Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

The road into Blue Moon was crowded with wagons piled high with the meager possessions of drylanders who had packed it up and called it quits. For them, this last setback was the final blow. They had neither the resources nor the willpower to try again. Chickens squawked protests in their wooden cages and rib-thin dogs trotted alongside the slow-moving wagons, following their broken and dispirited masters. A couple of wagons had a milk cow in tow that they hoped to sell and have a little money to make a new start somewhere far away from Montana and the hard luck they’d known.

With each mile they traveled, Lilli grew more silent. There were familiar faces amidst the homeless bands they passed. Each time Webb drove up behind another wagon, she mentally braced herself, wondering whom she would recognize this time. At the approach of their automobile, the wagons pulled off onto the side of the road to let them pass, giving Lilli a short glimpse of the occupants. It was always a relief when they turned out to be strangers.

She stole a glance at Webb and saw the grimness in his hard-bitten features. She doubted that he was silent for the same reason she was. Despite the rain three days ago, dust was hanging over the land like a persistent cloud of doom. Where once there had been neatly plowed fi

elds on either side of the road, the ground was ripped apart by new ravines and gulches. It resembled something in its death throes, twisted and contorted and writhing in agony. She suspected that a small part of him felt pity for the people who had lost all hope, but mostly he was hurt by what they had done to the land.

Chase squirmed in her lap, inactive for too long. He stiffened out his body, wanting to stand up and see something, but Lilli held him tightly.

Blue Moon was equally cheerless when they reached it. More businesses were boarded up. The street was aswarm with drylanders, those that wanted to stick it out and those that were part of the exodus. Some were lined up at the bank, hoping for another loan to buy more seed or to sell their homestead claim for whatever they could get. Others were trying to sell their livestock or furniture so they could buy what they needed. More were trying to barter for needed goods, or persuade the remaining shopkeepers to extend them more credit.

The only available place to park the automobile was at the train station, where a lucky few who possessed the price of a ticket were waiting for the next train. Lilli was slow to open her door, and Webb came around to give her and the baby a hand out.

“I’m sorry I asked you to bring me to town,” she said. She hadn’t been to town since before Chase was born. She had been looking forward to it, but it was turning out to be depressing. “I keep remembering how you tried to warn us, but nobody listened.”

He stiffened at the way she aligned herself with the drylanders. His hand was holding her left one, and he rolled his thumb across her wedding ring. “It happened. There’s nothing you can do about it, and nothing I can do.” He tucked her hand under his arm and smiled. “Where would you like to go first, Mrs. Calder?”

“Home.” Which was the truth, but she immediately changed it, aware that Webb couldn’t empathize with her desire to avoid this scene. He hadn’t shared the kind of dreams these people had lived on the way she had. “No.” She smiled quickly. “We’ll go to Ellis’s store so I can buy some material to make Chase some clothes. He’s growing much too fast and you don’t have any more old shirts left.”

In front of Sonny Drake’s restaurant, Webb almost bumped into Ed Mace. The rancher stopped, his breath reeking of whiskey. His bulk had gone to paunch, and there was a flatness in his eyes.

“Come inside, Webb.” Ed grabbed his arm, the grip of his hand lacking strength. If he noticed Lilli and the baby at all, he didn’t acknowledge them, “I want to buy you a drink.”

“Some other time, Ed,” Webb refused calmly.

“Won’t be no other time.” The man breathed in, and the resulting sound resembled a sniffle. “I had to sell out.”

“What are you talking about?” His gaze narrowed on the old man, trying to decide if he was sober enough to know what he was saying.

“I sold the Snake M. That rain we had—well, I’d just bought me a bunch of cows to start buildin’ up my herd again. There was a flash flood on my place. More’n half of ’em got caught. They drowned.” He looked out to the street with a vacant stare. “It busted me, that’s what it did. I’m finished. It’s all gone—everything I worked for all my life is wiped out with one rain.”

