Hijino’s smile was brighter than ever. “Need you ask? Have I not made it clear? I am yours to command. I will do anything for you, anything at all.” He tilted her face up to his. “You can always count on me.”
Chapter 15
“Dar Pierce is the best friend we ever had,” Nancy Tovey declared.
“No argument there,” Kent responded, and refilled his glass. When he thought about how close the two ranches had come to spilling blood, it scared him.
“Isn’t that your third Scotch?” Nance asked, with a hint of disapproval. “You’re being awfully generous to yourself.”
“It’s only my second.” Kent set her straight. “And for your information, I am celebrating. Our head was in the lion’s mouth today, and the lion didn’t bite.” He sank back into his easy chair and raised the glass in a toast. “To the DP and the Circle T. May they last a thousand years.”
“Oh, my,” Nancy said. “That will definitely be your last. When you start waxing poetic, I know you have had more than enough.”
Kent sighed and took a sip. When it came to liquor, he always bought the most expensive brands. He savored his indulgence, wishing he could do it every night. But Nance had her rules.
“Are you sober enough to focus?”
“Oh, please.” Kent disliked it when she nagged, and she nagged often. Little nags and big nags. He supposed there were middling nags, but the distinction was too fine to matter. Nagging was nagging and that was that, and as natural to women as breathing. The thought made him grin.
“What is so humorous?”
“Nothing, dear,” Kent said. “Please continue.” The subdued light from the parlor lamp cast her features in a softly romantic glow. Or maybe it was the Scotch.
“The question still remains. If Jack Demp did not murder poor Berto, then who did? And why? More to the point, why was a knife exactly like Demp’s found near Berto’s body?”
“I don’t have the answers,” Kent admitted. But another possibility occurred to him, one he had not considered until this moment. “What if,” he began, and had another sip, “what if someone is out to pit the two ranches against one another?”
“How’s that?”
“Put the pieces together. Demp’s knife disappears. Berto is killed by a knife exactly like it, with Demp’s initials carved into the grips. But Demp swears he didn’t carve his initials in his. Where does that lead us?”
Nancy had always been quick-witted. “Whoever killed Berto stole Demp’s knife and added the initials as extra insurance that the blame would fall on Demp’s shoulders.”
“So it appears.”
“Oh, my,” Nance said, her forehead furrowing. “That’s quite ominous, indeed. It means someone is out to destroy us.”
“Us and the Pierces, both,” Kent said. “They want us at each other’s throats.”
“To what end? And who could be so unspeakably vile?”
Kent lowered his glass to his knee, and absently ran a finger around the rim. “As to the purpose, I can only speculate. With us and the Pierces dead, the valley would be ripe for taking. As to who, your guess is as good as mine.”
“We have no enemies,” Nance noted. “And Dar is one of the most well-respected men in the territory.”
“That’s true,” Kent conceded. To one and all, Dar Pierce was the consummate cattleman. Everyone in San Pedro admired him highly, which was understandable, given that Dar helped build the town. “But someone sure as blazes is out to cause us misery.”
“I have faith that Dar will figure it out. He promised to get to the bottom of it, and he’s a man of his word.”
There were times, Kent mused, when his wife seemed to regard Dar Pierce almost as highly as she did, say, Moses. “I am not without resources of my own. I have already instructed someone to find answers, and I have complete confidence he will.”
“Who?”
“John Jesco.”
Nance did not exactly frown, but her reaction was close to it. “Why him? Why not Clayburn? Walt is our foreman, after all.”
“He’s also indispensable to the running of our ranch. What’s wrong with Jesco? It was Walt who suggested I use him.”
“I don’t care for Jesco much. He’s a killer as much as a cowboy. The stories they tell cast doubt on his reliability.”
“To the contrary, my dear,” Kent said. “Walt says that Jesco is the most valuable hand we have. All our men are loyal to the brand, but Jesco has extra worth precisely because of his reputation.”
“Your logic eludes me.”
“Every outfit needs someone like Jesco. Someone with the bark on, as the cowboys like to put it. Someone who will give those who might do the Circle T harm second thoughts.”
“That’s hardly worth the lives he has taken,” Nance stated flatly.
Kent resented her attitude. She regarded the taking of human life, any human life, as evil. He could never make her understand that there existed the human equivalent of rabid wolves, and those wolves must be dealt with as any rabid animal would be, with the finality of death. “Whoever murdered Berto won’t hesitate to kill again. Would you have me give the job to Timmy? Or Shonsey?”
“Set a killer to catch a killer, is that it?” Nance gazed out the window. “Do as you want. But don’t expect my approval. Were it up to me, we would not have someone like Jesco in our employ.”
“Dar Pierce has Roman,” Kent said, taking pleasure in pricking her conceit.
“Implying that if Dar has a pistolero on his payroll, it’s all right for us to do the same? Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“Right and wrong don’t enter into it. Survival is the issue. The stronger the Circle T is, the fewer coyotes will nip at our flanks.”
“I hear Walt in that remark. Be that as it may, shooting a man dead is heinous, whether done in self-defense or not. Were it up to me, all the guns in the world would be melted down and used to make railroad ties.”
Kent could not contain himself. “That has to be the silliest thing you have ever said. Were it not for guns, we wouldn’t be here. The Navajos and Apaches would have driven all the whites out. Hell, the Comanches would still own Texas.”
“Don’t swear. And don’t patronize me. We have discussed this before, and nothing you say will change my mind.”
That was the devil of it, Kent sourly reflected. Once his wife made up her mind, neither reason nor the Almighty could persuade her to change it. To say she was pigheaded was an understatement. To say it to her face was marital suicide. He prudently changed the subject. “I’ve asked Walt to call in all our hands from the range. I will inform them what has happened, and require that they be on their best behavior around the men from the DP. With the rodeo coming up, we must take every precaution not to inflame hotheads like Julio.”
“That boy has a temper,” Nance agreed. “Thank goodness Dar keeps him in line.”
“There’s more,” Kent said. “I’ve instructed Clayburn to post men at the crossings. Julio might take it into his head to sneak across the river some night and do God knows what.” He paused. “I’ve also given instructions that the men are to go everywhere armed.”
“ Is that really necessary?” Nance asked, in a tone that implied it was not.
“The murderer is still on the loose. I would be remiss if I did not urge the men to be on their guard.”
“I suppose,” Nance said.
“They must be able to protect themselves if need be. There are times, whether you will admit it or not, when guns serve a purpose.”
“Don’t be petty. It ill becomes you.”
Kent Tovey reached for the bottle.
Judging by the Big Dipper, it was well past midnight. John Jesco was in a stand of trees at one of the four river crossings Clayburn wanted watched. Wheeler would relieve him at dawn. His back to a cottonwood, a blanket over his shoulders to keep him warm, Jesco sat with his Winchester in his lap, fighting drowsiness. Again and again, he snapped his head up and shook himself to stay awake, only to have his eyelids grow leaden and his chin dip to his chest.