This Calder Range (32 page)

A rider was briefly outlined on the crest of a ridge. It was the first human Lorna had seen in weeks, outside of the trail crew. She pointed out the approaching horse and rider to Benteen, but he'd already seen him. Satisfaction settled over the line of his mouth as he slowed his mount to a trot.

“It's Barnie,” he told her.

When the rider pulled up to greet them, Lorna expected a boisterous welcome. But Barnie Moore just nodded. “I figured that was your trail dust. Got any cigarette papers? I'm clean out.”

Benteen handed him a pack of papers from his vest pocket. “Keep it.”

“Never did take to chewin'.” He shook out some tobacco from his pouch and deftly twirled the paper around it, licking it shut. Lighting the cigarette, he sucked in the smoke and held it for a silent, savoring moment.

“How's it been? Quiet?” Benteen waited until he'd exhaled to ask.

“I've had lots of visitors,” Barnie said. “Word's gotten around about this free grass. A bunch of outfits have been up lookin' it over.”

“I figured that.” Benteen wasn't surprised.

“You're gonna have some big boys for neighbors—XIT, the Turkey Track. Kohrs and some of the ranchers in western Montana are headin' this way now that the goldfields are playin' out an' they won't be selling as much beef to the miners. It's gonna get crowded.”

All the while Barnie relayed the information, his glance kept straying to Lorna. With her long hair tucked under her hat and the loose-fitting shirt and snug pants, she looked like a smooth-cheeked boy, but she had long ago stopped being conscious of her appearance in men's clothes.

“Who's the kid?” Barnie bobbed his head in Lorna's direction.

Laughter glinted in Benteen's glance to her. “This is my wife. We've been shorthanded, so she's been helping out with the drive.” Barnie tried very hard to disguise his shock and not stare. Benteen helped by suggesting, “The herd's about five miles back. Why don't you show them the way while Lorna and I ride ahead?”

Barnie tugged at the brim of his hat and mumbled to Lorna, “Beggin' your pardon, ma'am”; then he swung his horse out of their way.

“It's quite all right, Mr. Moore.” She smiled.

Benteen continued to hold his horse in after Barnie rode off. His glance ran sideways to Lorna, bright with a knowing light.

“You never told me we were this close.” But she knew he had kept it from her deliberately. “How far is it?”

“About two miles. Are you impatient to get there?” A brow was arched with the mocking query, fully aware of her answer.

“You know I am.” Her smiled widened.

“Let's go.” He pricked his horse with the spurs to send it bounding into a gallop.

Lorna's horse was a stride behind and stretching out to run. Chunks of grass and sod were torn up by the pounding hooves as they raced the last two miles. It brought a wild exhilaration to the moment of journey's end. Lorna was breathless, her dark eyes shining with excitement when she pulled her horse to a halt beside Benteen.

“This is it.” His voice rang proud with possession as he gazed upon the land.

There was a crude log shack sitting close to the river, with a small corral built out of cottonwood. She tried not to feel lost, but there should have been some invisible banner proclaiming this to be their new home. All she saw was a muscular landscape, so big and commanding that it stretched out her stare until her eyes hurt.

Under a summer sun, the harsh land rolled out in uneven waves, an endless sea of dull yellow grass with miles and miles of hazy blue sky overhead. Beyond the treeless ridges, a flat-topped butte poked its dark head above the horizon. Lorna thought back on the long trail they'd traveled to get here—and the price they had paid in lives, in tears, and sweat. For this.

Her jaw hardened. This land wasn't going to beat her with its loneliness. She was going to stand up to it, and turn it into a home. Pulling her gaze from the overpowering breadth of the land, Lorna concentrated her attention on the green trees growing solid along the riverbanks. There would be wood for a cabin. She wasn't going to live in a sod house like that woman in Kansas.

She followed when Benteen walked his blowing horse the last hundred yards to the shack. All his attention was on their destination, his gaze sweeping the surrounding range with proud satisfaction. It gave Lorna time to adjust to the vastness she saw, and attempt to visualize how it could look with a house and some buildings—anything to make it look civilized.

