William Bent looked up."I’m Julio Montoya. My papá, Enrique Montoya, helped you build this Fort. He was an adobe maker."The pen dropped. Bent pushed the palms of his hands flat against the table top, slowly stood, then circled around Julio, turning him to face the light. "You’re not Enrique’s son." He squinted into Julio’s eyes. "You can’t be! With the yellow hair? And green eyes? Who put you up to this? Texans? Get him out of here, Red."Red’s hand tightened around Julio’s arm. "What shall I do with him?""Just get him out of here. Send him back to wherever he came from." Bent waved his hand as if shooing a fly and sat down at his desk."I’m from Taos, Mr. Bent!" Julio struggled against Red. "And I am Julio Montoya! Enrique was my papá." He grabbed the doorframe "Papá came home with your letter, and you brother Charles sent a message back to you."Bent looked up, frowning. "A message?" he grumbled, "About what?""I-I don’t know," Julio stammered. "Papá said it was about war. He said you were worried about what’s going to happen.""Any fool knows that," Bent said with a harrumph.