*********** LAS AVENTURAS DE MACHO CABALLO ************

Disclaimer: Macho Caballo is an original work of fiction,
inspired by Takahashi Rumiko's Ranma 1/2. As a work of fiction,
no person, place, or thing mentioned in Macho Caballo is intended
to depict an actual person, place or thing. As fiction, the
opinions and views expressed by characters are constructs for the
purpose of telling a story, may vary wildly from the truth, and
are not intended to represent views held by any real person,
including this author. All other mistakes and errors are mine,
for in ignorance do I write.

What has gone before:
Ramon has endured training at the hands of his mentors, Mudwallow
and Cornsilk, the Apache maiden (of many years). Shaman Nomiro
has coerced a wedding for Ramon's friends, Lonesome and Sandy.
Lonesome is to be wed to Ramon's sister, Lucha, while Sandy must
wed... er... Ramon, as Machita. While Ramon would like to stop
the whole mess and straighten things out, he is currently stranded
in the middle of the desert, a girl, and out of options.

MACHO CABALLO
PART 2: CHAPTER TRIENTA Y NUEVE
THE MIGHT OAK COULD STOP A CREEK

Although paleontologists in later years would remain divided on
the question of the diet of the Tyrannosaurus Rex, they were in
agreement on one factor - the dinosaur did eat, and when he ate,
he ate a lot.

The creature trying to hide from the murderous rays of the
blazing sun, in the scant shade of a clay bluff, was reflecting
upon this facet of information - eating. He had been about to eat
when he was zapped into a tiny earthenware bottle by a small
sorcerer from another time.

Emitting a windy sigh which billowed dust around his snout, the
creature stretched out to its full length in the narrow cool
shade. He hated the thin, hot, dry air. The dust got in his
yellow eyes, tingeing them with red. He wanted to go home to his
mommy.

His stomach rumbled as he retraced the events from earlier in the
day. One minute he was roaming the lush veldt of the Pan-American
continent in search of a light meal, the next minute he was being
addressed by a shrunken dwarf not large enough to make a passing
snack. The minuscule magician had made some arrogant remarks, in
the short time that the creature could comprehend his language.

The memory of that humiliation caused the Tyrannosaurus Rex to
sniff loudly, fixing the odor of the sorcerer and his last
direction of travel firmly in his mind for later perusal.

MISGIVINGS:

Broken Cloud pulled his blankets closer about him, against the
chilling draft that sliced through the walls of his tipi. Other
members of the Loose Foot Group accepted his choice of shelter,
although they preferred the wickiups constructed of readily
available brush and limbs. As shaman of the group, Broken Cloud
was expected to be eccentric. The cured hides that covered the
tipi were usually protection enough for the cold of winter, but
today was different. Today the air still reeked of heated pinon
as it stirred the feathers on Broken Cloud's ceremonial staff,
leaning by the door portal. Today, distant peaks danced in waves
as scorched thermals rose from the open flatlands below, and
still the old shaman shivered, clutching his coverings about his
ears.

Sewing woman showed him the fabric on which she toiled.

"Such clutter! You are too careless," she complained. "These
weavings were dropped in the grass and now I have to remove the
twigs before I can finish." She sighed noisily. "There's never
enough time. Never enough time."

She stuck her hand into the pile of scraps before her and lifted
out a handful of clutter. When she threw it onto the ground, two
stick figures got up and tottered out the door of the tipi, two
figures that somehow resembled the two cowboys. When Spider would
have swatted the sticks aside, Sewing Woman motioned him away.

"What am I to do with this mess?" she asked Broken Cloud.

"I did what I thought had to be done," the shaman moved sullenly
closer to the fire, holding his hands out to the blue smoke.

Spider's voice sounded from the other side of the tipi, from
where he had burrowed underneath the stowed bedding, "As usual,
you have overlooked something!" The guide seemed to take
particular glee in pointing out Broken Cloud's shortcomings.
"What happens when the master is displeased with his servant?"

Broken Cloud shook his head. If Spider really thought he was
wrong, he would offer to fight, making the shaman wrestle to
prove his faith in his own beliefs. This day, Spider was only
taunting him, "Fire and blood are coming. Look!"

"The young men can handle the soldiers." When Broken Cloud
received a cackling laugh in return he tried to get a better look
at his friend, to see where he was pointing. Sunlight pierced the
tipi, blossomed, truly blinded him, crowding in from overhead and
around the doorway, hiding all in shadows.

