This Calder Range (45 page)

“What is this ‘task'?”

“I understand you know a man named Big Ed Sallie.” He leaned forward to leisurely tap the ash from his cigar.

A quick frown chased across his forehead as Bull Giles glanced from Boston to Loman Janes and back. “Yeah, I know him. What about it?”

“I want you to contact this Sallie and arrange a meeting between him and Mr. Janes.”

There was a narrowing of his eyes as he demanded, “Why?”

“I don't see that it's any of your business,” Boston replied, but he sensed that Giles wouldn't cooperate unless he was given a logical reason why he wanted the meeting. “Actually, it's a simple matter of bribery. As I understand, if anyone has influence over the Indians, it's Big Ed Sallie and his bunch of white renegades up on the Missouri. I'm hoping Janes will be able to persuade him to keep the Indians from raiding the Ten Bar.”

“Is that all?” Giles questioned.

“That's a great deal, if it can be accomplished,” Boston stated. “Can you arrange the meeting?”

“I can't guarantee it. It's been a while since I've seen Big Ed. But I'll give it a try,” Giles agreed.

“This agreement is just between us, of course.
Strictly private.” Boston wanted it understood that Giles wasn't to mention it to anyone else.

“I can see that it wouldn't work if every rancher tried to buy off Big Ed. No one's got that much control over those reservation-jumping Indians. They're going to take somebody's cattle.”

“Probably Calder's,” Boston said. “Does that bother you?”

“No. Why should it?” Giles lifted his head to a challenging angle, denying that he had any special interest for the Triple C or its mistress.

“You never can tell, Giles. What's bad for Benteen Calder might turn out to be good for you,” Boston suggested. “See what you can arrange, and get a message to me.”

From the smell of Big Ed Sallie, he hadn't had any contact with water for years. The flopped brim of his hat shadowed the blue of his eyes without concealing their cunning shine. His shaggy, unkempt beard emphasized the jagged scar on his cheek where the hair didn't grow. He wore a buffalo coat, a reminder of his previous profession. Its fur had grown mangy and stank with the odor of whiskey, vomit, and man's sweat.

“Bull said you wanted to talk to me.” When his lips pulled back to speak, they showed yellow teeth stained by tobacco juice. He turned his head and spat a yellow stream at the ground.

“I do,” Loman confirmed. His icy gray glance slid past Big Ed Sallie to the band of cutthroats sitting their horses in a clump of trees. His glance swung to Bull Giles, who had guided him to this meeting place out in the middle of nowhere. “Your job's done. You can go.”

Giles shrugged that it was Janes's funeral and backed his horse a few steps, then reined it in a half-circle to leave. Janes waited until the sound of trotting hooves had receded behind him while continuing to measure the renegade leader with his eyes.

“You must think you're pretty tough.” The saddle
creaked under Big Ed Sallie as he shifted his weight and rested both hands on the horn. “There's some that might be worried ‘bout my friends waitin' over there for me.”

“Why should I worry about them when I got a clear shot at you?” Loman called the attempt to bluff him.

Big Ed chortled in his throat, a gleam of respect showing in his eyes. “What is it you want?”

“It's gettin' close to that time of year when the Indians will be comin' to buy your whiskey,” Janes began.

“It's illegal to sell whiskey to Indians. I don't know if I like you makin' such a charge against me.” Big Ed cocked his head.

“Drunk or sober, an Indian's just as worthless,” Janes said. “It's nothin' to me how they spend their money or what they trade for. It's when they go to raidin' ranches that I want to talk to you about.”

“I ain't them red-faces' keeper.”

“But you sell 'em whiskey, which makes you their friend,” Janes reasoned. “If a friend was to tell them that cattle with a Ten Bar brand was no good, they might listen.”

“They might.” Big Ed thoughtfully rolled the wad of tobacco around in his mouth and spit again, not taking his attention from the pock-faced man.

“And if their friend was to say the Triple C cattle are worth more than any others, it could be they'd take heed.”

“How much are they worth?”

