the stories a wolf spreads,” my father said.
“All right!” Narciso jumped up. “If it is proof you insist on before you hide la Grande, I will tell you what Jesús told me! Tenorio has told the men who would listen to him that he found la Grande’s stringed bag, you know the kind the curanderas wear around their neck, under the bed of his dead daughter!”
“It cannot be!” I jumped up and shouted. I rushed to my father. “It could not be Ultima’s, because I have it!” I tore open my shirt and showed them the stringed scapular. And at the same time we heard the loud report of a shot and running men carrying burning torches surrounded our house.
“It is them! It is too late!” Narciso moaned and slumped back into the chair. I saw my father look at his rifle on the shelf, then dismissing it he walked calmly to the door. I followed closely behind him.
“¡Gabriel Márez!” an evil voice called from beyond the dancing light of the torches. My father stepped outside and I followed him. He was aware of me, but he did not send me back. He was on his land and as such would not be shamed in front of his son.
At first we could see only the flaring light of the piñón torches. Then our eyes grew accustomed to the dark and we could see the dark outlines of men, and their red, sweating faces by the light of their torches. Some of the men had drawn charcoal crosses on their foreheads. I trembled. I was afraid, but I vowed I would not let them take Ultima. I waited for my father to speak.
“¿Quién es?” my father asked. He spread his feet as if ready to fight.
“We have no quarrel with you, Márez!” the evil voice called out, “we only want the witch!”
My father’s voice was tense with anger now. “Who speaks?” he asked loudly. There was no answer.
“Come, come!” my father repeated, almost shouting, “you know me! You call me by my name, you walk upon my land! I want to know who speaks!”
The men glanced nervously at each other. Two of them drew close to each other and whispered secretly. A third came from around the house and joined them. They had thought taking Ultima would be easy, but now they realized that my father would let no man invade his home.
“Our business here tonight is not with you, Márez,” the voice of Tenorio squeaked in the dark. I recognized the voice from the bar at El Puerto.
“You walk on my land! That is my business!” my father shouted.
“We do not want to quarrel with you, Márez; it is the old witch we want. Give her to us and we will take her away. There will be no trouble. Besides, she is of no relation to you, and she stands accused of witchcraft—”
“Who accuses her?” my father asked sternly. He was forcing the men to identify themselves, and so the false courage the whiskey and the darkness had lent them was slipping away. In order to hold the men together Tenorio was forced to speak up.
“It is I, Tenorio Trementina, who accuses her!” he shouted and jumped forward so that I could plainly see his ugly face. “¡La mujer que no ha pecado es bruja, le juro a Dios!”
He did not have a chance to finish his accusation because my father reached out and grabbed him by the collar. Tenorio was not a small man, but with one hand my father jerked him off his feet and pulled the cringing figure forward.
“You are a cabrón,” he said, almost calmly, into Tenorio’s evil, frightened face. “You are a whoring old woman!” With his left hand he grabbed at the tuft of hair that grew on Tenorio’s chin and yanked it hard. Tenorio screamed in pain and rage. Then my father extended his arm and Tenorio went flying. He landed screaming in the dust, and then scrambling to his feet he ran to find refuge behind two of his coyotes.
“Wait, Márez!” one of the men shouted and jumped between my father and Tenorio. “We did not come to fight you! There is no man here that does not hold you in respect. But witchcraft is a serious accusation, you know that. We do not like this any better than you do, but the charge must be cleared up! This morning Tenorio’s daughter died. He has proof that it is Ultima’s curse that