"Oh, I forgot," Spider's voice floated in air by his ear,
mocking. "You don't want to see. Does that mean you don't want
your people to live, as well? What price do you place on your
pride?"

"I have seen this craven beast! I intend to handle him, myself!
He will come because his master demands it, he will come because
he cannot help it, and we shall grab him!"

"'He will come because his master demands it,'" Spider taunted.
"What if his master changes his mind?"

The shaman shrugged. "Then we have a wedding."

This time Sewing Woman rasped a chilling laugh, indicating the
departing stick figures, which had somehow been changed into
brightly colored smoked glass. "There go your grooms! Can you
capture them without breaking them?"

"I am too tired to chase them. Let the young folk will keep them
around."

of fabric to join together - one side holding the colors of the
summer about them: green, gold, blue and brown, while the other
bolt was gray as ash, rough with blackened limbs and dry powdered
snow: the colors of a cold, harsh winter.

"The one you seek is nearby," she said as she fingered the cloth
to her right. "After him comes another, with terrible clamor and
fanged death. You are not prepared. Someone will die."

Broken Cloud's shivers became more violent. The blue sky he could
see through the smokehole above darkened as the wind rose
howling, until the tipi's walls were wrenched from their
foundation poles and figures could be seen standing outside. They
were all facing toward the southwest, anticipating something.
With a piercing cry they turned to run, and they fell with beasts
swarming over their backs. The ghastly creatures came upon the
denuded skeleton of the tipi and ....

Drenched in sweat, Nomiro gasped in the profound heat of an
enclosed tipi, darkened with both the skyhole and the doorway
closed. His voice keening in horror of what he had seen, he
asked, "But what am I supposed to do?"

"You could roll up the sides of your tipi, you old fool!"
Cornsilk's muffled voice sounded from outside.

Mopping off the worst of his perspiration, Nomiro Nada responded
with all the arrogance he could muster, "You had no business
interrupting me! This was important!"

"We have a problem," Cornsilk informed him. "Lucha has tired of
the preparation and has gone hunting. We can't find her anywhere."

ESTRELLITA:

She twirled, spinning her mantilla and skirt out wide, heavy with
bright beads, sparkling with precious stones. Maybe the stones
were not so precious. Who cared? They were pretty, and they were
such bright colors. If she looked far away as she twirled,
watching the same distant butte, snapping her head around as she
spun, always coming back to the same place, the beads and stones
made traces across her eyes like brightly flowing water.

She felt free, light-headed.

Of course I feel free, thought Estrellita. I've had long hair
since I was seven years old. I even remember the day I decided to
let it grow. It was on my birthday, and Papacito had come home
and we had a party. A silly, brief party, because all the older
people kept looking at the highway running across the other end
of the valley. They worried that someone might come along and
cause trouble, but Papacito was there and nothing could go wrong
- he wouldn't let anyone interfere with her joy.

It was like the answer to a prayer, seeing him come riding up on
his fine steed, and when he showed her that he was holding the
reins to a fat little pony heaving and puffing from stumping
along behind him, why, her life was complete. Papacito was home.

Abuelito and Abuelita were there, beaming with reflections of her
joy, at Papacito's present. The pony was fat and slow, and
Estrellita later came to understand that she was very old and
tired, but Estrellita loved her. She named her Molasses because
she ran slowly and she was sweet and she loved sweets. Papacito
had brought sweets, also, from La Capitol where he stayed and
worked all the time. They must have had a lot of good things
there, for there was certainly very little to make him want to
stay home in Villarica.

When Papacito picked her up and sat her on Molasses, the pony had
simply stood there, seeming as wide as a hay wagon, so wide that
Estrellita's legs went out to her sides instead of down and
around the massive old belly. Though Estrellita had yanked and
pulled on the reins, Molasses would not budge, indifferent to her
show of temper.

Then a boy her own age stepped up and talked into the pony's ear,
smiling and easy, urging the old beast into a slow rolling gait
about the meadow as he ran alongside. This was how she first met
Ramon, and this was the first time she had fallen in love. He was
so kind and gentle that she made a promise to herself - she would
become a beautiful senorita and he would fall in love with her
and they would live happily ever after.

