Boots crunched, and Paco materialized out of the gloom. “Roman, the señoritas would like to talk with you. You, too, Hijino.”
More cause for Hijino to be delighted. He was more than a simple vaquero now. He was part of the inner circle. Trella’s doing, he suspected. She had succumbed to his charms with all her heart.
The sisters were with the horses. Dolores was pacing, her arms across her bosom. Trella sniffled and gazed glumly into the water. When she saw Hijino, she rushed over and embraced him.
“I am sorry for hitting you. It was wrong.”
Hijino graciously excused her. “You had good cause. It is I who am sorry for not saving your brothers.”
Paco cleared his throat. “The important thing is to decide what to do next. I think the señoritas should return to the rancho.”
“I am in charge now,” Dolores said. “My place is here with the vaqueros, as it would be if I were Steve or Armando or Julio.”
“With all due respect, Señorita Pierce,” Paco said, “you are a woman, and they were not. You hamper us by your presence.”
“How?” Dolores demanded.
“If the cowboys attack, the men will think of you first, and their own lives second. They will not be as careful as they should.”
“That is silly,” Dolores said, but not unkindly.
Paco shrugged. “It is the nature of things, señorita. They hold you and your sister in the highest esteem, and would gladly throw their own lives away to save yours.”
“I do not like it. I do not like it one bit. Women should not be treated differently than men.” But Dolores sighed, and said resignedly, “Still, I would not be the cause of more men dying than must. My sister and I will go back and await word.”
“Gracias. It is for the best.”
Dolores put her hand on Paco’s arm. “I appoint you the new caporal. You take Berto’s place. Roman and Hijino are witnesses, and will spread the word. The men are to listen to you as they would listen to Trella or me.”
Flushed with pride, Paco said, “I am grateful beyond words.”
“You have earned it.”
“Then my first order is this.” Paco turned to Hijino. “You will accompany the señoritas to safeguard them. Stand guard at the house. If the cowboys slip past us, their lives will be in your hands.”
“I will protect them with my dying breath,” Hijino glibly lied. Once again, his luck served him well.
“You need Hijino here,” Dolores said. “You need his skill with pistols.”
Paco disagreed, much to Hijino’s amusement. “His skill is best served protecting you. Should we fall, he must take Trella and you to San Pedro. From there, you can take the stage south. The Chavez rancho is only ten days’ travel. They will look after you.”
“What you say makes sense, but I do not like it.” Dolores glanced at her sister. “How about you?”
“Hijino is fine with me,” Trella said. “He has my utmost confidence. He will keep us alive if anyone can.”
Roman broke his silence to say, “He had better.”
Paco clapped Hijino on the back. “Then it is settled. Off you go. Watch over the señoritas every minute.”
“Never fear,” Hijino said. “They are in good hands.”
“Sons of bitches!” Shonsey the cook pounded the ground, then shook his fist at the vegetation lining the river. “Those yellow scum! Shootin’ unarmed men!”
“Simmer down,” Walt Clayburn urged the fighting-mad cook. “They won’t get away with what they’ve done. Don’t you worry.”
Kent Tovey heard them as from a distance, even though they were on either side of him. He was on his back on a blanket. They had removed his blood-drenched shirt and bandaged him as best they could, but it would not delay the inevitable.
Strangely enough, Kent felt no pain. None whatsoever. He always thought people who were shot were in agony. All he felt was weak, so weak he could barely keep his eyes open. But he must. He could not die yet. There were things to say. “How bad off are you, Walt?”
“They winged me, is all,” Clayburn responded. “I managed to get you out of there. I just wish I had done it sooner.”
Kent sought to soothe his guilt. “You did all you could. How many others besides Jack Demp have we lost?”
“Two,” Clayburn said. “Kyle and Vintnor. Kyle got too close to the trees, and Vintnor tried to help him.”
“Lousy greasers,” Shonsey spat.
“Don’t talk like that,” Kent said. “Until a few days ago, they were our friends. I can’t understand how it all went so wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong.”
“They only pretended to be friendly,” Shonsey said. “Deep down, they always hated us. They resented you for claimin’ half the valley, and they resented the rest of us because we’re not Mex.”
“Dar Pierce was not bigoted,” Kent said.
“It’s not him I’m talkin’ about,” the irascible Shonsey growled. He started to say more, but Walt Clayburn cut him off.
“That’s enough. Go see that the wounded have been tended to.”
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?”