broke through the scattered cloud cover which streamed by at an amazing rate. This alternative silver light and darkness cast an unearthly aspect on the fantastic shapes created by the twisted branches and clumps of leaves.
His mood turned somber as he sat there watching the night sky. He thought about the fact that his family wouldn’t even know where he was. “They really don’t care anyway,” he thought.
He and his wife were long divorced. She had been well taken care of in their divorce settlement, had been re-married and then widowed. She was now quite well off.
His daughter was somewhere in Washington state, living with a worthless boyfriend and a bunch of old hippies. They had been estranged for a longtime but she still received an annual payment from her substantial trust fund. “No, they probably won’t think about me at all,” he thought.
Now his son and he had been close but he was gone too. He had followed in his father’s footsteps and graduated from Annapolis and gone into the Navy as a gunnery officer. “Paul Jr. What a good looking man he had been!” But he was gone, killed in Vietnam on board the cruiser Newport News when it suffered a massive explosion in one of its gun turrets. “That useless goddamn war!” he cursed. Soon he regained his self control. He had already grieved enough for his son and it was long in the past.
Paul didn’t allow himself to feel self pity or maudlin sentimentality for long. He didn’t get where he was by being weak.
WNWN chap III pg 4
There was no place in his life for anything but self reliance. He scorned religion and practiced a form of social and economic Darwinism in his private and business life. Though he certainly did not think much of far eastern spirituality he did have his own form of meditation, something he had arrived at on his own however, not from any study or TM sessions.
Paul practiced this now as he sat in his easy chair. He harnessed his iron will and shut off his mind, his internal dialogue with himself. He had found that when he did this it put his mind at rest and he opened himself to the world as it existed for him. It helped him to absorb his surroundings, to feel what might be confronting him. He would remain in this state until he either fell asleep or roused himself for some purpose.
So tonight Paul went into his meditative state, he wouldn’t describe it as a trance, and took in his surroundings. Soon he found that he just couldn’t maintain it. “What’s wrong tonight?” he wondered. He felt nervous and apprehensive. “Must be those squatters that is bothering me.” He decided to have a nightcap and take a walk outside. Out on the porch he breathed in the moist night air and stepped into the yard and walked out into the dark.
As he topped a rise a number of ram shackle houses came into view. Several had smoke curling slowly skyward from their chimneys. No people were in sight but a faint light flickered within each building. They looked well lived in. In the fading sunlight he could make out the outline of two large gardens, each lush with various kinds of crops.
A little further down the road he came by a barn and he could see horses. And he saw cattle here and there as he continued. That wasn’t all. There were fields that had been harvested in recent weeks, some of cotton and of some sorghum, he guessed by the detritus left on scene.
“Squatters!” he uttered to himself. “This surely complicates matters.”
The road wound its way through some large patches of brush and followed a creek bed. The shacks were soon out of sight. Before long he came to the ranch house.
It was a fairly large house, unassuming from the outside. There was a night light on over the porch which was partly enclosed and screened in and ran all the way around the house. The one story structure was raised from the ground on four foot piers and the skirt around the bottom was covered over with wood siding matching the wall exterior. Paul pulled to a stop and went into his new house for the first time.
He was excited and anxious to see the interior. He turned on the light and was pleased with what he saw. The living room was
WNWN chap III pg 2
large and spacious with high ceilings. The floor was hardwood with a few throw rugs from exotic locales. The walls were adorned with a few of Paul’s many hunting trophies, the head of a lion, shot in Kenya, a jaguar taken in Brazil, an elk from Alaska and others. The wall siding looked like the interior of a log cabin. It was actually 2x6’s which milled down to a half round shape and then installed. There was a large stone fireplace, a big screen TV (of course there was dish outside.) The kitchen adjoined the living room and was well appointed with modern appliances. There were three bedrooms and two baths. All in all, a very comfortable country home.
It wasn’t late so Paul decided to fix something to eat and relax for a while. He was troubled by the people obviously living on the land. “Who the hell are they?” he wondered. “I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
He opened the refrigerator and peered in. Everything he had specified was in there, orange juice, milk, vegetables,, dark Heineken, fruit, plain yogurt and others of his favorite foods. He looked in the pantry and found it well stocked, as was the liquor cabinet. He selected an entree from his stockpile of frozen dinners and popped it into the microwave. From the liquor cabinet he took a bottle of Tanqueray gin and a bottle of Schweppes tonic water and mixed himself a strong drink with a twist of lime.
