This Calder Range

by Janet Dailey

  “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.

  When the herd came into sight, Benteen rode out to meet the point riders and direct the Longhorns downriver. Lorna supposed that he considered she was adequately chaperoned with Mary, Rusty, and Woolie in camp. She liked Bull Giles—as a friend—and wished Benteen could understand that.

  She noticed the water barrel was low and unhooked the wooden pail from the side of the chuck wagon. “Mary,” she called to her friend. “I’m going down to the river to get some water.” She followed the custom of always letting someone know where she was going when she left camp.

  The grass grew tall and thick under the trees by the river. Her long skirts swished noisily through it as Lorna made her way to the small sand bar jutting out from the bank. She had to hold them out of the way when she bent down to dip the pail into the clear running river. A school of small fish darted like quicksilver out of the shallows into deeper water.

  She let the bucket sink below the surface, automatically filling with water. When she raised it, cold water sloshed over the sides, splashing on her skirt. There was a warning crunch of footsteps on the gravel bar behind her. Lorna turned sharply, spilling more water.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Bull Giles apologized.

  “I didn’t hear you, that’s all.” She shrugged aside the brief moment of alarm.

  With typical boldness, his glance
wandered over her dress and the thick, concealing folds of its long skirt. Lorna knew he was remembering the way she had looked in pants.

  “I like the dress, but I was more aware that you were a woman in those pants,” he stated with utter frankness.

  “They were a necessity. The cattle spooked at my long skirt,” Lorna explained because it seemed necessary that he understand she didn’t flaunt convention without reason.

  “Let me carry that bucket. It’s too heavy for you,” he insisted, and reached to take it out of her hand.

  Lorna surrendered it to him, not because she wasn’t strong enough to carry it. She had hauled a lot of water during those long months on the trail. But it was the gesture of a gentleman, and she liked the way he treated her like a lady.

  “Do you think you’re going to like it out here?” he asked. “It’s going to take a lot of hard work.”

  “I know that.” She walked to the bank and accepted the steadying support of his hand on her arm to climb up the slippery grass.

  “It’s gonna be lonely for a pretty thing like you,” Bull stated.

  His remark was an instant reminder of the woman in the sod house. Her chin was pushed forward in a silent determination that this country wouldn’t do that to her.

  “I’ll probably be too busy to notice that, Mr. Giles,” Lorna insisted. “As you said, it’s going to take a lot of hard work.”

  “But a woman like you shouldn’t have to work. You should be living in a fine house with a maid to do the work for you,” he declared. “You’re too delicate to be dirtying your hands.”

  She arched her neck to laugh from her throat. “I assure you, Mr. Giles, that I am neither delicate nor weak. I can ride as well as most men, and can shoot straighter than some. A woman likes to be challenged, Mr. Giles, not pampered. I would have thought you knew that.”

  “Then maybe I should let you carry the bucket.” He smiled.

  “It’s a little late,” Lorna mocked him. “We’re almost there.”

  They were only a few yards from the chuck wagon and the water barrel secured to the side. Bull carried the bucket over and emptied it into the barrel.

  “Thanks for carrying the water, Mr. Giles.” Lorna continued to smile.

  He folded his arm across his waist to make a mock bow. “My pleasure, Mrs. Calder.”

  There was no need to hold the Longhorns in a loose bunch at night. This range was going to be their new home. Benteen and the drovers pulled back when the herd reached the river to let them drink and scatter as they willed.

  The remuda of horses was a different situation. Benteen had Yates throw up a rope corral to hold them. Tomorrow he’d choose the ones he wanted to keep for range work. The rest he would take to Deadwood to sell when they made their trip for winter supplies.

  His mind was busy with the many things that had to be done when he rode into camp, but the sound of Lorna’s laughter caught his attention. His jaw hardened when he saw her walking from the river with Bull Giles. The bucket Giles carried explained what the pair had been doing. Benteen wasn’t fooled by the surface innocence. He was a man, so he knew how Bull Giles’s mind worked. Without being told, Benteen knew Giles had seen Lorna go to the river for water and followed her. Cold irritation darkened his eyes because Lorna couldn’t see the way Giles was easing his way into her confidence, inviting her to trust him. She didn’t regard his flattering attention as a threat, but Benteen did.

  Dismounting, he watched the pair separate. In grim silence he unsaddled his horse and turned it out with the rest of the string. He walked with the trailhands to the fire for the habitual cup of coffee and avoided any contact with Lorna. If her head could be turned by another man, then he didn’t want her. But he was gritting his teeth when he told himself that.

  Around the fire that night, Barnie Moore was the focus of attention. He was questioned about how much it rained and when, did the rivers flood and how bad?

  “I’ll tell you one thing.” A cigarette dangled precariously from his lower lip. “When this ground is wet, it’s like gumbo. You walk from here to the river and yore feet get so gobbed up with mud, they’re three or four times their regular size. It dries as hard as a rock, an’ ya need a hammer an’ a chisel to get it off yore boots.”

  And they wanted to know about the winter. How cold it was and how much it snowed. When did it start and how long did it last? What sections of the range drifted free of snow? What about the blizzards, and what were the cattle’s chances of weathering them?

