This Calder Range (Calder Saga 1)

Benteen didn’t say yes or no. “We’re gonna be holdin’ this herd outside of Fort Worth for about a week while I get supplies and take care of a few personal matters. I’ll be needin’ some extra help to spell the boys. They’ll have to be dependable.”

“You can depend on me. I can do whatever needs to be done,” the boy promised eagerly.

“It wouldn’t be easy,” Benteen cautioned.

“Work’s never easy. I can handle anything, though,” Joe Dollarhide boasted.

“Have you got a saddle?” His pointed glance drew attention to the chestnut’s bare back.

“No,” he admitted on a grimly reluctant note, then asserted, “But I’m gonna buy me one when I draw my first pay.”

“I think you’re gonna need something in the meantime,” Benteen murmured dryly. “It’s kinda hard holdin’ on to the end of a rope when there’s an eight-hundred-pound steer on the other end who doesn’t want to be there.”

“I’ll manage,” the youngster insisted, determined not to lose his chance at the job.

It was a fool’s brag, but Benteen let it slide by without comment. “I’ll give you a try for a few days. If you work out, I’ll sign you on for the rest of the drive. Does that sound fair, Joe Dollarhide?”

“You bet!” he exclaimed. “You won’t be sorry. I promise.”

“If you stay on, I’ll pay you thirty dollars a month and found. But you can’t cowboy without a saddle. Until you get your own, I better see if we can’t find a spare one for you to use.” There was an old one in the barn, if Benteen remembered right. It was the worse for wear, but better than nothing.

“I’ll pay for the use of it,” Joe Dollarhide insisted proudly.

“Ride on home and get your possibles together. I’ll expect you right after daybreak tomorrow morning,” Benteen stated. “If I’m not here, report to Jessie Trumbo. He’ll tell you what to do.”

Joe Dollarhide pushed his hand to Benteen to shake on the agreement. “I sure do want to thank you for considerin’ hirin’ me to go north with the herd. I’ll do good for you. It’s time I was seein’ somethin’ more of this world ’sides Texas.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Benteen’s mouth as he shook hands with the boy. That thirst for excitement and adventure ran hot in the young. Despite Joe Dollarhide’s inexperience, there was something about the boy he liked.

Dollarhide started to turn the draft horse’s head and ride off, then seemed to remember somet

hing and kept the animal parallel with Benteen.

“I meant to say that I was right sorry to hear about your pa, Mr. Calder.” There was a stiffness to his words as he tried to show proper respect.

Benteen’s eyes narrowed to become hard and probing. “My pa? What do you mean?” He had a way of looking at a man that made him wish he was somewhere else, just as the boy was wishing now.

“Just that … him fallin’ over dead was so suddenlike and all.” The movement of the boy’s shoulders was an uncomfortable gesture.

Benteen showed nothing in his face, but the blood inside him ran quick and cold. A heaviness pushed on his chest until he couldn’t breathe.

Dimly he heard Dollarhide say, “I’ll be here at daybreak.”

The nod of his head was automatic, and the kid dug his heels into the broad sides of the big chestnut horse and rode away. For several more minutes Benteen struggled with the icy unreality of the news. There was a mix-up. The kid hadn’t meant his father. Everything in him fought against accepting it.

The uncertainty was intolerable. He wheeled his horse around and cantered it back along the herd to where Jessie Trumbo was riding flank. Reining his mount in, Benteen kept the tension on the bit and the horse skittered along in a dancing walk.

“I’m riding to the Cee Bar,” he informed Jessie without explanation. “You’re in charge till I get back.”

“Sure.” Jessie eyed him with sharp curiosity. Trouble was always riding nearby in this land. His instinct sensed its closeness now. He’d seen that look in Benteen’s face a few times before, and it never meant anything good.

A twist of the reins and the goad of a dull work spur sent Benteen’s horse bounding into a gallop, veering away from the herd. Benteen kept the mustang at a run, driven by a sense of urgency. When the ranch buildings came into sight, a tightness wound inside him like a clock spring.

His horse was snorting and blowing hard as Benteen pulled it down into a slower gait and approached the house at a cantering trot. A bad feeling ran along his spine. It didn’t get better when Benteen spotted the roan horse in the corral. A Ten Bar brand was burned in its hip.

He started to ride over to the corral for a closer look, when the front door opened and a man stepped onto the porch, a rifle held at the ready. Benteen swung his horse around to face the man.

“You’re trespassing on private property, Benteen.” The man’s voice rang out harsh and clear.