“I don’t know.” Joseph frowned. “I never set much store by that kind of stuff. But why did you tell me this story today?”
“Maybe because I want you to understand what this land means to our family. My father said that the horses led him here, to this place, and to Sarah. Whether you believe the story or not, you are part of it. As Joe Dollarhide’s grandson, this is your heritage. Think of that when you’re tempted to be unworthy of what you’ve been given.”
Blake halted his horse and reached for the tool bag that hung on the saddle. “Here’s the broken fence. Now let’s get to work.”
Joseph said little while he helped right the fencepost and held the wire for splicing. But Blake’s words played over and over in his mind. How much did his dad know?
As Joe Dollarhide’s grandson . . . Blake had said. Was he aware that Joseph had discovered the secret of his birth? He might not be Blake’s son, but there was no disputing that he was Joe’s grandson. And then there was the part about unworthiness. Had Blake guessed, or even sensed, that Joseph was involved with Mason in a scheme that could get him arrested?
But never mind all that. He was already looking forward to tonight, when he would steal out of the house for another adventure with the man to whom he was bonded by blood.
* * *
Chase had almost finished his late dinner of roast prime rib, baked potatoes, hot rolls, and garden vegetables, with chocolate cake for dessert. At any other time, he might’ve asked to be excused. But tonight, he lingered at the table, dawdling with his food as he listened to the conversation between his father and Sheriff Calhoun, who’d been invited as a guest. As Webb always said, it never hurt to have the law on your side.
“Clearly you’ve had a lot of experience,” Webb was saying. “The thing that puzzles me is what you’re doing in a nowhere town like Blue Moon. I know we needed a sheriff, but why would a man who’s practically a legend take a job here?”
Webb was flattering the sheriff. Chase had seen his father butter up dinner guests before. Most of the time it worked. He’d have them eating out of his hand by the end of the meal. But how well would it work with Jake Calhoun?
“Coming here wasn’t my idea,” the sheriff said. “It was the governor’s. He sent a team of officers—two to Miles City and me here. This part of Montana’s been pinpointed as a funnel for smuggling illegal liquor from Canada. Trucks, moving on back roads, bring it to distribution sites where the customers can pick it up. We have reason to believe that one of those sites is somewhere around Blue Moon, maybe on one of the ranches.”
“Not the Triple C!” Webb sprang to defend his honor. “I have eyes on every inch of my land. If anything was going on, I’d hear about it. But you might want to check out some of the other ranches—the Dollarhides’, for instance. Or the Hunter place south of here. The fellow who owns it claims to have been a major in the army. But hell, he just built a big barn. Maybe that’s where the liquor’s going.”
Chase had questions, but he kept his mouth shut. To speak up might get him dismissed from the table. He sipped from his water glass and waited.
“We’ve already got a good lead,” the sheriff said. “This morning, I put up a notice in the post office, offering a thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of the smugglers. An hour later, someone walked into my office.”
“Who was it?” Webb asked.
“That’s confidential, for the informant’s safety. But evidently there’s a shipment coming through tonight. We know which route it’s supposed to take and where it’s headed. My partners are on their way from Miles City. We’ll be waiting to apprehend the truck and anybody who’s meeting it.”
Chase choked on his water. He covered his mouth until he’d stopped coughing. “Excuse me,” he mumbled.
“You don’t have to stay, son,” Webb said. “You’re welcome to be excused.”
“Thanks,” Chase said. “I need to finish my dessert first.”
He toyed with the last few morsels of cake, his pulse racing. He needed to warn his friends of the danger and make sure they stayed clear of the illegal delivery.
Last year, Chase’s father had hired a cowboy nicknamed Smoky for extra help on the roundup. Smoky had been a good worker, but he’d kept to himself and had a nervous way about him. If anybody touched him without warning, he’d jump and curse. And sometimes, in his bedroll, he had nightmares that made him wake up screaming. Once, maybe because Chase was just a boy and didn’t scare him, Smoky confided that he’d spent three years in a state reform school for stealing a watch to sell for food. Chase could still hear his voice.
“It was pure hell, that place. If you didn’t toe the line, or just because they felt like it, they’d strip you naked and whip you till you bled. Then they’d lock you in a room with no heat and no food for a couple of days. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was when they’d haul you out of bed at night and give you to one of the guards. Lord help me, I was raised by a God-fearin’ mother. But there weren’t no God in that place. I’d pray that what the man was doin’ would stop, but it never did. You see how I am. I wasn’t like this before. But nobody came out of that hellhole the same as they went in. Some never came out at all.”
The thought of his friends in a place like that made Chase feel sick. He had to warn them to keep away from what they were planning tonight.
Buck’s house was on the ranch, less than a mile away. If he could get to his friend before he left for town, then Buck could warn Cully and Joseph. But Chase would have to get away without arousing the suspicion of his dad or the sheriff.
“May I be excused now, Dad?” he asked, trying not to sound nervous. “I thought maybe I’d go over to Buck’s for a while. He wanted to show me his new comic book.”
“You’re going tonight? It’s getting late.”
“I won’t be long.” Before his father could question him further, Chase left the table and headed for the front door. Once it closed behind him, he broke into a dead run.
By the time he arrived at the modest Haskell house, he was out of breath. The place was as familiar to him as his own home. After his mother’s tragic death, Ruth Haskell had taken in the motherless infant and raised him with her own son. She’d cared for him until Webb had brought him home to be brought up as the Calder heir.
It was Ruth who answered his knock. A slender, blond woman, she knew Chase well enough to sense his concern.
“Is everything all right, Chase?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine,” Chase lied. “I just stopped by to see Buck.”
“I’m sorry, he went to visit a friend in town. He said he might stay there overnight. I’ll be glad to tell him you came by. Would you like an oatmeal cookie? They’re fresh out of the oven.”
“Thanks, but I just finished dinner. I’ll catch him later. Good night, Aunt Ruth.”
Now what? Chase kicked a rock out of the path as he walked back toward the Homestead. He could go home and try to sneak out later after his father was asleep. He could also go to the stable now, saddle a horse, and leave straightaway for town. If Webb were to miss him, he’d catch hell when he got home.