This Calder Range Read Free Page A

flat.”
    Judd Boston stiffened. “You’re finished around here, Calder. If I were you, I’d clear out.”
    A remote smile slanted his mouth. “I planned on it, Boston.”
    With a flick of his wrist, Judd Boston snapped the buggy whip close to the ears of the chestnut mare. Benteen stepped back as the harnessed mare lunged forward and the wooden wheels of the buggy began their first revolution. The two remaining riders of the escort fell in behind the buggy.
    Turning back to the stable, Benteen walked to the packhorse to unload it first. “You made yourself an enemy, Benteen.” Jessie Trumbo spoke quietly. Benteen still counted the rider as a friend.
    A reply didn’t seem necessary, but he stared after the buggy disappearing down the street. Most of the men at the Ten Bar were his friends, but there were some who weren’t. It was this tangled weave of friendship and enmity in a rough, short-tempered land that kept the aloof interest in his dark eyes. “Is it all right if I stow my gear inside, Stoney?” he asked the stablehand instead.
    â€œSure.” The aging, semi-crippled man nodded.
    Benteen carried the pack inside the stable and into a small office dusty with hay chaff. Opening the pack, he slung the holstered revolver over his shoulder for the time being and removed his rifle. He went back outside to unsaddle the chalk-faced bay.
    â€œWhere’s Barnie?” Jessie asked, leaning over his saddle horn. “I thought he went with you.”
    â€œHe did.” Benteen hooked the stirrup over the saddle horn and began loosening the cinch. “I left him up in Montana Territory north of the Yellowstone. He’s lookin’ after my homestead claim until I can bring a herd up in the spring.”
    â€œMontana.” Jessie sat up, whistling under his breath in surprise. “Then you are pulling out. You didn’t just tell Boston that to be talking.”
    â€œNope.” Benteen lifted the heavy saddle off the horse’s back, a glint of pride flashing in his dark eyes.
    â€œWhere you gonna get a herd? Are you takin’ your pa’s?”
    â€œI thought I’d spend the winter beating the thickets and putting together a herd of mavericks.” Benteen wasn’t counting on his father pulling up stakes and going with him, taking what was left of his herd. “I could use somebody good with a rope to come along.”
    Jessie grinned. “It’ll be pure hell chasin’ down longhorns in all that scrub, but it sounds better than ‘yes-sirring’ Mr. Moneybags.”
    Benteen hefted the saddle onto his shoulder and carried it into the stable to leave it with the rest of his gear. When he came out, Jessie and the young cowboy had ropes around the necks of his two horses and were leading them away. Stoney limped up to stand beside him.
    â€œYou can have the gray gelding in the first stall,” he said. “Jest turn him loose when you’re through with him. He’ll find his own way back. Always does.”
    â€œThanks, Stoney.” He picked up the rifle he’d leaned against the side of the stable and started down the dusty street.
    Several blocks down the street, he came to one of the few wooden sidewalks. His footsteps were heavy with fatigue, his spurs rattling with each leaden stride. Although his body was bone-weary, his eyes never ceased their restless scanning of the streets. But they paid little attention to the store buildings he passed, except to note customers going in or out.
    â€œBenteen?” a female voice called out to him, uncertain.
    He stopped, half-turning to glance behind him. A rawly sweet wind rushed through his system as he saw Lorna poised in the doorway of the milliner’s shop. The hesitancy left her expression and a smile curved the soft fullness of her lips. She seemed to glide across the sidewalk to him, the lightness of her footsteps barely making any sound at all. A