The Resurrection of Ojianga

By Neal Krieger

Just home from Vietnam, Hank's love for the Big Bend of Texas and the ranch family that raised him was renewed. That affection was tempered, however, by the deep-seated hatred he harbored for Manny Espinoza, the vicious Ojinaga drug lord who had brutally murdered his family. The cruelty of war was behind him, but his long-awaited revenge now lay squarely in front of him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brown Books Publishing Group
• Release date: Oct 31, 2001
• ISBN: 9781612541785

Neal Krieger

Neal Krieger's grassroots beginnings in southwestern Oklahoma centered on farming, ranching, and athletics. After graduating from Hobart High School, he attended Colorado State University on a wrestling scholarship. Krieger earned his bachelor of science from Oklahoma State University and later his doctorate from Northeastern State University College of Optometry. He maintains a private practice in Durant, Oklahoma.

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PROLOGUE

The sun was just becoming visible over the Sierra del Carmen mountains as Enrique, Manuel and Louisa Rodriguez worked their way down the first rows of the pea patch. Two days earlier on June 15, 1962, Enrique celebrated his thirteenth birthday. Today, however, was just another day of working the 40-acre farm that lay alongside the Rio Grande river just east of Ojinaga, Mexico. As the oldest child of Roberto and Maria Rodriguez, Enrique was to make certain that eleven-year-old Manuel and nine-year-old Louisa did their share of work chopping the weeds out of the black-eyed peas. Enrique hated chopping weeds as much as his brother and sister did, but his father depended on him to keep the younger ones going.

Enrique, what do you think I should do when I grow up? Louisa asked as she lazily chopped a careless weed.

I don’t know. What would you like to do? Enrique asked.

Well, sometimes I think I’d like to be a teacher and sometimes I’d like to make and sell dresses.

Maybe you could do both, Enrique answered. You could be a teacher during the day and dressmaker at night.

Yeah, but when would I have time to sell the dresses?

I don’t know, Louisa. I guess you could have your own dress shop and hire people to help you sell the dresses.

That’s what I’m going to do then. I’ll teach school so other kids can learn things and make clothes so they’ll look good. Louisa smiled, revealing her generous dimples.

Proud of herself for making a decision, Louisa asked, What about you, Manuel? What do you want to be?

Anything but a farmer, Manuel pouted, half-heartedly chopping the weeds in front of him. I just don’t understand why we have to do this, Enrique. The peas seem to be doing well enough and this heat is awful.

The peas will do much better if the weeds are chopped out, Enrique said. Besides, Dad will tan your hide if you don’t do what he’s asked you to do. The quicker we get this job done the sooner we’ll be able to get in the shade and get something cool to drink.

As the three Rodriguez children chopped weeds, Father Lopez, pastor of the Catholic church of Ojinaga, drove into their yard in his dilapidated, green Ford pickup. He waved at the kids as he got out of the vehicle.

Good morning, children, Father Lopez said as he walked up to the small adobe house. Your mother told me to come by and pick up some of that delicious, homemade ice cream left over from your party, Enrique.

Go on in, Enrique said. Mom’s cleaning the house this morning.

In the distance, Enrique could see his father on the old Farmall tractor cultivating the onions next to the river. A cloud of dust followed the tractor as it moved back and forth along the rows. He could hear his mother singing a tune in the house as Father Lopez drove away.

At noon, the Rodriguez family sat down for a meal of black-eyed peas and cornbread. After saying grace they began eating and talking about the events of the last few days.

Who were the men in that black pickup who came by late yesterday afternoon? Enrique asked his father.

Roberto looked at Enrique and hesitated before saying, That was Manny Espinoza and his cousin, Ricardo Martinez. They want to buy some of our onions after we have them sacked and ready for market.

Why would they want to buy from us when they could buy them from the market in Presidio? Enrique asked.

Espinoza and Martinez are hoodlums, Enrique. Everyone in Ojinaga knows they are smuggling marijuana across the border using the onions to disguise the smell. The drug dogs at the border can’t pick up the smell in the sacks of onions. If they buy the onions in Presidio and bring them back to Ojinaga, authorities over there would be suspicious. Anyway, I told them that we would not sell them any of our crop.

