Stands a Calder Man Read Free

singled out from the other hands because his name was Calder; he wanted to earn his right to command, even though he was born in the position to inherit it. He would rather have been born Webb Smith than Webb Calder, so his was a quiet rebellion—never overt, always subtle—denying himself the right to claim what was his by birth. Webb made it a practice not to assert himself or his opinions with the other ranch hands. In spite of that, all the cowboys, except the older ones who had come north with his father, turned to Webb whenever there was a decision to be made, deferring to him because he was a Calder. That angered him, although he seldom let it show.
    Webb knew his father was disappointed in him. He’d been lectured enough times about accepting responsibility. Only once had Webb tried to explain the way he felt, his determination to be accepted because of his ability, rather than rest on the circumstances of his birth. His father had brushed it aside as a foolish whim, needlessly reminding Webb that he couldn’t change the fact that he was born a Calder. Rebuffed by this lack of understanding, Webb had taken the lonely path, not able to be just one of the boys and refusing to assumethe role his father wanted for him. More than once, he had considered tying his bedroll on the back of his saddle and riding away from the Triple C; then he’d think about his mother and he’d stay, hoping something would change.
    â€œYes, sir?” Webb stopped in front of his father, letting the inflection of his voice question why he had been summoned. He hadn’t addressed him as Pa in more than six years.
    There was nothing in his son’s attitude or expression that showed more than casual interest. Benteen probed, hoping to find more. He never knew what the boy was thinking—or if he was thinking. A father should know what was going on in his son’s head. Benteen knew he didn’t.
    â€œI want you to go to the telegraph office and send some wires for me,” Benteen stated. “One of them goes to Frank Bulfert, the senator’s aide, in Washington. In the wire, I want you to ask him the status of the proposal being brought to Congress to enlarge the Homestead Act and what kind of preliminary support it’s getting. Ask for the same information from Asa Morgan in Helena. The last wire I want you to send to Bull Giles at the Black Dove Bar in Washington with the same request for information.” The lack of interest Webb showed made him feel weary. “Have you got all that?”
    â€œYes, sir.” Behind the smooth exterior, his mind was running over the possible significance of the information being sought and how it might affect the ranch. “Is there anything else?”
    â€œNo.” His lips thinned into a tired line. “Don’t you want to know why this information is important?” Benteen asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing his son’s steady gaze waver briefly.
    â€œI figured you’d tell me when you thought it was right for me to know.” There was no hesitation over the reply, and the invitation to ask the question wasn’t accepted.
    Frustrated by his son’s behavior, Benteen halfturnedfrom him, muttering, “Go send the wires, and have the replies directed to the hotel.”
    As Webb moved away, spurs rattling with each stride, the aching numbness returned in Benteen’s left shoulder and arm. He rubbed at the soreness, kneading the muscles with his fingers.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with your arm?” The voice asking the question belonged to Barnie Moore.
    Benteen let his right hand slide down the arm and shrugged aside the nagging ache. “Too many nights sleeping on cold, hard ground, I guess.”
    â€œI know what ’cha mean.” Barnie arched his back, as if flexing stiff muscles. “Neither one of us is as young as we used to be.” His gaze followed Webb. “I remember when that one