Green Calder Grass (Calder Saga 6)

Ballard paused long enough to warn Jessy, “Get the kids to the house as quick as you can. It’s gonna get crazy around here.”

Jessy could already see the beginnings of it. Fire was a word that spread through the thro

ng of mourners like a contagion. Those who knew what to do were already moving into action. The rest had stopped to gawk, unaware of the very real danger it presented. The drought had turned the grass plains into a vast tinderbox. Any fire that took hold would be hard to stop. And the wide swath of dark smoke warned of the fire’s momentum. Worst of all, the prevailing wind was blowing it straight toward the Triple C headquarters.

Pushed by the urgency of the moment, Jessy handed Laura to her mother. “Look after the twins for me, Mom.”

Grateful for the flats she had elected to wear, Jessy ran toward The Homestead, weaving in and out of the people and vehicles in her path. Once inside the house, she didn’t pause but raced upstairs, stripped out of her dress, and pulled on jeans, boots, and a shirt. Then she was running back outside.

It was a chaotic scene that greeted her. Vehicles clogged the yard, some attempting to leave, more trying to get to the fire. Already three pickups had broken free from the traffic jam and were speeding over a ranch road toward the ominous wall of smoke.

Not far behind them was the pumper truck. Jessy knew instinctively that Chase was in one of the pickups.

A horse whinnied near the barn area, drawing her attention to a cowboy in his Sunday suit leading two saddled horses to the ramp of a stock trailer. With a slap on the rump, he loaded them into the trailer and disappeared back inside the barn.

Launching herself off the steps, Jessy headed for the stock trailer and a certain ride to the fire. Along the way she passed her mother and Sally, each with a twin in her arms and Quint herded between them.

“Be careful,” her mother called. “And remind your father he isn’t as young as he used to be.”

Jessy didn’t bother to reply. But none was expected.

At the head of the ranch pickups, Chase sat on the passenger side, one arm braced against the dashboard to absorb the jolts of the rough ride. His gaze was fixed on the smoke wall still some distance ahead of them. Stumpy was behind the wheel, his short leg stretched stiff to keep his foot hard on the accelerator.

“What about Six Mile Road?” Stumpy said. “Maybe we can use it for a firebreak.”

“I don’t think so. It looks like it’s already on this side of it,” Chase said grimly. “We’ll have to make a stand along that big dry wash. It’s the only natural barrier left between here and the river. God help us if it gets that far.”

Stumpy muttered a few choice expletives under his breath. A half-mile farther, he slowed the truck and made the turn into the fence gate. Chase hopped out of the cab, threw the gate open wide, signaled for the rest of the vehicles to follow them, and climbed back in.

As the pickup rolled through the gate, Stumpy pointed its nose in the direction of the wash and took off cross-country. When they topped a hillock, Chase had his first glimpse of the long red line of flames that underscored the smoke clouds.

Stumpy saw it, too. “Jeez, Chase, it’s close to a half-mile wide already.”

“And spreading fast.”

When they reached the dry wash, Stumpy traveled along its bank until they reached a spot that would be roughly the midway point of the advancing flames. The minute the truck rolled to a halt, Chase piled out of it. The smoke from the grassfire had yet to reach them, but the smell of it was in the air.

“Spread out in both directions,” he shouted to the others. “We’ll start a backfire on the other side of the wash. Don’t let it get away from you.”

The dry washbed ran wide for a good distance then narrowed dangerously. Coulees emptied into the wash in three other places along this stretch, two of them overgrown with brush. All were critical points, but Chase was more concerned about the south end of the wash. He dispatched the pumper truck to that area where water would be their best weapon, maybe their only one.

By the time Jessy had arrived on the scene, flames from the first backfires were crackling through the dry grass along the opposite bank. At intervals all up and down the wash, men in suits and white shirts worked to keep the backfire contained. Most were Triple C hands, but Jessy noticed a few from neighboring ranches plus some longtime residents of Blue Moon among them. A smoke haze hung over the entire scene, scratching her throat with each breath she took.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“With any luck, the backfire will slow it down and give the fire trucks a chance to get here. At best, we’ll force it south, away from headquarters,” Chase replied.

A half-dozen pronghorn antelope bounded out of the smoke, saw the men on the fire line, and veered off. “We have got livestock trapped over there,” Jessy realized.

“It can’t be helped.” Chase threw a look over his shoulder. “I told Ballard to load up some horses.”

“He’s parked over there.” Jessy hooked a thumb in the direction of the stock trailer. “I rode with him.”

“Get yourself some riders and start making a sweep. Push any cattle you find toward the river. I don’t want to lose any more than we have to.”

“Right.”

Aware that it was a job that didn’t require an experienced hand, Jessy made her pick from among the teenagers on the fire line. All were young enough to be glad that a different task had been found for them, one that would take them away from the heat and choking smoke.