In due course, a flaming red disk hovered on the western brink of the world. Jesco glanced over his shoulder yet again and saw only cattle. He scanned the valley to the north and to the south, but the only other sign of life was a hawk.
“It’s not far, now,” Timmy said.
The sun relinquished its reign to scattered stars. Blue gave way to gray and gray gave way to black. The stiffening breeze rustled the grass, and brought with it the distant yip of a coyote.
Dunn was grinning, as at a secret only he knew.
Small squares of light blossomed. Timmy whooped and slapped his thigh, exclaiming, “I told you! We’re safe now.”
Jesco did not share the younger man’s confidence. Only three windows in the ranchhouse were aglow. No lights showed at the bunkhouse or any of the other buildings.
“It’s awful quiet,” Timmy remarked as they neared the corral. “Where is everyone?”
“On their way to the DP,” Jesco hazarded a guess. Kent Tovey had finally shaken off his grief, and was about to make the worst mistake of his life.
“There must be someone,” Timmy said, and gigged his weary horse toward the bunkhouse.
Jesco veered for the main house. Ordinarily, a few servants would be washing the supper dishes and tending to other duties. Dismounting, he tied both sets of reins to the hitch rail, climbed the steps, and knocked.
“You’re wastin’ your time,” Dunn said. “Right before I left, I heard Tovey tell Clayburn to send the servants into San Pedro for their own protection.”
Jesco tried the latch. The door was unlocked. He opened it a few inches and called out, “Anyone here?” The silence mocked him.
“Told you, you lunkhead.”
It was not long before Timmy came running up, breathless and agitated. “Not a soul! Not a livin’ soul! The bunkhouse is empty. The cookhouse stove is cold. No one anywhere. We’re alone!”
Jesco came down off the porch and unwrapped the reins. “We need fresh mounts.” He shifted on his heels to lead the two animals toward the stable.
“What for?” Timmy asked.
“Use that noggin’ of yours, boy,” Dunn taunted. “There’s just the two of you. How long before my friends figure it out?”
“Who cares?” was Timmy’s retort.
“I swear,” Dunn said. “You’re so dumb, you couldn’t teach a hen to cluck.”
As if to prove him right, a rifle boomed, and lead smacked into a porch post. From out of the surrounding darkness came a harsh shout, “That was just a warnin’! Throw down your guns and throw up your hands, or we’ll turn you sons of bitches into sieves!”
Chapter 23
The Rio Largo had always divided the ranches, a natural barrier that conveniently defined their common border.
Kent Tovey sometimes thought that the only reason the Circle T ended up with more land than the DP was because there was more land north of the river than south of it. Kent would not have minded if it were the other way around. The land did not matter as much as the river.
Without the Rio Largo, neither ranch would exist. It not only ran through the heart of the valley, it was the valley’s heart, its very sustenance. Without the life-giving nourishment of the ever-flowing water, the lush green grass would brown and wither. Without the Rio Largo, there would not be enough graze to feed a herd of goats, let alone huge herds of cattle.
So Kent always thought fondly of the Rio Largo, and looked forward to those occasions when he had an excuse to ride along its banks or cross over to visit the DP.
But not today.
Kent dreaded the crossing. Once on the other side, the Circle T hands would be in what had become enemy territory. The friendship, the good graces of the Pierce family, had been replaced by implacable hatred. How else to explain Nance’s murder? Julio was to blame, but Julio would never act without the knowledge and consent of his brothers. The Pierces were as tight-knit as a hill clan. Dar had seen to that; he raised them to depend on one another, to be loyal to the family as well as the brand.
Kent missed Dar. Almost as much as he missed Nance. Many an evening, he and Dar had sat sipping brandy or whiskey and sharing stories of their early years and their dreams for the future.
Dar had entertained the hope that his sons would take over the DP, once Dar was ready to hang up his spurs and spend his days in the rocking chair in front of the hearth. Dar had been getting on in years, but it would have been a decade or more before he was ready to put himself out to pasture. Now he would never get to enjoy those waning years, and the sense of accomplishment that came from a man making a success of his life.
Kent had always been proud of his own success. The Circle T was no small thing. It had taken near superhuman perseverance to wrest a working ranch from the forces of nature and the financial pitfalls that conspired to destroy his dreams. Disease, poor markets, bad winters, all had brought him to the brink of ruin at one time or another. Always, he stuck it out, and in the end he had a ranch that was the envy of the territory.
Now the Circle T teetered on the brink again. This time, the forces arrayed against him were his former friends. The hands he once shook so warmly had stabbed him in the back.
Kent could forgive most any affront. He would have been willing to overlook harsh words spoken in the heat of anger. He would even have excused a few shooting affrays, if worse came to worst. But he could never forgive them for Nance. She had been everything to him. As the Rio Largo was the valley’s heart, so was Nance his. To lose her was worse than losing an arm or a leg. It was like having his heart cut out. Hers had been the pulse that beat for both of them, and with her gone, he felt lifeless and drained.
“Sweet Nance,” Kent said softly as he led his punchers toward the glistening ribbon that was the Rio Largo.
“Did you say somethin’, Mr. Tovey?” Clayburn asked.
Embarrassed, Kent shook his head. He must get over his grief. He needed all his wits about him when he confronted the Pierces. He already had worked out what he would say. They must hand over Julio. That was first and foremost, a condition on which he would not relent. Then they must give their word that all hostilities would cease, and from that day on, never cross north of the Rio Largo without informing him of their intent beforehand.
Kent had explained his terms to Clayburn earlier, and his foreman had looked at him askance, and commented that in his estimation the Pierces were getting off too easy.
“What else would you have me do?” Kent had responded. “Wipe them from the face of the earth?”
“I reckon that wouldn’t do, either,” Clayburn had said. “I’m just glad it’s your decision and not mine.”
Life was all about decisions. About making the right one at the right time, because the wrong one invariably resulted in regrets. Kent did not have many regrets. At the top of his list was being unable to have children. He had no heir. He’d always assumed he would die before his wife, since women generally lived longer than men, and leave the ranch to her. Now she was gone. There was really only one other person he could leave it to. Only one person with a blood tie who was worthy to take over the Circle T.
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?”