This Calder Range (53 page)

From across the street, Loman Janes's voice called, “Get out of the way! We got Calder pinned down!”

Boston stopped the buggy in the middle of the street, sawing on the reins to hold his nervous horse. “You fool! You imbecilic fool!” Then he stood up in the buggy and faced the other side of the street. “Calder! This is not my doing! Janes is acting on his own! I had nothing to do with this—or anything else!” He proclaimed his innocence for all to hear.

“You yellow bastard!” Janes growled from the shadows.

Two shots were fired, one on top of the other, and Boston fell back onto the buggy seat, the horse bolting. Benteen took advantage of the runaway vehicle's distraction to make a dash across the street. He reached the other side and ducked down behind a rain barrel.

His shoulder was throbbing, wetness trickling down his arm. Licking his dry lips, he remained poised and listening to pinpoint the location of his adversaries by sound.

Boston was either dead or out of it, but it wasn't over. As much as he disliked Loman Janes, Benteen felt a certain degree of respect for the man. He had his
standards and he'd stick by them to the end. He'd brought the fight to Benteen, and it wouldn't be over until one of them was dead.

A wave of dizziness washed over him and he shook it off. There was a scurry of movement. Benteen swung away from the barrel, squared toward the sound, and fired. He quickly moved to the left toward the building. His shots had missed, but they had driven a man away from the protection of a wide door frame. It was the gunhand Reynolds. He fired from the hip at Benteen's moving target. One sliced a hot iron along his thigh. His leg started to buckle as Benteen fired at the man's shape, briefly outlined. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber, but Reynolds was falling.

A cold smile of satisfaction had curved Janes's lips when the rig with Judd Boston had bolted down the street. The bastard had been putting all the blame on him to save his own skin, and he got what he deserved.

All Janes had was a glimpse of the figure that crossed the street in the wake of the buggy. He was sure Calder had been positioned somewhere close to the alley. It had to be him. Giles had got it in the leg and couldn't possibly run. The other three were up the street.

He had made a hunting search of the shadows where Calder had to be hiding and decided he had to be using the rain barrel. It hadn't occurred to Janes to warn Reynolds that Calder had made it to this side of the street. His sole interest had centered on getting rid of Calder, then Giles.

There was a gap between the two buildings behind Janes just wide enough for a thin man to squeeze through. He had faded into it to slip around the building so he could slip up on Calder from the side.

He had circled the building and was sneaking up the side when he heard the sudden sharp exchange of gunfire and the thud of a body falling. He paused to listen, guessing that it had been Reynolds who got it.

With his left arm useless, reloading would be too slow. Benteen leaned against the building and slid the revolver into his holster, reaching for the spare gun in his waistband. Across the street, he saw Bull Giles standing sideways behind an upright post, but he couldn't see where any of the others were.

Benteen didn't have the vantage of Bull Giles's position. At first Bull wasn't certain the outline he saw at the corner of the building was a man. It moved slightly. The cold realization ran through him that the narrow shape belonged to Loman Janes. Somehow he'd slipped behind the building to sneak up behind Benteen.

Bull's glance swept back to Calder, wondering if he was aware he was being stalked from behind. It was impossible to tell if he knew, although Bull suspected he didn't. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but nothing came out.

If Benteen died, Lorna would be a widow. The ugly thought came to him unbidden. He clamped his mouth shut, hating himself.

He had left it too late for a warning. Janes was coming away from the corner shadow to make his ambush of Calder.

Benteen began to inch along the side of the building, his ears straining for sounds other than the loudness of his own breathing and the rush of blood through his veins. There was a sudden movement across the street as Bull stepped from behind the post, exposing himself.

“Janes!” Bull shouted the challenge and fired.

A gun cracked behind Benteen, and he whirled to face Loman Janes. In the span of slow seconds, he thought of Lorna and home as he fired his gun. He watched Janes's gun kick up from its first shot that went wide with Benteen's turning. The barrel steadied on him again as Benteen fired the second time and heard his shot strike home.

There was a quick, small cough from Janes. Surprise went through his eyes as he began to tip backward. He fell against the rain barrel and slowly slid to the ground.

