Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“Besides the ranchers and the cowboys who have traveled every inch of this country.” He lightly mocked the boasting claim that originated with the white-suited Mr. Wessel. “I suppose he’s told you that all you have to do is plow up the sod, sow some wheat, and you’ll be rich overnight. It isn’t that easy.”

“Nothing worth having is ever easy.” She seemed to be speaking from experience rather than simply mouthing a wise phrase. “We’ve read all the brochures the railroad printed, telling about richness of this soil and the dryland method of growing wheat. The railroad has checked into it and they have evidence that proves it can be successfully grown.”

Webb didn’t argue that point, because it couldn’t be disputed. Considering his father’s steadfast insistence to the contrary, it was a fact that troubled him. Wheat had been harvested in profitable quantities. Most of Webb’s opposition to turning this ranchland into wheat farms came from an ingrained resistance to any change of the present lifestyle that focused on cattle and cowponies.

“Lillian!” A male voice called out the name and the auburn-haired girl turned in response. Webb wasn’t quick enough to pick out the man who had called to her from the group of settlers gathering around the wagons.

Feeling her glance return to him, he looked back. There was a troubled quality about her expression, a kind of resigned regret, but it wasn’t quite that, either. Then it was gone, replaced by a polite but friendly smile.

“I have to go now. They’re loading up the wagons to take us out to the new land,” she explained unnecessarily.

“I hope you and your family find what you’re looking for,” Webb offered. “Either here or someplace else,” There was a barely formed thought that he didn’t want this to be the last time he saw her as his fingertips gripped the front brim of his hat.

“Yes.” It was a preoccupied reply.

Drawing her shawl up around her shoulder, the young woman named Lillian turned to rejoin the others. At first, she moved sedately away from him, but her steps quickened when she drew closer to the group.

Webb took the tobacco sack out of his vest pocket and used the business of building a cigarette to screen his interest in the girl with the dark chestnut hair. She approached an older man in an ill-fitting suit and spoke to him. He was tall, a slight stoop to his shoulders as if they carried the weight of many hard, lean years. His gaunt features were mostly covered by a hoary white beard, silver tufts of hair poking out from the flat-brimmed black hat on his head. Yet he looked rock-solid, a laborer rather than a farmer, using the muscles in his back and the sweat of his brow to eke out a living for himself and his family.

Raking a match head across the rough denim material covering the back of his thigh, he cupped the flame to his cigarette and dragged the smoke into his mouth. He was shaking out the match as Nate Moore approached him, coming from the direction of the depot.

“Our stuffs in.” Nate confirmed the arrival of the ranch’s shipment. His glance strayed to the motley assortment of travelers climbing into the converted wagons. “As soon as they get gone, we can drive the buckboard over and get it loaded up.”

“Good.” Webb pinched the match head between his fingers to be sure it was cool before tossing it into the grass near the cinder track.

What few belongings the new settlers had brought with them were stacked on the depot platform along with the other freight. After they’d selected a homesite, they’d be back to collect it. The baggage was a clear indication of their intention to stay, and a desperate statement that they had no home to go back to, their roots pulled up to be replanted in Montana soil.

“Did ya ever see such a ragtag bunch?” Nate remarked, following the direction of Webb’s interest. “The station agent says they’re just the beginning. The railroad’s cut the fares coming from the East down to next to nothin’. But they’re only sellin’ one-way tickets.

It wouldn’t surprise me if some of those folks didn’t sell nearly everything they owned just to raise the price of the fare. They’ll be lucky if they got a dollar in their pockets.”

“What do they need money for?” Webb countered with wry cynicism. “The land is free.” He mocked the ignorance of the settlers who had arrived here with a pocketful of dreams and little else.

As the wagons loaded with eager settlers pulled away from the train station, their modern-day Moses was at the head, leading the oppressed poor to their so-called Promised Land.

“Let’s get that buckboard over by the depot.” Nate pushed his lanky frame into motion, but Webb dawdled a second. His gaze traveled after the rumbling wagons, trying unsuccessfully to pick out the one the young woman had climbed in.

When the freight was secured in the back of the wagon, they headed back to the main part of town. The general store had the distinction of being the original building in the small settlement. It bore little resemblance to its log-cabin beginnings, especially with the false front dressing up the entrance side. Although it still bore the name of Fat Frank Fitzsimmons, his widow had sold it several years ago when Frank died and she decided to go back east where she had family. The new owner was a man named Ollie Ellis, middle-aged and aggressive in seeking trade with the ranchers in the area. He believed in serving his customers, anxious to discover their needs and fill them so they wouldn’t take their business elsewhere. Few ranchers did.

The Triple C Ranch represented a big account to the merchant. When Webb walked into the store, Ollie Ellis came out from behind the counter to greet him. He was a stocky man with a shock of sandy hair, businesslike in his attitude, “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Calder.” Even though Webb was the son of the owner, Ollie always addressed with the respect he felt was the due of the heir apparent to the Calder Cattle Company. “We’ve been having a fine spring, haven’t we?”

“The weather has held nicely so far,” Webb agreed, resenting that he was acknowledged and Nate was relegated to second place in importance.

“Hello, Nate.” Ollie was freer with the cowboy, a back-slapping quality to his greeting. “How’s the tobacco holding out?”

“I’ll be needing another can,” Nate replied, not seeing the slight Webb saw.

Taking the list of needed supplies from his pocket, Webb handed it to the store’s proprietor. The man looked it over wi

thout comment as he walked behind the counter.

“Did you happen to notice those wagons filled with new settlers that went through town just before you came into the store?” the merchant asked as he began filling the order.

“We were down at the station when they came in.” Nate nodded in reply. “They are figurin’ to file homestead claims hereabouts.”

“That’s what I heard. Rumor is they are going to start streaming to this area.” Ollie Ellis looked skeptical. “It’s for sure the railroad is out there beating the drums to bring them in.” Aware of where his loyalties belonged, he quickly made certain Webb was informed of them, too. “’Course, I don’t put much stock in all that talk about turning this land into one giant wheat-field. This has always been grazing land for cattle or sheep—and before that, for buffalo and antelope.”

“That’s what they said before the farmers started fencing in Kansas and stopping all the trail herds.” Some of that Webb remembered from his childhood, “Dodge City is about as tame as towns come now, filled with farmers on market day instead of cowboys blowing off steam after months on the trail.”