Rio Largo, page 18
Kent gave a toss of his head. He would handle that after he settled with the Pierces.
“Look yonder, Mr. Tovey,” Clayburn said.
Kent spied movement at the middle crossing, men milling about on the Circle T’s side of the river. A lot of riders, nearly all wearing wide-brimmed sombreros, and others on foot.
“Do you reckon it’s the DP outfit?”
At the question, grim murmurings spread. The punchers were eager to avenge Nancy.
“It must be,” Kent said. His eyes narrowed. They appeared to be moving bodies. The logical conclusion was that the bodies were his own men, caught by surprise and gunned down. “Who did you send to guard that crossing?”
“Timmy Loring.”
Kent’s breath caught in his throat. Surely fate could not be so cruel, he told himself. But then, fate, being fate, had no regard for humankind. “Only Timmy?”
“One man for each crossing, exactly as you told me,” Clayburn said.
Kent glanced over his shoulder at the punchers strung out in his wake. Only two were missing. Allowing that one of the bodies was Timmy’s, where did the rest of the bodies come from? Had Timmy given a good account of himself before the vaqueros filled him with lead? Timmy wasn’t Jesco, but when a man’s life was in the balance, he liked to take as many of his enemies with him as he could.
One of the vaquero’s yelled and pointed at them.
Kent slowed. The Circle T outnumbered the DP, but he would not throw away the lives of his hands needlessly if he could help it.
“My God! Are those women?”
At Clayburn’s exclamation, Kent looked again. He recognized Steve Pierce by Steve’s clothes. Armando was next to him. Nearby sat two hourglass figures in riding habits, holding quirts. “Dolores and Trella, the sisters.”
“What in hell are Steve and his brothers thinkin’?” Clayburn said. “Females shouldn’t be involved in this. It’s not right.”
“They always stick together,” Kent reminded him.
“Range wars should be left to the menfolk. It’s bad enough without women dyin’.” Clayburn caught himself, and said sheepishly, “Sorry, Mr. Tovey.”
“That’s all right,” Kent lied. The remark had seared him like a sword. Nance. Oh, Nance.
“How do we handle this?”
They were almost within rifle range. The Pierces and their vaqueros were scattering in among the trees.
Kent raised an arm, and brought his small army to a halt. He reached back for his saddlebags, and then remembered he did not have his telescope. Which reminded him. “Where is Jesco when we need him?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Clayburn admitted. “Shonsey saw him run from the stable to the corral and light a shuck west. Shonsey hollered, askin’ where he was headin’, but Jesco didn’t answer. By the time Shonsey fetched me, Jesco was out of sight.”
“Damned peculiar,” Kent said. Jesco was usually as dependable as the seasons. He shrugged. “Oh well. He’ll show when he shows. We can get by without him.” He said that for the benefit of the men behind him, waiting expectantly for their orders. “Have everyone dismount.”
Jack Demp was fidgeting like he had ants in his britches. “We could charge them, Mr. Tovey. Like the cavalry.”
“Across open ground, and right into their gun sights?” Kent shook his head. “We would be slaughtered. No, we’ll stay out of range and wait to see what they do.” He slid down and stretched, glad for the reprieve from riding. He was not as spry as he used to be. These days, an hour in the saddle, and he ached in places he did not normally hurt.
Clayburn was issuing instructions. “Floyd, you and Charley take care of the horses. The saddles stay on, in case we need them in a hurry. Shonsey, get a fire goin’ and put coffee on. Somethin’ tells me we’ll be here a while.” Clayburn pointed at three punchers, one after the other. “Mel, Carver, and Tilden. I want you to take your rifles and crawl fifty yards closer to the river, to keep an eye on things. Stay down, so they don’t spot you. Mel, you go to the right. Carver, to the west. If they try to sneak up on us, give a holler.”
The cowboys hustled to obey.
Kent began to pace, to relieve the stiffness in his legs. It was a good thing they had come along when they did. If he were still back in the parlor, moaning over his loss, the Pierces could have surrounded the buildings under the cover of darkness, and in the morning, when his hands filed from the bunkhouse to the cookhouse for breakfast, picked them off as easily as clay targets.
