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a statement of his decision, not a request for his father’s approval or his blessing. He’d already asked him to come along once, and Benteen wasn’t about to repeat himself. His father had to do what he thought was right—just as he did.
    In the dining room of the Ten Bar ranch house, Judd Boston held a private court with his foreman, a narrow, spare-fleshed man named Loman Janes. Loman had the huge hands of a man good with a rope and the weathered toughness to his pocked complexion that spoke of his hours in the sun. His light gray eyes were flat with resentment at the rebuking tone of the man who possessed his unswerving loyalty.
    â€œI’m telling you”—Judd’s voice had a hard edge to it—” there has to be a reason for Calder to suddenly suspect something after all this time. Someone let it slip about those brands. One of your so-called hand-picked men, probably while he was likkered up.”
    â€œNo.” Loman Janes stood gaunt and tall in the middle of the room, his pride unbending. “They know better than to breathe a word if they want to keep theirtongues. He was only guessing when he said that to you.”
    Judd Boston didn’t like that answer. All his plans had been flowing along smoothly until Chase Benteen Calder had muddied the waters with his suspicions.
    â€œI had the feeling the old man had gotten wise to what was going on when he bunched his herd close in to the ranch.” His mind went back over the recent events before he turned the force of his hard eyes on his foreman. “He waited until Benteen came back before showing his hand. Now you say Shorty Niles and Trumbo are drawing their pay to go to work for Calder.”
    â€œThey claim he’s putting a herd together to take north,” Loman explained stiffly. “As many trail drives as he’s made, he’s probably got his eye on makin’ a big profit with a herd of his own.”
    â€œAnd if he makes a bundle, what will he do with it?” The question was asked aloud, but Boston wasn’t interested in Loman’s opinion. He didn’t trust any man’s judgment but his own. “Dump it into the Cee Bar,” he concluded grimly.
    â€œTrumbo was spreadin’ talk about Calder stakin’ claim to some land in the Montana Territory,” the foreman inserted.
    â€œTalk.” He showed his contempt for cowboy gossip. “There’s nothing up there but Sioux and Cheyenne. It’s only been two years since they wiped out Custer and his men. He’s just trying to throw us off the track.” That’s what Boston would have done in his place, so he could believe nothing else.
    â€œThey’re talkin’ about free grass up there.” Loman knew cattle and cattlemen—and the magic of that phrase.
    â€œAnd they’ve got grass right here—and water and cattle,” Boston retorted. “I’ve waited ten years to get my hands on that water on Calder’s ranch. With it, I’ll have the whole area sewed up.”
    He had directed a lot of behind-the-scenes maneuvering to get Seth Calder in his present desperate situation. Judd Boston had coveted the Cee Bar land since he’d arrived, but he had soon learned that no amount of gold could buy it. Long ago, he had learned to bend with the wind or run with it. He knew when to push and when to bide his time. Patient and inscrutable, he had waited. The Cee Bar was on the verge of collapse. This was the time to push.
    â€œI want you to find out where Benteen is now, how many men he has with him, and what he’s doing,” he ordered.
    â€œAnd the old man?” Loman asked.
    â€œHe hasn’t got much of an operation left.” A cold, humorless smile lifted the corners of his heavy mouth. “Soon he’s not going to have any.”
    Loman knew better than to ask what his boss planned. He was in awe of Boston’s intelligence and respected the