Under the cottonwood trees along the riverbank, Benteen halted his horse and swung out of the saddle with lazy ease. Lorna dismounted to let her horse drink, too. She watched Sandman's black muzzle nose at the water, the bit clanking against his teeth before the buckskin began sucking in the cold river water.

“With this water, we control the range for twenty miles on either side,” Benteen began to explain the significance of the location. “As far as you can see, Lorna, and beyond, belongs to us.”

“All of it?” She was struck by the immensity of it.

“Yes.” He leveled his steady gaze on her, but the burning fire in his eyes was for the land. “And it's just the beginning.”

“But Barnie—Mr. Moore—said there were other cattle outfits moving in,” she remembered.

“Not onto this range, they won't.” He let the reins
trail the ground and walked a few steps from the river. Reaching down, he tore off a handful of grass and held it out to Lorna. “This is like gold to a cattleman. And the water is silver. There's always going to be somebody who will want it for himself. Because we got here first and claimed the best, others will try to crowd us out. I won't be crowded.”

“Do you really think they'll try?” Her head was tipped slightly back to study him without the obstruction of the hat brim.

“It's the nature of man to want what someone else has.” Benteen showed tolerance for her attempt to cling to a belief in the goodness of people. “Call it envy or greed. Some control it. A few are open about it. And others try to disguise it. The few that are big always want more, and the ones that are little want to be big. Those that are in the middle, neither big nor small, try to pretend that's the way they want to be.”

“Which one are you?” Lorna asked, and watched his mouth crook in a smile that held little humor.

“I've always been the one that was little who wanted to be big. I'm going to be big,” he stated. “The Calder Cattle Company will be an outfit anyone in these parts will have to reckon with.”

“But that isn't wrong.” She frowned. “That's just being ambitious.”

Smiling faintly, Benteen brushed the blades of grass off his glove and put an arm around her slim shoulders. “Ambition is a kind of greed, too.” They left the horses to walk in the direction of the crudely built shack. “It just sounds better.”

The subject made her uncomfortable, even though she understood what Benteen was saying. A fine line separated greed and ambition. One was a virtue, and the other was not. And ambition could easily beget greed.

Lorna turned her thoughts to a more positive topic. “You said you had the site picked out where we would build our house,” she reminded him. “Where is it?”

“Do you see that knoll just ahead?” Benteen pointed to the sloping rise of ground they were heading toward. “That's where we'll have our house.”

“A two story house, painted white,” she added details to the dream image.

“With white pillars in front.” He seemed to tease her.

“Yes, with pillars in front,” Lorna agreed with a decisive nod, because it sounded so grand, and she didn't care that he was making fun of her. She turned the tables on him. “After all, it has to be a fitting structure if it's going to be the home of the Calder Cattle Company.”

His throaty chuckle warmed her. When they reached the top of the knoll where their future home would be built, Benteen turned to study the view, the arm around her shoulders turning Lorna as well. The increase in elevation allowed them to overlook the sweeping bend of the river and the rolling expanse of plains.

“We're going to be pushed for time, with winter coming,” he said. “The best we can do is throw up a log cabin near the river so we can be close to a water supply. But you'll have your house, Lorna. If not this year, then soon.”

“After almost five months of living in a wagon, even a cabin sounds good,” she admitted.

“There's a lot we have to get done before winter sets in. We have to build a shed for the horses we'll be keeping here to use, and a longhouse where the men can sleep and eat.” While he formulated his plans aloud, she listened to its scope and wondered how it could be done in such a short time.

While they waited for the herd to come, Benteen made constructive use of the time. He staked out the locations for the various ranch buildings and paced out their dimensions, putting Lorna to work gathering broken tree limbs for stakes.

She was carrying an armload when she noticed the horse and rider pause to eye the rude camp and its occupants before resuming their approach. There was something familiar about the rider, yet Lorna was positive it wasn't one of the drovers. Without taking her gaze off the rider, she partially turned her head to call to Benteen. “There's someone riding in. A stranger, I think.”

