This Calder Sky (Calder Saga 3)

than a pair of ruts where it joins the other.”

“They’re smart,” Virg declared.

“They can’t be too smart,” Webb denied, “or they would have figured out we were patroling the roads and had someone on lookout.” He glanced at Nate. “But you are right about one thing, Nate. Only someone who has been on this road before would know it isn’t an abandoned one. It’s entirely possible we have someone local working with this band. The problem is—who?”

None of the three would speculate. The discussion wasn’t continued as Webb noticed Sheriff Potter crossing the road toward him. The short, wide-hipped man walked with small, jerky steps, as if his feet were hurting him. He wasn’t a man to exert himself, firmly believing that things had a way of working themselves out if left alone. He was neither incompetent nor dishonest, but somewhere in the shadows of laziness.

“I talked to your man, Webb,” he stated as he came to a mincing stop to complete the circle partially formed by the three men. “I can’t see where we have any more to go on than we did before. The ground is too churned up to leave any tire tracks that might do us some good. The bullets we got out of the truck are unlikely to tell us anything. They’re an ordinary thirty-thirty slug. Every man in the state of Montana has a hunting rifle. With no license number, no description that would do us any good, I’d say we’re still on square one. But”—the sheriff brightened, or as much as his tired expression would allow—“I think you scared them good, surprising them like that. I’m sure they won’t be back.”

“I hope you’re right, Potter. Thanks for coming out personally.” Webb shook the man’s limp hand.

“It’s my job, Webb.” He shrugged and toddled toward his car.

“And what happens if they do come back?” Nate grumbled to the sheriff’s back.

There was a flicker of amusement in Webb’s dark eyes before they turned to the tired and drawn face of Slim Bevins, who hadn’t yet had any sleep. With the sheriff gone, he wandered across the road to join them. His expression was still apologetic, unable to shake the feeling that he had let his boss down.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of any more help,” he apologized to Webb, and not for the first time. “It just all happened so fast I never really got a good look at anything or anybody. The riders were crouched so low in the saddles that I couldn’t tell if they were tall or short, or fat or thin. All I saw for sure was that there was two of them, plus the driver and another big guy. The trailer was just an ordinary cattle truck, and I couldn’t see any lettering on the cab. If there was a license plate, it was all muddied up,” he sighed and shook his head. “There for a while there was so much lead flying through the air, I thought I was in the middle of a shootout in a Western movie.”

“You did the best you could under the circumstances. I don’t ask more from a man than that.” But Webb was conscious of the frustration he felt at the lack of information the man had been able to obtain.

“Are you positive there isn’t anything, Slim?” Virg Haskell persisted. “None of them called each other by name?”

“Nope.” The man shifted uncertainly and gnawed at the inside of his lip. “There was something familiar about one guy’s voice.”

“Do you mean you had heard it before?” Webb’s gaze narrowed on him.

“Well, it kinda sounded like … Angus O’Rourke,” Slim admitted finally.

“Are you sure?” There was a steel quiet to Webb’s voice.

“That’s just it,” the cowboy sighed. “I’m not sure. That’s why I didn’t mention it before. Hell, it could have been anybody’s voice.”

On that negative note, Webb turned to the man at his right. “Take Slim back to the headquarters so he can get some sleep. And, Virg, let Ruth know I probably won’t be back for lunch until around one.”

“I’ll tell her.” Virg nodded and moved off toward one of the parked trucks, with Slim Bevins tagging along a step behind.

“Seems to me you could use some sleep yourself.” Nate ran a critical eye over the sharply etched lines on Webb’s face. “In case you forgot, you’ve been up all night, too.”

“I’ve gone without sleep before,” Webb retorted.

“Yeah, but you weren’t pushing fifty when you did it,” Nate pointed out.

“What’s the matter, Nate?” A wry glance was cast in the foreman’s direction. “Do you want me to send you back to the bunkhouse so you can get some sleep? You’ve been up all night, too, and you’re right up there with me, pushing close to that half-a-century mark.”

But Nate just grinned. “I’m not the one who’s got a son you might be thinking you have to keep up with.” He glanced toward the cowboys with the herd where Chase was. “Looks like he wore out a horse already,” Nate observed as both Chase and Buck left the herd to ride their sweating horses toward the fence gate to get fresh mounts that were picketed along the fence line. Seeing Chase made Nate wonder, and he did it out loud. “Do you suppose it was O’Rourke?”

Webb flashed him a sharp look but didn’t answer as he stepped out of the shade of the trailer to walk to the fence. “How’s it going?”

“The herd didn’t have a chance to scatter much,” Chase replied, already dismounted and tugging the cinch loose on his saddle. “We should have a count somewhere around noon.”

“Is there any coffee in that Thermos yet?” Buck wanted to know as he looped his horse’s reins around the gate post. “I sure could use some.”

“There might be half a cup in the bottom. It’s in the cab.” Nate motioned over his shoulder to the truck parked behind him.

Buck started to open the gate when something in the grass caught his eye. He bent down to pick it up. “Is this off your saddle, Chase?”

Chase glanced to see what it was, then shook his head. He didn’t need to check his saddle to know. “It isn’t mine. The leather ties on mine are plain circles. That’s scalloped.”