“I’m convinced of it.”
“Just who do you suspect?” Angus was still pretending it was a joke.
Not once did Webb release him from the iron directness of his gaze. “It could be any number of people, but you know who I believe it is.” The stress on the pronoun was deliberate, made to put the emphasis on O’Rourke without actually naming him.
There was a significant pause before Angus replied with a challenge. “If you are so positive that you know who it is, why haven’t you done something about it? You’re just guessing. You don’t have any proof. If you did, Potter would have an arrest warrant ready.”
“The law is very slow, and not very dependable. Even if Potter had enough evidence to arrest the man, the thief would get out on bail pending trial, which might be months away. There’s no guarantee he would be convicted by a jury. And if he was, it’s conceivable he could be paroled after serving only a short sentence. What’s to stop him from rustling more cattle while he’s awaiting trial, or after he’s out of prison?” Webb eyed Angus coldly. “Things were a lot different in the old days. Rustlers were hanged on the spot, and a running iron was all the evidence a rancher needed.”
“Have you found a running iron?” Inside, Angus was squirming. The challenge was sheer bravado.
“No, but Slim Bevins recognized a voice when he surprised the rustlers at the Broken Butte.” Webb watched O’Rourke turn pale under his tan, and knew with absolute certainty that he was the cattle thief.
“So?”
“So … I want to make my warning clear to this man. If one more head of Calder beef turns up stolen, I’m coming after him personally.” It was stated quietly, a deadliness in its flat tone.
“Why are you telling me?” Angus sat up straighter. “You’re just bluffing, Calder.”
“All the man has to do is call my bluff.” Webb pushed the chair away from the table and stood up, dropping a bill on the table for the beer he hadn’t touched.
Chapter XII
When he left Jake’s saloon, Webb walked back to the grocery store-gas station. The station wagon was still parked by the gasoline pumps, but he walked past it to enter the store. Behind the counter where the cash register was located, there was a side window which gave him a view of both the front of the saloon and the café. Webb bought a pack of gum and chatted with Helen Kirby, the plump wife of the owner, while he unobtrusively kept watch on the two buildings.
He saw Chase and Buck climb into the pickup and drive away in the direction of the ranch, but it was five minutes before Angus O’Rourke and his son emerged from the saloon to head directly for the café. Webb didn’t believe for one minute that it was coffee or food that O’Rourke was seeking, but the courage of the pack. Tucker was involved, without question.
Satisfied with the confirmation he’d seen, he left the store. As he came out, O’Rourke’s daughter was approaching the door. He noted the sudden lift of her head when she saw him, the wary defiance that prompted her to squarely meet his gaze. She was not only an unusually attractive girl, but she also had spirit and guts. He experienced a twinge of pity that she had such a worthless father. It was unfortunate that she would suffer because of her father.
An age-old courtesy insisted that he hold the door for this young member of the opposite sex, while a sense of male responsibility made him speak. “Miss O’Rourke.” Circumstances made him be formal with her.
“Yes?” She stopped, stiff and defensive, but not intimidated.
“Tell your father that I never warn a man twice,” he said. “I want him to understand that—for your sake and your brother’s.” There was a momentary flash of anxiety in her eyes before it was quickly hidden with a sweep of her lashes. When they lifted, she was once more cool and composed.
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“I’ll tell him what you said, although I don’t think it’ll make any more sense to him than it does to me,” she replied, and Webb had to admire her calmness, unusual in such a young person.
“I’m sure he’ll understand.” He touched his hat as she swept smoothly past him to enter the store. Webb closed the door behind her and walked to his station wagon.
Buck entered The Homestead all slicked up in a white Western shirt with pearl snaps and a string tie. The new straw Stetson was atop his curly hair, and his smooth cheeks were tangy with the spicy fragrance of an after-shave. There was an eager impatience about him as he glanced swiftly around the living room. The double doors to the dining room stood open. When a sound came from inside the room, Buck moved with a quick, buoyant stride toward it and stuck his head inside.
Webb was seated at the head of the large walnut table, puffing on a cigar, a cup of coffee in front of him. The blonde-haired woman clearing the table of the night’s dishes looked up and paused when she saw her son, a smile coming onto her mouth. His glance shifted from his mother to Webb Calder and back again. More than once he had suspected there was more between them than mere friendship. If his own father was dead, Buck suspected his mother might marry Webb Calder. Sometimes he couldn’t resist fantasizing about a role as Webb Calder’s stepson, and the increased importance of his place on the ranch, a part of the hierarchy. He fancied owning all this someday.
“Did you want something, Buck?”
He shook his head, smiling quickly. “Just looking for Chase.”
“He went upstairs to his room to get ready,” Ruth Haskell replied.
“The man is slow,” Buck complained with a grin. “I’ll go hurry him along. Don’t wait up for me, Mom. We might not come back ‘til morning.” Pure devilment danced in his eyes as he left the dining room doorway and crossed to the staircase, familiar with the way to Chase’s room.
There was an unconsciously soft quality to the smiling glance Webb sent to Ruth. “We have waited up many a night for our boys, haven’t we, Ruth?” He tapped the ash from his cigar into a crystal ashtray.
“We certainly have,” she agreed and let her gaze wander toward the doorway. “I expect we’ll stay awake a lot more nights even when they say we shouldn’t.”
“Leave the dishes for a minute and have a cup of coffee with me,” Webb suggested impulsively.