Rio Largo

Chapter 10

The ten riders came to the Rio Largo, and splashed across at a gallop. They did not slow when they came to a herd of Circle T cattle, but rode on through, scattering cows before them. Nor did they slow when Circle T punchers hailed them. The cowboys angled to intercept the ten, recognized the lead rider, and, bewildered by his cold, stern visage, fell in behind in puzzlement.

Walt Clayburn, John Jesco, and Timmy Loring were at the stable when the visitors appeared in the distance with their cowboy escort. Clayburn squinted into the sun and said, “What have we here? I do believe that’s Dar Pierce headin’ this way like his britches are on fire.”

“What do you reckon he wants?” Timmy wondered.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Jesco said.

“I’d best let the big sugar know.” Clayburn hurried toward the house, and the other two tagged along.

Kent Tovey was in the parlor, listening to Nance discourse on the need to erect a pavilion to shade the women from the merciless sun when the rodeo was held.

A loud knock sounded on their front door. Kent excused himself and went to answer it. “Yes?” he said on beholding his foreman.

Clayburn pointed. “We’ve got visitors, Mr. Tovey. Unless my peepers are playin’ tricks, it’s Mr. Pierce.”

Kent stepped to the edge of the porch and strained his eyes until they ached, but he still could not distinguish one rider from another. “I swear you have the eyes of a hawk.”

“His sons are with him,” John Jesco said. “All of them.”

“I’ll have my wife prepare refreshments.” Kent went back in. He deemed it strange that Dar and all three boys were paying a visit. Normally, Dar left at least one son at the DP to oversee its operation when he was away, no matter how short the duration.

Nance beamed on hearing the news. “I’ll have the cook put coffee on. I do so love it when Dar visits. He is always the perfect gentleman.”

Kent went back out. The riders were near enough now that even he could see the sombreros most wore. The lone exception was Steve Pierce, who did not share his father’s passion for everything Mexican.

“Want us to stay?” Clayburn inquired.

Kent was about to say they should go on about their work, but instead he said, “It might be best.” Maybe it was the speed at which the DP bunch were approaching. He could not recall ever seeing Dar ride so fast. And, too, as a courtesy, Dar usually sent a rider on ahead to let them know he was coming. This time he hadn’t.

“I’ll round up some of the other hands if you want, Mr. Tovey,” Jesco offered.

“What for?” Kent said. “Dar Pierce is one of my best friends.”

At that moment, Nance joined them. She clasped her hands to her bosom in delight. “How wonderful! I only wish Juanita was with him.”

The ten made a beeline for the house, sweeping past the outbuildings and the stable and surprised cowhands, without so much as a word or gesture of greeting.

Kent came down the steps. Raising a hand, he smiled warmly. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Jesco take quick strides to one side, and stand with his right hand hooked in his gun belt inches from his Colt.

Amid the pounding of hooves and wisps of dust, the riders reined to a stop. Dar Pierce was foremost, flanked by Steve, Armando, and Julio. The rest were vaqueros.

Kent recognized Roman and Paco. They always took part in the annual rodeos. He noticed a new vaquero, one with a fondness for silver. “Well, this is a nice surprise, Dar,” he declared, offering his hand. “What brings you here in such a rush?”

Dar Pierce leaned down to shake, but did not return the smile. He looked older than when Kent saw him last. A lot older. “I’m here on business. Damned serious business.”

Nance came off the porch. “Surely it can wait until after you have some coffee? It is great to see you again. We want to hear all the latest. The cows can wait.”

Dar swung down and doffed his sombrero. “My apologies, Mrs. Tovey, for my strong language.”

“It’s Nance, remember?” she said with a mild laugh. “My goodness, Dar. Why are you being so formal?”

It was Julio Pierce who answered her. “Didn’t you hear my padre? This is not a social call.”

Dar glanced sharply up at his youngest. “You will show respect when you talk to a lady. And never forget they are our friends.”

“Sí,” Julio said, scowling. “But you can’t blame me. You know how highly I thought of him.”

“We all did,” Dar said sadly.

