Year Of Our Lord

They’d been watching the farmhouse for a while, maybe all day
There were two of them, both young and fit and desert-hardened
They were lords of where they lived and they had no farm teachings from white
men or Mexicans
Except for one thing
They hated the Mexicans more than the white men because of their cruelty
They had learned cruelty from the Mexicans very well in return
The smoke from the mud-house curled up into the sky like an albino snake
The two young men watched and counted the white men down in the farmyard
A tall man and two shorter ones, maybe his sons
A woman would occasionally come out from the shack
Get water from the well in the front yard and carry it back inside
A small child would be with her
The men watching on the rim had no calendars so they didn’t know the date
12th of June, year of our Lord, 1854
But one thing they did know: about an hour away were the rest of their party
Eight men, all armed, running smoothly and trackless over the rocks
One of the watchers moved away to tell the main party of what they had seen
The raid was about to start