Loman Janes slowly reached backward and lifted the flap of his saddlebag to lift out a leather pouch. He juggled it in his palm a minute to make the gold coins inside rattle against each other; then he tossed it to Big Ed.

“And there'll be a bonus later on when we see how successful you are,” Janes said.

“In other words, you're payin' me to rustle Triple C cattle?” Big Ed smiled.

“How could I do that?” he mocked. “You said yourself that you aren't those Indians' keeper. How could anyone blame you if the Indians ‘happen' to raid Triple C cattle more than any other ranchers' in the area?”

“Yeah.” Big Ed nodded, his smile widening into a grin. “That's right.”

When Lorna heard the clatter of the buggy wheels outside the cabin, she ran smoothing hands over her hair and walked quickly to the door. She glanced over her shoulder at the two boys napping on the short cots, then stepped outside.

The buggy had stopped, but Bull Giles still held the reins. Lady Crawford leaned forward in the rear seat when Lorna approached, and inquired, “Where can I find Benteen?”

“He's up the hill.” Lorna indicated the house with a nod of her head.

“Thank you.” The woman sat back and waved a hand at Giles to order him to drive on.

The breath Lorna released came out in a troubled sigh. She turned and walked slowly back to the cabin door. As she paused on the threshold, her gaze strayed to the hill, where the black buggy stopped in front of the house. She saw Benteen come out and help Lady Crawford down. Then the two of them disappeared inside the house.

It wasn't the first such visit Lady Crawford had made. She'd been to the ranch on two other occasions. Neither time had she visited with Lorna at all, not even briefly. Benteen had explained that he was undertaking a business venture with her, but avoided telling Lorna any details.

But it was more than being excluded from their business conversations that bothered Lorna. It was Benteen's reluctance to discuss anything about Lady Crawford with her. Something was changing him. It
seemed to have started that night he'd sat up drinking. He had become preoccupied lately, uncommunicative.

Sighing again, she turned and entered the cabin.

“The house is beginning to take shape quite nicely, isn't it?” Elaine remarked as they walked from the entryway into what would be the study. All the interior walls were up, dividing the house into rooms, and the finish work was under way. “Maybe your wife will be happy once you move into this house.”

“What do you mean?” Benteen asked her sharply.

“It doesn't matter.” She made a pretense of shrugging aside the thoughtless remark and let her fingers tighten on his arm. “That isn't what I came to talk to you about anyway. When do you anticipate the cattle will be delivered to the government post in Canada?”

“Jessie should get there next week.” Benteen stopped and angled his body to face her. “Where did you get the idea Lorna wasn't happy?”

“Call it women's intuition, I suppose. We seem to be able to sense when another member of our sex is unhappy.” She finally let her gaze meet Benteen's. “Your wife must have been very young when you married.”

“Seventeen, almost eighteen. I wouldn't consider that too young.”

“Naturally she was a virgin.” When he averted his head, Elaine admonished, “You shouldn't have asked if you didn't want me to speak personally.”

“I don't see that it has any bearing,” Benteen stated curtly.

“No, men never do.” She laughed softly. “You had some experience with women, so you knew what you wanted in a wife. Lorna didn't have that advantage. If she discovers she's made a mistake, she has no more choice than I had.”

“There's been no mistake.”

“I didn't mean to suggest there had been in your
case,” Elaine pointed out. “I was only speaking in generalities. Which reminds me. I'd like you to have dinner with me one evening next week. There are two gentlemen that I think you should meet.”

“Who are they? Canadians?” He was quick to accept the change in subject.

“No. They are local politicians.”

“I'm not interested in becoming involved in politics.”

“There are degrees of involvement,” she said. “Your father went to the extreme. I'm talking about playing with politics, manipulating people and events to your own interest. You should become familiar with some of the leaders in the territorial government.”

“That government might as well not exist.” He voiced a sentiment shared by the vast majority of citizens in the territory. “It is a system that the East dreamed up. And they have no idea what it's like out here. Everyone out here ignores it.”