After he had eaten he sat down in the plush recliner and had another drink and just took it easy. He wanted to get a feel for the place. Though it would soon be Thanksgiving the weather wasn’t cold at all. He had opened several windows and felt a soft, cool breeze blowing in from the south east. He didn’t turn on the TV or the stereo, he just wanted to listen to the silence.
Through the windows he could see the dark shadows cast by
WNWN Chap III Pg 3
the many oak and mesquite trees and he listened to the soft sighs as the wind rustled through the branches and stirred the tall grass. The moon was now high in the night sky and sometimes broke through the scattered cloud cover which streamed by at an amazing rate. This alternative silver light and darkness cast an unearthly aspect on the fantastic shapes created by the twisted branches and clumps of leaves.
His mood turned somber as he sat there watching the night sky. He thought about the fact that his family wouldn’t even know where he was. “They really don’t care anyway,” he thought.
He and his wife were long divorced. She had been well taken care of in their divorce settlement, had been re-married and then widowed. She was now quite well off.
His daughter was somewhere in Washington state, living with a worthless boyfriend and a bunch of old hippies. They had been estranged for a longtime but she still received an annual payment from her substantial trust fund. “No, they probably won’t think about me at all,” he thought.
Now his son and he had been close but he was gone too. He had followed in his father’s footsteps and graduated from Annapolis and gone into the Navy as a gunnery officer. “Paul Jr. What a good looking man he had been!” But he was gone, killed in Vietnam on board the cruiser Newport News when it suffered a massive explosion in one of its gun turrets. “That useless goddamn war!” he cursed. Soon he regained his self control. He had already grieved enough for his son and it was long in the past.
Paul didn’t allow himself to feel self pity or maudlin sentimentality for long. He didn’t get where he was by being weak.
WNWN chap III pg 4
There was no place in his life for anything but self reliance. He scorned religion and practiced a form of social and economic Darwinism in his private and business life. Though he certainly did not think much of far eastern spirituality he did have his own form of meditation, something he had arrived at on his own however, not from any study or TM sessions.
Paul practiced this now as he sat in his easy chair. He harnessed his iron will and shut off his mind, his internal dialogue with himself. He had found that when he did this it put his mind at rest and he opened himself to the world as it existed for him. It helped him to absorb his surroundings, to feel what might be confronting him. He would remain in this state until he either fell asleep or roused himself for some purpose.
So tonight Paul went into his meditative state, he wouldn’t describe it as a trance, and took in his surroundings. Soon he found that he just couldn’t maintain it. “What’s wrong tonight?” he wondered. He felt nervous and apprehensive. “Must be those squatters that is bothering me.” He decided to have a nightcap and take a walk outside. Out on the porch he breathed in the moist night air and stepped into the yard and walked out into the dark.
Waste Not Want Not chapter IV
He didn’t go far, he didn’t really know his way around here yet. He stopped under the shadow of a huge, old oak and surveyed his surroundings. A chill shuddered through him. “It’s spooky out here in the dark,” he thought, only half in jest!
He stepped out into the moonlight which was for the moment not obscured by the fleeting clouds. Bathed in the silvery light he peered into the thick undergrowth amongst the trees and saw the gnarled, twisted branches reaching like demonic fingers grasping into the cool air.
Deep within the thicket he saw …what? Something? He looked intently. Did he see something, or just shadows?
“Anyone there?” he called into the dark. There was silence, disturbed only by the rustling wind.
He shook his head, reproaching himself. “Of course there’s nobody there,” he thought. “ I must be getting weak headed!”
He turned went back inside and sat down in his plush recliner which he had sent there for his pleasure.
“I need a night cap!” He went to the bar and mixed a drink. He made a stiff one and quickly tossed it down. He put his pajamas and went to bed.
Sleep came but it was not restful. He slept fitfully and after awhile, awakened. He lay there less than half awake, in a near dream-like state. Childhood fears, he hadn’t felt or remembered for years crept over him. It was as though he was a small boy again and afraid of the dark.
