Rio Largo

certainly could not think for her own.

Trella hated it. She wished she had been born first so she could boss them around as they bossed her. She closed her eyes, intending to fall back asleep, but the insistent clamor would not let her. Annoyed, she stared at the window and said aloud, “Some people have no consideration.”

Suddenly her bedroom door was flung wide, framing her sister. Dolores had a strange look on her face, and seemed to sway slightly. “Get up,” she said urgently. “It’s father.”

“What do you mean?” Trella asked, but Dolores had already turned and run off.

Trella remembered that her father had gone to the Circle T to talk to the Toveys about Berto. She had been as stunned as everyone else by his murder. He always treated her nicely, much nicer than her siblings. When she was small, he would bring her presents. Now he was dead, and one of the cowboys was to blame. She tended to agree with Julio that their father should never have permitted the Toveys to settle there. By rights the DP should own the entire valley.

A loud cry filled the house. A shriek such as Trella had never heard. Startled, she sat bolt upright, her fingers squeezing her pillow until her knuckles were white. It sounded like her mother! But what could tear such a wail of anguish from her mother’s throat? Her mother was always so calm, always so composed.

Trella slid off the bed. A sob punctuated the shriek—a great, racking sob such as only the crushing of a heart could produce. For once Trella did not check her hair and her dress in the mirror. She ran toward the front of the house. Outside, someone shouted, barking commands.

The front door was open. Trella paused in the doorway, absorbing the scene before her; her brothers staring aghast at a prone form on the porch; her sister clutching a post for support, tears streaking her cheeks; her mother on her knees, hands clasped to her bosom; and her father on his back with his arms folded across his chest, hatless, part of his face blown away.

The world around Trella swirled. She reached for the jamb, about to faint. Hands took hold of her, bracing her. Numbly, she realized it was one of the maids. Normally she resented such familiarity from the servants, but now she did not object. She was too dazed. Too bewildered. “Padre?” she breathed.

Her mother gently placed a hand on her father’s chest, and said softly, “Tell me again how it happened.”

Steve answered her. “We were on our way back, crossing the river. Someone shot at us from the trees. Two shots. Both hit father. I caught him before he could fall in the water, but there was nothing I could do. Nothing any of us could do.”

“The bastards!” Julio roared. He shook from the intensity of his emotion. “It was a gringo from the Circle T. It had to be.”

“We don’t know that,” Steve said.

Julio whirled on him. “You were there! You saw the tracks! The direction they went! Back to the Circle T. Kent Tovey sent a cowboy to murder our father just as Berto was murdered.”

“Tovey had no reason to want our father dead,” Steve said. “They had talked things out. They parted as friends.”

“Listen to you!” Scorn dripped from Julio’s voice. “Defending them! Taking their side when our father lies here as proof of their treachery!”

“Julio,” Juanita said, still in that quiet way. “You will show proper respect for your brother.”

“I will not!” Julio cried. “He has always been a gringo at heart. Always preferred their ways. Look at how he dresses! You would not know he had a drop of your blood if you had not given birth to him.”

“Enough,” Junita said in a rare display of sternness. “I gave birth to you, too, and as your mother I require you to show the same love for your family as I do for you.”

Her rebuke caused Julio to flinch in remorse. “I am sorry,” he said contritely. “But the gringos are to blame. I feel it in my soul.”

Juanita touched what was left of Dar’s blood-flecked cheek. She closed her eyes and groaned. Armando started toward her, but she opened her eyes and waved him off. “I can not bear to see the man I love disfigured like this. Dolores, fetch a blanket. Steve, send riders to round up the vaqueros. All of them.”

“But the cattle—” Steve began, and promptly stopped. “Yes, Mother. It will be as you wish.”

“Yes!” Julio savagely exclaimed. “We will ride to the Circle T and wipe them out! Every last gringo!”

“I am calling in the vaqueros to attend the funeral,” Juanita said. “Or would you rather we dig a hole in the ground right this moment and throw your father in?”

“No, of course not,” Julio responded, chastised. “But after the funeral, we will have our revenge, will we not?”

“You worry me, son,” Juanita said lovingly. “You truly do.” She went to stand, and Steve was there, supporting her. “Now, listen to me. All of you.” Juanita paused and gazed searchingly at each of them. “I have lost the man I adored more than life itself. You have lost your father. But we are still a family. We stand by one another.” She waited for a reaction, but no one said anything. “We will lay Dar to rest in the family plot, with the dignity he deserves. Only after that is done will we find out who shot him, and see that justice is done.”

Julio scowled and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but he did not dispute her.

“Armando, have a casket built, the best our carpenter can make,” Juanita directed. “Julio, ride to San Pedro and bring back the undertaker. He can do things with the body that we can not.”

“Why me?” Julio objected. “Why not a vaquero?”

Juanita walked over to him and gently cupped his chin. “Because Dar is your father, not theirs. Leave immediately. Bring the undertaker whether he wants to come or not.”

“I will tie him and throw him over a horse if I have to,” Julio vowed. He turned toward the steps, but stopped when their mother said his name.

“One more thing. Ask around while you are there. Find out if any strangers have passed through San Pedro recently.”

“Strangers, mother?”

“Just do as I say.” Her dress rustling, Juanita came toward the doorway, but stopped on seeing Trella. “Are you all right, young one?”

“How can you ask that at a time like this?” Trella could not keep her voice from breaking. She was close to breaking herself, and barely able to hold her tears in check.

“I am going to my room to cry myself out,” Juanita said. “You would be advised to do the same.”

A lump formed in Trella’s throat.

“It is not fitting to weep in front of everyone,” Juanita continued. “We should indulge our misery in private.”

“I will do as I please,” Trella said. But she returned to her room, flying on wings of sorrow. Throwing herself onto her bed, she buried her face in the pillows and cried and cried, a torrent of tears that drained her physically and emotionally. Later, spent, she stared at the same sunlit window she had stared at so sleepily earlier, her world turned topsy-turvy.

My father is dead. Trella let the truth of it seep through her. One of the two people who loved her most in the world was gone. He had been a fine father, always treating her kindly, even when she misbehaved. She remembered many a winter’s evening when she climbed into his lap and he rocked her to sleep in front of the fireplace, and many a summer’s night when they had sat out on the porch contemplating the stars.

Trella would miss him. She had not realized until that instant exactly how much. His had been the strong hand that guided their family. He had been the rock on which they all depended.

More tears came. Trella gave them full release. Afterward, she wiped her nose with her sleeve, not caring if she was a mess. These were special circumstances. She would clean up later.

Trella wondered if Julio was right, if the Circle T was to blame. If so, they must die. All of them. A mental image of Nancy Tovey being shot or hung jarred her. She had always liked Nancy. But if the Toveys were involved, then they had to pay.

Next, Trella considered who would run the DP now that Dar was gone. Steve was the oldest. It would fall on his shoulders. Or would it? Trella asked herself. Her mother had never shown much interest in overseeing the day-to-day operations, but that might change. It was not unheard of, a woman running a ranch.

Trella wished Hijino was there. She had not spoken to him since the other night, but she thought about him