Rio Largo

Chapter 20

Trella was in her bedroom, facedown on her pillow, when there came a light knock at her door. She sat up stiffly, too devastated by the loss of her mother to care how she looked. “Come in.”

It was Dolores. She came to the bed, but did not sit. Her complexion was ghastly, as pale as the sheets under the bedspread on which Trella lay.

“If it is more bad news, I do not want to hear it.” Trella did not think she could take any more. She wanted to curl into a ball and weep for a week.

“Brace yourself.”

“Dear God. There is more?”

Dolores spoke as one in a daze. “Hijino has just brought word. Julio is dead. Circle T cowboys killed him.”

Numb with horror, Trella nearly fainted. She had loved him most of all her siblings, in part because they were the youngest, in part because they were so much alike. More tears gushed from eyes she would have sworn were cried out, and she choked for breath.

“Steve is waiting for the last of the men to come in from the range,” Dolores continued in her bizarrely calm manner.

Trella sought to blink back the new deluge, and failed.

“Armando is mad at him. Armando wanted to leave sooner with the men already here, but Steve refused. Now Armando blames Steve for Julio’s death.”

“Can it get any worse?” Trella mewed.

“The last of our vaqueros will arrive within the hour,” Dolores said, still in that strange manner. “Then they are heading across the river. There will be more killing. A lot more.” She paused and licked her lips. “I thought you should know.”

“Thank you.”

Dolores turned to go. She took a step, but staggered and had to reach for the wall table for support.

Between sobs, Trella asked, “Do you need help?”

“No,” Dolores replied. But she did not move. She leaned there, her head bowed, her disheveled hair hiding her face.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Trella suggested. She moved back from the edge of the bed to make room.

Nodding, Dolores slowly eased down. She was misery incarnate, broken in spirt and body.

“Are you sure you are all right?” The smell of wine crinkled Trella’s nose. “You have been drinking.” She knew her sister was fond of the juice of the grape, and enjoyed a glass or two every night before retiring. “How much have you had?”

“A bottle or two,” Dolores said without looking up. “I started and couldn’t stop. Now I have none left. Do you have any?”

“I think you have had enough.” Trella gently rested her hand on Dolores’s shoulder. “Lie down and I will have a servant bring coffee to clear your head.”

Dolores’s hair moved from side to side. “I do not want coffee. I do not want a clear head. I want to take a pistola and put it to my temple and squeeze the trigger, that is what I want.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Hasn’t it sunk in yet? Mother is gone. Forever. She was everything to me. I loved her with all my heart and all my soul.”

“And I did not?” Trella asked defensively.

“You were always closer to father. But what does it matter? We have lost both of them, and now Julio. There are just the four of us left, and if Steve and Armando go to the Circle T, we might lose them, too. The Circle T has more cowboys than we have vaqueros.”

“What if”—Trella was jarred by a possibility that had not occurred to her—“what if the cowboys attack our rancho while our brothers are off attacking the Circle T? Who will protect us?”

“They would not stoop so low as to slay unarmed women.”

“They killed Mother,” Trella bitterly reminded her. Until this moment, she had not been afraid for her own life. Now the fear was like a lance thrust deep into her chest. “They will stop at nothing. They are out to destroy the DP.”

Dolores was quiet for a bit. Then she slid off the bed, saying, “Come with me.” Without waiting, she walked unsteadily into the hall.

Trella hurried after her, patting her hair and wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. “Where are we going?”

Dolores did not answer. Presently they came to the kitchen. Steve and Armando were there, seated across from one another.

Paco and Roman and a pair of nervous vaqueros were waiting by the door. They all took off their sombreros.

“So it is settled,” Steve was saying. “We hit them hard and fast. Strike and run, again and again, until we have whittled their numbers.”

“It is cowardly,” Armando said.