They seemed pretty upset when they left, Enrique commented, remembering how the black pickup with the distinctive ‘Z’ painted on the tailgate sped out of the yard.

Manny is bad news, Enrique. I’ve heard that he’s already killed two men who snitched on him. The problem here in Ojinaga is that the local police are as corrupt as he is. They won’t do anything that will jeopardize his operation.

Isn’t there anything we can do? Enrique asked.

Roberto answered, As long as the police are working for him, our hands are tied. Until we can get the people of this community to stand up to him and the police, nothing will be done. The best thing we can do for now is mind our own business and stay away from him. I don’t think they’ll come back. I told them I’d kill them if they bothered me or my family again.

Changing the subject, Enrique’s father asked, How were Samson’s hooves? Did they need trimming?

His hooves had some cracks, but I worked on them with the rasp, Enrique answered, relieved to have finished the back-breaking task.

Since you’ve finished your weeding, it’s fine with me if you want to go riding this afternoon, Roberto said. Manuel and Louisa have also worked hard and deserve to have some fun. I’ve got to go to Ojinaga to see about getting some sacks for the onions and check the price over in Presidio. I should be back later this afternoon.

After lunch, Enrique walked to the barn to saddle Samson and prepare for a long ride into the Sierra del Carmen mountains looming to the east of the Rodriguez farm. Enrique’s pride and joy, Samson, was a six-year-old buckskin gelding whose mother had died of colic. Samson nickered softly when he saw Enrique coming toward him with a saddle and bridle.

Yeah, that’s right, big fella, Enrique whispered as he stroked the buckskin’s mane. You and I are going for a long ride. I’ll bet you’re ready to get out of this stall.

After gathering his .22 rifle, some snacks and a canteen, Enrique headed eastward onto a trail along the Rio Grande. The Rodriguez farm disappeared from sight as the trail wound up into the mountains. This was Enrique’s favorite pastime. He knew the terrain well and loved the simple beauty provided by the sheer cliffs and arroyos. The scenery was so different from the farm, yet it was only minutes away. Looking upward on a cliff to the east, he spotted a mountain goat nanny with twin kids slowly navigating their way along the precarious edge of the cliff. Enrique watched in amazement as the kid goats jumped from one rock to another with seemingly no fear of falling. He admired their agility and independence.

The arroyo was beginning to widen some and Enrique knew he was nearing the Rio Grande. As he turned a bend, he spotted the river and rode toward a cottonwood tree growing in the river bank. After watering Samson, Enrique tied him to the tree and started munching on the snacks. The shade of the tree felt good and the breeze off the river cooled him.

It doesn’t get any better than this, ol’ boy, Enrique whispered to Samson as the horse grazed contentedly on the lush grass next to the river. It’s so quiet and peaceful here.

While cooling off from the sweltering heat, Enrique watched the cars slowly winding along El Camino del Rio, the road between Terlingua and Presidio. He wondered what it would be like to live in the United States and do things that kids do there. He heard stories about San Antonio and Houston and wondered what the cities were really like. To the young of Ojinaga, the United States was like the promised land where everyone has an opportunity to become rich and do what they want. For most, however, it was only a dream. Many would make it across the river only to find no work. There was also the constant threat of the border patrol that would send them back. Reality was staying in Ojinaga, working a menial job, marrying, and trying to survive.

Realizing that his day was slowly slipping away, Enrique tightened the saddle girth and began the ride back west toward home. He followed the river, which was shallow that time of the year. As the sun slowly settled behind the Guadalupe Mountains to the west, the river began to broaden as the canyon opened to expose a glimpse of Ojinaga far in the distance.

When Enrique was less than two miles from home, he heard shots and then screams in the distance. The further he rode, the more he realized that the shots were coming from near his home. When he was within visible distance of his family’s house, he could not believe what he saw.

