El Paso: A Novel by Winston Groom Page A

gaze. At last Callahan reluctantly stepped up. “General,” he said, “I ordered my people to go after cattle rustlers.”
    “And who are you?”
    “The ranch manager for Mr. Shaughnessy,” Callahan replied, figuring that his minutes on earth might be fast ticking away.
    “Well, we are not cattle rustlers,” Villa informed him. “We were requisitioning beef for my army. I am governor of Chihuahua and I can requisition beef when I need it for the revolution.”
    “We didn’t know it was you,” Callahan said. He knew it sounded feeble, but it was true.
    “You should have asked.”
    Since he hadn’t been shot by now, he figured he could be a little bolder, but was careful not to sound argumentative. A maid brought a large glass of lemonade to Señora Parnadas, who handed it to Villa.
    “ Gracias ,” responded the general, taking a large swig, then returning his attentions to the man before him.
    “My men haven’t had any fresh beef in a while,” Villa said. “It is not good for an army to be underfed.”
    Callahan had the feeling the general might be toying with him, but, emboldened merely by being alive, he plunged ahead.
    “General,” he said, “all these years you’ve left us alone. All us Americans down here, we wish you the best. We don’t want to get in your way. If you want some cows, we can let you have them.”
    Villa had a way of twisting his mouth to the side so you couldn’t tell if it was a grin or a grimace. Callahan thought it was a grimace.
    “You want me to send my boys to cut out some of the herd for you?” Callahan offered.
    “I didn’t know your hospitality would be so generous,” Villa said. “We were all looking forward to having a big beef supper tonight. Just a little while ago I promised this to General Fierro myself.”
    “Well, then,” Callahan said hopefully, “let me get my people working.”
    “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Fierro interrupted. He had been glaring at Callahan all during the conversation. “You see, on the way here we picked out a very fine beef for our dinner. He’s old and tough, like us. We’re not used to your good grain-fed cows. We been fighting and on the march too long.”
    General Fierro motioned one of his aides to come forward. On his saddle horn the aide carried a large burlap sack. He walked the horse slowly until he came up beside Callahan, then pulled out a knife and slit the sack open. The severed head of a bull tumbled out of the sack and onto the paving.
    “In the bullring,” Fierro sneered, “they just cut off the ears and the tail. We in the army cut off the entire head.”
    It took Johnny Ollas a moment or so to realize what this was. It hit him like a kick to the gut. “You bastards!” he roared, bursting through the crowd. “No, no!” He lunged for Fierro but was cut down by a savage flat-of-the-blade saber blow to the back of his head from one of Fierro’s men.
    There was stunned silence in the courtyard. Women clapped their handkerchiefs to their mouths. Everybody knew how Johnny cared for Toro Malo, how even as a kid he’d get dressed in the middle of a lightning storm and lead him to the safety of a barn. How he always used to say he didn’t understand how the old bull could produce such fine fighting stock, since he was really as gentle as a lamb. How proud he was to show him off to visiting ranchers. In fact, even though Johnny killed bulls for part of his living, he had grown so attached to the beast he would never have thought of meeting him in the bullring.
    Donita had run up by now and was kneeling over Johnny and screaming profanities at Fierro. Johnny was bleeding badly from his wound but was still conscious. Fierro smiled at her, his mouth twisted in disdain.
    “Big macho !” she spat. “Big man! You say you’re a man helping the people, huh? You’re a criminal. A bandit!”
    Villa motioned for two men to restrain her.
    “This your boyfriend?” he said.
    “My husband.”
    “Well,