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.
Chapter 10
The ten riders came to the Rio Largo, and splashed across at a gallop. They did not slow when they came to a herd of Circle T cattle, but rode on through, scattering cows before them. Nor did they slow when Circle T punchers hailed them. The cowboys angled to intercept the ten, recognized the lead rider, and, bewildered by his cold, stern visage, fell in behind in puzzlement.
Walt Clayburn, John Jesco, and Timmy Loring were at the stable when the visitors appeared in the distance with their cowboy escort. Clayburn squinted into the sun and said, “What have we here? I do believe that’s Dar Pierce headin’ this way like his britches are on fire.”
“What do you reckon he wants?” Timmy wondered.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Jesco said.
“I’d best let the big sugar know.” Clayburn hurried toward the house, and the other two tagged along.
Kent Tovey was in the parlor, listening to Nance discourse on the need to erect a pavilion to shade the women from the merciless sun when the rodeo was held.
A loud knock sounded on their front door. Kent excused himself and went to answer it. “Yes?” he said on beholding his foreman.
Clayburn pointed. “We’ve got visitors, Mr. Tovey. Unless my peepers are playin’ tricks, it’s Mr. Pierce.”
Kent stepped to the edge of the porch and strained his eyes until they ached, but he still could not distinguish one rider from another. “I swear you have the eyes of a hawk.”
“His sons are with him,” John Jesco said. “All of them.”
“I’ll have my wife prepare refreshments.” Kent went back in. He deemed it strange that Dar and all three boys were paying a visit. Normally, Dar left at least one son at the DP to oversee its operation when he was away, no matter how short the duration.
Nance beamed on hearing the news. “I’ll have the cook put coffee on. I do so love it when Dar visits. He is always the perfect gentleman.”
Kent went back out. The riders were near enough now that even he could see the sombreros most wore. The lone exception was Steve Pierce, who did not share his father’s passion for everything Mexican.
“Want us to stay?” Clayburn inquired.
Kent was about to say they should go on about their work, but instead he said, “It might be best.” Maybe it was the speed at which the DP bunch were approaching. He could not recall ever seeing Dar ride so fast. And, too, as a courtesy, Dar usually sent a rider on ahead to let them know he was coming. This time he hadn’t.
“I’ll round up some of the other hands if you want, Mr. Tovey,” Jesco offered.
“What for?” Kent said. “Dar Pierce is one of my best friends.”
At that moment, Nance joined them. She clasped her hands to her bosom in delight. “How wonderful! I only wish Juanita was with him.”
The ten made a beeline for the house, sweeping past the outbuildings and the stable and surprised cowhands, without so much as a word or gesture of greeting.
Kent came down the steps. Raising a hand, he smiled warmly. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Jesco take quick strides to one side, and stand with his right hand hooked in his gun belt inches from his Colt.
Amid the pounding of hooves and wisps of dust, the riders reined to a stop. Dar Pierce was foremost, flanked by Steve, Armando, and Julio. The rest were vaqueros.
Kent recognized Roman and Paco. They always took part in the annual rodeos. He noticed a new vaquero, one with a fondness for silver. “Well, this is a nice surprise, Dar,” he declared, offering his hand. “What brings you here in such a rush?”
Dar Pierce leaned down to shake, but did not return the smile. He looked older than when Kent saw him last. A lot older. “I’m here on business. Damned serious business.”
Nance came off the porch. “Surely it can wait until after you have some coffee? It is great to see you again. We want to hear all the latest. The cows can wait.”
Dar swung down and doffed his sombrero. “My apologies, Mrs. Tovey, for my strong language.”
“It’s Nance, remember?” she said with a mild laugh. “My goodness, Dar. Why are you being so formal?”
It was Julio Pierce who answered her. “Didn’t you hear my
Dar glanced sharply up at his youngest. “You will show respect when you talk to a lady. And never forget they are our friends.”
“We all did,” Dar said sadly.
“What in heaven’s name is all this about?” Nance asked.
“Berto is dead,” Dar said softly.
“Your foreman?” Kent asked needlessly, since they all knew he was. “What happened? Was he thrown by a horse, or gored?” Kent assumed that an ordinary mishap was to blame. Fatal accidents were few, but they did happen.
Dar grew somber. “He was murdered.”
“Murdered?” Nance repeated, shocked. “Who would do such a thing? How did it happen? Was he shot?”
Again it was Julio who answered her. “Berto was stabbed!” he snapped. “Gutted like a fish!”
“We found him lying in a pool of blood out behind a shed,” Steve said, “and came here as soon as we pieced it together.”
Kent Tovey was confused. He did not understand what the Circle T had to do with Berto’s death, and said so.
“We’re here because the killer is one of your punchers,” Dar Pierce regretfully informed him.
Kent smothered a snort of disbelief. “Why, that’s preposterous. What possible reason would one of my hands have for murdering your foreman? It makes no sense.”
“Nevertheless, it’s true,” Dar responded, “and I can prove it.” He turned to his sorrel, opened a saddlebag, and removed a folding knife with wood grips. “This was found next to Berto’s body. Take a good look at the initials.”
Kent had the knife in his hand before he realized it was smeared with scarlet. He had known Berto well, and liked him. To think that he was touching Berto’s blood made him shiver with distaste. “J. D.,” he read aloud.
“You have a puncher working for you by the name of Jack Demp, I believe,” Dar said.
“We do,” Kent admitted. “But again, what possible reason would Demp have?” He held the knife out. “It will take more than this to convince me.”
“I have more.” Dar turned to the vaquero whose clothes and tack glittered with silver. “This is Hijino. He was at the corral about the time Berto was killed, and saw a cowboy lead a horse away from our house. He did not think much of it at the time, since we often have guests.” Dar motioned. “Describe the person you saw.”
“That description fits half the Circle T,” Clayburn remarked. “Want me to fetch Demp anyway?”
Kent Tovey nodded. “Be quick about it. I want this settled right away. If it’s true . . .” He could not bring
