Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

Potter was still trying to convince the drylanders the water was safe when Webb stepped into his saddle and rode his horse over to the sheriff. “Never mind,

Potter,” he said. “We’re pulling out. If they don’t want the water, we’ll use it ourselves.”

The sheriffs surprised expression objected to his decision, but Webb didn’t wait for him to put it into words as he reined his horse toward the wagons and signaled his men to leave. Their confusion and disbelief were understandable, since they didn’t know about the planned switch with Doyle Pettit’s wagons. He explained it to them when they were outside of town.

It was better than two hours before Doyle met them at the appointed place with his wagons. He had changed from his spiffy eastern suit and tie into range clothes. It was a trick Doyle had learned, changing his attire to suit the people and surroundings, rather like a chameleon.

In town, he was the businessman. When he called on the drylanders at their homesteads, he’d take off his jacket, loosen his tie, and roll up his sleeves. For ranchers like Webb, he kept a set of worn jeans, a work-stained hat, and a sheepskin-lined jacket to remind them he was one of them—Tom Pettit’s son.

None of them looked beyond his facade and good-natured demeanor to see the driving ambition and shrewdness in his eyes. It was common knowledge that he owned the bank, the lumberyard, the granary, and a couple other businesses in town, plus his law practice.

Hell, he owned nearly the whole damned town. But Doyle was sure that few were aware that his holdings were so extensive they rivaled the Calder spread. It wasn’t the time for them to know, but it amused him to think about it, especially now in his meeting with Webb Calder.

“It’s good of you to give these homesteaders your water,” he told Webb. “I’d have the boys haul some from the TeePee,” he said, referring to the ranch he’d inherited from his father. “But we’re just about bone-dry out there.”

That wasn’t precisely true. The ranch had some water to spare, but there wasn’t any point in giving it away as Calder was doing. In time, those drylanders would be buying water, and that’s when Doyle planned to dip into his supply. In the meantime, he could take advantage of Webb’s largesse and take the credit for being the homesteaders’ savior. It was going to be good public relations.

“I’ve got a couple of good-flowing rivers.” Webb hadn’t needed to mention that, since Doyle was well aware of the fact. “As long as they keep running, we’ll have some water to spare.”

“The way Kreuger’s got those folks set against you, I think it’d be best if I send my wagons to your place and let them believe it’s coming from me,” Doyle suggested.

“That’s fine.” Webb didn’t care what form the ruse took as long as those who needed water got it.

“After we get this load into town, I’ll have wagons go to your place and bring more water tomorrow. These barrels aren’t going to go very far.” The last barrel was rolled onto a TeePee wagon, and Doyle firmly shook Webb’s hand. “Give my regards to your wife. You sure never gave me a chance to give you a little competition for her.”

As he climbed onto the wagon seat, Doyle knew he hadn’t been seriously interested in the widow Webb had married, but it had been the right thing to say to Calder. Marriage was down the road for him, and he was going to choose carefully—maybe pick a rich eastern bride. An alliance, that’s what he wanted- A marriage that would better his position.

Before returning to town, he took the precaution of circling the wagons around it and entering from another direction so Kreuger and his drylanders wouldn’t suspect he was actually bringing them Calder water. When the drivers stopped the wagons in front of the dry community well, the crowd of homesteaders gathered around them and readily lined up to get their share.

When someone thanked him, Doyle smiled and modestly shrugged it off. “I’m just glad I could help.” His arcing glance caught Franz Kreuger watching him. “We all have to stick together in hard times like these.” He knew it was a doctrine Kreuger often preached, and he deliberately voiced it now. He saw the faint nod of approval Kreuger unconsciously made and knew he had the ringleader of these drylanders in his pocket. “If there’s anything any of you need, I’ll be at the bank.”

In the group, there were at least four homesteaders that he knew were in dire straits. They’d be coming to him for a loan, since he already held mortgages on their land. This time he’d have their animals and equipment. Next spring, Doyle Pettit, the landowner, would pay them a tenth of what their homesteads and possessions were worth and they’d get down on their knees and thank him for it. All of them believed he loaned them money to help them, and later bought them out, out of the goodness of his heart, wiping away their debts and giving them just enough money to get them out of the state. As he made his way through the gathering to return to the bank, he saw the gratitude in their faces and nearly laughed out loud.

With a definite pride, he looked at all the businesses that carried his name. They’d brought him a handy bit of cash, the prices on the goods sold marked up two and three times what he’d paid for them. Since the drought came, most of them had been operating at a loss, but Doyle was convinced it was only a temporary setback. There was a side benefit to the town’s present poor economic situation. Businesses that had gone into competition with his were now starting to close their doors. It wouldn’t be long before he had the whole town sewn up.

Three riders were tying their horses to the hitch rail in front of the bank. Doyle’s interest sharpened when he recognized the old and heavyset man approaching the bank entrance. It was Ed Mace from the Snake M Ranch. There was something tired and defeated about the way the aging rancher carried himself. Doyle wondered how much of that was attributable to his sixty-plus years. Doyle couldn’t think of any reason Mace would be coming to his bank unless he needed money. That started him thinking. There just might be a way he could get his hands on the Snake M Ranch.

Before the rancher reached the bank door, Doyle Pettit hailed him, chatted with him on the sidewalk for a few minutes, then invited him inside as if he hadn’t known it was Mace’s destination all along. In the privacy of his office, Doyle kept the talk away from the bank and loans, discussing instead ranching and range conditions. Slowly he worked his way around to the hardships of the drought and the effects it was having on the area ranchers.

“There isn’t a cattleman around that hasn’t been hurt by this drought—men like you, for instance,” Doyle said. “Ever since I went on the first roundup with my daddy, I’ve looked up to ranchers like you. You’re solid people, and your word is good as gold. I want you to know, Ed, if you ever need a loan to help you over a hump, just tell me and you’ve got it.”

“Well . . . it has been a rough year,” he admitted, pride making it difficult to state why he’d come. “I have been considerin’ arranging to get a small loan.”

“You just tell me how much you want and I’ll make a draft for you this very minute.” He reached into his desk for the loan forms and picked up a pen to begin filling them out. Then he stopped and looked across the desk at the rancher, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “I hate turning down business, but you might be better off raising money another way.”

Ed Mace looked skeptical. As far as he was concerned, he had explored every other option to no avail and now found himself backed into a comer, forced to come to the bank with his hat in his hand. Although, he had to admit, so far Doyle Pettit had made it quite painless.

“How?” he asked.

“You’ve got cattle, and prices have never been higher than they are right now. Why don’t you sell off your breeding stock?” Doyle suggested craftily. “Next year, you’ll be able to start building up a new herd at probably half the price that you can sell your cows for now.”

Doyle failed to mention that next year Ed Mace wouldn’t have cattle to use for collateral, which meant he’d have to mortgage his ranch. After that, buying the ranch cheaply would become a simple matter. It would stretch his own finances thin, but the risk was worth it to get possession of the Snake M Ranch.

26

The leaves had fallen from the cotton-woods an

d willows growing along the banks of the river. The skeletal outlines of trunks and branches stood starkly against the tan haze of an October sky. Webb had thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket as he stared at the muddy riverbed. Behind him the ranch buildings of the Triple C sat on sun-baked ground and The Homestead was silhouetted against the jagged northern horizon. But it was the muddy pools of water in scattered pockets along the riverbed that commanded his attention.