This Calder Range (Calder Saga 1)

“You never can tell, Giles. What’s bad for Benteen Calder might turn out to be good for you,” Boston suggested. “See what you can arrange, and get a message to me.”

From the smell of Big Ed Sallie, he hadn’t had any contact with water for years. The flopped brim of his hat shadowed the blue of his eyes without concealing their cunning shine. His shaggy, unkempt beard emphasized the jagged scar on his cheek where the hair didn’t grow. He wore a buffalo coat, a reminder of his previous profession. Its fur had grown mangy and stank with the odor of whiskey, vomit, and man’s sweat.

“Bull said you wanted to talk to me.” When his lips pulled back to speak, they showed yellow teeth stained by tobacco juice. He turned his head and spat a yellow stream at the ground.

“I do,” Loman confirmed. His icy gray glance slid past Big Ed Sallie to the band of cutthroats sitting their horses in a clump of trees. His glance swung to Bull Giles, who had guided him to this meeting place out in the middle of nowhere. “Your job’s done. You can go.”

Giles shrugged that it was Janes’s funeral and backed his horse a few steps, then reined it in a half-circle to leave. Janes waited until the sound of trotting hooves had receded behind him while continuing to measure the renegade leader with his eyes.

“You must think you’re pretty tough.” The saddle creaked under Big Ed Sallie as he shifted his weight and rested both hands on the horn. “There’s some that might be worried ‘bout my friends waitin’ over there for me.”

“Why should I worry about them when I got a clear shot at you?” Loman called the attempt to bluff him.

Big Ed chortled in his throat, a gleam of respect showing in his eyes. “What is it you want?”

“It’s gettin’ close to that time of year when the Indians will be comin’ to buy your whiskey,” Janes began.

“It’s illegal to sell whiskey to Indians. I don’t know if I like you makin’ such a charge against me.” Big Ed cocked his head.

“Drunk or sober, an Indian’s just as worthless,” Janes said. “It’s nothin’ to me how they spend their money or what they trade for. It’s when they go to raidin’ ranches that I want to talk to you about.”

“I ain’t them red-faces’ keeper.”

“But you sell ’em whiskey, which makes you their friend,” Janes reasoned. “If a friend was to tell them that cattle with a Ten Bar brand was no good, they might listen.”

“They might.” Big Ed thoughtfully rolled the wad of tobacco around in his mouth and spit again, not taking his attention from the pock-faced man.

“And if their friend was to say the Triple C cattle are worth more than any others, it could be they’d take heed.”

“How much are they worth?”

Loman Janes slowly reached backward and lifted the flap of his saddlebag to lift out a leather pouch. He juggled it in his palm a minute to make the gold coins inside rattle against each other; then he tossed it to Big Ed.

“And there’ll be a bonus later on when we see how successful you are,” Janes said.

“In other words, you’re payin’ me to rustle Triple C cattle?” Big Ed smiled.

“How could I do that?” he mocked. “You said yourself that you aren’t those Indians’ keeper. How could anyone blame you if the Indians ‘happen’ to raid Triple C cattle more than any other ranchers’ in the area?”

“Yeah.” Big Ed nodded

, his smile widening into a grin. “That’s right.”

When Lorna heard the clatter of the buggy wheels outside the cabin, she ran smoothing hands over her hair and walked quickly to the door. She glanced over her shoulder at the two boys napping on the short cots, then stepped outside.

The buggy had stopped, but Bull Giles still held the reins. Lady Crawford leaned forward in the rear seat when Lorna approached, and inquired, “Where can I find Benteen?”

“He’s up the hill.” Lorna indicated the house with a nod of her head.

“Thank you.” The woman sat back and waved a hand at Giles to order him to drive on.

The breath Lorna released came out in a troubled sigh. She turned and walked slowly back to the cabin door. As she paused on the threshold, her gaze strayed to the hill, where the black buggy stopped in front of the house. She saw Benteen come out and help Lady Crawford down. Then the two of them disappeared inside the house.

It wasn’t the first such visit Lady Crawford had made. She’d been to the ranch on two other occasions. Neither time had she visited with Lorna at all, not even briefly. Benteen had explained that he was undertaking a business venture with her, but avoided telling Lorna any details.

But it was more than being excluded from their business conversations that bothered Lorna. It was Benteen’s reluctance to discuss anything about Lady Crawford with her. Something was changing him. It seemed to have started that night he’d sat up drinking. He had become preoccupied lately, uncommunicative.

Sighing again, she turned and entered the cabin.