Timmy looked up, and relaxed. The two riders were Jeb Wheeler and Ray Ornley. Older, dependable hands. Ray occasionally teased Timmy about his age, but the teasing was generally harmless. Wheeler never teased anyone. Wheeler was always serious about everything. They drew rein in a flurry of dust motes.

  Timmy walked into the open again, and grinned. “Where are you gents off to? San Pedro?”

  “No, you infant,” Ray said. “We’re here to fetch you.”

  “But I’m supposed to keep watch until tonight,” Timmy said. “Clayburn himself told me.”

  “The big sugar is callin’ everyone in,” Wheeler said, and grew even more somber than was usual. “Brace yourself, boy. We bring bad news.”

  Timmy tried to think of what could be worse than Dar Pierce being shot. He had always liked Mr. Pierce. “How bad can it be?”

  “Nancy Tovey is dead.”

  Stunned, Timmy could only gape.

  “She was beat to death,” Wheeler related. “Had her face caved in. The son of a bitch took her right out of the house in the middle of the night.”

  Timmy found his voice. “God in heaven!” It simply could not be. No one ever killed a woman. Ever.

  “The boss cried for hours,” Ray said. “We all heard him, clear over to the bunkhouse. But we don’t blame him. We’d have done the same, I reckon.”

  Wheeler took up the account. “Then he came out and hollered for Clayburn, and damn, Mr. Tovey was mad. He knows who did it. He found a clue in the kitchen.”

  “A clue?” Timmy bleated.

  Wheeler nodded. “Mrs. Tovey had time to write the name of her killer on a sheet of paper. Maybe she saw him through a window. Or maybe she was at the table when he came in through the door.”

  “However it was,” Ray said, “we know who to string up.”

  “Who?”

  Wheeler and Ray looked at one another, and Wheeler said through clenched teeth, “Julio Pierce.”

  Timmy’s blood chilled. That cut it. There would be hell to pay. Gallons and gallons of hell, and all the gallons were red.

  “The boss is gatherin’ everyone up,” Wheeler said. “Every last puncher. They should all be in by tonight.”

  “Tomorrow we ride for the DP,” Ray said. “Heaven help them if they try to stop us.”

  Wheeler nodded. “He’ll demand they turn Julio over. If they don’t, well, that’s just too bad. There are more of us than there are of them, and Mr. Tovey isn’t about to take no for an answer.”

  “Fetch your horse,” Ray said.

  Timmy hurried into the trees. He had the reins in hand and was about to lead his mount from the shadows when Jeb Wheeler hissed, “Stay under cover, boy! Don’t say or do anything, you hear me?”

  More riders were approaching. Only this time they were coming from across the river.

  Timmy’s mouth went dry. He counted six. They came to the crossing and splashed across the Rio Largo. He did not understand why Wheeler and Ray just sat there. The three of them should ride to the ranch for help.

  Jeb Wheeler held up a hand and announced, “That’s far enough.”

  Shock spiked through Timmy. One of the six was Julio Pierce. He almost drew and squeezed off a shot, but Wheeler had instructed him not to do anything. He did not know any of the vaqueros. One gleamed with silver everywhere.

  “Let us pass,” Julio said. He and the others had spread out, the one with the silver on the right, nearest the trees.

  “Like hell,” Ray Ornley spat.

  “You have your nerve, comin’ here like this,” Jeb Wheeler said. “She was as fine a woman as ever lived.”

  Julio acted perplexed. “If you are talking about my mother, si she was. She is the reason I am here.”

  Now it was Wheeler who was confused. “Your mother? What does she have to do with anything? We’re talkin’ about Nancy Tovey.”

  “You murderin’ bastard,” Ray snarled.

  “What?” Julio’s surprise seemed genuine. “Are you saying Nancy Tovey has been killed?”

  Timmy was as confounded as everyone else. He was amazed none of the vaqueros had spotted him but they were focused on Jeb and Ray.

  “Out of our way, gringos.” The man with all the silver was leaning on his saddle horn. A pearl-handled Colt glistened in his holster. “We are after those responsible for the death of Juanita Pierce.”

  “She’s dead, too?” Wheeler exclaimed.

