Rio Largo

Chapter 22

The last hundred feet taxed John Jesco’s self-control. He wanted to run. To charge up the slope. Any moment, he dreaded the crack of a pistol shot or the rattle of a death scream. But neither occurred. Jesco reached the top of the hill and hunkered down.

Timmy Loring stood with his hands tied, defiantly glaring at Lafe Dunn, who had a revolver in one hand and a knife in the other, and was wagging the blade in front of Timmy’s face.

Jesco had only seconds to act. He glided to the left, circling around and coming up on Dunn from behind. Neither Dunn nor Timmy saw him when he unfurled. His Colt leaped into his hand.

Dunn chuckled and jabbed Timmy in the chest with the point of the knife. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to make Timmy wince. “Any last words before I start carvin’ on you, boy?”

“Go to hell.”

“That’s it? Hell, boy. Curse me to high heaven if you want. It’s what some would do. I’ve had others cry and blubber like babies. A few have passed out. Since it’s no fun when they can’t feel it, I always wait until they come around.”

“I have a question,” Timmy said.

Dunn lowered the knife a few inches. “Do you now? Well, this is new, I’ll grant you that. What is it? Maybe I’ll answer it, maybe I won’t. But you can ask.”

“What’s this all about? I don’t want to die not knowin’ why.”

“You’re a disappointment, cub,” Dunn said. “Nancy Tovey fought harder than you, and she was a woman.”

“As God is my witness, you’ll pay for what you did to her.”

“Hell, boy,” Dunn scoffed. “If there’s a God, why’d He let me do it? Heaven and hell is bull.”

By then, Jesco was where he wanted to be. He had been careful to keep Dunn between him and Timmy so Timmy did not see him and give him away. At arm’s length he extended the Colt and touched the muzzle to the back of Dunn’s neck. Simultaneously, he thumbed back the hammer.

At the click, Dunn froze.

“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Jesco said. “Can you turn and shoot me before I shoot you. You’re welcome to try if you’d like.”

“Jesco?”

“Drop the six-gun and cut Tim loose. If the knife slips, your brains decorate the grass. Savvy?”

“You must be part Apache to sneak up on me like this.”

“I’ll count to three. If you haven’t let go of the revolver, I squeeze the trigger.” Jesco paused. “One. Two . . .”

The Colt landed with a thud. Dunn carefully applied the edge of the knife to the rope around Timmy’s wrists, and slowly sawed back and forth. “How is it you were able to follow us without me spottin’ you?”

Jesco extended his other arm past Dunn’s shoulder so Dunn could see the object he held. “With this. I was in the hayloft in the stable, keepin’ watch like Clayburn wanted. I saw you wallop Tim.”

“A stinkin’ spyglass,” Dunn growled.

Timmy was gawking in amazement. Now he beamed, and exclaimed, “I thought I was a goner! I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in all my born days!” He glowered at Dunn. “Hurry it up! I can’t wait for you to be the guest of honor at a hemp social.”

“I won’t die at the end of a rope, boy. Any way but that.”

Jesco gouged the barrel into Dunn. “You’re takin’ too long. I won’t warn you again.”

Dunn sliced faster. “Came alone, did you?”

“Less dust raised,” Jesco said, which was explanation in itself.

The instant the rope parted, Timmy stooped and snatched up his revolver. “I’ve got him covered, John,” he said, stepping quickly back.

Lowering his arm, Jesco moved around in front of Lafe Dunn. “So you’re the one who murdered Mrs. Tovey.” He did not wait for an answer. He kicked Dunn in the right knee, and when Dunn cried out and staggered, he kicked Dunn between the legs.

Dunn cupped himself and doubled over. Gurgling and hissing, he sank to the ground, spittle dribbling over his lower lip onto his chin. “B-B-Bastard!” he sputtered. “Miserable, rotten bastard.”

Jesco pressed the muzzle to Dunn’s forehead. He had never hankered to blow out another’s wick as much as he hankered to blow out Dunn’s.

“Don’t!” Timmy said. “He’s not alone. Others are in it with him, but he wouldn’t say what they’re up to.”

“It’s not hard to guess,” Jesco said. “Mrs. Tovey dead. Mr. Pierce, Mrs. Pierce, and Berto—”

“Julio Pierce, too,” Timmy broke in. “I saw it with my own eyes. An hombre named Hijino shot Julio and some vaqueros as slick as you please. Lordy, he was quick.”

Dunn looked up at Jesco. “I hope Hijino and you tangle. You think you’re fast? Mister, he’ll put a window in your skull so fast, you’ll be dead before you can blink. He’s better than me. Better than anyone.”

Jesco held the Colt’s muzzle an inch from Dunn’s left eye. “Unbuckle your gun belt. We’re takin’ you to the Circle T. Mr. Tovey will want to ask you some questions.”

“He can ask until doomsday, but he won’t get anything out of me,” Dunn blustered. “Time is on my side.”

“Is it?” Jesco responded, and pistol-whipped Dunn across the temple, knocking Dunn onto his side. Dunn thrashed and wheezed, his teeth bared. “Suppose I ask a few myself, then.”

