That wily old one . . . he always knew!
THE LAST GRINGO
Old Yellow Beak . . . the Wise One. That was how the citizens of Rio Christo spoke of the big old King Buzzard who came from time to time to roost in the branches of the dead tree on the east side of town. He never came unless his long, dusty flight from his nest in the Penocillo Mountains was rewarded in the only way a buzzard can be rewarded.
“It is more than the sight or the smell with that old one,” the people would tell one another, nodding knowingly when they looked beyond the dusty square and the sun-stricken rooftops to see the hook-necked presence out there on the dead branch of the old cottonwood. Then they would tap their heads wisely and add;
“Old Yellow Beak . . . he knows.”