Walter and the Burly Mexican

Shuddering and jerking to a halt the freight train wobbled one last time ending our trek across the desert. Blazing heat accompanied our ride most of the day, but it turned to chilling cold when nighttime fell forcing us to huddle in a corner for warmth. The crunch of gravel shifting underfoot echoed as someone approached. Walter's eyes narrowed as they locked on mine through specks of moonlight stealing by cracks in the metal cattle car. Placing my finger to my lips, I motioned him to stay quiet. Then we heard the earsplitting sound of something hard hitting against the metal of the railroad cars. Anxiously recoiling with every loud battering thud that came closer we were shivering with apprehension when we heard someone right outside our boxcar. The door crashed open and a light was pointed into our eyes. Squinting at the man holding the hand torch, I saw him only in shadow until he moved and then I noticed the horrifying nightstick in his hand.

"You boy's git. Serves you right to git dumped in the desert; hope you fry." He said, swinging the Billy-club into my ribs. I literally heard my own ribs crack when that club struck flesh. I felt like I was an observer of what was happening instead of the recipient of the beating. I crawled back away from the swinging rod, but he was relentless in pursuit swinging it again and again. His uniform had a large Freight South Railway emblem sewn above the pocket. He had small squinty eyes that seemed glazed; there was no emotion behind those eyes giving him an altogether fearsome look.

"Be strong for Walter," I told myself as a wave of pain and fear shook me. Walter had survived so much hurt in his life and he was the kind of loveable character that folks just wanted to look after.

"Look mister, just back off so we can get out." I pleaded as I pulled myself up holding on to the metal slats of the car. Hesitantly I shuffled past him and then we scampered out of the car and stumbled back as he glared at us. I knew I could take a beating with that weapon but Walter is slight and has been sickly from time to time and I didn't believe he could take it.

The train man jumped out of the car after us saying, "You boys ain't stealing rides from my train, not again, this'll teach you," and clipped Walter with that frightening stick. I thought my worst fears were coming true, but I sighed with relief as my friend dashed out of the way of the rod that missed him by a hair.
"Okay," Walter said, "for Pete sakes we're movin, you don't haf ta git so worked up about it." Then he sidestepped another whack. Walter, little wiry guy that he was, was doing better than me.

"Oh, a wise guy, huh? Shut yer yap boy," He said as he came at us again, this time whacking my head with that thing.

"Geez, he's cracked" Walter whispered eyes like huge brown saucers.

"We've got to get back on that train" I said. "We can't get left in the middle of nowhere without food or water."

Alarmed, I saw a man with a shotgun on the last car and he looked as mean and wild as the guy in front of us. He was lit up by lanterns still swinging on the back landing because of the quick halting of the train. Then the trainman swung his light, jumped into our car, and the train took off, clattering along until the last car where we saw the man with the gun and he was in high spirits, happy to see us left alone in the dark.

That was how we ended up lost and alone in the desert when we were 15 years old. My name is Bud and I can tell you I grew up a lot during our short trip to California. We didn't see one policeman on the ride there, so we thought we could get home again without seeing one, thinking that jumping freights was high excitement. We considered ourselves talented at stealing rides by the time we had been gone a month.

I never would have tried going to California if it hadn't been for all the trouble at home. Home, by the way, is Claremore, Oklahoma. Walter's family lost their place when the depression hit and the bank foreclosed. After that, they were living in a one-room shack and Walter wanted to help by going to California and striking it rich. He thought everyone in California was rich. He decided if he didn't find gold in California, he would find some other way to get rich, maybe oil, or the moving pictures. People came back from California all the time saying how rich they got there. Personally, I thought it would be a hoot to go with him just for the adventure.

Walter worried about his Ma and Pa all the time. He said his family had no warning when the bank foreclosed on their beef farm. "I was down seein my gal when they threw Ma an' Pa off our land. When I got home a man with a gun told me to skedadle. He wouldn't let me have nothin, said everythin in the house was the banks. I snuck in that night an' stole my own duds, seemed like I was stealing from mesef. Ma said she wouldn't take nothin that come outta that house, said it ain't our stuff no more." Walter never did talk about his Ma without choking up, even to this day.

If there was anything my pal wanted it was to bring some money home to his folks. But we had so much trouble on our trip, it's a wonder we ever made it home again. California was no picnic, I can tell you that, and not everyone there is rich neither. We were turned down for every job we tried to get, and we ended up begging more than working. It was some great adventure sleeping in barns and alleyways rather than soft beds. All we ever saw of a fancy hotel was the trash bin out back of one where we searched the trash for food to eat.

The worst of it was getting thrown off that train in the desert. After just one morning in the sun our feet were dragging and our throats were swollen. It didn't help that I was moving slowly because my sore ribs and the headache from the whack I received on my head. We walked along with no water for two days; afraid to leave the tracks and venture into the desert even though we didn't see another train in all that time. At night I looked for lights but there was no sign of life, it was as if we were the only two people left on the earth. The worst part was the midday sun scorching down on us burning our skin and parching our throats. We had a pocket knife and found plants that when cut open yielded some moisture which we sucked down. That moisture felt so good on our dried out throats as we sat under whatever shade we could find to outwait the hottest part of the day.

"Head aches Bud and I don't think I can hol it up no more, it hurts to talk." Walter moaned.

"Yea my head hurts too, but we have to keep movin Walt, we have to find water. There has to be one of those water tanks the railroad uses somewhere along the way."

That night I noticed Walter looked pasty and sort of purple and his eyes looked funny. "I'm sick Bud, I wish I was home, I'm scared I'll never see my Ma again."

"Don't worry I'll get us some water no matter what." I said wondering to myself how I could keep a promise like that.

"Bud, your eye is still all swollen and black; can you see out of it?"