Smoke bellowed out of the windows and doors of both the house and barn. Enrique spurred Samson to a fast gallop and as he reached the crest looking down upon his home, he saw a black pickup churning up dust as it sped away. Although it was quickly getting dark, there was no mistaking the white lightning streak painted on the tailgate of the pickup.

ONE

Flying-M Ranch

Dressed in his army uniform, Hank Delgado finished packing his duffel bag. As he looked around the bunkhouse of the Flying-M Ranch, he inhaled the smell of morning bacon that was cooked earlier and took one last look at what had been his home for the last five years.

Outside the bunkhouse, a cool December breeze swirled the West Texas dirt around him as he said his goodbyes to the cowhands he worked with and the Mitchell family who provided him with a job and a home.

Take care, Hank, Hoss Riley said as he shook Hank’s hand. The big ranch foreman continued, When you get back we’ll have a good horse waitin’ for you.

Watch yourself over there, amigo, Carlos Garcia said, patting Hank on the back. And whatever you do, stay out of poker games. You’re the worst player I’ve ever seen.

Hank smiled and acknowledged his wiry right-hand man’s comment. Next in line was Mary Mitchell, the wife of the owner of the Flying-M, Tom Mitchell.

I made some cookies for you to snack on while you’re on the plane, said Mary in a motherlike tone of voice. The first time you get a chance, I want you to write and let us know you’re safe.

In addition to raising her three children, Mary had treated Hank as one of her own. Her winning smile and striking blue eyes were accented by auburn hair that fell just to her shoulders. Her husband was a big, leather-skinned cowboy whose unrefined demeanor was legendary in the Marfa community. Mary had a way of bringing out the best in Tom who was always the perfect gentleman around her.

Don’t worry. I’ll keep in touch, Mrs. Mitchell, Hank promised.

I wish you didn’t have to go, Andrea whimpered. The youngest of the Mitchell children, Andrea was seventeen years old. She wiped the tears from her eyes and attempted a smile. We’ll miss you.

I’ll miss you, too, Andrea, Hank said, giving her a warm hug. Keep me posted on your basketball games. I’ll miss the last part of your junior season, but I’ll get to see some of your games next year.

Hank moved down the line and shook hands with Gus, the Mitchells’ middle child. Gus, like Hank, was eighteen years old. He was the valedictorian of their class and interested in law. Gus, who was smaller in stature than his brother Larry, had not been interested in athletics or the ranching business.

Good luck at The University of Texas, Gus. You’ll make a fine lawyer someday, Hank said, thinking of the many times Gus helped him study for tests.

Larry will take you to the airport, Tom said. Before you go, I want you to know that you’ll have a job here when you get back if that’s what you want.

Thanks, Mr. Mitchell. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Right now I’m not sure what I’ll do after my tour is finished, but this ranch will always feel like home.

Hank threw his duffel bag into the back of the dirt-streaked white Chevrolet pickup and waved good-bye as he and Larry left the ranch heading west for El Paso.

Leaving the 130,000-acre ranch, Hank looked southeast across the landscape for one last glimpse of the Chisos Mountains in the region of Texas known as the Big Bend.

As Larry drove the pickup onto the highway leading to Marfa, he asked, What time did you get in last night? I left the Stardust Club around 1:00 in the morning and you were still dancing with Rachel Sanchez.

I got in about 5:00 this morning, Hank said, yawning.

You’re lucky ol’ Rueben didn’t shoot you for bringing his daughter home that late, Larry said.

Rachel stayed with a friend of hers in Alpine last night. Hopefully, her dad and brother won’t find out I was with her. Hank thought about the way Rachel looked in the Alpine motel room a few hours earlier and smiled to himself.

Yeah, Paul’s been a real horse’s ass since you’ve been dating his sister, Larry commented, shaking his head.

It hasn’t been so bad since Paul graduated from high school. But he did his best to make my life miserable when we were playing ball, Hank said.

How about Mrs. Sanchez? Larry asked. She seems like a nice lady.

She is, but she wouldn’t do anything to cross Rueben, Hank said. He’s one mean bastard.

I’m sure working for us didn’t help, Larry noted. Rueben and Dad had some problems with the Running-S bordering our ranch. Rueben had that brucellosis outbreak a few years ago. Dad pushed for mandatory testing of all the herds in this area and Rueben has blamed Dad for his financial losses.

