Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Caleb stood with his back to the smoking ruins of the buildings and looked down the valley to the south.
Patches of cloud scudded across the afternoon sky, here and there casting large swaths of moving gray across the snowy meadows.
It was cold, but the storms had passed to the east, for the time being.
The pain that dragged at his gut surprised him when he rode up the rise from the river.
He reasoned that it was because he’d never put so much of himself into a single place, and seeing the blackened timbers of the barn sticking up from the ashy, gray snow physically hurt him.
Even now, staring out at the valley, he was in no hurry to turn his gaze to the devastation again.
Down below, a few dozen head of cattle crowded along the icy river, stomping the edges into a brown mush.
The rest of the herd was nowhere to be seen.
Probably up in the forest or much farther down the valley, searching out protected patches of grass to feed on.
Before leaving Elkhorn, he’d made arrangements with Wilson and with Malachi to have hay and feed carted down to the ranch.
He wasn’t sure why he’d gone to the trouble.
The place wouldn’t be his much longer. Still, the animals needed to be fed.
He’d left his damaged bearskin in his cabin and donned his elk skin coat, but neither one could stop the bitter cold from seeping into every crevice in his body and soul, numbing everything it touched.
“Don’t be a fool,” he muttered to himself, fighting it off. “It’s a damn place. That’s all.”
Bear trotted up from behind him and planted his butt in the snow. He leaned against Caleb and pressed his head against his hip.
“I know, fella,” he said, patting the dog’s fur. But the truth was, Caleb didn’t know. He didn’t know a damn thing.
He blew a deep breath of air out of puffed cheeks. The steam drifted off and disappeared quickly in the cold, clear air. There was probably a message in that—here today, gone tomorrow, or some such thing—but he wasn’t in any mood to think about it now.
He turned and trudged toward the barn. Ash coated the top of the snow, making it look as dirty as a city street in winter. Charred pieces of wood stuck out of the surface and made patterns in the snow where they’d melted through as they landed.
Some things made him feel even worse about it all.
The cattle had scattered hither and yon, but the two horses and the mule had returned to the corral on their own.
In spite of the acrid smell of burnt wood poisoning the air, they stood there with Pirate in one corner against the fence, waiting for life to somehow return to normal, he supposed.
But life would never return to normal…whatever that meant.
Caleb didn’t bother to close the gate on them. Hell, if they wanted to take off for greener pastures, he wouldn’t blame them.
He stood on the threshold of the barn, looking in.
The air was still hot and sharp with smoke, and he put a gloved hand over his mouth to breathe.
Charred timbers still glowing red in places lay in a jumbled heap where they’d fallen.
Some lay crisscrossed, cluttering the dirt floor, and some lay on an angle against a lower portion of the wall.
The roof was gone, except for one corner.
And a few lower sections of the walls were only scorched.
But there was no saving any of this. If anyone rebuilt, they’d have to pull the whole thing down and start again.
After his talk with the judge, Caleb had gone back to the livery. There was no point in going and explaining everything to Henry. Not yet. Not until he had his temper under control and some kind of plan in place.
Bear had been curled up in front of Pirate’s stall, waiting and watching for his master to return.
Caleb was not leaving Elkhorn without him, no matter what.
And no matter how dark Caleb’s thoughts were on the ride out, he couldn’t help but feel his spirits lift—if only for a moment—at the sight of the dog romping happily through the snow on either side of the trail, scaring up rabbits and once a pheasant as he ran.
He’d stopped once or twice to look for signs of the men who had come to burn the ranch. In a few places beneath the protective boughs of the conifers, it appeared that the four riders had been joined by a fifth who never made it out here, but they’d all returned to town together.
In the ashy rubble, Caleb spotted one of the iron hinges fashioned by Malachi. Stepping into the barn he picked it up with his gloved hand and tossed it out into the snow. It was still hot from the inferno that had claimed the stables. He saw no sign of the other iron pieces.
He and Henry built this barn with their own hands. This ranch was home. And somewhere along the way, Caleb had begun imagining other people here too.
Paddy racing across the meadow.
Henry complaining about chores.
Bear sleeping in the shade of the porch.
