Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“Now, Webb, there ain’t no call for you to get your back up.” Hobie laughed in unconcern and pushed his hat to the back of his head. His horse did a little reversing sidestep that put distance between his rider and Webb Calder and brought the auburn-haired girl into Hobie’s view. “An unfortunate thing happened over at the Snake M Ranch last night, ma’am. It seems something spooked some of our cattle and they stampeded, tearing down a section of fence. After that, they just scattered to the winds. A bunch of us boys are out looking for them right now. If you see any strays wandering around your place with a Snake M brand, we’d be obliged if you’d point them toward home. Sure would hate to see any of ’em get in your wheatfield.”

“I’ll tell my husband to keep an eye out for your cattle,” Lilli said.

“You do that, ma’am.” He nodded, still smiling; then his glance cut to Webb. “See ya ‘round, Calder.”

“I was just leaving myself, Hobie. I’ll ride with you a ways,” Webb stated and eased his hands off the saddle-horn to put his horse in motion.

As they left the house yard, Webb rode on the outside next to Hobie Evans. They followed the tracks made by wagon wheels, dividing the fallow land from the field of ripening wheat. There was nothing Webb could say, no denial he dared make in defense of Lilli’s reputation. He had not intended to do her harm, but he had—irreparably.

“Webb, why do I get the feeling you’re escorting us off this land?” Hobie asked with an amused sidelong look.

“Couldn’t say,” he replied stiffly, then turned a slow, leveling glance at the lantern-jawed cowboy. “Maybe you’ve got a guilty conscience.’

“I don’t know what I’d be guilty of.” Hobie laughed shortly. For several long minutes, the silence was broken only by the shuffle of trotting hooves and the creaking groan of saddle leather. “She wasn’t a bad-lookin’ woman, for a squatter.”

Webb pulled in his horse, a white-hot anger threatening to erupt, as Hobie stopped, feigning surprise. “I wouldn’t say any more, Hobie,” he warned thickly.

“Hey, Webb, come on.” Hobie gestured with an upraised palm to indicate there was nothing to be upset about, and all the while, his eyes mocked. “A young thing like that probably gets lonely. It ain’t nothin’ to me if you wanta cheer her up now and then. I might be tempted myself.”

“I’m going to tell you this—and I’m only going to tell you this once.” His teeth were bared and the blackness in his eyes wasn’t to be ignored. “If anything happens here—if any cow strays into that wheatfield, or any fire accidentally starts—if there is so much as a hand raised against . . . these folks, even in so-called fun, I’ll take it personally. Do I make myself clear?”

“Clear as rainwater.” The amusement had left Hobie’s eyes, leaving them cold and brooding.

“Good. Because if anything happens, I’ll come looking for you.” Webb kept the restraining pressure on the bit. “I’ll leave you here.”

Hobie swept him with a sizing look, then reined in his horse in a slow semicircle to join the two riders waiting for him. Webb stayed where he was, watching them ride on until they began to grow small with the widening distance; then he turned his horse to cut across to the Triple C fenceline.

After they’d traveled another mile, Hobie Evans allowed his horse to drop out of the trot into a long-striding walk. The mounts of the two other riders matched the slower pace. Ace Rafferty sent an anxious look at Hobie.

“How do you s’pose Calder figured out we started that fire?” he asked.

“He didn’t,” Hobie stated. “It was just a shot in the dark. Nobody saw us.”

“Maybe they found the broken lantern,” Ace suggested.

“So?” Hobie challenged. “It was the farmer’s lantern. Who’s to say it didn’t fall and break during the fire?” His gaze made continuous sweeps of the deceptively flat-looking land, a restless and driven quality about his eyes.

The third rider, Bob Sheephead, a half-breed, drifted his horse closer to the other two. “Ain’t that gal the one that’s married to that old fella with the gray whiskers? The one that’s always hanging around with that Roosky?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s where I saw her,” Hobie agreed

without interest in the identity of either of them. They were honyockers, and in his prejudiced mind, that put then in a considerably lower order of life.

“No wonder Calder was prancin’ around her like some range stud.” The breed smiled. “I’ll bet she’s more than just lonely. Maybe we should pay a friendly call on her sometime.”

“You’re crazy.” Ace eyed him with a dubious took. “Sometimes I think you’re more than half Indian. You heard what Calder told Hobie.”

“I’m shakin’ in my boots.” Bob Sheephead grinned. “Ain’t you, Hobie?”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a dry, smiling look. “I’m quivering.”

“You boys do what you like,” Ace declared firmly. “But I ain’t aimin’ to cross a Calder.”

Hobie stood up in his stirrups, looking off to the left. “Would ya look at there?” he murmured. “That’s a bunch of Snake cattle, isn’t it? They’re grazin’ awful close to that drylander’s wheatfield. It’d be a shame if they got into it.”

“It sure would,” Bob Sheephead agreed with a widening grin. “We’d better hurry on down there and stop them.”

“Yeah, we’d better.” Hobie nodded.