Doug Donnan
C&CG Staff
Reviewer
Executive
Editor/OMNI-GENRE+MAGAZINE!
"The Legend
of Ensanada" (Poem follows story)
by
Doug Donnan
[ Circa 18878 /// The
Badlands of Ensanada Mexico ]
"Okay mi
amigo," Gunther blew out in frustrated despair as he reined back on his
fidgety
golden Palomino,
"just where in the hell and half ass hades are we... hmm? We've been
ridin' along for
hours in this shithole arroyo no-man's land. We've got to be gettin' close to
'sumthin', if not
the very gates of hell itself. Donde esta this oasis town of yours called...
Ensanada?"
Talaverez cast a
coal black squinting eye just over his shoulder at his irascible traveling
companion. The far
off silver dollar sun was inserting itself into the deep purple pocket
provided by two of
the rather jagged, foreboding peaks of the distant Cabeza Prieta
Sierra Mountains.
It would be dark soon, and there was absolutely nothing that the two
disheveled bank
bandits could do about it.
"Lo siento
Gun," Talaverez offered apologetically. "Pero, I thought we'd be up
on it by
now. It's been a
long time since I have been this far south of the border. I mean what
with all that long
time we spent up in that El Paso hoosegow and all. I don't know for--"
"Oh
Great!" from the overly dramatic, saddle sagging Gunther. "We're lost
then, is that
what you're givin'
me out here TV?"
Somewhere off in
the distance two coyotes traded their lonesome howls. Dusk was
drifting in like a
dim mist all around the two wayward riders.
"Well, mi
amigo Gun," Talaverez replied as he now halted his spotty-rump Appaloosa
indian pony,
"I cannot say that we are lost, pero I guess we might just see if we can
find
a bien campsight
of some kind around here. Maybe if we make for those boulders over
there we can find
some brush and get a fire star--"
"A
campsight!" Gunther slapped down on the rub-raw pommel of his saddle.
"Aren't
you forgettin'
something TV my fine flyin' fajita friend?" He now reached back a bit
and slapped at the
dusty leather saddlebag that stretched across his horse's rump
and haunch.
"Que?"
from his puzzled, puppy-dog-look Mexican sidekick.
"Listen up
amigo. We just robbed a damn bank way back there in Nuevo Laredo. You
think that
half-assed sheriff is just gonna let us ride off into the sunset way down here
pretty as you
please without giving chase with some crazy pissed off posse he put
together?
Hellfire, they're gonna be huntin' down our ass like ham n' beans... comprende?"
"Si senor
Gun, I understand, pero traveling around in this 'place' at night could be a
muy
loco thing for
'anybody' to do. Us 'or' them."
Gunther took the
half-whispered statement by Talavarez in for a second as he looked
all around behind
them, and then back again. The only thing that even remotely resembled
signs of life was
the slightly stirring breath of breeze that passed by intermittently.
"Well, just
what in the hell is 'that' supposed to mean TV? You mean cause we won't be
able to see where
the hell we're goin' right?"
"Si esta es
'that' y something else Gun mi amigo... something a lot more...
siniestro,"
from the now
slightly frowning Talavarez from just beneath his drooping sombrero.
"Sinister is
it? That's a pretty big ass, fifty-cent word for a Mexican bank bandit TV.
Okay, I give in,
give it to me straight."
"It is just
an old leyende... a legend, pero there are many Mexicanos que creen it to be
verdad...'true' mi
amigo."
"Cut the crap
TV... 'what' damn legend? And with a little less tortilla talk 'por favor'...
if you
please."
"Muy bien...
I mean okay Gun. They are known as Las pajaros gigantes de Ensanada.
The giant birds of
Ensanada."
"Birds?"
Gunther shouted out incredulously. "Have you gone loco TV? We got all hell
on our ass back
there somewhere, and your're gonna give me a cock n' bullcrap Mex
story about some
damn big ass birds!"
"Por favor...
'please' Gun, let me finish."
Gunther threw up
his hands in exasperation and mock defeat. The cold night was settling
in now like a dark
shroud. The dueling coyote calls had grown rather cacaphonous, but
more intermitent.
An owl-eyed alabaster moon stared down indifferently from its black
and purple
celestial perch. "Okay shoot... I'm all ears. But make it quick amigo.
Let's
ride on. I recon'
you're right. We're gonna have to bed down here in this godforsaken
arroyo
someplace."
"Si mi amigo
tienes razon... you are right," Talaverez sighed as he pinched closed the
open collar of his
tattered burro-gray serape, "pero estoy de acuerdo lo primero es
primero... first
things first... vamonos mi muchacho. I can finish the story, if you like,
over some hot
trail coffee and maybe a platter of fried trail beans."
"Okay,"
from the weary and hungry Gunther, "Let's git to gittin' mi
amigo."
And, at that, the
tired twosome directed their ponys off into the night towards a jutting
precipice that
hung out over the sand and scrub grass like a massive distorted Gila
monster tongue.
