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“Up on the bluff.”
“What were you doing up there? That’s not Shamrock land.”
There was a small lift of his thin shoulders that seemed to shrug aside the question. “You can see for miles from atop that bluff.”
“What do you know about those dead cattle?”
“About as much as you do.”
“And what’s that?”
“From what I could tell, they looked like somebody used them for target practice.”
“How were you able to determine that? Did you go down there?”
“Didn’t have to. I got me a pair of field glasses. I watched you dig a bullet out of one of the carcasses.”
“I understand you do a bit of wandering at night. You haven’t heard anything that might have been gunfire the last few nights, have you?”
“Who’s to say they were shot at night?”
“Good point.” Logan smiled, some of the tension finally easing. “At the same time, I can’t imagine anyone doing it in broad daylight.”
“I don’t remember hearing gunshots,” Culley said, at last answering the question. “But if the wind was blowing just right, it probably would have carried to the north range.”
“Is that where you were?”
“There, or somewhere on the Shamrock or else around The Homestead.”
“Where’s The Homestead?”
“That’s the name they gave Calder’s house.” O’Rourke paused and cocked his head to the side, eyeing Logan with open curiosity. “What made you become a cop?”
“A psychiatrist could give you a long answer to that.” A smile half tilted his mouth. “But some people are just born warriors.”
That was a new concept to Culley, one he had to think about. A warrior: he liked the sound of it. It conjured up images of a man willing to fight to protect those in his care. “You got any family?”
Logan shook his head, the smile fading. “Not anymore.”
“My dad wasn’t much, bu
t he was there. That’s sayin’ something nowadays, when a man sows his seed and never gives a damn about the baby that grows from it. There was a time when folks held a man accountable. Now they figure a man’s happiness comes ahead of his responsibility, and look to the government to take care of the kid. But the government can’t raise a boy to be a man.”
“I suppose not.” Logan had never cared much for politics. “Do you have any ideas about who might have killed those cattle?”
“I haven’t given it any thought.”
“How about someone who might be carrying a grudge against the Calders?”
Culley exhaled a laugh. “The list would be as long as your arm. Practically everyone around here has come up against the Calders at one time or another—and come out the worse for it.”
Detecting a bite of bitterness, Logan probed, “Even you?”
There was a long pause while O’Rourke studied him with close scrutiny. “Let’s just say, I didn’t shed no tears when I saw those buzzards feasting on Calder beef. It seemed a kind a’ poetic justice.”
“For what?”
“The dozen head he shot.”