Kent shuddered. He must not make that mistake again, not let his grief affect his judgement. His men depended on him, and he must not let them down.
“Poor Timmy must be dead,” Clayburn commented. “Odds are they caught him nappin’.”
“Another life they must answer for,” Kent said. The last one, if he had anything to do with it.
“I never thought I’d live to see the day,” Clayburn said. “Steve Pierce is a good friend. Or was. Armando and me got along well, too. Maybe my grandpa was right.”
“Your grandpa?”
“”He was a cantankerous old cuss. Soured on life from the day he was born. Nothin’ was ever good enough. No one ever measured up.” Clayburn paused. “Anyway, he never had any friends, never seemed to want any, so one day when I was about ten, I asked him why. He laughed and said that they weren’t worth the bother. That friendship was only skin deep, and given half an excuse, so-called friends would turn into enemies. I never believed him.”
Kent refused to believe it, too. He hunkered down, plucked a blade of grass, and stuck the stem between his teeth. The sun was about to set. Once it did, he would give the order to close in.
“I’ve heard of feuds like this,” Clayburn went on, “but never taken part in one. Always figured all the killin’ was senseless. But after what they did to Mrs. Tovey—” He glanced down. “There I go again, shootin’ off my blamed mouth. Maybe I should sew it shut until this is over.”
“I can’t stop thinking about her, either,” Kent admitted. But he had to, for all their sakes. He stood back up. The three sentries were well out in the grass, wriggling on their stomachs like oversized lizards.
“Do you reckon maybe Steve and his brothers planned this all along?” Clayburn asked. “To take over the entire valley, I mean? Julio never was too happy about you layin’ claim to the other half.”
The possibility stunned Kent. He had taken it for granted that Dar’s sons shared Dar’s outlook, and that there were no hard feelings. But now that Clayburn mentioned it, he recalled a few comments the brothers had made. Little things, like Steve saying how the DP could triple its income if they owned the north half as well as the south. Or Armando, commenting that if it had been up to him, he would have fenced off the entire valley long before Kent came. Or Julio, always so touchy about the Mexican half of his heritage, always so critical of everything and anything from north of the border. Had their true feelings been there in front of him the whole time, and he had been too blind to see it? Kent took the blade of grass from his mouth and crushed it. His stupidity had cost Nancy her life.
“They didn’t keep us waitin’ long,” Clayburn said.
Kent glanced toward the Rio Largo. A vaquero on horseback was heading their way, holding a trimmed branch with a strip of white cloth tied to the end. “No one is to shoot. Spread the word.”
“Yes, sir.”
The vaquero was smiling. The fading sunlight gleamed off silver conchas on the man’s belt, hat, saddle, and bridle, and his saddle horn and stirrups looked to be part silver.
“That’s the one they call Hijino,” Clayburn said. “I don’t know much about him. He’s new.”
Bristling with weapons, Demp and Shonsey and other hands formed a semicircle around Kent and the foreman. “I’d like to see him try somethin’,” Demp said. “We’ll send him back belly down.”
“No shooting,” Kent stressed.
Hijino had his arms out from his sides. He passed Tilden, who rose on his knees and covered him. As casually as if he were enjoying a Sunday ride, Hijino came on until he was ten yards out, then drew rein. “Buenas tardes, Senor Tovey.”
“What I can do for you?” Kent demanded.
“The patrón sent me. Steve Pierce. He would like to parley, as you gringos say. He will ride out halfway to meet you. Him, Armando, and one vaquero. They will be unarmed, but the vaquero will not. Señor Pierce says that you may bring two men with you, but only one may be armed. All they want is to talk.”
“Don’t trust them, boss,” Jack Demp urged.
“Steve Pierce gives his word, señor,” Hijino said. “Julio’s death has shaken him. He loved his brother very much.”
Kent was incredulous. “Julio is dead?” He glanced at Clayburn. “Why wasn’t I told?”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it, Mr. Tovey.”
