g were not
unwelcome. Folly wore for him a face of ecstasy, of beauty.
As she nestled against him, he whispered: "Is the sandman coming?"
And she responded, with her lips against his throat: "Yes--if you'll carry
me."
Antonia was wrong. This was not the time of ashes. It was the time of
flame.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PART III
FECTNOR, THE PEOPLE'S ADVOCATE
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER X
And then Fectnor came.
The date of the election was drawing near, and a new sheriff was to be
jockeyed into office by the traditional practice of corralling all the
male adult Mexicans who could be reached, and making them vote just so.
The voice of the people was about to be heard in the land.
It was a game which enjoyed the greatest popularity along the border in
those years. Two played at it: the opposing candidates. And each built him
a corral and began capturing Mexicans two or three days before the
election.
The Mexicans were supposed to have their abodes (of a sort) in Maverick
County; but there was nothing conservative in the rules under which the
game was played. If you could get a consignment of voters from Mexico you
might do so, resting assured that your opponent would not hesitate to fill
his corral with citizens from the other side of the river.
The corrals were amazing places. Dispensers of creature comforts were
engaged. Barbecued meat and double rations of _mezcal_ were provided. Your
Mexican voters, held rigorously as prisoners, were in a state of collapse
before the day of the election. They were conveyed in carryalls to the
polls, and heads were counted, and the candidate got credit for the full
number of constituents he had dumped out into the sunshine.
And then your voter disappeared back into the chaparral, or over the Rio
Grande bridge, and pondered over the insanity of the _gringos_.
It will be seen that the process touched upon was less pleasant than
simple. Among the constituents in the corrals there was often a tendency
to fight, and occasionally a stubborn fellow had a clear idea that he
wanted to be in a different corral from the one in which he found himself.
There was needed a strong-handed henchman in these cases. Jesus Mendoza
was the henchman for one faction, but the other faction needed a henchman,
too.
And so Fectnor came.
He had the reputation of kn
|