Steve disagreed. “It is smart. There aren’t enough of us. Our only hope is to wear them down without losing a lot of our own men.” Steve’s jaw muscles twitched. “They have an advantage, but we have justice on our side.”

“I am glad you have come to your senses, and I do agree we must strike quickly,” Armando said. “There can be no doubt they mean to wipe us out. They are not content with half the valley. They want it all.”

Dolores stopped at the kitchen table. “Trella and I are coming with you,” she announced.

“Be serious, sister,” Armando said.

“Think, hermano, think,” Dolores snapped. “They have killed Mother. As Trella points out, what is to stop them from killing the two of us while you are away? With all the vaqueros gone, we would not stand a chance.”

“Surely they would not,” Armando said, and then scowled and rumbled deep in his throat like a bear at bay. “No. I must stop deceiving myself. The rules of civilized society are nothing to them. You are right. If they caught you two unprotected, your lives would be forfeit.”

“They murdered Mother,” Trella brought up again as confirmation. She gazed out the window, imagining how it must have been for Juanita: abducted from her home, forced to ride north, dying of a broken neck. A thought struck her, and she gasped. “How did they know?”

“I beg your pardon?” Armando said.

“How did they know it was safe to take Mother? That everyone else was asleep? Did they take it for granted? Or were they watching our casa? Are they watching our casa now?”

“We would see them if they were out there,” Steve remarked.

“Not if they were a long way off,” Trella said. “Not if they are using a spyglass like the one Senor Tovey has.”

Armando came out of his chair. “She is right! Remember when he showed it to us? A cowboy could be out there right this minute.”

“What about his horse?” Steve was skeptical. “We can spot horses and cows from a long way off.”

“Not if they are lying down,” Armando noted, “and horses can be taught to do that. Remember the cowboy at the last rodeo? The one who taught his horse all those tricks?”

“If so, there is nothing we can do about it,” Steve said. He glanced at Trella and Dolores. “But getting back to these two. I do not think we should take them along. There will be shooting. A lot of it.”

“You talk about us as if we are not standing right here,” Dolores said. “But you can not leave us here unprotected.”

“I agree,” Armando said.

“Four vaqueros will stay,” Steve proposed. “If the cowboys attack, Dolores and Trella and the servants can hide in the root cellar.”

Dolores shook her head. “What if the cowboys burn our casa down around us? No. You can not spare the four vaqueros. We are going, whether you want us to or not, and this is final.”

“I do not like putting you at risk” Steve said.

Dolores refused to be denied. “We are safer with you than by ourselves. Or would you rather Trella and I end up like Mother?”

All eyes were on Steve. He smacked the table, and looked fit to strangle someone, but he said, “Get ready to go.”

Timmy Loring rode like the wind. He had to get word to Kent Tovey and Clayburn. They must learn about Hijino. Everything was not at all as it appeared. He was not quite sure what was going on, but Mr. Tovey and the foreman would figure it out.

Timmy wondered what they would do. Maybe send a rider to the Pierces with word of the slaughter he had witnessed. They must grab Hijino and question him, find out why he did what he did.

The Circle T’s buildings were a lot farther from the river than the DP’s. Timmy still had a couple of miles to go when he spied a rider galloping west. The man spotted him, and immediately changed direction to intercept him.

Reining up, Timmy waited. His horse nickered and stamped. “You won’t believe it!” he declared when he recognized who it was. “You just won’t believe it!”

“Believe what?” Lafe Dunn asked.

Excitedly, Timmy told him about the shooting, ending with, “Then Hijino up and trotted off as casually as you please! What do you make of it? Him blowin’ the wicks out of his boss and those other vaqueros?”

“There’s more to this than anyone suspects,” Dunn responded. “A lot more folks will die before it’s over.”

“Maybe not.” Timmy arched his spine to relieve a slight cramp in the small of his back. In doing so, he placed his right hand on his revolver. “Once Mr. Tovey hears about this, he might offer to meet with the Pierces. To sit down and talk.”

