“I recognize you,” said one who was bronzed from all his time outdoors. “I’m Jeb Wheeler. What can we do for you, Mr. Pierce?”
The name was not one Julio knew, but encouraged by the man’s friendliness, he explained about the missing cow and her calf.
“I haven’t seen any with the DP brand, but you’re welcome to look for them,” Wheeler offered. “We’ll help.”
“Muchas gracias, Señor Wheeler,” Julio said. He swung the grulla toward the cattle, and Hijino made to follow.
“Land sakes!” a lanky cowboy exclaimed. “That there saddle is liable to blind me! Where did you find all that silver, bean-eater?”
“Do not call me that,” Hijino said.
“What? A bean-eater? Why not? You sure as hell ain’t no Chinaman.” The cowboy chuckled. “I meant no insult.”
“It is the way you say it,” Hijino said. “You do not think highly of those of us with Mexican blood.”
“Where in hell did you get a foolish notion like that?” the cowboy demanded. “I’ve been to Mexico and liked it there. The people were friendly as could be.”
“My mistake, señor,” Hijino responded, but he said it in such a way that he gave the impression it was not a mistake at all.
“You’re an uppity cuss,” the cowboy said.
Wheeler twisted in his saddle. “Let it drop, Demp. All of you spread out and look for the DP cow.”
Julio held his tongue until the cowboys were out of earshot. Then he turned to Hijino. “Our rancho and the Circle T are on good terms and my father wants to keep it that way.”
“As you wish, patrón.”
“When you have been here longer, you will see that those who work for Señor Tovey are not like gringos elsewhere. They treat us with respect.”
“Or do they only pretend to?” Hijino motioned at Demp. “But you are right. I will apologize if you want me to.”
Julio thought it a great idea. “I want you to.” It would please his father, should he learn of the incident. Julio concentrated on the cows and had examined six or seven when he heard a sharp oath, and then harsh words he could not quite catch.
Demp was glaring and gesturing angrily at Hijino. Hijino smiled that ever-present smile of his, which evidently made Demp angrier, for he grew red in the face and dropped his hand to his pistol.
Wheeler reached them a few seconds before Julio, and slapped the cowboy’s arm from the revolver. “Leave that hogleg right where it is! What in hell do you think you’re doin’?”
“It’s him you should be hittin’!” Demp protested.
Julio was aware of the other punchers trotting up. “What happened?” he asked the vaquero. “What did you do?”
“Me, patrón?” Hijino rejoined. “All I did was ask him if other DP cows ever stray across the river.”
Demp rose in his stirrups and pointed an accusing finger. “That’s not all you said, you scalawag.” He glanced at Wheeler. “The Mex claimed we help ourselves to DP stock!”
Wheeler’s weather-seamed countenance became as hard as flint. He faced Hijino. “You accused us of bein’ rustlers?”
Julio was appalled. There was no worse insult. In cow country, rustling was the worst thing a man could do, a crime considered more heinous than murder. “Is this true?”
Hijino spread his hands in innocence. “Before God and the Virgin, I swear to you it is not.”
“Now you just called me a liar!” Demp was shaking with fury. “Name the time and place, and we’ll settle this. Or better yet, let’s settle it now.” He poised his hand above his six-gun.
“I told you to leave it be!” Wheeler reined his mount between them. “There will be no gunplay, you hear me? Keep this up and I’ll report you to Clayburn.”
Demp deflated, but he was still mad. “No man can abide what this greaser did and still look himself in the mirror.”
Wheeler glanced at Julio. “Maybe it’s best if you go, Mr. Pierce. When we find your cow and calf, we’ll return them.”
Julio deemed it best, as well. The countenances of the other two cowboys left no doubt how they felt. It would not take much to provoke them. “Come along,” he directed Hijino, and applied his spurs. He refused to look at the vaquero until they came to the Rio Largo. “When my father hears of this, you will be fired.”
“Must you tell him? It was not me, patrón. The gringo bent my words.”
Julio shook his head in disgust. Nothing like this had ever happened in the long history of the two ranches.
“You do not believe me?” Hijino sounded hurt.
“Whether he bent them or not, you should not have said whatever you did.” Julio gigged the grulla into the water. “Now there will be hard feelings. We do not need that with the rodeo coming up.”
“If the two ranchos are as friendly as everyone says, surely the gringos will not hold a grudge.”
“I hope for your sake they do not.” Julio debated whether to go to Berto. The DP foreman might be able to smooth things over without involving his father.
“Did you hear what that one called me?”
“Sí,” Julio said, the memory smarting like the sting of a bee. “But he did not mean anything by it.”
“If you say so, patrón.”
Julio did not accept the explanation himself. It was obvious that some of the Circle T punchers regarded the DP vaqueros the same way many whites regarded all Mexicans. All these years, Julio had accepted his father’s word that Kent Tovey would not hire such men, yet his own ears had heard the proof that it was otherwise.
“When we get back, I will pack my things and go, patrón,” Hijino said. “I do not want to cause trouble for the DP.”
The offer took Julio by surprise. It might be for the best if Hijino left, but Julio found himself saying, “You are not going anywhere. Have we fired you? Until we do, you are still one of us. And we stand by our own.”
“You are most kind, patrón.”
Julio shrugged the compliment away. He was not doing it so much for Hijino as for the DP. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that the Circle T cowboys were as much at fault, if not more so. Especially that hothead, Demp. Why should Hijino be punished for Demp’s fit of temper?
As if Hijino were entertaining similar thoughts, he remarked, “Life is most unfair. I suppose now I will not be able to take part in the rodeo.”
“Do you want to?” Julio came to the south bank and clucked to the grulla.
“Sí. Very much so.”
“Which contest? The steer roping? The bronc riding? The calf throwing?” Julio always entered the latter. Last year he had claimed top honors.
“The pistol match.”
Julio slowed so the white horse could come alongside. “Didn’t you hear Paco the day we met? Jesco always wins the pistol match. Roman is always second. You would be lucky to finish third.”
“I would still like to try to win for the DP,” Hijino said. “To repay you for hiring me.”
Nodding at the pearl-handled Colt, Julio asked, “Are you any good?”
Hijino’s hand was a blur. The Colt leaped up and out and boomed, and twenty feet away a clod of dirt exploded. Almost in the same motion, Hijino twirled the Colt into his holster.
“Madre de Dios!” Julio breathed.
“Do you still think I do not have a chance?”
“You are better than most,” Julio said in praise. “But Roman and Jesco are the best I have ever seen.”
“Do all the vaqueros attend the rodeo?”
“We always leave a handful to watch over the house and the cattle,” Julio disclosed. “The men draw straws to see who stays.”