One day, when there wasn’t much doing, Hellecchino thought he might just take a walk in the country. It was a fine day, the sun wasn’t too bright and there was a slight breeze carrying a whiff of fertility. He decided, too, that he would take a walking stick with him, so he’d look pleasant and high-spirited and so he’d be able to mark some kind of rhythm. A little break from his heroing would be welcome. Besides, he’d also get to see just why things in general were so quiet. Children with toys and uneventfulness don’t sit well together.
He was tooling along just beyond Chalk Mountain Forest when he espied some cowboys working beside the road. As he drew closer, he saw they were working on a dyke or such kind of wall. These were Caramboleros. They were piling large stones on top of the low wall. Very large stones. For the most part, it took two of them to lift one and set it in place. The third Carambolero was foreman and perfectionist. That is, he told his compatriots what to do and then, when they’d done it, fixed things to some preordained scheme of how they ought to be.
It just so happened, that the cowboys were after a particularly large stone. And they were having trouble with it. Sweat and strain and grunt and no movement. They could not raise the rock. Hellecchino stood in the roadway, leaning on his walking stick, watching these brawny men bust their asses to no account. He chuckled to himself. He moved a little closer. The foreman saw him and Hellecchino nodded to him. The hard working cowboys stopped and looked at him.
“Looks like you’re having the devil of a time,” observed Hellecchino.
“You bet,” said one of the heavy breathing Caramboleros. “This rock’s heavy as any mountain.”
“Is it now?”
“Take my word for it.”
“Oh. I do. I do.”
Hellecchino looked up at the sun. It was high noon, or close enough to it. When the sun’s shining so it blisters over the sky, it’s hard to tell where it is, if you can look anywhere near directly at it. The breeze had died down some.
“How long you been at this?”
“Today?”
“Oh. Longer than today?”
“Hell yes. Look at how long this here dyke is.”
“Yes. Seems mighty long. Encircling the forest and heading off on out toward the hacienda, it looks to me.”
“That’s right.”
“All morning, I guess. Right?”
“Right.”
“Got any water?”
“Yep. Over on the horses we got some water.”
“Why don’t you take a sip or two. Might give you some strength.”
“Yes, boys,” the foreman piped up, “take a break.”
The cowboys did just that, though they did not bother to sit down, just kind of leaned up against their horses and pulled on their canteens. But it did no good. They still could not lift the stone.
“Here,” said Hellecchino, “hold this.” He handed his walking stick to the foreman cowboy. “Let me do it.”
“Who you kiddin’! A good wind’d blow you over.”
“Great things come in small packages.”
The cowboys backed off as Hellecchino approached the rock. He walked around it nodding his head. He took up a position behind the boulder. He spit on his hands.
“Where does it go?”
“In that there indentation,” indicated the foreman.
Hellecchino waved his hand over the boulder, bent his legs and grasped the stone along its under side and lifted. “Hee-yo!” And he toddled over to the dyke and set it right where the foreman said he wanted it.
“Easy as pie,” said Hellecchino, brushing the dust off of himself. He held out his hand for his walking stick. “Thank you.” And off he went down the road, leaving the three Caramboleros staring after him and scratching their heads.
It wasn’t long before he came to a fork in the road. He stopped and looked down one roadway and then down the other. The one looked as if it might head back toward town, so he took the other. The less travelled one, not only by looks but by direction. There were not many who would walk or ride out into the barrenness to the northwest. He whistled a lively little tune as he struck out for parts unknown. Along the way he came upon a group of cowboys whooping it up in a swimming hole. From the looks of their clothing strewn on the ground and over the dyke, they were from the Security Officer’s Freedom Fighters Assn. Hellecchino stood and watched them. It was good to know they took time out for relaxation. It was a tough job watching everybody and keeping the peace day in and day out.
But there’s only so much pleasure to be got from watching cowboys splash each other with water and then stand around up to their waists or necks in pond water and Hellecchino soon passed on. Yes. It was a fine day.
Just as the fading out roadway bent off to the north, Hellecchino came upon a tramp who seemed in considerable distress. He was cursing and crying and carrying on. His clothes were ragged and torn and dirt-encrusted. He, himself, was newly covered with dust, as if he’d been rolled. And indeed, as Hellecchino came closer, it was obvious he had been beaten. Now, who would beat up an old tramp? He certainly had nothing anybody would want.
