Rio Largo

Chapter 9

Trella Pierce was excited. So excited, she tingled from head to toe as she examined herself in her mirror. She had chosen the dress with care. It was the best she owned. Best in that sense that it clung to her so snugly, it accented the slight swell of her hips and her small bosom. She thought she looked five years older.

Nervous, Trella fussed with her hair. It was almost time. She checked the clock on the wall. She had agreed to meet him at ten, and it was five minutes till. She went to the window. It creaked as she opened it. She froze in terror, fearing someone might pass by out in the hall and hear. But of course no one did. The sound had not been loud enough.

Trella chided herself for being childish. She was about to slide a leg over the sill when she remembered she must blow out the lamp. Sometimes her father and brothers were out and about late, and if they saw her window lit, they might wonder why she was staying up past her usual bedtime. The room plunged into darkness.

Trella moved confidently back to the window. She knew her bedroom so well that she could navigate in total darkness if she had to, but she did not have to. Pale moon glow gave her more than enough light to see by. She slid over and out.

The cool night air caressed her. Trella paused to steady her breathing and smooth her dress. She was a bit in awe of her own audacity. Never, ever, had she done anything like this. It was bold, daring, reckless, with dire consequences if she was caught. But she could no more deny the feelings that compelled her than she could deny hunger or thirst. Feelings new and alien, yet at the same time, feelings women had been having since the dawn of time. They proved she truly was a woman, no matter what anyone else might think.

Her mother persisted in regarding Trella as her “sweet niña.” Every time her mother called her that, Trella could just scream.

Her sister, Dolores, treated her as if she were ten years old. Once, when Trella mentioned that she was beginning to think of men in a different way, her sister laughed and remarked that Trella was much too young yet, and suggested that Trella should stick to playing with dolls and leave the men to Dolores.

Trella’s brothers did not count. They treated her as special. To them, her age had never mattered. She was their hermana, their sister, and they saw it as their duty to protect her from the evils of the world. That included other men.

Trella thought of her father, and smiled. Of all of them, he treated her the best. She was his princesa. He adored her. He loved her with the depth and breadth of his being, and it showed. Her smile died as she realized how crushed he would be if she was caught. Unbidden, a talk they once had came to mind. She recalled every word as if it were but minutes ago.

The subject was a girl from San Pedro who had taken up with a drummer. Trella overheard two shocked women talking about it, and she had asked her father why the women spoke of the girl as if she were the vilest creature on the face of the earth when Trella well knew the girl was kind and pretty.

Her father had gotten a strange look, and drawn her to his knee. “You should ask your mother things like that, little one. But I reckon you’re at that age where you’re naturally curious.” He had paused, apparently searching for the right thing to say. “Out here, a person’s reputation is everything. How people think of you is how they treat you. If they think of you as good, they treat you with respect. If they think of you as bad, they don’t.”

His explanation satisfied him, but it had not satisfied Trella. “But what did Susan do that was so awful? She is eighteen. She is old enough to marry if she wants.”

“That’s just it,” her father had replied. “She didn’t marry the drummer. She let him trifle with her and go his merry way. Now her reputation has been tarnished. Everyone will think of her as a loose woman and treat her accordingly.”

“That’s terrible,” Trella had said.

Her father had patted her head. “At your age, I’d have thought so, too. When you’re twelve, the world is a simple place.”

Trella had not quite understood. “Will you treat Susan like those ladies were doing?”

“Not if you don’t want me to, no. I will treat her no differently than before. But she will find that churchgoing ladies won’t want anything to do with her, and when she walks down the street, men will look at her differently.” Her father had leaned down and said earnestly, “The important thing is that you never tarnish your reputation. Never do as Susan did, or you will live to regret it.”

Trella’s mouth went dry at the memory. Here she was, doing the exact thing her father warned against. She imagined the hurt he would feel if someone spotted her and reported it, and she almost climbed back in the window. Almost.

The path through the garden was a dim ribbon. Trella moved silently along it except for the rustle of her dress. Soon she came to the willow. Her father had planted it years ago, when the house was built, and the willow had grown to become the grandest tree on the rancho. Its overspreading boughs had shielded her from the hot sun on many a summer’s day when she had played under it as a child.

Trella’s heart was beating so hard, she thought it would burst. A thin line of sweat formed on her brow. It annoyed her. Ladies should not sweat, she told herself. Especially at times like this.

Something moved in the darkness, and Trella’s breath caught in her throat. A figure materialized and came toward her, spurs jingling.

“You are exquisite in the moonlight, señorita,” Hijino said.

Trella tried to think of something clever and bright to say, but all she could come up with was, “I came, as I promised I would.”

“You honor me with your presence.” Hijino took her hands in one of his and raised them to his lips.

Trella shivered at the kiss. He was so handsome, so dashing. She yearned to have his lips on hers, and flushed at the brazen thought. Clearing her throat, she whispered, “We must be careful. I do not want to get you into trouble.”

“How sweet. You are more worried about me than about yourself.” Hijino’s other hand drifted close to a pants pocket.

“I do not extend my affections lightly, señor,” Trella said.

“I am sure you do not.” Hijino kissed her wrist, not once, but several times. “You are exquisite in every respect.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Of course.”

“Or do you say it merely to win my affection?” Trella had to ask. It was her secret fear.

“You doubt me? After I professed my love at the stable? After I brought you those flowers I picked?”

The flowers were in a vase in Trella’s room, and if she had sniffed them once she had sniffed them a hundred times. “You must forgive me. This is all so new.”

Hijino smiled, and slid his fingers into his pocket. “It is normal to be confused. Strong emotions do that, and love is the strongest emotion of all.”