In those days his vivid imagination helped him to see fantastic demons and monsters and huge hairy creatures that slowly crept towards his window on dark, stormy nights. He felt they were real then and they were there, waiting for him in the dark waiting for him to come outside or trying to get in and tear him to pieces! Those nights were spent in terror until he finally fell into an exhausted sleep.
WNWN chap IV page 2
Now such fear seemed to grip him again. He could not rouse his rational mind. Paul felt embarrassed. He certainly had never lacked for courage. He saw combat in two wars, he had hinted dangerous game on many continents and had guided his companies very successfully through the cut-throat corporate world and had held his dealing with U.S. and foreign governments in very competitive and sometimes hostile business and political environments.
Instead he remained in this unreal stupor and felt his fears running away with his psyche. Again he felt that dull terror and forced himself to look outside, through the bedroom window.
Again he saw something! It was terrifying, un-named, without definite form but he feared it was really there! He felt as though he was a small boy again peering fearfully into the darkness. He feared that it waited for him to make a mistake or show weakness. It waited, eager to spill his guts! To lick his blood!
Fear paralyzed him. Unable to move, he thought, as he had done in his childhood, that he must remain motionless, then the monster wouldn’t know he was there at all. And, as in his childhood, he shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see. He began to sweat, a cold, clammy perspiration that beaded allover his body, especially in the small of his back. Fear tingled up and down his spine.
With his eyes tightly shut he began to hear the beast. He could hear it rustle through the dry, dead leaves and grass. He could hear it coming closer, closer, dragging it’s bulk nearer and nearer to the house. And with it came a stench! An overwhelming smell, worse than a polecat, filled his nostrils. His heart was beating so hard he was sure the creature must hear it. It must know he was here, cowering beneath the sheets.
“There!” He heard a thump on the porch. Again he heard it as it came nearer.
WNWN chap IV, pg 3
It was standing now on the porch, he thought, right by the door which was open leaving only the flimsy screen door to protect him! He had left the door open to let the breeze filter in.
“Oh what a mistake that had been,” he thought.
He could hear it breathing as it’s foul breath came in measured gasps. Then what? “It’s scratching the screen door!” How long would that hold him outside?
He could bear it no more. He was now fully awake, all reason gone and fully in the grip of the nightmare. He sat up quickly, bolt upright in his bed. He was ready to face it come what may. He rose silently from the bed and slipped thought the darkened room over the floor to the door and looked out. He saw nothing. He still didn’t have his wits about him but it seemed that nothing was there.
“A nightmare?” It seemed so real. He walked outside onto the porch. The moon was gone now and all seemed quiet. Nothing there, no sign of anything. “Whew! Nothing there!” he thought.
“Of course there was nothing there,” he thought. “You are a grown man with most of your life and career behind you and you are behaving like a small boy!”
He was ashamed of himself. With this he returned to his bed and fell fast asleep.
He was awakened by the first full light of the morning. Only an uncomfortable, vague memory of the night lingered. He really couldn’t remember exactly what had happened in the night, only that he had had dreams and felt really rotten this morning. He was in a bad mood.
He stepped out into the moonlight which was for the moment not obscured by the fleeting clouds. Bathed in the silvery light he peered into the thick undergrowth amongst the trees and saw the gnarled, twisted branches reaching like demonic fingers grasping into the cool air.
Deep within the thicket he saw …what? Something? He looked intently. Did he see something, or just shadows?
“Anyone there?” he called into the dark. There was silence, disturbed only by the rustling wind.
He shook his head, reproaching himself. “Of course there’s nobody there,” he thought. “ I must be getting weak headed!”
He turned went back inside and sat down in his plush recliner which he had sent there for his pleasure.
“I need a night cap!” He went to the bar and mixed a drink. He made a stiff one and quickly tossed it down. He put his pajamas and went to bed.
Sleep came but it was not restful. He slept fitfully and after awhile, awakened. He lay there less than half awake, in a near dream-like state. Childhood fears, he hadn’t felt or remembered for years crept over him. It was as though he was a small boy again and afraid of the dark.
