Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

Webb lifted his head slowly, trying to read the man’s expression, but the flickering matchlight didn’t reach the pugnacious features. “I’m considering it. Why?” He tried to sound casual.

“Just wondered.” Bull lit his own cigar and sent up puffs of smoke while Webb doubted that Bull Giles “just wondered” about anything. Bull shook out the match and looked at the buildings beyond them. “The first time I saw this place, there was only a log cabin. Benteen has sure built himself quite a spread.”

“Yup.” It was a noncommittal agreement. “Every bit of land you can see is sitting under a Calder sky.”

“It’s a big sky,” Bull commented with seeming idleness.

“And a big chunk of ground,” Webb added.

“It takes a big man to run all this, but I guess I don’t have to tell you that.” Bull removed the cigar from his mouth and studied the glowing tip.

“No, I don’t guess you do.” Webb shifted restlessly, feeling he had escaped a lecture from his father only to get it from a longtime friend of the family.

“He’s getting tired. He needs to start turning over some of the control to others. It’s getting to be too much for him.” Bull changed positions to bring Webb into his direct line of sight.

“I suppose the next thing you’re going to suggest is for me to start filling my father’s shoes.”

Something close to a smile broke across the man’s face. “Is that what’s bothering you? You don’t like the idea of walking in your father’s footsteps?”

“No, I don’t,” Webb stated flatly. “He made his mark, and I’m proud of him.”

“But you want to carve out your own,” Bull concluded, surprising Webb at his ability to understand the situation so clearly. “You’re a fool, Webb Calder.”

“Sir?” He stiffened at the insult, questioning that he’d heard right.

“I said you are a fool,” Bull repeated calmly. “The day your father’s gone, you aren’t going to be walking in his footsteps. You’re going to be picking up where he left off. And if you don’t walk strong and tall, you’re going to get stepped on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve been watching you. Between the little I’ve seen of you and a few comments your father has made, I’ve gained the impression that you’re trying to straddle a fence. You try to act like all the other hands and just put in your day’s work, but there’s a gnawing in you to make some kind of mark so others can see where you’ve been.”

“And?” Webb neither confirmed nor denied it.

“And”—he puffed on the cigar—“you’re going to have to get off the fence. You could have this ranch someday. Whether you believe you’ve done anything to earn it or not, you’re going to have to fight to keep it. Because there will be somebody out there who will want to take it away from you. Getting something is easy, but keeping it is the real test of a man. You keep that in mind while you’re thinking about Texas.”

“I’ll give it some thought.” He rolled the cigar between his lips, tasting the richness of the blend. “This is a good cigar.”

“The best.” Bull leaned on his cane and used its support to pivot toward the door. “I guess I’ll call it a night.”

“Me, too.” Webb moved slowly to the steps, his gaze shifting to night-darkened land.

On the Fourth of July, the Triple C headquarters seemed like a ghost town. Everyone had gone into town to take part in the celebrations, leaving Webb, the antisocial cook Grizzly Turner, and another cowhand named Budd Pappas behind.

All the odd jobs Webb planned to do were finished by early afternoon. He’d never been comfortable sitting around just idling time away. After a dozen games of solitaire and an equal number of cups of coffee, he prowled restlessly around the cookshack.

“Why don’t you light somewheres?” Grizzly Turner grumbled irritably. “You’re as edgy as a range bull with mating season just around the corner.”

Webb ignored the complaint and carried his cup to the cookstove to refill it. Black coffee dribbled out and barely covered the bottom of his cup before the pot went dry. He shook it and glanced at the cook.

“We’re out of coffee.”

“Yeah, well, ain’t that just tough,” the cook snarled. “Why didn’t you go into town with everybody else? There ain’t nothing for you to do here but make my life miserable.”

Webb started to snap an answer about the cook’s miserable nature, then shut his mouth on it and set the cup on the stove. The restlessness in him was growing until he wished he had gone into town to blow off steam with the others. The more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became.

“You’ve got a good idea there, Grizzly.” He snatched his hat off the wall hook and pushed it onto his head. “I’m heading into town. The ranch is all yours.”

“And good riddance to you, too,” Grizzly Turner called after him as Webb walked out the door to head for the corral.