About to take another bite of steak, Saber’s features clouded. “I wouldn’t be too nosy, were I you.”
“It’s just that there’s nothin’ down there but a couple of ranches—” Mort stopped. The hapless Hank had said something about “ranch business” right before he was shot.
Saber sighed and lowered his fork to his plate. “You see?” he said to Creed. “You try to do right by some folks and they throw it in your face.”
“What?” Mort said, aghast at the magnitude of his blunder. “I never did any such thing.”
“You certainly did. You’ve met them, haven’t you? The Toveys and the Pierce clan?”
“I’ve seen them in San Pedro,” Mort admitted. “Some of their punchers stop here every blue moon, usually when they’re up in the mountains huntin’, but that’s about it.” Mort was desperate to get back in Saber’s good graces, so he added, “But I’ve never spoken to Kent Tovey or his missus, or the Pierces, neither.”
“What about the cowboys and the vaqueros?”
“I’ve swapped pleasantries when they stop in for a drink, sure.” Mort was so nervous, his knees began to tremble. He stilled them by sheer force of will. “Is it important? It’s not like any of them are friends.”
Saber drummed his fingers again, then looked at Creed. “What do you say? Should we be generous, or turn him into worm food?”
“Worm food,” the black said.
“How about you?” Saber shifted toward Twtich.
“You’re givin’ us a say? Will wonders never cease. But since you asked,” Twitch paused and smirked at Mort. “Look at this jasper. He’s so scared, he’s ready to wet himself. He wouldn’t dare cross us.”
“How about it, barkeep?” Saber asked. “Can I count on you to keep your mouth shut?”
“As God is my witness,” Mort declared.
Saber grinned. His right hand came up from under the table holding his Colt. He fired once. Mort’s body and the chair crashed to the floor, and Saber placed the revolver on the table and picked up his fork. “Never trust anyone with religion, boys. They’re liable to turn on you no matter how much you pay them.”
“What do we do with the body?” Twitch asked.
“The same thing you did with Hank’s. The coyotes and buzzards hereabouts will be fat and sassy come tomorrow.”
Twitch motioned. “And the saloon? Do we burn it to the ground when we’re done eatin’?”
“You do not. I’ve always wanted to have me my own waterin’ hole. We’ll stick around until Dunn and Hijino have stirred up a hornet’s nest. Then we’ll crush the hornets just like this.” Saber slammed his fist down on the fly that had landed next to his plate.
Chapter 6
It didn’t happen often, but it did happen. The tracks were plain. A cow and her calf had strayed across the Rio Largo. In the summer the river was at its lowest and narrowest ebb, and there were spots where cattle could wade to the other side without getting their bellies wet.
Julio Pierce sat astride his grulla on the DP side of the river and stared across at the sprawling range of the Circle T.
“Why do you hesitate, patrón?” Hijino asked. “Are we not permitted to go on the gringos’ side of the river?”
“Don’t call them that,” Julio said. It was only natural that he go after the errant cow and her offspring, but his father had certain rules, and one of them was that no one crossed onto the Circle T without first letting his father know. It had always seemed a silly rule to Julio. His father and Kent Tovey were good friends. The DP vaqueros got along well with the Circle T punchers. There was no reason not to go after the cow and her calf while their tracks were fresh and they could be quickly overtaken.
“I am sorry, patrón,” Hijino said, the silver on his clothes and his saddle gleaming bright in the sun. “Old habits are hard to break. I am used to norteamericanos looking down their noses at our kind and calling us greasers.”
“It is not like that here,” Julio informed him, although there had been a few times when Julio thought the Circle T hands put on airs.
“Of course it isn’t,” Hijino said, and lifted the reins of his fine white horse. “Do we forget the cow and go?”
Something in his tone spawned resentment in Julio. He had grown to like the new vaquero. Unlike most of them, Hijino loved to talk, and Julio could listen for hours to his tales of life south of the border. Julio had always been partial to his mother’s side of the Pierce family tree, but he was careful to keep it to himself in order not to hurt his father’s feelings.
“Patrón?”
On an impulse, Julio spurred the grulla into the river. “They crossed only a few hours ago. We might as well go after them.”
Halfway across, Hijino looked down at the sluggish current and commented, “Strange, is it not, how we let this river divide a valley that by rights should belong to one rancho?”
“We have been all through that,” Julio said. Hijino had brought it up just the other day. “My father is content with the half he has.”
“A good man, your padre,” Hijino said. “A better man than me. Had I been the owner of the DP, I would not have let Kent Tovey or any gringo take what was rightfully mine.”
Julio would put up with a lot, but not implied criticism of his father. “My padre always does what is best for everyone. You would do well to keep that in mind.”
“I meant no disrespect,” Hijino said mildly.
They rode in silence for a while. Julio was upset with himself for going against his father’s wishes, but gradually the feeling faded. He had every right to reclaim DP stock.
The sea of rippling grass lent the illusion that they were alone in the world, just them and their horses and the sun and grass unending. Moments like these were special to Julio. They filled him with a feeling of closeness to the earth, and to life itself.
Presently, specks appeared to the northwest. Julio angled toward them. The cow was bound to join her kind, and where she went, the calf would go.
“May I ask a question, patrón?”
Absorbed in his musing, Julio said absently, “Of course. You may ask anything. You do not need to get my permission.”
“I was just wondering,” Hijino said, “whether you will let me work for you when the rancho is divided up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The DP, patrón. Your hermano, Steve, told me that when your padre dies and the rancho is divided between the brothers and sisters, he will still run things.”
This was news to Julio. “Why is it Steve has never mentioned this to me? Do Armando and my sisters know?”
“Steve did not say if they do,” Hijino said. “Perhaps it is an idea he came up with on his own.”
“My brother would never do a thing like that without talking it over with the rest of us,” Julio said. But in truth he was not so sure. Steve was the oldest, and at times seemed to think that gave him the right to tell the rest of them what to do.
The specks grew larger. Julio estimated fifty head, spread over five to ten acres, grazing contentedly. The cow should be easy to spot, since she would be one of the few with a calf.
“We are not alone,” Hijino announced.
Four riders were approaching at a trot. Julio drew rein to await them, saying, “Let me do the talking.”
“Sí, patrón.”
Julio had met many of the Circle T hands at the annual rodeo and in San Pedro. He knew a dozen or so by name. But none of the four were familiar. As they came to a stop, he smiled and said, “Hola. I am Julio Pierce.”