This Calder Sky (22 page)

A door slammed; Maggie spun around. There were three different sets of footsteps approaching the kitchen. Two were obviously those of her father and brother, and she realized the third belonged to Bob Tucker when she heard him talking.

“…. It happened three nights ago, on Friday.”

“What started it?” her father asked.

“Jake heard them talking about Dolly; then suddenly they were fighting.” The three entered the kitchen as Tucker finished his reply. He took off his hat when he saw Maggie, smiling with his small mouth. “Hello, Maggie. How are you this evening?”

Tucker was always polite to her, respectful and warm. There was never any pity in his eyes, only silent approval. Although there was a certain grotesqueness in his disproportioned shape, the large body and the small head, she liked him, anyway. When he said something, she felt she could believe him.

“I'm fine. I didn't expect to see you around here for quite a while.” She thought they had decided to keep away from each other after Calder had seen them
together. They were going to let everything cool down for a while, so her father had said. She glanced at her father. “Calder is already suspicious of you,” she reminded him and noticed the way he avoided her eyes.

“Put on some coffee, Maggie,” he said rather than reply to her comment. “Tucker and me have some things to talk over.”

But she wasn't about to be distracted. “What things?” A chill ran down her spine.

“Calder is positive that he's scared us off with his patrols. We figure it's time we hit him again,” her father admitted and swaggered cockily to the table. “He can be as suspicious as he wants, but he can't prove nothing. If he could, he would have been all over us already. Tucker and me have decided to call his bluff.”

“But the patrols!” Maggie tried to think of something to dissuade them.

“After this much time, they won't be as alert as they were in the beginning,” Tucker assured her. “They'll be bored with the routine of it. Don't worry.”

“When?”

“That's what we're going to decide. Now, put some coffee on girl, like I told you,” her father ordered.

Two nights later, Webb Calder was asleep in his heavy-framed bed when the fire bell outside clanged its alarm. The signal awakened him instantly to full alertness. Throwing back the covers, he stepped into his pants as he rose from the bed. Out his window, he could see the faint glow of an orange flare.

He stared at it for a long minute, standing with his pants fastened but still unzipped. He shook his head sadly, but there was no compromise in him. He'd taken his stand, made his statement; now he had to back it all up.

“Damn you, Angus,” he sighed heavily, then reached for his shirt.

The sun was hot overhead. Webb wiped the perspiration from his upper lip with a handkerchief, then rubbed the cloth down his neck. “How many, Nate?” His voice was hard, as unyielding as his granite-brown eyes.

“The plane is making one last sweep to see if we missed spotting any. Right now it looks like twenty-eight.”

“It's Angus O'Rourke,” Webb stated, and his foreman didn't appear surprised.

“What are we going to do?” Nate took it for granted that they would do something. He only waited for orders to carry them out.

“I warned him I'd come after him personally if any more beef was stolen.” To this point, Webb had not taken his gaze from the herd being counted. “I want you, Chase, and three other men to meet me at the north range by ten o'clock tomorrow morning. We'll ride over to O'Rourke's from there.” Now he swung his gaze to probe into the foreman's face. “We're taking a rope with us, so keep that in mind when you pick the three men.”

“We'll be there at ten.” Nate casually crushed a cigarette under his boot, then walked slowly away.

Part of the instructions were understood without being spelled out. The three men would be Calder men, born on the place, rather than drifters, who would travel and talk. They would be given their orders in private—orders that would never be mentioned again, not even in their own bedrooms. All would leave their respective locations on the ranch separately, without telling anyone where they were going. It all went without saying because of the nature of their mission.

The six men met in silence and rode together in silence, their faces grim and resolute. At the boundary fence with the Shamrock Ranch, Chase knocked out the rock wedging the sagging post in place, downing the fence for the riders. His father's private explanation of their mission had been brief—a simple statement that O'Rourke was the cattle thief, and they were paying him a visit.

Chase had wondered why he wasn't more surprised by the announcement of O'Rourke's guilt. Perhaps because the man had always been lazy, a weak man. Although O'Rourke was Maggie's father, he didn't link them together in his mind. They were two separate people, entirely different in both character and values.

