by Anna Schmidt
Pete struggled to his feet, keeping his one leg stiff and grimacing in pain as he propped himself against a tree trunk. Trey saw his chance. He picked up a handful of loose dirt and flung it at Pete, hoping the wind would carry it into Pete’s eyes and he could overpower the man. But the wind shifted, and the dirt hit Pete in the mouth, infuriating him further.
He charged at Trey, and the two of them fell to the ground, the loaded gun between them. Trey focused on getting the gun, pinning Pete with his weight as he forced the man’s arm up and away. Grabbing a large rock, he slammed it down on Pete’s hand. Pete let go of the gun, but his other hand came up and grabbed Trey by the throat. His hand spanned the width of Trey’s neck, and he began to squeeze, his eyes wild with rage and revulsion.
Trey could feel himself losing consciousness as he fought for breath. Hit him, his brain, already foggy, ordered. He realized he was still clutching the rock. He raised his arm. Pete tightened his grip, and in an effort to break the man’s hold, Trey let go of the rock. They rolled so that now Pete was on top of Trey. With one hand, Trey tried to pry Pete’s fingers free of their grip while with the heel of the other, he swung wildly.
He could feel himself losing the battle, but he had too much to live for to die on this dusty mesa at the hands of a man who had tried to destroy everything his family stood for. This time, Trey wouldn’t miss. He closed his hand around loose sand and flung it directly into Pete’s eyes. The rancher screamed and cursed and let go of Trey’s throat.
In seconds, Trey had rolled away. He was gasping for air as he located the pistol and threw it a good distance away from Pete. Then, still choking and coughing but determined to put an end to this man’s reign of terror once and for all, he grabbed the piggin’ strings, rolled Pete roughly to his stomach, and straddled him again.
“My leg!” Pete raged. “You’re gonna break it.”
“I reckon you already took care of that before I ever got here. Stop struggling and lie still, and it won’t hurt so much.” After he finished with Pete, he retrieved his gun, shoved it in the holster, and started down the trail.
“Wait! You can’t leave me here. The coyotes—”
“We’re gonna be here a while, assuming Jess makes it back to the ranch, which you’d best hope he does. Best hope he’s conscious enough to send help, or that leg’s gonna be a lot worse by daylight. I’m gonna gather some kindling for a fire.”
Trey gathered some dried cactus and wood. Keeping his distance from Pete, he set to building a fire. “Hopefully whoever Jess sends to find us will see the smoke and get here quicker.”
“Why don’t you just shoot me and be done with it?” Collins snarled.
“Too easy. I want to be sure you have lots of time to consider the error of your ways.”
The fire crackled and popped and cast a circle of light around them. Trey settled himself on a chair-sized rock, leaned against a boulder, and lowered his hat over his eyes. “Could be a while,” he said. “Best get some rest.”
“You expect me to sleep trussed up like some heifer? Show me a little of that compassion you’re so famous for, Trey. I’m hurtin’ here, and if my leg gets infected—”
Trey ignored him. “Why’d you do all those things, Pete? What did those folks ever do to you?”
“Them woolies was ruining the land and the water. And them herders just aren’t our kind, Trey. Even somebody like you has to know that. They don’t fit in. I’ll wager you that no matter what you do, you’ll never see cattle ranchers and herders come together. They might tolerate each other, but they ain’t never gonna like each other. It’s like the Mexicans—we tolerate them, sure, but—”
“Just stop talkin’, Pete. The stuff that comes out of your mouth makes me sick to my stomach. People are people, and more and more of those ‘Mexicans’ you like to talk about are born right here in this country. That makes them as American as you or me. Everybody came from someplace else, Pete, so where do you get off tacking on labels that brand others?”
Pete snorted. “Next you’re gonna be tellin’ me you married that herder’s widow because you loved her.” He put an insulting singsong tone to the word loved.
“We are not discussing my wife,” Trey said through gritted teeth.
Pete ignored his warning. “Can’t say as I blame you wanting a piece of that. Looks to me like under her skirt lies a pair of legs that would fit just right around a man’s hips, pull him in real tight.”
