“The difference is, Senator”—Chase turned his narrowed gaze on the man—“that you are talking about Calder land. I’m going to correct the mistake my predecessors made and buy that chunk of ground. I’m not going to be at the mercy of Uncle Sam’s whims.”
“I don’t think you understand what you’re asking.” The man shook his head skeptically.
“I’m asking you to arrange the sale of the land to me.”
“That’s a tall order. I don’t know if I can do it,” the politician hedged, unwilling to make a firm commitment.
Chase let an interval of silence lapse. “You’re up for re-election this November. I understand your opponent has been closing the gap, giving you a real run for your money. Rumor has it he could beat you with sufficient campaign funds. I wonder what would happen if the Triple C decided to back him.”
“That man would be of no help to you. He hasn’t the connections that I do,” the senator protested. “Besides, it would take more than money for him to win against me.”
“What would it take? Maybe if someone leaked to the press about your apartment in a Washington suburb where a blonde and a little boy named Frank, Junior, live, would that do it?” Chase suggested.
“That’s blackmail.” The senator glared. “I have done many favors for your father in the past. I can’t help but feel he would not approve of your threats to a loyal friend of his.”
“I mentioned it, Senator, only to make it clear that we need each other.” Chase flicked the ash from his slender cigar into the metal ashtray located in the car’s upholstered armrest. “You need my support to ensure your re-election. And I need your connections to purchase that government land. If you wish to interpret it as a threat of blackmail, that’s your problem.” The limousine pulled up at the edge of the airstrip. “Your plane is waiting, Senator. I’ll expect to hear from you at the end of the week.”
There was an expression of reluctant admiration on the senator’s face as he shook hands with Chase. “I think we understand one another, Chase.”
“I’m certain we do,” he agreed dryly.
From the landing strip, Chase returned directly to The Homestead and entered the den. He spent an hour studying the map on the wall before he called down to leave a message with Nate that he wanted him and the other foremen to meet him in the den after the evening meal.
He was seated behind the desk when they arrived. He noticed the startled flicker in their eyes when they saw him; they were too accustomed to his father occupying that chair. It was something he hadn’t fully adjusted to himself, so he understood their brief shock and didn’t interpret it as a reflection on his leadership.
When the last man appeared, Chase put a question to all of them. “Where is the best grass and water located on the Triple C?”
“The north range,” Virgil Haskell replied and frowned. “We’ve been saving that for winter graze.”
“I know.” Chase stood up and moved to the map. “On the boundary of the north range, we have the Shamrock ranch, the Circle Six, and Bill MacGruder’s outfit. All of them are in bad shape. It’s my guess that they are going to decide to move their cattle onto the north range—either individually, or as a group.”
“I imagine it’s tortured them to see their cattle starving with all that grass and water on the other side of the fence,” Stumpy remarked with an agreeing nod of his head.
“My thought exactly.” Chase observed the affirmative looks of the others.
“What do you want us to do about it?” Ike Willis asked, watching Chase closely, as were the others. “I hate to see cattle starve.”
“All cattlemen do, but they should have done something before now—sold and cut down their herds to a size their range could support in a drought. We save the north range for our cattle, and we’re going to need every blade of grass on it if we don’t want to end up like them. When they make their move, we’re going to be waiting for them to drive their herds back to their own side of the fence.”
At dawn the next morning, three parties of riders separated to patrol the long fence line on the northern boundary of the ranch. Chase rode with Nate’s group. Every man had a loaded rifle in his scabbard with orders to use it if he had to.
Chase wondered if he’d guessed wrong. Maybe there were other ranchers on his west boundary, or to the south, who were in worse shape. But the Triple C range in those areas had been fairly well grazed over, and water was scarce. Every instinct insisted that if he was going to have trouble with his neighbors, it would be here on the north range, where there was plenty. This was where the trouble would come—if there was going to be any, which he hoped to God there wouldn’t be. He wanted to be wrong.
It was mid-morning when they heard the distant bellow of cattle and rode toward the sound. As they came within sight of the combined herds streaming through the gap in the fence where the wires had been cut, Chase reined in his horse. It danced impatiently under him, tossing its head and pulling at the bit.
He reached down and removed his rifle from its scabbard, his action signaling the other riders to do the same.
The riders fanned out behind him, with Nate moving onto his right side. Chase sent his horse forward at an extended trot while the others followed. His gaze skimmed over the gaunt-ribbed cattle, noting the mixed brands. Then he picked out the respective owners of the ranches, grouping together in a trio to confront him—MacGruder, Hensen of the Circle Six, and Culley O’Rourke. He couldn’t help noticing how skinny and hollow-eyed Culley was, but the gleam of hatred was in the green eyes—a look that reminded him of Maggie. But he couldn’t afford that memory to soften him, so he blocked it out.
He and his riders stopped their horses in front of the cattle, slowing down the flow through the fence and scattering the cows. The animals immediately started tearing hungrily at the grass.
“You’re trespassing
on private property,” Chase stated. “Turn your cattle around and drive them back on your own side of the fence.”
“You got plenty of grass here.” It was Culley who challenged him. “And water, too. Our cattle are starving. We need this grass and you don’t.”
There was no use in trying to reason with a cattleman who was watching his herd getting weaker every day. He didn’t want to hear about the need the Triple C would soon have for this grass. He didn’t care about the Triple C—only about saving his own cows.