This Calder Range Read Free

mounted guard.It was another thing that raised questions in Benteen’s mind. Was it a guilty conscience, or did the banker-rancher like the implied importance of possessing a retinue of underlings?
    â€œCalder!” It was a stiff command for him to approach the buggy.
    The ordering tone straightened his shoulders slightly, but Benteen allowed no other resentment to show. He walked to the buggy with the loose, unhurried stride of a rider, each step accompanied by the muted jangle of his work spurs. He stopped beside the buggy, saying nothing because he had nothing to say.
    His silence didn’t set well with Judd Boston. The man had eyes as black as hell. They burned with what he saw as rage. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. “I expected you back two months ago.”
    â€œI had some personal business.” It was a flat answer, showing neither respect nor disrespect. Benteen was aware of the man’s dangerous patience. It was the cunning kind, content to wait until the right moment. Benteen was reminded of an alleycat he’d once watched while it played with a mouse.
    â€œI hired you to do a job, Calder.” The statement insinuated that he had failed to do it.
    It ran raw over his travel-weary nerves. “Your herd was delivered to the Snyder outfit with only ten head lost on the drive.” His sharp glance picked out Jessie Trumbo among the escort of riders. “I sent the money from the sale back with Jessie. You’ve got no complaint coming.”
    â€œIt was your responsibility to bring that cash to me. Not Jessie’s,” Boston insisted coldly.
    â€œIt was my responsibility to see that you received it,” Benteen corrected the phrasing. “You did.” There was a rare show of irritation. It didn’t seem to matter anymore whether he offended Judd Boston or not. “I hired out to boss your herd and drive it through to Wyoming. After that I was to pay off the drovers with the proceeds of the sale and return the balance to you.The job’s done. You may have paid my wages, Boston, but you don’t own me. No man owns me.”
    A coldness hardened Boston’s broad features. “The job is done and you are done, Calder,” he stated. “I have no use for a man who disappears for two months. You aren’t going back on the payroll.”
    â€œGood.” A half-smile skipped across his face. “It saves me the trouble of quitting.”
    Their eyes locked, hardness matching hardness. Then a glint of satisfaction flickered in Judd Boston’s eyes. “Baker,” he called to one of the riders. “Those two horses in front of the stable are carrying the Ten Bar brand. Catch them up and take them back to the ranch.”
    The order seared through Benteen like a hot iron. “You damned bastard.” His voice was low and rough. “In this country, you don’t take a man’s horse and leave him on foot. I’ll bring them out to the ranch myself in the morning.”
    â€œI want them now.” Judd smiled. “I could report them as stolen, Calder.” Without taking his eyes off Benteen, he prodded the hesitant rider. “You heard me, Baker.”
    Benteen shot a hard glance at the young rider reining his horse back to walk it behind the buggy. Jessie Trumbo swung his horse to follow him. “I’ll give you a hand, Baker,” he murmured. Whether the men agreed or not, they were obliged to obey orders. It was part of riding for the brand. Benteen knew that, and didn’t hold their part in this against them.
    His attention swung back to the man in the buggy. “I’ll get my gear off the horses so you can take them,” he said. “Maybe now I’ll have the time to check some of the brands on your cattle. I’ve always thought how easy it would be to change my pa’s brand from a C-to a 10. A running iron or a cinch ring could handle that in nothing