Passing through Marfa, Hank grew quiet for a few minutes as he noticed the sign along the highway proclaiming the Marfa Shorthorns as the 1966 class 2A state champions in basketball. The success of the Marfa basketball team during Hank’s junior and senior seasons had been the biggest news in the Big Bend area since the filming of the movie Giant in 1956.

During the trip from Marfa northwest to Van Horn, Hank and Larry reminisced about the state finals game held in San Antonio during Larry’s senior and Hank’s junior season in high school.

Hank conceded that Larry Mitchell was probably the best basketball player to graduate from Marfa. At nineteen years of age, Larry was six-feet-four-inches tall and weighed 220 pounds. He was unquestionably the most dominating player Hank ever saw when playing underneath the goal.

When Hank first arrived at the Flying-M, Larry showed no interest in getting to know him. Later in the fall when Hank started school, he was having trouble with a few of the Anglos calling him wetback and spic. His English was poor and he spoke in broken phrases which caused his classmates to laugh and make fun of him. Hank never said a word about his problems at school. However, when he came home one day with a black eye and bruised face, Larry noticed and came to Hank’s defense. The Anglo bullies were taken care of and Hank’s troubles at school ended. Later, when Larry learned that Hank was interested in playing basketball, they spent an endless number of hours working on the fundamentals of the game. Through basketball, Hank earned the respect of his peers and became much closer to Larry.

Hank was six-feet-three-inches and weighed 190. Although he was not as prolific a scorer as Larry, he was a major contributor to the team’s success with his quickness. After the high school championship game, Larry earned a basketball scholarship to Sul Ross State University in Alpine. Since Larry was interested in the ranching business, he decided to major in animal science.

Paul Sanchez, Rachel’s brother, was the same age as Larry and was the team’s point guard. Despite his open hostility toward Hank, Paul was a good ball handler and tenacious defensive player. In an effort to pacify Paul, Hank and Rachel managed to conceal their relationship.

After passing through Van Horn, Larry turned west onto Interstate 10 for the last half of the trip to El Paso.

You know, Hank, Larry mused. If you hadn’t broken your arm after the regionals, I think Coach Evans might have been interested in trying to recruit you to Sul Ross.

Well, that’s all water under the bridge now, Hank said. After Samson was put down, I sort of lost my desire to play. Hank closed his eyes. The pain of losing his horse was still vivid in his memory.

Ol’ Samson was a great roping horse, but horses can be replaced, Hank. Hoss will find you another one.

Samson was more to me than just a good roping horse. That day, when Carlos and I were checking those cattle down on the south range, Samson was so full of life. It was as if he couldn’t wait to get over the next ridge to see something new. I don’t remember much about what happened after his leg went down in that gopher hole. When I came to, Carlos told me that my arm was broken and Samson had broken his leg.

Carlos didn’t have any choice about what to do, Hank, Larry said in an attempt to console him.

I know that, but it still doesn’t make it any easier, Hank said, remembering the rifle shot that ended Samson’s life.

Sensing how difficult it was for Hank to talk about his horse, Larry changed the subject. How do you feel about going to Vietnam, Hank?

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, Hank responded. I’ve gone through jump school and advanced infantry training, but I’m still scared. I hadn’t thought about it much until I was getting my gear together this morning.

You’ll be alright. You’re a survivor, Hank. I know Mom’s told you to write us, but Andrea is the one who really needs to hear from you. Over the past five years, she’s become more attached to you than she lets on.

Hank nodded and thought about Andrea. From the time he first set foot on the Mitchell Ranch, Andrea was his shadow. She helped teach him the English language and seemed to have a better understanding of how he felt about growing up without a family. Her brothers helped him in many ways, but it was Andrea who knew Hank the best.

Tall and thin like her mother, Andrea was an attractive young woman. Even so, Hank still thought of her as the tomboy who would rather fish and ride with the cowboys than help her mother with the house chores.

