Caleb had never felt such rage. It seemed to start at the very core of his being and radiate out in every direction, setting his blood boiling and his nerves on fire. He clenched his fists in fury, so tightly that his nails dug into the palms of his hands and the veins running along his arms bulged purple. He wanted to shoot someone, anyone, set off a full chamber into someone’s gut, screaming his anger as each and every slug tore flesh and ruined organs. He kicked out at a discarded bucket, sending it crashing into the corral fence and stormed towards the bunkhouse.
Dawn was still some hours off as he entered the bunkhouse and he had to light the oil-lamp that hung inside the doorway before he could see anything other than shadows.
‘Get up, he yelled. ‘Each and every one of you.’ And with that he turned on his feet and headed back to the house, leaving a bunch of mighty confused ranch hands scrambling about in the semi darkness.
Dismas and Eder were asleep in their rooms upstairs and Caleb didn’t want to wake them. He didn’t need them for what he had in mind. Indeed he knew they would try and stop him, just as they had tried to talk him out of his plan of action when they had returned from town the previous night.
It was their opinion that nothing should be done other than wait for their father to recover. Then and only then would the problems in town be addressed. In the meantime the Welshman and Henry Carthy, both men who had been tried and convicted by the Stanton court, would be allowed to wander about as they pleased. That stuck in Caleb’s craw and the best option as far as he was concerned was to let his uncles sleep, and then by the time they woke, neither of them being early risers, he planned on being back from town with his grandfather safely recovering in his own bed and Clemens reinstated as town sheriff. The Welshman and that damn Henry Carthy would be dead and let anyone say anything about that. Those two had to be killed if the Stanton authority was to ever mean anything again. What his two fat uncles failed to realize was that every second that the Welshman and the kid wandered around, seemingly without a care in the world, weakened the Stanton’s position in the town.
Clemens had been given the guest room on the ground floor and Caleb went directly there and threw the door open. He heard the fat man snoring and he shook his head. No wonder the Welshman had gained the upper hand with Clemens if he didn’t even stir when someone came charging into his bedroom.
‘Wake up, ‘ Caleb said.
‘What is it?’ Clemens sat up, staring through bleary eyes at the shadowy figure of Caleb standing in the doorway. He reached over to the bedside table and took a match to the lamp. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Get your clothes on,’ Caleb said. ‘Wear your guns. We’re riding into town.’
‘Why?’ Clemens asked yet again. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and searched for his watch, which was hanging from its chain and still attached to his shirt, which had been tossed over the chair besides the bed. Three thirty. What could be so all fire important to wake him at his ungodly hour? ‘What’s happened?’
‘Get up, fat man,’ Caleb said. ‘I won’t tell you again. Be outside in ten minutes and ready to ride.’
Clemens looked at Caleb but said nothing. There had been a time when Caleb would never have had the gall to talk to him like that, but a lot of things had changed lately and Clemens knew that if old man Stanton died and his grandson did take over, then things would be mighty different around here.
Caleb looked at Clemens and shook his head in disgust. He left the room, closed the door behind him and went back to the bunkhouse where twenty men were now awake and waiting for him.
Caleb hadn’t slept more than an hour. He had kept tossing and turning through the night, his mind refusing to let go of the fury he felt towards the Welshman and the kid. He felt equal fury for his uncles who had returned from town with the news that their father was weak but on the mend. They claimed that his orders were for nothing to be done until he was well enough to decide the correct course of action.
They had told Caleb that there had been a meeting between his grandfather and the Welshman, and that only served to infuriate him even further. His grandfather was a big man, an important man and this Welshman was nothing, just another saddle tramp.
There was only one way to handle this situation. Caleb knew that and he was sure that his grandfather knew that also. The fact that he had seemingly ordered Dismas and Eder otherwise suggested that the old man was not in full control. Maybe his illness was clouding his judgment, or maybe he was trying to protect his family by ensuring nothing was done until he was ready and able to do it himself.
‘Get your weapons,’ Caleb said as he went back into the bunkhouse. ‘ Pistols and rifles. We’re heading into town.’
He was answered by puzzled expressions across the faces of every man present. It was the ranch foreman who stepped forward to question Caleb.
‘What’s happened? ‘ Jake asked.
‘We’re going to get my grandfather,’ Caleb said. ‘And kill that damn Welshman.’
‘But,-‘ Jake started but his words were cut off when Bear pushed past him and went and stood besides Caleb.
‘The Welshman’s mine,’ Bear said.
‘You can have him,’ Jake said and a cold grin crossed his face. ‘After I’ve finished with him.’