Rio Largo

Chapter 18

Steve Pierce had lived what he liked to think of as an ordinary life. He had been born and raised on a ranch, so it was only natural that he lived, breathed, and ate ranching. He loved everything about being a rancher. The work agreed with him. Up at the crack of dawn, a hearty breakfast with his family, then busy, busy, busy all day, until sunset or beyond, when he would ride wearily home to supper. Then an hour or two of talk with his parents and siblings, and then early to bed in order to be early to rise. That had been his routine for as long as he could remember.

Then everything was shot to hell. Berto, dead. His father, dead. By rights, as the oldest, the running of the ranch should fall on his shoulders. He had been groomed for it since childhood, and should have no qualms about taking over. But he did. Secretly, he worried he was not up to handling the crisis they faced. So he was tremendously happy when his mother assumed the mantle. Her calm self-possession was reassuring to the rest of them, but especially to him.

But now the worst that could happen, had happened. Steve could still not quite believe it, hours after they discovered his mother was missing. His sisters were frantic. Armando was so upset he had withdrawn into a shell, like a turtle, and would not speak unless spoken to. As for Julio, he was nearly rabid, a boiling cauldron of seething emotions he made no attempt to hold in check.

It was close to noon.

Steve stood on the porch in the shade of the overhang, anxiously scouring the range from end to end. He had sent everyone who could ride a horse out to search. The vaqueros, most of the servants, his brothers and Dolores, had all been out since early morning. He wanted to go, too, but someone had to stay.

Steve squinted at the sun, then balled his hands into fists, the nails biting into his palms. They had to find her. They had to. She would be alive and unhurt, with a perfectly logical reason for why she had disappeared. She would continue to oversee the ranch, continue to make the important decisions he was glad not to have to make. Not decisions involving the everyday operation of the ranch. Steve could handle those. He knew cows better than anyone. Everything about them. From calving to branding, from roundups to driving herds to market, he was an expert.

No, the decisions Steve wanted nothing to do with, the decisions he feared, had to do with what to do about the murders. Julio and many of the vaqueros thirsted for revenge. They blamed the Toveys, and wanted to ride to the Circle T. What they would do when they got there was not entirely clear. They could not very well gun the Toveys down without proof the Toveys were involved. They still believed Jack Demp was to blame for Berto, and there had been dark muttering about treating Demp to a strangulation jig.

Steve was as upset as anyone about the deaths. But he had sided with his father, then his mother, in advocating that they proceed with care and caution. The last thing Steve wanted was to spill innocent blood. Julio was almost at the point of not caring so long as he had his vengeance, and once Julio reached that point, Steve wondered if anyone could hold him back.

Just then, the door opened and closed. Steve did not look around. “It is better if you stay in your room. I told you I would send for you when I have news.”

Trella came over, her arms clasped to her bosom, the dry tracks of tears on her cheeks. “I will go loco if I stay in there by myself any longer. I need someone to talk to.”

“You can talk to me, but I don’t know what good I will be.” Steve always felt uncomfortable around women, even his sisters. They did not think or act like men. He could never predict what they would say or do. He preferred cows, predictable creatures if ever there were any.

“This is a nightmare,” Trella said. “A nightmare that gets worse each day.”

Steve could not agree more.

“Who will be next? You? Me? Armando? Dolores? Someone is out to kill us. Each and every one of us.”

“We don’t know that,” Steve said.

Trella spun on him. “What will it take to convince you? How many of us must die before you face the truth?”

“I wish we knew what the truth really was.”

“It is obvious. Someone wants our rancho, and they will stop at nothing to get their hands on it.”

“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.

At a gesture from Dolores, the three of them quietly moved into the hall.

“She is hysterical,” Dolores whispered so their sister would not hear. “I do not blame her. I cried the whole way here. For the moment I am out of tears.”

“Who did it?” Steve was struggling to contain his own grief until later, when he could be alone. Men did not weep in front of others. It simply was not done.

Armando sagged against the wall, his shoulders sagging. “Would that I could tell you, mi hermano. We know there was another horse and rider. I instructed Carlos to backtrack them. He is one of our best trackers. If they lead to the Circle T, there will be no holding Julio back.”

“There will be no holding him back anyway,” Dolores said. “He is beside himself. I have never seen him so mad. Once he hears we have found her body, he will go berserk.”

“Maybe I should not have sent Paco to tell him,” Armando said.

“What’s done is done.” Steve’s own emotions were in a whirl, and it was all he could do to concentrate. My father and mother, both gone. The weight of the ranch bore down on his shoulders with crushing effect.

“The important thing now,” Dolores said, “is to keep our heads, and not do anything rash. We must find out who has done this terrible thing, and punish them, and we must do it quickly.”

“I agree,” Armando said.

Dolores stared at the settee. “First we bury mother and father. Next to each other, as they would have wanted.”

Steve nodded. “Out of respect, everyone on the rancho will attend. I will call in every last vaquero.”

“What about outsiders?” Armando asked. “Friends from San Pedro?” He paused. “And the Toveys?”

“Under the circumstances,” Dolores said, “inviting Kent and Nancy would be like waving a red cape in front of a bull’s nose. Julio would shoot them the moment he set eyes on them.”

“I reckon they will understand,” Steve remarked. “Once we have it all sorted out—” He broke off as boots thudded on the porch, and someone knocked loudly and urgently on the front door.

“What now?” Dolores wondered aloud.

Paco had his sombrero in hand, and was wringing the brim. “It is terrible, patrón. Most terrible,” he said the moment Steve opened the door. “I found Julio and told him about Señora Pierce, as Armando told me to.”

“And?” Steve feared the answer.

“I regret to report, patron, that Julio and five vaqueros have gone to kill the Toveys.”