Chasing Pancho Villa by R. L. Tecklenburg

asking,” he replied, sipping the beer. “So this is the frontier, eh?”
    â€œThe frontier? Yeah, I guess. So what?”
    â€œSeems like there could be plenty of opportunities here for a man who worked hard. Have you ever thought about settling down around here?”
    â€œHell no.” He threw down the mug of beer. “I don’t wanna talk my business with the likes of you,” he growled. “What doya know ’bout it, anyway?”
    â€œI didn’t mean to offend you,” Harrison said. “I’m just making small talk.”
    â€œWe best be headin’ back to camp. Git up, private, he ordered Jonesy. “We gotta git.” He stood up.
    Jonesy looked at Charlie, surprised. “I was jus’ gittin’ comfortable, Charlie.” His hands were still on Peaches’ breasts.
    â€œCharlie, cain’t ya see the private here is preoccupied?” Peaches said, appearing to enjoy the fondling, or recognizing potential business in the young man. But it was the civilian who caught her eye. “Where ya stayin’ mister? Mister? She listened closely for Harrison’s answer.
    â€œThe name is James, and I don’t know for certain where I’m staying.” He grabbed his grip and prepared to leave.
    â€œLet’s go,” Charlie said.
    â€œYou come back later, Mr. James, and you see Peaches now, ya hear me? You too, slim,” she said as an afterthought.
    â€œI surely will,” Jonesy said with a wide grin on his face.
    *
    After walking about two blocks east, the three arrived at the Hoover Hotel. In another three blocks they would have reached the eastern limits of town.
    About one block before reaching the hotel, they passed a charred ruin. Only the stone foundation and an adobe wall remained. “That’s where the Commercial used to be,” Jonesy told him. “The Mex burned it out when they come in 1916. They say ’cause Villa don’t like the owner. Said he cheated ’im on a gun deal.”
    â€œPeople take their business seriously down here, don’t they?” Harrison said. Charred pieces of wood still lay about on the ground where they had fallen. They kept walking.
    â€œHere ya go, Harry,” Jonesy said, having walked another block. “The Hoover.” They stopped on the wooden sidewalk.
    James looked up at the two-story clapboard building dominating the entire block. It was the largest building in town, he observed. Originally painted red, it had since faded to a grayish pink in the hot desert sun. Entrance was through double wood doors inset with large windows. “THE HOOVER HOTEL WELCOMES YOU” was painted across the large plate glass window to the right of the double door. There was no front promenade. The doors were open wide. A young, neatly dressed Hispanic looking man leaned against them.
    The two soldiers turned to walk back toward Camp Furlong. There were no further words spoken. Jonesy had pointed to the entrance, and Harrison demonstrated his appreciation with a nod. He entered the building, the grip still over his shoulder.
    The young Hispanic man followed him into the lobby. “Ahh señor, you will stay at the Hoover Hotel?” he asked with a smile.
    â€œYes, I will,” Harrison responded. “You have a room available? I want the best that you have, please.” He looked around, impressed with the large, well-decorated lobby. Small groups of men stood about talking and smoking.
    â€œClaro, señor. For you we have only the best,” he said, taking hold of Harrison’s one bag. “You will be staying long?” The young man immediately noticed the expensive cut of the white man’s suit.
    â€œI don’t know yet,” Harrison answered. “Perhaps.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Later that day, after a bath, a nap, and clean clothes, Harrison James stood on a rocky promontory looking down at Camp Furlong from the north. Standing there on the