At the El Paso airport, Larry shook Hank’s hand and promised to keep Hank’s 1958 Chevrolet pickup in running condition in his absence. Hank boarded a flight to Dallas where a unit of 50 men attached to the 101st Airborne Battalion would be flying to Hawaii.

On the airplane Hank sat with Sam Gallego, a friend he met at Fort Bliss during their basic training. Sam was from El Paso and had invited Hank to eat with his family on numerous occasions. Sam was engaged to marry Lisa Martinez, his high school sweetheart. Before Hank and Sam boarded the plane, Sam said goodbye to his family and consoled Lisa who was crying and begging Sam not to go.

Once they were in the air, Hank and Sam were both drained from the emotional upheaval their anticipated tour in Vietnam was creating.

Looks like Lisa is having a tough time with this, Hank remarked.

Yeah. She’ll be okay though. She’s always been a sensitive person. How about Rachel, Hank? How’s she taking this?

We spent most of last night together. It wasn’t planned. It just happened. We haven’t even talked that much about Vietnam. I suppose Rachel thought if she didn’t talk about it she wouldn’t have to think about it so much.

You must be serious about her. Are you two talking about getting married? Sam asked.

Hank hesitated, looking out the window, and then said, Marriage has been mentioned, but we haven’t discussed it. I know that I love her and she loves me. The problem is with her father and brother. They think I’m some kind of a low-life peon. I’ve never been invited to their home. Rachel and I have always had to sneak around. That really gets old.

That’s a tough one, man. I’ve really been lucky that way. I get along well with Lisa’s parents. They are behind our marriage 100 percent.

Their conversation ceased while the aircraft climbed steadily in the West Texas sky and headed for Dallas. As the rolling landscape faded below them, a collection of memories flooded Hank’s mind.

First and foremost in his thoughts was the way he found his murdered family five years ago: the pool of blood on the kitchen floor where he found his parents shot and mutilated with Z-shaped slashes in their chests; the blood-soaked beds in the back bedroom where he discovered his younger brother and sister with gaping holes in their bodies from the blasts of a shotgun; and the smoke and fire that nearly cost him his own life before he dragged their bodies from the inferno that consumed their home.

The events following Hank’s initial discovery of the burning house scarred him emotionally. Alone, frightened and tormented over his family’s deaths, Hank had ridden Samson to the church to counsel with his priest. Father Lopez had immediately convinced Hank, whose real name was Enrique, that his life was in danger.

The priest gave Enrique the birth certificate of an orphan with the same first name who was two months younger. The orphan had died of diphtheria two days prior to the murder of Enrique’s family.

Hank remembered the priest telling him, I’ll give you Enrique Delgado’s birth certificate and file your death certificate with the city officials to account for his demise. As far as anyone in this community is concerned, Enrique Rodriguez perished in the house fire. This secret will be safe with me. Your name will be Enrique Delgado. You must leave while it’s still dark and cross the river near Terlingua. The river is shallow there, and you’ll have the best chance of avoiding the border patrol. Take plenty of water and some pinole to eat. The desert is very hot this time of the year. Good luck, Enrique, and may God be with you!

After crossing the Rio Grande into the States, Enrique used a map Father Lopez gave him and followed Terlingua Creek northward through the Chihuahuan desert. Cathedral Mountain was his first landmark far to the north. From the mountain, he supposedly could see Alpine to the northeast and would find help in a family there named Talavera. For two days Enrique rode toward the mountain, thinking he would surely reach it within a day, but the sizzling heat of the desert was playing tricks with his mind. Terlingua Creek had long since run out with no trace of water in sight. Enrique drank sparingly during the third day and finished the last of the pinole, a mixture of crushed peanuts and dried beans, that night.

On the fourth day of their journey into the United States, Enrique and Samson were near death from dehydration. Enrique had given Samson the last of the water supply that morning. Hoss and Carlos discovered them wandering aimlessly on the Flying-M. Enrique was slumped in the saddle and incoherent. Hoss and Carlos pulled Enrique off his horse and let him drink water slowly until he became lucid. While both horse and rider were being tended to, Hoss discovered Enrique’s