Benteen straightened and turned to face the rider, casually unhooking the leather strap over the hammer of his holstered gun. He moved to stand beside Lorna.

As the rider came close enough for Lorna to see his face, her mouth opened in surprise. “It's Mr. Giles,” she said to Benteen, but he had already recognized him and his gaze had narrowed with suspicion.

After the meeting with Barnie Moore, Lorna remembered the deceptive appearance she made in the clothes she was wearing. She could tell Bull Giles was trying to place her by the way he was studying her. She hid a smile and took off her hat, letting her dark hair tumble loose to fall about her shoulders. Amusement danced in the big man's eyes as his look swept over the slim fitting pants that showed the length of her legs.

He greeted her first. “I told you we might meet again, Mrs. Calder.”

“You did, Mr. Giles,” Lorna admitted. “But I didn't think you meant in Montana.”

“I thought you'd be in Texas.” Benteen picked up on her comment.

“It's been a few years since I was up here. I thought I'd take a look around.” Bull Giles made it sound like a casual decision. His gaze traveled past them to the shack and the rude corral of sticks. “This is your claim, huh?”

“That's right.” Benteen's head was tipped in silent challenge.

“Grass, water, enough broken country for shelter in the winter.” Bull Giles enumerated the merits of the rangeland Benteen had chosen. “It's not bad.”

“That's what I thought.” Benteen remained aloof.

“I told Boston it was like this up here,” the man stated.

“Are you here on Boston's orders?” Benteen questioned.

Bull Giles gave a mild shrug. “He indicated a curiosity about your destination. I guess he wanted to make sure you were out of his hair.”

“I told him my plans. When you see him, you can mention that I don't like my word being questioned.” Benteen remained stiffly alert, not relaxing his guard with this representative from the Ten Bar.

“You and Boston don't exactly get along too well.” Bull smiled when he voiced the observation. “I don't think he's going to look on you with much favor when he finds out you signed his name, authorizing me to pay twenty head of steers as toll to those Indians.”

“He just paid back some of what he took from my pa,” Benteen replied.

“Those are strong words.” Bull considered him thoughtfully.

“I've said them to his face.”

Bull let the comment ride and asked instead, “Would you be objecting if I stepped down and watered my horse?”

“You're welcome to the water and the graze for your horse. You can camp here for the night if you like.” Benteen extended the hospitality of the range. Someday the situation could be reversed and he would be the one far from his home.

“You can have supper with us, Mr. Giles.” Lorna broadened the invitation.

“I'd like that. Thank you, Mrs. Calder.” He tipped his hat to her, then rode his horse to the shade of the cottonwoods and dismounted.

“He's one of Boston's men, Lorna,” Benteen warned in a low voice. “Don't get friendly with him or he'll stab you in the back.”

She thought he was being unfairly critical of Bull
Giles and boldly returned his hard look. “I don't believe Mr. Giles is anyone's man but his own. It's wrong for you to throw stones when you once worked for Judd Boston.”

Benteen didn't look pleased by the comparison, but couldn't find a logical argument against it. So he chose another subject to show his displeasure with her.

“You change into a dress as soon as the wagons get here,” he ordered, and turned away to resume staking out the bunkhouse.

When Barnie had seen her dressed this way, Benteen had only smiled, she remembered with an amused shake of her head. Because it was Bull Giles, he was reacting jealously and trying to make her feel that she was the one in the wrong for being dressed this way. And men claimed women didn't think logically. Amusement deepened the corners of her mouth as she carried the armload of broken branches over to where Benteen was working.

The wagons arrived in the middle of the afternoon in advance of the herd. After Lorna had changed into a blue calico dress, she helped with the setting up of a permanent camp. They'd all be living out of the wagons for a couple more weeks until the buildings could be constructed.

With Benteen around, she tried not to show any interest in Bull Giles, but the attempt only made her more conscious of the man. He lent a hand with the fire and gathered more wood for it in repayment of the hospitality. His saddle and bedroll were set off to one side and his horse was hobbled and turned loose to graze.