Stands a Calder Man (6 page)

The buildings were growing larger, becoming more discernible now in the vast plain as the contingent from the Triple C Ranch drew closer. Webb judged that they
would arrive about the same time that the train pulled in.

When they reached the outskirts of Blue Moon, Webb reined the gelding alongside the buckboard and slowed it to a trot. There were more people in the streets than he was accustomed to seeing in the little cow community.

“Busy place,” Nate observed from his seat on the buckboard.

“Probably just more people out because of the train.” It was an event that brought folks out of their houses.

But there seemed to be a lot of unfamiliar faces on the street. Webb saw only a few people he knew. A frown began to gather on his face as he tried to figure out what had brought all these strangers to town, and where they'd come from.

“Shall we go to the depot?” Nate asked as they neared the general store.

“Might as well.” Nearly everyone was heading in that direction, so they let themselves be swept along with them. Two new buildings had sprung up on the street. Nate noticed them, too, and exchanged a questioning look with Webb.

The skittish gelding danced sideways under Webb, trying to see everything at once. Ahead, the depot was crowded with empty wagons hitched to teams of horses shifting nervously at the closeness of the “iron monster.” It chugged idly, hissing puffs of steam. Nate had to swing the buckboard to the far end of the depot platform where there was room to park it, Webb reined the fractious gelding around to the far side of it as Nate set the brake and wrapped the reins around the handle.

Passengers were streaming out of the cars onto the depot, mostly men, but a few women with children, too. None of the men were dressed like cowboys or traveling salesmen. On hand apparently to greet the arrivals was a short, fox-faced man in a spanking white suit and a white straw hat. Taking it off, he waved it over his head to get the attention of the passengers.

“This is it, folks! Your journey's end!” He sounded like a preacher announcing to his flock that they had reached the Promised Land. “These wagons are going to give you a close-up look at America's new Eden! Now, I know you all are tired from your long ride and want to stretch your legs a bit. While you take a few minutes to get the stiffness out of your bones, I want you to look around. Take a gander out there at that grass.” He gestured to the expanse of plains beyond the railroad tracks leading into town. “It's purty nigh belly-deep to a tall horse. You look at that grass—and picture wheat in your mind!”

Nate slid a sharp glance at Webb from the wagon seat. “What the hell is he talking about?” he muttered under his breath, but clearly didn't expect an answer as he swung off the seat to the trampled and packed ground.

Webb took another look at the empty wagons lined up in front of the small train station. On both sides of the wagon beds, planks were laid, forming two benches to accommodate human freight. The new wood contrasted with the weathered-gray boards of the rest of the wagon and revealed how recently they had been converted to accommodate a passenger load.

As he dismounted and tied the gelding's reins to the back of the buckboard, he sized up the milling group of people. There were a scant few who looked like farmers, the ones with permanently sun-reddened faces. The vast majority of the group had the paleness of the city about them, but their tired faces were alive with hope. Webb realized their expression was more positive than hope. The belief was shining in their eyes that they had now been led to the Promised Land.

My God, he thought with a mixture of amusement and anger. The poor fools don't know what they're gettin' into.

Nate was already heading for the small building that housed the office of the station agent to check on the freight for the Triple C. A handful of the newly arrived passengers had wandered to the end of the train where
the buckboard was parked, providing Webb with a closer study of them.

His dark gaze moved over the young girl at the vanguard of the little group, then came back to her. She stood poised on the edge of the limitless plains, facing the benchland of tall grass with its hidden coulees and flat buttes. Her chin was lifted to the wind blowing in from the land as if she were drinking in the air's freshness, free from the city stench of smoke and congestion.

Wisps of dark auburn hair were whipped loose from a coiled knot at the back of her head while the sun's direct rays highlighted the fiery sheen in her dark tresses. A limp blue hat dangled by a ribboned string held in her hand and the black shawl had fallen off her shoulders. The wind flattened the faded gingham material of her dress against her slim body, showing Webb the swelling curve of high, youthful breasts and the outline of slender hips and legs.

