Rio Largo

Hijino shook with silent mirth. “You will not believe it. But it seems Saber is the new owner.”

Dunn was flabbergasted. The last thing they needed was to draw attention to themselves. Finding his voice, he growled, “Has he gone loco?”

“According to Twitch, Saber shot the hombre who was running it. Now he is telling everyone who stops that he bought the place. Serves them drinks and everything. Is that not just like him?”

“Damned idiot,” Dunn fumed. “After all the trouble we’ve gone to, he pulls a stunt like this.”

“It is a good thing he is not here to hear you say that,” Hijino cautioned. “Or do you think you can fill his boots?”

“No one bucks Saber and lives,” Dunn said, and was struck by a notion. “But you could take him, though. You’re ten times quicker on the draw.”

Hijino puffed a few times, then responded. “There is more to killing than being quick, amigo. A person must have other qualities. They must be willing. They must be tough. They must be like steel inside. No mercy, no feelings for others, ever. And that is why I am content to follow Saber’s lead.”

“You’ve lost me,” Dunn confessed.

“I am faster than him, si. But I am not as empty inside. Saber is more vicious than any of us, except maybe Creed, and we each know, deep inside, that if we go against him, we are done for. Even if we are faster, he will kill us. Even though we might be stronger, he will spit on our graves. Do you agree?”

Dunn had never heard it expressed quite so eloquently, but he felt exactly the same way. There was something about Saber, a deadliness that went beyond rhyme or reason. “I reckon so. But it’s still damned stupid of him to take over that saloon. What if someone recognizes him?”

“He will kill them,” Hijino predicted. “In the meantime, he acts the part of a respectable citizen. He is right under their noses, and they do not see it. You must admit he is clever.”

“Too clever by half.” Dunn did not care to talk about it anymore. He rode from the stand and crossed to the north side. Paralleling the river, he poked among the thickets and breaks, and flushed a few cows with the Circle T brand.

Dunn timed it so that he arrived at the cookhouse just as the hands were sitting down to supper.

Shonsey was in his usual irascible mood. “You’re the new one, aren’t you?” he said when it came Dunn’s turn to be served.

The cook had asked the same question every day since Dunn was hired, and Dunn was tempted to tell the old fool that his mind was going, and he should be put out to pasture. But all Dunn did was nod.

A sly grin lit Shonsey’s wrinkled features. “You’re smart. You know when to keep your mouth shut.”

“I like to eat.”

Tittering, Shonsey added an extra slice of corn pone to Dunn’s plate. “That’s why I like bein’ a cook. It’s the next best thing to bein’ God Almighty.”

Dunn took a seat and gazed down the long table. Clayburn was there, and Jesco and his shadow, young Timmy Loring. So were Demp and Wheeler and Metz and many others, smiling and joking and laughing, enjoying what was the highlight of their day.

It amused Dunn to think that before another month was out, they would all be dead.

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 nina.” 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.