In those days his vivid imagination helped him to see fantastic demons and monsters and huge hairy creatures that slowly crept towards his window on dark, stormy nights. He felt they were real then and they were there, waiting for him in the dark waiting for him to come outside or trying to get in and tear him to pieces! Those nights were spent in terror until he finally fell into an exhausted sleep.
WNWN chap IV page 2
Now such fear seemed to grip him again. He could not rouse his rational mind. Paul felt embarrassed. He certainly had never lacked for courage. He saw combat in two wars, he had hinted dangerous game on many continents and had guided his companies very successfully through the cut-throat corporate world and had held his dealing with U.S. and foreign governments in very competitive and sometimes hostile business and political environments.
Instead he remained in this unreal stupor and felt his fears running away with his psyche. Again he felt that dull terror and forced himself to look outside, through the bedroom window.
Again he saw something! It was terrifying, un-named, without definite form but he feared it was really there! He felt as though he was a small boy again peering fearfully into the darkness. He feared that it waited for him to make a mistake or show weakness. It waited, eager to spill his guts! To lick his blood!
Fear paralyzed him. Unable to move, he thought, as he had done in his childhood, that he must remain motionless, then the monster wouldn’t know he was there at all. And, as in his childhood, he shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see. He began to sweat, a cold, clammy perspiration that beaded allover his body, especially in the small of his back. Fear tingled up and down his spine.
With his eyes tightly shut he began to hear the beast. He could hear it rustle through the dry, dead leaves and grass. He could hear it coming closer, closer, dragging it’s bulk nearer and nearer to the house. And with it came a stench! An overwhelming smell, worse than a polecat, filled his nostrils. His heart was beating so hard he was sure the creature must hear it. It must know he was here, cowering beneath the sheets.
“There!” He heard a thump on the porch. Again he heard it as it came nearer.
WNWN chap IV, pg 3
It was standing now on the porch, he thought, right by the door which was open leaving only the flimsy screen door to protect him! He had left the door open to let the breeze filter in.
“Oh what a mistake that had been,” he thought.
He could hear it breathing as it’s foul breath came in measured gasps. Then what? “It’s scratching the screen door!” How long would that hold him outside?
He could bear it no more. He was now fully awake, all reason gone and fully in the grip of the nightmare. He sat up quickly, bolt upright in his bed. He was ready to face it come what may. He rose silently from the bed and slipped thought the darkened room over the floor to the door and looked out. He saw nothing. He still didn’t have his wits about him but it seemed that nothing was there.
“A nightmare?” It seemed so real. He walked outside onto the porch. The moon was gone now and all seemed quiet. Nothing there, no sign of anything. “Whew! Nothing there!” he thought.
“Of course there was nothing there,” he thought. “You are a grown man with most of your life and career behind you and you are behaving like a small boy!”
He was ashamed of himself. With this he returned to his bed and fell fast asleep.
He was awakened by the first full light of the morning. Only an uncomfortable, vague memory of the night lingered. He really couldn’t remember exactly what had happened in the night, only that he had had dreams and felt really rotten this morning. He was in a bad mood.
WNWN chapter V
As he prepared for the day he thought over what he should do. First on his list was to go and see who the people were living in the houses on the property and see what the situation was with them.
He was not in a hurry and he found himself there around nine in the morning.
There were five houses. All could be considered shacks by the people in any neighborhood Paul had ever resided in during his lifetime. They were small, simple and constructed from a wide variety of building materials. Most had tin corrugated roofs, one had a shingled roof. There were two old vehicles, one was pickup, rusting and incomplete as they perched wheeless on cinder blocks.
There were chicken coops behind three of the houses and several dogs looked suspiciously at Paul while keeping their distance and barking. No people were in evidence.
There was a medium sized barn, very weathered but functional and a small corral. A large vegetable garden was a short distance away from the buildings.
Paul stopped at the first house. He knocked on the door which opened slowly and revealed a small, elderly woman before him.
He introduced himself. “My name is Paul Hewlett. I am the owner of this property. Can you tell me something about yourself and the people who live here?”
Her eyes widened and she said “No hablo Ingles senor.”
Paul spoke Spanish fairly well, “Como esta? Me llamo Paul Hewlett. Soy el patron de este propidad. Como se llama usted senora?”
