Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

The air was crisp and clear, with a little bite to it, as if warning of winter’s advent and attempting to hurry riders about their chores. Webs hazed his last bunch of cows toward the bellowing herd, composed mostly of Hereford cattle and crossbreds, milling under a dust pall. A quarter-mile from the noon holding ground, an antisocial cow decided to quit the bunch.

As it bolted for open country, the weary but game bay horse under him made a lightning pivot to give chase and turn it back. But it stumbled on the second stride, nearly unseating Webb, and pulled up fame, favoring its right front leg. With no chance of turning the animal now, Webb figured the tail-high cow was waving good-bye to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of gray and focused on it. A big, iron-gray horse was flattened out in a run to intercept the cow before it reached freedom. Its rider was none other than his father. As Webb dismounted his lame horse, he watched the rider first check the animal’s flight, then block any attempt to proceed until the cow finally gave up and turned to join the herd. There was a lot of cow-savvy evident in the work of both horse and rider, but Webb didn’t remark on it when his father rode over. A man did his job, and if he was good, people noticed. If he wasn’t, they noticed that, too.

When his father stepped down, Webb was running an inspecting hand down the bay’s right foreleg. “How is it?” the senior Calder asked.

“Looks like a strained tendon.” Webb straightened to pat the horse’s neck, already covered in a shaggy winter coat. His father didn’t attempt to verify the diagnosis with his own examination. A rider didn’t question another man’s judgment about his horse. Webb glanced toward the herd and the two riders that had come out to haze his bunch in with the others. “I don’t remember when I saw the cattle in better shape.”

“And they wouldn’t bring half of what they’re worth at market,” his father replied grimly. “I told Barnie to keep back all but the culls and the old stock. We’ve got more hay this year for winter feed, so we should be able to carry them through till spring. Maybe the prices will be up by then.”

“Sooner or later, the market’s bound to turn.” Webb understood the gamble his father was taking, holding that many cattle through the winter.

“Don’t count on it coming soon,” his father warned on a heavy note. “Bull Giles wrote that next year doesn’t look any better than this one. He said there’d probably be a short rise in cattle prices next spring, but not to expect it to hold.”

There was something else troubling his father. Webb sensed there was a reason behind this information. It was leading to something, but he couldn’t put his finger on just what.

“What do you figure—about another week before the roundup’s finished?” his father asked with a sideways look.

“Give or take a day.” Webb nodded his agreement with that timetable. They’d been more than five weeks out now, and the long hours were beginning to show on the men and horses.

“There’s a bunch of the hands I’m going to have to let go—just through the winter, I hope,” his father stated. “I can keep the married ones with families on the payroll, but the others—” He shook his head.

Webb frowned. He’d known the situation wasn’t good, but he hadn’t realized the ranch was in such severe straits that they’d be letting go some of their permanent hands. “Nate? Abe?”

“All of them are welcome to stay on the ranch, sleep in the bunkhouse, and eat in the cookshack, but I can’t pay them wages.” Benteen Calder didn’t single Webb’s two bunkmates out, but he included them by implication.

“We’re going to be carrying all these extra steers through the winter—with fewer men?” Webb couldn’t believe his father intended to take that gamble.

“I don’t have a choice” was the short reply.

There was a moment when Webb couldn’t respond. He looked across this land that stretched a man’s eyes with its limitless reaches. It was raw and wild, a witness to many changes. Webb saw more on the horizon.

“Maybe it’s time to take another look at operations of the ranch,” Webb suggested with a certain grim reluctance.

“What do you mean?” Benteen eyed him with narrowed interest.

“I mean the ranch is solely dependent on cattle. Maybe it’s time to diversify into other things.” He moved to the near side of the bay horse and flipped the stirrup over the saddle seat to loosen the cinch.

“Into what? Sheep? The wool market is as depressed as the cattle market is,” his father pronounced. “Between Australia and Europe, they’ve glutted the market.”

“I wasn’t thinking about sheep,” Webb replied, knowing his suggestion would be regarded as akin to blasphemy by his father. “The big money is in grain.”

“Wheat?” The word came out in a low shock of anger.

“They’re growing wheat all around us,” Webb reasoned firmly. “We’re already part granger now with all the hay we cut and stack. There’s no reason we can’t expand the farming side into wheat. It isn’t the lack of land that would prevent it.”

The angry pain of disillusionment was in his father’s eyes when Webb finally looked at him. “I thought you had some intelligence, but you are as stupid as those drylanders.”

“You mean the ones that are harvesting wheat?” Webb bristled.

“You think I’m gambling because I’m holding over so many cattle. But those drylanders are gambling with land. What happens when they lose?”

“Maybe they won’t lose.” Webb had seen some of the great shocks of wheat standing in the fields adjoining Triple C range while making the roundup.

“They’ll lose, all right,” his father stated in a voice that held no doubt. “This plains country has alternating cycles of wet and dry. Lately we’ve been enjoying the wet years when there’s been adequate rain. But the dry ones will come. They always have and they always will.”

Webb had a cold sensation that wasn’t caused by the nipping breeze. He studied his father with narrowed concentration, listening to the words that came from experience.