“What in heaven’s name is all this about?” Nance asked.

“Berto is dead,” Dar said softly.

“Your foreman?” Kent asked needlessly, since they all knew he was. “What happened? Was he thrown by a horse, or gored?” Kent assumed that an ordinary mishap was to blame. Fatal accidents were few, but they did happen.

Dar grew somber. “He was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Nance repeated, shocked. “Who would do such a thing? How did it happen? Was he shot?”

Again it was Julio who answered her. “Berto was stabbed!” he snapped. “Gutted like a fish!”

“We found him lying in a pool of blood out behind a shed,” Steve said, “and came here as soon as we pieced it together.”

Kent Tovey was confused. He did not understand what the Circle T had to do with Berto’s death, and said so.

“We’re here because the killer is one of your punchers,” Dar Pierce regretfully informed him.

Kent smothered a snort of disbelief. “Why, that’s preposterous. What possible reason would one of my hands have for murdering your foreman? It makes no sense.”

“Nevertheless, it’s true,” Dar responded, “and I can prove it.” He turned to his sorrel, opened a saddlebag, and removed a folding knife with wood grips. “This was found next to Berto’s body. Take a good look at the initials.”

Kent had the knife in his hand before he realized it was smeared with scarlet. He had known Berto well, and liked him. To think that he was touching Berto’s blood made him shiver with distaste. “J. D.,” he read aloud.

“You have a puncher working for you by the name of Jack Demp, I believe,” Dar said.

“We do,” Kent admitted. “But again, what possible reason would Demp have?” He held the knife out. “It will take more than this to convince me.”

“I have more.” Dar turned to the vaquero whose clothes and tack glittered with silver. “This is Hijino. He was at the corral about the time Berto was killed, and saw a cowboy lead a horse away from our house. He did not think much of it at the time, since we often have guests.” Dar motioned. “Describe the person you saw.”

“Sí, patrón,” Hijino said. “He was white. Maybe veinte, that is, twenty years old. No taller than I am, but thinner. He wore a hat with a high crown, a brown shirt, and black boots with small spurs. That is all I could tell.”

“That description fits half the Circle T,” Clayburn remarked. “Want me to fetch Demp anyway?”

Kent Tovey nodded. “Be quick about it. I want this settled right away. If it’s true . . .” He could not bring himself to finish the statement. It was too disturbing, too horrifying.

“Demp is out on the range,” Clayburn said. “It could take an hour or more to round him up.”

“Take Jesco and Loring with you to help search,” Kent directed. “And whoever else is handy.”

“Timmy, you heard Mr. Tovey,” Clayburn said. He exchanged glances with John Jesco. “But it’s best if you stick around. To sort of keep an eye on things.”

Nance was wringing her hands in anguish. “This is terrible, just terrible. Come inside while we wait, Dar, you and your boys. My husband will get to the bottom of this, I promise you.”

“I am grateful,” Dar said, and beckoned to his sons.

Steve and Armando alighted, but Julio did not. “I will wait out here, Father,” he announced, betraying his reason by his tone and the look he cast at Kent and Nance.

“The Toveys are our friends, son,” Dar reiterated with marked paternal patience. “You can’t blame them for something one of their punchers might have done.”

“Did do,” Julio corrected him. “There’s no doubt in my mind. We have a witness and the evidence.”

“But why?” Kent fell back on the same issue. “What would Demp hope to gain? It’s pointless.”

“Who can say?” Julio challenged, without the courtesy of a “señor.” “Perhaps he did it because he does not like Mexicans. With my own ears, I once heard him call Hijino a bean-eater.”

Nance gasped. “We don’t allow that sort of thing at the Circle T. Why wasn’t I told?”

The question was addressed to Kent. “This is the first I’ve heard about it, dearest. Rest assured, I will discuss it with Demp and Clayburn when they get back.” To Julio he said, “Please reconsider. You are always welcome in our house. Come in out of the hot sun.”

“And this Demp?” Julio persisted. “What will you do to him?”

“If he’s guilty, appropriate steps will be taken.”

“If?”

