if ever there was one. I often wonder how hard it must be for her, married to a man like Pierce.”
Kent did not hide his indignation. “What in the world are you talking about? He dotes over her. They get along marvelously, like two peas in a pod.”
“Well, she is considerably younger.”
“So? Dar gives her everything she wants. He even modeled his ranch after the Mexican variety because she misses Mexico so much. How much more must he do to prove his love for her?”
“Sometimes love is not enough,” was Nance’s reply.
Kent had endured enough foolishness for one meal. He finished and excused himself. The maid would clear his dishes.
Morning was Kent’s favorite time of the day. After breakfast, he liked to sit in a rocking chair on the porch and gaze out over his domain while puffing on his beloved pipe.
The timber for the buildings had been hauled from the Nacimiento Mountains. Everything was painted white: the ranch house, the bunkhouse, the cookhouse, the stable, the blacksmith shop, the chicken coop, the sheds, the outbuildings, everything. The hands liked to joke about how neat and tidy Kent insisted the ranch be, but Kent did not relent. He managed the ranch as he had managed the mercantile, as a model of efficiency. That was the secret to reaping profits year after year, and Kent was not in the cattle business to lose money.
Shonsey, the cook, once made a comment within Kent’s hearing about how the Almighty was riled because Kent ran the Circle T better than the Almighty ran heaven. “Any day now St. Peter will show up askin’ for work.”
Hardly had the remembrance entered his head than Kent saw his foreman and another man approach.
Walt Clayburn lived, breathed, and ate cows. He got his start as a puncher working outfits in Texas. By the time Kent met him in Dallas, Clayburn was foreman of a small ranch. Clayburn leaped at the offer to join Kent’s drive to New Mexico and become foreman of the Circle T.
Clayburn never gave Kent a single occasion to regret the decision. The Circle T operated as smoothly as a well-oiled steam engine, and that was largely due to Walt. Kent trusted him implicitly.
Today Clayburn was dressed as he nearly always was, in a dusty gray hat, a store-bought shirt, scuffed brown leather vest, Levi’s and boots. He seldom wore a pistol. His brown eyes were framed by black bangs. He had a big nose but a small mouth. “Mornin’, Mr. Tovey,” he said with a smile as he stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“Will I ever persuade you to stop being so formal?” Kent asked. “You can call me by my first name if you like. If I’ve mentioned that once, I must have told you a thousand times.”
“Sorry, Mr. Tovey, but old habits are hard to break, and I was bred to treat my employers with respect.” Clayburn nodded at the newcomer. “This here is Lafe Dunn. He’s lookin’ for work.”
Kent puffed on his pipe. He always let Clayburn handle the hiring, but Clayburn always insisted on getting his approval. “As always, I will rely on your judgment.”
“Thank you, sir. We are a hand short since Wilson went and busted his skull up at the line shack.” Clayburn sadly shook his head. “I never will understand what he was doin’ with that bottle. He wasn’t much of a drinker.”
Kent did not understand it, either. Ed Wilson had been at the Circle T for six years, as dependable a cowhand as any. For him to get drunk and fall on that rock in the spring had come as a shock.
“If Dunn works out,” Clayburn was saying, “he can take Wilson’s place.”
Kent had not paid much attention to the new cowboy, but he did so now. Dunn was as tall as Jesco, the tallest man in the outfit, but with a more muscular build. Dunn’s eyes were dark, virtually black, and had a predatory aspect that reminded Kent of a hawk one of the hands found with a broken wing and nursed back to health. “I take it you have done ranch work before?”
Dunn nodded.
“I pay top dollar, but I demand top work,” Kent went through the ritual. “I’m not as strict as my good friend Dar Pierce, in that I do not expect you to be a paragon of virtue.” Kent wagged the pipe at him. “But in my presence and that of Mrs. Tovey, my hands are required to show due respect. Is that understood?”
Again Dunn nodded.
“Have you lost your voice?” Clayburn asked.
“Yes, sir, I understand,” Dunn finally spoke. He had a deep voice with a slight rasp. “I’m not much of a talker, is all.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” Kent assured him. “It’s your roping and riding skills that count. You will be paid forty-five dollars a month, which I’m sure you’ll agree is more than fair. You are entitled to two Saturdays off a month, at the foreman’s discretion.”
“Any questions?” asked Clayburn.
“None that I can think of,” Dunn said.
Kent had one. “How do you feel about Mexicans, Mr. Dunn?”
“Sir?”
“Dar Pierce has a Mexican wife. They often pay us visits. His punchers are Mexican. They sometimes cross onto our side of the river after cattle that have strayed across the Rio Largo. You will also run into them in San Pedro. Are you comfortable with that?”
Dunn cocked his head. “Comfortable how, sir?”
“In being around them. We hold an annual rodeo. This year it is the Circle T’s turn to host the event, and many of them will be here.” Kent began to rock back and forth. “I do not hire bigots, Mr. Dunn. If you are one of those who regards anyone with Mexican blood as a ‘greaser’ or a ’chili-eater,’ say so now and you may leave with no hard feelings.”
“Not me, sir. I’ve been around them all my life. They’re no different than anyone else.”
“I am gratified to hear that.”
The screen door opened and out came Nance. “Good morning, Walt,” she said merrily. “Care to partake of some coffee? We have half a pot left from breakfast.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but no,” Clayburn replied. “I have too much work to do.” He glanced at their new man. “Go pick a bunk and store your war bag. I’ll be along shortly.”
Dunn touched his hat brim to Nancy, and departed.
“Fortuitous, him showing up when he did,” Kent commented. “Otherwise it might have taken us two or three weeks to find someone to take Wilson’s place.”
Nance gracefully sank into the other rocking chair. “I need someone to take me into San Pedro in a few days. There are things we need for the celebration.”
“I’ll have Jesco do it, ma’am,” Clayburn said.
“I wouldn’t want to tear him from his work.” Nance fluttered her lips. “Why not ask the new man? He seemed nice enough.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am.”
“It’s settled, then.” Nance smiled sweetly at Kent, and said with sugary delight, “See how agreeable I can be?”
Chapter 4
Trella Pierce was upset. She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, and did not like what she saw. Her lustrous black hair fell to her waist in a straight line. Not a curl anywhere, which in Trella’s estimation was so unfair. Her sister, Dolores, had curls to spare.
Nor did Trella like that while she had the pear shape of her mother’s face, and her mother’s arched eyebrows and small nose, she had her father’s thin lips. Hideous lips, in Trella’s opinion, lips men would find revolting.
But Trella’s major complaint was that unlike her full-busted mother and sister, she was flat-chested. Nature had been cruel in giving her the mind of a girl in the body of a boy. Both her mother and her sister assured her that she would eventually fill out, but here Trella was, sixteen years old, and she had walnuts for breasts where her mother and sister had melons.
“I am ugly as sin,” Trella said aloud. Smoothing her blouse, she left her room and went down the long, cool