The echoes of the shots faded away and the street became quiet. It was over. Fatigue ran deep into his bones. With the pistol still in his hand, Benteen gripped his left arm, throbbing from the wound in his shoulder. He swayed and staggered into the street. Dully he was aware of people filtering cautiously out of buildings, but all he wanted was to go home—to Lorna.

A wagon clattered up the street. Benteen stopped in irritation to let it pass, but its team was halted before it reached him. His weary gaze thought it watched Lorna springing from the wagon seat. When her hands touched his face, he realized it was really her.

“What are you doing here?” The rasping tiredness was in his voice, but his eyes were alive to her.

“I couldn't wait any longer.” She was checking him over, inspecting his wounds with her hands and her eyes.

“Take me home,” he said.

“I'm taking you to the doctor first,” she insisted.

Then he remembered something that was important —the way Giles had stepped out and drawn Janes's fire after the man had sneaked around the building.

“I think Giles took a bullet meant for me,” he said. “Go see how he is.”

“But—”

“I'm all right,” Benteen assured her.

Lorna half-turned and ordered, “Barnie, get him to a doctor.” Then she hurried across the street.

Bull was lying on the ground, propped against the sidewalk. There was a ghastly pallor to his face, and his left knee was soaked with blood. His right arm was held awkwardly across his stomach while blood stained his sleeve.

When Lorna knelt down beside him, Bull looked at her and smiled weakly. “He sent you here, didn't he?”

“Yes,” she admitted, and bent to look at the wound in his knee. It was a shattered, pulpy mess.

“It looks like it was a good thing I got some practice drivin' a buggy for Lady Crawford. That's about all I'll be ridin' from now on,” Bull said, acknowledging it was a crippling wound.

“We'll get you to the doctor. It's amazing the things they can do nowadays.” But she knew that he was right.

“You love him, don't you?”

“Yes.” It was the way she said it, the look in her eyes, that convinced him.

“You'll always be a special woman to me, Lorna,” Bull said quietly. “But I reckon that's all.”

“You'll always be very special to me—and to Benteen, too, I think,” she added. Townspeople began gathering around. Lorna motioned to two stronglooking men. “Help me get him to the doctor.”

When Benteen awakened, there was sunlight streaming through the window. He had trouble focusing his eyes, the room kept blurring. There was a sharply antiseptic smell around him. It was a minute before he realized he was on a cot in the doctor's office. He tried to move, and a stab of pain seared from his shoulder, evoking a grimacing groan.

“Lie still.” It was Lorna's voice, and her hand that gently touched his arm.

His gaze wandered over the face that was now within his vision. She was dark—and vivid, her lips red and warm for him. He caught the fragrance of her, so fresh and wild.

“I thought you were going to take me home,” he reminded her.

“The doctor thought it would be a good idea if you spent the night here. He gave you something to sleep while he dug out the bullet.” She showed him the slug that had come from his shoulder. “Do you want to keep it?”

“No. You can throw it away.” He pressed a hand to his bandaged shoulder. “I don't need anything to remember this by.”

Lorna couldn't have agreed more, and gladly tossed the bullet in a waste receptacle. She didn't want to ever live through that moment again when she had seen Benteen staggering across the street.

“What about the others? Giles. Woolie.” Concern tracked across his expression, drawing heavy lines.

“Woolie's horse was shot out from under him. He
has a broken leg. Jessie was creased in the arm, and Bob Vernon got shot in the hand.” Lorna listed the injuries, then hesitated on the last one. “Bull had his knee shattered. The doctor says he'll be all right, but he'll never be able to bend it again. It'll be stiff.”

Benteen sighed, but said nothing, aware of the debt he owed the man. “Is Boston dead?”

“Yes.”

“It's crazy,” he murmured on a faraway note. “They always say people who live by the gun die by it. Boston did his taking with legal papers, not bullets. A nonviolent thief. But he died violently just the same.”

There was a light rap at the door. Lorna turned, not leaving his bedside. “Yes?”

