Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, RIO GRANDE VALLEY, by ALBERT EDMUND TROMBLY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

RIO GRANDE VALLEY, by                    
First Line: There's an empty grave in the town of hidalgo
Last Line: "who just awoke: ""any cows to sell?"
Subject(s): Cattle; Rio Grande River; Villa, Francisco (pancho) (1878-1923)


There's an empty grave in the town of Hidalgo,
And a fiendish snickering down in hell;
For the late-arrival who stirred the ripple
Sits rubbing his eyes. . . . When he wakens. . .well. . .

North of the Rio Grande the ranchman
Jesus Malgardo, lord of the land:
Longhorn, shorthorn, steer and heifer,
Scores and hundreds bore his brand.

Across the river, neighbor and rival,
Juan Pizarro fared right well;
A thousand fattening head of cattle,
Acres and acres that dip and swell.

Swaggering northward Pancho Villa
Pillaging rides with his horde of thieves.
Jesus Malgardo banters his neighbor:
"He'll make good game of your choicest beeves!

"Corral and drive them across the river.
I'll pasture them while Villa's here.
His robbers gone -- then I'll return you
One-half your heads." Juan scratched his ear,

Agreed, coralled, and drove them over.
Two moons later, with Villa gone,
He hurried north when told his neighbor
Had sold the two men's cattle as one.

"Cattle?" sneered Jesus; "you've come for your cattle?
I never so much as heard your name.
Damn and blast you! if you value
Your hide, go back the way you came!"

Juan Pizzaro was not hot-headed,
Nor a man of words, but he felt their sting.
Four days later Malgardo noticed
That all his horses had taken wing.

Half between this bank and the other
An island lies called No Man's Land,
Tangle of brush, mesquite and cactus,
Reached by fording on either hand.

'Twas there they said he'd find his horses --
'Twas there he went. He found -- alack --
From a stinging lie a man may stagger;
From a well-aimed shot, no turning back.

Juan, with easy gait and conscience,
Floats the dead man down the ford;
And in the grave he had dug beforehand
He buries him with never a word.

Malgardo (kindly, thoughtful husband)
Had well insured his crafty head;
But the paper was worthless until his body
Should be living proof that he was dead.

His widow rides to the border rangers;
And, having told them what befell,
She makes it clear that if they bring her
Her husband's body 'twill pay them well.

Clouded moon some two days after;
Plashing hoofs in the quiet night;
Scrape of spade and thud of mattock,
And the wan Malgardo comes to light.

Again he's floated across the river,
Towed with a lariat under his chin.
At dawn he lies 'mid burning candles,
Looking as if he were washed of sin.

There's an empty grave in the town of Hidalgo;
And a swarm of devils down in hell
Caterwaul, croak to the late-arrival
Who just awoke: "Any cows to sell?"





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