Chapter 2 - Fire in the Smokehouse
"Bucket line!"
Lucien's voice cut through the chaos.
Twenty-two exhausted men became soldiers.
Billy Quinn and Jeb Rust ran for the well. Others formed a chain across the frozen yard while flames crawled along the smokehouse's southern wall.
Josephine did not stand screaming.
She grabbed a wet horse blanket from a trough, threw it over her shoulders, and headed directly for the door.
Lucien caught her arm.
"Where are you going?"
"The upper racks."
"Absolutely not."
"Half the food is hanging there."
"Josephine."
"Move."
The way she said it surprised him enough that his grip loosened.
She disappeared through the doorway.
"Damn it."
Lucien followed.
Smoke hung thick near the ceiling.
The interior had not fully ignited because the stone floor and carefully controlled smoking pit limited the fire's path. The sabotage had started outside.
That gave them minutes.
No more.
Josephine reached the first rack.
"Take the shoulders."
Lucien grabbed them.
She lifted two cured slabs.
They hurried outside.
Back in.
Out again.
By the fourth trip, Jeb blocked the entrance.
"That's enough!"
Josephine started arguing.
Then part of the exterior wall cracked loudly.
Lucien seized her around the waist and pulled her back.
A burning beam fell where she had been standing seconds earlier.
She stared at it.
Then at him.
Neither spoke.
They joined the bucket line.
It took forty minutes to kill the flames.
By the time the last orange glow disappeared, the eastern sky had begun turning gray.
The men stood soaked, freezing, exhausted.
Josephine examined the damage.
One outside wall was blackened.
Several boards would need replacing.
A section of roof was ruined.
But the stone chamber remained intact.
So did most of the meat.
Billy laughed weakly.
"We saved it."
"No."
Josephine crouched beside the wall.
"We saved enough."
She picked up one of the oily rags using a stick.
Lucien crouched opposite her.
"Lamp oil?"
"Kerosene."
"Same thing."
"Not exactly."
Lucien raised an eyebrow.
Josephine smelled the air above the cloth.
"This isn't ours."
"How can you possibly know that?"
"The oil in your cookhouse smells rancid and cheap. This is cleaner."
Jeb approached.
"You're telling us somebody brought their own oil just to burn the place?"
Josephine stood.
"I'm telling you whoever did this planned it."
The men exchanged uneasy looks.
Hunger was one thing.
Sabotage was another.
Lucien looked toward the dark tree line.
Ironwood Ranch covered thousands of acres.
A man could cross the southern ridge unseen.
Someone could come from Bitter Creek.
Or someone could already be inside Ironwood.
"Everyone to the bunkhouse," Lucien said.
Jeb frowned.
"What?"
"Now."
Twenty minutes later, all twenty-two men stood inside.
Lucien counted them twice.
Nobody missing.
Nobody obviously guilty.
That meant very little.
Josephine entered carrying the burned cloth.
Lucien looked at his ranch hands.
"Anyone leave the bunkhouse tonight?"
Silence.
"Anyone hear anything?"
Billy raised a hand.
"Maybe."
Every head turned.
"What?" Lucien asked.
"A horse."
"When?"
"Before the fire. Thought one of ours was moving around the corral."
"Which direction?"
Billy thought.
"South."
Jeb cursed under his breath.
The southern trail led through the pine forest before connecting with the road toward Bitter Creek.
Lucien grabbed his coat.
Josephine stepped in front of him.
"Where are you going?"
"Following tracks."
"It's almost dark."
"It's dawn."
"In the trees it's dark."
"I know my own land."
"And whoever lit that fire knows enough about it to get close without being seen."
Lucien leaned toward her.
"You planning on telling me how to ranch now too?"
"If necessary."
Several men suddenly became fascinated by the floor.
Lucien stared at Josephine.
She stared back.
Then Jeb cleared his throat.
"She's got a point."
Lucien slowly turned.
"You want to repeat that?"
"No."
Lucien took Jeb and two riders.
Josephine stayed behind.
She spent the morning sorting damaged food.
Anything touched by dirty water was separated.
The safe pieces returned to temporary racks inside an unused storage shed.
She directed repairs to the smokehouse before preparing breakfast.
Not beans.
She diced preserved beef into a flour gravy and served it over biscuits.
Men ate silently.
Not because the food was bad.
Because they were worried.
By noon, Lucien returned.
He walked into the cookhouse with mud on his boots.
Josephine immediately knew.
"You found tracks."
"One horse."
"Rider?"
"Probably."
"Where did they go?"
"The trail disappeared along the creek bed."
"Toward Bitter Creek?"
Lucien removed his gloves.
"Yes."
Jeb followed him in.
"There's more."
Josephine waited.
Jeb placed something on the table.
A small brass cap.
It came from an oil container.
Stamped into the metal were three letters.
B.C.M.
Josephine turned it in her hand.
"What does that mean?"
Lucien answered.
"Bitter Creek Mercantile."
"How many people buy kerosene there?"
"Half the county."
"Then we're halfway nowhere."
Lucien looked at her.
"You're taking this calmly."
"I don't see how panic improves our odds."
"You nearly got crushed by a burning beam."
"And yet here I am."
"That isn't an answer."
Josephine laid down the brass cap.
"It's the only one you're getting."
Lucien saw something behind her eyes again.
A wall.
He had noticed it when he asked about her past.