It happened that way, almost. She became a senorita and she had
been told that she was very attractive, almost stunningly
beautiful (though a little headstrong, the braver boys would
add). Many boys had smiled at her and several had pursued her -
inasmuch as the constraints of social protocol and distance would
allow - but Ramon remained impassive. She knew one day they would
wed, but he seemed indifferent. He insisted on taking care of her
like a big brother. He simply did not understand his fate.

Estrellita sighed. Her skirts and beads hung limply as she awoke
from her reverie, gazing at the distant butte. She was with
Ramon, here in this frontier camp. Now, Ramon was risking his
life (and she was risking hers, but that was a different story)
to find his sister. It was so romantic. He was so brave. He was
the sun in her sky.

Pero, pero....

But, but....

The first time she had seen the Yanqui cowboy she had laughed. He
looked so silly. Blue eyes, wheat blond hair. An impossible
collection of attributes. Odd. Strange. Yet... oddly attractive.
She had done the unthinkable. She had allowed her thoughts to
stray.

A shadow flicked across the ground before her, a hawk soaring far
above the camp. The sky was unusually bright, today. Could there
be more than one sun? How could she have been unfaithful to her
own true love? Would Ramon ever forgive her? How could he?

She would have to find Sandy and confront him. Tell him she could
never see him again. Admit her unfaithfulness and tell him
goodbye.

Estrellita bit back a sob and set out to find Sandy, as he was
not in the camp. As her wanderings took her farther down the
trail, her thoughts wandered as well.

He will see me across the clearing. Slowly he will lay his work
aside, the rope he will be mending. His eyes move slowly, slowly,
up, from my beaded moccasins to the fringes of my skirt,
luxuriating in the folds of the fine leather, up the front of my
dress, my mantilla, up, up, until he is gazing at my face with
those blue eyes. Of course, his handsome blue eyes are not as
handsome as Ramon's, but.... ohhh, Lizard spit!

Estrellita brought her thoughts under control, gathering them as
would a prairie grouse shepherding her chicks to safety. She was
not betraying Ramon. She was being kind to Ramon's friend, Sandy.
It would be Sandy who was betraying Ramon....

No! Ramon was her true, first love. He would always be her first
love. Senor Sandy was a good friend. A very good friend. Senor
Sandy is noble. He does not even know that I exist!

She hesitated, then amended the thought.

Well, Sandy does know that I exist. He blushes so easily. It is
as if I know what he is thinking, each time he says something
charming and then turns scarlet. He is thinking such of something
gallant and noble to say, things which would be flattering and
insincere, but so sweet, so innocent....

Estrellita again tagged her wandering thoughts and directed them
toward her plans.

I will appear across the corral from him, wearing my new dress.
He has never seen me in it. I know he will be pleased. I will
smile shyly and play with my braids... no, I do not have the
braids any longer, do I? What will I do? When he sees that I have
cut my hair, he will hate me! My hair, my crowning glory, was the
only thing he liked about me! Without it I am ugly! I am
deformed! What have I done?

"Why are you wearing my sister's dress?"

Estrellita spun about to find that one of the large, strong
Apache warriors had slipped up behind her.

"I... I... She traded for it!" she sputtered, "It's my dress,
now!"

"I do not believe you! What would you have that my sister would
want? And why have you cut your hair? Are you in mourning?"

"My hair! Yes, my hair! That's what I traded! I was going to show
the dress to my friend, and you came up behind me and startled
me, and...."

The young warrior's lip curled. "Showing off for that Yanqui! You
have such poor judgment. Perhaps if you were to present yourself
to me in a pleasant manner, I might look upon you with favor,
even if you are a Mexican!"

"Humph!" Estrellita stuck her nose in the air and stated, "You
have nothing I want! I was going to show it to Sandy, but the man
I love is Ramon, and he is better than ten of you!"

"And you are a fool, playing with dolls!"

"I am a grown woman, and I don't want anything to do with you!"

"If... when...." the warrior seemed to catch himself and said,
with a wry grimace, "...your man returns from the desert, we will
see if you still think he is worthy!"

"What do you mean? Where is he? Where is Ramon?"

The warrior slyly looked away and said, "Perhaps I saw him
heading for the horse-corral," he said. "Perhaps I saw him
heading toward the town. But I think I saw him going out into the
desert with the horse-thief Yanqui. If you go looking for him you
should be careful of the snakes."

