Chapter 2

My name is Jesus Sanchez. My father is Manuel and my mother, Maria. We live in the Hacienda of the Anderson Cavalry. Also called The Regiment. My father had been a peon of the Ruis family when they owned the land. He would work in the fields of the Ruis, picking cotton or corn or beans. In return, the Ruis would supply food and water, and protection.

After dinner, my father would tell us tales of battles fought with the Indians of the heroic deeds of the Ruis men in defending the Hacienda. Then with sadness in his voice, he would tell of the last raid. The raid when the Comancheros and evil white men had murdered the Ruis family. He would speak of the years that followed. Of the hunger and fear of all of the Ruis peons.

Then Mama would tell of The Man, The Colonel. How when he came to the Hacienda, all of the peons were afraid, and they hid from this man. How Senora Martinez, the bravest of all, talked to the Colonel. He spoke of many things, and he promised many things.

And then Mama spoke of the promises fulfilled. Of how the Hacienda was reborn.

Now we were no longer peons. We were members of ‘The Regiment.’ We could choose our own path. My father was able to claim a section of land for his own. From that, He was able to raise food for our family. No longer did we have to rely on the generosity of the patron. My father started walking with his eyes on the horizon, not on the ground as he had as a peon. Pride came to my father.

Pride also came to my mother. She no longer worried about our home. It was ours, and we owned it. We couldn’t be sent away by the patron if we displeased him. There was no patron. My mother talked to the other women and girls. They no longer had to worry about their honor. They couldn’t be taken at a man’s will anymore. With that safety came courage. From courage came ambition.

My mother’s ambition came as a baker. At first, it was simple. Tortillas for our friends and neighbors. This quickly grew when the Regiment’s cook noticed the quality of Mama’s tortilla. He hired her to provide tortillas to the Regiment. At first, my mother was frightened. How could she provide for so many? But she found a way. She called on her friends and neighbors. All of the women knew how to make tortillas. So, a deal was struck. Mama would supply the cornmeal flour and other ingredients. They would make so many tortillas a day, and Mama would pay them for their efforts.

Eventually, Mama left the tortillas to her friends and started making loaves of bread and pastries. Word spread, and she was soon selling her goods in Wilkins and to the farms and ranches in the area.

As I grew older, I grew restless. My family was prosperous. And yet I hadn’t made my name. At the school that the Regiment provided free to all, I learned that I could become a part of the Regiment. I, too, could wear the uniform, ride a horse and be strong. That was when I decided that I, too, would be a Cavalryman in our Regiment.

At first, I didn’t know how to satisfy my wish. I decided to ask the smartest man I knew. Mr. Buchanan, My teacher at the school. All of the children were required to go to school until they were 14. This included the whites and the mexicans. It was free, and all were required to learn Spanish and English. When you reached 14, you could go on to advanced schooling or an apprenticeship. Or even adult work if you could find it. But within the Hacienda walls, someone would rarely take on a youngster. Some did, but it was usually farm work. Something requiring a strong back and weak mind.

I told Mr. Buchanan about my ambition. I was 14 at the time and tired of the daily grind of school. “Jesus,” He said, “It’s a difficult, dangerous, and hard path you propose. The military life requires everything from you. Family, Friends, and Privacy all are given up to the god of war, Mars. In the military, you WILL be called to do things that you won’t want to do. Be called to ignore things that are dear to you. To sweat and bleed for others. To even give up your very life. All of this will be demanded of you and no thanks given when you do them.”

I sat there wide-eyed. It was apparent that he was trying to scare me. And to be honest, he was doing a good job. Before I could say anything, he continued. “Jesus, at 14, you are too young to join the Regiment. They have a strict age limit of 17. Now that won’t stop you from going to the Federal recruiter and lying about your age. Those folks could care less about you. All they are looking for is to fill quotas and cannon fodder. But if you’re willing to wait and continue to go to school, I’ll do everything I can to get you into the Regiment.”

He offered me his hand, and I took it. “OK, Mr. Buchanan, I’ll keep going to school.” We shook hands, and the contract was made.

What followed was two years of some of the most confusing subjects I could think of. We studied the bible, the Torah, even the Quran. We studied Hannibal, Alexander, Grant, and Lee. I learned how rope was made, how knots were tied, how to splice rope. I learned how to cook. How to bake. I learned how to sew, knit, and crochet. The subjects were as varied as one could think of. I even spent time as a swamper at the bar in Wilkins. Also as both a busboy and dishwasher in the regimental mess.

I spent an entire month in the Wilkins livery stable. Mucking stalls and rubbing down other people’s horses. The stable master ‘Red,’ The only name he would answer to, taught me about horses. He showed me the difference between a healthy and an ill horse. He also gave me advice on how to treat a sick horse. And most importantly, if it was too late, how to relieve its misery.

Eventually, the time came, and I reached that magical goal. I was 17 years old.

Mr. Buchanan called me into his office. “Jesus,” He started, “I made a promise to you two years ago. You have fulfilled your end of that bargain admirably. Before I fulfill mine, my conscience requires me to ask you one question.” He paused a moment and looked at me closely. “Jesus, do you still want to join the Regiment? Is this your true and honest wish?”

I paused for a moment and thought to myself, is this what I really want?

I thought of my Father and Mother. Of their lives as peons, of the proud people that they had become. I thought of my sisters and little brother. All of them were safer and happier because of the Regiment. I thought of the education that had been given to me free of charge or expectation. I thought about what my life would have been without the Regiment. What other lives would be without the Regiment? I could see right then that I owed the Regiment a lot, maybe even my life.

“Mr. Buchanan, my decision is made. I want to join the Regiment.”

He stood up and reached out his hand as he had years earlier. “Son, I knew this would happen. I’ll do what I can for you.” We shook hands. a week later, a visitor came to our door. The door opened, and I met Master Sergeant Fritz Baumgarten.