  “Ya might get yourself some of those Westerns,” Barnie advised Benteen. “They got Shorthorn and Devon blood, but they’re used to this northern weather. An’ they got enough wild in ’em to fight for their young. They ain’t like that blooded stock we seen comin’ into Texas that turn tail and run from a coyote an’ leave their calf to be his dinner.”

  There was a brief discussion about the relative merits of different breeds. Benteen listened with interest to all of them. He needed to expand the size of his herd, but he also needed quickly maturing beef to take to market. Barnie’s suggestion of buying stock that had originated in the Northwest instead of relying solely on the Longhorns seemed to make sense.

  “Barnie, you’ve had a chance to look over the range good,” Ely spoke up, asserting himself in his quiet way. “Where’s some good land for Mary and me to file on?”

  “I can show you a couple areas,” Barnie said. “But I think the best piece is north of here, right on the edge of the foothills. It’s got a good flowin’ river runnin’ through it. If you want, we can ride over that way tomorrow and I’ll show it to you.”

  “That’d be fine.” Ely nodded.

  “What about the wolves?” Shorty asked. “I heard they was bad.”

  “Those yellow-eyed devils are cunning.” Barnie turned his head, shaking it slightly.

  Rusty added another dry limb to the fire, sending up sparks to mingle with the starscape overhead. Lorna was listening intently to the conversation among the cowboys, taking more interest since she had started working with the cattle on the drive. Someone had rolled a fallen tree trunk up to the fire, and she was sitting on it, with her skirts tucked around her legs to keep out the night’s chill. She didn’t notice when Bull Giles paused by the fire to refill his coffeecup as so many of the other cowboys had done before him. Nor did she pay any attention when he drifted over to the log where she was sitting.

  “I imagine you’re getting bored with all this cattle talk,” he murmured unexpectedly to her, and Lorna turned her head, discovering he was standing behind her.

  When he crouched down, the shadows gathered him in. Lorna remembered the luncheon they had shared in Dodge City and the fun he’d made of the cattle talk going on around them. At the time, the subject hadn’t been important to her. But her attitude had changed in the last half of the trail drive.

  “I’m a rancher’s wife,” she reminded Bull. “Cattle are just as much my future as they are Benteen’s. I’m not bored by all this talk. A wife should know something about her husband’s business so she can discuss it intelligently with him.”

  “You don’t mind if a cow comes first?” he asked skeptically.

  “A cow may be a female, but I’m certainly not going to be jealous of one.” A smile played with her mouth, because she remembered the time when she had resented the priority the animal received from Benteen.

  From the edge of the camp, a steer snorted and lowed a curious sound. When Lorna turned to look, she recognized the brindle-colored steer that had always walked at the front of the herd. The light from the fire gleamed on the width of its horns.

  “Would you look at that?” Shorty declared. “It’s Captain.”

  “He’s probably come to find out why nobody’s ridden out for night guard,” Zeke guessed.

  “Yeah, probably got used to the company of humans an’ now he’s wonderin’ where his friends are,” Jessie suggested.

  19

  Bull Giles rode out at dawn the next mor
ning. Immediately after breakfast, the men began work on the ranch buildings. It was a hive of noisy activity with axes felling the cottonwood trees along the river and horses dragging the unhewn logs to the building sites, where more cowboys worked spading up the sod to make dirt floors. It was organized chaos. And the brindle steer, Captain, stood on the knoll overlooking the scene as if he was supervising it all.

  Within two weeks the primitive buildings were standing. The green logs were chinked with moss and mud, and the roofs consisted of branches covered with dirt. Zeke Taylor was the closest to being the carpenter in the group of cowboys, so he had built the bunks, chairs, and tables. They were as rough and crude as the buildings that housed them.

  Half of the men left when Ely and Mary pulled out to take up their claim on the land Barnie had showed them to the north. Their cabin and barn would be up in an equally short time. Lorna didn’t mind seeing them leave, because they would be neighbors even if they were thirty miles apart.

  The covered wagon was partially dismantled to be converted for ranch use. Lorna took the white canvas top and hung it in the cabin to make a cloth wall partitioning off the sleeping area from the rest of the one room structure. As she set her personal possessions around their new home, she refused to compare its crudeness to the sod house of the farmer’s wife in Kansas.

  In September Lorna realized she was definitely pregnant, even though she’d experienced no morning sickness and felt in the best of health. When she told Benteen the stork would be visiting them in the spring, he promptly informed her, with considerable pride, that it was going to be a boy.

  A week later, Benteen left with the wagon and thirty head of horses. Rusty, Jessie Trumbo, and Bob Vernon stayed behind, as did Lorna. Benteen didn’t want to risk anything happening to her or their unborn baby by being jolted around on the wagon seat, completely ignoring the rough, nearly five-month-long journey she had just endured. So Lorna stayed home while he purchased their winter supplies, filed their homestead claim with the land office, and sold the extra horses. In addition to the supplies, he brought back yard goods so Lorna could make a few additions to their limited wardrobes and three hundred head of the so-called Western cattle. Texas horses were in demand by the northern ranches and brought top prices.