* *
*
[ Approximately 10 minutes later ]
"Well
TV," Gunther breathed out as they dismounted directly beneath the ghostly,
rocky outcropping,
"That's one hell of a damn tall tortilla tale my friend. Let's just
pretend for a
second that there's some truth to it all, which I sincerely doubt. We're
just gonna have to
take our damn chances out here with these big ass man-eating birds
of yours I'm
afraid, 'cause the real troublin' bastards are out there somewheres too.
That damn sheriff
and his posse pals ain't gonna give up so easy... savvy?"
"I know
that's true mi amigo, pero the legend of this place is nothing to scoff at. I
can only say
that--"
"Oh never
mind all that crap TV. Why don't you do something helpful and go around
and see if you
can't scare us up some kindlin' and scrubb wood. Hell maybe we 'can'
just get us a
campfire of some kind goin' on out here at the ass end of nowhere."
"Muy bien
amigo," Talaverez replied as he popped off his sombrero and scrubbed at
his oily, hanging
mop of gun metal black hair. "Maybe you could take the lantern
and look after our
two tired ponys and such while I'm gone. Bien?"
"Okay TV. That
sounds like a plan. I'll take 'em around this here stone outcrop were
under and let 'em
do their thing. You go ahead on and see about our campfire fixin's
while there's
still a touch of shadow light out there in this damn arroyo. I'll meet you
back here soon
enough."
"Muy bien
Gun, pero be... carefu... I mean... keep your eyes open."
"Ha-Ha! Just
you don't concern yourself about me my friend. If I happen across any of
those giant
buzzard birds that you talked about, I'll blast 'em down with my Colt and pull
all their damn
feathers out. Then we'll have us a real chicken dinner out here under
the stars."
"Si pollo
would be bien pero... 'but' okay amigo," from the agreeable, but now
troubled
Talaverez.
"We'll set out for Ensanada at first light.We should be fine once we get
there."
The two parted
ways and went off into the night to do their chores. The coyote duo had
long since ceased
their nocturnal caterwauling.
It was ghostly
quiet.
* *
*
[
Approximately 20 minutes later ]
"Oye
Gun!" Talaverez shouted out as he stirred a gnarly stick at the flickering
amber
flames of the
makeshift campfire he had managed to put together. "Que pasa mi amigo?"
Nothing but
silence.
"Oye mi
amigo!: he tried again into the blackness. "Donde estas?
Nada. It was
graveyard quiet.
With this vacuous
response Talaverez shook his weary head and rose from his
squatting position
beside the glowing burnt orange ashes. He took more than just a few
steps and slipped
off into the darkness in search of his mysteriously absent,
non-responsive
partner in crime.
In time he found
himself standing, now in a decidedly apprehensive crouch, squinting far
out into the eerily
silent, midnight miasma.Off in the distance he thought he could detect
the dim glow of
what must be the lantern that Gunther took with him on his mission to
bed down the
horses.
There was no sign
or sound of 'them' anywhere either. It was as though all three had
simply
disappeared, vanished from... the earth.
He slowly paced
ahead keeping focused on the blip of light off in the distance. Then, of
sudden, for some
reason he forced himself to look up into the blackness. It was as if the
very moon itself
had vanished. But then he caught sight of the aerial group's gigantic
silhouettes. There
were but three of them nonchalantly flapping off towards the far off
Cabeza Prieta
Mountains... their bodies 'alone' seemed to be the size of a locomotive
train boxcar. The
flying beasts spreading wingspans were the stuff of nightmares.
"Madre de
Dios," Talaverez gasped as he watched them fly off. He made a whipping
sign of the cross
just in front of his pinched face. A split second later, Gunther's
weathered tan
Stetson drifted down and appeared to purposely land just afront Talaverez
crusty boots. He
collected up the hat and the dying lantern and slowly stepped back to
camp shaking his
head in sorrow and bewilderment. As he sullenly shuffled back, keeping
a constant vigil
on the night skyabove, he thought that he detected the repetitive sound
of distant horse
hooves.
The sheriff from
Nuevo Laredo and his posse were bound and determined. They were
coming by night.
Talaverez
eventually found his way back to the spit and ashes of the dwindling campfire.
He sat down
cross-legged on his multi-hued woven indian blanket and hung his head in
doleful defeat. He
was completely aware of his friendless, horseless predicament. The
babel of the
clattering gallop was growing ever louder. So with an inane little chuckle
he tossed
Gunther's ominous Stetson over onto the saddle-bags that contained all of
their 'earnings'
from the bank heist way back in Nuevo Laredo.
He choked back a
pathetic whimper that had built up inside him. And with a forlorn
smirkish-smile he
stirred at the campfire's glowing ashes and drifted off in a
melancholy trance
with thoughts of beautiful, mysterious Ensanada.
_____
The End _____
"The Legend
of Ensanada"
(Poem)
by
Doug Donnan
The story goes
that they're as big as a boxcar pulled by a locomotive train,
los pajaros de
Ensanada this is their chilling and decidedly ominous refrain.
They are a
legendary part of Mexican folklore that not many gringos know,
they fly silently
by the light of the waxing moon oft times swooping very low.
So be forewarned
when you're riding at night across the badlands of Mexico,
don't let your
guard down 'cause they're up there soaring I'll have you know.
___ End ___
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