Pacific Crest Trail Stories ~ Chapter Interludes |
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Contents |
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Story 1 ~ Carlos & Corporal Mulhoon ~ Page 27 |
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The boy waited for the patrol to come over the hill stirring up great clouds of dust into the air, so that in their khaki uniforms the troopers seemed to be ghost riders.
To Carlos it was the highlight of an otherwise boring day -even if Corporal Malhoon's men were gringos. A few years before, Yankee soldiers had crossed into Mexico after Poncho Villa, but nothing that exciting had happened here.
From the patrols' visits with Carlos's father, who was in charge of the customs station, the boy knew quite a lot about the U.S. Cavalry. He knew that their saddle was designed way back when the North Americanos had fought their Civil War. He was aware that in their alforjias, or as they called them, saddle bags, they carried an extra set of fitted horseshoes, and a repair kit for field use.
This is why Carlos was puzzled by the clink of a loose shoe when Corporal Mulhoon rode in to say, "Adios," to the customs keeper. He was being shipped out to France, the trooper said, to see some real action.
The boy was ignored. He watched his 'friend' return to his patrol without one backward glance for a boy who had waited each and every day for a friendly word. This annoyed Carlos almost as much as Malhoon not worrying about laming his horse with a loose shoe.
But, then, just before the soldier was out of sight, he stopped and dismounted The boy ran up the road, and then he too stopped, just in time to witness his hero wrench the offending shoe off of his mount, and throw it far out into the mesquite brush.
Later, holding this very same horseshoe in his hand, Carlos informed his father that he no longer wanted to grow up to be a horse soldier.
"Why is this, my son?" his father asked, while shifting a bit to stay in the shade of the thick adobe wall.
"Oh, the Corporal only cares about himself. Not me. Not his horse. Besides, he is stupido.
Surprised at this change of attitude, the peace-loving parent asked "Why," once again.
"Mulhoon, he threw away his luck."
To Carlos it was the highlight of an otherwise boring day -even if Corporal Malhoon's men were gringos. A few years before, Yankee soldiers had crossed into Mexico after Poncho Villa, but nothing that exciting had happened here.
From the patrols' visits with Carlos's father, who was in charge of the customs station, the boy knew quite a lot about the U.S. Cavalry. He knew that their saddle was designed way back when the North Americanos had fought their Civil War. He was aware that in their alforjias, or as they called them, saddle bags, they carried an extra set of fitted horseshoes, and a repair kit for field use.
This is why Carlos was puzzled by the clink of a loose shoe when Corporal Mulhoon rode in to say, "Adios," to the customs keeper. He was being shipped out to France, the trooper said, to see some real action.
The boy was ignored. He watched his 'friend' return to his patrol without one backward glance for a boy who had waited each and every day for a friendly word. This annoyed Carlos almost as much as Malhoon not worrying about laming his horse with a loose shoe.
But, then, just before the soldier was out of sight, he stopped and dismounted The boy ran up the road, and then he too stopped, just in time to witness his hero wrench the offending shoe off of his mount, and throw it far out into the mesquite brush.
Later, holding this very same horseshoe in his hand, Carlos informed his father that he no longer wanted to grow up to be a horse soldier.
"Why is this, my son?" his father asked, while shifting a bit to stay in the shade of the thick adobe wall.
"Oh, the Corporal only cares about himself. Not me. Not his horse. Besides, he is stupido.
Surprised at this change of attitude, the peace-loving parent asked "Why," once again.
"Mulhoon, he threw away his luck."
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia