The raiders would have the best chance to escape if they scattered and hid separately. If they were caught together, and the shooting started, good people were bound to lose their lives.
At least Alvar wouldn’t be among them. He’d told Blake that his father wanted him safe, to care for the family in case the worst happened. But others—fathers, sons, husbands, and brothers—were bound to die senselessly, and more families would be ruined.
Even after Blake rode under the high main gate of the Triple C, he had some distance to go. The Calder spread was so vast that it seemed more like a kingdom than a mere ranch, with rich grassland that could be measured not in acres but in square miles.
Here and there he saw clusters of grazing cattle, most of which would be rounded up and loaded into railway cars this fall. There were fewer of them than he remembered seeing in earlier years. Between the drought and the deflated beef market, Benteen must’ve sold some of them off early just to get operating cash. All the cattle ranches were hurting, which was why there were so many out-of-work cowhands hanging around Blue Moon.
The most trusted hands, some whose fathers had made the original drive with Benteen’s herd, lived in nice homes on the ranch. Others stayed in well-furnished bunkhouses. These, along with the barns, sheds, warehouses, and corrals, gave the ranch’s central area the appearance of a small town.
On a nearby bluff, Blake could see the mansion with its pillared front which had always reminded him of the White House in Washington, which he’d seen as a photo in a book. As a boy, he’d visited the Calder home with his mother, who was good friends with Lorna Calder. The two women were still friends, although, over time, Sarah’s marriage to Joe Dollarhide had created some distance between them. Years had passed since the last time he’d walked through the doors of the great house. He could only hope that the man he’d come to see would be at home and in a mood to listen.
It was Lorna who answered his knock. Looking fresh and pretty in a yellow summer dress, she swiftly replaced her surprised expression with a smile.
“Why, Blake, how good it is to see you. Please come in.” She motioned him inside and closed the door. “How is your mother?”
“She’s fine. I’ll tell her you asked.” Blake happened to glance past her. Ruth, dressed in pale blue, was standing at the open entrance to the dining room. She gave Blake a smile and a nod, then turned away and vanished.
“What can we do for you, Blake?” Lorna asked. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Blake pulled his attention away from Ruth. “Nothing to drink, thanks. I have business with your husband if he’s available. Would it be possible to talk with him now?”
“Certainly. He’s in his study.” She raised her voice slightly. “Ruth, would you tell Mr. Calder that Blake Dollarhide is here to see him?”
Blake could hear the patter of Ruth’s footsteps hurrying down the hall. In a moment’s time she came back to the entryway. “He can see you now, Blake. I’ll show you the way.”
Blake already knew where Benteen’s study was, but this might be his only chance to talk with Ruth. “Thanks,” he said. “How’ve you been, Ruth? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been pretty busy here. There’s the door to the study. You can just go in.” She turned away and went on down the hall. Ruth was pretty and intelligent, but she’d never been much for conversation. Some men liked that quality in a woman. But that was a thought for another time.
After a light knock, Blake opened the door. Benteen Calder sat behind his massive desk with a ledger spread open in front of him. He looked older than the last time Blake had seen him. The skin seemed to sag on his rugged face, and his dark hair was streaked with gray. He appeared to be tired, maybe even ill. But when he spoke, his voice was as deeply powerful as Blake remembered.
“Pull up a chair, Dollarhide. Pardon me for not getting up. The old knees are giving me hell. Might be a touch of lumbago.” He cleared his throat. “So what brings you all the way out here?”
“Trouble with the drylanders. I’m hoping you can help put a stop to it.”
“You don’t say?” One heavy black eyebrow shifted upward. Benteen’s dislike of the wheat farmers was no secret. “And why should I want to put a stop to it? As far as I’m concerned, any trouble those honyockers are having is good news.”
“So you haven’t heard about the dynamiting?”
“Oh, that.” He scowled. “Yes, my foreman said something about it last night. Damned shame about the little girl. But there’s not much I can do about that, is there? I mean, I can’t bring her back to life, can I?”
Blake had never imagined he’d want to punch Benteen Calder in the face; but the thought struck him now. He forced his temper under control. “Do you know that somebody’s paying the gang that dynamited the house? And that the drylanders are going out to track them down and kill them?”
“And how am I supposed to put a stop to that?”
“Did Webb tell you I spoke to him?”
“Webb and I haven’t done much talking lately. But I take it that whatever you wanted from him, he said no. And that’s why you’ve come to me. So get to the point.”
The man wasn’t making it easy. “Two of those raiders used to work for you. They could be hiding on your ranch. Either way, you’ve got the manpower to go after them, round them up, and turn them over to the state authorities. If the drylanders get to them first, and lynch or shoot them, the bloodbath that follows is bound to get innocent folks killed. I’m trying to keep that from happening.”
Benteen shook his head. “You say I’ve got the manpower. Hell, I’m not even paying my men, just letting them live here free until the work picks up. No cowboy who’s not being paid will want to ride after those galoots. I say let the bastards go. If they’re smart, they’ll get away. If they’re dumb enough to get caught, they deserve to be strung up. This isn’t my problem. And I can’t help you.” He turned a page in the ledger, dismissing Blake with a gesture. “You can show yourself out.”
Blake walked down the hall to the entry and let himself out the front door without seeing either Ruth or Lorna. Why had he taken the time to come out here and talk to Benteen? Why should he care about a bunch of stubborn wheat farmers—especially when no one else seemed to? Maybe he should just back off and let events take their course, come hell or high water.
As he mounted his horse, a distant sound caught his attention—the faint but unmistakable rumble of thunder. Sooty clouds were rolling in from the west. Could it really be rain, or was Mother Nature playing another of her cruel jokes?
By the time he rode under the high gate of the Triple C, black clouds had filled the sky. Lightning crackled and hissed. Thunder boomed. Recognizing the danger of being a high target, Blake dismounted and led his nervous horse.
As they reached the road back to town, the sky seemed to split open. Rain poured down like water through a broken dam. Life-giving rain that turned the road to a sea of mud and plastered Blake’s wet clothes to his body; rain that would wash out the tracks of the raiders and send their pursuers racing for their shacks and wheat fields.