“A person is innocent until proven otherwise,” Kent said. “He must be given an opportunity to defend himself.”

“As I thought,” Julio said in contempt. “Already you take his side against us. Is this what you call justice?”

“What would you have us do? String him from a tree?” Kent meant it as a splash of cold logic to cool Julio down.

“That is exactly what we should do, sí. We must hang him as a warning to the rest of you gringos!”

“Julio!” Dar said sternly. “That is enough. If you can not be civil, you will go wait by the stable.”

His jaw jutting defiantly, Julio wheeled his mount. The vaqueros fell in behind him.

“Please excuse my youngest,” Dar said. “He and Berto were close. Julio has taken the death hard.”

“I can’t blame him,” Nance sympathized. “Don’t worry. We won’t hold his behavior against him.” She placed a hand on Dar’s arm. “Now how about that coffee? While we wait, you can tell us what your lovely wife and daughters have been up to since I saw them last.”

Kent let Steve and Armando enter ahead of him. He indicated that Jesco should join them, but the tall cowboy shook his head and walked to a rocking chair.

“Out here will do, Mr. Tovey. Someone needs to keep an eye on those vaqueros.” Jesco sat and hooked his left boot on the rail.

“Surely you are not suggesting they will cause trouble?” Kent was incredulous. “I grant you that Julio has been rude, but he has an excuse. We must forgive him.”

“Turnin’ the other cheek only works when the other gent turns his,” Jesco remarked. “Otherwise you get yours blown off.”

Deeply troubled, Kent hurried inside to catch up to the others.

Fortunately, Nance was her usual talkative self, and rambled on about the upcoming rodeo and the current price for beef and whether they would get any rain before the summer was out. Anything and everything except Berto’s death.

The clock on the wall ticked off an hour. Then an hour and a half. Ten minutes more, and the front door opened and Jesco hollered, “They’re comin’, Mr. Tovey!”

Almost a dozen cowboys were with Clayburn, including Jack Demp. Apparently the foreman had not told Demp why he had been sent for, because the first thing out of his mouth was, “You wanted to see me, Mr. Tovey?”

Dar, Steve, and Armando were on the porch. Julio and the vaqueros had trotted up from the stable and were to one side, Julio with his hand on his revolver.

Kent took the incriminating evidence from his pocket. “Yes, I did. Is this folding knife yours?”

“Land sakes!” Demp grinned, and snatched it from Kent’s grasp. “Where did you find it? I’ve been lookin’ all over for this thing.”

“Then it does belong to you?” Kent needed to be absolutely certain.

“Sure, it’s—” Demp blinked and ran a finger along the grips. “Hold on. I never carved my initials in mine. And what’s this red stuff? Good God. Is this blood?”

“But you do admit to owning a knife like that?”

Demp looked up and regarded the ring of intent faces. “Sure. I keep it in my war bag. Most every hand in the bunkhouse knows that. But it disappeared. Remember, Walt? I asked if you had seen it anywhere?”

“That’s right,” Clayburn said. “I plumb forgot.”

Julio gigged his horse closer. “Of course he claims he lost it! Because he dropped it at our rancho when he fled!”

“What is he jabberin’ about?” Demp asked no one in particular.

“They think you killed the DP’s foreman,” Kent Tovey revealed.

Demp’s mouth dropped. “That’s plain loco!” he blurted. “Why would I blow out Berto’s wick when I hardly even knew him?”

“He was a greaser, as you like to call us,” Julio said. “That is cause enough for a bigot like you.”

“Mister, no one talks to me like that,” Jack Demp said.

“I do,” Julio declared. “You are a bastard and a murderer, but I am not afraid of you. I do not fear any gringo.”

Demp looked down at Kent. “Do I have to take this, Mr. Tovey? Aren’t you goin’ to do somethin’?”

Kent hesitated. A wrong decision on his part could result in tragedy.

“You will continue to deny it,” Julio was growling, “so if Berto is to be avenged, I must take the matter into my own hands.” He paused. “Whenever you are ready to die, fill your hand. Killing you will give me great pleasure.”