“What’s the matter, old timer?”
“God damn somvabitchiz!”
“Yes. I’d say from the look of things this is what you’ve run into.”
“They beat me up!”
“Now, why would they do such a thing?”
“Fer the fun of it. Where you been lately? It’s the goin’ thang to beat up old tramps an’ all. Just fer the fun of it.”
“I’ve never heard of anything so despicable. How can I help?”
“I gotta git my wounds washed off. And I wanna find the bastards and give ‘em what for.”
“I’m not sure you could.”
“If’n you held ‘em down, I could wail a bit on ‘em. It’d sure feel good to pay back some.”
“Oh, well. I don’t know if I can do that. I’m a peaceable kind of fellow.”
“You won’t last long out here.”
“Who are they?”
“Bunch a cowboys.”
“Well. . .cowboys are a dime a dozen, you know.”
“I’d recognize ‘em if I saw ‘em.”
“Back along this way is a pond and the road into Chokepointe Piste.”
“Chokepointe Piste!”
“Yes. That’s right. Chokepointe Piste.”
“What the hell I want to go there for?”
“To have your. . .wounds seen to.”
“Hell and damnation, boy!”
“Yep. There is some of that in Chokepointe Piste.”
“Enough for two or three towns, if’n y’ask me. No thanks, I’ll bypass the place.”
“Well, at least let’s get you to some water so you can clean up some.”
“That’s right neighborly of you.”
“Think nothing of it.”
And off the two of them went, back down the road to the swimming hole full of the Security Officer’s Freedom Fighters Assn cowboys. When the old tramp saw the horses, he stopped.
“That’s them. They’re the ones done this to me.”
“Are they now? They are Security Officer’s Freedom Fighters Assn cowboys. We call them the Ship of Fools in these parts.”
“You’re from around here?”
“Well, this is where I am at the moment. I kind of get around.”
“We gotta git ‘em.”
“Oh. I think we have them just fine. Leave this to me.” Hellecchino advanced on the cowboys. “Hey, boys!”
“Come on in. The water’s fine.”
“I certainly thank you all alot but, no. I do not think I will.” Hellecchino moved closer to the pile of clothes. “Me’n my friend here just want to freshen up a bit.”
Quick as a flash, Hellecchino bent down and began tossing their guns to them, which, of course, they could not catch. So they sank to the bottom of the pond, wetting their charges.
The Freedom Fighters were shouting and jumping up and down at Hellecchino’s shenanigans. But Hellecchino was not finished. He was scooping up their clothing. He slung the laundry over one of the horse’s, leading the beast by the halter.
“I suggest you apologize to this here gentleman for messing him up,” suggested Hellecchino.
“Fuck you!”
“Well, come on then. Let’s see if you got the balls.”
“You somvabitch!” the Ship of Fools roared at him.
“It’s not nice to call someone’s mother a bitch. You’ll apologize or I’ll send your clothes on a little trip.”
The cowboys slapped at the water. None of them wanted to stand up and identify themselves.
“Alright, gents.” Hellecchino slapped the horse’s rump and off it went in a cloud of dust. “I guess you can all make do with one less horse on your ride home.” Hellecchino turned to the old tramp. “Take that there canteen and clean your head up and then let’s get on our way.”
“I ain’t going to no Chokepointe Piste.”
“You know they got a wall there. . .”
“They do?”
“Yup. I’ll take you to the other side. It’s a little more civilized over there, though a bit more on the poor side. If you know what I mean.”
“I expect so. But I ain’t stayin’.”
“That is up to you. I’m just making sure you’re properly attended to. May even get yourself a bite to eat.”
So the old man took a canteen, wetted down his ragged old kerchief and began daubing at his cuts and bruises as he and Hellecchino trundled on down the road to Chokepointe Piste.
Pity that Hellecchino had to cut his afternoon stroll short. There would be other days, though. There always were.
As to the Security Officer’s Freedom Fighters Assn, they found that it was a might trying riding a horse bare-ass naked. They arrived at Hacienda Búsqueda Perdiz and made their report to much humorous repartee on the part of their comrades in arms.
Tags: crawford, hellecchino, heroes, samson, secor