  Ray Ornley pointed at Julio. “First things first. We know you beat Mrs. Tovey to death, you son of a bitch.”

  “Me?” Julio blurted.

  “Don’t listen to them, patron,” the one with the silver said. “They seek to confuse you. Think only of your mother and your father. Kent Tovey and the Circle T have much to answer for.”

  Wheeler’s hand was on his revolver. “Are you accusin’ Mr. Tovey of murderin’ Juanita Pierce? Why, that’s plumb crazy.”

  Julio snapped out of his befuddlement. “That is exactly what I am doing. First Berto, then my father, now my mother. Your intent is plain.”

  “Mister, we don’t know what in hell you’re jabberin’ about,” Ray Ornley said. “We had nothin’ to do with your ma and pa dyin’.”

  The vaquero wearing the silver smiled. “You lie.”

  “We’ll let Mr. Tovey get to the bottom of this,” Jeb Wheeler said. “Shed your hardware. We’re takin’ you to the Circle T.”

  Again it was the one with the silver who responded. “You expect us to hand over our pistolas? Now who is crazy?”

  “We’re not talkin’ to you, whoever you are,” Wheeler said.

  “I am called Hijino,” the fancy vaquero revealed. “Remember that name when you are both in hell.”

  Julio Pierce motioned. “No, Hijino. Something is not right here. How can both my mother and Nancy Tovey be dead?”

  For a few seconds Timmy thought bloodshed would be averted. Julio was not angry anymore; he was baffled more than anything.

  “Hand over your artillery,” Wheeler insisted.

  Hijino uttered that mocking laugh of his. “Si. We will hand over our pistolas so you can shoot us in the back. We are not stupid, gringos.”

  “We will not hand them over,” Julio said. “But we will go with you peacefully. I very much want to talk to Kent Tovey.”

  “Not wearin’ your pistols, you’re not,” Ray informed him. “For the last time, you’re on the Circle T, and you don’t go a step further unless you hand over your revolvers and rifles.”

  “I promise no harm will come to you,” Wheeler said.

  “Oh, no,” Hijino scoffed. “Not until they get us to their rancho, patron. You heard them. The Tovey woman is dead, and they blame you. You will not leave their ranch alive.”

  “I did not kill Nancy Tovey,” Julio insisted.

  “Then why did she write your name right before she had her head bashed in?” Wheeler demanded.

  Julio jerked as if pricked with a knife. “She did what?”

  “See, patron?” Hijino said. “They make up lies so they can hang you. Gringos are fond of hanging. With your permission, I will dispose of these two, then you can have your revenge on Kent Tovey.”

  Fury turned Ray Ornley red. “I’d like to see you try to dispose of us, you stinkin’ greaser.” And with that, he drew.

  So did Hijino. Timmy saw it, and marveled. The pearl-handled Colt was out so fast, it was almost like magic. It boomed, and Ray Ornley twisted and went limp and oozed from his saddle.

  Jeb Wheeler sat frozen a few seconds. Then, growling deep in his throat, he clawed at his six-gun.

  Hijino shot him. Once, through the chest, smack through the heart. Hijino laughed as Wheeler fell. Wheeler’s mount bolted.

  “You should not have done that,” Julio Pierce said.

  “It was them or us, patron.” Hijino casually began to replace the spent cartridges. “I was only protecting you.”

  “What do we do now?” another vaquero asked.

  “Do we push on to their rancho?” a third wanted to know.

  “I must think.” Julio ran a hand across his brow. He was staring at the bodies, at the spreading pools of blood. “Can it be true? What they said about Nancy Tovey?”

  Timmy stared at the bodies, too. Jeb and Ray were friends of his. Part of him boiled with rage, with the desire to draw and start shooting. But another part warned that he was outnumbered six to one, and if he gave in to his rage, he would surely end up like Jeb and Ray.

  “Does it matter?” Hijino had asked.

  “Of course it matters!” Julio declared. “Don’t you see? Both my mother and Nancy Tovey. I must talk to Steve and Armando. There is more to this than we thought.”

