Rio Page 27

  “What about you, Forester?”

  Edwin did not trust himself to speak. He only shook his head.

  The judge sighed and straightened his shoulders. “Then the duel will proceed. Now, everyone gathered here knows that what’s happening is illegal and could get us all arrested.”

  A murmur swept through the crowd of men, but no one made any attempt to leave.

  “Very well,” intoned the judge. “So when it is over, no matter the outcome, every man will keep his mouth shut to avoid prosecution and we will all scatter. This event must not end up in the newspapers.”

  Again no one made any move to leave.

  Old Judge Wright motioned to both sides. “I will talk to the seconds.” Edwin nodded to Elmer to go over and Trace Durango went to the judge’s side and glared at Edwin.

  It seemed like forever that the old judge instructed the seconds while the ring of witnesses whispered to each other. Edwin looked up at the sky. It was going to be a hot night, maybe with lots of fireflies and a glorious sunset. Why had he never paid much attention to such lovely things before? Well, it didn’t matter now.

  The seconds were returning to opposite sides of the big circle.

  Edwin watched the sun just setting on the rim of the hill country, throwing long shadows from the giant oak trees across the grass. The vaquero was down on one knee, evidently praying. The last rays of sun reflected off the crucifix around his neck. Now he crossed himself and stood up.

  Edwin looked around. Why had he always been too busy to notice how beautiful this grove of trees and the river were? Why had he failed to appreciate so much in his lust for power and wealth? He had always been busy; so busy. And now it was all for naught. Man plans. God laughs.

  “Does the challenger want to examine the pistols?” the old judge said.

  Edwin held his breath. They must not discover he had tampered with them, because Trace Durango could spot that.

  As Trace stepped forward and Edwin held out the pistols for his examination, abruptly Edwin noticed movement in the crowd and got a quick glimpse of a girl in a snow-white dress and big hat. Turquoise. What was she doing here? Edwin saw Turquoise’s agonized face, pale with desperation and hatred as she stared toward him. Then he saw a glint of fading light on something in her hand.

  “Look out!” Edwin yelled and people screamed and ran and ducked. All except Trace Durango, who raced across the circle and grabbed the girl, struggling with her.

  “Give me that! Give me that gun, damn it!”

  Edwin watched almost hypnotized as Trace struggled with Turquoise for the Colt now held high above her head.

  “Let go of me! I’ll kill him!” she screamed. “I’ll kill him!”

  But Trace had wrestled the gun from Turquoise’s hand. The sidelines were in confusion as he struggled to keep her from regaining the pistol while she shrieked and fought.

  She had intended to kill him, Edwin realized as she looked toward him, hate in her turquoise eyes. She was planning on killing him because she didn’t trust him not to shoot her love. And her love was the vaquero, not Edwin, with his wealth and big house and power. The cowboy had nothing, yet he had everything because he had Turquoise. Edwin blinked back tears as the judge shouted “The duel will continue!”

  In the excitement, everyone had forgotten about examining the dueling pistols. While Trace struggled to control the girl, Edwin held the pair of pistols out to Rio. The challenger would get his choice; that was the rule.

  Rio hesitated in choosing between the guns and Edwin held his breath, wondering what to do if Rio chose the wrong one. Edwin smiled to himself and offered the pistols again to Rio, who paused, then chose one.

  Good, he had chosen the pistol Edwin intended him to take, and no one had inspected either one. Indeed, with Turquoise screaming and fighting in the background, no one had thought about anything but getting this event over with. It would be over soon enough, Edwin thought as he took the other pistol from the leather case, tossed the case aside, and stepped out into the middle of the circle.

  “You will stand back to back,” intoned the old judge. “Then as I count, you will each take twenty steps. At that point, you will turn and fire at will. Each pistol holds one shot. If no one is hit or only wounded, the deed is done and the seconds will deal with the injured. Do both of you understand?”

  Both men murmured yes.

