BACK FROM THE SIERRAS 1

the little sorrel horse was done. each time he foot a down it was solid and hit the ground hard. he had no spring left in his frame.he trudged forward his head at wither level. the rider was doing all he could to help the little horse along but there wasnt much to help. this was the third horse in two days he had traded for and he wasnt enough. the american border was still a good twenty miles ahead. looking back the rider could see a plume of dust raiseing to the heavens. don molina s vaqueros were hard on his trail he had worked for don molina five years, doing any and every thing he wanted. molina trated him just a shade better than all the vaqueros and their familys who worked for him. they lived in hovels, with sparce clotheing and food. for five years this gringo had used the job with the don to keep out of sight of the american authoritys. but he couldnt bear it any more, the hungry eyes of the children and women. the long hard hours of work and mistreatment of the field hands. when it became intolerable he had walked into the dons office, clubed him with a pistol and cleaned out the dons cabinet holding his money. he loaded saddle bags with silver coin and paper bank notes. when he saddled his mount he knew i might have him over loaded. but he didnt have a lot of choice of mounts. the don starved and over worked beast as well as man. as he passed through the village of peones who did the farming for the don he stopped and called out to a woman who had been friendly to him.he dug into th saddle bag and came out with a handfull of dobie dollers, the silver coins of northern mexico. he did this three times and each time he gave the coins to the woman, as he rode on she stood there crying. over the next two days he rode into don molinas out lying camps and left coins and had taken fresh horses. but the little 800 pound mexican horses while normally tough were not well fed, no corn and not much forage they failed fast. ahead was a rocky hill, not very high, but covered with big boulders. he knew if he stoppeed to make a stand they would kill him. but this little horse was done, beyond done. the rider dismounted and leading and dragging the little horse they climbed up into the boulders.he had a new winchester rifle he had taken from don molinas rack as he jeft. two cartons of ammunition were in the saddle bags. but he knew he couldnt hold off the pursuit for long , there was just to many vaqueros following him. he dug out some dried out totillas and started munching them " a hell of a meal for a man about to die" he murmered to him self. the vaqueros appeared on the southern horizon as tiny black dots under the dust cloud they were raiseing. as they drew closer they seemed to grow. when a good quarter mile away the rider levered a round into the rifle. he was prepared to make them pay dearly for his body, he had already commited his soul to the heavens. just as he laid the rifle over a boulder and took aim at a rider a popping came fro the west, vaqueros started falling more gun fire and more vaqueros died. the few that turned back south were whipping their give out horses trying to escape. the apaches who attacked them went in pursuit. there would be no survivors the rider watched in amazement as the apaches were stripping the dead of anything they could use. once one raised his head and looked up into the boulders . but the rider knew he couldnt see him , but he had the rifle at the ready.