This Calder Sky (Calder Saga 3)

“You were with him today,” her father guessed.

Maggie knew she hadn’t given anything away, yet she could see the knowledge in her father’s eyes every time after she’d come back from meeting Chase. What was different about the way she looked after she’d been with Chase?

“Yes.”

“What did you say to him?” He passed the meat to Culley.

“Nothing.”

Satisfaction curved his mouth. “Did he have anything to say about the cattle that’s been stolen?”

“Only that they don’t know who is doing it,” she admitted and helped herself to the potatoes.

He laughed with exultant glee. “Didn’t I tell you!”

“Pa, it isn’t going to be so easy from now on,” Maggie protested. “They’re moving the herds.”

He sobered to dart her a sharp look. “Where?”

“I don’t know. Chase only mentioned that they were switching one of the herds to the Broken Butte range, away from the main roads,” she informed him with a worried frown. “It’s going to be too risky for you to try anything.”

But he wasn’t listening to her. Instead, his attention was on Culley. “Maybe you and me should go into town for a drink tonight. Tucker can join us after he closes up. We might want to rearrange our plans some. I seem to recall a back road that isn’t used anymore. It goes right by the Broken Butte.”

Her brother’s eyes glistened a devil-green. “It sure would be nice if we hit a herd they thought was safe, wouldn’t it?”

“It sure would.” Her father grinned.

Maggie stared at the pair of them. “You’re crazy! Both of you! I don’t know why I should care whether you get caught or not!” But she cared because they were her family. Blood ties weren’t severed by the right or wrong of a thing.

A dozen men were gathered around the massive desk in the den, their attention centered on Webb Calder, standing in front of the large map on the wall. Chase sat with one hip on the corner of the desk, bending his head to light the thin cheroot in his mouth with a match flame.

“Starting tonight, we’re going to patrol every road on this ranch,” Webb announced. “That means every main road, back road, and side road. We’ve divided the ranch into eight sectors and worked out a loop that will cover every road.” He assigned a sector to a man and outlined the individual route for each one. When he was satisfied the routes were clear, he continued with the general instructions. “I want those pickups moving constantly, no stopping for a short snooze—only to gas up. When I say no stopping, that’s what I mean. If you think you’ll have to relieve yourself, then take along a can. And vary your pattern—counterclockwise one time, clockwise the next. I don’t want any semi to be able to predict when you’ll pass a given spot and slip in and out while you’re gone. Is that understood?”

There was a silent bobbing of heads. Someone from the back of the circle asked, “What happens when we see something? What are we supposed to do?”

“I sure as hell hope you don’t go up and kiss them,” Webb declared with a half-grin which brought a round of subdued laughter.

“I guess what I meant was how do we let the others know?” The question was clarified.

“Unfortunately, we aren’t equipped with radios, although that might come in time,” Webb stated. “Bill—Bill Vernon”—he identified the warehouse manager-bookkeeper by his full name—“has already made certain that every one of the trucks has a flare gun in it. If you see anything suspicious, fire it in the air. The rest of us will come.”

“And in the meantime?” a different cowboy asked.

“In the meantime … you all have rifles.” Webb glanced around the half-circle of men. “Stop at the commissary before you head out and Bill Vernon will see that you have a supply of ammunition. Do whatever you have to in order to keep them there until you get some support.”

“You mean shoot out the tires?”

“If that’s all you have the guts to aim at,” Webb retorted and fixed the man who asked the question with a hard stare. Then his gaze swept the rest of them. “Any more questions?”

They looked at one another, the silence stretching. Chase studied their faces. All of them were serious, yet there was a certain glitter in their eyes. It burned through them like contagious fever, because here was something outside of the normal routine of work—something that held an element of danger and excitement, a thing every red-blooded cowboy thrived on.

“All right. Those of you assigned a patrol, get started,” Webb ordered. “You others will stay here with Nate, Virg, and the rest of us,” he said, including Chase with a glance. A wry smile slanted his mouth. “We’re going to be the cavalry, arriving in the nick of time.”

With a curt nod, he dismissed them. Chase stayed while the others wandered en masse from the room, talking low among themselves, but there was no trace of disapproval or dissension in their voices. Chase glanced at his father, who had taken a seat behind the desk.

“Do you think it will work?”

Webb raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Between moving the cattle and the patrols, it should. Thieves are basically a lazy lot. They help themselves to whatever is laying around. If it’s risky or hard to get at, they tend to move on to something that’s easier. They’re allergic to work or they wouldn’t be stealing. It’s my guess they’ll drift to a climate where it isn’t so hot for them.”