Blazing mindlessly in the merciless sky, the sun baked the yellow dust of the Texas prairie. A tall Vaquiero strode across the plain, his eyes glittering. Up ahead was a small frontier outpost. He moved toward it with a single-minded determination, neither speeding up, nor slowing down.
When he was in the middle of the town, he came to a sudden stop. He looked left and right. His eyes focused on a dance hall. It was an inconspicuous adobe building, with exposed log supports just below the roof.
It was like all the other dance halls in the area. However, a huge grin spread across his face. He began moving toward it with a marching gait.
Inside, Maria de la Fuenzela nursed tequila. She hated the strutting emprasarios that had become a major clientele of the dance hall. She hated them because she was forced to depend on them.
Before they came, and proclaimed their Republic of Texas, she had been a high-born lady. She was proud of her near-pure Spanish blood, which marked her as an aristocrat.
When she had been a little girl, the emprasarios had been settling in the area. Her father had been hopeful about the American colonists. The land was so empty, and it seemed there was more than enough for everybody. She wasn't so sure. They came with their slaves in tow, and greed in their eyes.
In 1830, Mexico tried putting a stop to emprasario immigration. They feared their rising numbers, and objected to bringing slavery into their land. However, they kept coming.
Four years after that, Generalissimo Santa Anna declared himself governor for life. Texas responded by revolting, and declaring its independence.
The war tore apart the family. Her father enlisted with Santa Anna, and her brothers joined the Texans under Sam Browne. Jose died at the Battle of the Alamo, and Felipe was shot at Goliad. Then her father was killed at the battle of San Jacinto.
The newly liberated emprasarios used it as a pretext for seizing the family estate. Never mind the sacrifices her brothers had made on behalf of the new Republic of Texas.
So now, Maria found herself forced to sell herself to a bunch of pawing soldiers to survive. Because she still had her looks, she could command top dollar.
The din in the dance hall was at a low roar. The Mexican cowboys had just gotten paid, and they were enjoying watered-down drinks, and a dance with the pretty senioritas. Most of them would be too poor to afford much more than a couple of pesos for a woman tonight.
Maria was always ready to give her fellow Mexicans a discount. It was just another gesture of contempt for the emprasarios. If they noticed though, they showed no sign of it.
In the bar mirror, she could see four men sitting around a table, playing poker. One wore the blue uniform of a Yanqui soldier. It was well known that Texas waned to annex to the United States, and the South reciprocated the feeling. Right now, Northern reluctance to bring another slave state into the union prevented it. She grimaced, and took another sip.
Without warning, the doors banged open, and a tall Vaquiero stood in the doorway. He had a shock of thick black hair, and an olive complexion. His features were the graceful, aquiline ones of an aristocrat, and he had a small goatee on his chin.
He wore a Continental suit, and a black cape with a gold clasp. All conversation stopped. Every eye turned toward him. The men eyed him with fear. The women tried catching his eye. He ignored all of them. His attention was focused on Maria alone.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart began triphammering. All her life, she had dreams of a tall, dark stranger who would come to sweep her off her feet. However, she struggled to retain her aloof facade.
The Vaquiero strode forward, until he was standing beside her. He looked her over, and said in Spanish, “I’d bet you would dance with the Devil himself, if he asked you nice enough.”
Maria set down her drink, and said in Spanish, “I might even dance with you.”
The Vaquiero offered his hand, and she took it. For a brief moment, it occurred to her to ask why he was wearing black leather gloves. Then he pulled her into the center of the dance floor. The mariachi band struck up an improvised tango.
The Mexicans cheered. The emprasarios and the Yanquis stared with green-eyed jealousy. Maria felt giddy. Surely this was the man who haunted her dreams! The Vaquiero switched to English. “Tell me, dear. Is your soul for sale?”
She grinned, and arched an eyebrow. “Stranger, everything in this dance hall is for sale.”
His smile gave her a moment of unease. “And the price?”
She regarded him from hooded eyelids. “More than a couple of lines, and some fancy… footwork."
Something seemed dreadfully wrong to her. She staggered back a couple of steps, and screamed. The Vaquiero had feet like a goat!
"¡Sus pies! ¡Sus pies! ¡El Diablo!"
His identity revealed, the Devil drew the corners of his cape around him, and then disappeared in a cloud of brimstone, with an evil laugh. Maria fell onto her backside, and sat in the middle of the dance floor, screaming and crying. Nobody had the courage to go and comfort her. The Devil's laugh continued echoing through the dancehall.

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