“It's feeble,” Elaine agreed. “But when Montana achieves statehood, there's no reason why you and I can't have a hand in choosing the first governor. The game of politics is a challenging one that can be highly profitable for the ranch. Look at the beef contract. It never hurts to have influential people in government who owe you favors, Benteen.”

“Perhaps.” But he wasn't in full agreement on that point.

“The secret is to use them—not be used
by
them.”

“You're good at using people, aren't you?” he observed with a narrowed look.

“I'm going to pretend that's a compliment.” She smiled and took his arm again to let her gaze survey the room. “I believe this study is going to be my favorite room in your house.”

The cabin was filled with the yeasty aroma of baking bread. Lorna sat with her back to the window, using the sunlight so she could see to hand-stitch a shirt for Arthur from the remnants of one of Benteen's.

Her concentration was broken by the knock on the door. She quickly set aside the shirt to answer it, brushing at the flour dust on her muslin apron. But when she opened the door, it was Bull Giles, not Lady Crawford, who stood outside. She relaxed a little, not really disappointed.

“Are the boys here?” he asked.

It had become a habit for him to play with them during Lady Crawford's visits with her husband. Lorna's mouth curved at the irony of the situation. Lady Crawford spent more time with her husband than Lorna sometimes did. And Bull Giles spent more time with the children than Benteen.

“They're taking a nap,” she explained, keeping her voice low. “Benteen didn't mention that you would be coming today.”

“I brought them each a couple sticks of peppermint.” He took them from his pocket and handed them to her. “You can give it to them after supper tonight.”

“The boys will love it. Thank you, Bu …” She caught herself using his name and quickly corrected it. “… Mr. Giles.”

“I'd like it if you'd call me Bull,” he said quietly.

“That surely isn't your given name.”

“No.” A sudden twinkle sprang into his eyes. “If you promise never to tell anyone, I'll tell you what it is.”

“I promise.” She crossed her heart in a child's vow of secrecy.

“Horatio.”

“Horatio,” she repeated, and felt the bubble of laughter in her voice.

“Disgusting, isn't it?” Bull smiled.

“‘Bull' does suit you better,” Lorna agreed, able to smile now that he was.

“‘Lorna' suits you just fine, too,” he murmured. When she withdrew from the implied intimacy of his tone, Bull changed it and made a show of sniffing the air. “Is that fresh bread I smell?”

“Yes. I have some loaves baking in the oven.”

“Nothing tastes better than hot bread straight out of the oven,” he declared.

She laughed quietly. “It should be done in about fifteen minutes. Why don't you come in and have some coffee?” Lorna invited.

“I'd like that, if you're sure it's all right.” Bull waited, giving her a chance to reconsider her impulsive offer.

Lorna flashed a glance beyond him at the house on the hill. If Benteen wouldn't tell her anything about what was going on, maybe she could find out from Bull.

“Of course it's all right.” She opened the door wider and stepped to the side to let him in. “Have a seat.”

While she went to pour the coffee, Bull walked to the chair by the window and picked up the sewing she'd left on the seat. “What are you making?” he asked.

“A new shirt for Arthur. You can put it on the table for now.” She paused to peek in the oven at the baking loaves of bread.

He unfolded the shirt and held it up. “It sure is small. My hand won't even fit in the sleeve.” He wiggled the three fingers that he was able to slip into the opening.

“Your hand's a lot bigger than his arm.” She exchanged the cup of coffee for the shirt.

Bull repositioned the chair so he was sitting parallel to the window and facing the door. His gaze traveled to the two small boys sleeping soundly on the short cots in the far corner of the room.

“I was never around kids very much. I've grown kinda fond of those two,” he admitted, and took a sip of the hot coffee.

“They like you a lot, too.”

“That Webb is going to be quite a horseman when he grows up. He can practically ride by himself now.”

“It isn't really surprising. Benteen took him for his first ride when he was less than a month old.” Lorna smiled as she remembered the day. The mention of Benteen brought her thoughts back to her purpose. “Of course, the ranch has kept him so busy lately he
hasn't been able to devote very much time to teaching Webb to ride. He's had to be away a lot because of this business venture with Lady Crawford.”