Rio Largo

Grumbling fiercely, the cook slunk off.

“Sorry,” Clayburn said. “He hasn’t seen your wound. He doesn’t know.” The foreman coughed. “You should let me send a rider for the buckboard.”

“I wouldn’t last two miles,” Kent said. Another strange thing: He did not feel sad or upset. Maybe because without Nance, life had lost a lot of its meaning.

“What do I do when you’re—?” Clayburn stopped. “I mean, who will be in charge? Who takes over the ranch? Your brother back east?”

“Floyd couldn’t run a chicken coop without help. Remember when he came to visit? You had to saddle his horse for him.”

Clayburn chuckled. “Some of the men did wonder how he got around without a diaper.”

“I have a will,” Kent said. “But I left the ranch to Nance.”

“Oh,” was all Clayburn said.

“Go to my horse,” Kent directed. “You’ll find paper and a pencil I use for tallies in my saddlebags. Bring them here.” He listened to the jingle of spurs, and closed his eyes. Only for a few moments, he told himself. He was tired, so very, very tired. I’m coming soon, Nance.

It had been a good life, Kent reflected, until this madness. He could look back with no complaints. His childhood had been largely tragedy free. When he was seventeen, he met Nancy. When he was nineteen, he married her. To say he was happy was to say a bear loved honey. For her sake, he started the Circle T. For her sake, he toiled day in and day out, year in and year out, but the funny thing was, as hard as it had been, the time flew by because he had been doing it all for her.

That was the secret to life, Kent reflected. To live it for someone else, and thereby make it worth living.

Kent shivered. He had grown cold inside. He dearly needed a fire, but it was out of the question. A creeping black cloud began to numb his mind, and with a gasp, Kent opened his eyes and rose on his elbows. It took every ounce of remaining strength he possessed. That was close! Kent realized. Another few seconds and it would have all been over. “Clayburn?”

“Right here, boss.” The big foreman knelt. He had brought the saddlebags. “Which one is it?”

“Look in both.” Kent did not have the energy to do it himself. It was not long before paper rustled and a pencil was carefully placed in his hand. “You’ll have to hold the paper where I can see it.”

Writing proved near impossible. Kent could not hold the pencil steady for more than a few seconds. Fortunately, a single line sufficed. But it took him over fifteen minutes. He signed it, then said, “Read it for me, please, so I know I got it right.”

Clayburn hunched over the sheet, moving his lips as he read, “I, Kent Ezekiel Tovey, do hereby bequeath the Circle T and all my possessions and those of my wife, Nancy Herbert Tovey, to Timothy Asher Loring—” Clayburn stopped in astonishment. “You’re leavin’ it all to Timmy?”

“He’s my sister’s boy,” Kent revealed. “I told you about her once.”

Clayburn smacked his forehead. “Loring! I plumb forgot, it’s been so long. So he’s hers? Why didn’t you say so when he first showed up?”

“He didn’t want to be treated special because he’s related to me,” Kent said. “It was important to him that he be considered just like all the other hands.”

“I’ll be damned,” Clayburn said. “I respect him for that. So will the men when they hear.”

“Look after him, Walt. He’s a good boy, but he doesn’t know enough yet. Help him. You and Jesco both.”

“Jesco,” Clayburn said. “We could use him.”

“He must be off with Timmy somewhere.” The blackness started creeping over Kent anew.

“I’ll find them. I promise.”

“Give that paper to my lawyer. It should be legal. Tell Timmy to bury me next to Nance. And Walt?”

“Sir?”

“Let the men know that no rancher has ever been prouder of an outfit than I’ve been of them. I mean that.”

“You made it easy to be loyal to the brand,” Clayburn said.

Suddenly an oath blistered the night air, followed by a gunshot. “They’re attackin’! Look to your guns!”

Shots boomed on all sides as the night burst with thunderous fireflies. A man screamed. Then a horse neighed.

Clayburn dropped flat, and drew his Colt. “Did you hear that, Mr. Tovey? They’ve snuck up on us! I have to move you! We have to get you out of here.”

There was no answer.

Chapter 27

“Are you sure this will work?” Timmy Loring asked, making no attempt to hide how nervous he was.

Jesco removed Dunn’s hat, and jammed his own hat on Dunn’s head. They had already taken off Dunn’s shirt and replaced it with his. “The only thing I’m certain of in this life is being born and dying. Everything else is a roll of the dice. Including this.” He wrapped his arms under Dunn’s. “Lend a hand.”

“He weighs a ton,” Timmy complained.

“Corpses generally do.” Grunting, Jesco side-stepped to the chair, which they had positioned near the shattered window—but not so near that those outside could see it.

“I suppose he does look like you from the waist up,” Timmy said. “The two of you were about the same height.”

“Where’s that broom I had you fetch?”

Timmy scooted over to where he had left it propped against a wall. “Here. But won’t they notice?”

“Not as dark as it is. Do exactly as I told you, and you’ll be fine.” Jesco stepped behind the chair, pried at the cuff of Dunn’s left sleeve, and fed the broom’s handle into it, across Dunn’s back and into the right sleeve. The effect was to give the impression that Dunn was holding his arms out from his sides. “See?”

“I don’t know.” Timmy was still skeptical.

“Get ready,” Jesco said, and moved aside so Timmy could come crouch behind the chair. “Just remember to keep your head down.”

“What will you do for a shirt and a hat?”

“I can go without for now.” Jesco edged to the left of the window frame and called out, “Saber? Are you still there?”

“Where in hell else would I be?” was the rejoinder. “What do you want, cowboy? Unless you’re ready to throw down your guns and come out, we have nothin’ to talk about!”

“Would you talk for ten thousand dollars?” Jesco shouted.

“How’s that again?”

“Kent Tovey doesn’t much like banks. He always keeps a lot of cash on hand for payrolls and such, in a safe in his bedroom. I bet you didn’t know that.”

“No, I didn’t. Why are you tellin’ me? Seems to me you would want to keep a thing like that secret.”

“I’ll toss the money out to you if you’ll give your word that you and your men will light a shuck.”

Brittle mirth greeted the proposal. “How stupid do you think I am? Why in hell are you bein’ so generous?”

“For my friend’s sake,” Jesco replied. “He took a stray slug. I’ve done all I can, but he needs help. I have to get him to San Pedro, or he’ll die. What do you say? Ten thousand dollars just to ride off?”

“I’d like to oblige you,” was Saber’s answer. “But there’s a little matter of trust. I don’t trust you not to shoot whoever comes over there for the money, and you can’t trust us not to jump you when you’re on your way to San Pedro.”

“It’s a chance I’m willin’ to take if you are.” Jesco waited expectantly. Everything depended on the outlaw’s greed. He thought he heard whispering. Evidently, they were talking it over.

“Sorry, mister. No deal. But thanks for the information. After we buck you out, we’ll help ourselves.”

“I’ll burn the house down before I let you get your hands on it.”

“All that money?” Saber was appalled.