Holding Their Own: The Salt War (21 page)

As the recovery had begun, the value had risen somewhat, people wanting to barter and trade with the rare metals. Ammunition and pre-issued US greenbacks were still the currency of choice.

As he worked through the concept, Bishop found very few negatives. If the Tejanos had really found a cure for TB, their experience with refining and knowledge of dosage might become priceless if the disease spread through the Alliance. Besides, Rocco had said that colloidal silver was thought to cure many other ailments.

“That’s how I will solve this and get on with my vacation,” he whispered. “I’ll broker a peace deal with the Salineros and a trade deal with the Alliance. Meraton isn’t that far from here, so my new friends could use the market there.”

But what would the Salineros get out of the deal? Bishop knew they had manpower, land, and expertise in raising cattle. He could broker an arrangement with Mr. Beltran to restock their herd, and in the meantime work out something with the council so the cowboys could eat until things got going again. Culpepper had salt; maybe the Alliance needed another source.

Bishop’s thoughts returned to Terri, sure his wife would be proud of his solution. She was typically the diplomat, always his better half that dreamed up the complex, non-violent deals.

“You’re not the only one who can play ambassador,” he mused in a soft voice. “I’ve got game, too.”

“You’ve got what?” sounded Rocco’s voice from the street.

“Game. I’ve got game,” Bishop responded with a smile. “I was just thinking of my wife.”

A huge grin crossed Rocco’s face, “Ohhh, Señor. I see. You miss your wife, fantasizing about the reunion,” he said in a husky voice while grabbing his crotch. “I knew right away you were a macho hombre, my friend. Going to give her a good one, eh?”

Bishop snorted at the man’s misinterpretation, but decided to play along. “Damn right. She’s got some catching up to do.”

Rocco leaned in close, his eyes roving up and down the street, his voice low and confidential. “I’ve heard that some of the local women are very interested in you. I’m sure I could arrange some temporary companionship until your reunion. After the beating you gave Carlos, rumors of your physical capabilities are spreading.”

Bishop pretended to be considering his host’s most gracious offer. In reality, he was thinking, “You think I gave Carlos a beating… that wasn’t shit compared to what Terri would do to me if I strayed.”

Finally, the Texan responded, “Thank you for the offer, my friend, but I’m not planning on being a burden to you much longer. I’ve got a scheme that I think you’ll find is a win-win for all parties.”

Thoughts of pimping for his guest quickly evaporated from Rocco’s mind. “Go on, Señor, I’m intrigued.”

“What would you say if I could provide a steady supply of refined silver? You would still have to barter and trade, but it would be on an open market where competition would keep the prices reasonable.”

“Yes… yes, that would solve one of our problems, but what about the Salineros? I don’t see how helping us is going to free your wife and child.”

“I will negotiate a separate deal with Culpepper – one that would allow him to feed his people without squeezing your village dry. After tempers have died down, if you both want to open up again for trade, then that will be up to you.”

Rocco put his finger to his lips, contemplating Bishop’s words. “Go on,” he said, evidently waiting for the rest of the outline.

“I can broker an arrangement that would allow both of you to trade with multiple parties for what you need. The Tejanos could basically ignore Culpepper and his lot, or you could mend fences and become good neighbors again.”

“But what about the discrimination, Señor Bishop? You seem to think our struggle is purely about salt, and while that mineral has been the catalyst, our fight is over having to live like second-class citizens. For 150 years, the ranchers like Culpepper have treated my people like dogs.”

Bishop was shocked by his host’s words. “What? What are you talking about? Culpepper’s men and you both told me this war was over salt. Nobody said anything about discrimination.”

“I think you’ve misunderstood,” Rocco replied. “Salt is a simple thing, and we are well aware that there may be other sources. But that isn’t the primary fuel that burns the fire of our cause. We want equality… we want to be treated the same as everyone else.”

Bishop’s anger started to build, a burning frustration welling up inside him. “I don’t get it. I’m sorry, Rocco, but I just can’t understand. If Culpepper and his lot treat you like shit, then don’t go around them. If every Texan on the other side of the Rio Grande is a horrible racist or bigot, then don’t do business with them. Do you genuinely hope to change their minds by exchanging bullets?”

The local jefe’s temper rose a notch as well. “The people of this region have suffered from those holding power on both sides of the border for 100 years. If it wasn’t the Mexican government, then it was the cartels. If it wasn’t either of those, it was the army or local police. Corruption, mismanagement, and graft have held these people down for generations. And then… poof! It was all gone; the veil of repression was lifted. After the collapse, there wasn’t any government, or army, or police force. For the first time in over a century, the people here controlled their own destiny.”

Bishop struggled to regulate his voice, well aware of the men nearby who ran the town. “So you’re telling me that you are fighting to keep the Salineros from reestablishing that same oppressive dominance?”

“I know it may sound silly to you, Señor. But to us, the Salineros and their demands for salt are a prediction… a glimpse of the future. They know why we need the salt, yet they demand ever more in trade. Why? It’s not because they are in need; it’s because they want to push us down. They want our people to die; they desire nothing more than to keep my village hungry.”

Bishop didn’t respond, his mind trying desperately to sort it all out.

Rocco continued, “If you can provide any other explanation… give me any other logic regarding why they have acted in such a way, I will listen with an open heart and mind. But I will tell you, Señor, you won’t be able to do so. There’s no justification for their actions. They simply don’t want us to walk as equal men and are willing to do just about anything to keep us in our place.”