Leaning on his saddle horn, Hijino said, “What do I tell the patron? Will you meet with them under a flag of truce?”
“Don’t do it,” Shonsey said. “I don’t trust them.”
All eyes were on Kent. He sensed that he was about to make a decision that could decide the outcome. Would it be more bloodshed, or peace? “I have no choice. Fetch my horse.”
Hijino’s smile widened. “You will not regret it, senor.”
Chapter 24
Timmy Loring was scared witless. They had been caught in the open, framed in the square of light from a window. He was about to do as they had been commanded, when John Jesco exploded into motion. Before Timmy could quite comprehend what Jesco was up to, he had seized Dunn, hauled him off the horse, and pushed him toward Timmy, bellowing, “Into the house! Use him as a shield!”
Timmy’s Colt was in his hand, but he did not remember drawing it. Jamming it against Dunn’s spine, he backpedaled. Dunn started to twist away. “I’ll blow a hole in you as big as an apple! I swear!” Timmy warned.
Off in the dark, rifles spat flame and lead. Slugs whined to Timmy’s right and left. Several struck the porch, and sent slivers flying.
Jesco answered them. He drew his Colt and banged off three shots with incredible swiftness. Timmy thought Jesco was shooting wildly but then someone cried out, “I’m hit!” It dawned on him that Jesco had fired at the muzzle flashes, with remarkable effect.
Timmy nearly stumbled on the top step, but he gained the porch, and pulled Dunn after him. A rifle banged near the corral, and he fired back. Then he was at the door. Reaching behind him, he opened it and kicked with his boot. The door slammed wide. Another instant, and he was inside, still hauling Dunn after him.
Jesco backed inside, squeezing off another shot as he cleared the threshold. Pressing his back to the wall, he reloaded, his fingers flying.
Timmy had never seen anyone reload so fast. He was glad Jesco was there. No one else could have done what Jesco did, and hold the seven cutthroats at bay long enough to make it indoors.
“You’re only delayin’ things,” Dunn snarled. “Both of you are as good as dead.”
“Shut your mouth.” Jesco spun the cylinder, then twirled the Colt, cocking it as he did, and trained it on the outlaw. “Or you can die here and now.”
If looks of raw hate could slay, Dunn’s would have reduced Jesco to bleached bones.
More lead peppered the front of the house. A slug drilled the window to the left of the door, and a vase on a table crashed to the floor.
“Stop firin’, damn it!” came a roar from outside. “We don’t want to hit Lafe by mistake!”
“Is that Saber?” Jesco asked.
Dunn nodded.
In the sudden silence, Timmy could hear his ears ringing. “What now?” he whispered. Were it up to him, they would slip out the back. So what if they were on foot. The important thing was to go on breathing.
Jesco sidled to the window, but did not show himself. “Saber? Can you hear me?”
“Of course,” came the gruff reply.
“Leave, now. One at a time, at a gallop. Or I shoot Dunn.”
Timmy felt Dunn move, and tensed, then realized Dunn was indulging in quiet mirth.
“Do you really expect him to do what you want, cowboy? You don’t know him like I do. The only person he cares about is himself.”
Saber’s answer proved Dunn right. “Go ahead and curl him up if you want. But me and my pards ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
“Told you,” Dunn said.
Jesco cupped his left hand to his mouth. “Mr. Tovey and the rest will be back soon. You don’t want to be here when they do.”
Cold laughter wafted on the breeze. “I wasn’t raised in a turnip patch. Your boss is likely off across the river, swappin’ lead with the Pierces. The boy and you are on your own, and that’s an awful big house.”
“What does he mean by that?” Timmy wondered.
Dunn responded instead of Jesco. “You can’t cover all the windows and doors. Sooner or later my friends will find a way in, and that will be that.”
Jesco glided toward the stairs. As he went past Dunn, his right arm streaked out. “I told you to shut up.”
Like a tree felled in a forest, Dunn pitched to the floor and did not move. His other temple was bleeding from a gash wider and longer than the first.
“That should keep him out of our hair for a while,” Jesco said. “Go check the back door. Be sure the bolt is thrown. I’ll be upstairs but I won’t be long.”