"Then I'm going to the horse-corral, too!" Estrellita felt his
mocking eyes burning into the back of her head, through her short
blond hair which suddenly felt very thin and useless.

She found the trail that led down the hill, to a rail fence with
one rail hanging to the ground. Inside the fence she came upon a
huge warrior swinging his fist at a small, blond cowboy and she
choked back a scream. Instead of retreating and running back to
the camp for help, she obeyed her first impulse and flew at the
warrior's back, her fingernails raking in fury.

DREAMS OF DOLLS:

"He was frightened."

A girl's voice drifted across the parched sand, attracting the
brief attention of a horned lizard. The lizard quickly forgot
about the distraction and went about its career of shagging
flies.

Beneath the anvil blow of the noonday sun, a figure in boy's
pantalones and shirt peeked from behind the cover of a brier bush
at a cowboy. The cowboy had collapsed beneath the wispy foliage
of a mesquite tree for its thin respite from the heat, and was
not looking around.

"That is understandable," the voice continued. "The shrinking
leather was killing him and he struggled for his life."

Curve of thigh and dip of waist indicated that the lurking figure
was the girl who had spoken. A girl who had no wish to be seen by
the cowboy. A girl with definite reservations about being a girl
at the time.

She shuddered and said, in a bitter voice, "But he could have
been more careful where he put his hands!"

Machita held her own hands before her face, measuring the spread
of her fingers. Her slender, graceful fingers, that seemed so
much more skilled at delicate work than they had been when...
when he had been male. She buried her face in those hands and
groaned, "Why now? Why now, of all times?"

She backed out from her hiding place into a clearing, collecting
her wits. Sandy's friend was out of the greatest danger, huddled
beneath the relative comfort of the scraggly mesquite. He would
be safe there. Now, Machita could attend to her own problems -
namely, finding some cool water to change back.

Simple enough, with Ramon's experience in dry travels - find a
barrel cactus, break it open and catch the sap.

Simple.

Correctamente.

She laughed bitterly, a soft high chuckle. Where were the cactus
plants, now that she wanted to find them? There were none in
sight. Nothing but stunted tree and briar.

Scouting about, she found a tree tall and stout enough. She
climbed it, grumbling because she was missing those few important
inches in height that made it necessary in the first place.

"Ah!"

With her head above the level of most of the thorny brush, she
could see cactus plants shimmering in the haze, their upright
stalks clustered about a mighty mound, a single huge boulder.
Bushes flourished around the stone, their leaves a gray-green and
olive hue, sure signs of a water hole in the midst of desert
flats and gullies. She dropped from the fork of the stunted tree
and made her way toward it.

Appearances proved to be deceiving. The bushes were green, but
the water was hidden or buried so deeply that she could not find
it. Cactus stalks were plentiful and tall, yet so rubbery tough
that she could not break them.

Finally, she sat at their base, trying to huddle in their shade,
suffering from the dry heat. She tossed pebbles at meandering
gila monsters, wondering if it was time to start thinking about
dying.

"I am about to get thirsty," she admitted.

She was not even alarmed when the doll of crystal azure and red
dress appeared before her, clambered upon a discolored mossy rock
and waved to get her attention.

"I can help!" the doll said.

"I remember you," Machita said, her tongue feeling dry and
parched. Indeed, the doll resembled the sorcerer in the cave
under the puebla, the cliff village. "I thought you were dead
when the cave fell in on you."

"I am much more powerful than that!" squeaked the Kalichi doll.
"Why, it would take much more than a mere mountain to kill me!"

"How can you help?" Machita wanted to know. "Can you get me some
of the water beneath this sand?"

"Is that all you want?" Hands on hips, the doll stood and laughed
at her. "Can you think of nothing better?"

Machita looked at him dully. "If I were a man again, I could
survive better."

"Well, there you are!"

"You mean you could...." Machita let her words drop, not daring
to hope.

"Why, yes. Yes!" The tiny Kalichi doll spread its tiny arms
expansively. "I can return your manhood to you!"

As quickly as hope had brightened her, doubt brought shadows of
suspicion. Machita regarded the doll with hooded eyelids.

"What's the catch?" she wondered aloud.

"Oh, there are no catches, no provisos, no hidden agendas! All
you must do is bring the turquoise pendant to me, you know the
one!"

"Hmm. I could do that," Machita supposed.