He had taken one look at the hand-picked riders and guessed that his role was to observe and learn. His father had not taken him into his confidence or consulted him regarding his decision or plans. That would come later—after the fact, with a step-by-step analysis of all that had transpired.

There were certain things his limited experience could infer from this show of force. They were all close-mouthed men, loyal to the brand. Nothing that happened today would go beyond these six people. It was equally obvious that Angus O'Rourke was to be taught a lesson that wouldn't quickly be forgotten. Chase didn't know what it would be, but it occurred to him that there was a reason his father hadn't told him.

They climbed the slope above the fence line at a canter, slowing to a trot between the scattered trees where the terrain was rough. Chase rode at his father's right side; that was his place. Their route was a direct line to the Shamrock ranchhouse.

Maggie ducked her head to avoid a low-hanging branch as she followed her brother on horseback through the trees. They were working their way homeward for lunch with one detour to check a salt block. Ahead of her, Culley abruptly reined his horse to a stop.

“What is—”

He silenced her question with an upraised finger to his mouth and a frowning scowl. Then she heard the creak of saddle leather and the muffled hoofbeats of several horses. She looked beyond him, her view partially obscured by the stand of trees they were in. She had a glimpse of the big yellow horse Webb Calder always rode. A cold, sharp fear started her heart thudding against her ribs. She glanced at Culley. He'd barely moved a muscle since that first signal for quiet. The riders were more than a hundred yards away, heading toward the house, but Culley waited until they were out of sight.

“We have to warn Pa,” she whispered. “He's there alone.”

“I know,” Culley snapped impatiently and kicked his horse out of the cover of the trees. “Follow me.”

Spurring, they set their horses at a gallop. They circled wide to avoid being spotted by the Calders and to approach the ranch from the bam side, where there was more cover. But it was also longer, which lost them precious time. The Calders were walking their horses into the ranch yard when Maggie and Culley reached the back fence of the corral.

“We're too late,” Maggie realized when she saw the riders fan out to block her father from reaching the house, trapping him in the open area in front of the dilapidated barn. Her widened eyes saw the rifles lying across the saddles. She glanced at Culley. “What are they going to do to him?”

“I don't know.” He dismounted and tied his horse's reins to the corral railing. Maggie did the same, following him as he crouched low to move closer.

“I warned you, Angus.” Webb sat his horse in the middle of the riders who fanned out on either side of him. “You should have believed me.”

“You warned me about what? That beef you've had stolen?” O'Rourke blustered, but his face was white. “You haven't got any proof I had anything to do with it.”

“I told you before, Angus, that I don't put much stock in the kind of proof you're talking about. You know you've been stealing my beef. And I know it.” At a nod from Webb, a mustached rider dismounted and walked toward O'Rourke with a pigging string in his hands. “You should have quit when I gave you the chance, Angus.”

“What chance?” O'Rourke stole an anxious glance at the man approaching him, but didn't run. His feet were rooted to the ground. “What chance does a little guy like me have against a big outfit like yours? You buy supplies cheaper than I can. There's no market for my cattle 'cause you've glutted it with yours. You take
the best graze and water and watch the rest of us try to scrape out a living on what's left.”

His arms were pulled behind his back and O'Rourke staggered a step, but didn't offer any resistance. With two wraps of the string, his wrists were bound and tied, and the cowboy stepped back to stand behind him. Nate reined his horse out of the semi-circle and walked it to the open doors of the barn.

“You think you're some damned king around here.” Hatred gave O'Rourke the strength to stand and defy Calder, even though he was quaking with fear inside. “You think you can ride through the country and us peasants are supposed to bow and scrape and take care to please you, even if it means you or yours wants to screw our daughters.” His glance flashed to Chase with pure venom. “We're supposed to take it and be grateful for the tips you give.”

The claybank stallion moved restlessly beneath Webb and pawed the ground with an impatient hoof, sensitive to the volatile undercurrents ripping the air, but Webb sat calmly in the saddle, listening to the vindictive speech. A man was entitled to his say before he died.