"I'm okay Walt; it's the ribs that are bothering me more than anything. You just try to get some sleep."

The next day we stumbled slowly along the tracks, holding on to each other, lips cracked open and bleeding when a vision came toward us through the hazy, hot, scrub. It was a huge Mexican man coming up the slope next to the tracks and we were terrified because we hadn't seen a soul for days and he seemed unreal.

"What're you gringos doin out here in the sun, you loco?" The big man bellowed.

About that time Walter slid to the ground, either from the effects of the sun or from fright. The Mexican looked at me for a few seconds and then picked Walter up like he didn't weigh a thing and ran with him. Below the tracks was a little house; it didn't look too prosperous but it had some trees around it. In a dreamlike state I staggered after him thinking nothing could be worse than staying in the sun. The door was wide open so I walked in feeling like I was ready to pass out.

"Drink Chico." The Mexican was saying to Walter.

Laying Walter on a settee he trickled water down his throat a drop or two at a time. Someone pushed me down on the floor and soon cool liquid trickled down my throat too. I thought maybe I was in heaven when cool rags were put on my blistering face. Then I noticed Walter looked like death.

"Gee mister, if anything happens to Walter I'd never be able to face his folks, especially with all the troubles they already have." I said.

"Don't worry, rest your eyes. "I'm Manuel and that is my wife, Rosa," he said pointing to a lady with large sympathetic brown eyes. Rosa was so petite next to Manuel who was a tall man with a massive chest and muscular arms.

"Manuel, these are just boys, she said, what happened to them?"

As he worked on Walter, Manuel kept a steady stream of questions directed at me. When Walter seemed to be sleeping, Manuel checked my ribs and then wrapped them in tight cloth which seemed to help my breathing. His touch was gentle and although he seemed angry, I knew for sure he wasn't angry at us.
Rosa made a soup with Chicken and tomatoes that they fed me and we tried to get some of the liquid part of the soup into Walter. It was tasty and Rosa made tortillas too.

Walter was still out of his head and he was burning up with fever. Manuel had a little girl named Rena. Rena stared at my friend and whispered to her dad.

"Will the hombre live?"

"After all this nursing, Si," Manuel told her.

"Say, are you sure he will be ok?" I said. "He looks awful bad."

Manuel and Rena patted my hands. "You just sit back and try to stay still. Sleep if you can." Rosa brought a pillow and made a soft pallet with blankets for me to lie on.

Rena looked at me and said in her sweet little voice. "My daddy can fix anything, even folks."

On the second day Walter began trashing in his sleep and he was all wet. I thought he was worse but Manuel smiled and said "that is the poison leaving his body, he will heal now." I watched him until his eyes just popped open like the skin on an overdone potato.

"Where the heck are we?" He couldn't remember anything at all.

That is Manuel and Rosa, they been takin good care of us."

"Ya mean they nursed us?" he said and his eyes bulged because we found very few people that wanted to help us, along the way on our misguided adventure.

That evening Manuel played a banjo and sang and he was good at it. Walter said, "He is some crooner, best I heard in a long time." The little girl danced and everyone had a good time, even my shaky friend.

"Hey buddy," I said, "I sure am glad you're better, you had me mighty worried."

"Ahh gwan, "he said, and shoved another tortilla in his mouth.

Walter was still shaky and spent most of his time sleeping, but I trailed after Manuel for a few days trying my best to be of help. I have the feeling I wasn't actually much help at all, but Manuel was such a gracious man that he never discouraged me and always thanked me for my efforts. Manual kept chickens, horses, and pigs and he had a water-well too. All of those things needed constant attention and care in the arid climate of the semi-desert. But, his main occupation was the breathtaking work he did with leather goods. He was really an artist and he was able to sell his products for a profit when he went to town once a month. He told me the town was about a day's ride north and that there were more small communities the closer you came to it.

We had been there in Manual and Rosa's care for about two weeks when I realized that Walter and I had better start our trip home. We couldn't take advantage of the hospitality we received from these happy, gentle folks. Rosa thought about everything we would need on our trip. She filled water jugs, wrapped up tortillas and meat in handkerchiefs for us, found an old lantern, and two big straw hats to wear. All the time we were with them Manual and Rosa never gave a thought to what it cost them to help us. They were so tender and generous when I thought of them through the years they filled my heart with inspiration to help folks who needed it when I could.

Manuel wanted to take us into town, but Walter and I decided we wanted to walk along the track since we knew it would end up in Oklahoma eventually and once there home would be easier to find. So, Manuel hitched up his horse and he, Rosa, and Rena took us as far as they could along the railroad track but we didn't want them to be away from their home too long so we insisted they leave us after most of a day of traveling.

"You walk at night and find some shade to sleep in during the day, and wear your hats if you have to walk in the sun at all." Manuel said. "There is a tank about a days walk east and you can refill your water jugs at the well, but don't get far from the tracks. Two days walk from here is a small town, they are good people there, go to the church and ask for Father Smithson, he will take care of you and help you get home. You boys are too young to be on your own, you need to be home. Someday you will be ready to make it on your own, but not now, remember that. You go home, go to school and learn something before you try to go out into the Worl, get an education or a skill and then you will be ready. You are going to be good men, I hope we meet again someday."

"Count on it," I said, "I'll make sure and visit when get a bit older, I promise you that."

"Hasta luego, Bud. Hasta luego, Walter." Manuel said, his eyes misting with tears.

I too felt myself tear up as I waved goodbye to our friends. How do you thank someone who saved your life, and then how do you say goodbye? As we started walking down the tracks, water jugs in our hands and food in our pockets, Walter turned to me and said.

"Ya know, I thought angels was cubby little fellas, but I know now that sometimes angels is big, tough Mexicans."

THE END