Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

The nurse had been resting in the sitting room of the private car. At the sound of voices, she came to the door and looked in. “Mrs. Calder, the porter came with a message a moment ago. He said to tell you that we had crossed the Yellowstone.”

“Did you hear that, Benteen?” Lorna turned eagerly to him. The tightness of pain that had been about his face was smoothed away by contentment. A shaft of cold fear plunged into her heart. “Benteen?” She reached for him with both hands as the nurse came hurrying toward the bed, “No!” It was a cry of rage that ended in a wall of raw grief.

The frigid wind blew the light covering of snow into dancing white spirals around the train depot. It was a solemn and silent cluster of cowboys who waited on the platform to meet the train puffing into the station. The shivering doctor was standing amidst the men huddling in their coats against the cold.

The private

car was easily distinguishable from the others. Webb started for it the instant the locomotive reversed to a skidding stop on the ice-slick rails. He swung onto the car and pushed open the door, not bothering to knock. A woman in white turned with a start, in the midst of tying on a long wool cape. After a glance at Webb, she looked toward the opened door to the car’s second room. Webb went striding to it.

After barely a step inside, he halted. His mother was sitting primly in a chair, her hands folded on her lap. She lifted a stark, tearless face to him. Then his gaze shifted to the bed and the sheet-draped form. He half-turned, his head lowering as he reeled from the blow.

A black wreath hung on the front door of The Homestead, Webb climbed the steps and stopped to stare at it, the disbelief still numbing him. He turned and looked out over the ranch buildings and the jagged horizon, then lifted his gaze to the high blue sky. The cold froze the tears from his eyes.

“It’s all yours, son. Take care of it.”

That had been one of the last things his father had said to him.

It had taken ice picks, not shovels, but they had buried Chase Benteen Calder this morning. And they had buried him under Calder land.

IV

Stands a Calder man,

All alone is he,

Passing to his son

The Calder legacy.

20

At the head of the table, Webb sat easily in the chair with an arm hooked over the back of it. Initially he had been reluctant to occupy the place that had always been his father’s, but his mother had quietly assured him that she preferred to see him sitting at the head of the table rather than look at an empty chair.

The china cup had long been empty of coffee, but he stayed, listening to the animated flow of conversation between his mother and Bull Giles, Bull had arrived at the ranch shortly after he had received notification of Benteen Calder’s death, and he stayed on, becoming almost a permanent guest. Webb was glad to have him. So much of his time was spent away from The Homestead and his mother was left alone for long periods. It eased his mind to know Bull Giles was on hand to keep her company.

“Webb, this Sunday you must have Bull teach you how to drive the Model T,” his mother declared with a glitter of excitment in her eyes. “He took me for a ‘spin’ today. We went so fast that it just took my breath away.”

When the automobile had arrived, Webb had thought his mother would want him to get rid of it, since it had caused his father’s attack. But she didn’t attach any blame to the vehicle. The Model T had been his father’s last purchase, and she placed more importance on that.

“Did you drive it?” he asked.

“I tried.” She laughed. “It bucked worse than a wild horse. I couldn’t get those pedals on the floor to work right. ‘Clutching,’ is that what you call it?” She asked Bull to verify the term, and he nodded. “And you have to grip the wheel with both hands. It jerks your arms so on rough ground trying to hold on to it that I’ll probably be sore for a week. But it was so much fun.”

“I can tell.” Webb smiled at her. “It’s so good to hear you laugh.”

Her expression became quietly thoughtful as she smoothed a hand over the waistline of her black dress and glanced at her old friend and companion. “I guess Bull has always known how to make a girl feel good, if only for a little while.”

“I try, Lorna. I try.” Bull Giles was smiling widely, but a kind of hurt flickered in his eyes. “Is there any coffee left? I believe I’d like one more cup.”

“There is.” His mother reached for the service to fill his cup. “Webb, how about you?”

“No—” His refusal was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Webb lifted his head as the scuffle of boots and clanking spurs approached the dining room.

Ike Willis and Nate Moore walked in, and removed their hats the minute they noticed a woman was present. Ike’s face was streaked with the same dust that powdered his clothes. Both men had serious looks etched in their faces.

“What’s up?” Webb glanced from one to the other, his eyes narrowing slightly as he waited for one of them to speak.

“We’ve got a family of squatters over on the east rim,” Ike said.