"Oh, and let me take a few drops of your sister's blood for the
ceremony. Only a few. She won't even notice!"

An image loomed before Machita, a lightning flicker of remembered
dream, of a stepped hill where figures struggled on its very
peak, one figure held down while another reached into his chest
and brought forth -

"No!" she yipped, drawing back.

The Kalichi doll beamed happily. "But it will cost you nothing
and you'll be a man again, forever!"

"I said NO!"

Machita leapt to her feet and backed away from the doll. The
doll, in turn, faded into the rocks until there was nothing but a
pale patch of moss to show where it had stood. Too late to call
him back, too late to reconsider.

A furnace wind soughed through briers and she thought she heard
chanting. She looked up at what seemed to be an echo. Above the
whisper of the breeze through cactus spines the sound waxed
louder.

A hum, a soft chant. A voice, singing.

She cast about, becoming more certain, tracing the sound to the
top of the boulder. When she clambered up onto the pile she found
an opening.

to Sunboy.

"Abuelo?" called Machita in a hushed voice, "Is that you?"

In the shadows at the bottom of the opening, an old man in faded
cotton pantalones and shirt stirred.

"Ramon!" cried the old man, "I am happy to see you! Can you get
me out?"

"You are in another oubliette," Machita said, studying the
opening, a hole in the stone with only one way out - up.

"How do you get into these things?" she asked, "You are not a
bear."

"It is a long story," said Alboro, standing on tiptoe to grasp
Machita's outstretched hand. Once he had clambered out, he led
the way down the slope of the great rock and straightway found a
depression where water, cold and clear, burbled out of the rock.

As Machita splashed herself with the icy cold water before taking
a drink, the old man explained.

"I was nabbed by the rock people," Alboro stated with a straight
face. "They are very distant cousins of the gods of the stone and
the earth. After they caught me helping you to escape the posse,
they stuck me in a hole in the ground and made me service their
daughters. I am exhausted. You would not believe how lusty those
women are."

"I am glad to see you, Abuelito, and you don't have to spin any
yarns," said Ramon as he wiped his face with his sleeve and
admired his now male hands, "I don't care what kind of tall tale
you tell!"

"If I am lying, may Sunboy strike me dead on this spot!" said
Alboro. He waited tensely for a moment, then glanced at the clear
blue sky. "Guess not," he said. Shading his eyes from the sun he
looked about, peering at the horizons.

"Now, where are we?" He looked at Ramon. "Why were you a girl?"

"I was at the Apache camp," said Ramon, "But I was carried off
away from it. Right now, I have lost my direction. I don't know
where to go."

**Head for the pass to the north,** suggested a thin, high voice,
**But you must hurry. Many men are coming there.**

"Thanks," said Ramon without looking around. He was busy helping
himself to another drink of cold water from the spring.

Alboro pierced him with a glance, instantly alert as he searched
the surrounding rocks. A red-tailed hawk gazed calmly at him
before it bent powerful wings and rose into the aching blue
coolness of the sky.

"We had better get you into some shade," muttered Alboro,
watching the hawk vanish into the distance. "You are beginning to
hear things."

VOICES:

"Let's ssssssseeeeee. The bearer or the bauble?"

Machack stiffened and looked about the brush corral, scanning the
scant trees and low shrub which allowed visibility for miles in
any direction excepting toward the Apache camp. He could see no
one who could have spoken.

Shaking his head, he returned to his experiment he had begun
minutes earlier.

"Come to me, young berserker," Machack had said as he gestured,
"You must feel pain before you can become a true warrior. I will
help you. If you are worthy, you will survive."

Sandy backed away from him, saying, "I don't know what you're
talking about, Mister! I don't aim on being no warrior!"

"Oh, but you have no choice! Face me or flee like a
yellow-livered flea bitten mongrel!"

"I ain't no mongrel, but I ain't stupid, either!"

"Face me, then! Live like a man, if only for a moment!"

"Gaah!" Sandy back-pedaled away from him, but the larger warrior
was close after him.

Machack reached with a slow fist and clubbed the cowboy beside
the head, not enough to damage him but with enough force to send
him sprawling. While Sandy regained his feet, Machack bided his
time.

"You are not trying," he accused.

"I'm trying to stay alive!" Sandy bit off the words as he brushed
blood from his cheek.