Trey knew what the man was trying to do. He held his tongue—and his temper—but Pete didn’t know when to quit pushing.
“And she’s still got a firm bosom—can’t hide that. You ever suckle at those breasts, Trey? Bet she’s got enough fullness there to fill a man’s hands and then some.”
Trey felt his hand close around an extra piece of wood he’d saved to add to the fire as needed. Slowly, he sat up, knowing Pete couldn’t see him from his facedown position.
“Yep, I’ve studied on it, and my guess is that little lady must be a regular hellion in bed. You’re one lucky bastard, Trey. Course she’s used goods, but better leavings like that than fresh meat that has to be trained.” He snickered and then froze as he realized Trey was standing over him, the club in one hand. “Whatcha planning to do with that stick?” he whined, struggling to roll to his back.
“If ever I hear you say one more disrespectful word about my wife or any of her kin, Collins, I will not only kill you, I’ll enjoy it and feel no remorse.”
“Ah, Trey, where’s your sense of humor? You know I don’t mean half of what I say and—”
Trey squatted beside the man and let the club come down hard within an inch of the man’s face.
Pete flinched, and his eyes bulged with a mix of pain and terror. “You’re plum loco,” he managed.
“Maybe so, but you and I both know after what you’ve put this community through these last months, no one would blame me.” He pulled out his knife and cut a couple of the ropes so he could grab Collins by his shirtfront and stand him upright. It surprised Trey to realize the rancher was shorter and punier than he seemed. Trey dragged him to a tree and used the rope to anchor him there.
“Look, Trey, we can work this out.”
“Stop talkin’, Collins. All I’m planning to do at the moment is splint that leg of yours so maybe we can both get some shut-eye before dawn.”
He cut open Pete’s pants leg and, as he’d done to his shirt for Jess, tore the fabric into strips. Then he laid down the stick he’d been using to threaten Pete and took hold of the man’s ankle. “This is gonna hurt,” he muttered, then stood and put his weight behind pulling hard on the leg to straighten it.
Pete yelled and then passed out, making the rest of the work easy. Trey tied the splint into place. Although the night was cold, he was sweating hard by the time he finished. He hoped he’d done the right thing and, realizing his concern for the man was his first thought, he laughed and shook his head. Maybe he was too soft for his own good. But then he recalled the emotions he’d struggled with as Collins taunted him with his filthy comments about Nell. In that moment, he’d come closer to killing another man than he’d ever been before.
He went back to his position on the rock near the fire. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this life. How many times had some other cowboy made crude comments about Trey’s love for sketching and painting? He knew the only reason he held the position he did within the cattlemen’s cooperative was because of their respect for his family name. If his father—or even Jess—had been leading the push for peace, it would be done by now. Hell, his eldest sister, Maria, had commanded more respect during the years she ran the ranch than Trey did.
He slept fitfully, waking frequently to tend the fire and check on Pete. As the sky lightened in the east, he noticed Pete’s leg was badly swollen. The man moaned and mumbled in his sleep, crying out from time to time. He was feverish, so Trey soaked his
bandana with water from his canteen and bathed Pete’s face and neck.
“They’ll be here soon,” he promised, hoping he was right. He untied the ropes and tried his best to make Pete more comfortable.
His stomach grumbled, and he pulled a piece of jerky from his pocket and chewed on it while he kept watch for any sign of rescue.
“Porterfield?” Pete’s voice was weak.
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t mean them things I said before…about your wife.”
“Then why say them?”
Pete coughed. “Just trying to get at you. I don’t understand you.”
Trey untwisted the cap from his canteen and passed it to Pete, who seemed surprised to realize he was no longer tied up. He took a swallow and spit half of it out as he choked.
“Take it easy,” Trey instructed. “That’s it for water, so let’s don’t waste it, just in case.”
Pete returned the canteen and lay down again. “This business with the herders—you’re convinced our side can’t win, aren’t you?”
