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When he stepped out of the cabin, the three riders were walking their horses into the yard. Benteen stiffened, recognizing the pock-faced man in the lead. Without needing to look, his peripheral vision told him where Woolie was standing, backing him up. Zeke and Bob were at the shed-barn, checking a horse with a loose shoe and watching the riders as they stopped their horses facing Benteen.
“You’re a long way from home, Janes,” Benteen remarked. “Lost your way?”
“Mr. Boston’s been hearin’ a lot of things about this country. He thought maybe I should take a look at it,” Loman Janes said.
“Giles turned in a good report when he got back, I guess.” Benteen threw a glance at the big-chested man and caught him searching the cabin—for a glimpse of Lorna, no doubt.
“Mr. Boston has been thinkin’ about expanding his holdings.” Loman ignored the reference to Bull Giles. “It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, Calder. A lotta big outfits in Texas are lookin’ north to this free grass. You didn’t really think you were gonna keep this range all to yourself?”
“No,” Benteen admitted. “I figure to have neighbors. And it’s expecting too much to think the vermin will stay away for long.”
Loman Janes stretched his mouth into a curved line that showed a chilling smile. “An’ sometimes you have to drive the snakes out before a place is fit to live in.” He gathered the reins to his horse. “We stopped to see if it’d be all right to make camp by the river. We’ve traveled a piece and need to light somewhere ‘fore it gets dark.”
“You can camp there,” Benteen granted permission. “Just don’t go makin’ yourselves too much at home.”
The coldly mocking smile stayed on Loman Janes’s face as he slowly reined his horse in a turn away from the cabin and Benteen. From inside, the baby cried, and Bull Giles squared his shoulders to stare at Benteen.
“Is that a baby?”
“My son,” Benteen stated, and watched the muscles tighten in Bull Giles’s neck.
“Your wife … is doing well, I hope,” he tersely inquired after Lorna’s health.
“Yes.” Benteen continued to send his level gaze at the big man.
“Congratulations, then,” he said thickly, and wheeled his horse alongside the Ten Bar foreman.
The trio lifted their horses into a shuffling trot and aimed for a point at the river not far from the ranch buildings.
Woolie stepped up to stand beside Benteen. “What do you think?” he asked, because he’d never been much good at figuring out other people’s motives.
“Like he said, it shouldn’t be a surprise that Boston’s looking north,” Benteen replied grimly. “The big always want to get bigger.”
“I’ve heard he don’t particularly care how he gets there,” Woolie offered.
“Maybe someone will set him straight,” Benteen suggested, and sent a dry glance to Woolie.
The cowboy grinned. “Maybe.”
As he turned to reenter the cabin, Benteen realized he hadn’t been surprised to see Loman Janes. The idea that someone from Boston’s outfit might show up must have been at the back of his mind since last summer when Bull Giles had wandered in. There was trouble coming, and he’d best be making his plans for it now.
He walked into the cabin and unbuckled his gunbelt, hanging it back on the peg. Lorna noticed his preoccupied look and slowly stopped rocking the cradle.
“Who was it?” she asked, pretending that she hadn’t heard the conversation outside.
“Loman Janes, Judd Boston’s foreman.” Benteen walked to the canvas curtain and lifted the bottom. “It seems Boston has decided he wants some of this free grass.”
She frowned when she saw him take out his knife and make a slashing cut a couple of feet long at the bottom of the curtain. “What are you doing?”
“I need to make a map,” he said, and made a crosscut to end up with a rectangular piece of white cloth. He carried it to the table and spread it out. “Get me a pencil, will you?”
“A map of what?” She handed him one from her sewing kit.
“Of our ranch, and the range surrounding it.”
There weren’t any maps of the area, except the one in his head. He had tried to explore as much of the surrounding territory as the time away from the ranch would permit. He began sketching the information, translating it from his head to the piece of canvas cloth. He drew in the Stanton claim, and Barnie’s along with his own.
After more than two hours’ work, correcting distances and locations, it was beginning to take shape. He didn’t notice when Lorna lit the lamp and set it on the table, or smell the food cooking on the stove.