Whatever Josephine Cutler had been before boarding that stagecoach, she had learned to handle danger without wasting time on fear.
That afternoon, repairs began.
Lucien expected Josephine to abandon the smokehouse idea.
Instead, she expanded it.
"We need another chamber."
He stared at her.
"Our first one almost burned down."
"Which is why relying on one is foolish."
"Another chamber costs timber."
"We have trees."
"Labor."
"You have twenty-two men."
"They have ranch work."
"They also enjoy eating."
Lucien crossed his arms.
"You always this stubborn?"
"No."
He waited.
"This is me being reasonable."
Against every instinct, Lucien laughed.
The sound startled them both.
Josephine looked away first.
Over the next two days, the smokehouse returned to operation.
Josephine divided the men into teams.
Some gathered juniper.
Some repaired walls.
Some built racks.
Some worked cattle.
Within a week, three heifers had become enough meat to stretch far beyond what Lucien expected.
But Josephine wasn't satisfied.
"We need vegetables."
"We don't have any."
"We need grain."
"Low."
"Potatoes?"
"Cellar."
Josephine froze.
"You have a cellar?"
Lucien pointed behind the main house.
She marched there.
The root cellar contained almost two hundred pounds of potatoes, turnips, dried apples, and several sacks of oats.
Josephine turned slowly.
Lucien knew that expression.
"Before you say anything—"
"You let twenty-two men live on burnt beans while this was sitting underground?"
"Those were winter reserves."
She stared.
"It is nearly winter."
Lucien sighed.
"I liked you better when you had just arrived."
"No, you didn't."
He almost answered.
Instead, they carried supplies out.
Meals changed quickly.
Potato cakes.
Beef stew.
Biscuits.
Oat porridge with dried apples.
Smoked meat sliced thin over hot bread.
The men began gaining strength.
Work improved.
Tempers settled.
Then something unexpected happened.
A traveling supply wagon stopped at Ironwood.
Its driver, Samuel Pike, smelled smoke before reaching the yard.
He followed it to Josephine's racks.
"What are you making?"
"Food."
Samuel laughed.
"No, ma'am. What is that?"
Josephine handed him a small slice.
He tasted it.
Then another.
"You sell this?"
Lucien answered immediately.
"No."
Josephine answered simultaneously.
"Maybe."
They looked at each other.
Samuel grinned.
"I'll pay twenty cents a pound."
Lucien nearly laughed.
Fresh beef sold for far less in bulk.
"Why?"
"Mining camps west of Bitter Creek have money and no decent meat. Winter cuts the supply trails."
Josephine's eyes sharpened.
"How many pounds?"
"As much as you've got."
Lucien shook his head.
"We need it for our men."
Josephine was already calculating.
"Not all of it."
Lucien stepped closer.
"Josephine."
She ignored him.
"If we process older cattle unsuitable for the spring drive, we could—"
"Those cattle are collateral."
Samuel looked between them.
"Bank won't care if you sell culls and apply part against the note."
Lucien frowned.
"How do you know about my bank?"
Samuel's expression changed.
Only slightly.
Too slightly.
Josephine noticed.
"So you know he's in debt?" she asked.
Samuel shrugged.
"Everybody knows Ironwood had a hard year."
He bought ten pounds.
Before leaving, he turned.
"If you decide to sell more, come to Bitter Creek. Ask for me at the freight depot."
That night Josephine sat with a pencil, paper, and Lucien's supply prices.
Salt.
Wood.
Labor.
Cattle weight.
Transport.
She calculated until the lantern burned low.
Lucien entered.
"You planning to steal my ranch?"
"Not unless you continue managing it badly."
He sat across from her.
"What are you doing?"
She slid the figures toward him.
"That smokehouse can make money."
Lucien glanced down.
"Not enough."
"Not yet."
"You think smoked beef saves Ironwood?"
"I think value saves Ironwood."
His expression hardened.
"You make it sound simple."
"I know it isn't."
"You don't know what I owe."
"No."
"You don't know how close the bank is."
"No."
"You don't know what happens if spring prices fall again."
Josephine looked at him quietly.
"Then tell me."
Lucien did not.
He stood instead.
Josephine watched him walk toward the door.
Then he stopped.
"The bank can call the note February first."
Josephine's pencil went still.
February first was barely three months away.
"How much?"
Lucien named the number.
For the first time since she arrived, Josephine looked genuinely worried.
Lucien gave a humorless smile.
"Still think smoked meat saves us?"
She looked again at her calculations.
Then something caught her attention.
A mark on the supply invoice.
She brought the lantern closer.
Three recent shipments of lamp oil had been listed.
Lucien followed her gaze.
"What?"
Josephine tapped the page.
"You purchased kerosene last month."
"Of course."
"From where?"
"Bitter Creek Mercantile."
"How many cans?"
"Six."
Josephine slowly turned toward him.
"The invoice says seven."
Lucien frowned.
She checked another page.
One container was missing from ranch inventory.
One container with the same merchant stamp as the cap found beside the fire.
Someone had not ridden from Bitter Creek carrying the oil.
The oil had already been at Ironwood.
Josephine raised her eyes.
"Lucien."
He understood immediately.
The rider tracks suddenly meant something different.
The saboteur might not have been arriving.
He might have been leaving.
May you like
And if that was true, the person trying to destroy Ironwood had been standing among them the entire time.
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