My Apache name is Itza-Chu. That’s what my parents call me. I am a member of the Chiricahua Apache tribe. The Mexicans called me El Halcon. Now that I am living on the O’Shea Ranch here in Texas I go by the English translation, Hawk.

I have lived and worked on this ranch since the day I was caught stealing food from the main house. After talking to my Patrona, Red O’Shea, my family along with the ones who escaped Mexico with us, were moved from our camp on the river to this ranch. That was 12 years ago.

Over those years we have built a life here very similar to the one we had lived in Mexico for generations. We stay mostly on the ranch and rarely leave for any reason. If we get sick a doctor comes to the ranch, neither I nor anyone else goes to a school. We learn from our elders and from the owners of the ranch what we need to know.

I was one of the men who killed the thieves trying to steal our cattle one night. I helped my father dispose of the bodies. The next year my father and I were called to the main house. This time we hauled off the bodies of two men who had tried to rape my Patrona.

It was a short time after that when I was again summoned to the main house. There my Patrona, Red, started my schooling. She taught me English. I picked it up quickly. She also taught me to read and write, in English. Then I was taught to drive a truck!

To drive in Texas you have to have a license. Mr. O’Shea took me to a place where I was told to fill out an application for the license. That presented a problem. I have only one name, Hawk. I needed a first and last name. I wrote in the name Red for my first name. Now my official name is Red Hawk. I did that in honor of my Patrona, Red O’Shea. I passed my driver’s test and received my license. I became the driver for the ranch. I run all the errands such as going to the co-op to bring salt back for the cattle. I even escort the ladies of the ranch to town for shopping or doctors’ appointments. On days I am not driving, I work as a vaquero on the ranch.

Today finds me in town with my Patrona and her boy. She is taking the boy in for his pre-school check-up and vaccinations. Instead of sitting in the waiting room I decided to walk across the parking lot to a restaurant and see if my favorite waitress is working today.

I found a table in what I know is her section and she hurries over. Maria is a Mexican American, long black hair, dark eyes about 5’ 4” tall and maybe 115 pounds. Her skin is brown, like mine, and she has a beautiful face.

“Hawk, I am so glad to see you. Since you don’t have a phone, I had no way of getting in touch with you.”

“What’s the problem?”

“My father! He was un-loading hay and fell. He broke his arm!”

“That’s too bad is he alright?”

“He’ll be fine. But it’s his right arm!”

A little explanation is in order here. I know Maria and her father have been practicing for the team roping contest this weekend when the rodeo is in town.

“I need you to take his place! Please!”

“Now Maria, I’ve told you how I feel about rodeos. That’s what I do all day. I don’t want to start doing it on my time off.”

“I understand. It would be like you asking me out for dinner and then bringing me here. But...”

A couple had sat down at a table next to us and motioned that they were ready to order. Maria got up without finishing trying to convince me and took their order, then walked back towards the kitchen.

That couple started arguing. It got louder and a lot more aggressive the longer it lasted, until finally the man jumped to his feet, leaned across the table and with his open hand slapped the woman so hard that she fell out of her chair and onto the floor.