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sponging off the day’s dirt.
    â€œYou and Culley can take them on from here,” Maggie said.
    â€œWhere do you think you’re going?” Her father shot her a challenging look.
    â€œSwimming.” She tossed the answer over her shoulder as she reined the horse away from him and back toward the river.
    â€œThere’s work to be done!” he shouted.
    â€œI’m sure it will be waiting for me when I get home.”
    â€œI didn’t keep you home from school today so you could swim in the river,” he called after her.
    As she rode away, Maggie didn’t look back or give any sign that she’d heard him. Angus shook his head in frustration. He just didn’t understand that girl—always talking back to him, never showing him any respect. She was the image of his dear, sweet Mary Frances, but she had neither her gentleness of spirit, nor her softness.
    Lord knows, he’d tried his best to be a good father to her. They had a place to sleep and food on the table. He’d promised to buy her all the clothes and pretty things a young girl should have. Nothing he ever did was enough for that girl. She was a regular hellion; never gave him a minute’s peace.
    Now, Culley was a good lad. He always listened andunderstood why things were the way they are. Angus wished Maggie were more like her brother. But Culley was a boy. It was easier to relate to a son. A father had to choose his words so carefully with a daughter. If Mary Frances were alive, she’d explain things to Maggie and make her understand that it wasn’t his fault they were poor. It was men like Webb Calder who wouldn’t give a man a chance to get ahead in this world.

Chapter III
    With a deft flick of his wrist, Chase let the rope sail out and made a quick dally around the saddlehorn as the loop settled around the neck of a calf. In the work-a-day world of the cowboy, calf-roping did not entail the rump-sliding stops of the horse or the calf being jerked to the ground when it hit the end of the rope, as the rodeos depicted. With little theatrics, the calf was roped and dragged on foot to the branding crews to be vaccinated and branded.
    Yet the scene held more excitement and confusion than a rodeo, in this arena of wild range land under acres of blue sky. Men were rushing everywhere, on foot and on horseback. There was the running banter of challenges and the bawling of the calves and bellowing cattle, riders dodging ground crews in pursuit of a calf, and men ducking loops. Churning hooves had ground the grass into the dirt, exposing the soil and sending up a thin haze of dust to blur the proceedings.
    The scene assaulted the senses, dizzying the eyes that tried to take in all the action, confusing the ears thattried to separate the jumble of sounds, and assailing the nose with the combining odors of sweat, manure, and burning hair.
    Through the maze of man and animal, Chase towed his protesting calf. It was Buck who came trotting up to flank his calf and bring it to the ground. Sweat had made streaks of mud on Buck’s face. While he stabbed a dose of vaccine into the downed calf, a second cowboy pressed the hot Triple C brand iron to the calf’s hip. Then Buck was loosening the noose and casting it free to let the bawling calf race back to its momma.
    As Chase began recoiling his lariat, Buck paused for a breath. “I can’t take three days of this, Chase. All for one measly little ‘hell.’ It ain’t right. It just ain’t right,” he insisted.
    â€œThe world is tough, Buck.” The line of his mouth curved, alleviating some of its natural hardness.
    â€œThat’s a profound statement coming from the heir to all this,” Buck scoffed and took a tired stride after another roped calf.
    The comment made no impression on Chase as he started his horse toward the herd. He accepted without question that the Calder empire would be his one day. He’d grown up with