She spoke slowly and economically and told him that her name was maria Rosales and she lived her along with three other families and an old man. She told him that she had lived here more than forty years since she moved her with her husband and small child. “My husband, may he rest with God, then worked for the old patron when the place was a great rancho with many cattle and many vaqueros.”
WNWN Chap. V pg 2.
“Who was the old patron?” asked Paul. “Please tell me what you can about him and why you people are here.”
She invited him into her humble home. It was Spartan, clean and comfortable. A faded picture of JFK hung on the wall alongside a wooden crucifix.
She offered him coffee which he gladly accepted. She began telling him her story, warming to him somewhat and no longer exhibiting her earlier suspicion.
“The old patron was named Serafio De La Rosa. His great great grandfather had obtained one of the original Spanish land grants when this land was extremely sparse in population and no permanent Indian or European settlement existed between San Antonio and Matamoros. He fought Apaches, Comanches. He joined up with the Americanos against Santa Anna and was able to keep his land.”
“My husband Manuel had been a top cowboy and spent his life working with cattle.”
She said when the old patron died his eldest son Fito took over. Fito was a bad man. He was a drunkard and beat his wife and abused his children. He cared nothing for the ranch. He treated his hands badly. He had learned nothing about business. Soon he gambled away much of his inheritance. His wife and family left him and much of his hired help had quit. He had a bad temper and often got in fights.
Things had become very bad on the rancho. Many cattle had become sick and died. The wages had been cut and rarely were paid on time or in full. Maria and the other women grew most of their food in their jardines but it was hard to pick up the spirits of the men who endured the constant abuse that Fito sent their way.
Maria had been a very pretty woman when she was young and once Manuel had struck Fito when he had made an insulting and offensive remark about Maria. Before that Fito had many times
WNWN chap V pg. 3
been seen leering at her. Manuel was ready to quit but Fito had apologized and Maria had said she wanted to stay.
One day when the men were working in the pastures Fito came to Maria’s house. He was drunk and was not wearing his shirt. Maria tried to tell him to leave but he forced his way in. His breath smelled of mescal and he grabbed her, tearing her clothes and throwing her on the bed. She screamed but he laughed as he assaulted her. She resisted but he struck her and threatened her child so she sobbingly submitted. When he left he threw down a few coins and called her a whore.
A woman from one of the neighboring houses had seen Fito enter the house and had heard the commotion. She came over as soon as Fito had gone and tried to comfort the distraught Maria. When her daughter returned from school another neighbor took her into her home and fixed her dinner and told her her mother was ill.
Manuel’s return was not well handled. When he found out what had happened he fell into a rage. None could restrain him and took his rifle and went to the ranch house where Fito lived. Fito saw him coming and locked the heavy oak door.
Manuel screamed at him, exhorting him to come out and face him like a man. When Fito would not he unleashed a stream of screaming curses and threatened to burn down the house.
Finally, the front door opened, slowly and Fito called out to Manuel and told him to come in and get him. Manuel immediately rushed up on the porch steps without caution and was met full on in the front by a shotgun blast which killed him instantly and drove his disfigured body backwards, out into the yard.
The other men had followed Manuel but they were still some distance down the road when they heard the blast. Being unarmed they were afraid to go near the ranch house. There was some confusion about what they should do. Finally Juan decided to take
WNWN chap V pg 4
the ranch truck and go into Las Vacas and find a telephone to call the Sheriff’s Department. Everyone else locked themselves into their homes.
It was eighteen miles each way to Las Vacas but after a seeming eternity Juan returned. He was followed by two cars from the Sheriff’s Department. The Sheriff’s cars went to the ranch house and there they found Fito, now dressed and considerably sobered up. Fito greeted them in front of his house. Manuel’s body still lay there where he had fallen.
He was not in a hurry and he found himself there around nine in the morning.
There were five houses. All could be considered shacks by the people in any neighborhood Paul had ever resided in during his lifetime. They were small, simple and constructed from a wide variety of building materials. Most had tin corrugated roofs, one had a shingled roof. There were two old vehicles, one was pickup, rusting and incomplete as they perched wheeless on cinder blocks.
There were chicken coops behind three of the houses and several dogs looked suspiciously at Paul while keeping their distance and barking. No people were in evidence.
There was a medium sized barn, very weathered but functional and a small corral. A large vegetable garden was a short distance away from the buildings.