  Edwin stood with his pistol cocked, his back against the big vaquero. Rio Kelly was a broad-shouldered, handsome man, he thought. Edwin couldn’t defeat him except with guile and conniving. Rio had nothing, but Turquoise was willing to kill to protect him. She must love him very much.

  “One,” said the judge, and Edwin took a deep breath and stepped forward and heard the cowboy do the same.

  “Two,” shouted the judge, and Edwin took another step. He had a slight smile on his lips as he took step after step. It was all working out just the way he planned; not the way he wanted it to be, but the way it should be.

  As he took the next step, he turned his head ever so slightly and looked at the tense, nervous faces watching the two men step off the distance. He glanced toward Elmer and gave him an encouraging nod. The young clerk looked like he might faint at any moment.

  I’m a rich, powerful man, Edwin thought, and yet I do not have one, no, not even one good friend to be my second. I had to use a hired clerk. He suddenly envied Rio Kelly because he had at least one good friend, maybe more than one, and best of all, he had a woman who loved him, loved him enough to kill for him.

  “Ten …”

  Edwin took another step. Soon it was all going to be over and he was surprised at how calm he was. He turned his head again and looked at Turquoise, who was being held back by her guardian. Why had he been so blind that he had not seen? Well, it didn’t matter now. I love you, he mouthed at her as he heard the judge’s voice and took another step.

  In response, she spit at him and tried to charge at him, but Trace Durango held onto her.

  “Fifteen!” rang out the judge’s voice.

  Edwin tried to breathe a prayer, but it had been so long, he had forgotten how. He could feel sweat plastering his fine, hand-made shirt to his body, and smell the slight scent of the wilting rosebud. He should have taken off his gray suit jacket so he wouldn’t be so hot.

  He tried to collect his thoughts, but they whirled like a child’s toy pinwheel. All he had repeating itself in his head like a children’s sing-song nursery rhyme was: what-goes-around-comes-around-what-goes-around-comes-around-what-goes-around-comes-around-what …

  “Eighteen!” shouted Judge Wright and it seemed to Edwin that he heard the silent circle of men take a collective breath.

  “Nineteen!”

  Edwin took another step and rethought the decision he had made. He still had a split second to change it. No, it was the right decision and he would make it again for her, for his darling Turquoise. He wanted her to be happy.

  “Twenty! Fire at will!”

  Edwin took a deep breath, turned, took aim, and fired.

  Chapter 19

  “Twenty! Fire at will!”

  Rio’s heart pounded hard as he whirled and faced the senator. In that split second, he tried to aim with his awkward left hand, tried to remember everything Trace Durango had taught him. His pulse seemed to be pounding so fast, he barely heard the command to fire even as Turquoise screamed.

  Turquoise struggled to break free of Trace Durango as both shots rang out simultaneously. For a split second, neither man moved and there was a collective sigh from the crowd as the acrid smoke hid both the duelers.

  She saw Rio take one step forward and then the pistol dropped from his nerveless fingers and she screamed again, sure he was hit.

  But at that instant, Edwin smiled at her, took two steps forward, then went down to his knees. A scarlet stain spurted suddenly, and he reached his hand up to his chest at the red color spreading quickly across the front of the light gray suit. Blood ran between his manicured fi
ngers and he looked down at them as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Then Edwin reached out one bloody hand toward Turquoise and fell on his face in the grass.

  “Something’s wrong with one of the pistols!” Trace protested. “I heard a strange sound!”

  The old judge tried to restore order and gestured the two seconds into the circle even as Turquoise broke free of Trace and ran into Rio’s embrace. Rio took her in his arms and held her close, cradling her head against his chest. “It’s over, sweet one, it’s over.”

  Trace and Elmer stepped to examine Edwin Forester’s body, Elmer’s face white as milk. They turned the senator over and the crowd grew very quiet at the sight of all the carmine blood on the green grass, the senator’s light gray coat and the pink rosebud now dripping bright red. Turquoise’s sobbing was the only sound heard.

  Trace stood up. “He’s dead.”

  Elmer stumbled out of the ring, vomiting, as the judge stepped forward to pick up the two pistols, his wrinkled face a mask of disbelief.

