Chapter 8 - The Rider Who Brought Fever
Nathan stared at Tillett.
“Then who?”
Tillett looked terrified.
The sheriff pulled him down from the horse.
“Inside.”
Margaret objected.
“No outsiders.”
The sheriff frowned.
“Even me?”
“Especially anyone who's been traveling between infected ranches.”
They spoke across the fence instead.
Tillett confessed.
Cardy wanted Brooks Ranch.
That part was true.
But the sabotage had been organized by someone else.
Banker Horace Bell.
Bell had quietly financed Cardy's land acquisitions.
Every foreclosure earned him money.
Nathan's father had been a target before Nathan inherited the ranch.
Tillett supplied overpriced hay.
Bell applied financial pressure.
Cardy purchased distressed property.
A simple machine.
Margaret had jammed it.
“Why the fever?” Nathan asked.
Tillett shook his head.
“I had nothing to do with that.”
“What about the bucket?”
“Bell's got men.”
The sheriff had already arrested Bell.
But there was a problem.
Bell claimed Tillett invented everything to save himself.
They needed records.
Margaret remembered Bell's bank office.
“Ledgers.”
The sheriff nodded.
“Exactly.”
Bell's private books were missing.
Without them, proving the conspiracy would be difficult.
Tillett said Cardy might have them.
Nathan looked toward Cardy's ranch.
Margaret knew what he was thinking.
“No.”
“I haven't said anything.”
“You don't have to.”
“Those books could save us.”
“Getting shot won't.”
Cyrus cleared his throat.
“I know Cardy's foreman.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Worked with him twenty years ago.”
Margaret's eyes narrowed.
“Would he help?”
“Maybe.”
That night Cyrus rode alone.
He returned before sunrise.
With a ledger.
Cardy's foreman had had enough.
The book contained payments.
Tillett.
Bell.
Land purchases.
Even a notation beside Brooks Ranch.
FORECLOSE JANUARY.
Nathan read it twice.
Margaret's stomach tightened.
January.
Even with the extension, someone expected them to fail.
She turned pages.
Then found why.
A second debt.
One Nathan didn't know existed.
Signed by his father.
Secured against part of the ranch.
Nathan stared.
“This can't be real.”
Cyrus recognized the signature.
Margaret examined the document.
Unlike the first loan, this one had no extension clause.
Payment due December 15.
Six hundred dollars.
Nathan went pale.
“We can't make both.”
The victory vanished.
Four hundred in January had seemed possible.
Another six hundred before Christmas did not.
Nathan sat heavily.
“My father never told me.”
Cyrus looked shattered.
“I didn't know.”
Margaret began calculating.
Cattle couldn't be sold during quarantine.
Winter beef could produce revenue.
But not enough.
Not unless prices rose dramatically.
Nathan looked at her.
“What do we do?”
Margaret had always had an answer.
This time she didn't.
That frightened everyone.
She spent the entire day with the books.
By evening she had three possibilities.
Sell land.
Sell breeding stock.
Or increase the value of what they already produced.
Nathan rejected selling land.
Margaret rejected breeding cows.
That left beef.
“What if we don't sell cattle?” she asked.
Nathan frowned.
“We can't ship live cattle during fever anyway.”
“I mean after.”
“What else would we sell?”
“Finished preserved beef.”
Cyrus stared.
“Direct?”
“Yes.”
Nathan leaned forward.
“To whom?”
“Mining camps. Hotels. Railroad kitchens. Army suppliers.”
Nathan shook his head.
“We're ranchers.”
Margaret looked at him.
“So become sellers.”
The plan was dangerous.
They would preserve far more beef than usual.
Quality had to be perfect.
Transportation had to be arranged.
Buyers had to trust an unknown supplier.
But processed beef might bring significantly more than desperate cattle sales.
Nathan asked, “Can you do it?”
Margaret looked toward the curing shed.
“No.”
Nathan's face fell.
Then she continued.
“But we can.”
For the next month Brooks Ranch became a workshop.
Cyrus organized cattle.
Nathan negotiated transport.
Margaret trained every willing hand in preservation.
Wade became unexpectedly skilled at cutting.
Pete handled weights and inventory.
Even Nathan learned to salt correctly after Margaret slapped his hand away from a barrel.
“Too much.”
“I thought salt preserves.”
“Salt isn't magic.”
“You say that like I've insulted it.”
“You have.”
He laughed.
For the first time, the crisis brought them closer rather than apart.
At night they sat together.
Sometimes talked.
Sometimes didn't.
One evening Margaret finally said what Nathan had stopped asking to hear.
“I love you too.”
He looked at her.
She almost laughed at his expression.
“You look surprised.”
“I've been waiting two months.”
“That's not long.”
“It is when you're in love.”
He kissed her.
Outside, snow began falling.
Their first winter storm.
The fever reports slowed.
Then stopped.
The valley had survived.
Badly.
Many herds were devastated.
Brooks Ranch had lost only two cattle.
Their quarantine was lifted.
Now everything depended on the winter beef.
Nathan rode to Cheyenne with samples.
He returned three days later.
Margaret met him at the gate.
“Well?”
He held up three contracts.
“Hotel. Railroad kitchen. Army outpost.”
Margaret stared.
“How much?”
Nathan smiled.
“Enough.”
Cyrus cheered.
Pete threw his hat.
For ten glorious seconds, Brooks Ranch believed it had won.
Then Nathan's smile disappeared.
“What?”
He handed Margaret a fourth paper.
It had been waiting in town.
A legal notice.
The six-hundred-dollar debt had been transferred.
The new owner was demanding immediate payment.
Margaret read the name.
May you like
AMOS CARDY.
And according to the notice, he was coming tomorrow to take possession of the North Range.