Paul stopped at the first house. He knocked on the door which opened slowly and revealed a small, elderly woman before him.
He introduced himself. “My name is Paul Hewlett. I am the owner of this property. Can you tell me something about yourself and the people who live here?”
Her eyes widened and she said “No hablo Ingles senor.”
Paul spoke Spanish fairly well, “Como esta? Me llamo Paul Hewlett. Soy el patron de este propidad. Como se llama usted senora?”
She spoke slowly and economically and told him that her name was maria Rosales and she lived her along with three other families and an old man. She told him that she had lived here more than forty years since she moved her with her husband and small child. “My husband, may he rest with God, then worked for the old patron when the place was a great rancho with many cattle and many vaqueros.”
WNWN Chap. V pg 2.
“Who was the old patron?” asked Paul. “Please tell me what you can about him and why you people are here.”
She invited him into her humble home. It was Spartan, clean and comfortable. A faded picture of JFK hung on the wall alongside a wooden crucifix.
She offered him coffee which he gladly accepted. She began telling him her story, warming to him somewhat and no longer exhibiting her earlier suspicion.
“The old patron was named Serafio De La Rosa. His great great grandfather had obtained one of the original Spanish land grants when this land was extremely sparse in population and no permanent Indian or European settlement existed between San Antonio and Matamoros. He fought Apaches, Comanches. He joined up with the Americanos against Santa Anna and was able to keep his land.”
“My husband Manuel had been a top cowboy and spent his life working with cattle.”
She said when the old patron died his eldest son Fito took over. Fito was a bad man. He was a drunkard and beat his wife and abused his children. He cared nothing for the ranch. He treated his hands badly. He had learned nothing about business. Soon he gambled away much of his inheritance. His wife and family left him and much of his hired help had quit. He had a bad temper and often got in fights.
Things had become very bad on the rancho. Many cattle had become sick and died. The wages had been cut and rarely were paid on time or in full. Maria and the other women grew most of their food in their jardines but it was hard to pick up the spirits of the men who endured the constant abuse that Fito sent their way.
Maria had been a very pretty woman when she was young and once Manuel had struck Fito when he had made an insulting and offensive remark about Maria. Before that Fito had many times
WNWN chap V pg. 3
been seen leering at her. Manuel was ready to quit but Fito had apologized and Maria had said she wanted to stay.
One day when the men were working in the pastures Fito came to Maria’s house. He was drunk and was not wearing his shirt. Maria tried to tell him to leave but he forced his way in. His breath smelled of mescal and he grabbed her, tearing her clothes and throwing her on the bed. She screamed but he laughed as he assaulted her. She resisted but he struck her and threatened her child so she sobbingly submitted. When he left he threw down a few coins and called her a whore.
A woman from one of the neighboring houses had seen Fito enter the house and had heard the commotion. She came over as soon as Fito had gone and tried to comfort the distraught Maria. When her daughter returned from school another neighbor took her into her home and fixed her dinner and told her her mother was ill.
Manuel’s return was not well handled. When he found out what had happened he fell into a rage. None could restrain him and took his rifle and went to the ranch house where Fito lived. Fito saw him coming and locked the heavy oak door.
Manuel screamed at him, exhorting him to come out and face him like a man. When Fito would not he unleashed a stream of screaming curses and threatened to burn down the house.
Finally, the front door opened, slowly and Fito called out to Manuel and told him to come in and get him. Manuel immediately rushed up on the porch steps without caution and was met full on in the front by a shotgun blast which killed him instantly and drove his disfigured body backwards, out into the yard.
The other men had followed Manuel but they were still some distance down the road when they heard the blast. Being unarmed they were afraid to go near the ranch house. There was some confusion about what they should do. Finally Juan decided to take
WNWN chap V pg 4
the ranch truck and go into Las Vacas and find a telephone to call the Sheriff’s Department. Everyone else locked themselves into their homes.
It was eighteen miles each way to Las Vacas but after a seeming eternity Juan returned. He was followed by two cars from the Sheriff’s Department. The Sheriff’s cars went to the ranch house and there they found Fito, now dressed and considerably sobered up. Fito greeted them in front of his house. Manuel’s body still lay there where he had fallen.
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