  Hijino finished reloading. He gigged his white horse closer to the bodies, then reined around so he faced his companions. Wagging his Colt, he said, “This holds six shots.”

  Julio’s eyebrows pinched together. “Most pistolas do. What is your point? We must get back.”

  “My point,” Hijino said, “is that there are only five of you.” With blinding speed, he straightened and fired, five shots one after the other. Julio and the other vaqueros were taken completely off guard. Julio’s forehead exploded, and he toppled. The faces of the next two vaqueros erupted in scarlet. Only the last two had split seconds in which to smother their astonishment and stab for their revolvers, but neither cleared leather. All of them were dead and on the ground before the sound of the shots faded.

  Timmy was rooted with horror and fear. He had never seen anyone draw and shoot so fast. Not even Jesco.

  Hijino reloaded again. He spun the pearl-handled Colt into his holster, then clucked to his white horse. As he went past Julio Pierce, he grinned and said, “They make it too easy.”

  Timmy had a clear shot at the killer’s back. He did not draw. His fingers curled and his hand twitched, but he did not move until Hijino was across the Rio Largo and a speck in the haze. Then, and only then, did he swing onto his horse and race like a madman for the Circle T.

  Chapter 20

  Trella was in her bedroom, facedown on her pillow, when there came a light knock at her door. She sat up stiffly, too devastated by the loss of her mother to care how she looked. “Come in.”

  It was Dolores. She came to the bed, but did not sit. Her complexion was ghastly, as pale as the sheets under the bedspread on which Trella lay.

  “If it is more bad news, I do not want to hear it.” Trella did not think she could take any more. She wanted to curl into a ball and weep for a week.

  “Brace yourself.”

  “Dear God. There is more?”

  Dolores spoke as one in a daze. “Hijino has just brought word. Julio is dead. Circle T cowboys killed him.”

  Numb with horror, Trella nearly fainted. She had loved him most of all her siblings, in part because they were the youngest, in part because they were so much alike. More tears gushed from eyes she would have sworn were cried out, and she choked for breath.

  “Steve is waiting for the last of the men to come in from the range,” Dolores continued in her bizarrely calm manner.

  Trella sought to blink back the new deluge, and failed.

  “Armando is mad at him. Armando wanted to leave sooner with the men already here, but Steve refused. Now Armando blames Steve for Julio’s death.”

  “Can it get any worse?” Trella mewed.

  “The last of our vaqueros will arrive within the hour,” Dolores said, still in that strange manner. “Then they are heading across the river. There will be more killing. A lot more.” She paused and licked her lips. “I thought you should know.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dolores turned to go. She took a step, but staggered and had to reach for the wall table for support.

  Between sobs, Trella asked, “Do you need help?”

  “No,” Dolores replied. But she did not move. She leaned there, her head bowed, her disheveled hair hiding her face.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” Trella suggested. She moved back from the edge of the bed to make room.

  Nodding, Dolores slowly eased down. She was misery incarnate, broken in spirt and body.

  “Are you sure you are all right?” The smell of wine crinkled Trella’s nose. “You have been drinking.” She knew her sister was fond of the juice of the grape, and enjoyed a glass or two every night before retiring. “How much have you had?”

  “A bottle or two,” Dolores said without looking up. “I started and couldn’t stop. Now I have none left. Do you have any?”

  “I think you have had enough.” Trella gently rested her hand on Dolores’s shoulder. “Lie down and I will have a servant bring coffee to clear your head.”

  Dolores’s hair moved from side to side. “I do not want coffee. I do not want a clear head. I want to take a pistola and put it to my temple and squeeze the trigger, that is what I want.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Hasn’t it sunk in yet? Mother is gone. Forever. She was everything to me. I loved her with all my heart and all my soul.”

  “And I did not?” Trella asked defensively.

  “You were always closer to father. But what does it matter? We have lost both of them, and now Julio. There are just the four of us left, and if Steve and Armando go to the Circle T, we might lose them, too. The Circle T has more cowboys than we have vaqueros.”

  “What if”—Trella was jarred by a possibility that had not occurred to her—“what if the cowboys attack our rancho while our brothers are off attacking the Circle T? Who will protect us?”