Vitality and excitement seemed to flow through every line of her. It was more than just her young female form that drew and held his eye. There was something else that pulled his interest and wouldn't let it go. Without conscious direction, Webb let his course to the depot widen so he would pass closer to the girl.

Her motionless stance was broken as she turned to took over her shoulder and search the milling group of passengers for someone, her parents more than likely, since Webb doubted that a young girl would come out here alone. Evidently she spied them, because she started to glance back at the rolling grassland, sweeping aside strands of hair that the wind blew across her face. But when she did, she noticed his approach.

With bold curiosity, she stared at him. Her eyes seemed to take in every detail from the dusty crown of his cowboy hat to the heavy denim material of his Levi pants and the spurs riding low on his boots. Then her gaze swung upward to linger on the rough cut of his features. Montana born and raised, he unknowingly carried the print of the land on him, big and strong,
with a certain harshness in the uncompromising lines of his face. His flatly sinewed chest was broad and strong, throwing an impressive shadow on the ground.

Webb was indifferent to the impression he created. He was caught up in the blue of her eyes—as blue as the Montana sky overhead. Just like looking into the sky, he seemed able to see forever. The sensation gripped him, unnerving him a little.

His attention had been so obvious that his sense of propriety demanded a greeting. He touched a finger to his hat brim as he came within two feet of her, his easy stride slowing. “Good morning, miss.”

“Morning.” Her head dipped slightly in response, her eyes never leaving his. “Are you a cowboy?” The question rushed from her, followed by a smile that seemed to laugh at her own impetuousness.

“Yes.” His mouth quirked in a humorous line. It didn't seem necessary to explain that he was a rancher's son. By profession, he was a cowboy.

“I thought so.” Her smile widened at his affirmation. “You're dressed like the cowboys that were in Mr. Cody's parade.”

There was a second when he didn't understand the reference to the man; then the confusion cleared. “You mean Buffalo Bill Cody and his Wild West Show,” he realized, amused by the falsely exaggerated impression it had created for thousands about the West. “Have you seen it?”

“No.” She shook her head, laughing softly as if such a possibility were out of her reach. It prompted Webb to notice again the dress she was wearing, guessing it was probably her best, yet it was faded except where the seams had been let out to compensate for her maturing figure. It was wrinkled from traveling, but clean. It was obvious that her family didn't have the money to spend on such frivolities as a Wild West Show, and her next statement confirmed it. “We couldn't afford the admission price, but they had a parade with Indians and everything.”

“Where was this?” Webb asked, curious to know
where she was from—this innocent woman-child who couldn't be more than seventeen.

“In New York. That's where we live—used to live,” she corrected herself, excitement beaming in her face, thoroughly enchanting Webb with her eagerness for life.

“What are you doing here?” He struggled to break the crazy spell of her, forcing his gaze to the scattered clusters of the train's former passengers.

“This is where we're going to start a new life.” There was an absolute certainty in her voice that it would also be a better life. His glance slid back to study her profile as she looked expectantly at the surrounding plains, as if Utopia were just over the next rise. “We're going to have our own land and grow acres and acres of wheat.”

“If that's what you want to grow, you belong in Kansas. This land is only good for grass and cattle,” Webb stated grimly.

Her attention was fully on him once again, a determination he hadn't seen before suddenly surfacing in her clean features. There was even a shade of defiance glittering in her eyes. “That isn't what Mr. Wessel says.”

He tipped his head to one side. “And who is Mr. Wessel?”

“That's him over there.” She indicated the man in the white suit. “He's a locater. He's going to show us the best sections of unclaimed land so we can choose which one we want to file on.”

It wasn't difficult to imagine the promises of riches the man had made to these ignorant and inexperienced settlers.

“He's going to find land for all these people on the train with you?” Webb guessed.