A woman with golden hair walking out of the cabin door carrying a cup of coffee and a list of things he ought to be doing.
The thought hurt worse than the sight of the ashes.
This was to be a place to put down stakes and settle. Henry had been downright sentimental, arguing for finding this land. He’d talked Caleb into it. And once they bought the property and Caleb started it as he waited for Henry to join him, the pieces seemed to fall into place.
All of the sudden, staying in one place began to rub off on him. Caleb was getting used to seeing familiar faces, having a few friends, going into Elkhorn for his chess games with Doc. The conversations and flirtations with Sheila had become damn appealing. Bit by bit, he was changing.
A long chunk of timber near his foot flared up, the flames blue at the base and yellow above. Caleb stamped on it, trying to snuff the fire out. The flames disappeared, but only for a moment. Immediately, the wood smoked and the flames rekindled again.
“Why the hell bother?” He kicked at the timber, but it didn’t move. Nothing he did mattered anymore.
What choices did he have? Whatever he’d been thinking, he now had one choice only. He had to sell the ranch to free Henry.
He wondered for the hundredth time how much the judge was involved.
The entire series of disasters—from the loss of the cattle, to Henry’s imprisonment and charges of murder, to the fire here last night—all of it had to be related.
Caleb strongly suspected Elijah Starr’s twisted thinking was behind it, but the judge wanted Caleb and Henry gone. However he got there didn’t matter.
Somewhere in the distance, Bear let out a playful bark.
Caleb walked out of the barn to see Sheila riding up, the dog prancing along beside her.
She was wearing her black, wide-brimmed hat and a heavy wool coat that Caleb had seen her father wear last winter.
Around her waist, she’d strapped on the gun belt with the Colt Gunfighter he’d given her.
Sheila stopped by the corral, dismounted, and tied her horse to the fence. As he came up to her, she eyed the open gate but made no comment.
For a moment neither of them spoke. The destruction surrounded them, but Caleb found himself looking only at her.
She'd ridden all the way out here. Just as she'd come looking for him that first day.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
She ran her gaze around the scorched buildings, taking inventory of the destruction. She cursed under her breath.
“They’re still out there, the coyotes who done this. You shouldn’t ride around alone.”
“Did you see Henry?” As always, she was ignoring his warnings.
“Yep.”
“And you talked to the judge?”
“Yep.”
“So what did he say?”
Sheila knew more about Caleb and his past than anyone else in Elkhorn. He had no reason not to discuss what Patterson said.
“He wants this land to run his railroad through. I got to sell him the property. That’s the only way he’ll let Henry go.”
“This abominable railroad!” She kicked at the snow. “How many lives must be destroyed?”
As she stood next to him and looked out at the valley, Caleb realized she was wearing no gloves. He took his off and held her cold hand.
She entwined her fingers with his.
The simple gesture steadied him more than he cared to admit. For the past week he’d been fighting snowstorms, grief, exhaustion, and his own temper. Now, standing beside Sheila, he realized how tired he truly was.
“So you buy again. Build again. There must be another piece of property that would suit you both.”
He considered telling her about the judge’s demand that they leave town and never return.
“Back East, they call it progress. Imala has been telling me about the damage the railroads have caused. She has many stories of how they’ve killed the way of life for so many tribes.”
“What we’re losing here is nothing compared to them.” He gave her a look. There were icicles on her eyelashes. Her cheeks were bright from the cold and fresh air. “What did she tell you?”
“She said that her people, the Arapaho, are starving on a reservation to the north.”
“You know that Imala was a survivor of the Sand Creek Massacre,” Caleb said.
Sheila nodded. “She told me all about what happened there. About what the soldiers did to the old people and the children.” She looked away from him, composing herself.
“And it was done to secure land that belonged to the Arapaho, for railroads. She says that the tracks go right across the land where they lived, and the buffalo are now gone.”
Her eyes were flashing when she looked back at him.
“The Lakota, the Cheyenne, the Arapaho, and other tribes have a way of life that depends on following the buffalo herds. That is being destroyed every time another railroad divides the land and brings more towns to property that belongs to the tribes.”