“You sold the ranch?” Webb still couldn’t take it in.

“Yeah. Pettit took it off my hands.” He paused glumly. “I’ve said bad things about him, but I think Old Tom would be proud of the way his son stands by his friends.” His attention was drawn to the baby in Lilli’s arms. The little billed cap tied on his head was askew from his constant twisting to see all that was going on around him. Ed Mace staggered closer, putting out a gnarled and work-worn hand for the baby to investigate. “You’ve got a fine-lookin’ son, Webb. Never had any kids myself. I guess it’s a good thing.” His tongue was rambling the way a man’s does when it’s loosened by liquor. “What could I leave him? I lost the ranch—lock, stock, and barrel. Got me enough money to get to Mexico. Maybe I can find me a little place down there where I can run a couple of cows, and have one of them dark-eyed senoritas cook for me.”

“You’re going to Mexico, then.” It was hard for Webb to meet the man’s eyes. He felt pity for him, and despite all Ed’s talk, he had too much pride to tolerate anyone feeling sorry for him.

“Got me a ticket.” Ed Mace nodded, still letting the baby grab at a callused finger. Then his hand dropped and his eyes became watery. “Hell, I never did like tequila, but at least it’s legal down there.” He rubbed a hand across his mouth. “I’m gonna have another one of Sonny’s specials. Take care of that boy, Webb.”

There was no repeat of his invitation to buy Webb a drink as the former rancher turned and lurched back inside the roadhouse. All Prohibition had accomplished in Blue Moon was to raise the price of a drink. Sheriff Potter had already shown a willingness to ignore what was in the cups served to some of the customers. It was pretty much business as usual. In this dry country, liquor was more plentiful than water.

There were a lot of things Webb was mulling over in his mind, but he didn’t mention any of them to Lilli. It wasn’t just drylanders that were cutting their losses and selling out; ranchers were going under, too. There were simply more of the former. He was curious how many properties would end up in Doyle Pettit’s name.

There was a small commotion in the wagon-crowded street. One glance and Webb spotted the cause of it. Hobie Evans and the two hardcases he ran with were getting their kicks out of harassing those drylanders who were pulling up stakes.

“You thought you could come here and take what didn’t belong to you, didn’t ya?” Hobie was tormenting one family piled onto their wagon to leave town. The children were cringing from his jeering face. “You thought you’d come to the Promised Land, but it turned out to be Hell, didn’t it? Your crops burned up in the fields; your wells went dry; and your land was blown away. It was the Promised Land, all right, because when the first of you came, I promised to make it Hell for all of you.” His laughter was a harsh, mocking sound that seemed to carry above the rattle of wagons and the clopping hooves of horses. “I’m the son of the Devil. Didn’t you know that?”

He made a lunge at the children and they shrieked in terror. He laughed again and slapped the flat of his hand across the rump of the spavined-looking draft horse. It jumped in surprise, and the drylander had to saw on the reins to keep his team from bolting into some pedestrians crossing the street in front of him.

“Hey, Hobie!” The breed cowboy had found another subject, now that the other wagon was leaving. “Look over here!”

A homesteader was hawking a mantel clock from the tailgate of his wagon. It was the most valuable possession he owned, a family heirloom that had traveled across oceans only to be sold on a dusty street so he could buy food for another journey.

“What you got there, mister?” Hobie sauntered over to the wagon. The man protectively clutched the clock in his arms, warily eyeing the three men converging on him. His wife anxiously tugged at his sleeve, trying to persuade him to climb into the wagon with her. “Ain’t ya going to let me see it?” Hobie challenged with a sneer. “If a man’s interested in buyin’ something, he’s got a right to look at it first.”

“I’ll sell it for ten dollars.” The desperate man reluctantly offered the clock to Hobie for his inspection. “It’s worth ten times that.”

“Hell, this thing’s old. Do you see how old this is?” He showed it to his friends. “I bet it can’t even keep time.”