The door opened and Lady Crawford swirled into the room in her long black satin skirts. She was the model of composure as she crossed the room to the cot. Black gloves gripped the pearl handle of her parasol.

“So you were the one doing all that shooting last night,” she said to Benteen in mild accusation. “I complained bitterly to the management about the disturbance. It did little good, of course.” She paused briefly. “How are you feeling?”

“I'll feel better when I'm back at the ranch,” Benteen said, and linked his fingers with Lorna's.

“I'm sure your wife is capable of nursing you, although I don't envy her the task,” Elaine stated. “As for myself, I'm leaving for Helena. The territorial governor has invited me to spend a few days with his family. It should prove to be a valuable trip, I believe.”

“Yes, it should be,” Benteen agreed, but Lorna caught the resignation in his voice.

“Perhaps you'll be well enough to go with me another time,” Elaine suggested absently. “There's a lot of groundwork that needs to be done, and I'm certainly not needed here, when you have Lorna to take care of you.”

“That's true,” he agreed again.

“Unfortunately, it will be a few days before Mr. Giles
is up and around, so I'm forced to travel alone. Hopefully he'll be able to resume his duties in a couple of weeks. I looked in on him briefly,” she admitted.

“I'm glad to hear he'll be getting better.” Benteen glanced at Lorna, no longer feeling threatened by her friendship with Bull Giles, as he had proved last night when he'd sent her to him.

“I'm sure you don't feel like talking business,” Elaine continued. “And I have a great deal of packing to do. I only stopped to let you know where I'll be. I'll contact you when I return.”

Lorna was beginning to understand his mother's seemingly cool attitude, so brisk and efficient. A mother would be concerned about her child's illness or injury, and reluctant to leave him when he was unwell. But Lady Crawford was showing neither emotion. Purposely. She felt a surge of admiration and respect for the woman.

“By the way …” Elaine paused in her turn away from his bed. “I have lodged a formal complaint with the Canadian government on your behalf, because of the cattle stolen by Indians from their reservations. I am quite sure that you will soon be recompensed for your losses.”

Benteen raised an eyebrow to register mild surprise and pleasure. “That's good news.”

“I thought you'd say that.” Elaine smiled. “I must go. Take care of yourself.”

With parasol in hand, she glided to the door. Lorna unlinked her fingers from Benteen's grasp. “I'll be back in a minute,” she promised, and hurried after Lady Crawford. She carefully closed the door behind her.

“Did you want something?” Lady Crawford inquired with a regal tilt to her head.

“I wanted to thank you,” Lorna admitted.

“Thank me?”

“Yes, for what you did in there—the impression you left with Benteen.” She regarded the woman warmly, because it had been a very generous thing to do.

“Yes, well … you were quite right, you know,” Lady Crawford said, and made a study of smoothing the gloves on her hand. “There is one thing that I can't give him … but there are other dreams that I can fulfill.”

“Thank you,” Lorna repeated.

“Nonsense.” She dismissed the expression of gratitude. “Don't forget, I shall profit enormously from the association.”

She moved toward the front door before Lorna could say anything else. But it had all been said. Lorna slowly turned and went back into the room where Benteen was. She found him sitting on the edge of the cot, swaying unsteadily.

“Chase Benteen Calder, what are you doing?” She hurried over to help him.

“We're going home, aren't we?” he said, then turned a questioning eye on her. “What did you have to talk to Lady Crawford about?”

“It was nothing.” Lorna helped him on with his shirt. “She returned something, and I wanted to thank her for it.”

Three weeks later the first shipment of furniture arrived for the new house. Included was the big desk for the study. Lorna halted the workmen and had them uncrate the desk and carry it into the study. She hung the map on the wall behind it, and put Benteen's ranch papers in the drawers. There were a couple of chairs that belonged in the living room, but she arranged them in the study in front of the huge fireplace.

When she heard Webb galloping across the porch to greet his father at the steps, Lorna slipped out of the room to meet him in the entryway. His shoulder was still stiff and sore from the wound, and he was leaner, but there wasn't any doubt that he was back in full control of the Calder Cattle Company.