Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“That damned fool just shot at us!” Ike exclaimed. “We’re out of range.” Webb had already gauged the distance.

Another clod of dirt and grass went flying two feet in front of them, and a pulsebeat later the sound of the shot came. This time he saw the puff of smoke from the rifle. The squatter was using the wagon wheel for a gunrest. Webb’s horse rolled an eye and chewed nervously on the bit.

“Do you suppose he knows we’re out of range?” Nate inquired. “Could be just a warning for us to keep our distance.”

“If he didn’t know it before, he knows it now.” Webb regarded it as unimportant as he reached to loosen the flap of his scabbard and drag out his rifle.

“If he’s out of range, we’re out of range.” Nate eyed the rifle as if Webb should have figured that out.

“Glad you mentioned that.” There was a trace of a smile on his mouth as Webb unknotted the kerchief around his throat and tied it to the end of his rifle. “You boys stay here while I see if I can’t ride down there and talk some sense to him before someone gets hurt.”

Nate reached down for his rifle. “I got the feeling that ole boy ain’t too interested in talking. We’ll keep you covered just in case.”

The kerchief wasn’t white, but the message was just the same. Webb reined the chestnut around, the rifle butt resting on his thigh and the muzzle aimed at the sky with the kerchief waving a truce banner. His mount was not too sure of this whole business and moved forward at a mincing walk. Webb kept his gaze fixed sharply on the man and boy as they were joined by the second boy, also carrying a rifle. He was just passing the area where the first two shots had ripped up clods of dirt when he saw the rifles being lifted to their shoulders.

“Don’t be damned fools,” Webb muttered under his breath and kept kneeing his reluctant horse forward. It might just be they wanted to keep him in their sights in case he tried anything.

A second later he saw the flash and recoil of the squatter’s rifle. In nearly the same instant, Webb sank his spurs into the chestnut and spun it to the right. The horse almost jumped out from under him, issuing a snorting squeal at the sting of a bullet grazing its rump. It bounded into a run, angling for the rounded rim. There was a burst of shots from both sides that left the smell of powder smoke in the air.

The short barrage from the riders had sent the squatter and his sons scurrying for cover behind the wagon, hitting no one but coming close enough to scare them. When Webb had safely rejoined them, the shooting stopped.

“I had a notion they weren’t going to be reasonable,” Nate declared.

“What now?” Ike looked at Webb. “It’d be a bit foolhardy to go chargin’ down there like we were the cavalry. They got the wagon for cover.”

“Do you want me to slip over there?” A new rider with the outfit by the name of Virg Haskell indicated the north rim of the hollow. “The camp would be within range from there. I could start slappin’ some shots around that wagon, keep them pinned down while the rest of you ride in.”

“No.” Webb rejected that suggestion. “There’s too much risk a stray shot might injure the woman and those two children in the tent. I’ve got a better idea. “Ike—” He turned in his saddle to face the rider as he gave his instructions. “You, Slim, Virgil, and Hank gather up a good-sized bunch of steers. Once you’ve got them together, we’ll stampede them through the camp and follow them in. The rest of us will stay here and keep an eye on things.”

After the four cowboys had pulled away from the knoll to begin rounding up some of the steers grazing this section of the range, Webb swung out of his saddle. Nate hooked a knee across his saddlehorn and began rolling a cigarette.

“That squatter is going to figure you’re sending for reinforcements.” Nate peered down at the camp while he licked at the paper. “He’s already acting nervous about where the boys went.”

“He just don’t know our reinforcements are the four-footed kind,” Webb said dryly as he examined the slight flesh wound that had laid a red track across the top of the chestnut’s rump. It shifted nervously under his touch, “You’ll live, fella,” Webb pronounced and absently stroked its neck.

The sun was almost directly overhead before Webb heard the lowing of moving cattle. There were about fifty steers in the bunch the riders had collected and were driving toward the hollow. Climbing into the saddle, Webb swung the chestnut around to join up with the small herd.

“That squatter is really going to be wonderin’ what’s up now.” Nate chuckled as he brought his horse alongside the chestnut.

“He won’t be wondering for long.”

Slim Trumbo and Ike Willis were riding the swing position at the front of the herd. Webb and the other riders doubled up in the flank and drag posts. When the steers crested the knoll, rifles were fired in the air to start them running. Slim and Ike raced alongside the leaders until they were assured the steers were heading directly for the wagon. Then they fell back with the other riders, using the herd as a protective shield to enter the squatters’ camp.

The running cattle avoided the flapping canvas of the tent and split in two groups to flow around the wagon, forcing the man and his sons to scramble under it or be run over by the range-wild steers. Before the last animal had charged past the wagon, the riders were peeling out of their saddles. There was a brief scuffle with the man and his sons before they were disarmed.

“Check the tent and be sure they’re all right.” Webb directed the order at Slim Trumbo, then confronted the squatter and his skinny, carrot-haired boys. They were a pitiful sight in their ragged clothes and underfed bodies. The man faced him, his eyes glaring with a pride that showed a fine mist of tears. “I don’t know who you are, mister, or what you thought you were doing, but somebody could have got hurt.” He had to harden himself against the sight of the hollow-cheeked woman and the two big-eyed children emerging from the tent ahead of Slim. “You should have had a care for them, if not yourself.”

“I have a care, and that’s to put food in their bellies,” the squatter retorted, showing no remorse under the circumstances.

“That fence you cut a mile back was the boundary line of the Triple C Ranch. You’re on private property, so I’ll ask you to pack up your wagon and leave the way you came.”

“Our horses, Pa,” one of the boys said.

“They took off with the cattle.” Nate explained the boy’s remark to Webb.

“Virg, catch up their plow ponies and bring them back,” Webb instructed.

“This is just a small patch of ground,” the squatter argued. “With all the land your boss owns, he ain’t gonna miss this little chunk. Why don’t you boys just ride away and tell him that you chased us off? He’ll never know we’re here.”