“Yes,” she stated with a challenging tilt of her chin. “All of us signed up with him because he's the only one who knows where this land is located. No one else has seen it but him. We're going to be the first.”

“Besides the ranchers and the cowboys who have
traveled every inch of this country.” He lightly mocked the boasting claim that originated with the white-suited Mr. Wessel. “I suppose he's told you that all you have to do is plow up the sod, sow some wheat, and you'll be rich overnight. It isn't that easy.”

“Nothing worth having is ever easy.” She seemed to be speaking from experience rather than simply mouthing a wise phrase. “We've read all the brochures the railroad printed, telling about richness of this soil and the dryland method of growing wheat. The railroad has checked into it and they have evidence that proves it can be successfully grown.”

Webb didn't argue that point, because it couldn't be disputed. Considering his father's steadfast insistence to the contrary, it was a fact that troubled him. Wheat had been harvested in profitable quantities. Most of Webb's opposition to turning this ranchland into wheat farms came from an ingrained resistance to any change of the present lifestyle that focused on cattle and cowponies.

“Lillian!” A male voice called out the name and the auburn-haired girl turned in response. Webb wasn't quick enough to pick out the man who had called to her from the group of settlers gathering around the wagons.

Feeling her glance return to him, he looked back. There was a troubled quality about her expression, a kind of resigned regret, but it wasn't quite that, either. Then it was gone, replaced by a polite but friendly smile.

“I have to go now. They're loading up the wagons to take us out to the new land,” she explained unnecessarily.

“I hope you and your family find what you're looking for,” Webb offered. “Either here or someplace else,” There was a barely formed thought that he didn't want this to be the last time he saw her as his fingertips gripped the front brim of his hat.

“Yes.” It was a preoccupied reply.

Drawing her shawl up around her shoulder, the
young woman named Lillian turned to rejoin the others. At first, she moved sedately away from him, but her steps quickened when she drew closer to the group.

Webb took the tobacco sack out of his vest pocket and used the business of building a cigarette to screen his interest in the girl with the dark chestnut hair. She approached an older man in an ill-fitting suit and spoke to him. He was tall, a slight stoop to his shoulders as if they carried the weight of many hard, lean years. His gaunt features were mostly covered by a hoary white beard, silver tufts of hair poking out from the flat-brimmed black hat on his head. Yet he looked rock-solid, a laborer rather than a farmer, using the muscles in his back and the sweat of his brow to eke out a living for himself and his family.

Raking a match head across the rough denim material covering the back of his thigh, he cupped the flame to his cigarette and dragged the smoke into his mouth. He was shaking out the match as Nate Moore approached him, coming from the direction of the depot.

“Our stuffs in.” Nate confirmed the arrival of the ranch's shipment. His glance strayed to the motley assortment of travelers climbing into the converted wagons. “As soon as they get gone, we can drive the buckboard over and get it loaded up.”

“Good.” Webb pinched the match head between his fingers to be sure it was cool before tossing it into the grass near the cinder track.

What few belongings the new settlers had brought with them were stacked on the depot platform along with the other freight. After they'd selected a homesite, they'd be back to collect it. The baggage was a clear indication of their intention to stay, and a desperate statement that they had no home to go back to, their roots pulled up to be replanted in Montana soil.

“Did ya ever see such a ragtag bunch?” Nate remarked, following the direction of Webb's interest. “The station agent says they're just the beginning. The railroad's cut the fares coming from the East down to next to nothin'. But they're only sellin' one-way tickets.

It wouldn't surprise me if some of those folks didn't sell nearly everything they owned just to raise the price of the fare. They'll be lucky if they got a dollar in their pockets.”

“What do they need money for?” Webb countered with wry cynicism. “The land is free.” He mocked the ignorance of the settlers who had arrived here with a pocketful of dreams and little else.

As the wagons loaded with eager settlers pulled away from the train station, their modern-day Moses was at the head, leading the oppressed poor to their so-called Promised Land.