  “They would not stoop so low as to slay unarmed women.”

  “They killed Mother,” Trella bitterly reminded her. Until this moment, she had not been afraid for her own life. Now the fear was like a lance thrust deep into her chest. “They will stop at nothing. They are out to destroy the DP.”

  Dolores was quiet for a bit. Then she slid off the bed, saying, “Come with me.” Without waiting, she walked unsteadily into the hall.

  Trella hurried after her, patting her hair and wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. “Where are we going?”

  Dolores did not answer. Presently they came to the kitchen. Steve and Armando were there, seated across from one another.

  Paco and Roman and a pair of nervous vaqueros were waiting by the door. They all took off their sombreros.

  “So it is settled,” Steve was saying. “We hit them hard and fast. Strike and run, again and again, until we have whittled their numbers.”

  “It is cowardly,” Armando said.

  Steve disagreed. “It is smart. There aren’t enough of us. Our only hope is to wear them down without losing a lot of our own men.” Steve’s jaw muscles twitched. “They have an advantage, but we have justice on our side.”

  “I am glad you have come to your senses, and I do agree we must strike quickly,” Armando said. “There can be no doubt they mean to wipe us out. They are not content with half the valley. They want it all.”

  Dolores stopped at the kitchen table. “Trella and I are coming with you,” she announced.

  “Be serious, sister,” Armando said.

  “Think, hermano, think,” Dolores snapped. “They have killed Mother. As Trella points out, what is to stop them from killing the two of us while you are away? With all the vaqueros gone, we would not stand a chance.”

  “Surely they would not,” Armando said, and then scowled and rumbled deep in his throat like a bear at bay. “No. I must stop deceiving myself. The rules of civilized society are nothing to them. You are right. If they caught you two unprotected, your lives would be forfeit.”

  “They murdered Mother,” Trella brought up again as confirmation. She gazed out the window, imagining how it must have been for Juanita: abducted from her home, forced to ride north, dying of a broken neck. A thought struck her, and she gasped. “How did they know?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Armando said.

  “How did they know it was safe to take Mother? That everyone else was asleep? Did they take it for granted? Or were they watching our casa? Are they watching our casa now?”

  “We would see them if they were out there,” Steve remarked.

  “Not if they were a long way off,” Trella said. “Not if they are using a spyglass like the one Senor Tovey has.”

  Armando came out of his chair. “She is right! Remember when he showed it to us? A cowboy could be out there right this minute.”

  “What about his horse?” Steve was skeptical. “We can spot horses and cows from a long way off.”

  “Not if they are lying down,” Armando noted, “and horses can be taught to do that. Remember the cowboy at the last rodeo? The one who taught his horse all those tricks?”

  “If so, there is nothing we can do about it,” Steve said. He glanced at Trella and Dolores. “But getting back to these two. I do not think we should take them along. There will be shooting. A lot of it.”

  “You talk about us as if we are not standing right here,” Dolores said. “But you can not leave us here unprotected.”

  “I agree,” Armando said.

  “Four vaqueros will stay,” Steve proposed. “If the cowboys attack, Dolores and Trella and the servants can hide in the root cellar.”

  Dolores shook her head. “What if the cowboys burn our casa down around us? No. You can not spare the four vaqueros. We are going, whether you want us to or not, and this is final.”

  “I do not like putting you at risk” Steve said.

  Dolores refused to be denied. “We are safer with you than by ourselves. Or would you rather Trella and I end up like Mother?”

  All eyes were on Steve. He smacked the table, and looked fit to strangle someone, but he said, “Get ready to go.”

  Timmy Loring rode like the wind. He had to get word to Kent Tovey and Clayburn. They must learn about Hijino. Everything was not at all as it appeared. He was not quite sure what was going on, but Mr. Tovey and the foreman would figure it out.

  Timmy wondered what they would do. Maybe send a rider to the Pierces with word of the slaughter he had witnessed. They must grab Hijino and question him, find out why he did what he did.

  The Circle T’s buildings were a lot farther from the river than the DP’s. Timmy still had a couple of miles to go when he spied a rider galloping west. The man spotted him, and immediately changed direction to intercept him.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23