Machack sighed in frustration. The young Viking had shown
promise, earlier, but now was not responding to any of the
conventional methods of encouragement: demands, threats or
praise. Though he regretted the need, he would have to resort to
beating the boy until he fought back or died.

And then -

The girl had appeared and assaulted his back, trying with her
feeble fingernails to break the surface of his tough hide.

"Aha! What have we here?" Machack's face spread into a gentle
smile. "Perhaps I've been testing the wrong subject?"

Oddly enough, shoving the girl aside proved the impetus the boy
had needed. Sandy practically exploded in anger, hitting Machack
hard enough to make the mighty warrior lose his balance and step
back from the attack.

If anything, Machack's smile became even broader. Now, this was
more like it! Who would have thought? All he had to do was
threaten the girl!

Then the boy was at him again, striking with his balled fists.
Machack buffeted him away only to find that the girl was
hammering at his back with her tiny fists.

It was when Machack was laughing aloud, fending the boy off with
one hand and holding the girl away with the other, that he heard
the voice. Though he looked, he could see no one. Then another
sibilant whisper grated upon his keen hearing.

"Bearer," suggested the second hissing voice.

Machack batted the boy across the corral and twitched his head
around again, searching for the speaker. There was nothing but
the girl, and she was struggling in his massive grip.

"Look here!" a third voice hissed like flowing sand. Again,
Machack glanced about - again, his incredibly sharp eyes caught
nothing moving but the hot breeze in the brush and weeds. The
voice continued, "It says, very plainly, in clause 33, sub
conjunctive addendum AA4-2, that our first duty is to the
treasure. Besides, this is not the original bearer."

"That isssss tttrrrrruuue, however, the bauble was freely given
to this one."

Machack tossed the girl against the brush fence and straightened.

"Who IS this?" he demanded.

"Your worst nightmare!" The second voice hissed, near his left
ear.

"Oh, please! That is ssssssoooo cliche'!" moaned the first voice.

"Well, he asked!"

"Besides, he has such a commanding voice," added the third, with
the slightest trace of admiration.

"Oh, that's right! The master didn't tell you about us!" said the
first. "And you with all those magical enhancements!"

"Don't take it badly," said the second. "There are a lot of
things he never told you."

"He's a wicked, wicked man," added the third.

Machack knocked the dust off his leggings and spat. "I think you
are the wind in my pants," he declared, clearing his mind for the
task ahead.

The girl scrambled to her feet and he moved to keep her from
escaping.

The girl, however, was not fleeing.

"You hurt Sandy!" she wailed, her green eyes bright with fury.
She picked up a thin club, a thin branch from the tree she had
struck when he threw her down, and she brandished it like a
deadly weapon.

Machack exhaled a brief, unbelieving, "Harumph!" No, she was not
fleeing. She was attacking. With a slender stick of wood.

"I was definitely testing the wrong one!" he chuckled. With a
bemused smile, he extended a brawny arm to push her away.

He failed to note the brief flicker of heat lightning within the
pendant's blue stone, as she swung the thin stick vainly at him.
It was a blow which might have barely lifted the dust on his skin
when it struck, but as the blow descended, blue sparks flew from
the pendant to the woody stick.

Machack roared in pain. Jerking aright, he stared at the switch
as it rose again and descended with a burning slash across his
broad shoulder. White-hot needles pierced his flesh, searing
flames boiled across his back. Never before, never in his long
life, had he felt such pain.

Estrellita wielded the puny weapon with a rage beyond despair,
seeing only her Sandy lying injured and beaten by this... this
brute! Again she struck, and again the huge warrior flinched and
shrank away, until he finally withdrew, barreling through the
thorns and cactus.

She chased him until he was out of reach. Exhausted, she went
back to the corral where Sandy had staggered to his feet, shaking
his head in a daze.

"Did I get him?" Sandy asked. He sat down again.

Estrellita merely held his head in her lap and tousled his pale
hair. "Oh, Ramon," she wept silently, venting her tears upon the
thirsty sand. "Oh, Ramon, forgive me."

END: CHAPTER TRIENTA Y NUEVE
---------------
to Lyn Daniel for her sketches, suggestions, and
encouragement, to my prereaders and close kin, as well as to
Andre Guerrero for his excellent advice (which I did not always
heed, but always appreciated).

James and the Bluejay
email: alboro at wanderway.com
Macho Caballo page at:
http://www.wanderway.com/tales.htm