“What made you look at the rope?” the policeman asked.
“I noticed black and white hairs on my hands. I rode here on a bay. I realized they must have come off your damp water bottle. They’d stuck to it from the rope. The white hairs got on the rope when Wilfredo tripped the horse with white stockings. When Belicia told Wilfredo to catch her mare, he used the rope he had at hand — his own — and black hairs got on it.”
“How did Ramos’ money get into the salesman’s valise?” asked someone else.
“It didn’t. That money belonged to the salesman, just as he said.”
The salesman nodded vigorously.
Everyone let out their breath. Belicia stepped in front of the bar. She bent to pick up a squeezed lime-half; it had fallen to the floor.
“Wilfredo has probably headed for the city, hoping to lose himself there,” Efraín added.
Mr. and Mrs. Vargas had walked across the pasture and stood outside the cantina, listening to Efraín. “Wilfredo’s father let him spend too much time in the city, visiting his cousins,” said Mr. Vargas. “He must have picked up bad morals there. I should have known he was the one.”
“Someone’s going to have to tell his father,” a man said.
“Isn’t the judge a sort of uncle to the family?” asked the policeman. Everyone discussed the degree of relatedness.
Mr. Vargas said, “But what happened to Fernando’s money? How do you know the boy didn’t find it on him and steal it?”
Efraín looked at Belicia. She was back behind the bar. “I wonder if it fell out of his pocket while he was sitting at the bar,” she said. “That’s happened before. A person pulls out his money to pay for a drink, and when he tries to stuff it back into his pocket, it slips to the floor instead.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Why doesn’t someone check?” she added.
The policeman walked over and pulled the stools out of the way. He bent down and opened a pocket knife. He slid the blade into the crack between the floor and the wooden counter, and fished out a tight roll of bills.
“Yes, they must have fallen,” Belicia said. “Then someone accidentally kicked them under the bar.” She held her head high and stared everyone down.
Outside, Soto’s horse neighed as another horse trotted up. “Hi, Pop,” said the rider to Soto. “Thought I’d come over and see what was happening. Walked home and got another horse. Tide had just fallen low enough to pass.” He looked in the cantina and noticed the salesman. “Say, aren’t you that guy who sells trinkets? I need a present. For a girl.”
The salesman glanced at the policeman, then leaped off the stool and snatched up his valise. “Of course, all kinds of nice gifts,” he said. He laid the case on the bench and opened it. He grabbed the wad of bills. “I better put this in my pocket. It’s caused me enough problems.”
Everyone watched as the salesman rummaged through his goods.
“Crochet thread for the lacy tablecloths I’m sure she makes,” he told Soto’s son. “Beautiful ribbons for her hair, wide satin. Variety of colors.” The salesman held them up so they danced in the breeze. “Deluxe sewing kit: two needles, a dozen spools of thread, and a thimble.” He cast a malevolent glance at Belicia.
“Enameled tin coffee cup with painted flower design.” He made a quick assessment of his customer’s economic status, taking in the new shirt and sporty watch. “Or to please her even more, a whole set of cups, with these plates to match.”
“How much are the satin hair ribbons?” asked Soto’s son.
The salesman told him.
Soto’s son made a face. “Something cheaper.”
The salesman evaluated his wares. “Ah, just the thing.” He picked up some yam ties. “Also for her hair, but more inexpensive. Very economical. She will be happy, and so will your pocket.” He laughed.
Soto’s son chose two yam ties, handed over a few coins, and went back outside.
Belicia bought a painted cup and plate. Efraín wasn’t sure if it was to make up for what she’d nearly allowed to happen to the salesman, or to cheer herself for having to renounce all that money.
The judge’s battered Landcruiser had reached the scene of the crime and was discharging officials and Ramos relatives.
The policeman bought a pair of sewing scissors for his mother. “I’d better hurry over and explain things to those officials,” he said, adjusting the rag over the spring in the motorcycle seat. “When they get back to town, they’ll want to phone the city police, to have them look for Wilfredo. I have to give this money to Mrs. Ramos, too.”
The salesman was about to close his valise when Efraín stepped up. “I’d like to see those satin hair ribbons.”
“Certainly.” The salesman lifted them out. They floated gaily in a band of afternoon sun that swept through the cantina. Efraín wiped his hands on his pants and gently touched the yellow one. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a bill, worn soft as cloth. He rarely had any money on him; it was fortunate, he thought, that today he did. His eyes wandered back to the valise, to a small mirror set in a wooden frame with white roses painted on it. “Would this be enough for a ribbon and that mirror, too?”
“Oh yes.” The salesman started to take the bill. Then he pushed Efraín’s hand away. He stuffed the ribbon and the mirror in Efraín’s shirt pocket and closed his valise. “Take them. It’s the least I can do to thank you. Now I’m going to run over and see if I can get a ride to town in that Landcruiser.” He rushed out.
Efraín jogged along the beach on the bay horse. Soto had ridden a few miles farther toward town to take care of his errand. He had told Efraín to ride the horse home and bring it back to Soto’s in the morning. Efraín would be going over anyway to check on his cow — he’d probably have to bury her then, he thought glumly. He doubted that she’d last much longer. They couldn’t eat her, not knowing what the sickness was.
He’d have to tell Sulema about the cow tonight.
Efraín approached his palm-thatched house in the twilight. A small stocky figure was walking away from it.
“Catalino!” Efraín called. “Where’ve you been?”
Catalino turned. “Went to visit my people,” he said. “By the way, I fixed your cow.”
“You fixed my cow!”
“I met one of Soto’s sons on the trail. He mentioned your cow was sick. I went to see.”
“What did she have? How did you treat her?”
Catalino raised his eyebrows. “She had a lesson about not eating too fast. She swallowed an orange while she was grazing, I suppose. It stuck halfway down. That’s why she could hardly breathe. I reached down her throat and pulled the orange out. I came over to tell you she’s all right now.”
“—so Mr. Ramos must have realized he’d had too much guaro to take proper care of his money,” Efraín said. He stood behind Sulema, holding the mirror for her while she twisted the yellow ribbon into her long hair. “Mr. Ramos slipped the money over the bar to Belicia and asked her to hold it for him. After he was dead, she thought she might as well keep it. She didn’t care what happened to the salesman.”
Sulema shook her head. “Some people can’t be understood. I hope the storekeeper’s daughter has sense enough not to go off with Soto’s son for a pair of cheap yam hair ties,” she said. “She’s a sweet girl, not too bright maybe but she’ll learn.” Sulema wound the coil of hair onto her head. The ribbon glistened in the candlelight. “How does this look?”
Efraín couldn’t resist. He reached out and tugged on the ribbon. Glossy black hair tumbled across Sulema’s shoulders. “You got an expensive satin ribbon. See how lucky you are?” he said. “You could have ended up with one of the Soto clan.”