Free The Return of Caulfield Blake by G. Clifton Wisler

nearby,” Jenkins remarked. “We’ve been havin’ a lot of trouble with clipped wire and broken fenceposts. Wouldn’t have any notion as to how such a thing might’ve happened, would you, Blake?”
    â€œNary a one,” Caulie answered. “I would mention you’re not on Diamond S range now. This stretch of range belongs to Dixon Stewart. You’re trespassin’.”
    â€œAs I’d suspect you have been. Stay clear of Mr. Simpson’s property. We’ve got good eyes, and they’re mainly lookin’ out for you. I saw the way you looked at the dam the other day. You got any idea to raid that place, best lose it. We keep watch there all night.”
    â€œWhat business would I have at a dam? It’s enough of a job keepin’ track of all the stock.”
    â€œYou mark my words, Blake. Me, I’d as soon settle it right here and now, but Mr. Simpson says we’re to be patient. I can be patient as Moses when the need arises. Just you remember what I said about the dam.”
    â€œMan’d be a fool to argue, Abe.”
    â€œSure would!” Jenkins shouted. “And he’d wind up dead.”
    Caulfield Blake passed the remainder of the afternoon at the cabin. He kept his rifle handy lest Abe Jenkins or some other fool decided to pay a call. Two miles wasn’t much distance from Simpson’s gunmen. But Dix’s cabin stood atop a hill, and a man could see down toward Carpenter Creek. Caulie couldn’t help feeling better knowing he stood between the Diamond S and Hannah.
    Shortly before dusk Marty Cabot rode up. With him was a slim-shouldered rider whose dusty leather hat concealed his face.
    â€œThis isn’t any Joe Stovall,” Caulie complained at once. “What in heaven’s name . . .”
    He never finished. A nervous hand removed the hat, and Caulie discovered Marty’s companion was none other than Zach.
    â€œGuess I’m not much of a replacement, huh?” the boy asked as he read his father’s disappointment. “Simpson had a man in town watchin’ Joe and Dix both. I was in town fetchin’ Ma some sugar. Was bound this way anyway, so Dix sent word with me.”
    â€œShe doesn’t know you’re here?” Caulie asked. “Well, that’s just fine. Get along home with you now, boy. This isn’t goin’ to be a good place to be on toward dark.”
    â€œI know about the dam, Pa,” Zach said, placing a stubborn hand on each hip. “I’ve never fought a war, but I can hold horses just fine. I know that country, too. Carter and I’ve been ridin’ Carpenter Creek since, well, since you were here yourself.”
    Caulie frowned. Again he remembered how long a time it had been. But he smiled, too. There was grit in young Zach, and the boy’s stringy, unkempt walnut hair reminded Caulie of his own.
    â€œHe’s good with horses, Caulie,” Marty declared. “I wouldn’t’ve brought him along if I could’ve found anybody else. Simpson’s got riders everywhere.”
    â€œDon’t you think I know that?” Caulie asked. “They won’t be asleep tonight. There’s apt to be shootin’. Somebody . . . could get killed.”
    The two old cavalrymen gazed sadly at young Zach, but the thirteen-year-old would have none of it. He brushed back his hair, stroked his bay’s neck, and grinned.
    â€œIt’s my home, too, Pa. Maybe more’n yours. I’ve passed my whole life here. Besides, you need me. There’s nobody else.”
    â€œHe’s right,” Marty agreed.
    â€œLooks like I’m outvoted. You do as you’re told, though, son. There are enough Blakes buried in this country. Your time’s not up for years yet.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Zach said as he slapped the dust out of his hat. “I won’t let you down, Pa.”
    Marty and Zach dismounted and tied their horses to the