“They will refuse. By now they don’t trust him.”

“Knowin’ Mr. Tovey, he’ll persuade them to listen to reason.” Timmy had dallied long enough. “Well, I have to go.” He gigged his mount.

Within a dozen yards, Dunn was alongside him. “I’ll ride with you, if you don’t mind. I’d like to hear what Mr. Tovey has to say.”

“Be my guest.” Timmy rose in the stirrups, but he could not see the house or stable yet, and they were the highest structures. “What were you doin’ out this way, anyhow? It looked as if you were lightin’ a shuck for the high country.”

Dunn gave a start. “What makes you say a thing like that?”

Timmy shrugged. “Call it a hunch. I wouldn’t blame anyone for stayin’ shy of this mess. Look at all the people who have died.”

“Quite a few,” Dunn said. He turned from side to side, surveying the valley far and wide. “And you’re next.”

Dunn’s revolver swept at Timmy’s head. Timmy tried to duck, but the barrel slammed into him above his ear. He felt himself start to fall. Unconsciousness claimed him, but not for long, because when he opened his eyes, he was being hoisted onto his saddle, his wrists bound in front of him. His hat had been jammed on his head.

“There. Anyone spots us, they won’t suspect anything unless they get close, and I won’t let anyone get that close.”

“What’s the big idea?” Timmy’s head hammered with pain, and drops of blood trickled down his neck.

“It will come to you, boy.” Dunn gripped the reins, climbed on his mount, and headed west toward the distant peaks.

Timmy absorbed that while marshaling his strength. “You’re the one behind all this!” Another insight jolted him. “It was you who murdered Mrs. Tovey!”

“That I did, boy. But it’s not my brainstorm. I’m followin’ orders, just like Hijino.”

“The two of you are workin’ together? Why? What do you hope to get out of it?”

“Don’t strain your brain, boy,” Dunn said.

“Quit callin’ me that! I’m not no boy!” Timmy bristled. “I do a man’s work. I’m entitled to some respect.”

“All any of us are entitled to, boy,” Dunn replied, “is a hole in the ground and maggots eatin’ our innards.” He brought their mounts to a gallop, ending conversation for a while.

Timmy considered wrenching the reins from the big man’s grasp and racing to the ranch, but Dunn could easily shoot him before he went a hundred yards. Nor did jumping Dunn and trying to wrest a weapon from him promise much success. Dunn outweighed him by more than a hundred pounds, and was built like a stone wall.

Hours rolled by. Once, to the northeast, Timmy thought he spied riders, but they vanished moments after he set eyes on them, and might have only been cattle.

By late afternoon, the foothills were near enough that Timmy was seized by a sense of imminent danger. Something told him that Dunn would stop soon, and when Dunn did, Timmy wouldn’t like it. If he was going to do something, he must act soon, but for the life of him, Timmy could not choose the best course. He wished Jesco was there. Jesco would know what to do.

The foothills rose in arid contrast to the lush, irrigated grassland. Largely barren except for a few isolated springs, they were shunned by cattle and most everything else. Dunn climbed the first one, and rode over its crest to the other side. “Here will do.” He drew reins. “It’s where I’m to meet the others.”

“Who?” Timmy asked, not really caring. Staying alive was all he could think about. He must not give up, not so long as breath remained.

Dunn did not answer. Dismounting, he palmed Timmy’s Colt, which he had wedged under his belt, and pointed it at Timmy. “Get down. Nice and slow, if you don’t mind, and even if you do.”

Awkward because of his bound wrists, Timmy did as he was instructed. He tried to swallow, but had no spit. “What do you aim to do to me?”

“Need you ask?” Bending down, Dunn slid his other hand into his left boot and produced a knife. “If you’re wonderin’ how, don’t worry, I’m not goin’ to shoot you. Not right away, anyhow.” Smirking, he hefted the knife. “I like to whittle some first.”