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“It would have been simpler if you’d just had me fetch him here. Save all this waitin’,” Janes declared.
Boston didn’t respond. As good as Loman Janes was at his job, the man thought with his muscle. He would have welcomed an all-out war with Calder over possession of the range. It didn’t occur to him that Boston needed the goodwill and support of his fellow ranchers if his ba
nk wanted to keep their business. A range war meant people taking sides. Accounts would be lost, the bank business would suffer, and a lot of unwanted notoriety would come his way.
Sometimes his foreman’s lack of imagination was irritating. When the prairie fire hadn’t done as much damage as they had hoped, he had wanted to set another. The last thing Boston wanted was Calder’s suspicions aroused. Some loss had been sustained because of the fire. It was time to create more losses through other means. And in ways that would be difficult to trace back to Boston. He needed cattle range—not a war.
There was a knock at the rear door of the bank. A gleam of satisfaction appeared in Judd Boston’s eyes when he met Loman’s glance. “Go let Giles in,” he ordered.
A few minutes later Janes ushered the bull-necked man into the office. Boston sent him a brief glance and returned to his paperwork.
“Have a seat, Giles. I’ll be through here in a few minutes,” he said. “Pour him a drink, Janes.” The wait was deliberate, giving Giles time to settle comfortably in the big leather chair facing the desk and have a drink of bonded whiskey.
“The king is in his counting house, counting out his money,” Giles recited when Boston set the books aside and lit a cigar. “And the knave …” He paused to throw a look at Loman Janes, but the meaning of the word escaped the foreman. “You wanted to see me, Boston?”
“Yes.” He leaned back in his chair. “I admit I was surprised when you quit the duke’s party. But I guess you wanted to stay close by.”
“If that’s all you wanted to talk to me about…” Giles set the unfinished glass of whiskey on the desk and made to rise.
“The Calder woman is still a touchy subject with you, isn’t it?” Boston observed, and waved him into his chair. “Sit down. There’s something I’d like you to do for me.”
“I’ve already got a job, Boston.” Giles sat back in the chair.
“Yes, I understand you’re employed by Lady Crawford. The hardships of traveling proved to be too much for her, I was told.” It seemed a curious and abrupt decision to Boston, but those English aristocrats had their own peculiarities. “She plans to rest here for a month or so before journeying on by more comfortable modes of transportation, I believe.”
“If that’s what you heard, I guess it’s so.” Bull Giles didn’t commit himself one way or the other.
“Did you introduce her to Calder?”
There was a slight twist of his thin mouth. “I suppose the duke passed that information on to you. All I know is, she met Mrs. Calder before.” He didn’t mention the private meeting she’d had with Benteen in her hotel suite. That was something he still hadn’t figured out.
“Unless you’re at her beck and call every minute, I’m sure you have a lot of free time,” Boston suggested. “The task I’d like you to do for me won’t take you more than a day or two.”
“What is this ‘task’?”
“I understand you know a man named Big Ed Sallie.” He leaned forward to leisurely tap the ash from his cigar.
A quick frown chased across his forehead as Bull Giles glanced from Boston to Loman Janes and back. “Yeah, I know him. What about it?”
“I want you to contact this Sallie and arrange a meeting between him and Mr. Janes.”
There was a narrowing of his eyes as he demanded, “Why?”
“I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” Boston replied, but he sensed that Giles wouldn’t cooperate unless he was given a logical reason why he wanted the meeting. “Actually, it’s a simple matter of bribery. As I understand, if anyone has influence over the Indians, it’s Big Ed Sallie and his bunch of white renegades up on the Missouri. I’m hoping Janes will be able to persuade him to keep the Indians from raiding the Ten Bar.”
“Is that all?” Giles questioned.
“That’s a great deal, if it can be accomplished,” Boston stated. “Can you arrange the meeting?”
“I can’t guarantee it. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Big Ed. But I’ll give it a try,” Giles agreed.
“This agreement is just between us, of course. Strictly private.” Boston wanted it understood that Giles wasn’t to mention it to anyone else.
“I can see that it wouldn’t work if every rancher tried to buy off Big Ed. No one’s got that much control over those reservation-jumping Indians. They’re going to take somebody’s cattle.”
“Probably Calder’s,” Boston said. “Does that bother you?”
“No. Why should it?” Giles lifted his head to a challenging angle, denying that he had any special interest for the Triple C or its mistress.