“It’s not about winning, Pete. Unless we can find a way to make our peace, everybody loses.” He noticed the sweat beading Pete’s forehead and soaking his shirt. “Stop talking, Pete. Save your strength.”
The other man struggled to raise himself onto one elbow. He grasped Trey’s forearm. “Can’t go to prison. Family would never—”
“You shoulda thought about them before you started down this road,” Trey said, wrenching his arm away.
“What if them woolies ain’t all dead?” Pete muttered, slurring his words as he fought to stay conscious. “Some…sure…had to make a point.” The man rambled on for a moment about “throwing away good money” and something about “market” before he finally passed out again.
Trey went back to his post, watching for any sign of help as the sun rose and the shadows that had covered the land evaporated. He saw the cloud of dust first and then the riders—three soldiers, one of them driving a wagon with a spare horse tied to the back. Trey climbed to the highest point and stood with his arms in the air. He fired a single shot, saw the convoy hesitate and then turn in his direction.
It was over, finally. But it wasn’t—not really. Pete would go to trial, and with his men singing like choir boys, there was certainly enough to convict him. But the man had done a great deal of damage. Nell would be all right, but others like Lottie Galway and her boys were unlikely to be able to recover from their losses. So to Trey’s way of thinking, it would never be over until both sides could find their way back to the kind of life they’d come here to build in the first place.
* * *
When the horse carrying Jess came trotting into the yard, Nell was standing outside the kitchen. She’d been waiting for Trey, determined to be there when he returned, no matter the hour.
“Nita!” she shouted. “Somebody help now!”
Two cowhands came running from the bunkhouse along with Juanita and Eduardo from the house, and Nell began loosening the ties holding Jess on the horse. The man was half out of his head as the two cowboys lifted him and carried him inside. Nell kept pace while Juanita gave orders.
“One of you ride into town and bring Addie. Eduardo, get me that bar of soap and a pan of clean water from the kitchen. Nell—”
But Nell had leaned in to speak to Jess. “Jess, have you seen Trey? Is he—”
Jess opened his eyes and squinted at her, then he gave her a loopy grin. “Hello, Nellie. You doing okay?”
She knew then that he was not in his right mind, because never in all the time she had known the man had he asked after her well-being.
“Jess, what happened?” She resisted the urge to shake him hard and bring him to his senses. “That’s Trey’s horse out there. Where is my husband?”
Jess frowned, and it was evident he was trying hard to focus. He settled his gaze on Eduardo. “Deadman’s Point,” he mumbled. “Trey’s there with Collins. Tell Ashwood and—” His eyelids fluttered and closed.
“He’s out,” Juanita announced as she pulled off Jess’s boots and then covered him with an afghan. “Well, go on,” she barked when she saw her husband and the other cowboy standing by the door. “God willing, you’ll cross path with some of the soldiers mixed up in this, and they can help. Meanwhile, Trey’s up there with that mad man.”
The two men hurried away, and a moment later, Nell heard them ride off.
“What can I do?” Nell asked.
“Nothing to be done but wait for Addie to get here.” Juanita collapsed onto a straight chair next to the sofa, clearly settling in to keep a vigil until Jess’s wife arrived.
“I’ll fix breakfast for Lottie and the boys,” Nell said. She needed to be busy, or surely her fear for Trey would overcome her. She hurried off to the kitchen. She set Juanita’s favorite iron skillet on the stove, spread lard in the bottom, and chopped an onion. At first, she blamed the fumes for making her eyes water, but after a moment, she realized she was crying for real. Her hands trembled. She set down the knife and the onion and gripped the edge of the sink, Juanita’s words echoing in her head—mad man. What if Pete had attacked Trey? Killed him?
“What’s going on, Ma?” Joshua rubbed sleep from his eyes as he entered the kitchen. “How come you’re cooking? Where is everybody?”
“Shhh. Jess is resting. He had a little accident, so Juanita is taking care of him while I make breakfast. Are your cousins awake?”
“No. We stayed up pretty late last night,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “Where’s Trey?”