  In the background, men were whispering, “Edwin Forester was a crack shot. What happened?”

  Trace said, “Something is wrong with one of those pistols. I could tell by the sound.”

  The old judge examined the pistols, then stared at Trace in astonishment as he handed them to him. “What?”

  Trace examined them both and he was as astounded as Judge Wright. “Edwin’s pistol was short-loaded. It didn’t have enough gunpowder to go the distance.”

  A murmur of disapproval from the crowd of men. “Well, what do you think about that? The senator probably meant for the vaquero to get that pistol and Rio took the wrong one.”

  The judge walked over to Rio, who was holding onto the sobbing Turquoise. “Son, did you feel like the senator was trying to get you to choose a certain pistol?”

  “Well, yes, I did,” Rio admitted, “so I took the other one.”

  A man in the crowd yelled, “What a crook! Forester thought the cowboy would take the short-loaded pistol and got confused over which one he had his own self.”

  The crowd murmured agreement and the judge sighed. “I reckon that’s it, then. Not that it matters. One man is dead and that settles the duel. Will his second load the senator’s body into his buggy and take him back to his house?”

  “Me?” squeaked Elmer. “He’s all bloody and anyway, I can’t lift him.”

  The judge scowled at him. “Doesn’t Mr. Forester have any friends in this crowd who will help?”

  No one came forward.

  “God damn it,” Rio swore. “I’ll help.” He and Trace stepped forward and carefully lifted the dead man and laid him in the back of his buggy. Turquoise walked up and looked down at him. “Why, he’s smiling. I reckon he thought he had the loaded pistol right up until he felt the bullet.”

  Rio looked down at the dead man. “You think that’s it?”

  “Why else could it be?” Turquoise asked.

  Elmer got in the buggy seat.

  “Wait a minute,” said the judge. “You’d better take these to his mother.” He handed Elmer the dueling pistols in their leather case. “I know these pistols have been in the family a long time, and she may want them, but you must not tell Harriet details about what happened here tonight or we’ll all be in trouble.”

  “She’ll want to know,” the clerk said.

  “Tell her at your own risk,” the judge warned.

  “Why do I have to face the Iron Lady?” Elmer whimpered.

  “Just do it!” the judge thundered. Elmer snapped the whip and the buggy pulled away.

  “Now we must all scatter,” ordered the judge. “And not a one of us must breathe what’s happened here tonight.”

  Men began melting away into the shadows.

  Turquoise only had eyes for Rio. She embraced him a long moment, loving him as she could never love another. “I thought you were going to be killed.”

  Rio kissed her forehead and stared down into her face. “You’ve forgotten,” he whispered, “this isn’t the end. I still have that murder charge hanging over my head. No doubt I’ll be sent to prison or be hanged.”

  Trace strode over. “Not if I can hire the best lawyers in Texas.”

  Rio looked grave. “I’ve just killed one of the most important men in this state.” He turned to watch the buggy disappearing up the road. “No doubt his mother will do her best to see me hanged.”

  Trace nodded. “Well, that’s not today’s worry. Let’s get back to the hotel. I reckon I have an upset wife waitin’ for me there. I’ll explain what happened.”

  However, Cimarron ran into his arms when they arrived at the hotel. “I’ve been so worried about all of you.”

  Trace held her like he would never let her go and kissed her. “Darlin’, everything’s all right now, but there’s a lot to tell you.”

  Cimarron looked anxiously at Turquoise. “I heard some of it from Fern. Are you all right, dear?”

  Turquoise held onto Rio’s arm to control her trembling and nodded. “I want you to meet the man I’m in love with.”

  Rio kissed Cimarron’s hand. “So glad to meet you, senora.”

  “Where are the kids?” Trace looked around.

  “Fern’s got them up in our suite, playing games with them. It’s too late to catch the train back home. Why don’t we stay over for the Fourth?”

  Trace grinned. “Darlin’, there’s a parade tomorrow. I’m sure the kids would love that.”