Timmy shriveled inside. The rear of the house was dark, not a lamp lit anywhere. He moved slowly down the hall, groping with his left hand. He vaguely recollected a small table somewhere past the parlor. Suddenly his boot made contact. He drew back, skirted it, and continued to the inky rectangle in the kitchen.
Timmy froze. Was it his imagination, or was a cool breeze fanning his cheeks? He envisioned the back door open, a killer lurking just inside, ready to blast him into eternity when he came close enough. Then a curtain rustled, and he saw that the window over the counter had been cracked a couple of inches to admit fresh air.
Grinning at his silliness, Timmy entered. He had only taken a few tentative steps when he froze a second time. He had heard movement! There could be no mistake. The sound came from over by the back door.
Crouching, Timmy licked his suddenly dry lips. He strained and strained, but could not spot whoever was waiting to do him in.
Timmy yearned to shout for Jesco, but it would give him away. His skin crawling, he crept forward. First one foot, then the other, careful not to scrape his soles or otherwise betray where he was.
There it was again! This time, Timmy glimpsed a shadowy shape low down to the floor. Lying flat, he figured, to be harder to hit. He tried to swallow, but now his entire mouth was dry. Never in his whole life had he been so afraid.
The shadow moved toward him.
Timmy’s hand began to shake. He grasped the Colt in both hands, but he still could not hold it steady. To add to his shame, his teeth began to chatter. He had to grit them to make them stop.
In the gloom, the outline of a pale face appeared. Timmy saw the eyes and the chin, but he could not make out much else. He did not need to. All the servants were gone, all the punchers, too. It had to be one of Saber’s bunch.
Taking a deep breath, Timmy prayed to the Almighty to guide his aim, and stroked the trigger. In the confines of the kitchen, the blast was unnaturally loud. So was the screech that punctuated the shot.
The shadow leaped high into the air, did a somersault, and came down hard. It tried to rise, and collapsed.
Timmy cocked the hammer as boots drummed. Jesco called his name, but Timmy did not reply. He must make sure. Easing closer, he listened for breathing, but heard none. He was about to shoot again, when he saw that the sprawled shape was smaller than a person would be. Much, much smaller.
Jesco burst into the kitchen, a lamp held over his head, filling the room with its glow. “I’ll be damned!” He stopped short. “What did you go and do that for?”
Timmy rose to his knees, his chin on his chest, ashamed of himself. “It was dark. I thought it was one of Dunn’s friends.”
“With whiskers and a tail?” Jesco stood over the body and felt for signs of life. “As dead as Mrs. Tovey. It’s a good thing she’s gone to her Maker, or she would be mighty upset. She was right fond of this cat.”
Luck once again favored Hijino.
The sun was almost gone. Steve and Armando had delayed going to meet Tovey, thanks to an argument with their sisters. Little did Dolores and Trella realize, but they had sealed their doom.
“Enough is enough. We must go, or Kent Tovey will think we are up to something,” Armando said.
Trella stepped in front of him, her hand on his chest. “Please! One last time I beg you to reconsider. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“As do I,” Dolores said.
Steve moved past them to his horse. “We are taking Hijino. The rest of the vaqueros will have us covered.”
Roman nodded. “That we will, patrón. At the first sign of treachery, we will shoot them from the saddle.”
Trella would not relent. “What will talking to them accomplish? How can you trust them, when they have killed Mother and Father and Julio?”
“And Berto,” Paco said. “Do not forget Berto.”
“I must learn why,” Steve said. “I must hear it from Kent Tovey’s own lips.”
“You are a fool,” Trella said.
Dolores clasped Armando’s hand. “We do not want to lose the two of you, too. Take us with you.”
Hijino stiffened. If the women went along, he could not carry out his plan. “It is too dangerous, señorita,” he made bold to interject.
“Don’t worry,” Steve Pierce assured his sisters. “Kent will respect a flag of truce. He will grant us that much.”
“You speak of him as if he were the man we once believed him to be,” Dolores said. “A man of honor and decency. But he has proven he is not.”
