Caleb: A Western tale, circa 1880's

Chapter One

Caleb Waite removed his Stetson hat in order to wipe the sweat off his brow with one grimy sleeve as his horse trotted wearily toward the little town just down the trail. The early summer, hot Montana sun beat mercilessly down from a cloudless sky. Judging from the puffs of dust that kicked up with every hoof beat of his horse, the sky hadn't seen too much cloud cover in quite some time, certainly none that offered any rain, anyway.

The same trail dust from the horse's hooves also swirled around in every chance breeze that blew, coating Caleb and his horse in the grainy particles. Caleb's clothing and skin seemed permanently ingrained with the black of it, while the horse was unevenly blanketed in a sticky mud made of dirt and horse-sweat. The horse blew threw his nostrils in annoyance.

Caleb chuckled. "I know, Old Hoss," he told his old friend, "but the town's just ahead another mile or two." Still, he figured he knew just how the horse felt.

Caleb hadn't the money for a bath and a haircut, but the few coins in his pocket should buy himself a hot meal and some provision, at the very least. Caleb had come up through the Black Hills and wandered northeast from there, veering into southern Montana in his quest for work.

Soon, the horse had entered a wide way marked 'Main Street', thought it also looked to be the only street. As if of his own volition, the horse made his way toward the livery stable that lay at the far end of 'Main Street', looking forward to a stall with hay and water. As tired as his horse was, Caleb wished he had a little extra to spend on some oats as well.

Once the horse was bedded down and comfortable, Caleb made his way to the town's only saloon, where he could be assured of a hot meal and a bit of local gossip to go with it. Inside the saloon, Caleb ordered a whiskey because it was expected, then a beer because he was thirsty and didn't trust the water. A hot meal was almost complimentary after that.

"Just passing through?" enquired the barkeep as he served the food.

"Anyone hiring?" returned Caleb easily around a forkful of the bartender's stew.

The barkeep shrugged. "You can ask, I guess. Most of the spring work's already done though. Slash V sits about a mile down the trail south of here, Rocking K lies beyond. Head west some and you'll ride onto the Flying W, with the Bar L beyond that. North of town's the Rafter C. They're all mostly small outfits and as far as I know, all running a full crew; but like I said, it never hurts to ask."

"What lays to the east?" enquired Caleb mildly, wondering why the bartender hadn't said anything about that particular direction.

"Do yourself a favor, Cowpoke. Don't head east. Only one spread lies out that-away and them that rides into the Lazy 8 never seem to come out."

Caleb wasn't inclined to believe him. In fact, his ornery bent was leaning on going east, merely because he'd been warned away from it! "Must be hard to hire anyone, if everyone who rides Lazy 8 range disappears," he commented in a mild voice, hiding his curiosity under a steady poker-face.

"Owner don't hire anyone," the barkeeper answered, not to be dissuaded. "Which folks around here find almighty peculiar, since the calves end up branded every year and every year, several hundred steers head out by rail. They always appear in the railroad's corral in the dead of night, with no one the wiser as to how they got there; with every one of 'em bearing a Lazy 8 brand and them Slocums right there, waiting for the cattle dealer to show up."

"Peculiar," agreed the young cowboy with an easy grin. "Don't suppose it's magic, do you?" He was funning the older man, of course; but the bartender shook his head.

"Don't be laughing now," warned the bartender, polishing a glass with his rag. "Nigh onto eighty years, the Lazy 8 ranch has been there with no one but them Slocums to live in the ranch house. The entire ranch is fenced in tight enough to keep a coyote in and every post has the Lazy 8 burned into the top. Folks have disappeared out there, what were expected back here in town."