“I stole your cattle, Calder, and I'm glad I did!” O'Rourke drew back his head and jeered Webb with the truth. “It's time someone started taking from you the way you've been taking from us all these years. It sticks in your craw, doesn't it? So the big, brave man comes here with five of his hands to teach one little guy a lesson. What are you going to do?” he demanded. “Have them work me over? Whip me? That ain't gonna stop me. I'm going to take every head of cattle you've got and destroy you. You're going to be nothing, just like the rest of us, before I'm through with you.”

“You just put your own neck in a noose, Angus,” Webb stated.

Over by the barn, Nate stepped out of the saddle, carrying a coiled rope in his hand. O'Rourke wasn't paying attention to anyone but Webb, but Chase saw the foreman walk into the barn. The wide doors at the opposite ends were open, leaving only the middle of the barn's corridor in shadow. Nate stopped in the middle and tossed one end of the rope over a thick crossbeam. A white noose dangled in the air, tied in nine wraps that made a hangman's knot. Chase shot a questioning glance at his father as his horse moved under him, reacting to the unconsciously applied pressure on the bit. There was nothing in Webb Calder's face to reveal his intentions. There was only an unbroken hardness that covered eyes, mouth, and jaw.

Unaware that Calder's remark was any more than a slang expression, O'Rourke responded to it. “Why? This confession isn't going to do you any good. I'll just deny that I ever made it, and it'll be your word against mine. It doesn't matter how many witnesses you've got. Everyone knows they're your men and they'll say whatever you tell them to say. I stole your cattle, but you'll never prove it.”

“I told you before, Angus, I had all the proof I needed.” He nodded to the man behind O'Rourke.

The mustached cowboy stepped forward to take O'Rourke by the shoulders and turn him toward the barn. O'Rourke made a show of resistance and contempt by twisting his shoulders out of the grip while making the turn. The cowboy clamped a hand on the bound wrists and marched him forward.

When Angus saw the noose waiting for him, he stumbled and cast a panicked look over his shoulder. Fear ran out from him like a living thing, but it made no impression on Webb Calder. The cowboy continued to push him forward and Angus looked to the front again, mesmerized by the noose swaying in the slight breeze.
Nate had pulled up a wooden crate and stood it on end directly under the rope. The riders followed Webb's lead and closed in around the barn doors.

Crouched in a clump of young alders growing along the corral's dirt-walled pond, Maggie and Culley had a clear view of all that was happening through the opposite side of the barn. It was a nightmare scene unfolding before their eyes, while each waited for the other to wake them up. The reality of it finally shook Maggie out of her disbelieving trance and she started to move to her father's aid, but Culley grabbed her and pulled her back into the cover of the young trees.

“We have to help him.” She struggled quietly against his grip.

“No. I don't know what they might do to us, and I have to think of you, Maggie,” he insisted and held her tighter, even after she stopped trying to pull free of his hands.

Her gaze went back to the barn. “They won't hang him.” It was a desperate hope because Chase was there, astride a liver-colored chestnut at his father's right.

Chase wouldn't let them hang her father—not Chase, who had taken her so gently that first time, then washed the stains from her legs; not Chase, who had picked her a bouquet of wildflowers. Her eyes clung to him, but he bore no resemblance to that gentle man. He wasn't Chase. He was a Calder, and an icy band of steel closed around her heart.

One of the riders rode his horse into the barn while the other cowboy helped O'Rourke onto the box. Chase glanced at his father again, uncertain how far this scene was going to be acted out. His own throat was tightening as the tension mounted.

“You aren't going to hang me, Calder.” His voice wavered without confidence as the rider stopped his horse beside O'Rourke and looped the noose around
his neck, fitting it snug. Nate took up the slack and tied the free end to an upright support. Marble-white, O'Rourke held himself rigid, afraid to struggle in case he knocked the box out from under him. He stared ahead, his eyes wild and fully open. “You won't get away with this, Calder,” he warned hoarsely.