“Have you said this to them? What was their response?” the Texan asked.

A frown crossed his host’s face. “Yes, in the early days of the war, I tried to reason with them. This was the response.”

Rocco pulled up his shirt and turned around, displaying several rows of raised lash marks across his back. Bishop found it sickening, but his host wasn’t done. Turning back to face the Texan, Rocco lifted the cloth even further to show the star-shaped scar of a bullet wound. How it had missed the man’s heart was nothing short of a miracle.

“They whipped me for over an hour,” he said. “I had approached the Culpepper ranch alone, unarmed, and carrying a white flag. They didn’t even try to negotiate or talk. They tied me to the corral gate and used a bullwhip until their arms got tired. Mr. Culpepper himself then shot me in the chest.”

Bishop looked down, hating what he was being told. The injustice of it was bad enough, the fact that his wife was now under the control of such men adding to his emotions.

“They sent my horse back into the desert with my body draped on its back. I was lucky, our healers telling me that the bullet could have only missed my heart by a hair’s breadth.”

“I’m sorry this has happened to you, Rocco. I can’t explain or justify Culpepper’s actions. But I have to ask you this, can there be peace between you, or has this all gone too far?”

Bishop determined the village leader hadn’t expected that question. Either that or he didn’t have an answer. Rocco partially turned away, almost as if he didn’t want any stranger to see his face. He sighed loudly and said, “I don’t know the answer to that, Señor. Honestly, I just don’t have any idea. I am focused only on killing and winning; I can’t think about peace anymore. The concept is beyond me… out of my reach.”

And then, without another word, Rocco ambled off, leaving Bishop with an even deeper dilemma.

Terri sat on the main house’s back porch, snapping beans. Hunter, utterly fascinated with an old set of tin measuring cups, was playing on a blanket at her feet.

Pausing to study her son’s activities, she grunted as his face furrowed in concentration, each tiny hand sporting a utensil. “You’re just like your father,” she whispered sweetly. “Fascinated with cup sizes.”

The joke was lost on the boy, but it didn’t matter. The always-welcome sound of his mother’s voice elicited a toothless smile across his baby-fat cheeks.

Terri had rolled up her sleeves and demanded to do her share around the house. Part of that drive was due to an internal value system, always feeling the need to contribute when there were chores to be done. Nervous energy, fueled by constant images of her husband being beaten, tortured, or worse, was also a credit to her work ethic.

Returning to the unsnapped bushel basket of beans, Terri reinitiated her task, thankful the mindless activity allowed her time to think.

Hampered with Hunter, without transportation or communication, she couldn’t come up with a solution. With a baby in tow, there was no way she could attempt any sort of cross-desert excursion without a vehicle. Calling for help was also out of the question.

Instinct told her that brokering a peace treaty of some sort was the answer, but the Culpepper crew had been adamant – the Tejanos were near savages, untrustworthy and bent on slaughtering anyone associated with the ranch.

The fact that she didn’t buy into that argument 100% wasn’t an overly important factor at the moment. Mr. Culpepper and his management team did, and they were the ones who would have to agree to any sort of arrangement.

Reflecting on the current state of affairs, Terri’s mind settled on a curious introspective, a realization the council’s directives had indeed been sage. A single line of communication could have solved this regional problem… one radio or phone line or messenger could have prevented a lot of needless butchery, agony, and grief.

The Salineros, as they liked to call themselves, wouldn’t have depended so much on the villagers if they knew about the markets and recovery available in Alpha and Meraton.

Mr. Culpepper would have been able to work with other ranchers in the area, perhaps salvaging his herd without all this drama. Less than 100 miles away were solutions to all the problems, assets and services available that might have kept things from spiraling into a shooting war. Yet, neither combatant had been aware.
Communications
, she thought,
another vote for the fourth directive.

Her analysis was interrupted by the kitchen’s squeaky screen door. Terri glanced up to see Mr. Culpepper coming to join her.

The elderly rancher rarely made eye contact, something that at first, had bothered Terri. After a few days, she’d come to understand that her host was always checking his land, scanning the horizon for trouble or opportunity. The habit wasn’t due to any shifty avoidance or dishonestly, but based on the need to know what was happening around him. It was probably how he’d survived all these years.

“How did it all get started?” Terri asked after the two had exchanged greetings.

“What? The war?”

“Yes. Tell me more of the early history, if you don’t mind.”

Mr. Culpepper hesitated, unsure of where to start. “I guess it all got started years and years ago. If you want to really understand the root of the problem, you have to go back to when white settlers moved to this part of Texas.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’d say that is a good place to start dissecting this whole mess. There’s always been a rub between the two different cultures. European whites came from a background of individual property ownership, fence lines, and borders. Our Mexican and Indian friends, on the other hand, held more to a sharing of community assets, tribal usage of the land, a more nomadic utilization of natural resources. This fundamental difference has probably fueled the vast majority of the clashes between the two sides.”

Terri nodded her understanding, “I’ve read where the concept of land ownership was completely foreign to the native peoples, that they didn’t even have words to describe it in their languages.”

Culpepper continued, “But it wasn’t just land. My daddy fought rustlers for years. On the few occasions when he did catch someone stealing cattle, more often than not they were from the other side of the Rio Grande. Not always, but mostly. They weren’t professional thieves, just deprived people who saw a cow wandering the desert and decided it would feed their family for weeks.”