“Who?”
“Who else but the Toveys? They are not content with half the valley. They want all of it. Unless they are stopped, by the end of the month there will not be any of our family left.”
“You sound like Julio.” Steve had hoped she would be more sensible.
“What is wrong with that? He is willing to stand up to them. To stop the killing, and protect what is ours.”
“He would paint the valley red with blood.” A prospect that horrified Steve. His father had taught him that the taking of a life was not something done lightly, and his father should know.
“Again, what is wrong with that, if it is not our blood?” Trella countered. “Are you going to twiddle your thumbs and do nothing while the Circle T takes us over? Have you forgotten they outnumber us? Hijino says we must strike before they do.”
“Who?” Steve was distracted by tendrils of dust to the south.
“One of our vaqueros. You know him. The one who rides the fine white horse, and is fond of silver.”
Something in her voice drew Steve’s gaze from the dust. She was smiling sweetly, and it occurred to him that it was the first time all morning she had smiled like that. Her eyes were aglow, too, with a peculiar inner light. It puzzled him. His mother had often had the same look when she held his father’s hand and strolled with him in the garden. The realization jolted him. My little sister and a vaquero? What would their mother say? What should he say?
Fortunately, Steve was spared from having to say anything by the approaching dust cloud. Trella had noticed, too.
“Someone returns in a hurry. I pray they have found her, and she is safe.”
“That makes two of us.” Steve dreaded the alternative. He would become the true head of the family, with all the responsibilities it entailed.
“If anything has happened to her . . .” Trella did not finish. Tears moistened her eyes, and she dabbed at them with a sleeve.
“No one would harm a woman,” Steve said. It was the straw at which he clutched. Even on the frontier, there were things men just did not do. Steal, yes. Swindle, yes. Rustle, yes. Kill, yes. But never, ever hurt a woman. It was considered so vile, widespread outrage inevitably resulted in swift punishment.
“Apaches and Comanches do it all the time.”
“That’s different,” Steve said. He counted seven riders. They must have found something. He had given orders that no one was to return before nightfall otherwise.
“You must be strong, Steve,” Trella said. “Do what must be done for the good of the rancho.”
“What makes you think I will not?” Steve responded, a trifle defensively.
“I know you. I know how you think. You will not act until you have all the facts. But sometimes that is not possible. Sometimes we must act on our feelings.”
“You would have me be like Julio, and think only of getting revenge?” Steve shook his head. “I will do as our father would do. He always said to think before we act. To be reasonable in all we do.”
“And where did his thinking and his reason get him? I loved him as much as you, so when I say he was not as strong as he should be, I say it out of my affection for him.”
Steve had never struck his sisters, but he came close to slapping Trella. “You call that affection? Insulting the memory of him?”
“You know yourself that he was much too considerate of others, at our expense. Look at the Circle T. Those gringos had no right to that land. Father should have driven them off before they built their house. By any means necessary.”
“I have never heard you use that word before.”
“Which word? Gringo? Just because I have not spoken it does not mean I have not thought it. Besides, they call us greasers, don’t they?”
Steve was shocked by her expression. It was a mask of hate. “Kent and Nancy Tovey have never called us that. They have always treated our family with the utmost respect.”
“Hijino says all gringos do that. They smile and extend one hand in friendship while with their other hand they stab you in the back.”
“I must have a talk with this Hijino.”
Concern replaced her hate. “What for? He is my friend. Don’t you dare say anything to him. I do not meddle in your personal life, do I?”
“With father gone, I have an obligation to look after you. To protect you. To see you are not taken advantage of.”
Trella put her hands on her hips. “I am perfectly able to take care of myself. Just because I am the youngest does not make me a fool. I am offended. You will apologize this instant.”
“I am sorry you are upset,” Steve said, “but I will still talk to him. He must not get any ideas about you.”
“What does that mean? I can spend time with whomever I want, whenever I want, and if I chose to spend some of it with him, there is nothing you can do about it.”
“We shall see.”
The seven riders were near the outbuildings. Dolores was at the forefront, distinct by her dress and her quirt. At her side rode Armando. The rest were vaqueros, Roman and Paco among them. They were so closely bunched that they had passed the stable before Steve realized his brother was leading an eighth animal, and that draped over it was a slender form wrapped in a blanket. The size and the shape left no doubt.
“Dear God,” Steve breathed.
Trella dashed to meet them, crying, “No! No! No! No! No!” As Armando brought the horse to a stop, she flung herself at the blanket and began sobbing.
“We found her,” Dolores said sorrowfully. “Or Roman did, and fired three shots into the air.”
Armando slid his sombrero off his head and onto his back, so that it hung by its chinstrap. “The rest are still out searching. I sent Paco to find Julio.”
Steve stopped a few feet from the body. He could not bring himself to touch it. Not yet. “How did she die?”
“In a fall would be my guess. I am no doctor, but I think her neck is broken,” Armando revealed. “We also found a dead horse. Its leg was broken, and its throat had been cut.”
“Was the horse one of ours?”
“Sí. The sorrel we bought from the Circle T a year ago.”
Sniffling, Trella raised her grief-stricken face. “The Circle T again! What more proof do we need?”
It had to be a coincidence, Steve told himself. “You are being silly.”
“No more so than you! You are blind to what is happening, and your blindness will get the rest of us killed.” Trella burst into more tears, her face pressed to the still form.
Steve opened his mouth to dispute her, but closed it again at a gesture from Dolores. He helped Dolores down. Together with Armando, he carried the body into the parlor and gently laid it on the settee. Trella trailed after, weeping. No sooner did they step back than Trella threw herself on their mother again, bawling uncontrollably.