“He had to go out for a while.” She sniffed back her tears, dumped the chopped onion into the sizzling pan, and sliced a large sweet potato into the mix. After adding some water and dried red chilies before covering the pan to let the vegetables simmer, she reached for eggs and saw there were only two. “Josh, go down to the coop and collect the eggs for me, please.” She handed him the basket. “And while you’re out there, wake Ira and Spud and tell them to get dressed and come up to the house for breakfast.”
Her son took the basket and grinned. “Ma, you called me ‘Josh’ like Trey does. I like that.” He raced out the door, shouting for his cousins to wake up as he went.
Nell heard the door to Lottie’s room open. Her sister-in-law had no idea of the real reason Trey had wanted her and her boys to stay the night at his ranch. “Good morning,” she said when she heard Lottie’s step approaching.
“Was there trouble?” Lottie asked. “I heard shouting, and I looked out the window, and it seemed like someone was hurt and…” She took one look at Nell’s tear-stained face and reached out to her. “Oh, Nell, it isn’t…I mean Trey is not…”
“I don’t know,” Nell admitted. She poured two mugs of coffee. “Let’s sit for a minute, Lottie. I’ve got something to tell you.”
Twelve
The morning seemed to stretch on for hours and hours. Lottie set the boys to doing the morning chores usually handled by Eduardo and the cowhands. Addie arrived and removed the bullet from Jess’s shoulder, all the while lecturing her husband on the risks he took that were driving her to an early grave.
“It’s a minor wound. You’ll live,” she said as she fitted him with a sling to support his arm. “Not sure about the rest of us. Now, tell us what happened.” She motioned for Juanita, Nell, and Lottie to sit in the chairs closest to the sofa. She stood.
Jess skimmed over the details. He, Seth, and the militia had stationed themselves around the Galway ranch, and sure enough, not long after, Collins and a gang of his men arrived. They gathered kindling in the barn, intent on setting it afire. “Collins was just about to give the order to start the fire when we surrounded them. He made a run for it, and one of the soldiers shot him, but he still managed to ride off. I took off after him.”
“Of course you did,” Addie muttered, rolling her eyes. “Where was Seth? He’s t
he sheriff.”
“He’d moved in on the men in the barn, wanted to be sure they didn’t light that fire.”
“Did Trey—”
Jess looked at her. “He wasn’t there, Nell. He came on me and Pete later after Collins shot me and my horse. We were at a standoff when Trey came upon us. Found me and tricked me into coming back here while he went after Collins himself. He saved my life,” he added as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
“He’s been there all night with that man?” Juanita’s dismay was evident in the way she twisted her hands and moved to a window as if doing so would bring Trey back.
Nell’s throat closed, and for a moment, she thought she might not be able to breathe. At the same time, fear gripped her heart. She willed herself to listen as Jess continued.
“Collins likely broke his leg when his horse went down, and I think one of the soldiers got a shot off as he fled the scene. Trey’s in no danger from him.”
“So you say,” Juanita muttered.
“I thought before I passed out…I thought… You sent some men to get Trey, didn’t you?” Jess’s voice shook as if he was uncertain he’d actually given them the information they needed to find his brother.
“We did,” Juanita said, “but even riding full out, it’s over an hour to Deadman’s Point from here.” She glanced at Nell and crossed the room to stand with her. “Now you listen to me, Nell Porterfield. Trey is smart and strong. He’ll find his way back to us. May take some time, but he’ll be here.”
Nell noticed how the older woman’s voice quivered her and her eyes shone with unshed tears. She knew Juanita was every bit as scared as she was. Wrapping her arms around the woman who loved Trey as much as her own sons, she murmured, “We’ll wait together.” She knew by the way Juanita nodded and returned her embrace that the chasm that had separated them ever since Javier’s death had been bridged. They were two women who loved Trey, and they would stand together no matter what came.
* * *
Trey helped the soldiers put Pete on the wagon bed. “Pete, you said something earlier about the sheep, about there being more saved from the stampede. What did you mean?”