This Calder Range (Calder Saga 1)

He edged toward the window, careful not to show himself. A voice boomed from the trading post. “Paulie? Hey, Paulie!”

Crouching low, Benteen darted to the other opening that looked onto the clearing and the cabin. He felt a wetness along his ribs. When he slipped a hand inside his coat, it came away red with blood. A bullet had grazed him. He didn’t know when it had happened.

Bull came up beside him to peer out. “How’s Barnie doin’?”

“They’ve still got the cabin.”

Suddenly a renegade made a break from the cabin, racing across the clearing for the trading post. Both Benteen and Giles squared around the opening, squeezing off shots while a hail of bullets spattered from a side of the cabin. The man gave a little leap, then sprawled facedown in the dirt. He twitched once, then didn’t move again.

“Barnie’s got the cabin,” Bull stated.

There was a noise in the doorway behind them. Benteen swung around, his gun cocked.

“It’s me.” Woolie dragged a wounded cowboy into the shed, one of the vaqueros. “Vince and Bob are at the corner of the shed. Diego’s been hit in the hip.” He paused to lean against the wall and ease the vaquero down. “We gonna rush the post?”

Benteen spied a lantern hanging on a peg by the door. It was more than half-full of kerosene. He slipped it off its hook. “We’re going to burn them out. Tell Barnie.”

While Benteen scraped a match over his pants to light it, Woolie darted to the window and called to the cabin with the orders. He was breathing hard when he came back. “Barnie will go with your move,” he said.

“Give us some cover fire.” Benteen waited another second until the wick was burning strong.

The air was filled with the roar of gunfire as he stepped out of the doorway and hurled the lantern at the front window of the trading post. When he ducked inside, a bullet whapped the frame, sending slivers of wood into his cheek. He heard the crash of the lantern and the whoosh of flames.

“Get ready. They’ll be comin’ out,” he warned the others.

There were three in the trading post. It didn’t take them long to choose which way they wanted to die. The three renegades burst out of the door with guns blazing. One’s coat was on fire, but he was rolled to the ground by a shot. A second man was knocked back into the flames, screaming once. The gun was shot out of the third man’s hand, the bearded one in the buffalo coat.

“That’s Sallie,” Giles said.

“Hold your fire!” Benteen shouted around.

As the Triple C riders emerged from their cover and began stalking the unarmed man, Big Ed Sallie made panting, staggering attempts to find an opening to run through. His eyes were rounded until the whites were showing. He was a panicked animal with no more places to hide.

“What’s this all about?” he pleaded. “Somebody tell me what this is all about?”

“You know what it’s about, Sallie.” Benteen kept his gun leveled on the man.

“No. I swear I don’t.” His breath wheezed through his voice, shrill with panic. “You jest came ridin’ in here, shootin’ up the place.”

“Have you forgot that Triple C herd you tried to run off two nights back?” Benteen challenged. “My son was killed in that.”

“I was here. I swear I was right here.” Behind him, the flames were roaring through the wooden structure, their hissing, popping sounds making a hellish backdrop. “I never stole anybody’s cattle. Not the Triple C. No one’s.”

“He’s lyin’, boss.” Vince Garvey pushed to the front of the tightening circle of cowboys and tossed to the ground a cowhide, carrying the Triple C brand. “This was dryin’ on his fence.”

“I trade with the Indians. I bought it off of them,” he explained frantically while blood dripped from the wound in his hand.

Bull Giles shouldered past Benteen, his ugly features curling with hate. “Let me talk to him. Sallie and me speak the same language.” He pulled his knife and reached down to slash off a strip of rawhide. Handing it to Barnie, he said, “Tie up his hands.” A second strip of rawhide, he took to the watering trough.

“No.” Big Ed Sallie started to struggle. “No!”

Two cowboys jumped forward to help Barnie, overpowering the renegade and forcing his arms behind his back. When they were tied, Bull strolled back with the wet piece of rawhide. He smiled at Sallie as he removed the renegade’s hat.

“I don’t have to tell you about rawhide, do I, Sallie?” He began to tie the wet stri

p around the man’s head, despite his attempts to dodge and duck away. “When it’s wet, it stretches fine.” He pulled it taut and tied a knot by the temple. “But when it dries, it shrinks. It’d pop your skull plumb open, Sallie.”

“No, don’t,” he cried in fear. “It was all your doin’, Bull. You was the one who set me up.”