“Go to hell!” Dunn spat. His hat had fallen off, and a deep gash was bleeding profusely.

“You first,” Jesco said, and drove the toe of his right boot into Dunn’s ribs. He did not hold back. The snap that resulted was like the breaking of a tree limb.

Lurid oaths exploded from Dunn as he bucked and heaved, one hand to his chest, the other still over his groin. Beet red with rage and agony, he did not stop thrashing for a good long while.

“I can do that again if you want,” Jesco said. “I forget how many ribs a person has, but you have plenty left. Toes, too.” Hiking his leg, he stomped down with all his might on the tip of Dunn’s left foot. This time there was a crunch, and Dunn thrashed even longer.

Timmy was smiling, but he appeared uneasy. “Is this necessary?”

“You saw Nancy Tovey.”

“Yes. I did. And I agree he should be punished. But shouldn’t we leave it up to Kent? He has the right, more than anyone.”

Jesco glanced at his young friend. Not in resentment, but in relief. For he suddenly saw that for all Timmy’s talk about how much Timmy wanted to be like him, Timmy never would. The youth lacked the one thing that set men like him apart from the common herd. “You’re too kindhearted.”

“I am not!” Timmy objected. “I’m only sayin’ it’s not ours to do.”

In the brief moments Jesco allowed himself to be distracted, Dunn’s hand drifted toward his holster. Jesco did not tell Dunn to hold still. He did not give Dunn any warning whatsoever. He simply shot Dunn in the arm.

Minutes elapsed before Dunn stopped rolling back and forth, and lay panting in anguish, a spreading stain high on his sleeve. His ear and cheek were smeared crimson, as well.

Jesco removed the gun belt himself and tossed it away. “On your horse,” he directed. When Dunn did not rise fast enough to suit him, Jesco seized him by the wounded arm and hauled him to his feet.

Dunn’s legs nearly buckled from under him. “Damn you!” he fumed. “Damn you to hell!”

Jesco shoved him toward the horses. “Save your breath for ridin’.” His own mount was at the bottom of the hill.

Dunn had to try three times before he managed to climb on. Battered and weak, he clung to the saddle horn.

The whole way down, Timmy was silent. His expression was sufficient to reveal his sentiments.

On reaching his horse, Jesco stepped into the stirrups and swung east, leading Dunn’s. He did not think to look back, so he was more than mildly surprised when, five minutes later, Timmy hollered and pointed at the foothills they had so recently vacated. Silhouetted atop the last of the receding hills were seven riders. “Who can they be?”

“Dunn mentioned he was meetin’ friends of his,” Timmy revealed. “You don’t suppose—?”

“Light a shuck,” Jesco said, and suited his own horse to the command by jabbing his spurs.

“They’re comin’ after us.”

Indeed, strung out in a row, the seven were rapidly descending.

Jesco wasn’t worried. They had a sufficient enough lead that he was confident they would reach the ranch before the seven overtook them. He stayed at a gallop until the horses grew tired, then slowed, and tugged on the reins to Dunn’s animal so it came alongside his. “Tell me about your pards.”

For once, Dunn did not argue. “Why not? It won’t do you any damn good. They’ll catch you and make you wish you had never been born. I only hope I see it. Better yet, I hope I’m the one who kicks your teeth in.”

“Names,” Jesco said.

“Sure. Ever hear of Saber?”

Jesco had to think. Snatches of bunkhouse gossip came back to him, as did a few accounts from elsewhere. “He’s the one who killed that judge up in Colorado, and the one wanted in Mexico for terrorizing whole villages.”

“That’s him,” Dunn confirmed. “He does as he pleases, the governments of both countries be damned. He’s made worm food of more people than you can count, and he has his sights set on this valley, and the cattle.”

“So that’s it,” Jesco said.

“You’ve got to hand it to him. He had this all thought out before he made a move. Pittin’ the two ranches against each other. Some of us figured we were bitin’ off more than we could chew, that it would never work, but you know what?” Dunn did not give Jesco time to reply. “It’s been easier than I reckoned it would be. For all the highfalutin’ talk about the Toveys and the Pierces bein’ the best of friends, and the two ranches gettin’ along so well, all it took was a little push, and now they hate one another.”

Timmy overheard. “Killin’ poor Nancy and the Pierces is your notion of a little push?”

“Whatever it takes, boy. Saber had it all worked out from the beginnin’.”

“Did that include you being caught?”

“Poke fun, but it’s not over. If you’re still alive tomorrow mornin’, then you can crow.”

The afternoon waned. Jesco alternated between hard riding and walking the animals. Every time he looked back the seven riders were there, on the horizon.

At one point, Timmy commented, “They’re not tryin’ very hard to catch us.”

“Why should they?” Dunn said.

Jesco wondered about that. The three of them would reach the ranch shortly after nightfall. Saber did not have enough gun sharks to go up against all the Circle T hands, so what did he have in mind? Picking off the punchers from out of the dark?

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!”