horn.
The whole way down, Timmy was silent. His expression was sufficient to reveal his sentiments.
On reaching his horse, Jesco stepped into the stirrups and swung east, leading Dunn’s. He did not think to look back, so he was more than mildly surprised when, five minutes later, Timmy hollered and pointed at the foothills they had so recently vacated. Silhouetted atop the last of the receding hills were seven riders. “Who can they be?”
“Dunn mentioned he was meetin’ friends of his,” Timmy revealed. “You don’t suppose—?”
“Light a shuck,” Jesco said, and suited his own horse to the command by jabbing his spurs.
“They’re comin’ after us.”
Indeed, strung out in a row, the seven were rapidly descending.
Jesco wasn’t worried. They had a sufficient enough lead that he was confident they would reach the ranch before the seven overtook them. He stayed at a gallop until the horses grew tired, then slowed, and tugged on the reins to Dunn’s animal so it came alongside his. “Tell me about your pards.”
For once, Dunn did not argue. “Why not? It won’t do you any damn good. They’ll catch you and make you wish you had never been born. I only hope I see it. Better yet, I hope I’m the one who kicks your teeth in.”
“Names,” Jesco said.
“Sure. Ever hear of Saber?”
Jesco had to think. Snatches of bunkhouse gossip came back to him, as did a few accounts from elsewhere. “He’s the one who killed that judge up in Colorado, and the one wanted in Mexico for terrorizing whole villages.”
“That’s him,” Dunn confirmed. “He does as he pleases, the governments of both countries be damned. He’s made worm food of more people than you can count, and he has his sights set on this valley, and the cattle.”
“So that’s it,” Jesco said.
“You’ve got to hand it to him. He had this all thought out before he made a move. Pittin’ the two ranches against each other. Some of us figured we were bitin’ off more than we could chew, that it would never work, but you know what?” Dunn did not give Jesco time to reply. “It’s been easier than I reckoned it would be. For all the highfalutin’ talk about the Toveys and the Pierces bein’ the best of friends, and the two ranches gettin’ along so well, all it took was a little push, and now they hate one another.”
Timmy overheard. “Killin’ poor Nancy and the Pierces is your notion of a little push?”
“Whatever it takes, boy. Saber had it all worked out from the beginnin’.”
“Did that include you being caught?”
“Poke fun, but it’s not over. If you’re still alive tomorrow mornin’, then you can crow.”
The afternoon waned. Jesco alternated between hard riding and walking the animals. Every time he looked back the seven riders were there, on the horizon.
At one point, Timmy commented, “They’re not tryin’ very hard to catch us.”
“Why should they?” Dunn said.
Jesco wondered about that. The three of them would reach the ranch shortly after nightfall. Saber did not have enough gun sharks to go up against all the Circle T hands, so what did he have in mind? Picking off the punchers from out of the dark?
In due course, a flaming red disk hovered on the western brink of the world. Jesco glanced over his shoulder yet again and saw only cattle. He scanned the valley to the north and to the south, but the only other sign of life was a hawk.
“It’s not far, now,” Timmy said.
The sun relinquished its reign to scattered stars. Blue gave way to gray and gray gave way to black. The stiffening breeze rustled the grass, and brought with it the distant yip of a coyote.
Dunn was grinning, as at a secret only he knew.
Small squares of light blossomed. Timmy whooped and slapped his thigh, exclaiming, “I told you! We’re safe now.”
Jesco did not share the younger man’s confidence. Only three windows in the ranchhouse were aglow. No lights showed at the bunkhouse or any of the other buildings.
“It’s awful quiet,” Timmy remarked as they neared the corral. “Where is everyone?”
“On their way to the DP,” Jesco hazarded a guess. Kent Tovey had finally shaken off his grief, and was about to make the worst mistake of his life.
“There must be someone,” Timmy said, and gigged his weary horse toward the bunkhouse.
Jesco veered for the main house. Ordinarily, a few servants would be washing the supper dishes and tending to other duties. Dismounting, he tied both sets of reins to the hitch rail, climbed the steps, and knocked.
“You’re wastin’ your time,” Dunn said. “Right before I left, I heard Tovey tell Clayburn to send the servants into San Pedro for their own protection.”
Jesco tried the latch. The door was unlocked. He opened it a few inches and called out, “Anyone here?” The silence mocked him.
“Told you, you lunkhead.”
It was not long before Timmy came running up, breathless and agitated. “Not a soul! Not a livin’ soul! The bunkhouse is empty. The cookhouse stove is cold. No one anywhere. We’re alone!”
Jesco came down off the porch and unwrapped the reins. “We need fresh mounts.” He shifted on his heels to lead the two animals toward the stable.
“What for?” Timmy asked.
“Use that noggin’ of yours, boy,” Dunn taunted. “There’s just the two of you. How long before my friends figure it out?”
“Who cares?” was Timmy’s retort.
“I swear,” Dunn said. “You’re so dumb, you couldn’t teach a hen to cluck.”
As if to prove him right, a rifle boomed, and lead smacked into a porch post. From out of the surrounding darkness came a harsh shout, “That was just a warnin’! Throw down your guns and throw up your hands, or we’ll turn you sons of bitches into sieves!”
Chapter 23
The Rio Largo had always divided the ranches, a natural barrier that conveniently defined their common border.
Kent Tovey sometimes thought that the only reason the Circle T ended up with more land than the DP was because there was more land north of the river than south of it. Kent would not have minded if it were the other way around. The land did not matter as much as the river.
Without the Rio Largo, neither ranch would exist. It not only ran through the heart of the valley, it
So Kent always thought fondly of the Rio Largo, and looked forward to those occasions when he had an excuse to ride along its banks or cross over to visit the DP.
But not today.
Kent dreaded the crossing. Once on the other side, the Circle T hands would be in what had become enemy territory. The friendship, the good graces of the Pierce family, had been replaced by implacable hatred. How else to explain Nance’s murder? Julio was to blame, but Julio would never act without the knowledge and consent of his brothers. The Pierces were as tight-knit as a hill clan. Dar had seen to that; he raised them to depend on one another, to be loyal to the family as well as the brand.
Kent missed Dar. Almost as much as he missed Nance. Many an evening, he and Dar had sat sipping brandy or whiskey and sharing stories of their early years and their dreams for the future.
Dar had entertained the hope that his sons would take over the DP, once Dar was ready to hang up his spurs and spend his days in the rocking chair in front of the hearth. Dar had been getting on in years, but it would have been a decade or more before he was ready to put himself out to pasture. Now he would never get to enjoy those