Some of Trella’s fear evaporated. He said such fine things. He was wise and worldly, and that smile of his!

“Do you want to go for a stroll under the stars? I know a spot where we can be alone. It is not far.”

“We are alone here,” Trella said. She had agreed to meet him under the willow in part because it was close to the house and gave her a sense of security. She could always run inside if she had to, or cry out if he became more forward than she was willing to allow.

“Here it is, then, lovely one.” Hijino gently cupped her chin and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

Trella’s breath fluttered in her throat. My first kiss! My first real kiss! She bent her head to encourage him to do it again, and he did, several times, and would have kissed her more had she not pressed a hand to his chest and stepped back. Her head was swimming. “Wait,” she said huskily.

“You are too beautiful to resist.” Hijino kissed her neck, her ear.

“I said wait.” Trella took another step back. Strange stirrings in her body filled her with turmoil. She craved him as she had never craved anyone, and that scared her more than anything. To give those cravings free rein invited consequences that would change her life forever, and she was not sure she wanted that to happen.

“What is it, little one? Tell me what troubles you, and I will make your troubles go away.”

Trella simmered with resentment. He should not have called her “little one.” It was what her father always called her. She almost changed her mind, almost went back inside. Then she saw his hand rise out of his pocket. He was holding something. A gift, she imagined, and stayed where she was.

“Is it me?” Hijino asked. “Do I go too fast for you?” He seemed about to say more, then suddenly grew rigid. “That is it, isn’t it? I apologize.”

“There is no need,” Trella said.

“Would that were so. Go back inside, señorita. We can meet again if you want, when you are sure.”

Trella did not know what to say. This was not how she expected their tryst to be.

“Please,” Hijino said, touching her cheek. “I would never dishonor you. Think on us. Think on my love, and we will talk tomorrow.”

“But—”

Hijino put a finger to her lips. “It is for the best. Por favor. Before I weaken. For both our sakes.”

In a bewildered daze, Trella turned and walked woodenly along the path. She glanced back, and he raised a hand and motioned for her to keep going. Another step, and the rose bushes hid him. Confusion lent wings to her feet, and as she ran, she felt her eyes moisten.

For half a minute Hijino was motionless. Then he shifted and said quietly, “How long have you been listening?”

Out of the shadows came Berto, his hand on his revolver. “A while. I saw you leave the bunkhouse.”

“Ah,” Hijino said.

“How did you know I was there? I made no noise.”

“Those cigars you smoke. Their smell clings to your clothes.” Hijino turned the rest of the way, careful to hold his hands out from his sides. “What now?”

“Do you need to ask?” Berto gestured. “You are leaving the DP. Now, this moment. If you ever set foot on the Pierce rancho again, I will have you tied to a post and whipped.”

“Be reasonable. Can’t we talk about this?”

“You miserable bastard,” Berto spat. “You deceive that poor girl. You betray our patrón’s trust. And you want me to be reasonable?” Berto started to pull his pistola. “I should shoot you where you stand.”

“I have been sincere with her,” Hijino said.

“I don’t know which is worse. Your insult to her, your insult to Señor Pierce, or your insult to me.”

“Will you permit me to collect my things?”

“I should take you to the patrón. But it would hurt him, his daughter behaving so badly.” Berto gestured. “Head for the bunkhouse. I will be right behind you.”

Hijino walked as one dejected by the developments, his shoulders slumped. “You misjudge me.”

“Shut your mouth. I do not want to hear any more of your lies.” Berto quietly swore. “I have myself to blame. From the beginning, there was something about you I did not like, something that warned me you bore watching. It was your eyes, I think. They hide the real you from the rest of the world.”

“You make too much of this. All I did was kiss the señorita a few times. Is that truly so horrible?”

“I told you to be quiet,” Berto growled. “I have not served this family for over twenty years to stand idly by while a snake insinuates itself among them.”

“Now who is doing the insulting?”

“You deserve it. You have been up to no good the whole time you have been with us. I have heard about your talks with the vaqueros, and with Julio. Heard how you belittle gringos. Heard how you seek to have our vaqueros think badly of the Circle T.” Berto paused. “Yes, a snake is what you are, and we will be well rid of you.”

They were coming to a shed. The shortest route to the bunkhouse was to the right, but Hijino tucked his chin to his chest so it would appear he was not watching where he was going and bore to the left where the shadows were darker. He held his right hand close to his leg so Berto could not see what he held.

“I will have you escorted off the DP to be sure you leave. Paco and Roman can do it. I will tell Roman that if you turn back, he has my permission to shoot you.”

“He is welcome to try,” Hijino said. He was ready, but he took a couple more steps, then pretended to stumble. To catch himself, he braced his arm against the shed. Barely three seconds of delay, but it was enough. From under his hat brim, he saw that the caporal was within easy reach.

“What did you trip over? Your own feet?”

“Your grave,” Hijino said, and exploded into motion. The folding knife’s blade was only four inches long, but it was enough. He sliced all the way into Berto’s belly, and ripped upward.

Berto tried to draw, but Hijino seized his wrist. In desperation, Berto sought to break free. He opened his mouth to shout. All that came out was a strangled gurgle, and blood. Then it was over.

Hijino eased the body to the ground and glanced about. The deed had gone unnoticed. He checked his clothes but found no stains. Dropping the knife, he circled wide to the stable, and from there casually strolled to the bunkhouse. A few vaqueros were up, talking. The rest were asleep. No one showed any undue interest as he walked to his bunk and stretched out on his back.

The vaqueros did not realize it yet, but the hounds of hell had just been unleashed in the Sweet Grass Valley.