The Day the Rebels Came to Town
Read The Day the Rebels Came to Town Online
Authors: Robert Hough
ROBERT HOUGH
The Day the Rebels
Came to Town
Grass Roots Press
Copyright © 2011 Robert Hough
First published in 2011 by Grass Roots Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
The Good Reads series is funded in part by the Government of Canada’s Office of Literacy and Essential Skills.
Grass Roots Press also gratefully acknowledges the financial support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Government of Alberta through the Alberta Foundation for the Arts.
Grass Roots Press would also like to thank ABC Life Literacy Canada for their support. Good Reads® is used under licence from ABC Life Literacy Canada.
(Good reads series)
Print ISBN: 978-1-926583-35-8
ePub ISBN: 978-1-926583-68-6
Distributed to libraries and
educational and community
organizations by
Grass Roots Press
Distributed to retail outlets by
HarperCollins Canada Ltd.
Chapter One
The year was 1920, and Mexico was at war with itself. Rebels rode through the land in small groups, stealing money, food, and horses to help fight the army. The army did the same, often shooting those who helped the rebels. For those who only wanted peace, it was a time of great sadness and fear.
Carlos Orozco was twenty-eight years old. He worked in the kitchen of his father’s café on the square in the centre of town. Mostly, he spent his days cooking eggs, beans, tacos, and stews. The café also served beer, as well as soups made from peppers and corn. Though Carlos’s days were long, he knew he was lucky to have any job at all.
One day, as Carlos washed dishes, his father came into the kitchen.
“Carlos,” he said. “A group of horsemen is riding in from the south.”
“You can hear the drumming of hooves?” asked Carlos.
“Yes,” said his father.
Within an hour, about a half-dozen riders entered the town. Looking on, Carlos could tell that they were rebels. They were unwashed, wore huge moustaches, and had bands of bullets crossed over their chests. Still riding their horses, the rebels filled the town’s central plaza in front of the café. At the same time, the women of the village slipped out of their back doors. They took shelter in the hills ringing the town.
Soon, the rebels grew hungry and went to the only place in town that served hot food. As they filed into The Orozco Café, the rest of the customers quickly finished their meals. They all left, fearing trouble. The rebels sat and started talking loudly. One man, whom the others called “Captain,” yelled for service. He was a large man, and he wore a pair of pistols, one on each side. Both guns were the size of small dogs.
Carlos’s father went to greet the rebels.
“Food,” ordered the captain. “Lots of it. And beer.”
Carlos prepared plate after plate of tacos, rice, beans, and chicken with lime. No matter how hard he worked, his father kept rushing into the kitchen. “Please, Carlos,” he said. “Work faster. We can’t keep men like these waiting.”
After an hour or so, the shouts for food died down. The rebels now shouted for tequila. Carlos’s father didn’t want to give them strong liquor after all the beer they had drunk, but he had no choice.
Carlos left the kitchen, thinking that his father might need help with clearing the tables. The rebels were all sitting back in their chairs, hands resting on full stomachs, burping.
“Hey,” said the captain.
Carlos looked up and saw that the rebel leader was talking to him.
“You the cook?”
“Yes,” said Carlos.
“That was good. Damn good. I like the way you cook things here in the South.”
The room went silent.
“Tank you,” said Carlos.
“We could use someone like you.”
Carlos said nothing.
“Yes, yes. Our last cook had a bit of an... of an accident.” The men around him snickered. “So I am giving you a job in our Army of the North. You will fight for the freedom of Mexico. You will be under the supreme command of Pancho Villa himself. What do you think of that? We’re riding back north today.”
“Please,” Carlos said. “It is an honour. But I must say no. I am needed here.”
The rebel captain walked toward Carlos. He wore spurs, and they jangled as he came near. Dust rose from the floor. When he was less than an arm’s length away, he stopped. Carlos could smell the garlic and onion he himself had chopped early that morning. He could also smell the tequila on the man’s breath.
“Let me put it this way,” said the captain. “If you don’t take this job, I’ll be forced to think you don’t support our cause.”
He pulled one of his guns from its holster and grinned. “And I don’t need to tell you how we deal with them types.”
The rebel gang travelled north, taking Carlos with them. In each town, they chose one or two more young men to come with them. Some liked the idea of carrying a large gun, in a country without laws, and were pleased to join. Others were like Carlos and wanted no part in the terror spreading across the land. None of this mattered. The captain just took the men he wanted.
At the end of each day, when the sunset turned the sky a blaze of red, they set up camp. Carlos’s job started then. Despite having ridden all day, he had to build a fire, set up his grate and stew pot, and cook dinner. Often, Carlos was so tired by the time the meal ended that
he would fall asleep on top of his bed roll. He wouldn’t even take off the clothes he’d worn all day. In less than a week, he was as bearded and dusty as the other rebels. He felt tired all the time, and his muscles ached. He smelled of horses, gun oil, and sweat. He missed his father and his little village in the hills of the South.
Slowly, the gang made its way toward the northern states. Every day, they rode through a world of cactus, scrubby bushes, rattlesnakes, and scorpions. Vultures often flew above them, as though waiting for them to die in the broiling heat. As the land became drier, the towns grew farther and farther apart. The men became bored and their moods turned foul. Some even began to complain to the captain. They wanted to fight, they wanted women, they wanted a night in a real bed.
Finally, the captain had no choice but to please them. “I know a town near the border,” he told them. “It’s a little out of our way, but that means no one’s beaten us there. And who knows? Could be we might find us some army types, hiding like the dogs they are. Better make sure your pistols are oiled, boys.”
When the men heard this, they cheered.
After half a day of hard riding, they pulled into the town of Rosita. It was much smaller than they expected. They saw only a church, some shabby buildings around a small square, and a couple of narrow dirt streets. Some of the men groaned, and others complained again to the captain.
“Looks aren’t everything,” said the captain. “I know for a fact there’s a decent-sized tavern, just over there. And I know one other thing that I been keeping back. As a surprise, sort of.”
“What’s that?” someone asked.
The captain smiled. “Rosita has one of the best brothels in all of northern Mexico. It’ll open up later. Now who’s gonna join me for a beer?”
The men cheered and followed the captain into a small building with a sign saying “Fernando” over the door. Carlos did not join them. He had to set up his stew pot and grate in the dusty town square and simmer pinto beans for that night’s meal. There was also bread to make, cactus leaves to chop, and corn to husk. At least, thought Carlos, I’ll have lots of time to cook.