  “Good.” Cimarron linked her arm with her husband’s. “Then let’s go in the hotel.”

  * * *

  However, the next morning, Cimarron excused herself from the festivities, saying she wasn’t feeling well. Turquoise was out at Rio’s ranch, both of them still shaken up from yesterday’s tragedy. Trace had taken the children to the parade and festivities. Now Cimarron dressed, called for a carriage, and had the driver take her to the Forester residence. As she passed the state capitol, she saw that the state flag was flying at half-staff in honor of the dead senator, but nothing could stop Texans from celebrating the Fourth of July. Around her, she heard firecrackers exploding and children laughing and in the distance, the echoing sounds of a parade.

  The carriage passed a newsboy shouting, “Extra! Senator Dies! Extra!”

  Cimarron signaled her driver to stop and get her a paper and read it as the carriage started up the winding road to the elegant Tarrytown.

  “Senator Edwin Forester, of the important and well-known Forester family, was killed under mysterious circumstances yesterday evening. Sources said he died of a gunshot wound. Authorities have been unable to figure out what actually happened to the powerful legislator, who had been rumored to be planning on running for governor next term….”

  Cimarron sighed and laid the paper aside, dreading what she knew she must do this morning. There were many carriages out in front of the imposing Forester mansion and a black-ribboned wreath on the big front door. “Wait for me,” she said to her driver. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  There were other carriages there, no doubt people coming to offer condolences and to view the body.

  When the Mexican butler conducted Cimarron into the entry hall, she noted somber people standing around in the parlor, where the body was laid out in a magnificent casket. There were flowers everywhere that seemed to override the scent of dust and furniture polish. It was sort of a decaying, sweet scent, like the whole house was rotting down along with its residents.

  “Tell Mrs. Forester that Cimarron Durango is here to see her,” she whispered to the butler.

  He nodded and left, returning in a few minutes. “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Forester says she is not at home to you.”

  “She must see me,” Cimarron insisted. “Tell her I have something I must tell her.”

  He disappeared into the library again and returned once more to shake his head. “Sorry.”

  “I must see her.” Cimarron pushed past the butler and strode into the library with the bu
tler protesting behind her.

  Harriet Forester stood up, cold and distant in her black silk mourning dress. “How dare you come into my house with my dead son still not buried?”

  “We must talk,” Cimarron said, noting that the Iron Lady had once been a beauty, but now her iron-gray hair was turning white and her face was lined with sorrow.

  “I will call the police and have you thrown out!”

  “Hear me out first and then you do what you think best.” Cimarron stood her ground.

  “Very well, but I doubt you have anything to say that would interest me.” She waved away the butler. “Jose, close the door behind you and see we are not disturbed.”

  The butler bowed out of the room and closed the door.

  Mrs. Forester glared at her with those pale turquoise eyes. “You will understand if I do not offer you tea.”

  “I did not expect any. This is not a social call.” Cimarron sat down on a small satin love seat.

  From somewhere in the house drifted haunting laughter.

  “My daughter Emily.” Harriet made a motion with her jeweled hand.

  “I understand,” Cimarron replied softly. Even though she knew the Foresters did their best to hide their insane relative, most everyone in Texas knew about this girl who had been carried off by the Comanche and returned with a damaged mind.

  “Well, what is it you want?” The Iron Lady paced up and down, her long black silk dress swishing in the silence.

  “I am sorry about your son,” Cimarron said.

  “You’ll be sorrier when I tell you I intend to begin an investigation into Edwin’s death and send everyone involved to prison. His secretary told me some of what happened. Moreover, I’ll send that dirty Mexican to the gallows.”

  “Mrs. Forester.” Cimarron hesitated. “I’m not sure you’ll want to do that when I tell you what I know.”

  “Don’t try to talk me out of it.” Mrs. Forester picked up a newspaper from a table and shook it in Cimarron’s face. “Have you seen the papers? Some are saying that my dear boy fought an illegal duel, short-loaded that pistol, and got it himself by mistake. They have ruined his reputation.”